have said about my lost frog will some day be confirmed by others. Rana
luctator would be a good name for this species.

The toad is a slow-moving creature that puts itself in the way of
persecution; yet, strange to say, the acrid juice it exudes when
irritated is a surer protection to it than venomous fangs are to the
deadliest snake. Toads are, in fact, with a very few exceptions, only
attacked and devoured by snakes, by lizards, and by their own venomous
relative, Ceratophrys ornata. Possibly the cold sluggish natures of all
these creatures protects them against the toad's secretion, which would
be poison to most warm-blooded animals, but I am not so sure that all
fish enjoy a like immunity. I one day noticed a good-sized fish (bagras)
floating, belly upmost, on the water. It had apparently just died, and
had such a glossy, well-nourished look about it, and appeared so full, I
was curious to know the cause of its death. On opening it I found its
stomach quite filled with a very large toad it had swallowed. The toad
looked perfectly fresh, not even a faint discoloration of the skin
showing that the gastric juices had begun to take effect; the fish, in
fact, must have died immediately after swallowing the toad. The country
people in South America believe that the milky secretion exuded by the
toad possesses wonderful curative properties; it is their invariable
specific for shingles--a painful, dangerous malady common amongst them,
and to cure it living toads are applied to the inflamed parb. I dare say
learned physicians would laugh at this cure, but then, if I mistake not,
the learned have in past times laughed at other specifics used by the
vulgar, but which now have honourable places in the pharmacopoeia--
pepsine, for example. More than two centuries ago (very ancient times
for South America) the gauchos were accustomed to take the lining of the
rhea's stomach, dried and powdered, for ailments caused by impaired
digestion; and the remedy is popular still. Science has gone over to