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THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXIX.--No. 5.

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




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


[Illustration: JOHN WILSON

& SON.

UNIVERSITY PRESS.]



[Illustration: Contents.]

IN PROSE.


                                                 PAGE
    The Bold Soldier-Boys                         129
    Papa Robin                                    132
    Carlo and the Ducks                           135
    Picking Oranges                               139
    Mary and Jenny                                144
    Drawing-Lesson                                145
    Piggy's Spoon                                 146
    Bouncer                                       148
    Harry and John                                154
    "Inches"                                      155


IN VERSE.

                                                 PAGE
    The Army of Geese that Came over the Lea      131
    The Naughty Cat                               136
    The May-Queen                                 141
    Sing, Pretty Birds                            143
    The Traveller                                 147
    The Mouse-Trap                                151
    One Cat and Two Pigs                          152
    Small Beginning                               157
    Jenny Wren                                    159
    Daddy Frog (_with music_)                     160



[Illustration: VOL. XXIX.--NO. 5.]




THE BOLD SOLDIER-BOYS.


"FORWARD, my brave boys!" shouted Colonel Bob, rising in his stirrups,
and waving his sword. "You see the enemy before you. Charge!"

There stood the enemy in stern defiance,--four chairs, one table, and a
sofa,--there they stood, with a plastered wall in their rear, and calmly
awaited the attack.

The fiery steed of Colonel Bob reared and plunged, as if eager to dash
upon the foe. The roll of the drum made a fearful sound. The
standard-bearer waved his flag. The army came rushing on. Snap the dog
barked furiously. But above all the din was heard the shout of Colonel
Bob, "Forward, my brave boys!"

Not a picture started from its frame. Not a chair moved. But all of a
sudden the door opened, and a face looked in. It was Colonel Bob's papa.

"What's all this noise about, Robert?" said he. "This is not the place
for such games. Go out of doors if you want to play soldier. I can't
have such a drumming and shouting in the house."

This was rather a damper on Colonel Bob's military zeal; but what came
next was still worse.

"Do any of you boys know where to-day's 'Advertiser' is?" asked papa.

Colonel Bob came down from his high horse, threw aside his plume, took
off his chapeau, and handed it to his papa.

There was the "Advertiser" of that very day, folded up as a soldier-cap.

"Well, that's pretty business," said his papa, laughing. "Please give me
a chance to read the papers before you use them in this way." And he
went out and shut the door.

Colonel Bob stood leaning on his horse as if in deep thought. At last he
said, "Boys, this movement has failed. We must change our base. Follow
me." And he led the army out into the back garden.

                                                           UNCLE SAM.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

THE GEESE THAT CAME OVER THE LEA.


    WE talked and we laughed
      As we went to the sea,
    When an army of geese
      Came over the lea,
    With a cack, cack, cackle,
      And a pat, pat, patter;
    And, oh, what a fright
      We were in, all three!
    Which were the greater geese,--
      Just we three,
    Or the army of geese
      That came over the lea?

                         E. N. G.

[Illustration]




PAPA ROBIN.


ONE summer morning Elizabeth sat on the doorstep, reading. But she
looked up often to see the birds fly about, or to watch the butterflies
go sailing past.

By and by she heard a shrill chirping. "Poor little bird," she thought,
"where can it be? Is it hurt?" She went out into the yard, and looked
about her.

There, under a tree, was a baby-bird that had fallen out of its nest.
Elizabeth took it up gently. As it lay in her hand, it looked like a
soft ball. It chirped as loud as it could, and fluttered.

"Poor birdie," said Elizabeth, "I will try and take you home." And she
looked up into the tree. She could see the nest the fledgling had
tumbled out of; but she was not tall enough to reach it: so she stood
on a knot in the trunk of the tree, and put the nestling in its home.

She saw the father and the mother-bird in the tree, and said to herself
that they would take care of the little one. Then she went back to her
reading.

Pretty soon she heard the chirping again. This time she knew where to
look, and there was the baby-bird on the ground, crying and fluttering
as before.

[Illustration]

"Papa and mamma Robin ought to take care of you, birdling," she said.
But she stepped on the knotted tree-trunk, and put back the bird a
second time.

