My Boyhood and Touth 



made short zigzag flights over the grass utter- 

 ing only Uttle short, crisp quacks and chucks. 



The love-songs of the frogs seemed hardly 

 less wonderful than those of the birds, their 

 musical notes varying from the sweet, tranquil, 

 soothing peeping and purring of the hylas to the 

 awfully deep low-bass blunt bellowing of the 

 bullfrogs. Some of the smaller species have 

 wonderfully clear, sharp voices and told us 

 their good Bible names in musical tones about 

 as plainly as the whip-poor-will. Isaac, Isaac ; 

 Yacob, Yacob ; Israel, Israel ; shouted in sharp, 

 ringing, far-reaching tones, as if they had all 

 been to school and severely drilled in elocution. 

 In the still, warm evenings, big bunchy bull- 

 frogs bellowed, Drunk! Drunk! Drunk! Jug o' 

 rum! Jug o' rum! and early in the spring, count- 

 less thousands of the commonest species, up to 

 the throat in cold water, sang in concert, mak- 

 ing a mass of music, such as it was, loud enough 

 to be heard at a distance of more than half a 

 mile. 



Far, far apart from this loud marsh music is 

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