one of these protuberances be squeezed between the fingers, a whitish, creamy-looking liquid will be ejected, and perhaps to some little distance. While performing this operation, it will be as well to hold the toad in such a manner that the secretion may not be shot into the eyes, as in that case it would certainly cause severe pain, and might probably produce violent inflammation. Still, it will not be ejected without the employment of considerable force, and is never injurious to human beings.
Briefly to sum up the character of the toad: it is not pretty, is entirely harmless, extremely useful, easily tamed, and worthy of being cherished by those who prefer deeds to outward seeming; it is a creature of curious and interesting habits, and affords a rich field to any one with time and opportunity, for clearing up several important but disputed points in physiology.
A DUTCH ADVENTURE.
“Let’s go to Holland,” said Fred Paynter, who was one of a party of four, assembled in the dining-room of an old farm-house on the banks of the Thames.
Fred was a Cambridge man, and the time of year was the Christmas vacation. I was doing duty as host to the party, and had the house and its belongings at my command. My father might be expected in about a fortnight, to see if the cattle were improving upon their winter diet, and if we kept the land well drained. My brother Geoffrey, who was at Oxford, had come down for a few days’ rabbit shooting, and brought his alter ego in the shape of Tom Tregan. Paynter had been invited to join us, and in this lonely, quaint old house, we were living the happy life of a reading party, without any reading to speak of.
We tired ourselves with dogs and guns over the frost-bound fields by day, and Mr. Peggs, the bailiff, used to say that he often heard Fred playing the old piano, and our voices joining in chorus, when the cawing from the rookery warned him it was time for farmers to be rising. But even this was not liberty and licence enough for us, and a wild expedition to the continent was resolved upon.
Fred’s suggestion of Holland was received with great applause, for we had an idea that civilisation had less hold there than in France or Belgium, but there was no longer a doubt about our destination when Tregan remembered that he had a friend who held a position in the household of His Dutch Majesty, to whom, if impecuniosity beset us—as was very likely—we might apply for succour.
It was resolved unanimously to go to Holland, and the next question was that of ways and means. Boy friends of course—like the early Christians—have all things in common, but our money heaped together made only 18l. However, we were not much discouraged by this insignificant total, for we meant to travel in the least luxurious fashion; and, moreover, possessed a large stock of Micawberism.
Fred and I had, notwithstanding, whatever soberness and matter-of-fact there was in the company, and we could see no other way of going than by the General Steam Company’s ship, which would be off the Essex coast at 8 a.m. the next morning. My brother and Tom were for joining a fishing boat or a fruit vessel, and working our passage over before the mast. However as a boat would put us off to the steamer, and as the romance of the other façon de voyage seemed likely to prove ideal, the first plan was accepted. It being then close upon midnight, there was no time for anything but a nap on the floor, after making the necessary preparations for our journey.
I trust that no Dutch Hogarth has placed upon immortal canvas, a representation of our travelling costume as typical of our countrymen in general, for we rummaged the house, not for becoming, but for warm clothing, and were as regardless of the general effect as savages rejoicing in the possession of a drowned mariner’s wardrobe. Fred looted a blue fisherman’s jersey that one of my uncles had employed for duck-shooting. I seized with great satisfaction a monster pair of stockings, constructed to carry water boots, while Tom made himself the happy master of a top coat, which, wherever it appeared, was sure to astonish the natives.
The night wore on, and after two hours passed upon the carpet in a deceitful silence, since no one slept, I voted for an early breakfast before starting, and helped to prepare some coffee and grilled rabbit. Then after taking a spoonful each of “Dutch Courage,” as particularly appropriate, we packed ourselves and then our two small bags, and made ready for a start.
Leaving a note for the bailiff, and another for my father, to explain—in case he should arrive—our sudden and astonishing absence, I unbarred the door, and with the dash of a drizzling rain upon my face, felt the first chill of a wavering resolution. Bear in mind, reader, that it was December, and our destination was Holland! But my companions were firm, particularly he of the top coat. We closed the door behind us, and as we passed under the rookery a few of the old watchers cawed a wondering and melancholy adieu. I doubt if Mark Tapley himself could have been more creditably jolly under graver circumstances than we experienced. The morning was dark and cold; gusts of wind came in quick succession over the damp marsh lands which lay between our house and the shore. We had three miles to walk before we reached the boat house, and there was every prospect that the rain would increase as the day broke.
The boatman was in bed, but a very few words made him acquainted with our wishes, and he made a quick appearance at his door.
“It’s a nasty morning to stand out to the wessel, young genlm’n,” said he.
“It’s safe enough, I hope,” I ventured to remark.
“Well, it’s rayther squally, but there ain’t no fear,” said the weather-beaten coaster, and soon we were seated in the stern sheets of his boat, the sail was set, and we were running over the long grey waves into the track of the steamer.
Soon we heard the noise of her paddles, and saw