Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net







THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XIII.--No. 4

        BOSTON:
        JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
        1873.




        Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,

        BY JOHN L. SHOREY,

        In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.





        BOSTON:
        RAND, AVERY, & CO., STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS.

[Illustration: Contents]

IN PROSE.

                                                    PAGE.

   Try, try again                                     97

   The Prisoner                                       99

   Clarence's Kittens                                103

   The Tiger's Toilet                                104

   Peterlin on his Travels                           106

   George's Boat                                     110

   The Little Carpenter                              112

   Little Mischief                                   114

   Walter's Dog                                      117

   The Horse that loves Children                     119

   How Taddy learned his Lesson                      120

   The Old Clock                                     123

   In the Maple-Woods                                124


IN VERSE.

   The Song of the Kettle                            101

   On the Gate                                       108

   Where's the Baby?                                 126

   The Birds' Return                                 127

   Song of the Ducks (_with music_)                  128

[Illustration]

[Illustration: "TRY, TRY AGAIN."]




"TRY, TRY AGAIN."


[Illustration: I]T is a true story that I am going to tell you now. It
is about a little boy whose name was William Ross. Having had a present
of a pencil, he thought he would make use of it by trying to draw.

His first attempts were poor enough. One day, when he had been playing
ball with a young friend, he stopped, and, taking out his pencil, began
to draw a picture on the wall.

"What do you call that?" asked his friend. "Why, that is a horse!"
replied William: "can't you see?"--"A horse! is it?" cried his friend,
laughing. "Why, I took it for a donkey."

"You are quite right in laughing at it," said William. "Now that I look
at it again, I see it is all out of drawing; but I will keep at it till
I can make a good drawing of a horse."

William was not afraid of being laughed at; and he felt much obliged to
those who pointed out any faults in what he did. He was not discouraged
by failures. He kept trying till he had used his pencil nearly all up.
Still he had not yet made a good drawing of a horse.

"You'll never learn to draw: so you may as well give it up first as
last," said his friend to him one day, some six months after their last
meeting. "Your horses are all donkeys still."

William opened a portfolio, and, taking out some pictures, said, "What
do you think of these?"

"Ah! here is something like a horse," replied his friend, looking at one
of the drawings. "You will never do any thing like this, Willy."

William smiled, but said nothing; though it was his own drawing that his
friend was praising.

Well, by bravely keeping at it, William at last began to make pictures
worth looking at. While yet a boy, he sent in a painting to the Society
of Arts, for which he received a present of a silver palette. He rose to
be Sir William Ross, miniature painter to Queen Victoria.

Don't be discouraged, my young friends, by failing in your first
attempts. Learn to persevere. Keep at it. That's the Way.

                                                  UNCLE CHARLES.

[Illustration]




THE PRISONER.


EVA is six years old, and has deep-blue eyes. Ernest is almost four
years old, and has very black eyes. Jessie will be two years old next
week, and has large brown eyes. Their papa, who has been kept at home
by illness for a week, thinks that he is just getting acquainted with
them, and never knew before that he had three such fine children.

He noticed, the other day, that every hour, almost, they would run into
the sitting-room with cake or sugar or bread-and-butter, scattering
crumbs all over the carpet, and keeping their mamma busy much of the
time in sweeping up. So he thought he would call a council to consider
the matter, and see what could be done about it.

Papa, robed in his dressing-gown, took the chair; Eva was placed in
front; Ernest stood on the right hand, and Jessie on the left. The
chairman then told the children how much work they made mamma, and
proposed a rule,--that no more food should be brought into the
sitting-room. All who were in favor of such a rule were requested to
vote for it by raising their hands. Each of the children raised a hand;
and fat little Jessie raised both of hers as high as she could. So the
vote was passed.

Then papa said that a rule was good for nothing unless there was a
penalty with it. So he made Eva judge, and asked her what the punishment
should be for breaking the rule. "I think," said she, "the first one
that _spoils_ the rule should be shut up in jail five minutes."

This was thought to be about the right thing: so the bedroom was
selected for a jail, and Ernest was made jailer. Eva wanted to know,
since she was judge, and Ernest was jailer, what Jessie could be. Her
papa said that Jessie would probably be the first prisoner. As to
Ernest, he went at once and told his mamma that he was "no more a little
boy, but a jailer-man."

