A Book of Nimble Beasts: Bunny Rabbit, Squirrel, Toad, and "Those Sort of People" — Key Ideas to Explore

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In Category - Animals

Authors: English, Douglas, 1870-1939 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2017 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Animals -- Juvenile literature Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 42,552

Reading time 186 min

Text sections 8

The source record for A Book of Nimble Beasts: Bunny Rabbit, Squirrel, Toad, and "Those Sort of People" — Key Ideas to Explore measures this digital text at 42,552 words, 3 hr 6 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 18.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Animals -- Juvenile literature,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #55097

An illustrated natural history book that moves through the year with chapters on bats, tadpoles, beetles, wasps, and more, blending factual observation with narrative vignettes and puzzle pictures on butterfly wings.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg55097

Read the Text

had there been a lack of company.

The Natterjack had livened things--by running races with his own reflection. So had the mottled Green Toad, an alien like themselves; so, in his own quiet way, the Salamander.

Each welcomed freedom differently.

The Natterjack went straight into the pond (quite the wrong thing for him), and swam with short-legged jerky sweeps up to the water-lilies. There he met the Water-Rat, of whom more later. The Green Toad sought the nearest tuft of grass, and, scratching with his fore-feet at the roots, contrived a roomy burrow. He backed inside and sat there quite content, blinking his emerald eyes. The Salamander stayed where he was put--and smiled.

The fire-toads climbed upon a stone and practised squiggles--aposematic squiggles.

That resonant epithet comes, I think, from Oxford. It means, _you dare to touch me and you'll catch it_, or words to that effect. "Apo," get out, and "sema," a sign. It is quite simple, really. Yet its significance (in toads) may need explaining, and, to be master of the sense of it, you must remember that fire-toads, though dusky olive green above, are orange red beneath. A patch of orange underneath each hand, a patch of orange underneath each foot, an orange patchwork waistcoat.

Now orange is a poison-label. It means in wild-folk speech, "Be careful," and yellow means the same; and when black joins the scheme, it means, "Be very careful, here is poison."

Sometimes the colour flaunts itself--witness the salamander, or the wasp. Sometimes it is concealed, witness the fire-toad. But fire-toads have the knack of showing it. Drop one upon his back and there he stays, knowing the underpart of him is fearsome. Startle one as he sits at ease, and he will flick into a knot, crinkly, immovable, unreal, with screaming labels at each corner. To be adept at this, the fire-toad needs spare living, one meal, at most two meals a day. When corpulent he finds the bend beyond him.

But corpulence is transient in toads. The first to find a waist was Bombinator, and Bombinatrix quickly followed. They now could travel with less apprehension. They made five equal hops and stopped. Before them stretched the pond, green-carpeted, a mirror-patch of water here and there, balsam and iris on the fringe of it, and fronting them, upon his leaf, the Rat.

The Natterjack had left him, and was swimming landwards. His head bobbed with each stroke, and he was slow in coming.

"The surliest brute I ever met," he said.

"The Rat?" said Bombinator.

"The Rat," replied the Natterjack. "He grumbled at my ripples in the water--and _he_ makes noise enough. Just listen to him."

The Water-Rat had left his leaf, and now was in the reed-stems. He held a two-inch cutting in his paws. They heard his munching plainly.

"This is a queer pond," said the Natterjack; "it's full of noises. A shrew-mouse chirped as I swam back, and half a dozen bubbles struck me. That means there's something grunting. My yellow stripe! what's that?"

"_brek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-EX!_"

and finished _amoroso_,

"_KO-ax!_ _KO-ax!_ _KO-ax!_"

"I know it," shrieked Bombinator. His little eyes were starting from their sockets, as he sat up entranced.

"I know it," echoed Bombinatrix.

"Then you might share your knowledge," snapped the Natterjack. Jealousy had convulsed him, for he too can sing.

"A French Frog," cried Bombinator.

"A French Frog," echoed Bombinatrix, and in a rattle came the southern notes:

"_brek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-EX!_"

"_KO-ax!_ _KO-ax!_ _KO-ax!_"

"I'll find him, if I hop all night," said Bombinator.

He plunged aside into the grass, and Bombinatrix followed at his heels.

The Natterjack soon caught them. He ran with little mouse-steps.

"Are you quite prudent?" he jerked out.

"Prudent?" said Bombinator, "why, he's a countryman."

So all three went together, and dropped abreast into the Green Toad's burrow.

"Have you heard him?" said Bombinator.

The Green Toad was half dozing.

