A SUMMER AT HOME. 308 



strange to call the cry of the bullfrog pleasant ; but this 

 depends upon the occasion and the time, for there are 

 times when it fits admirably with the united voices of 

 frogs, birds, and insects. It is with this frog as with 

 the little red owl. Lowell has justly remarked that the 

 screech-owl, despite his ill name, has a cry that is " one 

 of the sweetest sounds in nature." 



The toads also sang until past midnight. They, too, 

 seemed to be all in the meadows, while through the 

 day I find them plentifully in every one of the high, 

 dry, dusty upland fields. More careful observation of 

 this has led to the fact that directly after sundown a 

 large number of the toads go to the meadows and re- 

 main until daybreak. A greater abundance of food, I 

 suppose, is the impelling cause of this migration, if such 

 it can be called ; but why, I have asked myself, do not 

 these upland toads, that sleep all day, stay in the mead- 

 ows? Surely there is room enough and quiet enough 

 to enable them to sleep comfortably. I am tired of 

 guessing, and until a toad can be taught to rise and ex- 

 plain, it will probably remain a mystery. 



My old toad, that for years has had cosey quarters 

 near the kitchen door, I find goes nightly to the mead- 

 ows. I followed it yesterday from the doorstep to the 

 tall weeds at the foot of the hill. As it slowly hopped 

 meadow-ward, taking a nearly direct course, it called 

 out at every third or fourth hop, and seemed to wait for 

 an answer. I should have liked to sit up until he came 

 home, to see if he really made a night of it, but con- 

 cluded the value of the fact not equivalent to the ex- 

 ertion demanded. 



