262 LEAVES FROM THE BOOK OF NATURE. 



the Chaldeans had captured the great patriarch, and 

 thrown him into the fire, to be burnt unto death, hosts 

 of indignant and sympathizing frogs appeared from all 

 sides, and, pouring water on the flames, rescued the Holy 

 Father. Horace detested them, in common with Italy's 

 own peculiar plague; they disturbed his sleep on the 

 famous journey to Brindisi. The peasants of France, too, 

 pursued them, at one time, with almost intense hatred. 

 No wonder for they were, by law, compelled to beat, 

 night after night, the water in moats and ditches around 

 the nobleman's castles, that the croaking of frogs might 

 not disturb his lordship's slumbers! Their song, we fear, 

 is not much more appreciated in our day. In vain do 

 we associate it with the return of spring, the sense of 

 genial warmth and the renewal of fuller life and vigor. 

 They have but a single sound, the U, and this they utter 

 through the whole diapason, in all possible height and 

 depth, from spring until autumn. They are a merry set 

 of summer beings. Buried in deep slumber during win- 

 ter, the first rays of the spring sun awake them to life. 

 At first lazy and silent, they revive as earth and water 

 grow warmer. Beautifully dressed in green hunter's garb, 

 their bright, lively eyes set in golden frames, they squat 

 gravely down on a sunny bank, and, opening wide their 

 huge mouths, they look the very picture of homely com- 

 fort and broad humor. They have no lips, and have the 

 appearance of being doomed to eternal silence. But they 

 know, very soon, how to swell their wide throats, that 

 shine in dark nights, and to puff out the huge cheeks 

 with their enormous air-bladders inside. How lustily the 