Well, that day no more crumbs were scattered; and Ernest did not get a
prisoner, though he kept a bright lookout for one. But the next day he
got one; and this is the way it happened. Papa said he would like an
apple. Eva brought him one; and, while he was paring and eating it, he
dropped some of the peel on the floor. In an instant, to his great
dismay, he was arrested and locked up; and he might have languished in
jail full five minutes, if Ernest had not been such a kind jailer that
he let him out in two.

Papa thinks that the next time he makes a rule he will be careful not to
break it.

                                                        L. P. A.

[Illustration]




THE SONG OF THE KETTLE.


        MY house is old, the rooms are low,
          The windows high and small;
        And a great fireplace, deep and wide,
          Is built into the wall.

        There, on a hanging chimney-hook,
          My little kettle swings;
        And, in the dreary winter-time,
          How cheerily it sings!

        My kettle will not sing to-day--
          What could it sing about?
        For it is empty, it is cold:
          The fire is all gone out.

        Go, bring to me, to fill it up,
          Fresh water from the spring;
        And I will build a rousing fire,
          And that will make it sing!

        Bring white bark from the silver birch,
          And pitch-knots from the pine;
        And here are shavings, long and white,
          That look as ribbons fine.

        The little match burns faint and blue,
          But serves the fire to light;
        And all around my kettle, soon,
          The flames are rising bright.

        Crack, crack! begins the hemlock-branch,
          Snap, snap! the chestnut stick;
        And up the wide old chimney now
          The sparks are flying thick.

        Like fire-flies on a summer night,
          They go on shining wings;
        And, hark! above the roaring blaze
          My little kettle sings!

        The robin carols in the spring;
          In summer hums the bee:
        But, in the dreary winter, give
          The kettle's song to me.

                                                 MARIAN DOUGLAS.

[Illustration]




CLARENCE'S KITTENS.


CLARENCE is a little boy who loves to read "The Nursery," and often
laughs at the funny stories in it.

Where Clarence lives, there are two kittens. He calls them kittens; but
they are both _grown-up_ kittens, and the elder of the two is a
full-grown cat. One is named Ring, because she has such a pretty white
ring about her neck; and the other is named Daisy.

Now, Daisy is Ring's aunt, and is sometimes very cross to her niece.
Being a sedate cat herself, she tries to stop Ring's fun; but Ring is a
happy kitten, and always tries to have a good time.

One day, after coming from church, Clarence's aunt was reading, when the
dinner-bell rang. So she left her book on the window-sill, and laid her
spectacles upon it.

Pretty soon old Daisy seated herself in a very dignified way right in
front of the book. In a few minutes, little Ring came frisking along,
and, without paying the least regard to Madam Daisy, up she jumped, and
whisked the spectacles down on the carpet.

She was just ready to send them flying across the room, when down came
Madam Daisy as stern as a police-officer. She looked at Ring a moment,
in a crushing way, then lifted her paw, and boxed the naughty kitten's
ears till she mewed for mercy.

Ring ran away as soon as she could, and left the spectacles for
Clarence's mamma to pick up; while old Daisy took her seat on the
window-sill again, and seemed to feel that she had done her duty.

Clarence thought it was a funny sight to see one cat punish another.
What do you think about it, little Nursery people?

                                               MRS. L. A. WHITE.




THE TIGER'S TOILET.


THIS splendid tiger lived in the Zoölogical Gardens at Berlin. He had a
very kind keeper named Peens, who used to comb out the long waving hair
that grew on his cheeks.

He looks in the picture as though he were very angry, and were growling
and snarling terribly; but though he did gnash his teeth, and make a
fearful noise, he enjoyed his hair-dressing very much. I have seen some
children who acted like this tiger when their hair was combed; but that
was because they were really cross. He is not.

[Illustration]

Whenever he saw Peens coming toward his cage with the comb in his hand,
this tiger would at once throw himself down close to the bars, with his
head pressed against them, as you see him here, as if he would say, "I'm
all ready, Peens, go ahead!" This showed how much he liked the feeling
of the comb.

