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[Transcriber's note: As pages 23 and 24 were missing from the original
scanned booklet they were not included in this transcription.]


No. 169. JANUARY, 1881. Vol. XXIX.

THE NURSERY

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE FOR YOUNGEST READERS

NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY. 36 BROMFIELD STREET, BOSTON

$1.50 a year, in advance. 15 cents a single copy.

Entered at the Post Office at Boston as Second-Class Matter.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by THE NURSERY
PUBLISHING CO., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at
Washington.

       *     *     *     *     *

CONTENTS OF NUMBER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE.

       *     *     *     *     *

                                                              PAGE

THAT MERRY CHRISTMAS              By _Uncle Charles_           2

BABY'S QUIET FAMILY               By _W.G._                    3

BABY AND THE BIRD                 By _A.B.C._                  4

A NEW YEAR'S DIALOGUE             By _Marian Douglas_          5

THE SHEEP FOLLOW THE SHEPHERD     By _Dora Burnside_           7

"A FRIEND IN NEED"                By _Jane Oliver_             8

"IN A MINUTE"                     By _Mary Addison_           10

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE                By _George S. Burleigh_     12

DOWN THE RIVER AFTER THE BOY      By _Alfred Stetson_         14

"FLUTTER, FLUTTER!"               By _Mary N. Prescott_       16

DRAWING-LESSON                    By _Harrison Weir_          17

CHRISTMAS BELLS                   By _George Cooper_          18

JACK THE MAGPIE                   By _Aunt Sadie_             19

PORTRAITS FOR LITTLE FOLKS        By _K.G._                   21

AMONG THE HOLLY-BUSHES            By _Emily Carter_           23 (Missing)

THE BASKET OF APPLES              By _Uncle Sam_              25

CHRISTMAS                         (_Music by T. Crampton_)    32

       *     *     *     *     *

A BRAIN AND NERVE FOOD.

Vitalized Phos-phites

(This differs from all other tonics because it is composed of the
nerve-giving principles of the ox brain and wheat germ.) It gives
vitality to the insufficient growth of children; feeds the brain and
nerves; prevents fretfulness; gives quiet rest and sleep. An ill-fed
brain learns no lessons, and is excusable if peevish. Restless infants
are cured in a few days. For sale by Druggists, or mail, $1.00.

=F. CROSBY 666 8TH AVE. N.Y.=

       *     *     *     *     *

EDITOR'S PORTFOLIO.

*** "The Nursery" is fortunate, not only in being in charge of its
original editors, but in retaining the good will and hearty co-operation
of its most valued contributors.

*** Among these the name of Marian Douglas deserves special mention. We
present a capital poem from her pen, and are promised a series of a
similar character, one of which will appear in each number during the
year. The name of George Cooper is also endeared to our readers by his
charming verses. A poem by him is given in this number, and we have
others in store. George S. Burleigh, Emily Carter, Jane Oliver, Mary N.
Prescott, and other favorites contribute to our table of contents.

*** Some choice things that came too late for this issue will appear in
future numbers. Poems by Mrs. M.D. Brine, illustrated by her sister,
Miss Northam, poems and sketches by Josephine Pollard, Clara Doty Bates,
and others, are among the treasures held in reserve.

=The Yearly Volume of "The Nursery" for 1880 is now ready. Sent by mail,
postpaid, for $1.75.=

Direct all communications to

=THE NURSERY PUBLISHING CO.,=

36 _Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass._




=_The Nursery_

1867-1881

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE FOR YOUNGEST READERS.=

       *     *     *     *     *

This unique and much-admired work, begun in 1867, and now a _welcome and
trusted visitor_ in every intelligent family where there is a child,
gives in _every number_ a profusion of

THE CHOICEST PICTURES,

Executed in the _best and most costly style_, and, in most cases, from
_original designs_ made expressly for the young.

ITS ARTICLES,

Whether in prose or verse, are adapted with the greatest care to the
capacities of children, and are, with very rare exceptions, wholly
original.

A SONG SET TO MUSIC,

By a skilful composer, and specially adapted to children's voices, is
given in every number.

