*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42161 ***

THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXX.--No. 6.

    BOSTON:
    THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
    NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
    1881.




    Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
    THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

[Illustration: JOHN WILSON & SON UNIVERSITY PRESS]




[Illustration: Contents.]


IN PROSE.

                                                PAGE
    The Bird-Store                               353
    What Astonished Charley                      357
    The Christmas Carol                          358
    How the Sheep were Saved                     360
    The Two Rats                                 362
    The Roman Pigeon                             366
    Ready for a Walk                             370
    Lily and her Kitten                          371
    Thirsty Billy                                373
    About Windmills                              375
    Annie's Gift                                 376
    Flossie's Pet Alligator                      378


IN VERSE.

    Christmas                                    355
    That Girl                                    356
    A Funny Little Boy                           365
    A Defiance                                   374
    "The Nursery" to its Readers                 379

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE BIRD-STORE.

VOL. XXX.--NO 6.]




THE BIRD-STORE.


SUSAN WELSH lived near a large store, where birds, and pet animals of
various kinds, were kept for sale.

She had often been there to play with the pretty creatures, and many of
them had come to know her well. One large gray parrot had learned her
name, and would call out, "Good-morning, Susan!" as soon as she
appeared. And when she put out her hand, and said, "Shake hands," he
would give his claw, and go through the ceremony very well, often
saying, "Glad to see you! How do you do?"

One day Susan had two little friends visit her,--Willy and Bessie Hill;
and, as they had never seen a parrot, she proposed to take them to the
bird-store. They were both delighted to go; and Bessie took her doll and
her dog Snip with her.

In her right hand she carried a cake; and the first thing the parrot
said as she went towards him was, "Polly wants a cake."

This made the little girl laugh. She laughed still more when the parrot
took a piece of cake in his claw, and ate it, bit by bit, as nicely as
she could herself.

But when Snip barked at the parrot, and the parrot barked too, she
thought it was the funniest thing yet, and laughed till the tears came.

The parrot was so well pleased with his visitors, and talked so fast,
that a boy with oranges to sell, came behind to listen. He was much
astonished; for he too had never heard a bird speak before.

The children looked a little at the other birds and pets; but none
interested them as much as the parrot.

Bessie did not want to leave him, and wished she might have him for her
own. But when Mr. Smith, his owner, asked if she would like to give him
her dog, and take the parrot, she shook her head, and said, "No, no!"

She could not think of parting with her old friend Snip, even for the
funny parrot.

                                             DORA BURNSIDE.




[Illustration]




CHRISTMAS.


    DAINTY little stockings
      Hanging in a row,
    Blue and gray and scarlet,
      In the firelight's glow:

    Curly-pated sleepers
      Safely tucked in bed;
    Dreams of wondrous toy-shops
      Dancing through each head:

    Mother, stepping lightly,
      Plans with tender care,
    How to give each dreamer
      Just an equal share.

    Funny little stockings
      Hanging in a row,
    Stuffed with sweet surprises,
      Down from top to toe,--

    Skates and balls and trumpets,
      Dishes, tops, and drums,
    Books and dolls and candies,
      Nuts and sugar-plums.

    Little sleepers waking:
      Bless me, what a noise!
    Wish you merry Christmas,
      Happy girls and boys!

                    RUTH REVERE.

[Illustration: A Merry Christmas to you]




THAT GIRL.

[Illustration]


    HER hood is of the common sort,
      Her dress is very plain,
    Her apron's long, her sleeves are short,
      Her name is Mary Jane.
    She goes to school, and on her way,
      She always likes to meet
    The muffin-man, who, every day,
      Comes marching down the street;
    Though very fond of study,
      She dearly loves to eat.

                           H. V. G.


[Illustration]




[Illustration]




WHAT ASTONISHED CHARLEY.


CHARLEY had been spending the day with his grandmother. When he was
starting for home in the afternoon, she gave him a nice red apple,
saying, "Take this to your mother from me."

