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Title: The Nursery, September 1877, Vol. XXII, No. 3
A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
Author: Various
Release Date: February 20, 2009 [EBook #28137]
Language: English
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THE
NURSERY
A Monthly Magazine
For Youngest Readers.
VOLUME XXII.—No. 3.
BOSTON:
JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET,
1877.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by
JOHN L. SHOREY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
FRANKLIN PRESS:
RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY,
117 FRANKLIN STREET,
BOSTON.
IN PROSE.
| PAGE |
Introduced to the Atlantic Ocean | 65 |
Roses and Insects | 68 |
Garry and the Rake | 71 |
A true Story of a Partridge | 74 |
A Letter from Minnesota | 76 |
The lazy Shepherd | 77 |
Seventh Lesson in Astronomy | 79 |
A Sight of the Ocean | 81 |
Philip's new Whip | 85 |
Grandma's Story | 88 |
Aunt Matilda | 91 |
Anna's Bird | 92 |
The Story of the Squashes | 94 |
Charlie's Composition | 95 |
IN VERSE.
| PAGE |
Top-Knot | 70 |
Crossing the Brook with Harry | 72 |
How to draw a Pig | 80 |
Ruth's Wishes | 83 |
The three little Ladies | 87 |
The Pedlar (with music) | 96 |
[65]
[66]
INTRODUCED TO THE ATLANTIC OCEAN.
OW for it, girls! Let me introduce you to the
Atlantic Ocean! Mr. Ocean, these are my
three cousins from Kentucky: Miss Jenny,
Miss Eva, and Miss Kate Logan. They never
saw you till today. This lady on my left is
my sister, Miss Dora Drake, the best swimmer at Brant Rock
Beach; but her you know already, also my dog Andy."
"Oh! I don't want to go any further. I'm afraid of
the Atlantic Ocean," cried little Kate Logan.
"Nonsense!" said Master Tom Drake. "Look at Andy
with the stick in his mouth. Why, if the Atlantic Ocean
were to try to drown us, Andy would save us every one.
Shall I tell you what he did last summer?"
"We can't stop for stories now, Tom," said sister Dora.
"We must attend to our bathing. Here comes a wave that
will give us a good ducking."
"Oh! oh, dear! It has taken my breath all away!"
cried little Kate, as the wave lifted her off her feet and
curled and gurgled round her neck.
"It is only the Atlantic Ocean making a bow to you, my
dear; clasping you lovingly round the neck, and whispering
soft nonsense," said Tom, dropping the hands of Eva
and Kate, and swimming off into deep water with Andy.
Jenny and Eva did not know how to swim: so they
jumped up and down in the water, while Dora took Kate
on her back, and swam out after Tom. She soon overtook
him and pushed his head under water; but Tom came up
light as a cork, and splashed the water all over Dora.
"That will do, Tom," said she; "now, Andy, come here,
and take this little girl on your back and carry her up on
the dry sand."[67]
Then Dora placed Kate on the good dog's back, and the
little girl threw her arms round his neck, and he swam with
her through the deep water, and carried her up high on the
dry, warm sand, where a lady and gentleman were seated,
and another lady stood with a sun-shade over her head.
But when Kate saw Tom and the girls all frolicking in
the water, she cried out, "Oh, give me more of the Atlantic
Ocean. I like him."
She ran down to the water's edge, and into the water all
alone; but Andy stood by to help her in case of need, and
when she fell down flat, and the ocean covered her head, he
took her up by her bathing-dress, and bore her once more
up on the dry sand.
All laughed, and little Kate laughed louder than any of
them. "The Atlantic Ocean didn't get me that time," she
said.
I cannot tell you of all their frolics; but you may be sure
that the little party from Kentucky grew quite familiar with
the Atlantic Ocean after this introduction. Every day they
would leave their little cottage on the height, and walk
along the white sand in their bathing-dresses till they found
a good place for bathing. Tom and Andy always went with
them to protect them from harm.
When Jenny, Eva, and Kate get back to Kentucky, next
September, what stories they will have to tell of the pleasant
times they had at Brant Rock Beach! It lies not far from
the town of Marshfield in Massachusetts. Perhaps you can
find the name on your map.
Ida Fay.
[68]
What sort of insects are a-phi´des?
In plain English they are plant-lice.
