“And while exploring down some ditch, Beneath a scorching ray, Upon a sandy bar they hitch, And bake as dry as hay. “Had they but waited till the tail Had from their body dropp’d— And in its stead four legs shot forth— Away they might have hopp’d.” Thus while he sat above the pool, Commenting on his lot, He heard a truant boy from school Come whistling to the spot. “Ah ha!” quoth he, “I hear, I see An ancient foe of mine; He stones will throw, that well I know, And straight ones I divine. “The sparrow on the picket fence, The squirrel on the limb, The swallow flying overhead, Alike look out for him. “There are some hands I scarcely fear, So ill a stone they guide; But when Bob Stevenson is near ’Tis meet that I should hide.” So, prompted by the fearful thought, He leaped in with a thud, And diving to the bottom, sought Concealment in the mud. Now burrow, burrow, little frog, As you will trouble find; Think not because your eyes are shut That every one is blind. Then burrow deeper, deeper far, Leave not one claw in view; Or, swifter than a falling star, A stone will cleave you through. “While here,” said he, “I’m safe enough, And here I’ll peaceful lie Until that little whistling rough Has passed the water by.” [Illustration: BOB’S ATTACK.] But, ah! while he did reckon that The host was not around,— The youngster saw him quit the log, And soon a stone was found. He stood beside the circling pond, And gazed a while below— The tell-tale mud the frog disturbed Rose from the bottom slow. But, ah! for childhood’s searching eyes! What can escape their darts? Projecting from the mud he spies The croaker’s hinder parts. “Ho! ho!” then laughed this cruel boy, As downward he did stare, “If you from trouble would be free Of every part take care.” Then down he sent the ready stone, Nor went it down in vain— Dead as the missile that was thrown, The frog came up again. Along the river’s ferny banks The frogs still chant their lays While floating on his native pool That stone-killed frog decays. [Illustration] [Illustration] ALL FOOLS’ DAY. This is “all fools’ day,” and judging by the number of people who are passing along the sidewalk with strings and rags dangling from their coat tails, the custom of making people appear ridiculous is not obsolete. What delight the youngsters take in covering a few bricks with an old hat, and leaving it temptingly upon the sidewalk, while they withdraw into some nook to watch the bait and halloo at the person who is thoughtless enough to kick it. [Illustration: SOLD.]