With the apple in his hand, Charley was trudging along through the
fields, when he met Peter, the son of a farmer who lived near by.

Now Peter was a bad boy, with whom Charley had been told to have nothing
to do. But, as Peter greeted him very kindly, how could poor Charley
help speaking to him?

Pretty soon Peter began to ask questions. "What kind of an apple is
that?" said he.

"I don't know," said Charley.

"Let me look at it," said Peter.

Charley did not want him to take it, but hadn't quite courage enough to
say "No;" and in a moment Peter had the apple in his hand. "I wonder
whether it is sweet, or sour," said he.

The picture shows what happened next. Peter munched the apple, while the
little boy looked on amazed, not knowing what to do or say.

"It's for my mother," gasped out Charley as soon as he could speak.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" said the saucy Peter, handing him
back the core. "Here, take the sour thing: I don't want it."

Poor Charley had to go home and tell this pitiful story. But he learned
a lesson from it that he never forgot.

                                                          IDA FAY.




THE CHRISTMAS CAROL.


IT is Christmas morning, bright, clear, and cold. A class of little
girls have assembled with their teacher in an old country church in
England.

They are singing joyous carols; and their faces look so sweet and happy,
that I am sure they must be singing with their hearts as well as their
voices.

Even the youngest, though she cannot yet read or sing, sits cuddled
against her sister, her small hands folded on her lap, quietly
listening. The pleased look on her face tells us that she loves to hear
the others sing.

I think she will remember some of the sweet words, and will very likely
try to sing them when she is at home.

Behind the group of children may be seen a table monument. There are
many of these in old English churches. The figure on the top, carved in
stone, probably resembles some knight or warrior, in memory of whom the
monument was placed here long, long ago.

[Illustration]

After the service, we can fancy the children having a merry time,--such
as we hope every child in our own land, as well as in Old England, may
have, this very next Christmas, which is so near at hand.

                                                    JANE OLIVER.




HOW THE SHEEP WERE SAVED.


MANY years ago a farmer, living in the county of Somerset, England, on
rising one morning early in December, found that the weather had grown
bitterly cold. Looking out of the window, he saw that it had been
snowing fast through the night.

Such a storm, indeed, had not been known for a long, long time. The wind
was blowing hard, and the snow was still falling steadily.

Now, the farmer had a great many sheep, and had not yet housed them for
the winter. They were out on the hills in the open air, without any
shelter.

"My poor sheep!" exclaimed the farmer. "They will be buried in the snow.
They will perish with the cold."

He dressed as quickly as possible, called all his men, and his good dog
Watch, and started out. It was slow work getting through the
snow-drifts. Poor Watch was almost buried sometimes. But the men helped
him out, and on he ran again, leaping after them like the good faithful
dog he was. At last they came to the place where the sheep had been
left. Not one could be seen; but in a corner of the field there was a
huge pile of snow, about which Watch began to scratch and howl.

By this they knew that the sheep were all huddled under the snow. The
men set to work with their shovels; but for some time no sound came from
the sheep. It was so cold that some of the men got discouraged, and
wanted to give up the search, and go home.

"Go, if you choose," said the farmer; "but I shall stay and dig till I
find my sheep."

This made the men feel ashamed, and they picked up their shovels and
went to work again.

"Wait a bit," said the farmer: "let me listen."

He put his ear close to the wall of snow, and heard a faint "Ba-a-ah"
through it. Then they knew that one sheep at least was alive. So they
dug away briskly and in a few minutes they pulled it out.

[Illustration]

Watch took charge of it at once, pressing his warm body against the
frosty fleece, and licking its face and feet to warm them.

So, one after another, the sheep were drawn out of their snow-cave, and
then the men drove them home. Some of the small and feeble ones they had
to carry in their arms, wrapping their cloaks about the little creatures
to protect them from the sharp wind.

The snow beat in the faces of the men so that it almost blinded them;
and it was very difficult, both for themselves and the poor weak sheep,
to make their way through the great drifts.

