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THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XIII.--No. 5

        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.

   Mabel's Cow                                       129

   Harry and the Big Pop-Corner                      131

   What Dempsey is proud of                          134

   What Mamie did                                    136

   Snip's Story                                      139

   The Brindled Cow                                  142

   Naming the Kitten                                 144

   Little Gilbert                                    146

   What Birdie saw in Town                           148

   Prince and Tip                                    151

   The Napoleon Violets                              153

   The Life of a Sparrow                             154

   Little Mischief                                   158


IN VERSE.

   Jenny and Timothy Wren                            135

   Baby in the High Chair                            140

   Guess                                             150

   Mistress Mouse                                    152

   The Kitten (_with music_)                         160

[Illustration: MABEL'S COW.]




MABEL'S COW.


[Illustration: T]HE cow nearest to you in the picture is Mabel's cow;
and Mabel Brittan is the taller of the two girls on the bridge. I will
tell you why the cow is called Mabel's cow.

Her family live in a wild but beautiful part of New Hampshire, where it
is very cold in winter, and pretty warm in summer. There are only two
small houses within a mile of her father's. He keeps cows, and makes
nice butter from the cream.

Not long ago he bought a cow at a great bargain, as he thought; for she
was a fine-looking young cow, and the price he paid for her was only
twenty-five dollars.

But, before he had got through the first milking of her, he began to
think she was dear at any price. She would kick over the pail, make
vicious plunges, and try to hook him. Indeed, he grew afraid of her, she
was so violent.

He took down a heavy whip, and was about to strike her in great anger,
when his little daughter Mabel caught his arm, and said, "She will never
be good for any thing if you strike her. Let me try to manage her."

And, before Mr. Brittan could prevent her, Mabel had her arm round the
cow's neck, and was calling her all the sweet pet names she could think
of.

"All that is very well," said her father; "but just you try to milk her:
that's all. No, you sha'n't venture. It would be as much as your life is
worth."

"I am very sure she will let me milk her," said Mabel. "Do not forbid my
trying. She looks at me out of her big eyes as if she thought me her
friend."

So Mabel took the tin pail, and sat down on the little low
milking-stool; and soon, to her father's astonishment, she finished
milking, the cow having stood all the while as quiet as a lamb.

It was found that the cow had been badly treated by the man who had
owned her, and who had been in the habit of milking her. Being a
high-spirited beast, she then gave him so much trouble, that he was soon
glad to be rid of her.

She would now let no one touch her but Mabel: so Mr. Brittan finally
said that the cow should be Mabel's cow, and that all the butter which
the cow yielded should be hers. But Mabel is a generous girl; and so she
shares the money she earns. Her mother, her sister Emily, and her
brothers Oliver and Frank, all get a part of it.

Mabel has given the cow a name; and the cow will come to her when she
calls her by name. The name is a very pretty one for a cow, I think. It
is Dido.

                                                   EMILY CARTER.




HARRY AND THE BIG "POP-CORNER."


LITTLE HAROLD was delighted, one winter morning, to hear that he could
go to his grandpapa's with his mother, for a few days. He had often been
there in summer, when the grass was green, and flowers were blooming
around the old homestead; but this was his first _winter_ visit.

A pleasant ride of forty miles by the railway, then a short ride in an
old-fashioned stage-sleigh, and the sober old horses, with their
jingling bells, stopped before grandpa's pleasant home.

Harry ran up to the door, shouting, "We've come, grandpa! We've come!"
The door opened; the little fellow rushed into his grandpa's arms; and
golden curls and thin gray locks were mingled for an instant. Then the
young arms were thrown around dear Aunt Susie; and such a welcome was
given as little boys love to have.

Harry then trotted off to the kitchen to find his friend Patty, the
cook. In a few minutes he came running back, exclaiming, "O mamma! do
come and see what a big _pop-corner_ Patty has in the kitchen."

"Corn-popper, I suppose you mean," said his mamma, laughing, as she and
Aunt Susie followed him to the kitchen. There, hanging behind the stove,
was a large brass pan, as bright as gold: it had a cover full of holes,
and a long handle. This was what Harry took for a corn-popper.

"Oh! that is a warming-pan," said his mother. "A what kind of a pan?"
said Harry with great surprise. "What _do_ you mean, mamma?"