Then she sat down on the doorstep, and watched to see what the
parent-birds would do. They flew here and there about the nest, and sang
a few notes that Elizabeth knew must be bird-talk. She wondered if they
were trying to find a better place for their baby.

But as she was thinking how much care they were taking of it, out
tumbled the little one a third time. "You stupid old robin!" she cried.
"Do you expect some one to be putting back your birdie for you all day?
Why don't you keep it in the nest?"

She picked up the birdie, and was about to put it back a third time,
when, as she held it, a strange thing happened; for down flew the robin,
and gave her a sharp peck on the forehead.

Elizabeth stood still. She didn't know what to make of this. But soon
she began to laugh; and then she put the baby-bird gently on the ground,
and went away. She at last understood what papa Robin meant to say to
her by his peck. This is it: "Don't interfere when I'm teaching my child
to fly. You are very big, and perhaps you know a great deal; but you
don't seem to know that it's not right to keep birds in the nest all
summer. They would never find out what their wings are for."

                                                 FRANCES C. SPARHAWK.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CARLO AND THE DUCKS.


"STOP, Carlo! Come back, sir! Be still!" cried Jane, trying to hold the
little dog by a string tied to his collar.

But Carlo was in chase of two ducklings, and did not mind Jane's call.
Of course the ducklings took to the water. Carlo ran after them to the
water's edge, but there he stopped.

What stopped him? Jane was tugging pretty hard at the string. That was
one thing that held him back; but that was not all. Carlo was not fond
of the water; but he would not have stopped for that.

I will tell you what stopped him. While the ducklings were swimming away
for dear life, the old mother-duck came sailing boldly up, with her
great yellow beak, and faced Master Carlo.

She looked like a sloop-of-war all ready for action. Carlo was a brave
dog; but he was afraid of her, for all that. So he stood still and
barked.

Madam Duck did not mind his noise in the least. She quacked at him
fiercely. This is what she meant to say: "Look here, my young friend,
you are a dog, and I am a duck. You are at home on the land, but I am at
home on the water. Bark as much as you please, but, if you know what is
good for your health, keep out of this pond, and let my ducklings
alone."

"Do you hear that, Carlo?" said Jane. "Now don't stop to answer, but
come with me like a good dog, and we will have a run in the woods."

And then Carlo gave up his chase of the ducks, and went quietly where
Jane led him.

                                                        JANE OLIVER.




THE NAUGHTY CAT.


LITTLE JACK.

    'TIS such a naughty, naughty cat!
    Old Tab, that's owned by aunty Gray:
    She growls, and spits, and shows her claws,
    As sharp as needles in her paws;

[Illustration]

    And, if I try with her to play,
    She always seems so full of spite,
    She's sure to scratch me, or to bite.
    My hands,--they were a frightful sight
    When I came home last Saturday;
    I'm sure that she would be no loss,
    If she were killed, she is so cross;
    Now, when I see her, "Scat, scat, scat!"
    I mean to say, "you naughty cat!"


LITTLE JANE.

    What, call my poor old Tabby cross!
    I'm sure she's very good with _me_;
    For, when _I_ go to aunty Gray's,
    She always close beside me stays.
    If I sit down, she climbs my knee,
    And rubs her head against my cheek,
    And acts as though she'd like to speak,
    And say she wants my friend to be.
    I'd rather have her for my own
    Than all the cats I've ever known:
    Black, yellow, Maltese, large and small,
    Old Tab's the nicest of them all.


JAMES.

    Yes, Tabby _is_ a knowing cat.
    When you have been at aunty Gray's,
    She's proved you both, and learned your ways:
    She finds that Jack would never fail
    To try and swing her by the tail,
    While Jane will softly stroke her fur;
    So she will answer by a purr,
    To show Jane's gentle touch she likes,
    But Jack, with her sharp claws, she strikes.
    My mother says we ought to treat
    With love each living thing we meet,
    And even pussy-cats can tell
    Who are the ones that use them well.

                             MARIAN DOUGLAS.




PICKING ORANGES.