They were glad enough, you may be sure, when they got safely back to the
farm. There the sheep were soon put in a comfortable shed, and fed with
warm milk to restore their strength. The poor animals would certainly
have died, but for the kind care that was taken of them.

The farmer thanked his men for staying to help him. His wife gave them a
good hot breakfast; and I think they enjoyed it all the more for having
saved the poor, helpless sheep from perishing under the snow.

                                                  ANNA LIVINGSTON.




THE TWO RATS.


THEY were about the same size, and looked much alike. They were great
friends. One was a wise old rat, and the other was a young rat who
thought himself wise.

The wise old rat we will call Crafty. His home was in Farmer Rural's
cellar: that is to say, the front-door of it opened into the cellar; but
there was a back-door in the garden, and there were passage-ways under
ground, leading to the corn-barn and the drain.

Crafty had studied the ways of the human race for many years. In his
view man was created for the benefit of rats. He had known men who were
almost as sly as rats; but on the whole he looked upon them as inferior
beings.

Simple, who lived close by, had also a great contempt for men and women.
He often boasted that he got his board and lodging all at their
expense. But he did not know half as much as he thought he did; and many
a time he had been kept from getting into a scrape by his good friend
Crafty.

One night, about twelve o'clock, Crafty and Simple started out together
to see what they could find. Having poked into every corner of Farmer
Rural's cellar, without getting any thing better than raw potatoes, they
made their way up stairs.

[Illustration]

Just at the head of the stairs they came upon a sort of wire safe in
which there was a most tempting bit of cheese. The door of the safe was
open.

"Here's a feast," said Simple; and he was about to dart into the safe.

"Stop, my young friend," said Crafty, sitting bolt upright on his
haunches. "That cheese has been put there on purpose for us."

"Well, then, why shouldn't we take it?" said Simple.

"Take my advice," said Crafty, "and let the cheese alone. Many a fine
young rat has been cut off in the flower of his youth by snatching at
the first good thing that happened to be put in his way. That safe is
what men call a trap, and it is a very unsafe thing for you to meddle
with."

A few nights after, the two friends started out once more, and in the
middle of the cellar they found a nice barrel of meal. Simple was on the
point of jumping right into it; but old Crafty stopped him again.

"Don't you know better than that, you greenhorn?" said he. "Never jump
into a barrel in that way. Look here." And, crawling on the rim of the
barrel, he flapped his long tail into the meal. "Splash, splash!" Right
under the meal there was water.

"Ho, ho, Farmer Rural!" said Crafty, "that's your game, is it? You can
keep this meal for your own eating."

But the next time that the two rats went out together, poor Simple did
not come off so well. In spite of his friend's advice, he went after
some bread-crumbs that were scattered on the top of what seemed to be a
harmless wooden box.

It was a trap, of course. Simple was caught, and Crafty had to go back
to his hole alone.

                                                   ALFRED SELWYN.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




A FUNNY LITTLE BOY.


    A FUNNY little chin,
      A funny little nose,
    A funny little grin,
      Ten funny little toes,
    Two funny little eyes,
      And funny little hands:
    How funnily he tries
      To give his wee commands.

    A funny little chat
      With funny little bees,
    A funny little cat,
      And funny toads and trees,
    A funny little dress,
      A funny laugh of joy:
    May Heaven ever bless
      My funny little boy!

    A funny little sigh,
      A funny little head
    That funnily will try
      To miss the time for bed,
    A funny little peep
      From funny eyes that gleam,
    A funny little sleep,
      A funny little dream.

                     GEORGE COOPER.




THE ROMAN PIGEON.


IN the famous city of Rome I once lived in a house which had been a
palace. It had secret closets and trap-doors, and all such queer things.
There was one long, dark entry that we called a tube.

We were obliged to go through this entry often, as it was the only
passage-way between our rooms. It was so narrow that one could touch
both side-walls at the same time. I had often, in going through it, felt
that I was not alone: the movement of something always startled me.

