faultless white vest, and sea-green tights, became rather the popular
favourite. He seemed just rakish and gallant enough to fulfil the
conditions of the song


"The frog he would a-courting ride,
With sword and pistol by his side."


This lively young fellow, whom we shall call Cri-Cri, like other
frisky and gay young people, carried the day quite over the head of
the solemn old philosopher under the calla-leaves. At night, when
all was still, he would trill a joyous little note in his throat,
while old Unke would answer only with a cracked guttural more
singular than agreeable; and to all outward appearance the two were
as good friends as their different natures would allow.

One day, however, the conservatory became the scene of a tragedy of
the deepest dye. We were summoned below by shrieks and howls of
horror. "Do pray come down and see what this vile, nasty, horrid old
frog has been doing!" Down we came; and there sat our virtuous old
philosopher, with his poor little brother's hind legs still sticking
out of the corner of his mouth, as if he were smoking them for a
cigar, all helplessly palpitating as they were. In fact, our solemn
old friend had done what many a solemn hypocrite before has done,--
swallowed his poor brother, neck and crop,--and sat there with the
most brazen indifference, looking as if he had done the most proper
and virtuous thing in the world.

Immediately he was marched out of the conservatory at the point of a