When about to pluck a rose-bud, have
you not started sometimes to find it covered with
little green insects? These are aphides.
They suck the sap from the bud on the leaf;
and every person who raises a rose-bush seeks to
get rid of them. The little insect called the lady-bird
destroys them in great numbers: so you
must encourage lady-birds, if you want your roses
to flourish.
Most of us have heard of honey-dew, and know,
probably, that it is a sweet, clammy substance,
found on the leaves of various trees and plants,
especially on the oak, the vine, the hop, and the
honeysuckle. This honey-dew is extracted with
the sap, secreted, and then thrown out in a pure state by
the aphides.[69]
Besides the sweets which they scatter around them like
sugar-plums, they always keep a good supply within the
green jars of their bodies. By this lavish use of confectionery,
they gain a few interested friends and some enemies
like the lady-birds, that eat them up.
|
Wherever the aphides abound, whether in hop-ground,
bean-field, or rose-garden, there are lady-birds gathered
together, and they are welcomed by the cultivator, if not
by the aphis. (Aphis is the singular noun, and aphides its
plural form.) But enough of aphis enemies, and now for
the friends, which, as well as foes, they owe to the sweet
milk—the honey-dew—which they give out. So these
friends, you see, are fair-weather friends, interested friends;
and among them are several varieties of the ant tribe.
The ants do not hurt the aphides, but follow them for
what they can get out of them. They are continually seen
in company; and the ants sometimes drive off the lady-birds
and other foes.
The aphis, when attacked by its mortal foe the lady-bird,
submits with a good grace. Never did Turk bend
his neck to the bow-string, or rush upon the cimeter
with greater courage, than the aphis submits itself to the
murderous jaws of its devouring foes. It seems quite at
ease, and enjoys life to the last bite or sup, while its companions
are being killed, and their carcasses heaped up
around it. It evidently thinks it is right to die quietly, like
a great-minded little insect.
Uncle Charles.
[70]
TOP-KNOT.
Pretty Biddy Top-knot has a hidden nest,
Out among the willows stretching toward the west:
Every day she runs there on her yellow legs,
To count and add another to her store of eggs.
Top-knot soon is missing from the garden walks:
No more with the other hens struts about and stalks!
No more is her cackle from the willows heard,
Where, but late, she noisily all the barn-yard stirred.
Down among the willows, stretching toward the west,
Top-knot's snowy turban shows above her nest:
Slanting ray of sunshine peeps in very bright;
Come and peep in with it, you shall see a sight.
Thirteen little chickens, downiest ever seen,
And joyous little Top-knot proud as any queen!
For that they are beauties all the hens agree:
Can you wonder Top-knot should so happy be?
Full of her importance, Top-knot doth appear,—
Thirteen little chickens she must feed and rear!
Soon more hens are missing!—are they lost or hid?
Think you they'll surprise us just as Top-knot did?
Fleta F.
[71]
GARRY AND THE RAKE.
One summer afternoon, when the grassy slope before the
house was untidy with fallen leaves, and sticks, and withered
flowers, I asked Garry to go and bring the rake that we
might clear away the rubbish.
So off he ran, and soon came back with an iron rake.
Now, if you have ever tried one, you will know that an iron
rake is not nearly as good for this purpose as a wooden
rake, as it is heavy, and the teeth are so sharp that they
tear the roots of the grass.
I used it for a while; but, in spite of all I could do, the
teeth would catch the roots. At last Garry exclaimed,
"Grandma, let me take it. I can make it all right."
I gave it to him, and the dear little boy took it behind a
log, and was very busy and quiet for several minutes. Then
I called, "Come, Garry, I don't believe you can help it."[72]
"Oh!" said he, "you just wait a little, and you will see."
And, to be sure, in a very short time he brought me the
rake, with a hard green apple on each outer tooth, pushed
on just so far that the other teeth would catch the litter of
leaves and sticks without disturbing the grass.
Wasn't that a bright idea for a little boy five and a half
years old?
M.
CROSSING THE BROOK WITH HARRY.
Now, Harry, don't fear,
I will carry you, dear:
So keep very quiet and steady:
The brook is not wide,
Nor swift is the tide:
Now, for it, my pet—are you ready?
So over the stones we will go,
With step very careful and slow.
I never have slipped
As o'er them I tripped;
But then I had nothing to carry:
Now I must take heed,
The more haste, the worse speed;
For I bear in my arms little Harry:
So over the stones we will go,
With step very careful and slow.