But, after all, he never forgot that he was a tiger; for if, by
accident, Peens pulled his hair, he would give a dreadful growl, and
look as if he would like to eat him up in a minute. Then Peens would
stop for a moment, until he was good natured again.

A few weeks ago this beautiful and intelligent tiger died. In his last
hours he mewed constantly with pain, like a great cat, and was only
quiet when Peens came to the bars, and stroked his cheeks. When the
keeper went away, he would call after him.

Peens felt very badly at losing his tiger; and I am sure he must have
been a very kind keeper to him.

Even a tiger may be taught love and gratitude by kind treatment.

                                                 ELIZABETH SILL.

(_Adapted from the German._)




PETERLIN ON HIS TRAVELS.


PETERLIN was a chick just five days out of the shell. He began to think
he was somebody now. The old cornfield became too narrow for him. He
must start out on his travels, and see something of the world.

Biddy, his mother, clucked and scolded away at him, and told him how he
might lose himself in the grass, and never find his way home.

But it was of no use. The mother's warnings were unheeded. Off started
Peterlin; and, before he was well aware of it, the cornfield lay far
behind him, and he found himself standing on a rock, and gazing forth
over the wide world.

The valley lay open before him. Dear me, what a world it seemed!--so
very vast! With fright and amazement Peterlin looked down on all the
magnificence till he felt himself growing giddy.

[Illustration]

He stood on the brink of an abyss; and far beneath him flowed a stream
through the blooming land; and over the waters moved proud vessels with
their white sails and their waving flags.

All at once Peterlin saw a bird in the air. "Oh, dear! what if it should
be a vulture?" thought he, trembling in every joint. "Oh, if I were only
once more under my good old mother's wing! Oh! how I wish I had minded
her warning!"

Off ran Peterlin back through the grass, back over the ploughed field,
along by the edge of the wood; and then he heard a noise,--"cluck,
cluck, cluck!" "Oh, joy, joy! That is my mother's voice!" thought he.

Yes, it was Biddy's voice, calling her runaway child. She approached him
at a quick run; and it was not till he was safe under her wing that the
quick beat of his heart slackened, and he felt once more at peace.
Peterlin then and there resolved that he would wait till he was older
before he started again on his travels.

                                                FROM THE GERMAN.




ON THE GATE.


        WHERE are you going? Have you got
          Any thing good to eat
        In that big basket? Let me peek!
          Do you live on our street?
        I'm six years old to-day; aren't you
          Surprised? I wish you'd wait!
        I'll tell you something, if you will,
          And swing you on our gate.

        This is my grandpa's house. I wish
          He was your grandpa too!
        I guess your mother'll let you come
          And stay with me; don't you?
        I'm making patchwork: it's to keep
          The heathens warm. I hate
        To keep in-doors. I wish I could
          Swing all day on the gate!

        Have you a doll? Yes? Mine got drowned:
          Joe threw her down the well;
        But pretty soon I'm going to buy
          A new one; don't you tell!
        My bank is almost full; I'll let
          You shake it, if you'll wait:
        Pa said he'd fill it if I would
          Stop swinging on the gate.

[Illustration]

        We've got some kittens in the barn;
          They're way up in the loft:
        I like to hold them in my lap,
          They feel so warm and soft.
        Joe broke my little spade one day,
          Digging the earth for bait:
        Does your big brother call you names,
          And pull you off the gate?

        I go to school. I'm at the head:
          You ought to hear me spell!
        I and another girl are in
          The class. There goes the bell!
        I'll have to run, and get my books.
          Oh, dear! I shall be late:
        Another scolding I shall get
          For swinging on the gate!

                                                           H. B.




GEORGE'S BOAT.


[Illustration]

GEORGE had a boat on a little stream that ran not far from the house.
The boat was flat; and George pushed it along with a pole. It did not go
fast.

One day Mabel asked her brother if she might go in the boat with him.
George said, "Oh, yes!" So he pushed up to the shore, and helped Mabel
in. Then he pushed off.

How far did they go in the boat? As far as the bridge, by the great
elm-tree. George thought that was far enough.

[Illustration]

Rover saw George and Mabel in the boat, and he wanted to go too. He ran
down to the shore, and barked. But George said there would not be room
for him.