"Well, Harry, if you can be quiet a minute, I will tell you. When your
Aunt Susie and I were little girls, and your uncles little boys,
grandpapa's house was not warmed all over, as it is now. Furnaces were
not used in those days; and the bed-rooms up stairs were very cold.

"So, on the coldest nights of winter, grandma would have this pan filled
with hot coals, and the beds all nicely warmed. Sometimes the boys would
have great frolics; for dear grandmamma would have their bed so very
warm, that, as soon as they had jumped in, _out_ they would come, saying
they were burned.

"But they would spring back again, and cuddle down, and laugh, and tell
stories, and sing, until grandpapa would have to come to the foot of the
stairs, and call out, 'Boys, boys, I must have less noise!'"

"Well," said Harry after hearing this story, "I should like to try it,
and see how my little uncles felt so long ago. Will you warm my bed
to-night, Patty?"--"Oh, yes! indeed I will. Master Harry," said Patty.

[Illustration]

Harry wanted to go to bed earlier than usual that night; and, before
seven o'clock, he ran to the kitchen to ask Patty to put the coals in
the pan. Patty took a shovel, and first put in some hot ashes. "What is
that for?" said Harry.

"So the sheets will not be burned," said Patty. Then she put in some
glowing coals, and told Harry that the warming-pan was ready.

Harry called his mamma; and they went up to the square front-room. Patty
gave the cold sheets a good warming while mamma was unbuttoning the
little shoes and clothes; and, when Harry had got on his night-gown, he
said, "Now for a good jump,--one, two, three, four, and away!"

Then he sprang into the warm nest; and such a shout as the little fellow
gave made even grandpa start from his rocking-chair. "Oh, goody! oh, how
_jolly_! oh, how splendid!" said Harry. "I thought grandpapa's house
was splendid in the summer; but it is a great deal _splendider_ in the
winter.

"But, mamma," continued he, "won't I have a nice story to tell Charlie
and Susie when I get home, about this big pop-corner?"

                                                          MAMMA.




WHAT DEMPSEY IS PROUD OF.


"WHAT are you proudest of?" said Mattie to Bertie. "I'm proudest of my
new red-top boots," said Bertie. "_I'm_ proudest of my new black hat,"
said Clay. Mattie was proudest of her muff and boa. Little Bell was
proudest of her wax doll.

But Dempsey had the queerest pride of all. He had no boots or mittens;
and his clothes were coarse and worn. What had he to be proud of? This
is what he said, "I'm proudest of my papa's wooden leg." The other
little people were too polite to laugh at him; but they looked at him
with wonder.

"Let me tell you," said he, "why I'm proud of my papa's wooden leg. One
time when there was a war, and men were wanted to help fight the
battles, my papa took his gun, and went into the army. And when there
was a great battle, and men were shot down all around him, my papa stood
beside the man that held the flag. And, when the man was killed, my papa
would not let the flag fall, but took it in his own hands. Then the
soldiers on the other side fired at the flag with a big cannon; and the
ball took off my papa's leg. He was sick a long time; but he got a
letter from his commander that said he was a brave man, and had done
his duty nobly. This is why I am proud of my papa's wooden leg."

Mattie and Bertie and Clay and Bell all thought that this was a pretty
story; and Clay said, "Dempsey is right. He has something more to be
proud of than any of us."

                                                         FANNIE.

[Illustration]




JENNY AND TIMOTHY WREN.


        SWEET little, neat little Miss Jenny Wren,
            On a white hawthorn spray,
            In the bright month of May,
            Sat chirping so sweet,--
            "Pewhit and pewheet,"
            Where daisies unfold.
            And kingcups of gold
        Shine out on a glad May morning.

        Down-crested, brown-breasted Timothy Wren,
            As he fluttered along,
            Trilled the snatch of a song;
            Then chirruped her name
            As near her he came,
            And told of his love,
            As meek as a dove,
        To Jenny, that bright May morning.

        "Hear, Jenny, dear Jenny, sweet Jenny Wren:
            If you'll be my own wife,
            I will love you through life;
            We'll gather the moss,
            Soft feathers, and floss;
            And build us a nest,
            The neatest and best,
        And sing through the bright May mornings."

        May blossoms, gay blossoms, curtained their nest:
            Through the tiny mouse-hole,
            Little Jenny she stole;
            There, of no one afraid,
            Ten fine eggs she laid,
            While Timothy dear
            Sang blithely and clear,
        "How sweet are the bright May mornings!"

