A Water Garden 



At the latter period the little spot that Frogs 

 I call my water garden is really quite a &*. 

 sight for such a humble affair, a mere 

 mud-hole as it were, formed by a spring 

 at the foot of the hill, which makes a tiny 

 frog-pond, about ten feet or less in diame- 

 ter. The frogs themselves are quite orna- 

 mental, wearing, as they do, the most gor- 

 geous yellow and green coats, and being 

 quite sociable and friendly, ready to sit 

 on a chip and croak when we pay them 

 a visit, and making music for us in the 

 spring before the birds are fairly abroad. 

 The old bull-frog, with a hoarse cold, is 

 not always a comfort, for he has a way of 

 coughing at night, like an asthmatic old 

 gentleman, that is sometimes distressing, 

 if you lie awake to listen, for it makes you 

 sure his family must be anxious about him ; 

 but the piping little ones have quite a 

 cheerful note, which blends agreeably with 

 the chirpings of the grasshoppers. 



On the marshy banks of the little pool, 

 which cannot comfortably be reached with- 

 out overshoes, some slim Willows are 

 bravely growing, which I fear will some 

 day make it too shady for the flowers, but 

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