194 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



I might prove dangerous, he thought, and afar over the 

 meadows he flew. 



I heard him croaking, when a quarter of a mile away, 

 I am sure, and straightway his hoarse cry was answered 

 from my tree. " Another cuckoo here ?" I asked myself, 

 and looked everywhere above, below, and about me. I 

 strained every muscle to see the outermost branches of 

 the tree that I was in, and scanned each neighboring 

 tree as carefully. There was no bird visible, and yet a 

 guttural " cuck, cuck, cuck," was continually rung in my 

 ears. Finally, looking directly below me, I saw a shal- 

 low hole, where a weak side-branch had rotted off, and 

 in it, squatted in the rain-water lodged therein, sat a 

 tree-toad. The creature was far in advance of me in 

 tree topics. Here he was with his bath-tub and certain 

 of a moderate food supply, even if he sat still. A snug- 

 ger nest I never found, and am only puzzled that its 

 occupant should croak instead of sing. Why any bird 

 or batrachian should ever express itself in such doleful 

 tones is a hard nut, I take it, for evolutionists to crack. 

 It does not seem, in any case, to subserve any good pur- 

 pose. It is not a call to its mate, and tree -toads can 

 hardly be said to ever be mated ; it brings no food and 

 frightens no enemies. Like dyspeptics among mankind, 

 in the case of the tree-toads they sit still and croak pret- 

 ty much their whole lives ; or in that of cuckoos, wander 

 the country over and never cease croaking. The truth 

 is, the cuckoo has a far easier time than most birds, and 

 its voice suggests that it is a natural fault-finder. 



Ofttimes the fool the universe would rule. 

 The world moves on, and disregards the fool. 