WILLY and Ben are two little boys who live in the old city of Saint
Augustine. They do not have sleigh-rides and coasts; for Saint Augustine
is way down South, in Florida, where snow never falls.

But, while the boys and girls in the North are wearing mittens and
tippets and thick coats when they go out to play, Willy and Ben are
running about bare-headed in the orange-groves, or plucking roses from
the garden.

All around the house are orange-trees, and in among the glossy green
leaves hang the great yellow juicy oranges. The fruit is ripe early in
December, and ready to be picked.

Miles, the colored man, takes his big clippers and goes up the high
step-ladder which he has placed near the tree. He cuts each orange from
the branch, taking care not to get hurt by the long, sharp thorns.

Willy stands at the foot of the ladder, ready to catch the oranges as
Miles tosses them down. Sometimes they pick five or six baskets in an
afternoon. Miles says Willy is a "bery good catch." He sometimes tires
of catching them; but he never tires of eating them.

I looked into the packing-room this morning, and there lay seventeen
hundred yellow balls. Papa lets both his little boys help wrap the
oranges. Each orange is wrapped in a piece of tissue-paper that is cut
just the right size. Willy always says as he begins, "Now let's see
who'll beat!" Do you know what he means?

Ben cannot wrap oranges as fast as Willy; but, as they are wrapped, he
hands them to papa to pack in boxes. He can read the word "Boston" that
papa writes in black letters on the outside of the boxes.

[Illustration]

Of course papa pays his workers, and they take their money all to mamma
to keep for them. They have so much whispering to do about it, that I
think they are saving it to buy holiday gifts.

                                                      JIMMIE.




[Illustration]

THE MAY-QUEEN.


    "WHEN I was little," said grandma Gray,
    "We used to welcome the month of May
    With a song and a dance on the village green,
    Choosing and crowning our May-day queen.
    We used to choose of the prettiest girls,
    The one who had the sunniest curls,
    The one who had the merriest eyes,
    As clear and bright as the May-day skies.

    "We made her throne of the daisies white,
    And of yellow buttercups, golden bright,
    And we twined gay blossoms about the hair
    Of our dear little queen so sweet and fair."
    So grandma said, and the children heard,
    And a loving thought in each heart was stirred;
    And they whispered together, and laughed in glee,
    "Dear grandmamma shall our May-queen be!"

[Illustration]

    Then they brought the chair with the cushioned seat,
    And the cushioned footstool for grandma's feet,
    And led her merrily to the throne,
    And crowned her queen of their hearts alone.
    They twined the daisies and buttercups bright
    In the queen's soft hair so silvery white,
    And better than jewels or necklace rare,
    Were the clasping arms of those children fair.

    And the bees and butterflies hovered around;
    And the sunbeams danced all over the ground;
    And the birds sang merrily in the trees;
    And the breath of summer was in the breeze;
    And the delicate hue of the azure skies
    Seemed to lend new light to the loving eyes
    Of happy, dear old grandmamma Gray,
    Crowned by the children their "Queen of May."

                                 MARY D. BRINE.




SING, PRETTY BIRDS.


    SING, pretty birds, and build your nests,
      The fields are green, the skies are clear;
    Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests,
      The world is glad to have you here.

    Among the orchards and the groves,
      While summer days are fair and long,
    You brighten every tree and bush,
      You fill the air with loving song.

    At early dawn your notes are heard
      In happy greeting to the day,
    Your twilight voices softly tell
      When sunshine hours have passed away.

    Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests,
      The fields are green, the skies are clear;
    Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests,
      The world is glad to have you here.

                              M. E. N. HATHAWAY.

[Illustration]




MARY AND JENNY.


MARY strikes the shuttle-cock a hard blow with the battle-door. Up it
goes into the air, and down it falls into the grass. There it is; but
the next thing to be done is to find it. Who will pick it up?

[Illustration]

Jenny stands with her hands behind her. She has a roguish look. What has
she in her hands? Is it an apple? No. Is it an orange? No. Is it a ball?
No. Guess again. Ah! I know what it is. It is the shuttle-cock.

[Illustration]

                                                      G. H. I.




[Illustration: DRAWING-LESSON.