                                                 GEORGE BENNETT.




WHAT MAMIE DID.


MAMIE is a little girl five years old, with bright black eyes, and rosy
red cheeks.

She is very fond of "The Nursery," as are a great many other Mamies.

[Illustration]

Now, which Mamie is this story about? They are all wondering, but cannot
tell certainly, till they have heard it read.

Well, one cold winter's day, _this_ little Mamie came to her mother with
a very urgent request. What do you suppose it was? To go out coasting?
No.

To go to visit her little friend Nellie? No.

To take a sleigh-ride with her papa? Wrong again.

Ah! you can never guess, and I will tell you.

It was this: "O mamma! do put on my things, and let me go out and get
_ex_scribers for 'The Nursery.'"

Mamma shook her head; though she could not help laughing at the little
girl's mistake, for she meant _sub_scribers. It _is_ a hard word; but
this little Mamie knew the meaning well.

"O mamma! _please_ do; for you know _I_ love it. And Jennie and Katie
and Bessie will love it too, if they only _know_ about it; and, besides,
I can get a present, if I send some new names to 'The Nursery' man."

Little Mamie was so urgent in her request, that her mother asked papa
what he thought about it.

Papa said, "Oh, let her try if she wants to: it will do no harm." How
the black eyes danced! and the little feet could hardly keep still,
while mamma dressed her up very warmly, till she was just about as large
one way as the other.

"Now, mamma, for my muff; and, oh! I must have a 'Nursery' to show." So,
with a "Nursery" sticking out of one end of the little muff, this Mamie
started on her errand. All the way along to Bessie's house, she kept
saying, _sub_scribe, _sub_scribe, so that she might not make another
mistake in the word.

She was gone but an hour, and returned with the names of six children,
who were to be made glad each month by the visits of Mamie's friend.

Mamie was full of glee, and could hardly eat any supper, so anxious was
she for her papa to send the names to Boston.

Well, they were all sent; and the six little friends have been made glad
by receiving each a "Nursery" of her own; and next month they will be
glad again, and so on for a whole year.

Did Mamie get a present? Oh, yes! She got a present from "The Nursery"
man, which she values very highly.

Now, can you tell _which_ little Mamie this is?

                                                    MARY MYRTLE.

[Illustration]




SNIP'S STORY.


MY name is Snip. You can read it on my collar: though why my master put
it there I can't tell; for everybody knows me, and almost everybody is
my friend. People stop in the street to pat me; the little children love
to have me play with them, because I never snarl and bite; and the
butcher round the corner saves me a bone every day. I think butchers are
very nice men.

Every morning I go down street to get the newspaper for my master. The
bookseller always has it rolled up, waiting for me, and puts it in my
mouth; and back I trot as fast as my legs will go. To-day I had a hard
time of it; for, just as I got nicely started for home, some bad boys
who were playing in the road saw me, and thought it would be fine fun to
catch me, and take my paper away.

They ran after me, hooting and yelling; and I was so frightened, that I
trembled all over. But I could run faster than they; and they soon gave
up the chase. That was not the end, though; for one of them threw a
stone after me, which hit me on one of my paws, and so I came home
limping. But do you suppose I let the newspaper drop? Not a bit of it.

I have been barking at this door a long time; and yet nobody comes to
open it. I wonder where my master is, that he doesn't hear me. Perhaps
he is asleep. I am very hungry for my dinner; and I should like to get
into the house, and lie down in my corner by the kitchen-fire.

I can push open the garden-gate with my nose; but this door won't move a
bit when I put my paws on it. I wonder why dogs can't open doors as well
as gates. I am going to bark again. Bow-wow-wow! There! Didn't you hear
a footstep? Yes: there comes some one to let me in.

                                                           H. B.

[Illustration]




BABY IN HER HIGH CHAIR.


        HERE I am all ready: here's my little plate
        Wants some 'tato on it: papa, you'll be late.
        Here's the milk a-waiting in my silver cup;
        I'm so hungry! will somebody please to push me up.

        Didn't see me, did you, scrambling up my chair?
        Got up all alone too; would you think I'd dare?
        Got my clothes all twisted; 'fraid I mussed my curls:
        What did papa say about frowsy-headed girls?

[Illustration]

        Dear, I have such troubles! people are so slow!
        Don't they want some supper, I should like to know?
        There's a fly gone swimming in my silver cup;
        And I can't quite reach him, 'cause I'm not pushed up.