       *     *     *     *     *

TERMS: =Subscription Price (postage included), $1.50. Payable always in
advance. 15 cents a single number. A Sample Number will be sent for 10
cents.= Address all communications to

THE NURSERY PUBLISHING CO.,

36 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.




THE NURSERY.

       *     *     *     *     *

WHAT THE PAPERS SAY OF IT.


If you would teach your child to read in the easiest, quickest, and most
practicable way, easiest both to the child and the teacher, put "The
Nursery" in its hands every month. Our word for it, you will be
surprised at the result. "The Nursery" will be found a primer, a
reading-book, drawing-book, story-book, and lesson-book, all in
one.--_Boston Transcript._

"The Nursery" is as great a favorite as ever; and all attempts to
imitate it have failed. No other magazine can supply its place. No
family where there are small children can afford to be without
it.--_Providence Press._

Among American periodicals for the young, there is not one that we can
more confidently commend than "The Nursery." Indeed, there is not one of
the kind in Europe that quite comes up to this.--_N.Y. Tribune._

Every house that has children in it needs "The Nursery" for their profit
and delight; and every childless house needs it for the sweet
portraiture it gives of childhood.--_Northampton Journal_.

"The Nursery" continues to be without a rival in its own field, and
fills its place so well that none need wish for anything better. The
idea that anything is good enough for the little ones finds no place in
the mind of its editor, and both stories and pictures are of the
choicest.--_Chicago Advance._

No better outlay of money can be made for children than in subscription
to such a magazine as "The Nursery," as it affords not only pleasure,
but real benefit.--_Richmond (Va.) Religious Herald._

We again repeat our hope that no family in this country, in which there
is a child or children, will be without this beautiful, simple, and
natural little magazine.--_Marshall (Mich.) Expounder._

Of the many attempts to imitate it, all have failed. We are proud of
such an American journal for children.--_Illinois Schoolmaster._

Teachers who have tried it say that it charms the children into learning
to read. Blessings on the sunny "Nursery"! Far and near may households
be brightened by its presence!--_Massachusetts Teacher._

A bright, pleasant little pictorial, with which the smallest children
able to read at all may be amused and instructed. Parents looking for
such reading will be interested in it.--_N.Y. Tribune._

"The Nursery" is the very best magazine that we know for children. It is
beautifully illustrated, and the stories are _always clean and pure_,
inculcating kindness to one another and to animals. Its lessons are all
in favor of truth, honor, and honesty. It should be in every family
where there are young children to be entertained and
instructed.--_Woman's Journal._

"The Nursery" is 'a magazine for youngest readers,' and, as we know by
its use in our own family, most admirably adapted for the purpose for
which it is intended.--_Charleston (S.C.) Carolinian._

Those who wish to furnish their little ones, just learning to read, with
something fresh,--something written with great care, and illustrated
with skill, to which the ordinary 'primers' cannot and do not
attain,--should provide themselves with "The Nursery."--_Detroit Post._

To those of our readers who have young children of their own, or who are
called on to suggest quiet amusement for little patients, we can
conscientiously commend "The Nursery," a monthly juvenile magazine
published in Boston, as the only periodical we have been able to find
suited to the comprehension of children under ten or twelve years of
age.--_N.Y. Medical Gazette._

We wish we could express in fitting words our gratitude to the editor,
publisher, and contributors of this exquisite little magazine. It is
intended for the small boys and girls who do not read very long words;
but, if we mistake not, 'children of a larger growth' will be fascinated
by its charming pictures and its dainty execution.--_N.Y. Liberal
Christian._

Few better services can be done than to banish namby-pamby trash from
juvenile literature, and to substitute for it what is healthy and jolly
and interesting. This is the work that "The Nursery" performs for little
children, and we therefore take pleasure in its deserved success.--_N.Y.
Independent._

[Illustration: THAT MERRY CHRISTMAS.]




THAT MERRY CHRISTMAS.


[Illustration: W]

What a glad noise there was that Christmas morning! The children had got
up early to look in their stockings. John's were not quite large enough
to hold all of his gifts. It is rather hard to crowd a sword, a gun, and
a rocking-horse all into one stocking.