It was not like the motions of a human being, and I was too old to have
visits from fairies. A dog would bark; a kitten would mew; a parrot
would say "Pardon!" Then what was it? I could not tell.

One night, after spending the day in the Catacombs, which are nothing
more than cities of the dead, under ground, and after tumbling over my
companions, and treading on the heels of the guide, I came home hoping
for a quiet, peaceful evening. Finding, however, an invitation to spend
that evening with a lady who lived at the other end of the palace, I
felt bound to accept it.

As I passed along the dark, narrow entry, which seemed like going
through the Catacombs again, I heard a patter, patter, patter, on the
brick floor. I supported myself by putting my hands out until they
touched the sides of the tube, for I was just the least bit frightened.

The sound was approaching me; but I dared not turn my back. It echoed
from the walls and the high ceiling, and the whole air seemed filled
with a weird noise. I tiptoed along, when suddenly my foot came down
directly upon a pigeon.

Only those who have been wandering about all day in caverns can imagine
what it is to feel the flutter of a live pigeon under your very tread,
and this, too, in the dark. This pigeon reeled to his left, and I to my
right, which, of course, brought us together again. He flapped and
fluttered, I panted and screamed. He flew to his right, I to my left,
and again we met.

If I had known that it was only a pigeon, I should not have been afraid.
I am not afraid of a pigeon, I hope! But I did not know what it was, and
the whizzing, and the fluttering, and the panting, and the shrieks so
resounded from the roof above, that I had a mind to cry out for help.

The landlady, who in that country is called _padrona_, knew that all was
not quiet in her dwelling: so she shortly appeared at one end of the
tube, with a dim candle. This so alarmed the pigeon, that he was more
frightened than I. He turned to the other opening just at the moment
when two young ladies appeared there with a light.

What could the poor thing do!--a woman at one end, two women at the
other, and a greater obstacle, which was myself, in the centre. He could
not fly far, for his wings had been clipped; but, exerting what
wing-power he had, he whizzed over my head into empty space.

When I ran away, he seemed to be balancing himself upon nothing. There
was no beam under that roof, upon which he could alight; and how he bore
his plight I did not wait to see.

But the funniest thing about this pigeon was his manner of treating me
the next morning, and, indeed, as long as I remained in Rome. I often
met him in various parts of the house; and as I approached he would
throw back his head, swell his white throat, wink at me,--first with one
eye, then with the other,--and then, with a quick prance, get by me.

I think pigeons have a language of their own; for his winks said
plainly, "Come on, if you want to try that game again! Who's afraid!"
But I never moved a muscle as I glided by him. I didn't want him to know
that my heart went pit-a-pat when he gave me those side glances.

The last morning that I was in Rome, as I stepped into the carriage to
go to the cars, a flock of doves appeared to be quietly feeding on the
roadside; but my familiar footfall aroused one of them from his
occupation, and he stood apart gazing at the scene.

When the carriage-door was shut and the driver was mounting his box, the
same old patter attracted my attention. I put my head out of the window,
and there stood my fowl friend; and as long as he could see me his strut
continued, and probably his eyes winked.

                                             AUNT ANNE.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: DRAWING-LESSON.

VOL. XXX.--NO. 6.]




READY FOR A WALK.


[Illustration]

PUT a good thick coat on the little girl. Button it well. Tie on her
bonnet. Put a scarf over her ears. Now she is all ready. Now she will
not mind the cold. Ah! whom does she see coming to meet her?

[Illustration]

It is her cousin Sue. She is going to walk too. Is not that nice? "Come,
little Ann," says Sue, "take hold of my hand and we will have a good
time."--"So we will," says Ann. And off they go hand in hand.

                                             A. B. C.




[Illustration]




LILY AND HER KITTEN.


"WHERE can Lily be?" said Mrs. West to her sister Helen, as they sat
sewing and chatting together. "I have not seen the child this half
hour."

