[Illustration]
The frog and the toad suffer, in this world of injustice, from a
deprival of the respect and esteem that is certainly their due. In the
case of the frog this may be due largely to the animal's headlong and
harlequin-like character, but the toad is a steady personage, whose
solemnity of deportment, not to speak of his stoutness, entitles him to
high consideration in a world where grave dulness and personal
circumference always attract reverence. The opening lines of a certain
famous poem have without a doubt done much to damage the dignity of the
frog. "The frog he would a-wooing go" is not, perhaps, disrespectful,
although flippant; but "whether his mother would let him or no" is a
gross insult. Of course, it is a matter upon which no self-respecting
frog ever consults his mother; but the absurd jingle is immortal, and
the frog's dignity suffers by it. Then there is a certain pot-bellied
smugness of appearance about the frog that provokes a smile in the
irreverent. Still, the frog has received some consideration in his time.
The great Homer himself did not disdain to sing the mighty battle of the
frogs and mice; and Aristophanes gave the frogs a most important chorus
in one of his comedies; moreover, calling the whole comedy "The Frogs,"
although he had his choice of title-names among many very notable
characters--Æschylus, Euripides, Bacchus, Pluto, Proserpine, and other
leaders of society. Still, in every way the frog and the toad are
underesteemed--as though such a thing as a worthy family frog or an
honourable toad of business were in Nature impossible. It is not as
though they were useless. The frog's hind legs make an excellent dish
for those who like it, as well as a joke for those who don't. Powdered
toad held in the palm is a fine thing to stop the nose bleeding--or, at
any rate, it was a couple of hundred years ago, according to a dear old
almanac I have. On the same unimpeachable authority I may fearlessly
affirm a smashed frog--smashed on the proper saint's day--in conjunction
with hair taken from a ram's forehead and a nail stolen from a piebald
mare's shoe, to be a certain remedy for ague, worn in a little leather
bag. If it fails it will be because the moon was in the wrong quarter,
or the mare was not sufficiently piebald, or the nail was not stolen
with sufficient dishonesty, or some mistake of that sort.
[Illustration: A SMALL LUNCH.]
Personally, I am rather fond of frogs and toads. This, of course, in a
strictly platonic sense, and entirely apart from dinner. A toad I admire
even more than a frog, because of his gentlemanly calm. He never rushes
at his food ravenously, as do so many other creatures. Place a worm near
him and you will see. He inspects the worm casually, first with one eye
and then with the other, as who would say: "Luncheon? Certainly.
Delighted, I'm sure." Then he sits placidly awhile, as though thinking
of something else altogether. Presently he rises slightly on his feet
and looks a little--very little--more attentively at the worm. "Oh,
yes," he is saying--"luncheon, of course. Whenever you like, you know."
And he becomes placid again, as though interested in the general
conversation. After a little he suddenly straightens his hind legs and
bends down over the worm, like a man saying, "Ah, and what have we got
here now? Oh, worm--_ver au naturel_--capital, capital!" After this
there is nothing to do but to eat, and this the toad does without the
smallest delay. For leisurely indifference, followed by a business-like
grab, nothing can beat a toad. Almost before the cover is lifted,
figuratively speaking, the worm's head and tail are wriggling, like a
lively moustache, out of the sides of the toad's mouth. The head and
tail he gently pats in with his hands, and there is no longer any worm;
after which the toad smiles affably and comfortably, possibly meditating
a liqueur. I have an especial regard for the giant toad in one of the
cases against the inner wall of the reptile-house lobby. There is a
pimpliness of countenance and a comfortable capaciousness of waistcoat
about him that always make me wonder what he has done with his
churchwarden and pewter. He has a serene, confidential,
well-old-pal-how-are-you way of regarding Tyrrell, his keeper. Of late
(for some few months, that is) the giant toad has been turning something
over in his mind, as one may perceive from his cogitative demeanour. He
is thinking, I am convinced, of the new Goliath Beetle. The Goliath
Beetle, he is thinking, would make rather a fit supper for the Giant
Toad. This because he has never seen the beetle. His mind might be set
at rest by an introduction to Goliath, but the acquaintanceship would do
no good to the beetle's morals. At present Goliath is a most exemplary
vegetarian and tea-drinker, but evil communications with that pimply,
dissipated toad would wreck his principles.
