s fabulous and usually exaggerated
descriptions of the creatures. . . . The description of the 'poulpe,' or
devil-fish, by Victor Hugo, in 'Toilers of the Sea,' with which so many
readers are familiar, is quite as fabulous and unreal as any of the
earlier accounts, and even more bizarre. . . . Special attention has
only recently been called to the frequent occurrence of these 'big
squids,' as our fishermen call them, in the waters of Newfoundland and
the adjacent coasts. . . . I have been informed by many other fishermen
that the 'big squids' are occasionally taken on the Grand Banks and used
for bait. Nearly all the specimens hitherto taken appear to have been
more or less disabled when first observed, otherwise they probably would
not appear at the surface in the daytime. From the fact that they have
mostly come ashore in the night, I infer that they inhabit chiefly the
very deep and cold fiords of Newfoundland, and come to the surface only
in the night."--From the "Report on the Cephalopods of the Northeastern
Coast of America," by A. E. Verrill. Extracted from a report of the
Commissioner of Fish and Fisheries, issued by the Government Printing
Office at Washington. In this report twenty-five specimens of the large
species taken in Newfoundland are described in detail.

[2] Stories of this kind, of which there are many, are doubted by the
authorities, who have found it impossible to authenticate a single
instance of unprovoked attack.

[Illustration]

VIII.--The Jumping Frog[H]

_By Mark Twain_

IN compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from
the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and
inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to
do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that
_Leonidas W._ Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a
personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler
about him, it would remind him of his infamous _Jim_ Smiley, and he
would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating
reminiscence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to
me. If that was the design, it succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of the
dilapidated tavern in the decaying mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed
that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of winning
gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He