"When I saw her last," answered Helen, "she was having a great frolic
with her kitten in the hall."

"Well," said Mrs. West, "I must have a hunt for Miss Lily. She may be
getting into mischief." So she opened the door, and called, "Lily, Lily,
where are you?"

No answer came. Mrs. West looked into the nursery and bedrooms, but saw
nothing of the little girl.

Then she went down stairs and looked into the parlor and hall. Lily was
not there. She opened the front door and called "Lily, Lily!" but still
in vain.

At last she went into the dining-room, and there, to be sure, was Lily
fast asleep in a large chair, with Dinah the kitten in her lap, and a
little black paw clasped in her chubby hand.

Mrs. West smiled and shut the door softly, saying to herself "Dear
child, she is certainly doing no mischief." Then she called her sister
to come down and peep in at the sleeping companions.

Helen said, "Isn't that a pretty picture? Suppose we take a big peach
from this basket of fruit and put it softly beside her on the chair to
surprise her when she wakes."

When Lily woke soon after, she rubbed her eyes, and said, "Why, where
did this peach come from, I wonder! Have I been asleep, and has a fairy
dropped it in my chair?"

                                             AUNT SUE.




THIRSTY BILLY.


"WHOA, Billy!" said a farmer, as he was driving home from the mill with
a load of meal. "We'll stop here, and you shall have a good drink. You
must need it after climbing up this long hill.

"There are good people in the world, are there not, old fellow? And it
certainly was one of them who put this trough here for poor beasts like
you to drink from. Well, you are thirsty, to be sure! Don't you mean to
leave a drop there? What do you think the next donkey that comes along
will do?

[Illustration]


"Ah, you prick up your ears, and wink your eye, as much as to say,
'Never you fear about that, my friend. There's no danger of my drinking
all there is in this trough, and you know as well as I that there is
plenty more water in the spring where this came from.'

"So at last, then, you have enough," added the farmer, as Billy lifted
his dripping nose from the water.

"Come on then, long ears: we have another hill to climb, you know, and
wife wants some of this meal to make a corn-cake for supper."

And Billy started on briskly, as if he knew well what supper meant, and
thought he should have a share of corn-cake too.

                                             UNCLE CHARLES.




A DEFIANCE.


    KING of the barn-yard here am I.
    If any bird my power deny,
    That bird to combat I defy;
    I raise my ancient battle cry,
    Resolved to conquer or to die.
    Who has the rashness to reply?

                         CHANTICLEER.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




ABOUT WINDMILLS.


"PAPA, what is that funny-looking house, with that great whirligig going
round and round on it?" said Charlie to his father, pointing to this
picture.

"That is a windmill," his father answered. "I don't wonder you call
those long arms a whirligig, for they whirl round very swiftly when the
wind blows.

"But they do not go round and round for nothing, as your toy whirligigs
do. They are busy at work, turning a great wheel inside the mill; and
the wheel is busy grinding corn into meal.

"There are not many windmills to be seen in our country; but if you
should go to Holland, you would see them in all directions. Holland is a
very flat country and has no swift rivers to turn the mill-wheels, so
the wind has to do the work instead.

"There are said to be ten thousand windmills there. The arms of some are
a hundred feet long."

"I should like to see them," said Charlie. "Will you not take me there
sometime, papa?"

"Perhaps," said his father, "but you are a small boy yet, and have much
to see and learn at home first."

                                             ALFRED STETSON.




ANNIE'S GIFT.


ANNIE FAY had been taking a walk, one winter day, with her mother. On
their way they had stopped to see her grandmother, and she had given
Annie a large apple to take home.

But just before reaching the house, they saw a forlorn-looking girl with
her apron full of dry twigs which she had been picking by the roadside.
She was thinly dressed, and looked pale and sad.

Annie's heart was touched at the sight. "Oh, mamma!" she said, "how
tired and cold and hungry that poor girl looks! May I give her my
apple?"