[Illustration]

There was a place where the grapevines hung over the water. George
pushed the boat to the place; and he and Mabel picked some grapes.

[Illustration]

By and by the sun was almost down. George and Mabel thought it was time
to go home. Their mother had told them to come home before dark.

                                                        W. O. C.




THE LITTLE CARPENTER.


THE picture of the little boy on the opposite page is from a photograph
from life: so you may look on it as on a real likeness of some one in
England. I do not know his name; but I think he must be some one whose
parents have fitted up a little carpenter's shop for him, so that he may
learn to do something useful.

The picture reminds me of a true story. About sixty years ago, there was
a rich man in Germany, of the name of Reinhold, who had seen so much of
the changes of life, that he resolved that each of his children, both
boys and girls, should learn some useful trade or profession.

Rudolf, the eldest boy, learned to be a carpenter. But, when he was
twenty-one years of age, he came into the possession of a large fortune.
He married, and thought that he had so much money that he could never
spend it all.

But, before he was fifty years of age, the whole of his large
possessions had melted away. Some of his stately houses had been burned
down; and the insurance-offices had failed. Some men he had trusted had
proved dishonest; and many schemes that he had entered upon had turned
out badly.

At the age of forty-six, Rudolf Reinhold took up the business of a
carpenter, which he had learned between the ages of fourteen and
eighteen. He soon became skilful, and turned his attention to building
houses in the city of Berlin. So successful was he, that in ten years he
was once more a rich man.

One of his daughters had become a dressmaker, and another a
music-teacher; and even when, at last, they were once more rich, they
always felt glad that their father had made them accomplish themselves
in useful pursuits, instead of leading lives of idleness and
self-indulgence.

                                                  UNCLE CHARLES.

[Illustration: THE LITTLE CARPENTER.]




LITTLE MISCHIEF.


X.

BESSIE'S mother had an aquarium. If you do not know what that is, I will
tell you. The Latin word _aqua_ means water; and the name _aquarium_ has
been given to a glass case holding water for fishes and for sea-plants.

[Illustration]

One day, when the pretty gold-fishes were not swimming about in a very
lively manner, Bessie thought it must be because they were cold. "Poor
things!" said she, "there is no fire in the room; and the water feels
quite chilly. It must be sad to swim about in cold water all day. What
can I do for them?"


XI.

Although there was no fire in the room, there was a jug of hot water on
the hearth, which Susan had left there a few minutes before.

"How fortunate!" thought Bessie. "Now I can give these poor little
fishes a nice hot bath. They will like it, I know. What a kind little
girl they will think me!"

[Illustration]

So she took the jug, mounted into the arm-chair, and poured the whole
jugful of water on the fish. It made them very lively; and Bessie put
down the jug, jumped off the chair, and got a stool to stand on to watch
the little things through the glass.


XII.

Soon the little fishes grew still; and then, one by one, they rose to
the surface, and turned over upon their backs. Bessie had never seen
them do that before; and she began to feel a little frightened. She
wished they would move their fins, and begin to swim again; but they did
not: they lay quite still.

[Illustration]

At last she put in her hand, and drew one out of the water, so that she
might look at it closer. Then she could no longer doubt what was the
matter with it. The poor fish was quite dead,--cooked, in fact. Bessie
burst out crying, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

[Illustration]




WALTER'S DOG.


"MAMMA, why can't I have a collar for Fido, like that on Charley's
dog?"--"You must wait until our ship comes in," said his mother,
laughing.

Walter believed that a ship was really coming, and set to thinking of
the things that he hoped it would bring him. Then he called Fido, and
told him how much he wished to give him a collar.

If Fido had known how to speak, perhaps he would have said, "I don't
care much about a collar: I get along just as well without it." But Fido
could not speak English, though he barked smartly when Walter said,
"Speak, sir."

I must tell you some of Fido's funny ways. He would sit up on his
haunches, drop his fore-paws, and wait for Walter to put a piece of
bread on his nose; then he would sit quite still while Walter counted,
"One, two, three;" and, at the word "three," he would give his head a
toss, and catch the bread in his mouth.

