like a shark, and he executes this manœuvre
so rapidly that the eye follows it with
difficulty."

But beyond the operation of eating, it
must be admitted that the tadpole does not
lead a life of any very great activity. He
makes up for this quiescence, however, when
his metamorphosis is accomplished, and from
a state of supine flatness, which the Germans
express by the word Kaulplatte, he emerges
into that vigorously-endowed animal, called
by the Dutch in their descriptive language a
Kikvorsch. There never was change more
complete. Even the magic of the Treasury
Bench does not effect a greater, for the tadpoles
who swarm towards that haven of bliss
generally remain tadpoles to the end of the
chapter.

Behold our friend, then, to use a scientific
definition, under the aspect of the "true frog."
He kicks off his old garments, like the clown.
in the pantomime, and throwing himself into
an attitude, says—with a slight huskiness in
his voice—"Here I am! Rana!" This is
the generic designation of his tribe, equally
applied to the heavy-going toad, —more
properly called Bufo, which aptly expresses his
puffy condition—though between the appearance
of the two there is as much difference
as we see in a high-mettled racer and a
Suffolk punch. As a tadpole, he was a
vegetarian, but being a frog, he knows better;
animal food is what he now goes in for, and
that there may be no mistake about it, he
swallows everything whole—not, as may be
supposed, from sheer voracity, but on account
of the quickness and impatience of his nature,
which cannot afford to wait. The smartest
frog in this line, is the tree-frog (Hyla), of
whom Dr. Shaw says,—"In the beauty of its
colours, as well as in the elegance of its form
(this bears out my original impression) and
agility of its movements, the tree-frog exceeds
every other species. Its principal residence
during the summer months, is in the upper
parts of trees, where it wanders among the
foliage in quest of insects, which it catches
with extreme celerity, stealing softly towards
its prey, in the manner of a cat towards a
mouse, and when at the proper distance,
seizing it with a sudden spring, frequently of
more than a foot in height."

The tree-frog, you see, has no time to be
fastidious about cookery, but makes the most
of his opportunity, an example which, if
always followed by mankind, might not be
altogether amiss. Observe how he profits by
it: "It often suspends itself by its feet, or
abdomen, to the under part of the leaves,
thus continuing concealed beneath their
shade." But although the tree-frog is the
fastest of his family, none of them are open to
the reproach of being slow. Look at their
length of leap in comparison with their size.
In this respect, indeed, there is one variety,
the Clamorous Frog of North America—a
noisy fellow, in all probability, always
annexing his neighbour's property,—who hops
five or six yards at a stretch; he is
brilliantly arrayed, having ears of shining gold,
—from California!

To give full expression to his vocal organs
(which the envious call clamour) is as much
the nature of the frog as to develop the
muscular capabilities of his finely formed limbs.
He figures alike in opera and ballet. The
Hyla, for instance, indulges in a shrill treble;
the Rana typhonica, or hurricane frog, has
a fine baritone voice, which he exercises in
rapid passages on the approach of tropical
storms; and the bull-frog, the Lablache of
the troupe, has a bass that you may hear for
miles: it is almost worth while—if anything
could compensate for the journey in other
respects—to make a voyage to the United
States, and go to the swamps near the
Mississipi, to hear what a noise the bull-frog
can make; though a good listener might,
perhaps, identify him by his voice all across
the Atlantic.

The intermediate varieties of ululation
characteristic of the Tailless Batrachians, belong
rather to the toad than the frog; but, to
illustrate the range of the voice amphibious,
I may mention what the former can do.
There is one toad,—the Rana pipa,—whose
flute-like falsetto notes indicate a perfect voce
di testa; and the Rana musica has a soprano
(it is said) which Calzolari—if he were a toad
—might covet. Your toad, however, can
emit other sounds. There is the Rana
bombina, or laughing toad, found in the fenny
parts of Germany and Switzerland, who, in
addition to the advantage of being able to
leap (or dance) like a frog, utters a clear
sound exactly like that of a man laughing.

There is the Rana ridibunda, or jocular
toad, found in the rivers that empty
themselves into the Caspian, which never
ventures on dry land, is very large, weighing
frequently more than half-a-pound, and whose
voice in the evening (probably when he has
been drinking, though certain persons assert
that neither toads nor frogs drink at all)
expresses extreme hilarity. What the toads
have to laugh at, except each other, is a
social phenomenon which I am quite unable
to explain.

The frog proper can also do something
with his voice besides sing; the Rana
temporaria, or common frog, possesses the ability
of making a noise by night, the naturalists
say, "like that of an angry man." Very
likely he is angry; no snails for supper,
perhaps, or his bed not quite damp enough. Pliny
—who always will have his say—enlightens
us as follows with respect to the frog's
harmonious utterance: "Frogs have their
tongues in the forepart fast to the mouth,
the hinder part within, towards the throat, is
free and at libertie, whereby they keep that
croaking which we hear at one season of the
yeare, and then they bee named Olalygones;
for at that time they let down their nether