Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/463

. 18, 1862.] A slight slapping sound is heard as the tongue is thrown towards the prey.

The fact has long been known, but the details have, I believe, not yet been fully described. It is by no means necessary, as has been repeatedly asserted, for the toad to remain motionless, with its eyes intently fixed on its victim. On the contrary, I have often seen the toad catch beetles in spots where it could not see them, and without even attempting to look for them. The tongue can be flung in any direction, and always with equal certainty of aim, at right angles to the head for example, out of either corner of the mouth, or even under the body. I have repeatedly seen the creature aim at an insect that was crawling under its body, and mostly with success; if not so, a second shot was sure to be effectual.

I used frequently to feed them with blue-bottle flies, by the simple process of putting them into the fern-case and closing the entrance. In spite of the wings and activity of the insect, the toad was sure to have it before long. At the first buzz, the toad would come all in a hurry out of his hole, tumbling over stones and sticks in his eagerness, and evidently listening for the sound of the fly’s wings. As soon as the insect settled within reach of the tongue (and when the reptile stood on its hind legs it had a marvellous reach), the toad used to raise its head with an oddly knowing air, and looked as eager as a cat which hears a mouse behind the door. It would then scramble hastily towards the fly, when a red streak would be seen to flash from its mouth, a slight slap was heard, and the fly had vanished. If the insect took alarm, the toad was quite content to wait, and was certain to hunt it down at last.

It may be here mentioned that the root of the toad’s tongue is set on the front of the lower jaw, the point being directed backward; so that when an insect is captured, the mere return of the tongue flings it down the throat. A few decided gulps are, however, needful to complete the operation, and the aspect of the toad while engaged in swallowing is most absurd, the elevated eyes being closed and disappearing entirely by the exertion. The dimensions of the insect make no difference in the magnitude of the gulp and the disappearance of the eyes.

Few persons who have not personally watched a toad can form any idea of the dexterous manner in which it uses its fore-paws, these apparently clumsy members serving the purpose of hands, and being frequently employed in lieu of those important limbs. If, for example, the toad has snapped up a tolerably long worm, it will probably be incommoded by the natural objection entertained by the annelid with respect to its lodgment in its captor’s stomach, and the struggles which it makes to escape, its head and tail usually protruding at opposite sides of the mouth.

Now, the toad is strangely indifferent to wounds and injuries, and even if nearly severed in two seems to be as unconcerned as if it had no personal interest in the calamity. But nothing appears to annoy the strange creature so much as any object sticking in the sides of the mouth, and it displays a vast amount of uneasiness until it has removed the annoyance. In order to effect this object, the fore-paws are brought into play, the creature grasping at the irritating object just as a monkey would do under similar circumstances, and either pushes it down the throat or throws it away, according to its fitness or unfitness for food. I have known the leg of a beetle, or even the wing of a fly, worry the toad sadly, while a small blade of grass excited it to such a degree that it very nearly looked angry.

There is one curious point connected with the toad, which I never have been able to comprehend. Supposing it to be pursuing a fly, and the insect to have settled out of reach, the toad sits watching it just as the lion is said to watch a baboon or a human being who takes refuge in a tree. While thus watching, the last joint of the middle toe of the hind feet is continually jerked with a convulsive kind of movement, twitching in unison, at irregular intervals. The movement seems to be quite involuntary, and I suppose is analogous to the waving of the lion’s tail while the animal is crouching in view of its intended prey.

Although the toad can endure a very long fast, there seems to be no limit to its gormandising capacities when it meets with a plenitful supply of food. The smaller of my specimens ate successively several worms, a great “woolly bear” caterpillar (i. e. the larva of the tiger moth Arctia caja), a large grub, apparently the larval state of some beetle, a number of smaller insects, and a large ground beetle (Carabus violaceus). These various capabilities render it a most useful animal, and one which should be carefully guarded by every owner of a garden. For at night, when the obnoxious slugs, flies, beetles, and other insects are on the move, the toad comes out to prey on them, and quietly performs very great service by the steady, thorough-going manner in which it clears the plants of every creature that moves.

Some entomologists, whose zeal for the enrichment of their cabinets exceeds their humanity, are in the habit of sallying out into the fields at early dawn, killing all the toads that they can find, and opening them for the purpose of getting the insects that have been swallowed during the night. Some of the rarest British specimens have been taken in this manner, beetles being the usual denizens of the locality. Conchologists are accustomed to employ a similar mode of collecting the objects of their research, and find some of the best specimens in the stomachs of several deep sea fishes; and microscopists in like manner find a vast museum of beautiful objects within the digestive organs of various molluscs.

The beautiful eye of the toad is proverbial, redeeming the ungainliness of its general aspect, and having in all probability given rise to the fabled jewel within the head. Bright and richly coloured as is the eye, with its round, bold, fiery chesnut hue, it is without the least vestige of expression, and retains its full brilliancy long after the animal is dead. As to the venomous powers of the toad, they are not to be found in the mouth, as is popularly imagined, but in two rather large glands on the sides of the head, which project boldly and are plainly visible. If