Almost every bird
That ever I heard,
[73]On the bank there seems now to be singing;
And I smell the sweet hay
From the field by the way;
The wind all its odor is bringing:
So over the stones we will go,
With step very careful and slow.
Emily Carter.
[74]
A TRUE STORY OF A PARTRIDGE.
I wonder if any of the
children who read "The
Nursery" have ever been
in the woods of Maine.
There grow the tall old
pine-trees, with tops which
seem to touch the sky, and
thick interlacing branches,
making a very dark shade
overhead.
There, too, grow the
fragrant cedar-trees, with
their bright green boughs,
and trunks so hard and
stout; and, loveliest of
all, the graceful maple,
whose green leaves turn crimson and gold when autumn
comes.
All these and many other trees grow in the great Maine
forests; and birds build their nests and bring up their young
among the branches; and under the trees, and all about,
grow ferns, and mosses soft as velvet.
Bright-eyed squirrels frisk about over the ground, and
run nimbly up into the tree-tops; and pretty brown partridges
walk daintily around, picking up seeds and berries
to carry home to their baby-partridges, hidden away in soft
nests on the ground.
Through a forest like this, where it had always been so
quiet and peaceful that the birds and squirrels did not know
what it was to be afraid, a railroad-track was laid not long
ago. Then the great engine went thundering on its way to[75]
a pleasant city by the sea, carrying with it a long train
of cars, the smoke curling up brown and thick from the
smoke-stack, and the shrill whistle waking the echoes among
the distant hills.
One day, when the train was going at full speed through
the woods, a partridge, flying from one part of the forest to
another, being frightened and bewildered by the noise,
dashed against the smoke-stack, and fell at the engineer's
feet. The engineer, whose name was Nathaniel Grant,
took up the poor frightened bird, gently stroked its ruffled
feathers, and carried it carefully to his home.
There the partridge was treated with the greatest kindness,
and soon got over its bruises. But it longed for the
quiet woods, where its life had been spent. It could not
eat, and seemed to be almost breaking its heart with home-sickness.
So the next day, when Mr. Grant started off again on the
engine, he took the bird with him. Watching very carefully
for the place where the partridge had flown in, he
found, at last, the exact spot. There he set the bird free,
and away it flew, back to its peaceful home.
Dora's Mamma.
[76]
A LETTER FROM MINNESOTA.
When "The Nursery" came the
other day to St. Paul, two little boys
who live here, named Charley and
John, found a story in it about a
bear who used to walk in our streets.
That story was true; and these little boys were so pleased
with it, that they want me to write you about a new pet
they have.
It isn't a kitty with nice soft fur, nor a dog that will run
and jump and play with them, nor a canary-bird to wake
them up with his sweet songs; but it is a turtle, which the
boys found trying to get across the street near their home.
John, who is three years old, said, "I guess the poor little
turtle is lost, and is trying to find his mamma again." So
he picked him up, when away went his head, legs, and tail,
all tucked under his shell. He looked like a box shut
almost tight. When he was put in the water, out they came
again.
He spends the whole day trying to climb the sides of the
smooth pan he is in, slipping back, and trying again. We
put in a large shell to serve him for a house; and one day
he climbed to the top of it, got out of his pan, and crawled
over the carpet into the next room. So we had to take his
house away.
I think we shall have to name him Willie Winkie, because
he opens and shuts his eyes so often and so quickly.
Charley and John have the promise of a garden all to
themselves when summer comes here. Perhaps by and by,
we will tell the other children who read "The Nursery,"
how they get on with it, and what kinds of flowers they
raise.
C. R. S.
St. Paul, Minn.
[77]
THE LAZY SHEPHERD.
Some years ago in Scotland, two boys, whose names were
Henry Bright and John Yorner, were left orphans by the
death of parents. Mr. Donald, a good man, who had nine
or ten thousand sheep, and employed many shepherds, took
both these boys into his employ.
"Now, boys," said he, "a shepherd's life may be barren
or fruitful, lazy or active, just as you choose to make it. In
pleasant weather, while you are tending the sheep, if you
have good dogs to help you, you can, if you choose, find[78]
leisure for reading and for study, and at the same time not
neglect your proper duties.
