It has been the opinion of scientific inquirers that the frog could do a great deal more talking than he does if he chose. Certain it is that a frog, when in danger, such as being played with by a cat, can cry like a child, making himself heard two or three hundred yards away. But it is only on an emergency like this, or when assembled in conclave, that the frog cares to break his customary silence. He acquired the habit undoubtedly during the period of his sojourn under water in the guise of a tadpole. During that period of his life he had neither means nor opportunities of exchanging ideas with his fellows, and the result is the same taciturnity in afterlife that would be shown by a human being deprived during his early years of all friendly intercourse with others. That the frog possesses a strong sense of humour is undeniable. The manner in which he will sit, apparently unconscious of the approach of man, until a hand is outstretched to seize him, and will then, with a whisk and plunge, dive headlong into a pool, and lift his head from the water at a safe distance, in evident enjoyment of the trick he has played, is a proof of this.
That frogs are dainty eating is acknowledged by all who have tried them. In this respect their striking likeness upon a small scale to the human race has, doubtless, been advantageous to them, for it is this which has deterred the fastidious from feasting on them,—the idea that there is something approaching cannibalism in the consumption of a frog being still very strong in the uncultivated human mind. It has been urged, as an argument against the near relationship of frogs to the human family, that they build no abodes for themselves; but such abodes would be clearly superfluous in the case of creatures who absolutely prefer being wet to being dry, who are comfortably clothed in handsome waterproof jackets, and prefer to eat their food raw to cooking it. In some respects the frog has an advantage over the human being. He has no trouble whatever with his family, which is a large one, for, from the first, tadpoles are able to set themselves up in life without assistance from their parents.
Frogs vary in colour and habit in different countries fully as much as do the human race. Although, as a family, they prefer marshy places, some species never go near the water from the time they emerge from the tadpole state until they return to it full of family cares. There are other kinds which make their living among trees, climbing with great sureness of foot, rivalling the leaves in their hue, and feeding upon the insects that frequent them. This power of adaptation to circumstances must be taken as another proof of the intellectual development of the frog, and, had the race received as much consideration from man as has fallen to the lot of many animals, there is no saying to what point their intellectual faculties would have developed. As it is, it cannot be denied that they compare not unfavourably with similarly neglected human beings, and the frog can, at least, claim to be on a level with a Digger Indian.
Whether the frog is endowed with courage is a moot point. He has not, it is true, been seen to dispute the passage of his favourite haunts with wild beasts, or even with horses or oxen; but this may arise from magnanimity as well as from want of courage, and he may feel that, being able to enjoy the pool at all times, it would be unjust to grudge a drink occasionally to thirsty animals. As to insects, he is less tolerant, and destroys those who venture on the surface of what he considers his water with promptitude and despatch. Enough has surely been said to show that the frog is worthy of vastly higher consideration at the hands of man than he has been in the habit of receiving, and that, were it not for that unfortunate affliction in the matter of legs, frogs would attract great attention from their striking similarity to men, their meditative habits, their powers of concerted singing, and their great athletic attainments. Now that attention has been called to them, doubtless the race will be seriously studied, and it may be expected that it will be discovered that they possess far higher and finer traits of character than has hitherto been suspected.
DADDY-LONG-LEGS.