VOL. XXIX.--NO. 5.]




PIGGY'S SPOON.


PIGGY had a little house close by the barn. There were two rooms in his
house. In one room he had his bed; in the other he had a trough.

On one side of his house there was a door that opened into a pen. The
pen was in the orchard where the sweet apples grew. Sometimes in summer
the apples would fall down from the trees into the pen; then piggy would
pick them up and eat them. Sometimes they would strike him on his back
when they fell; but he did not mind that; he was always glad to get
them.

He had his bed of warm straw to sleep in at night, and every day he had
as much as he wanted to eat. He had all a pig could wish for: so he was
contented. One morning farmer Jackson brought a pailful of milk for
piggy's breakfast. He poured the milk into the trough, and piggy made
haste to come and eat it.

While he was eating, something hard and cold came into his mouth. He bit
it, but found that it was not good: so he left it. He ate up all the
milk. When it was gone, he saw a bright silver spoon in the bottom of
the trough.

"Oh!" said piggy, "I see how it is. They would like to have me eat with
a spoon; but they would never make me fat in that way. I should be
hungry all the time. Now I can eat fast and grow fast, and I like my own
way best."

So piggy turned up his nose at the spoon. Then he went out into the pen,
and began to root in the dirt to find bits of apple. "Fine work I should
make using a spoon," said piggy, and he laughed whenever he thought of
it.

At night farmer Jackson came to bring his supper. He saw the spoon in
the trough, took it out and carried it into the house. When his wife saw
it, she said somebody had been very careless, and dropped the spoon into
piggy's pail. She could not find out who had done it, though she asked
everybody. Then she thought that perhaps she had done it herself. She
was glad to get her spoon back again, and piggy was glad to have it
taken from the trough.

He had left the print of his teeth on it: so it was afterwards called
"Piggy's spoon."

                                                MARY E. N. HATHAWAY.




[Illustration]




THE TRAVELLER.


    SOMETIMES he travels in a boat;
      (A bench turned upside down,)
    Sometimes his mother's rocking-chair
      Takes him from town to town.

[Illustration]

    For journeying, by sea or land,
      He always has a plan,
    He'll be a famous traveller
      When he grows to be a man.

                           W. G.




BOUNCER.


"GRANDMA, grandma, may we have it? may we have it?" cried three excited
little voices, as three little boys came running into the room.

"Have what?" said grandma smiling, as she looked up from her book. "The
measles?"

"Why, grandma, of course it isn't the measles," said Ned, the eldest.
"It is a dog,--a real puppy. Mrs. James told Arthur she would give it to
him, if you were willing."

Grandma thought of her nice flower-beds and her well-kept driveway. She
did not want to have a dog running about in them. But then she saw the
three wistful faces waiting for her answer, and so she said "Yes."

[Illustration]

Mrs. James had promised that she would bring it to Arthur by Saturday.
All the boys were in haste for the day to come, and Arthur said, "Now,
mamma, there will be three days more and then 'dog-day.'"

Saturday came at last. Arthur sat by the front-door watching. About four
o'clock in the afternoon, he came to me and said, very sadly, "Do you
really think she will come to-day, mamma?"--"Yes," said I.

He took his seat on the steps, and in a few minutes I heard a joyful
cry: "Here's my dog! here's my dog!" The other boys joined in the shout.
Was there ever such joy!

Bouncer,--for that was the puppy's name,--was a fine water-spaniel. He
grew very fast, and proved very kind and playful. The three boys became
very fond of him. The first thing in the morning, and the last thing at
night, they would all rush out of doors for a romp with Bouncer.

He was always ready for a frolic. Nothing pleased him so much as a dash
into the lake. Then he was in his glory. He would spring into the water
after any thing that the boys would throw.

Once he saved a man's hat that had blown overboard; and if the man had
gone over with his hat, I have no doubt that Bouncer would have saved
him too. But, as the man was safe on shore all the time, Bouncer had no
chance to prove himself a hero. That wasn't Bouncer's fault, you know.

                                                      M. C. W.

[Illustration]




THE MOUSE-TRAP.


