The Frog--a Natural History

Bom of a etcne, he lives under a stoiie and will dig in it his grave. I visit him frequently, and, whenever I lift the stone, I fear to fm'd him and fear that he may not be there. He is there. Hidden iu that dry refuge, clean, narrow, quite his own, he filis it, swollen like a raiser'e purse. If the rain makes hirn come out, he comes toward roe. A few heavy jumps, and he stops on his thighs aud looks at me with his reddenedeyes. Though the unjust world treats him as a leper, I do not fear to sit by him and to place near his face my human face. Then I will overeóme a remnant of disgust and caress you with my hand, f rog! Oneswallowsin life thingsthat make one's heart sicker. Still, yesterday, I lacked tact. "My poor friend," I said,"I do not wish to grieve you, but how ugly you are !" He opened his mouth, puerile and toothless, and replied, with a slight "And