THE TALE OF A FROG. 



GEORGE J. VARNEY. 



Gliding along in my canoe in the twilight 

 of a warm day early in September, I was 

 struck with the lively chatter of various 

 kinds of frogs in different parts of the 

 pond. 



In another quarter a big bullfrog seemed 

 to be addressing a meeting of his kindred 

 and comrades. 



It occurred to me this might be the very 

 frog of whose taming and captivity my 



THE DOCTOR AND THE WORM. 



"Chock, chock, chock!" said a company 

 of marsh frogs in a stretch of grassy wa- 

 ter along the shore. 



"Kuk, kuk, kr-ruk," responded a group 

 of green frogs in 

 nook. 



a deeply shaded 



friend the Doctor, living on the opposite 

 shore of the pond, had given me an ac- 

 count some days before. 



My approach, and the rattling of the 

 oars," as I laid them in the boat, were prob- 

 ably the cause of a short silence. 



It was 



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