Mary had a fine new doll. Harry had a box, and, on taking off the cover,
up sprang a wise-looking little man, with a cap on his head. Jessy had a
doll, and a very pretty one it was too. Tommy had a what-do-you-call-it.
Why did he look up the chimney? I think it was to see if there was any
sign of Santa Claus.

John mounted his horse, waved his sword, and held up his gun. But very
soon he began to get tired of them all. The thought came into his head
that he was more than eight years old. "What do I want of these toys?"
said he. "Why was I so silly as to choose them, when aunt Susan would
have given me a microscope?" And John laid down his sword and gun,
feeling quite above such childish things.

When aunt Susan came, she saw that John did not seem as glad over his
presents as the rest of the children did over theirs. "What is the
matter, John?" she asked. "Why are you not playing with your toys?"

"Aunt Susan," said John, "I wish I had taken the microscope. Is it too
late?"

"No, John. I thought you might repent your choice, so I said to Mr.
Grover, who keeps the toy-shop, 'I think I shall want to change the
microscope: can I do so?' He said, 'Yes.' His shop will be open till
eleven o'clock. So run round and get the microscope, and tell him to
send to-morrow and take back the toys."

In five seconds John had on his hat, and was running down the street to
Mr. Grover's. He came back with the microscope in about half an hour,
and was full of joy at the change. A merry Christmas it was then for all
the children!

UNCLE CHARLES.

       *     *     *     *     *

[Illustration: Baby's quiet family]




BABY'S QUIET FAMILY.

    Whenever I walk
      With my children three,
    I laugh and I talk
      For the whole family.

    There's Ruth (her arm's broken!)
      And Jane and Annette,
    They never have spoken
      Or laughed even, yet;

    But I know when they're glad,--
      Mothers always can tell,--
    And I'm sad when they're sad,
      For I love them so well!

    Whenever we walk,
      Though they're still as can be,
    I can easily talk
      Quite enough for the three.

W.G.




BABY AND THE BIRD.

[Illustration: BABY AND THE BIRD.]


Baby is looking out of the window. Jane is holding him up so that he
will not fall out. What does he see that makes him jump up and down with
joy?

He sees a dear little bird. It has come for its daily meal of seed and
crumbs. It is not afraid of baby? Why should it be? How could any bird
be afraid of such a dear child?

When the bird has had its dinner, I think it will sing.

A.B.C.




[Illustration: Chapter header]

A NEW YEAR'S DIALOGUE.


HARRY.


    Loud from the north the wild wind blows;
      It sweeps the blue sky clear,
    And parts, amid the drifting snows,
      The path of the New Year;
    The glad New Year that always brings
    So many bright delightful things,
      Gay holidays and merry plays,
    And loving wishes from our friends.
      A "Happy New Year" let us make,
    And keep it "happy" till it ends.
      By trying every day to see
      What good, good children we can be.

KATE.

    Last year, when any thing went wrong,
    I used to fret the whole day long,
    And sometimes sob and cry aloud,
    Dark-looking as a thunder-cloud;
    But, even in a gloomy place,
    I now must keep a sunny face;
    For, all this year, I mean to see
    How bright and cheerful I can be.

MARY.

    Last year, the flitting butterfly
    Was not so idle as was I;
    I liked my sports and frolic well,
    But would not learn to read and spell:
    Now I must change my ways at once,
    Or I shall surely be a dunce.
    This glad New Year that has begun,
    Must leave me wiser when 'tis done.

JAMES.

    Last year, my temper was so quick,
    My angry words came fast and thick,
    And brother Tom I'd scold and strike
    When he did what I did not like.
    I am so sorry! Loving words
    Are sweeter than the song of birds;
    And, all this year, I mean to see
    If I a gentle child can be.

ALL. (_Four or more._)

    The past is past; the year is new:
    We will be patient, brave, and true;
    When we are bidden, quick to mind;
    Unselfish, courteous, and kind;
    And try in every place to see
    What good, good children we can be.

MARIAN DOUGLAS.

[Illustration: Tail piece]




[Illustration: Chapter header]

THE SHEEP FOLLOW THE SHEPHERD.