[Illustration]

    THE cheese smelt tempting in its little house:
    "I'll get it, never fear!" cried Master Mouse.


[Illustration]

    Caught in the trap, with all their might and main,
    His parents try to get him out again.


[Illustration]

    Alas! alas! exertions well applied
    Bring but a swift collapse undignified.


[Illustration]

    A happy thought: "We'll roll the box about,
    And thus, perchance, get valiant Brownie out!"


[Illustration]

    Still happier thought: a wall its aid extends;
    And Brownie, thankful for such clever friends,


[Illustration]

    Darts out in triumph, bearing high the cheese,
    Then shares the well-won spoil, and feasts at ease.




[Illustration]




ONE CAT AND TWO PIGS.


    A POOR little kitty turned out by its mother,
    Without any sister, without any brother,
            Was very unhappy,
            Was very unhappy;
          Oh, very unhappy indeed!

    She couldn't find any companions to stay with;
    She couldn't find any companions to play with;
            And so she was lonely,
            Oh! ever so lonely;
          Oh, yes! she was lonely indeed.

    One morning she noticed two little pigs running
    Along by the house; they were pretty and cunning,
            And it made little kitty
            Feel bad--what a pity!--
          A very great pity indeed.

    She made their acquaintance, and then in clear weather
    The three funny playmates would frolic together,
            And kitty was happy,
            No doubt she was happy;
          Oh, yes! very happy indeed.

    The piggies would drink up the milk that was given
    To kitty, who oft from the basin was driven;
            For they were quite greedy,
            Yes, rather too greedy;
          Oh, yes! very greedy indeed.

[Illustration]

    And, when they had corn, how the piggies would chew it!
    While kitty looked on, wondering how they could do it:
            'Twas queer that she couldn't,
            Quite strange that she couldn't;
          She'd tried--but she couldn't indeed!

    At night, when the piggies in slumber were dozing,
    Miss Kitty curled up on their backs was reposing,
            And all were quite happy,
            Remarkably happy;
          Oh, yes! very happy indeed.

                                     JOSEPHINE POLLARD.




HARRY AND JOHN.


[Illustration]

HARRY waves his flag to stop a train of cars. He has seen a man do it at
the railroad station. But the train rushes by, and does not mind him in
the least. This makes him look sad.

[Illustration]

John stands and looks on. He is dressed in a new sailor-suit. He feels
so grand that he does not care whether the train stops or not. There is
a very broad grin on his face. We should see it if we could make him
turn round and look at us.

                                                      J. K. L.




"INCHES."


HIS real name was Miles; but one of his papa's friends said that such a
little chap was too small to be called Miles, and it would be better to
begin with "Inches" and go up gradually: so we nicknamed him "Inches."

His papa and mamma were Americans; but their little boy was born in
Assam, and until he was four years old he had never seen any other
country.

Now, you will want to know where Assam is. I will tell you. It is a
kingdom in India, lying west of China, and south of the great Himalaya
Mountains. Some peaks of these mountains can be seen on a clear day from
the house where Inches lived.

One morning early, our little friend woke, and called out in the
Assamese language (for he could not speak English), "Tezzan, take me."

Tezzan his "bearer"--so a man-nurse is called in Assam--came quickly,
and dressed his little charge. Then, after giving him a slice of dry
toast and a nice plantain for his breakfast, he took the little boy by
the hand, and started out with him for their regular morning-walk.

They went down along the bank of the Brahmaputra River, and saw many
sights that would look very strange to Americans. A little below the
house, Inches called on Tezzan to stop, and let him watch some elephants
that were swimming across the river. He called the elephant a _hatee_,
giving the "a" in the word the same sound we give it when we say father.

All they could see of the elephants was the tops of their heads, and
occasionally their trunks when they threw them out of the water for a
fresh breath of air. The drivers stood on the necks of the elephants,
with only a rope, tied round the great creatures' necks, to hold on by.

By and by they came struggling up the bank, one after another,--eight of
them,--and stood panting and dripping to rest a little. Scarcely had
they set their feet on dry land when a little ferry-boat came steaming
along, and just as she got close to the bank she blew a long, loud
whistle.

