A HUNT IN A HORSE-POND

From ‘Curiosities of Natural History’

Well, let us have a look at the pond-world; choose a dry place at the side, and fix our eyes steadily upon the dirty water:  what shall we see?  Nothing at first; but wait a minute or two:  a little round black knob appears in the middle; gradually it rises higher and higher, till at last you can make out a frog’s head, with his great eyes staring hard at you, like the eyes of the frog in the woodcut facing AEsop’s fable of the frog and the bull.  Not a bit of his body do you see:  he is much too cunning for that; he does not know who or what you are; you may be a heron, his mortal enemy, for aught he knows.  You move your arm:  he thinks it is the heron’s bill coming; down he goes again, and you see him not:  a few seconds, he regains courage and reappears, having probably communicated the intelligence to the other frogs; for many big heads and many big eyes appear, in all parts of the pond, looking like so many hippopotami on a small scale.  Soon a conversational “Wurk; wurk, wurk,” begins:  you don’t understand it; luckily, perhaps, as from the swelling in their throats it is evident that the colony is outraged by the intrusion, and the remarks passing are not complimentary to the intruder.  These frogs are all respectable, grown-up, well-to-do frogs, and they have in this pond duly deposited their spawn, and then, hard-hearted creatures! left it to its fate; it has, however, taken care of itself, and is now hatched, at least that part of it which has escaped the hands of the gipsies, who not unfrequently prescribe baths of this natural jelly for rheumatism....

In some places, from their making this peculiar noise, frogs have been called “Dutch nightingales.”  In Scotland, too, they have a curious name, Paddock or Puddick; but there is poetical authority for it:—­

     “The water-snake whom fish and paddocks feed,
     With staring scales lies poisoned.”—­DRYDEN.

Returning from the University of Giessen, I brought with me about a dozen green tree-frogs, which I had caught in the woods near the town.  The Germans call them laub-frosch, or leaf-frog; they are most difficult things to find, on account of their color so much resembling the leaves on which they live.  I have frequently heard one singing in a small bush, and though I have searched carefully, have not been able to find him:  the only way is to remain quite quiet till he again begins his song.  After much ambush-work, at length I collected a dozen frogs and put them in a bottle.  I started at night on my homeward journey by the diligence, and I put the bottle containing the frogs into the pocket inside the diligence.  My fellow-passengers were sleepy old smoke-dried Germans:  very little conversation took place, and after the first mile every one settled himself to sleep, and soon all were snoring.  I suddenly awoke with a start, and found all the sleepers