"If you want books, come to my house, and I will lend
them to you. You have eight years to serve before you
are twenty-one; and in that time you can fit yourselves for
employments that will yield you much more than the work
of a shepherd."
Henry Bright first suited himself to a good dog, and
taught him so well, that Plato—such was the dog's name—soon
took almost the whole care of a hundred sheep that
Henry had to look after. The lad would take a seat under
the shelter of some rock, and read and study, while Plato
would lie at his feet, or run round to see that no sheep or
lamb was straying too far from the pasture-ground.
But John Yorner was lazy, and did not care for books.
He would not take the trouble even to teach a dog his
duties. He would lie on a bank in the sun, with his hands
clasped above his head, and there sleep away the long hours
before dinner. Often his sheep would stray away and get
lost; so that Mr. Donald once said to him, "I fear you are
not fit even for a shepherd, John."
You may easily guess what the result was at the end of
eight years. John Yorner was a shepherd still: he had not
been promoted to any better employment. He loved idleness
too well. One must be diligent if he would be faithful
and succeed.
As for Henry, he applied himself to the study of arithmetic,
and became so skilled in that branch of study, that,
before he was nineteen, his services were wanted by a large
mercantile house in Glasgow. There he made himself so
useful, that his success became no longer a matter of doubt.
Oh the days of youth, how precious they are! Do not
be like the lazy shepherd, my little friends!
Uncle Charles.
[79]
SEVENTH LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.
You all know that the sun comes to us in the morning,
and goes away from us at night, and you say that it rises
and sets. Does it rise and set in the same place?
I know that is a foolish question to ask any child who
lives with his eyes open. You all know, of course, that it
rises opposite to where it went down the night before, and
takes all day to cross the sky to its setting-place again.
And you know it rises in the east, and sets in the west.
But do you know that most of the stars, too, rise and set
in this same way? Those of you who are old enough to be
up when the stars are out can see for yourselves that this
is so. You can see some stars rise, and some set, if there is
nothing in your way, and you patiently watch; or you can
pick out a particular star, and notice just where it is, and
then, if you look for it later, you will see that it appears to
have moved.
All night long, and all day too, only we cannot see them
in the sunlight, stars are rising, crossing the sky, and setting,
the same stars coming up a little earlier each day. But
there are some stars which neither rise nor set, and these I
will tell you about some other time.
Now, after all this that I have said about the rising and
setting of the sun and stars, you will be surprised to learn
that, so far as we can see, they never move at all. The
planets—and our earth among them—move around the
sun; but the sun stands still; and all the stars which are
suns, shine always in the same place, and are hence called
fixed stars. How, then, can they be said to rise and set?
I will try to explain this in the next lesson. In the meantime
you had better read again what I told you about the
planets in the second lesson.
M. E. R.
[80]
HOW TO DRAW A PIG.
[81]
A SIGHT OF THE OCEAN.
"Oh, what I would give for a sight of the ocean!" said
Ruth Turner, as she sat one hot day in June in their little
parlor, with her two sisters and their mother.
"We must content ourselves in the city this summer,"
said Mrs. Turner. "What with the great fire, and the
stagnation of trade, your father has lost so much money
that we cannot afford to hire a cottage by the sea-side
this year."
"Well, we must try to make home pleasant," said little
Anna, whose pale, pinched face showed that the pent air of
the city had already begun to affect her health.
"Let us all shut our eyes, and imagine ourselves on the
beach," said Ellen, who was the poetess of the family.
At that moment, the postman's knock at the door gave
promise of a letter. Ruth ran to get it, and, returning in a[82]
moment, handed her mother a note, and said, "It is from
that ugly, fat old Mr. Jenks, the grocer: his name is on
the back. What can he want?"
"Give me the letter, child," said Mrs. Turner; "and do
not let me hear you speak of any fellow-being with contempt,
because he is ugly, fat, or old. Mr. Jenks is all the
time doing kind things. I am sorry to hear that his wife
is ill."
Mrs. Turner opened the letter, read it, and said, while
her face flushed, "Hear this, Miss Ruth, you who were so
quick to speak ill of Mr. Jenks:—
"Dear Mrs. Turner,—Wife and I have concluded to
take the next steamer for England, not to be back till next
October. You and your honest husband must at once go
down with your family, and occupy my furnished cottage at
Crescent Beach. Cellar and store-closet are well stocked
with groceries. Use and consume every thing as if it were
your own. Don't say no, but send me round word that you
will do it. I don't like to leave the cottage empty."