"Heard what?" he muttered sleepily.

"The French Frog," said Bombinator. "Come out and listen."

They pulled him out between them.

The Green Toad slowly stretched himself.

"_That?_" said he, "that's not French." Then he relapsed to sleep again.

"What did I tell you?" said the Natterjack.

"You told us nothing," said Bombinator. "Let's ask the Salamander."

The Salamander had not moved an inch.

"Is that song French?" the Natterjack inquired.

The Salamander slowly raised his head, curled S-wise out and home again, blinked either eye three times, smiled fatuously at each toad in turn, and then smiled at the sky.

"Oh, come on!" said the Natterjack. The Natterjack is all on wires, and Salamanders madden him.

"_brek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-EX!_"

"_KO-ax!_ _KO-ax!_ _KO-ax!_"

The Natterjack now led them, faster and faster as the song grew louder, hippy-hoppy, hurry-scurry, bumping against the snails and spiders, starting the flies and beetles, and rousing every sleeper in the grass.

Continue Reading →

Douglas English’s A Book of Nimble Beasts follows a calendar structure, with each month introducing a different creature or topic—from bats in January to the pygmy shrew in December. The book interleaves factual descriptions with short stories, such as the sand-wasp Spinipes’s laborious nest-building and the misadventures of Bartimæus. English, a photographer, includes over 200 illustrations from his own photographs of living animals, and the text often directs the reader’s attention to visual details, like the “eye-markings” on butterfly wings.

A Year of Creatures

The book is organized by month, beginning with “Something About Bats” in January and ending with “The Pygmy Shrew” on Boxing Day. Each chapter stands alone, but together they create a seasonal rhythm. For instance, February covers tadpoles, March discusses animals’ nests, and April turns to beetles. This structure allows English to move between straightforward natural history and more imaginative pieces, such as the Valentine’s Day entry “A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go,” which blends courtship behavior with a playful narrative. The calendar framework gives the reader a sense of progression through the year, though the chapters vary in tone and depth.

The Sand-Wasp’s Instincts

In “Spinipes the Sand-Wasp,” English presents a detailed account of a solitary wasp’s life cycle. The narrative follows Spinipes as she digs a burrow, hunts grubs, and seals the shaft. English describes her actions with precision: “She sank five other curving shafts and built five towers to guard them.” The text emphasizes the rigidity of instinct—when a human hand adds alien grubs to her store, she rejects them, “for neither she nor other of her kind had wit to forge, or mend, a link in instincts broken chain.” The passage ends with the wasp’s death and the emergence of her offspring, noting the cycle’s repetition “an æon back” and questioning “An æon hence—who knows?”

Puzzle Pictures on Wings

The July chapter, “Pictures on Butterflies’ Wings,” shifts to a more observational mode. English points out that common butterflies and moths have “queer little pictures on their wings ready made—real pictures I mean, faces and animals and things like that.” He introduces the concept of eye-markings, noting their presence in birds, fish, and even leopards. The text encourages readers to find these patterns, describing them as “puzzle pictures, like those you get in crackers.” This section exemplifies English’s method of combining scientific observation with a sense of play, inviting the reader to look closely at the natural world.

Movement Between Scenes

English frequently shifts between factual exposition and narrative vignettes. For example, the chapter “In Weasel Wood” (Lammas Day) opens with a description of a weasel’s posture: “He held himself with an air, his body arched, one broad white pad uplifted, his tail curved decorously.” This image is both precise and slightly anthropomorphic. Elsewhere, the text moves from the life cycle of a toad to a dialogue between frogs, as in “A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go,” where the Green Toad remarks, “That? that’s not French.” These shifts keep the reader engaged, though the transitions can be abrupt. The book’s structure—alternating between months and topics—reinforces this sense of movement.

Readers approaching A Book of Nimble Beasts should expect a mix of direct observation and storytelling, with English’s photographs grounding the more fanciful passages. The book rewards those who read it in order, as the seasonal progression gives context to each creature’s appearance. However, individual chapters can be enjoyed on their own, making it suitable for browsing. Pay attention to the recurring theme of instinct versus intervention, especially in the wasp and frog narratives, and to the way English uses visual cues—both in his text and his images—to guide the reader’s eye.

That rainy afternoon, I kept returning to the bat chapter in A Book of Nimble Beasts, its quiet world of hidden flight. The same patient curiosity later drifted me toward The Wonders of the Jungle, Book Two — Story, Setting & Ideas, where the undergrowth felt just as alive, just as gently observed. One book simply left the door open for the other.