        Here's my mamma coming; here come Sue and Fred;
        Now there goes the ding-dong, just as if it said,
        "Little folks and big folks, time to come and sup!"
        Thank you, papa, thank you, for pushing Bessie up.

                                          HELEN BARRON BOSTWICK.




THE BRINDLED COW.


[Illustration]

THE cow is in the pasture, feeding. The pasture has been wet with the
rain, and the grass is fresh and sweet. The rain makes the grass grow.

[Illustration]

The sun is hot, and the cow has lain down under a shady tree. She is
chewing her cud. It is nice and cool in the shade.

[Illustration]

But the flies bite her, and plague her. She tries to scare them off; but
they come again. Then she gets up, and rubs her nose against the tree.

[Illustration]

Now she is standing in the water. The water feels cool to her feet; but
the flies still plague her. She splashes the water to drive the flies
away.

[Illustration]

By and by the milk-maid comes out, and calls, "Co-boss, co-boss!" The
cow hears her, and walks slowly along to the barn.

[Illustration]

The cow stands quite still while the maid is milking her. But is not the
maid seated on the wrong side of the cow? My cow would kick the pail
over if I should milk her in that way.

                                                        W. O. C.




NAMING THE KITTEN.


"WHAT shall be the kitten's name?" asked Rachel of her younger sister,
who stood holding up her apron, and begging to take the little pet.

"It is _my_ kitten," pleaded Alice; "and I ought to have it."

"The old cat evidently thinks it is _her_ kitten. Hark! Hear her mew!
'Mine, mine, mine,' she seems to say."

"Oh!" said Alice, "I can soon quiet the old cat with a saucer of milk.
Come, give me the kitten; that's a good Rachel!"

"Well, I will give it to you on one condition."

"Name it: perhaps I can grant it."

"The condition is, that you give the kitten a name,--a name that I shall
approve of."

"Oh! that I can do right off. We will call her Arabella."

"Nonsense! that is too long and grand a name for a kitten. It will do
very well for a proud lady-doll from Paris, but not for this little
scratcher."

"How would you like the name of Betsy?"

"Not at all. I think it a homely sort of name."

"Well, will any of these do?--Pet, Muff, Tabby, Tit, Tip-top, Scamper,
Nap, Mop, Pop, Grab?"

"I think you must have got those from some story-book."

"You guessed right that time," said Alice. "Name the kitten yourself, if
none of my names will satisfy you. Put her in my lap, and I will get
some cream, and let her lap it."

"Lappit, did you say? That's a new name, and a good one!" cried Rachel.
"You have hit upon a name at last. We will call the kitten Lappit. Now
hold up your apron, and I will put Lappit in your lap."

Alice laughed at her sister's play upon the word; and, taking the kitten
in her apron, she ran off into the garden, followed by the old cat.

[Illustration: NAMING THE KITTEN.]




LITTLE GILBERT.

A TRUE STORY.


MANY years ago a little boy, named Gilbert, lived in a small town in New
Brunswick, on the banks of the St. John River. The river is deep and
swift; and Gilbert's papa had often warned him not to go too near the
brink.

One day, when the little fellow was about six years old, he went with
his papa down to the river; and, while his papa stopped to talk with a
friend, Gilbert wandered along the shore.

He took with him his fishing-rod, and thought it would be fine fun to
catch a fish all by himself: so he went close to the edge of the water,
and dropped in his line.

After waiting a few minutes without getting a bite, he thought he would
walk out on a raft that he saw close by, and try his luck in a new spot.
He crept along till he reached the outer edge of the raft; but then, as
he threw out his line, his little bare feet slipped, and over he went,
plump into the river. A splash, a scream, and down he went.

At the time of this story, there were a good many Indians in New
Brunswick; and a party of them were in camp in the woods near the river.
They were harmless, peaceable Indians, and very friendly to the boys of
the neighborhood, who liked to visit their tents, and see them weave
baskets, and make bows and arrows, and scarlet slippers, and other
pretty things.

Luckily for Gilbert, an Indian boy happened to be fishing near the raft,
and saw him slip off into the water. Although the Indian boy was not
much older than Gilbert, he was larger and stronger, and he knew how to
swim. In an instant he plunged into the river, seized the poor little
drowning boy, and brought him to the land safe and sound.

