Galicians. The only " roads " were mere clearings, leaving exposed 

 the black soil, rich in humus to a considerable depth, and remark- 

 ably free from even the smallest stones. No hedges, no green grass, 

 almost no roadside ditches or bridges over hollows and streams, the 

 few exceptions being usually the competitive achievements of par- 

 liamentary candidates. In wet weather these roads were often 

 impassable to pedestrians, and occasionally even to horses, when it 

 would be necessary to make a detour of several miles before regain- 

 ing the track. 



One Sunday afternoon my friend Dr. C. C. Monro (who was in 

 charge of a medical mission in Ethelbert, and whose grandfather 

 was the Fraser from whom the river in British Columbia received 

 its name), drove me in his buggy to give me an opportunity for in- 

 specting a typical farm and homestead. The outward journey of 

 six miles was delightfully pleasant, the ground dry and firm and the 

 weather sunn3\ 



During the afternoon, in this hospitable house, a terrific thunder- 

 storm broke overhead, and the rain came down, as it frequently 

 does there, in amazing torrents. On the homeward route most of 

 the country was inundated, and in some parts the water reached 

 the horse's belly and even flowed over the floor of the carriage. 



The uniform flatness of these wide prairie and bush regions makes 

 drainage extremely difficult ; many a " quarter-section " of land 

 such as this is entirely useless for cultivation. Naturally such 

 swampy country abounds in frogs, and here were myriads of both 

 the common species and the much larger and handsome Bull-frog, 

 Baua Juilt'si)ia, whose body, without including the limbs, may 

 attain a length of eight inches. 



There are no "silent nights" in summer. The eternal croaking 

 of millions of these batrachians makes night in their vicinity 

 hideous. It was amusing to find in repeating the Chorus of Frogs 

 — ppeKeK€K^^ Kod^ Kod^ — how naturally Aristophanes has imitated their 

 cacophonous clamour. Sometimes I sat on a fallen trunk in view 

 of their watery haunts. Startled by my approach all would have 

 disappeared, and, except in the distance, not a sound could be heard. 

 Presently one little head would appear above the surface, uttering 

 the familiar note, then another, followed by numbers in quick suc- 

 cession, until after five minutes or so the concert would be again in 

 full voice and the hubbub as great as ever. As I lay in bed in the 

 irame building, dignified by the name of Hotel, I could still hear 