Ruth ran to a corner of the room, turned her face to the
wall, and covered it with her hands.
"Handsome is, that handsome does, Miss Ruth," cried
little Anna.
"Well, Ruth, shall we accept the invitation?" said her
mother.
"On one condition," said Ruth, turning round; "and that
is, that you let me go and thank Mr. Jenks myself for his
great kindness. He is not old; he is not ugly; and, if he
is fat, so much the better."
The good grocer's offer was gratefully accepted. The
little girls now pass most of the summer days on the beach,
where they pick up shells, and pretty white stones, or bathe
in the salt ocean. Every morning brings fresh delights.[83]
Anna has rosy cheeks once more, and as for Ellen, she sits
on the rocks, and sketches, or writes poetry, every day.
Ruth has broken herself of the bad habit of speaking ill
of persons because of their looks. She knows now that a
man may be "old, fat, and ugly," and at the same time be
full of love and kindness.
Dora Burnside.
RUTH'S WISHES.
"
I'd like to be now
A bird on a bough,"
Said Ruth, one hot day
As she paused in her play:
"I'd like to be now
[84]A bird on a bough.
"To be like a fish
In the sea is my wish,
Where the water is cool,
And they go to no school:
To be like a fish
In the sea is my wish.
"A squirrel I'd be
High up on a tree;
For he can go where
He gets plenty of air:
A squirrel I'd be
High up on a tree.
"A stag in a wood
I'd be, if I could:
He can lie on the ground
Where 'tis cool all around:
A stag in a wood
I'd be, if I could."
So wished, in her folly,
Ruth, holding her dolly;
The heat of the noon
Put her all out of tune:
So wished, in her folly,
Ruth, holding her dolly.
Emily Carter.
[85]
PHILIP'S NEW WHIP.
Now, what is all this noise
about? The hens cackle and
run about. The pig squeals.[86]
Over the fence flies the old
gander, and after him flies the
goose. Now, what can be the
matter?
I will tell you. It all comes
from this: our little Philip has
had a present of a new whip;
and the first thing he does with
it is to see how his friends in
the barn-yard like it.
He does not like to try it on
the horse or on the cow; for
the horse can kick, and the cow
can hook with her horns. So,
like a little coward, he frightens
the hens, and the poor geese,
and the pig, shut up in his pen.
I do not think it right. We
ought to protect the weak, and
not try to scare or hurt them.
A. B. C.
[87]
THE THREE LITTLE LADIES.
Now, who can find out
What these three little ones are about?
Very busy, you see,
They all seem to be;
But what they are doing,
What work or what pleasure pursuing,
Is more than my wisdom can tell:
And are not you puzzled as well?
One little lady is standing
On a cricket in posture commanding;
Another is pulling out pieces
From a drawer as fast as she pleases;
Another is bearing a roll—
But what for? It is all very droll.
And pray what is pussy about?
[88]She joins in the frolic, no doubt.
These three little ladies, my dear,
Know what they're about: that is clear.
'Tis something important, you see,
Though a puzzle to you and to me;
For they each look as grave as a judge:
So, old folks, don't laugh, and cry, "Fudge!"
It may be that your own great affairs
Are not any more useful than theirs.
Alfred Selwyn.
GRANDMA'S STORY.
I am only five years old; but I have a great deal of
trouble. Papa pulls my ears, and calls me a sad rogue;
brother Tom asks me every night what new mischief I have
been up to today; and poor mamma sighs, and says I am
the most troublesome child she ever saw.
But dear good grandma looks up from her knitting, and
smiles as she says, "Tut, tut, daughter! Our Amy isn't
any worse than a little girl I knew some thirty years ago."
"O grandma!" cried I one day, "do please tell me about
her; for I like to hear about naughty little girls. What
was her name, grandma?"
Grandma looked over her spectacles at mamma and
smiled, and mamma nodded and smiled back. Then grandma
said, "I think I will tell you of one of little Clara's
capers; but mind, you are not to go and do the same thing
the first chance you get."
This is the story as grandmother told it,—
"Little Clara lived on a farm away out in the country. She was the
youngest of seven children, and a great pet, of course. But Clara's little[89]
restless feet and mischievous fingers often brought her into trouble and
disgrace.
