The Nursery, March 1877, Vol. XXI. No. 3

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.

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[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, qu