Fido had a great taste for music. There was one tune in particular that
he was very fond of; and, when it was played on the piano, he would
begin to make a whining noise, which would grow louder and louder, until
it ended in sharp, quick barks, keeping time with the music. Walter
called this "Fido's singing."

Fido liked dancing-tunes; but there was a friend of his, one of the
neighbor's dogs, that liked only psalm-tunes. He would whine solemnly
until a lively tune was struck up; when he would slink away in manifest
displeasure. He would not countenance such frivolity.

So you see, dogs have their fancies as well as human beings.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




THE HORSE THAT LOVES CHILDREN.


THIS is a picture of the horse that refuses to run over children. His
name is Prince. Once his master was driving him along a narrow street,
when Prince saw an infant creeping along across the street right in his
way.

Prince at once slackened his speed; and though his master, who did not
know that the infant lay in the way, touched him with the whip, Prince
knew better than to hurt the poor little infant.

At last the good horse stopped short, and refused to move. His master
got out of the buggy to see what was the matter; and there, close by the
horse's fore-feet, was a baby on its knees.

Was not Prince a good, wise horse to refuse to harm the baby? Another
time, when a little boy came up behind him, when the flies were
pestering him, Prince, instead of kicking him, just lifted up one of his
hind-feet, and pushed him gently away.

Prince is very fond of sugar; and, as his master's little girls used to
feed him with it, I think that is one reason why he is so kind to all
children. Whenever Prince sees these little girls, he will make a queer
whinnying noise, the meaning of which is, "Oh, do give me a lump of
sugar!"

In the picture, the hostler is offering Prince some oats; but Prince
knows that the man has some sugar, and so he refuses the oats. He wants
his sugar first.

                                                ANNA LIVINGSTON.




HOW TADDY LEARNED HIS LESSON.


TADDY and his mamma had just got nicely settled, she with some sewing,
and he with a little primer, out of which he was beginning to learn his
lesson, when mamma was called away to see a neighbor who was sick. She
only stopped to tell Taddy to study his lesson like a good boy, while
she was gone. But, instead of looking on his book, the little boy, as
soon as he was left alone, began to look out of the window. In an open
lot behind the house he saw grown-up Jamie, who lived next door, skating
on a little sheet of ice.

Taddy's eyes began to grow round. "Don't I _wish_ I was a big boy too,
so I could skate!" he said to himself.

Then he saw Jamie take off his skates, and lay them down on the ice, and
go off on an errand for his mother.

All at once it popped into Tad's head to slip down the back-stairs, and
out through the gate, and just _see_ if he could not skate.

[Illustration]

"I'm sure," said he, "it can't be so very hard: the boys do it _so_
easy! What if I do tumble down a few times at first! I don't mind a
little bump."

So he sped down the stairs, tied on his cap and scarf, tucked his
mittens in his pocket, and was off for the ice.

"The skates are too long for me, but that is no matter. I know how to
put them on. There! now they're on. Hurrah! here I g--! Oh!"

Down he sat, before he had hardly got upon his feet. He got a hard bump;
and his bare hands rubbed upon the ice till they were so cold, that, if
he hadn't made up his mind to be stout-hearted, he would have been glad
to go in and warm them.

But he pulled out his mittens, saying, "I must get up slowly: that's the
way the boys do." So he raised himself on his hands and knees first,
planting one foot at a time firmly before trying to stand. But, as he
was straightening up his back, somehow his heels slipped up; and this
time it was his poor little head that rapped so smartly upon the
treacherous ice.

Taddy lay still a minute, not feeling quite so hopeful about the next
attempt; when he happened to see a little tree just a few steps off. So
he crept quickly over to it, feeling sure now of success. Catching hold
of it, he helped himself up to a firm stand, saying, "Now, I must put
one foot out at a time, so,--and then the other. Oh! I can do it now."

So he tried again. One beautiful stroke, then another, and over he went
again, flat on his nose! But this was not all. Such a crash as even his
little body could make was too much for the ice, which happened to be
rather thin around that friendly tree; and, by the time Taddy had picked
himself up, he was above his knees in water. There was a terrible ache
at his nose; and he put up his hand to warm it a minute, but was
frightened to find his mittens all spotted with blood. This was too much
for him. He sent forth a cry that would have made your heart ache.