"One day Clara's mother had occasion to go to the store, which was
three miles away. Clara wanted to go too. Her mother feared she
would be in the way, and looked doubtful; but big brother Ben said,
'Let her go, mother. She'll be good, I know.'
"'Yes; let her go,' said Susan, who was trying to net a bead purse,
and keep Clara's fingers out of her box of beads at the same time.
"'Do let her go!' said Roger. 'I want to rig my ship this afternoon;
and a fellow can't do much with her around.'
"So it was decided that Clara should go; and it was the work of but
a few moments to polish up the chubby face and hands, and brush the
curly hair. The pink dress, red shoes, and white sun-bonnet, were put
on as quickly as possible, and Clara was ready.
"'Now, do try to behave yourself, child,' said Susan, as Ben lifted
the little girl into the wagon.
"'Of course I will,' replied Clara, pouting her red lips.
"'But did she behave herself?' you ask. Ah! I will tell you.
"When they reached the store, Mr. Dale, the storekeeper, came out[90]
to assist them; and, as he helped Clara out of the wagon, he called her
'a little lady,' which made her feel all of two inches taller than usual.
Then he gave her a stick of candy, and lifted her to a seat on the
counter, close beside a dear old pussy-cat, who purred loudly as the little
girl smoothed her fur.
"Clara's mother had a good many things to buy, and very soon forgot
all about her little daughter; but when Ben came in, half an hour later,
his first question was, 'Where's Clara, mother?'
"Sure enough, where was Clara? Her seat was empty. She had
disappeared. 'Clara, Clara!' called both her mother and Ben; but
there was no answer.
"'She's in some mischief,' said Ben; and, as quick as thought, he
rushed into the back part of the store, followed by his mother and Mr.
Dale. What a sight met their eyes! There stood Clara, in the centre
of the room, stepping back slowly, as a pool of molasses, streaming
steadily from a hogshead in the corner, crept towards the toes of her
little red shoes. Ben caught up Clara as quick as a flash, and——"
"No, grandma," interrupted mamma, "it was Mr. Dale
who did that, while Ben made haste to turn the faucet to
prevent further mischief."
"Why, mamma," said I, "how do you know? Were you
there?"
"I heard about it," said she; and she and grandma both
smiled. "The little girl was just my age, and I knew her
very well."
"And your names were both Clara," said I. "How
queer!"
And mamma and grandma must have thought it queer,
too; for they both laughed heartily.
F. A. B.
[91]
AUNT MATILDA.
What should we do in our house if it were not for our
Aunt Matilda? She is the first one out of bed in the
morning, and the last one to go to bed at night. She
sees that things are right in the kitchen, and right in the
parlor.
Father wants his breakfast by half-past six o'clock this
summer weather. Aunt Matilda rises before five, and calls
the girls, and sees that the rooms are in order. Then she
calls the children to be washed and dressed.
Yes, that is a good likeness of her, as you see her combing
my hair. She is not young, you perceive, nor yet very
old. Sometimes I get a little impatient, and fidget, because[92]
she is so particular; but our quarrels always end in my kissing
her, and saying, "You are a darling Aunty, after all."
Mother is an invalid: so she cannot do much house-work,
or see to the children. But Aunt Matilda is mother, aunt,
and house-maid, all in one. Sometimes she even acts as
stable-boy, and harnesses the horse to the carryall; for
there are few things that Aunty does not know how to do,
and to do well.
Do we go to school? Yes, and no. Our only school is
one that Aunt Matilda keeps for us in the library. She
teaches us to read, to write, and to draw. She can play on
the piano, and has begun to teach me music. Oh! What
should we all do without Aunt Matilda?
Miss Maud.
ANNA'S BIRD.
Anna has a little bird, and she calls it Tot. You must
try to find out from the picture what sort of a bird it is.
It can sing and play; and it is so tame, that it will put its
bill between Anna's lips when she says, "Kiss me, Tot."
Her dog Fancy is quite fond of the bird, and will let it
light on his head; and Anna is trying to make Muff, the
cat, give up her habit of killing birds. But I hope that
Anna will be careful, and not trust Muff too far.
I have heard of a cat in a bird-shop, that was trained to
take care of birds, instead of harming them; but this is a
rare case. It is hard to keep a cat from catching birds, and
from troubling the little young ones in their nests.