"Certainly, dear," said her mother, "you may give it to her. And ask her
in to get warm."

So, quick as thought, Annie ran to the girl and held up the apple,
saying, "Please take this. And mamma wants you to come into the house
with us and get warm."

The girl could hardly keep back her tears at being so kindly spoken to.
But she took the apple, thanked Annie, and followed her into the house.
On questioning her, Mrs. Fay found that she was an orphan. She lived
with a woman who was too poor to do much for her. She had to work hard,
and the woman was not always kind to her.

[Illustration]

After getting warm and eating a good dinner, she cheered up wonderfully.
And when Mrs. Fay put on her a woolen sacque and mittens and some thick
shoes, she looked so happy and thankful that Annie was quite delighted.

When Annie saw her grandmother, the next day, and told her what was done
with the apple, the kind old lady said, "That was right. I am very glad
you gave it to her. If she is a nice child I would like to have her live
with me. I cannot move about much, and for some time I have wanted to
find a handy little girl to wait on me."

And when Annie next went to her grandmother's house, there was the
little girl, neatly dressed, and fast losing the sad look she had on her
face when they met her that cold day.

                                             JANE OLIVER.




FLOSSIE'S PET ALLIGATOR.


"AUNT MEG, did you ever see an alligator,--a real live one, such as papa
took me to see in Boston, last summer?"

"Oh, yes, Toddy! I have seen more alligators than you can count fingers
and thumbs on your little dimpled hands. But I saw the funniest one when
I was in Kansas last winter; and if you will sit here on my lap, I will
tell you all about it.

"One day, last year, when Flossie was in Jacksonville, Florida, with her
parents, she saw a baby-alligator, and took such a fancy to it, that her
papa bought it for her. They brought it home in the spring, and cousin
Fred made a pen for it in the back-yard, near a large puddle of water;
for alligators, you know, live in the water.

"Always after a rain, the water was quite deep, and 'Allie,' as Flossie
named her pet, would splash about in it, as happy as could be. Flossie
and all the children in the neighborhood, used to play with him every
day.

"Before the spring was over, Allie was so tame, that he would follow
Flossie up to the house, where the children would feed him with fish or
meat.

"The alligator kept growing and growing, until he was too large for the
pen; and as he grew old, he grew so cross, that Flossie's papa sold him
to a circus-man for a twenty-dollar gold-piece, and the children never
saw their pet again."

                                             AUNT MEG.




"THE NURSERY" TO ITS READERS.


    FIFTEEN years ago, in my green cover
      Faintly colored like the leaves in spring,
    High and low, of every child the lover,
      First I came my welcome words to bring.

    And from then till now I have not rested;
      I have still kept busy every day;
    When the cowslips bloomed, and, crimson-breasted,
      Sang the robins in the golden May,

    When the silver daisies starred the mowing,
      When the nestling swallows fluttered forth,
    When the maple-woods like flame were glowing,
      Or the wild wind piped from out the north;

    All the time I used to look and listen:
      "Something for the children I must find,
    Merry tales to make their bright eyes glisten,
      Useful lessons they should keep in mind."

    Fifteen years--how brief they were and pleasant!
      When these little golden heads are gray,
    Looking back on what is now the present,
      Who can tell? There may be one will say,--

    "These few words that once my mother taught me
      From 'The Nursery,' ere I could read,
    Lingering in my memory, have brought me
      Helpful counsel in life's hours of need."

    Everywhere, of every child the lover,
      Willing doer of my best was I;
    For the last time, in my pale green cover,
      I have come to say to you "Good-by!"

                              MARIAN DOUGLAS.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

The original text for the July issue had a table of contents that
spanned six issues. This was divided amongst those issues.

Additionally, only the July issue had a title page. This page was copied
for the remaining five issues. Each issue had the number added on the
title page after the Volume number.

Table of Contents omits the mention of the Drawing-Lesson on page 369.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, December 1881, Vol. XXX, by Various

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42161 ***