public speaking in a clear flute-like voice,
which you may distinctly hear further off than
I dare state, and which has earned for him,
from ill-natured auditors, the nickname of
roquet, cur-dog, or barker. But, as every
village dame thinks the mew of her own
proper cat melodious; as every proprietor of a
husky-voiced dog considers that hoarse dog's
bark equal to the finest tenor voice; why may
I not rank the cry of my protégé to be equal
in tone to the sweetest flageolet?

My first acquaintance with him happened
thus:— Walking in the environs of Padua one
blazing September afternoon, while wondering
whether Portia had ever strolled in that
direction, my eye was caught by the leaf of a
plane-tree, whose yellowness betrayed the
approach of autumn. In the middle of that
leaf was a bright green spot, in which, on
close inspection, might be detected something
of a human shape, squatting close, with eyes,
hands, arms, and legs, of tiny and imp-like
symmetry. It was a miniature of Nicholas
Senior, after he has put on his pea-green
suit, which he keeps in his wardrobe for
state occasions. It was Puck crouching low,
to catch the fairies at some forbidden frolic
that would get them a good scolding from
their Queen, Titania. I seized the little
demon, plane-leaf and all, wrapped him
well in a lawn handkerchief, put him in
my pocket, and stalked back to the city, to
examine the prisoner in the presence of
witnesses. When the court of inquiry was
formally opened, though the handkerchief
was all right, Mr. Verdant Sticky toes was
gone.

Padua and its arcaded streets were nearly
forgotten; I was crossing a vast tract of
fertile country in the north of France, which,
long after the foundation of Padua, was
nothing more than a tidal estuary, but is now
good dry solid land, selling at a high price
per acre. In a pond, in this consolidated
estuary, I again beheld Mr. Verdant taking
a bath, which is rather contrary to his daily
habits. This time I captured and kept
him. Safe imprisoned in a crystal cage, with
every comfort except liberty, he was
exhibited to numerous wondering Frenchmen,
who were astonished to learn that the Stickytoes
family were settled in the neighbourhood.
Since that date, lettres de câchet have
been issued against many innocent members
of the race by parties desirous of possessing
specimens of hyla viridis, or rana arborea, or
rainette, or graisset, or tree-frog, or grenouille
de St. Martin, all which are aliases adopted
by these slippery gentlemen.

Hyla is derived from the Greek word
'???, a wood, and is appropriately given to
that branch of the frog family which are
adepts in climbing. The English popular
mind is acquainted only with frogs that swim
in the water or leap over the grass; but the
hylæ are gifted with the faculty of mounting,
which they accomplish by means of an expansion
of the skin, forming a moist disk, at the
tip of each toe, on the hind feet as well as on
the fore, evidently acting as a sucker, like
the round bits of wet leather at the end of a
string with which school-boys delight to
carry stones. It is this peculiarity which
distinguishes them from frogs proper and
from toads in general, enabling them to
adhere and hang even to the underside of
leaves. Hylæ are aquatic in their habits
only at certain seasons. They are oviparous,
tailless quadrupeds, whose reproduction, and
the growth of whose tadpoles, accord exactly
with those of the grand assemblage of toads
and frogs. When their spawn is once
deposited, they betake themselves to the
cultivated uplands, catching their prey amongst
the growing corn. The greater part of my
summer captures have been made in hawthorn
hedges, where the Messieurs Stickytoes hop
from twig to twig in chase of the gnats, with
the ease of a tomtit in a lilac bush. In fact,
they are fond of air and sunshine, and warmth.
Their bold leaps resemble those of the flying
squirrel; they have no fear of consequences
when they dart from a branch. An insect
passes within vaulting range; they spring at
it into mid air, and a clutch at a leaf with a
single hand, or even a finger or two, is
sufficient to uphold them.

In captivity, they jump with equal expertness
and grace if a bluebottle is introduced
within their crystal prison. Their diet
appears to be living insects exclusively;
some books talk of feeding them on bread
and milk, but I have seen no symptom that
they would accept such an Arcadian
regimen. Hence, they are useful friends and
neighbours in a country plagued with insect
vermin. If St. Patrick had been lord of an
island swarming with mosquitos and blowflies,
he would have welcomed tree-frogs, and made
them comfortable at home, instead of banishing
them from his realms. They do no harm,
if they do no good, even supposing that you
neither eat them nor amuse yourself with
their antics; but you may do both profitably.
The hylæ fill a respectable and useful position
in the world, and have no right to be spoken
of with disparagement. Jumpers you may
style them if you like, but I cannot agree to
call them reptiles. An open attack is not a
crawling surprise. They do not appear to
exercise on their victims any of the terror
or fascination attributed to snakes; on the
contrary, they manifest a certain forbearance
and dry humour. The flies seem to have no
instinctive dread of the owner of the mouth
that is soon to entomb them. A bluebottle
will walk up the inclined plane of a hyla's
back, settling on the tip of his nose as a
convenient point whence to enjoy the prospect.
Stickytoes remains politely immovable,
showing no outward symptom of the
tickling he must have felt on his skin, but
simply rolling his prominent eyes at the
uninvited visitor. The fly soon starts off for an