hours, sitting reflectively on the edge of it, beneath
the broad shadow of the calla-leaves. When sometimes missed thence, he
would be found under the ample shield of a great bignonia, whose striped
leaves grew hard by.

The family were prejudiced against him. What did he want there? It was
surely some sinister motive impelled him. He was probably watching for
an opportunity to gobble up the goldfish. We took his part, however, and
strenuously defended his moral character, and patronized him in all
ways. We gave him the name of Unke, and maintained that he was a
well-conducted, philosophical old water-sprite, who showed his good
taste in wanting to take up his abode in our conservatory. We even
defended his personal appearance, praised the invisible green coat which
he wore on his back, and his gray vest, and solemn gold spectacles; and
though he always felt remarkably slimy when we touched him, yet, as he
would sit still, and allow us to stroke his head and pat his back, we
concluded his social feelings might be warm, notwithstanding a cold
exterior. Who knew, after all, but he might be a beautiful young prince,
enchanted there till the princess should come to drop the golden ball
into the fountain, and so give him a chance to marry her, and turn into
a man again? Such things, we are credibly informed, are matters of
frequent occurrence in Germany. Why not here?

By and by there came to our fountain another visitor,--a frisky, green
young frog of the identical kind spoken of by the poet:

"There was a frog lived in a well,
Rig dum pully metakimo."

This thoughtless, dapper individual, with his bright green coat, his
faultless white vest, and sea-green tights, became rather the popular
favorite. He seemed just rakish and gallant enough to fulfil the
conditions of the song:

"The frog he would a courting ride,
With sword and pistol by his side."

This lively young fellow, whom we shall call Cri-Cri, like other frisky
and gay young people, carried the day quite over the head of the solemn
old philosopher under the calla-leaves. At night, when all was still, he
would trill a joyous little note in his throat, while old Unke would
answer only with a cracked guttural more singular than agreeable; and to
all outward appearance the two were as good friends as their different
natures would allow.

One day, however, the conservatory became a scene of a tragedy of the
deepest dye. We were summoned below by