Just then Jamie came back; and there he found poor Taddy standing in the
water, holding out one hand, and looking at the bloody mitten through
his tears, the other covering tightly his aching nose; while a big
purple bump was rapidly appearing on his forehead.

"Halloo! what's going on?" shouted Jamie. Taddy's story was very humble;
and kind-hearted Jamie carried him into the house, where his mother was
just inquiring for him.

"I left my little boy to learn another kind of lesson," she said. "But
perhaps the one he has taught himself will do as much good."

                                                           M. L.




THE OLD CLOCK.

[Illustration]


"[Illustration: T]ICK, tock! tick, tock!" That is what the old clock
said. And the boy sat at a table near by, and leaned his head upon his
hand, and put the end of the pen-holder in his mouth, instead of writing
his theme on the "Flight of Time."

"Tick, tock! tick, tock!" said again the old clock; and then there was a
little buzzing noise, and the old clock began to strike; and all at once
a little door over the dial-plate opened, and there stood a little bird
crying, "Cuckoo, cuckoo!" And over the bird, on the top of the clock, a
little man started up in a red coat, with sabre and musket complete, and
began to march backwards and forwards.

Henry did not look up to see the bird and the little man; for he wanted
to be out in the garden at play with his sister, instead of trying to
write a theme on the "Flight of Time."

At last Henry finished his theme in these words: "Time does not fly at
all fast for me when I am trying to write a theme. On the contrary, it
seems very long indeed. We ought to improve our time. We ought to work.
Life is short. My theme is ended. And now, having written the required
number of words, I will go out in the garden, and see if any peaches
have fallen during the night."

So Henry ran out in the garden; and he and his sister had a good frolic
among the flowers and the fruit-trees. Whether he got a good mark, the
next day at school, for his theme on the "Flight of Time," I cannot tell
you.

                                                  CARL HEINSMAN.

[Illustration]




IN THE MAPLE WOODS.


IN the early spring, when the snow melts, thousands of men in the
Northern and Western States are busy making maple-sugar. If you have
seen only the dirty-looking brown cakes of maple-sugar sold in many
places, you know very little about it. I have seen it as white as snow,
although it is generally brown. Then there is the nice sirup; and did
you ever eat any maple-candy? Well, I will tell you a story.

        Willy and his sisters lived in Vermont, where a
        great deal of maple-sugar is made. One spring,
        when their Cousin Leonard came to see them,
        they thought it would be fine fun to go to the
        maple woods, where the men had been making
        sugar, and try to make some candy. It was a
        bright day, not very cold, although some snow
        was still left upon the ground.

        "Mother," said Willy, "may we go to the woods
        to-day, and make some maple-candy?"--"Yes,"
        said his mother, "only be careful not to wet
        your feet."--"Oh! what a nice time we will
        have!" said the two girls; and they all clapped
        their hands for joy.

        In a few minutes their mother had put them up a
        nice luncheon. Then they took a small kettle,
        two or three tin cups, three spoons, and a
        hatchet. These things they packed upon a
        hand-sled; and, when all was ready, they set
        out at a brisk pace through the fields, over
        the snow, the boys drawing the sled, and the
        girls following close behind.

        [Illustration]

        There was a good path, and they soon came to
        the woods. On the edge of the woods was a hut,
        where the men rested sometimes while making
        sugar. The children thought they would play
        that was their house. Nobody was there that
        day: so they had it all to themselves.

        A little way out of the woods were two large
        stakes with a pole across them, on which hung a
        large kettle. Some half-burnt logs and ashes
        were under the kettle, but the fire was all
        out. A pile of wood was not far off; and
        branches of trees, chips, and logs were
        scattered around.

        The children gathered dry leaves and sticks,
        and made a fire in a safe place. The next thing
        to do was to get some sap to boil into candy.
        What is sap? It is the juice of a tree. When
        the warm spring sunshine melts the snow, the
        roots of the tree drink in the moisture of the
        earth. This goes up into the tree, and makes
        sap. The sap within the tree, and the sunshine
        without, make the buds swell, and the bright
        fresh leaves come out.

