I0 6 IN SPRING. 



haps never are these slimy batrachians so noisy 

 as when the night is warm, the sky clear, and 

 the moon full in April. Take a midnight ramble 

 then, and see if I am not right. Of course, no 

 one wishes to be confined to the company of 

 croaking frogs, but other creatures will doubtless 

 cross your path, and I assume the reader does 

 not live in an utterly desolate region. My refer- 

 ence to frogs may seem to imply contempt, but 

 it is not deserved. If they are not overwise, 

 neither are they wholly stupid, and it is well for 

 all men to be chary of their judgments. There 

 are times and occasions when a frog may outwit 

 a philosopher. Try to catch one on slippery 

 mud, and see which sprawls the more gracefully. 

 I recently rambled for half a night over acres 

 of wild marsh, and, while I often wished myself 

 at home or that I could grasp the arm of a friend, 

 yet am heartily glad, now that it is over, that I 

 undertook to trespass upon the haunts of owls, 

 frogs, bitterns, and a host of minor creatures. 

 But let me be more explicit, and a word further 

 concerning frogs. In the tide marshes, where 

 the shallow water has been warmed by the nooa- 

 day sun, the pretty little hylodes were holding 

 high carnival. I strolled leisurely, at this stage 

 of my ramble, to the water's edge, but only to find 

 that the creatures could only be heard, not seen ; 

 unless, indeed, the trembling specks upon the 