[Illustration]

The elephants were frightened, and ran snorting and trumpeting right up
the road where Inches and his bearer were standing. Inches was very much
frightened, and ran too. But no harm was done, and after a little while
Inches had a good laugh, when he thought how the elephants ran away from
the little bustling steamer.

After this was all over and the elephants were slowly jogging along,
Inches and his bearer started on again. They met many people; but very
few of them were white. There were only fifteen white children to be
found for many miles: so they, of course, knew each other well.

Down the road, further on, they came to a sweetmeat-vender's shop. His
candies and sweets were put on flat bamboo or cane plates, and all
arranged outside the shop itself, on a platform made of bamboo.

Inches wished Tezzan to buy some sweets for him; but they had brought no
_pice_, so could not. (Pice are small copper coins used in India, worth
about three-fourths of one cent each.)

The little boy was on the point of crying, when he heard his mamma
calling; and, sure enough, there she was, and papa, too, waiting for him
in the pony-carriage. He ran quickly, and climbed into his mamma's lap,
and was soon home again.

                                                      M. R. B.




SMALL BEGINNING.


[Illustration]

    WHEN the first little crocus peeped out of the ground,
    And slyly looked round,
    Not a flower was awake, not a bit of new green
    Was anywhere seen;
    And it seemed, with a shiver the little one said,
          "Oh, I am afraid,
    The trees are so naked, the earth is so black!
          Please let me go back!
    You have called me too early, my dear Mother Spring,
          I am such a wee thing!"

[Illustration]

    Then a bluebird whistled, "Oh, no! my dear,
          It is good you are here;
    For now we are sure that spring is near."
    Then a sober old robin came bustling by
          With the sleep in his eye;
    "Ah, me! how stupid I was to wait;
          And now I am late!
    The bluebird has piped, and the crocus has come;
          And you know by the hum
    The hot little bee is beating his drum."

    Then sweet Mother Spring, with a sunshine kiss,
          Said something like this:
    "Thanks, brave little crocus, so slender and small,
          For heeding my call
    While orchards were leafless, and snow-drifts staid
          In the all-day shade:
    You are telling us sweetly that soonest begun
          The soonest is done;
    That little by little makes up the great,
    And early obeying is better than late."

                                GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.




JENNY WREN.


[Illustration]

    JENNY WREN'S a lady,
      Very quiet she:
    That's her pretty mansion
      In the hollow tree.
    Peep into her parlor,
      Carpeted with down;
    There you'll see her sitting
      In her modest gown.

    Jenny Wren is busy,
      Summer days are near,
    And she has a houseful:
      Listen, and you'll hear.
    Little mouths are open
      From the hour she wakes,
    And to feed her darlings
      All her time it takes.

    Jenny Wren is moving:
      Breezes hurry by;
    Purple leaves are falling;
      Chilly grows the sky.
    Long before the snowflakes
      Through the orchard roam,
    Should you call on Jenny,
      Nobody's at home.

                 GEORGE COOPER.




[Illustration: Music]




DADDY FROG.

    Words by GEO. COOPER.       Music by T. CRAMPTON.


    1 Old Daddy Frog lives in a bog,
        And his coat is bottle-green;
            Yellow his vest;
            handsomely drest,
        His pretty shape is seen.
            Puffing with pride,
            there at his side
        His dame is sure to be.
            Smiling, he says,
            "No one could raise
        A finer family;"

    Chorus.

      Singing "Cou, cou, cou, Ker-chunk!"

    2 Old Daddy Frog leaps on a log,
        In a spry and jaunty way;
            Calling his boys--
            Oh, what a noise!
        He joins them in their play.
            Hipperty-hop!
            Under they pop,
        And Daddy Frog, says he,
            "Isn't it fine?
            How they will shine,
        This polished family."

    3 Old Daddy Frog lives in the bog
        Till the summer days are done;
            Little frogs grow,
            Dressed like a beau
        Now is each model son;
            Daddy Frog's eyes
            Wink with surprise,
        Quite filled with delight is he;
            Dame at his side
            Chuckles with pride,
        "There's no such family!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

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

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





End of Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, May 1881, Vol. XXIX, by Various