Anna is so fond of Tot, that she will not let a cat come
into the room where he is. Tot can whistle a tune. He
likes to light on Anna's head, and will sometimes almost[93]
hide himself under her thick hair. She feeds him, and gives
him a bath every day, and lets him fly about the room.
If Tot were to fly out of the window, I think he would
try to get back to his own little cage, so fond is he of Anna.
Anna's Aunt.
[94]
THE STORY OF THE SQUASHES.
I know of two little boys, twin-brothers, who are just five
years old. They are so nearly alike that their best friends
can scarcely tell them apart. Sturdy little men they are;
so strong and fair and stout, that I should be glad to kiss
them even when they have come from the dirtiest depths
of their mud-pies. I fancy their mother sighs often over
their torn pantaloons, their battered hats, and their soiled
boots; but for all that, they must play, and things will
wear out.
One day in the fall, their papa sent up to the house a
farmer's wagon full of great beautiful squashes, to be put
into the cellar for the winter's use. The farmer put the
squashes on the ground close by the cellar-door ready for
storage. But, when their papa came home, the squashes
had disappeared, and he inquired who had put them into
the cellar, and went down to see if they had been properly
stored.
But there were no squashes there. And he inquired
again where they were; but no one knew. He called to the
boys, who were playing horse on the sidewalk, to ask if they
knew any thing of the squashes. Oh, yes! and they ran
to the barn, he following; and where do you suppose the
squashes were? In the pig-pen—every one of them!
They had toiled and tugged, and carried every squash—and
many of them were large—out there, and fed them to
the pigs.
The mischief done, who could scold those two bright,
hard-working little men? I think their papa had to console
himself with thinking if only they would work as well at
something useful when they were grown up, he could forgive
their rather wasteful business when they were little.
C. D. B.
[95]
CHARLIE'S COMPOSITION.
Charlie was ten years old, and his teacher thought he
should begin to write compositions. So she gave him a list
of words, and told him to write a letter or story, and put
them all in.
The words were these: Begun, Write, Boy, Hook, Two,
Black, Said, Basket, Knife, Chair, Eyes, Ground.
Charlie went home; and, before he went out to play
in the afternoon, his mother said, "You had better work
a while on your composition."
"Oh, I never can do it!" he said. "Mother, you try
too, and see if you can write one." So she took his list and
wrote this true story,—
"A little boy with roguish black eyes was sitting on the floor, playing
with some spools that he had taken from his mother's work-basket, which
she had left in a chair. All at once he saw a cow coming up the yard.
He dropped every thing, and ran to drive her out. She threw up her
head, and looked so fierce, that he was afraid she would hook him, and
back he ran to the house.
"Then he spied a fruit-knife on the ground, where he had left it when
he was eating an apple in the morning. He picked it up, and carried it
to his mother, who had just begun to write, and she said, that, if he would
keep still about two minutes, she would attend to him."
"There," said mamma, "I have put in all the words:
now you try, Charlie."
Charlie then wrote:—
"I saw two hooks and eyes just as I had begun to write. Johnny
brought mother's knife, which he found lying on the ground. He joggled
mother's chair, and she said, 'There's a black mark on my paper, and
oh, dear! the boy has tipped over my basket.' That's all."
His mother read what Charlie had written, and said,
"Pretty good for the first time;" and off he went to play.
L. J. D.
[96]
THE PEDLAR.
[Transcriber's Note: You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking here.]
1. I wish I liv'd in a caravan
With a horse to drive like a pedlar-man,
Wherever he comes from nobody knows,
But merrily thro' the town he goes.
2. His caravan it is painted blue,
With a chimney small where the smoke comes thro';
And there is his wife with baby so brown,
And onward they go from town to town.
3. "Old chairs to mend, and new jugs to sell,"
How he makes the basins ring like a bell!
With baskets and tea-trays glossy and trim,
And plates with my name around the brim.
4. A pedlar-man I should like to roam,
And a book I'd write when I came back home;
And all the good folks would study my book,
And famous I'd be like Captain Cook.
Transcriber's Notes
The July edition of the Nursery had a table of contents for the next
six issues of the year. This table was divided to cover each specific
issue. A title page copied from this same July edition was also used for
this number and the issue number added after the Volume number.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nursery, September 1877, Vol. XXII,
No. 3, by Various
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