ONE compensation for the coming of winter is that at that season we are free from the presence of the daddy-long-legs, known to the scientific as Tipula oleracea, who comes among us in the autumn in vast hosts, and makes himself as unpleasantly conspicuous as possible by his earnest and persevering efforts to commit suicide in our lamps and candles. This creature is remarkable as being a standing protest against the Darwinian theory of the survival of the fittest. Nothing could be more unfit than this insect to battle for existence; his flight is slow and weary; he is incapable of dodging his pettiest foes, and his long, useless legs are everywhere in his way. Had there been anything in the theory, the Tipula oleracea would have set to work to shorten his legs, to strengthen his wings, and to attain something of the easy elegance and lightness of movement of his first cousin, the gnat. That it is no fault of his own that he has not done so we may be sure, for evidently the creature is painfully conscious of the clumsiness of his appearance and gait, and is prepared at the shortest of notice to divest himself altogether of the legs which are such an encumbrance to him. The urgency of his desire to commit suicide in the flames is another proof of his consciousness that he is a painful failure, and that the sooner he terminates his existence the better, and he gladly yields up his life on the smallest pressure between the human finger and thumb. He himself is unable to see, and no one else has been able to discover, the raison d’être of his existence. He is certainly not ornamental, nor is he useful. He has no means of defence, and seems to have no joys in his life. He does not appear to have even the pleasure of going to sleep. Other insects are diurnal or nocturnal in their habits, but the Tipula is active all day, and about and on the look-out for candles all night. The closest observer has never seen him close an eye. Even in the grub state his existence cannot be a cheerful one, unless he derives a positive pleasure from the act of devouring everything he comes across. For as a grub, he possesses no legs, and no visible eyes; he is a round, wrinkled, tough tube, and one of the most destructive of the enemies of the farmer and the gardener.
Why in one stage of his life this creature should be altogether legless, while in the other he should possess an absolute superfluity of leg, is a problem which has puzzled the deepest thinkers, and it has been suggested that the abnormal stupidity of the daddy-long-legs is caused by his own ineffectual efforts to grapple with the problem. Nature, indeed, has given to him an infinitesimally small amount of brain. While in the fly and the ant the head bears almost the same proportion to the body as it does in the human species, in the Tipula oleracea it is not the hundredth part of the bulk of the body; indeed, it is questionable whether in all nature a creature is to be found so badly provided with head. Even the rustic mind, which is slow to recognise facts in Natural History, views this unfortunate and misshapen insect with good-natured pity and sympathy. The very village boys abstain from tormenting him, partly perhaps from their feelings of kindly contempt; more because he is too slow and stupid for his chase to cause any excitement; most of all because he parts with his legs and wings so willingly that there can be no pleasure in tormenting a creature who does not care whether he loses them or not. The Tipula is spoken of by rustics as Gaffer-long-legs, sometimes as Peter—or Harry-long-legs, and is credited with a character for harmlessness and blundering well-meaningness, which is sufficiently well deserved in his state as a perfect insect, but is wide of the mark indeed in his larva stage. The wrinkled tube is one of the most voracious of creatures, and nothing comes amiss to it. The roots of grass, turnips, potatoes, and, indeed, almost all vegetables, are equally welcome. When the villa gardener sees with dismay his cherished little piece of lawn turn yellow and gradually wither up, he knows, or ought to know, that it is the work of the grub of the daddy-long-legs. He had, indeed, in the autumn watched swarms of these creatures blundering about on the grass, taking short flights of a foot or two, and settling down again, but it did not then strike him that each and every one of them was hard at work laying eggs, and that their seemingly meaningless flights were only movements from crevice to crevice in the soil, an egg being inserted in the ground whenever the Tipula could find a spot in which she could introduce it. The work of maternity once completed, the daddy-long-legs waits till nightfall, and then hastens to commit suicide at the first friendly light. As many will, if an opportunity be offered, perform this speedy despatch previous to the deposition of their eggs, those who have the wellbeing of their lawn at heart will do well to light a fire of shavings or other brightly burning stuff in the close vicinity of their grass for an hour or two every evening when the daddy-long-legs first begin to appear in form. They will fly into the flames by thousands. Some may urge that such a method is cruel, but death in a large body of flame is instantaneous. Indeed, ocular demonstration is abundant to show that these creatures, as, indeed, most other insects, are scarcely capable of suffering; for, were it otherwise, it is hardly possible that they should, after repeated singeings, continue to fly at a candle flame till they finally succeed in destroying themselves. Where such measures as this are not taken, and the flies are permitted to deposit their eggs in the soil, the only method of safety is by rolling the ground with very heavy rollers, so as to destroy the grubs, but this has only a partial success, as most of them are too deep below the surface to suffer injury from the pressure.