[Illustration: "THINK I COULD MANAGE THAT BEETLE, TYRRELL?"]
[Illustration: EVIL COMMUNICATIONS.]
Why one should speak of the Adorned Ceratophrys when the thing might
just as well be called the Barking Frog, I don't know. Let us compromise
and call him the Adorned C., in the manner of Mr. Wemmick. I respect the
Adorned C. almost as much as if he were a toad instead of a frog, but
chiefly I admire his mouth. A crocodile has a very respectable
mouth--when it separates its jaws it opens its head. But when the
Adorned C. smiles he opens out his entire anatomical bag of tricks--
comes as near bisecting himself indeed as may be; opens, in short, like
a Gladstone bag. From a fat person, of course, you expect a broad,
genial smile; but you are doubly gratified when you find it extending
all round him. That, you feel, is indeed no end of a smile--and that is
the smile of the Adorned C.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "DON'T SQUEEZE SO, TYRRELL!"]
[Illustration: "WANT ME TO BARK?"]
[Illustration: "HE CALLS THIS WINDING ME UP!"]
[Illustration: "SHAN'T BARK--"]
[Illustration: "SO THERE!"]
[Illustration: "STOW THAT, TYRRELL!"]
[Illustration: "HE'S ALWAYS DOING THAT."]
[Illustration: "I'LL GET SO WILD IN A MINUTE!"]
[Illustration: "GUR-R-R-R-."]
[Illustration: "WOW, WOW!"]
[Illustration: "SNAP! WOW-WOW!"]
[Illustration: "WHAT, GOT TO GO BACK?"]
[Illustration: "GOOD NIGHT. TYRRELL!"]
But, notwithstanding this smile, the Adorned C. is short of temper.
Indeed, you may only make him bark by practising upon this fact.
Tyrrell's private performance with the Adorned C. is one that
irresistibly reminds the spectator of Lieutenant Cole's with his
figures, and would scarcely be improved by ventriloquism itself. The
Adorned C. prefers biting to barking, and his bite is worse than his
bark--bites always are, except in the proverb. This is why Tyrrell holds
the Adorned C. pretty tight whenever he touches him. The one aspiration
of the Adorned C. is for a quiet life, and he defends his aspiration
with bites and barks. Tyrrell touches him gently, cautiously, and
repeatedly on the back until the annoyance is no longer to be tolerated,
and then the Adorned C. duly barks like a terrier. Now, the most
interesting thing about the Adorned C., after his mouth, is his bark,
and why he should be reluctant to exhibit it except under pressure of
irritation--why he should hide his light under a bushel of ill-temper--I
can't conceive. It is as though Patti wouldn't sing till her manager
threw an egg at her, or as though Sir Frederick Leighton would only
paint a picture after Mr. Whistler had broken his studio windows with a
brick. Even the whistling oyster of London tradition would perform
without requiring a preliminary insult or personal assault. But let us
account everything good if possible; perhaps the Adorned C. only suffers
from a modest dislike for vain display; although this is scarcely
consistent with the internal exhibition afforded by his smile.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
With the distinction of residence in the main court of the reptile-house
itself, as also with the knowledge of its rarity, the Smooth-clawed
Frog sets no small value on himself. He lives in water perpetually, and
is always bobbing mysteriously about in it with his four-fingered hands
spread out before him. This seems to me to be nothing but a vulgar
manifestation of the Smooth-clawed Frog's self-appreciation. He is like
a coster conducting a Dutch auction, except that it is himself that he
puts up for the bids of admiring visitors. With his double bunch of four
fingers held eagerly before him he says--or means to say--"'Ere--eight!
Ain't that cheap enough? Eight! Going at eight. Who says eight? Now
then--eight; for a noble frog like me!" Presently, he wriggles a little
in the water, as though vexed at the slackness of offers; then he drops
one of the hands and leaves the other outstretched. "'Ere--four!
