to do with it. I always did tell you that your passion for water
injured your singing. Suppose Tommy Oriole should sit half his days
up to his hips in water, as you do,--his voice would be as hoarse and
rough as yours. Come up on the bank and learn to perch, as we birds
do. We are the true musical race."

And so poor Mr. Bullfrog was persuaded to forego his pleasant little
cottage under the cat-tails, where his green spectacles and honest
round back had excited, even in the minds of the boys, sentiments of
respect and compassion. He came up into the garden, and established
himself under a burdock, and began to practise Italian scales.

The result was, that poor old Dr. Bullfrog, instead of being
considered as a respectable old bore, got himself universally laughed
at for aping fashionable manners. Every bird and beast in the forest
had a gibe at him; and even old Parson Too-Whit thought it worth his
while to make him a pastoral call, and admonish him about courses
unbefitting his age and standing. As to Mother Magpie, you may be
sure that she assured every one how sorry she was that dear old Dr.
Bullfrog had made such a fool of himself; if he had taken her advice,
he would have kept on respectably as a nice old Bullfrog should.

But the tragedy for the poor old music-teacher grew even more
melancholy in its termination; for one day, as he was sitting
disconsolately under a currant-bush in the garden, practising his
poor old notes in a quiet way, THUMP came a great blow of a hoe,
which nearly broke his back.

"Hallo! what ugly beast have we got here?" said Tom Noakes, the
gardener's boy. "Here, here, Wasp, my boy."