about two months he became more impatient of confinement, and refused to take any food. I did not perceive that he fell away, though his feet and toes turned of a dark colour, which I knew was a sign of being out of condition; and, on the 10th of November, I found him dead. I have now tried three of this sort, and have come to the conclusion that the Running Toad will not live in captivity. This I much regret, as its habits are interesting, and its ways very amusing. "F. C. Husenbeth, D.D." * * * * * FROG AND TOAD CONCERTS. It would be hard to believe the stories of the vocal powers of Frogs and Toads were they not related by trustworthy travellers, who tell of animal concerts, "Wild as the marsh, and tuneful as the harp." Mr. Priest, the traveller in America, who was himself a musician, records:--"Prepared as I was to hear something extraordinary from these animals, I confess the first _Frog Concert_ I heard in America was so much beyond anything I could conceive of the power of these musicians, that I was truly astonished. This performance was _al fresco_, and took place on the eighteenth of April, in a large swamp, where there were at least 10,000 performers; and I really believe not two exactly in the same pitch, if the octave can possibly admit of so many divisions, or shades of semitones." Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassiz, in their recent "Journey in Brazil," record:--"We must not leave Parà without alluding to our evening concerts from the adjoining woods and swamps. When I first heard this strange confusion of sounds, I thought it came from a crowd of men shouting loudly, though at a little distance. To my surprise. I found that the rioters were the frogs and toads in the neighbourhood. I hardly know how to describe this Babel of woodland noises; and, if I could do it justice, I am afraid my account would hardly be believed. At moments it seems like the barking of dogs, then like the calling of many voices on different keys; but all loud, rapid, excited, full of emphasis and variety. I think these frogs, like ours, must be silent at certain seasons of the year, for on our first visit to Parà we were not struck by this singular music, with which the woods now resound at nightfall." SONG OF THE CICADA.