        For making sugar the sap of the maple-tree is
        used. But how is the sap got from the trees?
        and how is it made into sugar? I will tell
        you. A hole is bored in each tree, a spout put
        in the hole, and a bucket is placed underneath.
        This is called "tapping the tree." The sap runs
        from the tree into the bucket, drop by drop,
        until it is full. Then the sap is boiled till
        it becomes sirup; and the sirup is boiled into
        sugar.

        The children found that the sap was dropping
        from the spouts in the trees around them. Some
        of the buckets were nearly full. They soon
        gathered enough into their little tin cups to
        fill their kettle; and then they put it on the
        fire to boil.

        While it was boiling, they thought they would
        eat their luncheon. What do you suppose they
        had besides bread? I will tell you. They had
        thin slices of _raw_ meat. "But did they eat it
        raw?" perhaps you will ask. Oh, no! The boys
        whittled out some clean, pointed sticks, on
        which they held their meat close to the fire
        till it was roasted to a beautiful brown; and
        then you cannot think how good it tasted. After
        eating their bread and meat, they had some nice
        crullers and cheese to end off with.

        Well, by and by the sap in the little kettle
        had boiled into sirup. Then the children
        brought some clean snow in their cups, and
        carefully dipped a spoonful of hot sirup into
        each cup. The snow cooled it at once, and
        turned it into clear, hard candy. I wish you
        could have had some of it to eat! I know they
        thought it was delicious.

        Soon after they had eaten their candy, they put
        out the fire with snow, and went home, having
        had a very happy time; and they did not forget
        to take candy enough with them for mother and
        little sister, and all the rest of the family.

                                                   ANNA HOLYOKE.

[Illustration]




WHERE IS THE BABY?


        OH! who has seen my baby?
          Does anybody know
        Where I can find my darling,
          My precious little Joe?

        The house is very lonesome;
          No baby do I see:
        Oh! if my missing treasure
          Would but come back to me!

        Ah! here is a young lady,
          Just four years old to-day,
        Who tells me that my darling
          Is not so far away.

        What! this great girl my baby?
          Well, well, it must be so;
        But, really, it's amazing
          To see how babies grow.

                                                   KATE CAMERON.

[Illustration]




THE BIRD'S RETURN.


        "WHERE have you been, little birdie,--
         Where have you been so long?"

              "Warbling in glee
               Far o'er the sea,
         And learning for you a new song,
               My sweet,--
         Learning for you a new song."

        "Why did you go, little birdie,--
         Why did you go from me?"

              "Winter was here,
               Leafless and drear;
         And so I flew over the sea,
               My sweet,--
         So I flew over the sea."

        "What did you see, little birdie,--
         What did you see each day?"

              "Sunshine and flowers,
               Blossoms and bowers,
         And pretty white lambkins at play,
               My sweet,--
         Pretty white lambkins at play."

        "Who kept you safe, little birdie,--
         Who kept you safe from harm?"

              "The Father of all,
               Of great and of small:
         He sheltered me under his arm,
               My sweet,--
         Under his dear, loving arm."

                                                  GEORGE COOPER.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE DUCKS AND GEESE.]

[Illustration: Music]


THE DUCKS AND GEESE.

        Words from "The Nursery."          Music by T. CRAMPTON.

_Lively. mf_


        1. Spring is coming, spring is here!
        All ye ducks and geese draw near!
        Into ponds and streamlets dashing;
        Come, ye waddlers join the splashing!
        Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack!
        Good soft mud and running water,
        Now waddlers shall not lack.

        Now the snows are melting, going,
        Now the little streams are flowing;
        Buds are swelling, birds are singing,
        Odors sweet the wind is bringing;
        Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack!
        Good soft mud and running water,
        Now waddlers shall not lack.

        Little girls and boys are straying,
        Or in sunny meadows playing,
        Seeking buttercups and clover,
        While their hearts with joy run over;
        But--what goose can't see it plainly?--
        Spring for _us_ is given mainly.
                             Quack, quack, &c.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Page 124, double word "time" removed. Original text read, "what a nice
time time we will have!"

This issue was part of an omnibus. The original text for this issue did
not include a title page or table of contents. This was taken from the
January issue with the "No." added. The original table of contents
covered the entire year of 1873. The remaining text of the table of
contents can be found in the rest of the year's issues.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, April 1873, Vol. XIII., by Various