The tenth chapter of St. John says, "He calleth his own sheep by name,
and leadeth them out. He goeth before them, and the sheep follow him;
for they know his voice. And a stranger will they not follow, but will
flee from him; for they know not the voice of strangers."

But may it not be the form or dress of the shepherd that the sheep
know, and follow him? To test this, a traveller, who had put the
question, once exchanged dresses with a shepherd, and went amongst the
sheep.

The traveller in the shepherd's dress called the sheep, and tried to
lead them; but "they knew not his voice," and did not move. But when the
shepherd called them, though he was in the traveller's dress, they ran
at once to him, thus proving that it was the voice that led them.

I have a dog that will sometimes bark at me when I put on an overcoat
which he has not seen me wear before. But, the moment he hears my voice,
he seems ashamed of not having known me, and will whine, as if he would
say, "Pardon me, good master. It was very stupid in me not to know you.
It was your coat I did not know. I will try to be wiser the next time."

DORA BURNSIDE

       *     *     *     *     *




"A FRIEND IN NEED."


Henry lived in the great city of London. He was known as "the boy at the
crossing." He used to sweep one of the crossings in Oxford Street. In
wet weather these crossings are very muddy. Now and then some one would
give him a penny for his work. He did not make much in a day; but what
he got was a great help to his mother. That thought kept him daily at
his work. One day he saw a little girl trying to lead her little brother
across the street. The carts and the horses made her afraid, and she ran
back timidly.

"What's the matter, little girl?" asked Henry.

"I am afraid we shall be run over," said the girl.

"I'll help you across," said Henry. Then, lifting the little boy in his
arms, he took the girl by the hand, and led her safely to the other side
of the street.

[Illustration: A friend in need.]

"Thank you!" said the little girl; and "Thank you!" said her little
brother, as plainly as he could speak it.

I went up and asked the boy with the broom if he knew the children. "I
never saw them before in my life," said he; "but such little ones can't
get across without help."

"You are a good boy," said I. "I think you must have a good father."

"I had one once," said he; "but now I have only a good mother."

"Well, Henry," said I, "give her this shilling, and tell her I send it
to her for teaching her boy to do good when he can get a chance."

Tears came to the boy's eyes. A shilling seemed a good deal of money to
him, and it pleased him all the more because it was given him for his
mother.

"Thank you, sir; thank you!" said he, and he ran back to his work one of
the happiest boys in London, I think, at that moment.

JANE OLIVER.

       *     *     *     *     *




"IN A MINUTE."


If you asked Dora to do any thing, she would reply, "In a minute." It
was a bad habit she had. "Dora, please bring me a drink of water."--"In
a minute."--"Dora, go up stairs, and bring me down my comb."--"Yes,
mother, in a minute."--"Dora, come to your dinner."--"In a minute."

One day the bird was hopping about on the floor. Somebody went out,
leaving the door open, just as "somebody" is always doing. Dora's mother
said, "Dora, shut the door, or the cat will be after your bird."

"Yes, mother, in a minute," said Dora. "I just want to finish this line
in my drawing." But the cat did not wait till this was done. In he
popped, and with one dart he had the bird in his mouth.

Down went the slate on the floor, and away went cat, bird, and Dora.
There was a wild chase on the lawn. "In a minute" Dora came back
weeping, with the poor bird in her hand, but, oh! the life had all been
shaken out of him.

[Illustration: Dora and the bird.]

How Dora cried! Mamma was sorry for her, but said, "A great many things
may happen 'in a minute,' Dora. I hope the next time you are told to do
a thing, you will do it at once."

MARY ADDISON.




THE CHRISTMAS TREE

[Illustration: THE CHRISTMAS TREE]


    Spring and Summer and russet Fall
      Come and go with a varied cheer;
    Each has something, and none has all,
      Of the good things of the year.

    Winter laughs, though the trees are bare,
      With a kindly laugh that is good to see;
    For of all the forest is none so rare
      As his merry Christmas-tree.

