It sounds strange and funny, no doubt, but it is a fact that
all the best people in the parish had one of these creatures,
and it was customary for the ladies to bring it a weekly
supply of provisions--bits of meat, hard-boiled eggs chopped
up, and earth-worms, and whatever else they fancied it would
like--in their reticules. The toads, I suppose, knew when it
was Sunday--their feeding day; at all events they would crawl
out of their holes in the floor under the pews to receive
their rations--and caresses. The toads got on my nerves with
rather unpleasant consequences. I preached in a way which my
listeners did not appreciate or properly understand,
particularly when I took for my subject our duty towards the
lower animals, including reptiles."
"Batrachians," I interposed, echoing as well as I could the
tone in which he had rebuked me before.
"Very well, batrachians--I am not a naturalist. But the
impression created on their minds appeared to be that I was
rather an odd person in the pulpit. When the time came to
pull the old church down the toad-keepers were bidden to
remove their pets, which they did with considerable
reluctance. What became of them I do not know--I never
inquired. I used to have a careful inspection made of the
floor to make sure that these creatures were not put back
in the new building, and I am happy to think it is not
suited to their habits.
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