AUGUST 297 



Another instant and the pink thing has twisted itself round the 

 insect and retired into the capacious mouth, and there, once more 

 wrapped in deep peace and rest, sits the toad, its eyes turned in 

 pious thankfulness to heaven, or, rather, to the roof of the green- 

 house. The other day even I saw Martha take a woodlouse off 

 her own head. Mistaking the nature of its foothold the insect 

 had been so unfortunate as to run up her back, till, becoming 

 aware of the tickling of its little feet, Martha guessed the unusual 

 situation and acted on it with all the decision of the great. 



If the observer wishes to see what my old head gardener calls 

 'the beauty of the thing,' woodlice and centipedes undoubtedly 

 provide the best show; but for real grim earnest, for a perfect 

 microcosm of the struggle for existence in which somebody has 

 to go down, the spectacle of Martha meeting with a selected 

 lobworm is to be recommended. In this instance she sees the 

 thing at once, for it is long, active, and shiny (toads will not 

 touch anything that is dead), and instantly clears for action. 

 Creeping forward with a dreadful deliberation, she arches her neck 

 over the worm, considering it with her beady eye. Then, as 

 it begins to take refuge beneath the shingle for worms seem to 

 understand that toads are no friends to them Martha pounces 

 and grips it by the middle. Next comes a long strain, like that 

 of a thrush dragging at a brandling in the garden, and after the 

 strain, the struggle. 



Heavens ! what a fight it is ! Magnify the size of the com- 

 batants by five hundred, and no man would dare to stay to look 

 at it. The worm writhes and rolls ; Martha, seated on her bulging 

 haunches, beats its extremities with her front paws cramming, 

 pushing, gulping, and lo ! gradually the worm seems to shorten. 

 Shorter it grows, and shorter yet. It is vanishing into Martha's 

 inside. And now nothing is left but a little pink tip projecting 

 from the corner of her mouth, in appearance not unlike that of a 

 lighted cigarette. 



The tip vanishes, and you think that the tragedy is over. But 

 no ; presently there is a convulsion, followed by a resurrection as 