[Illustration]

His papa took him in his arms, all wet and dripping, and, after thanking
the brave Indian boy for his noble deed, hurried home, scolding Gilbert
by the way for disobedience. Poor little Gilbert was very miserable. It
was not at all nice to be wet and frightened and scolded all at once;
and, worse than all, he feared he would be punished when he got home.

So, when his papa carried him into the kitchen, it was a great comfort
to the little fellow to see his good grandmother sitting by the fire.
She was very fond of Gilbert; and, when she saw what a plight he was in,
she begged his papa not to punish the dear child this time, saying she
was sure he had been punished enough already by his fright and his
ducking.

His papa was so happy to have his little boy alive and safe, that it was
easy to forgive him; and in a little while Gilbert was dressed in dry
clothes, and sat down on his little stool before the fire to eat a red
apple which his grandmother had brought him.

That night, when little Gilbert said his prayer, he put in at the end,
"God bless the brave Indian boy who saved my life!"

                                                        MUZ-MUZ.




WHAT BIRDIE SAW IN TOWN.


"BIRDIE," you must know, is a little girl three and a half years old.
Her real name is Maud; but "Birdie" is her pet name.

One day she went to the city in the horse-cars with her mamma. They
waited on the corner of the street till a car came in sight; then Birdie
held up her little fat finger, and the conductor saw it, and stopped the
car.

After they were seated, the conductor called out, "Fares, ladies!" And
Maud said to him, "Here is mamma's ticket; and won't you please leave us
at grandpa's house?" He smiled, and nodded his head, and Birdie felt
satisfied; for she thought he must know, of course, where grandpa lived.

When they reached town, mamma took her into a store where birds are kept
for sale; and Birdie saw, to her great delight, hundreds of
canary-birds, and a good many bright-colored parrots. It was very funny
indeed to hear them all singing and chattering together.

There were two beautiful birds in a large cage, taking their morning
bath. They would jump down into their little bath-tub, dip their heads
in the water, and then plunge in all over; then they would perch on the
side of the tub, shake the bright drops from their feathers, and seem to
be enjoying themselves as much as Birdie herself does when mamma puts
her into her bath-tub.

[Illustration]

Then there were some squirrels in a cage that went round and round; and
Birdie thought she should never get tired of looking at them, with their
bushy tails and bright black eyes. She saw them crack some nuts with
their little sharp teeth.

There were also a great many goldfishes in a little pond; and Birdie
watched them darting through the water, and thought how nice it would be
to have some of them at home.

One thing more Birdie saw, which pleased her very much. On the corner of
the street stood a man with a basket on his arm; and in it were four or
five little black-and-white puppies ("baby-dogs" Birdie called them),
all cuddled up in a heap, and looking very comfortable in their
wicker-carriage.

The little girl took good care to point out all the sights to Daisy, her
doll, whom she carried in her arms, and who always has to take an airing
when her little mistress does.

                                                       FLORENCE.

[Illustration]




GUESS.


        I SEE two lilies, white as snow,
        That mother loves and kisses so;
        Dearer they are than gold or lands:
        Guess me the lilies,--baby's hands!

        I know a rosebud fairer far
        Than any buds of summer are;
        Sweeter than sweet winds of the south:
        Guess me the rosebud,--baby's mouth!

        I've found a place where shines the sun:
        Yes, long, long, after day is done;
        Oh! how it loves to linger there:
        Guess me the sunshine,--baby's hair!

        There are two windows where I see
        My own glad face peep out at me;
        These windows beam like June's own skies:
        Guess me the riddle,--baby's eyes!

                                                  GEORGE COOPER.




PRINCE AND TIP.


PRINCE is a small shaggy dog, of a light-brown color. Tip is also a
small dog, but is black, and has short, smooth hair. They are very fond
of each other, and frolic together like two kittens.

Prince is always making acquaintances. He has several places in the
neighborhood where he makes himself at home. He is always welcome, and
he knows it: so he comes and goes as he pleases. Even when his master
ties him, he cannot be kept from visiting his friends.

It was for a long time a wonder to us how he got untied; but we kept
watch one day, and found that Tip, with his paws and mouth, loosened the
knot, so that Prince could slip his head out; and then the two dogs
scampered off in great glee. Prince, or Pinny, as we call him, plays
some funny tricks. When we tell him to shake hands, he stands up on his
hind-feet, and gives first his right, and then his left paw.

