old Mother Nature had always kept up in those parts. They pulled the
young checkerberry before it even had time to blossom, rooted up the
sassafras shrubs and gnawed their roots, fired off guns at the birds,
and on several occasions, when old Dr. Bullfrog was leading a
concert, had dashed in and broken up the choir by throwing stones.

This was not the worst of it. The little varlets had a way of
jeering at the simple old doctor and his concerts, and mimicking the
tones of his bass-viol. "There you go, Paddy-go-donk, Paddy-go-donk-
-umph--chunk," some rascal of a boy would shout, while poor old
Bullfrog's yellow spectacles would be bedewed with tears of honest
indignation. In time, the jeers of these little savages began to
tell on the society in the forest, and to corrupt their simple
manners; and it was whispered among the younger and more heavy birds
and squirrels that old Bullfrog was a bore, and that it was time to
get up a new style of music in the parish, and to give the charge of
it to some more modern performer.

Poor old Dr. Bullfrog knew nothing of this, however, and was doing
his simple best, in peace, when Mother Magpie called in upon him one
morning.

"Well, neighbour, how unreasonable people are! Who would have
thought that the youth of our generation should have no more
consideration for established merit? Now, for my part, _I_ think
your music-teaching never was better; and as for our choir, I
maintain constantly that it never was in better order, but--Well, one
may wear her tongue out, but one can never make these young folks
listen to reason."