tub, and
a very deep one too; and what did little Emma know about being careful?
She lost her balance, and down into the water she went, with a great
splash that wrecked all the boats in the same instant. "Mother, mother!"
screamed a choking, sputtering voice, as Emma managed to lift her head.

Her mother heard it, and flew to the spot. It didn't take long to get
Emma into the warm kitchen, to pull off the wet clothes, to wrap her in
a blanket, and set her before the fire in the big rocking-chair, with a
bowl of hot ginger-tea to drink. There Emma sat, and steamed, and begged
for stories. By eleven o'clock she couldn't stand it any longer, and by
noon she was out in the yard again, playing tea-party, and not one whit
the worse for her sudden cold bath. But what became of the poor beetle?

MARY L. B. BRANCH.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

A LENTEN-SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN.

QUOG, quog, quog, quog!
A very unmusical note:
This eminent basso, Mr. Frog,
Has surely a cold in his throat.
But he does his best, with a good intent,
The little speckled man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!
When the morning sky is red,
He sits on the slippery, mossy log,
With the rushes over his head.
He does his best, with a good intent,
The little sprawling man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!
When the evening sky is pale,
He nestles low in the sheltering bog,
While the gentle dews exhale.
He does his best, with a good intent,
The little struggling man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!
He strains till he shakes the reeds,
And scares his neighbor, Miss Polly Wog
As she hides in the water-reeds.
He does his best, with a good intent,
The little panting man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!
Oh! aren't you afraid you'll burst?
You should have put on, dear Mr. Frog,
Your girdle of leather