Sometimes we say to him, "Now, Pinny, play sick." Then he lies down,
droops his head, and puts on a woe-begone look. We run around him,
saying, "Poor Pinny!" and he all the while seems to enjoy the joke. As
soon as we say, "Up Pinny, all well," he jumps up, shakes himself, and
gives a knowing look, which seems to say, "Didn't I do that well?"

When we tell him to play beggar, he sits up on his haunches, raises his
fore-paws, and whines dolefully.

When we hear a noise, and say, "See if anybody's coming, Pinny!" he goes
to the door, and listens: if any one is coming, he barks loudly; if not,
he comes quietly back.

Sometimes the two dogs play horses. Their master takes a rope a few feet
long, and ties one end around Pinny's neck, and the other around Tip's.
Then, when the word is given, they set off and gallop up the road
abreast, like two ponies. When their master whistles, they turn round,
and come back.

Sometimes they are harnessed to a little wagon; and the children take
turns in having a ride. The dogs seem to enjoy it as much as the
children. They are impatient to start; but they wait for each other to
be harnessed: they are not in quite such a hurry as the dog in the
following picture.

                                                   GERTIE ADAMS.

[Illustration]




MISTRESS MOUSE.


            MISTRESS MOUSE
            Built a house
        In mamma's best bonnet.
            All the cats
            Were catching rats,
        And didn't light upon it.

            At last they found it,
            And around it
        Sat watching for the sinner;
            When, strange to say,
            She got away,
        And so they lost their dinner.




THE NAPOLEON VIOLETS.


THERE are three profiles of famous persons to be found among the
outlines of this picture, which was drawn as long ago as the year 1815.
One of the profiles is of Napoleon Bonaparte, a great soldier, who made
himself emperor of France; another profile is of his wife, Marie Louise;
and another of his son, Napoleon Francis Charles Joseph Bonaparte,
styled King of Rome, and by his father proclaimed Emperor of the French,
under the title of Napoleon II., in the year 1815, when he was only
about four years old.

[Illustration]

Owing to the defeats and disappointments of his father, the child
Napoleon never actually became either King of Rome, or Emperor of
France. He died in the year 1832, in Austria, where his grandfather was
emperor.

Now, which of our readers will be able to discover the three portraits
hidden in this symbolical bunch of violets?

"Oh, dear! What a big word is this! What does Uncle Charles mean by
_symbolical_?" I fancy some of my little friends will exclaim. Well,
then, a _symbol_ is merely a sign, or mark, by which one knows a thing.
When you see an umbrella in a man's hand, it is a symbol, or sign, that
he expects a shower. So the profiles in this bunch of violets make it
_symbolical_; that is, suggestive of a family group, who, it was hoped,
would be renewed like the violets, and once more fill a large space in
the history of France.

                                                  UNCLE CHARLES.




THE LIFE OF A SPARROW.

BY HIMSELF.


I AM a very old sparrow, but not so old that I cannot still relish a
cherry, a grape, or a nice fat worm. I am about to write a short history
of my life, for the instruction of my children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren.

[Illustration]

My parents, after having reared a numerous family, decided to seek a new
home. One lovely day in spring, they came to a pretty village which
pleased them, and alighted on a cherry-tree to consult together. "Here
we will remain," said my father. "Look at the cherry-trees and the
grape-vines. We have found the right place at last."

[Illustration]

After looking carefully about for some time, they chose for their home a
new house with a projecting roof, before which stood three large
cherry-trees in full bloom. My mother, with the help of my father, built
a nest high up under the roof of the house, and lined it with soft
feathers. She laid four eggs, but hatched out only one little sparrow;
and I was that lucky one.

[Illustration]

My parents fed me constantly with tender worms; and it is no wonder that
the feathers began to grow on my naked little body, or that my father
soon thought me able to fly. So one fine day I stood on the edge of the
nest, fluttered my wings, and flew out of my father's house. With many
fears and a beating heart I at last alighted on an acacia-tree. While I
sat there, I saw many large birds walking about, and also a cat, against
whom my mother had already warned me; and, directly over my head, I
heard the scream of a hawk.