    It blooms with many a taper's flame;
      And hidden under the leaves of green
    Are fruits of every shape and name,
      The funniest ever seen,--

[Illustration: Another Christmas Tree]

    Book and bundle, and scarf, and shawl,
      Picture and peanuts, skate and saw,
    Candy and album, and bat and ball,
      Hatchet, and doll, and taw,

    Games and frames, and comical dames
      With walnut faces wrinkled and old,
    Fillets rare for the sunny hair,
      And jewels of pearl and gold.

    For the good St. Nicholas blest this tree,
      And it blooms and bears for every one,
    With a gift of love to you and me,
      For beauty, or use, or fun.

    Poorer than any the Child whose name
      Has given a name to our Christmas-tree;
    Yet kingly gifts to his cradle came,
      And kingly gifts gave He.

GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.




DOWN THE RIVER AFTER THE BOY.


Walter Dale was a little boy six years old, who lived with his parents
on the bank of the River Thames in England. One day, after dinner, he
went to the water's edge to play.

Seeing a small boat tied to a big stone by a rope, he pulled the boat up
to the shore. "What a nice little boat!" said he. "I will get into it,
and rock it, as I once saw a big boy do."

So he got into the boat, and began to rock it. The boat got loose, and
drifted down the river. Walter did not notice this until he was quite a
distance from the shore; then, turning round, he saw what had happened.
Every moment the current was carrying him further from home.

Walter was not a timid boy, and, instead of crying, he began to reason
in this way: "The boat does not leak. It is safe and sound. There are no
waves to make me afraid. The wind does not blow. Here on a seat is a
thick blanket. In this box is a loaf of bread and a knife. The water of
the river is good to drink, and here is a tin mug. I think I will not
cry, but hope for the best."

So he sat down. He called to some people on the shore; but they did not
hear him. He stood up, and waved his hat to a man in a passing boat, and
cried, "Help, help!" But the man thought it was some little fellow
making fun of him.

Meanwhile Walter's mother had become anxious. She ran down to the river,
and followed his foot-tracks to the edge of the water. Then she ran back
to her husband; but he was not in the house. In about an hour he came
back, and she said, "Quick, quick! Get a boat, and call John to help
you. Walter is drifting down the river in that little green boat, I am
sure."

Mr. Dale ran out of the house, called his man John, and they went down
to the bank. Here they took a good fast boat, pulled it out into the
stream, and began to row with the current.

It was getting late. A mist was creeping over the great city of London.
They could hardly see the tall stores, the masts and steeples on one
side. But on they went, rowing swiftly with their good oars, as if for
dear life.

[Illustration: Searching for Walter.]

They looked out sharply on both sides to catch a sight of the little
green boat. At last, when they had rowed about two miles, with the tide
in their favor, Mr. Dale cried out, "I see it! I see it! But, ah! it is
empty. I see no sign of a boy in it. What can have become of poor
Walter?"

On they rowed, and at last, came up with the boat. Still no Walter was
to be seen. The poor father was in despair, when all at once Walter
started up from under the great blanket, where he had been hiding. He
cried out, "Here I am, papa, safe and sound!"

"Oh, you little rogue! Come here and let me pull your ears!" They all
got back to their home in time for a late tea, which mother had kept
warm for them. Walter was kissed and then cuffed; but the cuffs were so
tender, that they made him laugh even more than the kisses.

ALFRED STETSON.

       *     *     *     *     *




"FLUTTER, FLUTTER!"


    Flutter, flutter, with never a stop,
    All the leaves have begun to drop;
    While the wind, with a skip and a hop,
    Goes about gathering in his crop.

    Flutter, flutter, on bustling-wings,
    All the plump little feathered things:
    Thrush and bobolink, finch and jay,
    Follow the sun on his holiday.

    Flutter, flutter, the snowflakes all
    Jostle each other in their fall.
    Crowd and push into last year's nest,
    And hide the seeds from robin-redbreast.

    Flutter, flutter, the hours go by;
    Nobody sees them as they fly;
    Nobody hears their fairy tread,
    Nor the rustle of their wings instead.

MARY N. PRESCOTT.




[Illustration: DRAWING-LESSON.]




CHRISTMAS BELLS

[Illustration: CHRISTMAS BELLS.]


