NEAR VIEWS OF WILD LIFE 



began to swell and foreshorten, and when I used my 

 finger instead of the twig, he puffed up very rapidly, 

 rose up more upon his feet, and bowed his head. 

 As I continued the titillation he began to give 

 forth broken, subdued croaks, and I wondered if 

 he were going to break out in song. He did not, 

 but he seemed loath to go his way. How different 

 he looked from the dark-colored frogs which in 

 large numbers make a multitudinous croaking and 

 clucking in the little wild pools in spring! He 

 wakes up from his winter nap very early and is in 

 the pools celebrating his nuptials as soon as the ice 

 is off them, and then in two or three days he takes 

 to the open woods and assumes the assimilative 

 coloring of the dry leaves. 



The little orange-colored salamander, a most 

 delicate and highly colored little creature, is as 

 harmless as a baby, and about as slow and un- 

 decided in its movements. Its cold body seems 

 to like the warmth of your hand. Yet in color 

 it is as rich an orange as the petal of the cardinal 

 flower is a rich scarlet. It seems more than an 

 outside color; it is a glow, and renders the crea- 

 ture almost transparent, an effect as uniform as 

 the radiance of a precious stone. Its little, inno- 

 cent-looking, three-toed foot, or three and a half 

 toed how unreptilian it looks through my pocket 

 glass! A baby's hand is not more so. Its throb- 

 bing throat, its close-shut mouth, its jet-black eyes 



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