Fish, as a rule, do not live more than a few minutes out of the water. An Eel, however, will remain alive for many hours, and even days, in atmospheric air, provided it is laid in a damp place. Now, if one be carefully watched when placed upon dry land, it will be observed to pout out the cheeks on both sides of its face. Underneath this puffedout skin will be found the gills, and the skin which covers them will be seen to be so arranged as to form a closed sac, which the Eel fills with water, and so keeps the gill-fibres moist. This wonderful contrivance enables the Eel to come out of the water, and to travel, so to speak, by land. Thus Eels are often found in outlying ponds of human construction, where they were never placed by the hand of man. Finding old quarters uncomfortable, they take in a good supply of water, and exchange them for the better, not by repeated leaps towards the water, as some fish are known to do, but by a smooth, uniform snake-like progression.

That some fishes should leave the water and travel overland is, perhaps, not more remarkable than that some birds, the ouzel for example, should leave their natural element and fly into and under the water. Whoever knows the hidden

paths of the marsh has doubtless watched the brown-hued Eels wriggling their way through the grass from one pool to another, especially at night, leaving their home and wandering about, seemingly unconscious whither their pilgrimage will end.

"Slippery as an Eel" is proverbial. Many a person has, by his slick, cunning ways, succeeded in eluding the law and escaping justice, affording an apt illustration of the character of the animal about which we have been talking, but the slipperiness of the Eel is not given to it that it may take some unlawful advantage of its neighbors, but that it may the more readily slip from the grasp of a more powerful enemy, or the more easily make its way into the muddy depths of the pond or stream which it so very much affects. So it will be seen that while this slippery character in the one is protective, in the economy of nature, for a wise and laudable purpose, yet in the other it but secures to the possessor the getting of an ignoble gain and the ruin of a once proud

name.

While these agile denizens of aquatic life are selfish and voracious almost beyond precedent, and apparently more concerned in feeding than in anything else, there are certainly some traits in their character which are redeeming features. Low as they are in the scale of piscine existences, occupying the very lowest family of the Anguillidine Apodes, they are none the less susceptible to the human influence of kindness. They grow accustomed to man when good is at the basis of his actions, and have been known to accept food from his hand. They remember the face of a friend, and when it is presented at the door of glass, so to speak, that opens the way to their home, they come without fear or suspicion showing itself in their movements. Even the sound of the voice of a benefactor awakens a sympathetic response in their bosoms.

RANA AND BUFO.

BEL

ELONGING to the lower vertebrates is a family of animals called scientifically Ranidæ, but which are, popularly speaking, best known as frogs. They are queerlooking creatures, scarcely met with in Australia and South America, but reaching their highest state in the East Indies. They are capable of enduring great changes of heat and cold, and can live on land as well as in water, provided they have the amount of moisture necessary to preserve the suppleness of their skins. Salt water is fatal to the frog in any stage of its existence.

Rana clamata, the lusty croaker of the summer pond, is our most familiar species. He may be recognized by the colors of his dress, in which green, bronze, gold and silver play important parts, and by the ear-splitting character of his vocal intonations. The glandular ridges down the skin of his back, together with his strange coloration, singularly fit him for his home. Imitations of the stems of plants are seen in the darker ridges, and their leafage in the green color of his coat. The silver of his vest has the glimmer of the water in which he bathes, and the moist earth seems to have left its stain upon his brownish feet and markings, while the yellow of the several badges that adorn his person in being like the stamens and pistils of the surrounding flowers, and of the hue of many buds and blossoms, adds largely to his protective display. Thus is the frog in his natural haunts protected by his garments, and, unless he stirs or is betrayed by his full, bright eyes or the palpitation of his breast, he is not likely to be observed.

Four fingers or toes are found upon the anterior extremities, while those of the posterior are five in number and webbed. The front legs are much shorter, smaller and weaker than the hind ones, which are largely developed, and thus serviceable in swimming and leaping.

Though the frog is possessed of a back-bone, yet he has no ribs. Being ribless, he cannot expand and contract his chest in breathing, but must swallow what air he requires. In swallowing the air he must close the mouth and take the air in only by the nostrils; therefore, oddly enough, if his mouth is forcibly kept open, he will smother. The frog's breathing, a fact not generally known, is partly through his skin, which gives off carbonic acid gas; and moisture, therefore, is just as essential to his skin as it is to the gills of a fish. Damp, rainy weather is his extreme delight. When the rain falls, out come the frogs. Their skin absorbs moisture, which is stored up in internal reservoirs, and some of this water, when these timid creatures are alarmed by being suddenly seized, is ejected, but I do not think that it is purposely so done, as the water is not, as some people have fancied, of a poisonous nature. Frogs have no poison-sacs, and in truth no weapons of any kind.

Open a frog's mouth, and you will find but a few tiny teeth in the upper jaw and palate, which are useful for the partial grinding up of horny insects. His tongue you will discover to be a very odd affair, which is fastened at the front end of the mouth, the hinder part being free and hanging down the creature's throat. This organ is covered with a glue-like secretion. When an insect is to be captured, it is snapped forward from the mouth, and, striking the insect, which it seldom fails to do, causes it to adhere as to birdlime.

A few thoughts now about the life-history of the frog. From egg to egg is the story. In roundish masses, upon sticks lying in water, or upon the leaves and stems of submerged water-plants, are the eggs deposited. The creature

that comes from the egg is no more like a frog than a caterpillar is like a butterfly. It has a large head, small tail, branched gills, and is devoid of limbs, resembling, in this stage, more a fish than a frog. This is its early childhood, or tadpole state. It can only live in water now, and swims and feeds from the very moment it leaves the egg. Change in form almost immediately begins, the branched gills being drawn within the neck and hidden, a pair of fore-legs beginning to bud, and subsequently a pair of hind-legs, which push out much faster than the fore-legs. As the legs grow, the tail is gradually absorbed and disappears. The interior of the body meanwhile changes, the lungs and heart becoming reptilian. When the gills and tail are gone, and the legs are fully formed, the once-swimming tadpole hops out of the water a perfectly-formed frog.

When first the tadpole emerged from the egg, it ate the jelly-like cover. Then soft animal and vegetable matters, with the strengthening of its pair of horny jaws, began to be devoured. Insects later on, and even its own kith and kin, became its food. The fare of the adult frog is almost exclusively insect in character, although necessity sometimes drives him to make a meal out of some of his weaker brethren.

Seated in cool, leafy shadows, not far from his favorite stream or pool, the frog watches with his great, black, goldringed eyes for such insects as good fortune shall bring to his retreat. As one hovers near, out flies his limber, sticky, ribbon-like tongue, true to its mark, and the hapless insect, adhering to the viscid projected ribbon, is gently and cleverly deposited in the open throat, the frog maintaining all the while an air of calm, superior self-satisfaction, as if he had not so much satisfied an appetite as fulfilled the mission of ridding nature of a superfluous insect.

A most harmless, timid and interesting animal is the frog, and often most unfortunate. He is the legitimate mark for all the missiles that can be thrown at him by urchins wandering