[Illustration]

In my fright, I cried out bitterly; but when the cat ran away, and the
hawk flew into the woods near by, I grew calm again. My cry soon brought
my mother to my side; and my father came, bringing a delicious worm to
comfort me.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Before many days I was able take care of myself. About this time I met
with an adventure. One day I saw several of my comrades fly in through
an open window. Wishing to know what they found, I also flew in, and
soon was as busy as any of them eating the grains of wheat with which
the floor was covered. Suddenly the window was shut, and we were
caught. A laughing boy put his hand over me, took me up, then cut my
wings, and let me hop. He was very kind to me; but I longed for my
liberty. Fortunately my wings soon grew; and one day, when the window
stood open, I flew away, and found my mother again.

[Illustration]

One sunny day in the autumn, my mother and I sat on a gate, eating some
grains of wheat. A sly old cat who had hidden under a burdock which grew
beside the gate, suddenly sprang up, and seized my dear mother with her
sharp claws.

[Illustration]

My mother was a very wise bird: so, instead of struggling to get away,
she remained so quiet, that Mrs. Pussy soon thought she must be dead.
Before long she put her down upon the grass, that she might admire at
her leisure the nice fat sparrow she had caught for her dinner. All at
once up flew my mother, and in an instant was far beyond the reach of
the cat.

Now I thought I was old enough to have a family of my own. So I chose me
a little sparrow-wife; but I had to fight several battles before I could
conquer all my rivals. My bravery won her heart; and I think she has
been well content with her choice. We built our nest, and soon I had the
pleasure of seeing in it five bluish-white, brown-and-gray-dotted eggs,
and, fourteen days after, five pretty sparrows,--three sons, and two
daughters.

[Illustration]

One saucy rogue, with a golden bill, we lost. Like me, he was caught;
but he never regained his liberty. A friendly little maiden was his
mistress, who made him so tame, that he would eat from her hand. She
gave him so many dainties, that he became too fat, and died. I saw how
the little maiden dug him a grave in her garden. Bitterly weeping, she
placed him therein, covered him with earth, and planted a cross of
flowers on the little mound.

[Illustration]

Our other children, one after the other, founded homes of their own, and
all lived good and useful sparrow-lives. The multitude of my
grandchildren I am no longer able to count.

                                                FROM THE GERMAN.





        "THE seed that springs, and the bird that sings,
        And the shining summer sun,
        The tiny bee, and the mighty sea,
        God made them, every one."




LITTLE MISCHIEF.


XIII.

WHAT mischief was there for Bessie to-day? The fish in her mother's
aquarium had not been benefited by the hot bath which Bessie had given
them; but that was no reason, thought she, why a bath would not be a
good thing for her new doll Felicia.

[Illustration]

She had a little doll bath-tub made of tin. So she put it on a little
table, and filled it from a jug of hot water which happened to be on the
hearth. Then she undressed Felicia, and, holding her up, said, "Now,
little lady, you are going to have a nice warm bath: so be good."


XIV.

Having put Felicia in the bath-tub, Bessie sat down in a chair before
her, and said, "There are not many dolls, little lady, that have such a
kind, loving mother as I am. You ought to be very good and grateful."

[Illustration]

Here dolly slipped down in the bath-tub, and her nice blooming face was
all soaked in the hot water. When Bessie took her out, you would hardly
have known Felicia for the same doll. Her head, which was of wax, was
quite ruined; and her whole body was out of shape and spoiled.

Bessie ran crying to her mother: but her mother said, "You do not
deserve to have another doll."

[Illustration: Music]

[Illustration]




Words from "The Nursery."

THE KITTEN

                                           Music by T. CRAMPTON,
                                            Chiswick, W. London.

        VOICE
        AND
        PIANO

        1.  I'm a pretty little kitten,
              My name is Tabby Gray,
            I live out in the country,
              Some twenty miles away.
            My eyes are black and hazel,
              My skin is soft as silk;
            I'm fed each night and morning
              With a saucer full of milk.

        2.  The milk comes fresh and foaming,
              Fresh from the good old cow;
            And, after I have lapped it,
              I frolic--you know how.
            I'm petted by the children,
              And the mistress of the house;
            And sometimes, when I'm nimble,
              I catch a little mouse.

        3.  But sometimes, when I'm naughty,
              I climb upon the stand,
            And eat the cake and chicken,
              Or any thing at hand;
            Ah! then they hide my saucer,
              No matter if I mew;
            And that's the way I'm punished
              For naughty things I do.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Note:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

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.

Page 144, "thing" changed to "think" (I think it a)





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