    "Are you waking?" shout the breezes
      To the tree-tops waving high,
    "Don't you hear the happy tidings
      Whispered to the earth and sky?
    Have you caught them in your dreaming,
      Brook and rill in snowy dells?
    Do you know the joy we bring you
      In the merry Christmas bells?
      Ding, dong! ding, dong, Christmas bells!

    "Are you waking, flowers that slumber
      In the deep and frosty ground?
    Do you hear what we are breathing
      To the listening world around?
    For we bear the sweetest story
      That the glad year ever tells:
    How He loved the little children,--
      He who brought the Christmas bells!
      Ding, dong! ding, dong, Christmas bells!

GEORGE COOPER.




JACK THE MAGPIE.


One day last summer, a man in Colorado found a magpie by the roadside.
Its wings had been clipped, so that it could not fly. The man gave it to
a little boy named Ernest Hart.

He lived with his parents in a neat cottage near by a mountain stream.
He ran home, and showed the bird to his sister Edith. They named it
Jack.

Jack was quite a large bird. His body was black as coal; his breast was
white; and his wings and tail shaded off into a dark green. His bill was
long and very strong. He had a shrewd, knowing look. As he was quite
tame, he must have been some one's pet.

He would hop and strut around in such a funny, pompous way, that one
could not help laughing. He would take food from any one's hand, but
would not let any one touch him, except Mr. Hart, the children's father.

To Mr. Hart he seemed to take a great liking. He would hop on to his
hand or shoulder: he would follow him all over the place. As soon as Mr.
Hart came into the house, Jack would stand outside the door, and scream
to him to come out. Indeed, Jack was almost too fond of him.

One day when Mr. Hart was chopping wood, Jack kept laying his bill
within two or three inches of the place where the axe fell. It seemed
just as if he wanted his bill chopped off.

Jack could talk a little. He could say "pretty," "what," and "yes, sir."
When hungry, he would come round to the kitchen-door. There he would
keep up a loud chattering, till food was given him to eat.

Jack was shy of Marcus, the dog. But, while Marcus was eating his
dinner, Jack would steal up, and seize a bone from the plate. Then he
would run off and hide it.

I believe that all magpies are thieves. I know that Jack was a sad
thief. He would carry off almost any thing he saw lying about. One day
he was caught in the act of carrying off the gardener's pipe.

It was fun for Ernest and Edith to watch him at his mischief. All summer
they made much of him. Now, in October, though the trees are still green
and the wild flowers are not gone, we have had in our Colorado home a
taste of winter.

[Illustration: Jack the magpie and the dog.]

The ground has been white with snow. Jack is still with us, and seems
quite happy. Edith and Ernest may stay here all winter. Perhaps I may
tell you something of their winter sports. Would you like to hear it?

AUNT SADIE.




PORTRAITS FOR LITTLE FOLKS.


[Illustration: Master Baby]

    This is Master Baby,
      Paying a morning call,
    Sitting so good upon his chair,
      But speaking not at all.
    Listening to every word,
      The funny little man!
    Wondering at the news he hears,
      Thinking all he can.

[Illustration: Miss Mary Vernon]

    This little lady,
      I'd have you know,
    Is Miss Mary Vernon,
      With cheeks in a glow.
    She has a doll Bella,
      Quite dear to her heart,
    And takes her to ride
      In a nice little cart.

[Illustration: Tommy Trip]

    This is Tommy Trip:
      Bubbles he can blow;
    When a bubble breaks too soon,
      Tommy cries, "Don't go!"
    Older folks I know,
      Who their fine schemes make,
    And, when any fine scheme fails,
      Cry, "Oh, do not break!"

[Illustration: Susan]

    'Tis the winter cold,
      All the ponds are ice;
    Susan loves the winter cold,
      Calls the weather nice.
    Warm with muff and coat,
      She can go and skate;
    She can glide along the ice
      At a merry rate.

[Illustration: Mary Jane]

    This is Mary Jane,
      See! she has a saucer:
    To her cat she says,
      "Give me up your paw, sir.
    I've some fresh, nice milk
      You will relish greatly."
    Pussy then put up her paw;
      All this happened lately.

