46 
A SONG OF THE NIGHT 
Shakespeare never could have thought of the Toad 
as ugly or venomous had he known whose voice it 
was that told of spring to the silent earth under the 
belated moon* The jewel is a happy tradition* 
When a Toad sheds his skin, which, being a great 
economist, he invariably swallows, patches of new 
skin, generally on the head, present a surface of glassy 
smoothness* These, accidentally seen at a favourable 
angle in the moonlight, glisten like crystals of ice* 
As we know the Toads better and learn that their 
jewels are unreal we also learn to appreciate them for 
what they are* They are neither ugly nor venomous, 
and if they are not adorned with jewels they are 
gifted to charm the ear of spring with the sweetest 
of night voices. 
There are other voices calling in the loneliness of 
the great awakening. The Leopard Frog must be a 
most impatient suitor, for his harsh, brief, colloquial 
baritone seems intolerant of delay. It is passing 
strange that a Frog so handsome in form and colour 
should find expression in such hard, aggressive tones. 
The little Hylas are almost forgotten in the loud and 
varied chorus. They are diminutive members of the 
family, but their persistence forces recognition. That 
shrill, gurgling “ preep ! preep ! ” repeated again 
and again in indifference to other expanding night 
sounds, tells where they are floating among the weeds, 
inflating and emptying their little vibrant throats* 