Anythink to do business. Four! Nobody say four? Oh, blow this!" and with
a jerk of one long paddle he dives among the weeds. "Them shiny-lookin'
swells ain't got no money!" is what I am convinced he reports to
his friends.
The Smooth-clawed Frog has lately begun to breed here, a thing before
unknown; so that his rarity and value are in danger of depreciation. But
such is his inordinate conceit of himself that I am convinced he will
always begin the bidding with eight.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "HAPPY?"]
[Illustration: "I AM HAPPY."]
[Illustration: "WHY SHOULDN'T I BE HAPPY?"]
[Illustration: "THE SOCIETY LODGES ME."]
[Illustration: "TYRRELL FEEDS ME."]
[Illustration: "NO EXPENSE TO ME, YOU KNOW."]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "GOOD DAY TO YOU."]
If you rejoice in the sight of a really happy, contented frog, you
should stand long before White's Green Frog, and study his smile. No
other frog has a smile like this; some are wider, perhaps, but that is
nothing. A frog is ordained by Nature to smile much, but the smile seems
commonly one of hunger merely, though often one of stomach-ache. White's
Green Frog smiles broad content and placid felicity. Maintained in
comfort, with no necessity to earn his living, this is probably natural;
still, the bison enjoys the same advantages, although nobody ever saw
him smile; but, then, an animal soon to become extinct can scarcely be
expected to smile. In the smile of White's Green Frog, however, I fear,
a certain smug, Pecksniffian quality is visible. "I am a Numble
individual, my Christian friends," he seems to say, "and my wants, which
are few and simple, are providentially supplied. Therefore, I am Truly
Happy. It is no great merit in my merely batrachian nature that I am
Truly Happy; a cheerful countenance, my friends, is a duty imposed on me
by an indulgent Providence." White's Green Frog may, however, be in
reality a frog of excellent moral worth: and I trust that Green's White
Frog, if ever he is discovered, will be a moral frog too.
[Illustration: "HERE WE ARE!"]
[Illustration: "HOW DO? I'M OFF."]
[Illustration: "EH?"]
[Illustration: "WHAT?"]
[Illustration: "WHO'S THAT?"]
[Illustration]
By-the-bye, some green frogs are blue. That is to say, individuals of
the green species have been found of the skyey colour and sold at a good
price as rarities. When it was not easy to find one already blue, the
prudent tradesman kept a green frog in a blue glass vase for a few
weeks, and brought it out as blue as you might wish. The colour stayed
long enough, as a rule, to admit of sale at a decent price, but was
liable to fade after. As I think I have said, the toad is distinguished
by a placid calm denied to the frog; therefore it is singular that the
ordinary toad's Latin name should be _Bufo vulgaris_--a name suggestive
of nothing so much as a low--disgracefully low--comedian. _Bufo
vulgaris_ should be the name of a very inferior, rowdy clown. The frog
is a much nearer approximation to this character than the toad. The frog
comes headlong with a bound, a bunch of legs and arms, with his "Here we
are again! Fine day to-morrow, wasn't it?" and goes off with another
bound, before the toad, who is gravely analyzing the metaphysical aspect
of nothing in particular, can open his eyes to look up. The toad has one
comic act, however, of infinitely greater humour than the bouncing
buffooneries of the frog. When the toad casts his skin he quietly rolls
it up over his back and head, just as a man skins off a close-fitting
jersey. Once having drawn it well over his nose, however, he immediately
proceeds to cram it down his throat with both hands, and so it finally
disappears. Now, this is a performance of genuine and grotesque humour,
which it is worth keeping a toad to see.
* * * * *
_The Helmet._
From the French by Ferdinand Beissier.
[Illustration]
"But, uncle--I love my cousin!"
"Get out!"
"Give her to me."
"Don't bother me!"
"It will be my death!"
"Nonsense! you'll console yourself with some other girl."
"Pray--"
My uncle, whose back had been towards me, whirled round, his face red to
bursting, and brought his closed fist down upon the counter with a
heavy thump.
"Never!" he cried; "never: Do you hear what I say?"