[Illustration: Baby May]

    This is Baby May:
      She looks out to spy
    If her own dear papa comes
      On the road near by.
    Yes, she sees him now,
      He is coming fast;
    For he loves his Baby May,
      Loves her first and last.

K.G.




THE BASKET OF APPLES.

[Illustration: THE BASKET OF APPLES.]


I.

Albert is a bright little fellow. He is not three years old; but he can
read ten words in "The Nursery." These words are, cat, dog, cow, horse,
bird, mother, father, brother, sister, apple.

One day, John the gardener left a basket of apples at the top of the
garden-steps. Albert saw it, and knew it was meant for the house. "I
will take it in," said he. "I am strong."

[Illustration: Albert II]


II.

But the basket was not so light as he had thought. Indeed it was quite
heavy. Perhaps this was because it was full of apples. The gardener had
just picked them from a fine old tree in the orchard.

Albert was a stout little fellow; but the basket was too much for him.
In trying to lift it, he upset it; and some of the apples rolled out
down the steps as fast as they could go. Perhaps they saw it was a good
chance to run away.

[Illustration: Albert III]


III.

Albert did not cry. He knew that crying would do no good. What was now
the first thing to be done? Albert thought for a while, and said to
himself, "The first thing to do is to set the basket upright."

He did not find it hard work to do this. All the apples had not run out.
Some were still in the basket.

Albert picked up one, smelt of it, and then put it back. He next placed
the basket upright.

[Illustration: Albert IV]


IV.

Having done this so that the basket stood firm, he said, "What is the
next thing to do? The next thing to do is to put back the apples; and I
am the boy that can do it."

And he did it well. He did not once think of keeping any of the apples
for himself; nor did he even take a bite of one of them. He was a good
boy, and too honest for that.

If any one had said to him, "Give me an apple," Albert would have said,
"The apples are not mine to give."

[Illustration: Albert V]


V.

"Now it is all right again," said Albert. "What next? If the basket will
not let me carry it, the basket shall carry me. That would be fair
play."

So he mounted the basket, as you see, took hold of the handle with his
left hand, and cried out, "Get up, sir!" He made believe it was a horse.
"Get up, sir!" he cried. But the horse would not move.

[Illustration: Albert VI]


VI.

Albert then began to shake the basket, as if to urge it on. Ah, me! who
would have thought to see it play the gay horse in earnest? It seemed so
gentle!

Who would have thought to see it shy, and kick up, and throw Albert off?
But so it did. Albert put out both hands to save himself, but he could
not keep his seat. Over he went.

[Illustration: Albert VII]


VII.

Over went the basket. Albert, apples, and all rolled down the steps.
"Help!" he cried. The gardener ran up to see what was the matter.

"Where are my apples?" said he. "Here!" said Albert, jumping up, for the
lucky rogue was not hurt a bit.

UNCLE SAM.




CHRISTMAS.

Words by ALFRED SELWYN.[A]

Music by T. CRAMPTON.

[Illustration: Music]

1.

  Christmas is coming, ho, ho, and ho, ho!
  Now bring on your holy and do not move slow;
  We'll deck the whole house with the branches so green,
  On wall and on picture the leaves shall be seen.
  Oh! merry the time when we all meet together
  In spite of the cold, the wind, and the weather,
  When grandparents, uncles, and cousins we see,
  All gather'd around the mahogany tree.


2.

  It stands in the hall, the mahogany tree;
  And very nice fruit it will bear, you'll agree;
  The turkeys and capons, the puddings and pies,
  On Christmas day feed something more than the eyes.
  The poor and the needy then come to our door,
  And carry off with them a bountiful store
  Of all the good things that we have for ourselves,
  In cupboard and cellar, on table and shelves.


3.

  When dinner is ended, what sound do we hear
  From holly-deck'd parlor ring merry and clear?
  'Tis Uncle Tom's fiddle! the tune is a call
  To all the good people to come to our ball.
  They come, young and old, and partake of our cheer,
  For old Christmas comes only once in a year!
  Then hand up the holly, and let us prepare
  The house for the pleasure in which all can share.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Nursery, Vol. XXIV.]




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