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THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XIV.--No. 3

        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:
        STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY RAND, AVERY, & CO.




[Illustration: CONTENTS.]


IN PROSE.

                                                     PAGE.

  The Queer Things that happened to Nelly              65

  The Six Ducks                                        69

  The Bunch of Grapes                                  71

  A True Story about a Dog                             73

  Pitcher-Plants and Monkey-Pots                       76

  Under the Cherry-Tree                                77

  Rambles in the Woods                                 80

  What I Saw at the Seashore                           82

  Blossom and I                                        85

  How Norman became an Artist                          87

  A Boot-Race under Difficulties                       89

  Pictures for Walter                                  90

  The Fisherman's Children                             92


IN VERSE.

                                                    PAGE.

  Rose's Song                                          68

  A Little Tease                                       75

  Sleeping in the Sunshine                             78

  Young Lazy-Bones (_with music_)                      96


[Illustration: THE QUEER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO NELLY.]




THE QUEER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO NELLY.


[Illustration: N]ELLY BURTON had been weeding in the garden nearly all
the summer forenoon; and she was quite tired out. "Oh, if I could only
be dressed up in fine clothes, and not have to work!" thought she.

No sooner had the thought passed through her mind, than, as she looked
down on the closely-mown grass by the edge of the pond, she saw the
queerest sight that child ever beheld.

A carriage, the body of which was made of the half of a large
walnut-shell, brightly gilt, was moving along, dragged by six beetles
with backs glistening with all the colors of the rainbow.

Seated in the carriage, and carrying a wand, was a young lady not larger
than a child's little finger, but so beautiful that no humming-bird
could equal her in beauty. She had the bluest of blue eyes, and yellow
crinkled hair that shone like gold.

She stopped her team of beetles, and, standing upright, said to Nelly,
"Listen to me. My name is Pitpat; and I am a fairy. I see how tired you
are with work. Your father, though a good man, is a blacksmith; and
there is often a smirch on his face when he stoops to kiss you. Your
mother wears calico dresses, and doesn't fix her hair with false braids
and waterfalls. Would you not like to be the daughter of a king and
queen, and live in a palace?"

"Oh, yes, you beautiful Pitpat! I would like that ever so much!"
exclaimed Nelly. "Then I should be a princess, and have nothing to do
but amuse myself all day."

"Take the end of my wand, and touch your eyes with it," said the little
fairy.

Nelly obeyed; and in a moment, before she could wink, she found herself
in a beautiful room, with mirrors reaching from the ceiling to the
floor. By these she saw that she was no longer clad in an old dingy
dress, nor were her feet bare; but she had on a beautiful skirt of
light-blue velvet, and a bodice of the most costly lace, trimmed with
ribbons; while diamonds were in her hair, and a pair of gold slippers on
her feet.

Servants were in attendance on her, one of whom said, "May it please
your Highness, his Majesty, your royal father, is coming." Nelly's heart
fluttered. The door opened, and, preceded by two or three lackeys, a
pompous old gentleman entered, clad in rich robes, a golden crown on his
head, and no smirch on his face.

But, dear me, instead of catching her up in his arms, and calling her
his own precious little Nelly, his Majesty simply gave her his hand to
kiss, and passed on.

The queen followed in his steps. Her hair was done up in a tower of
top-knots and waterfalls; and there was drapery enough on the back of
her dress to astonish an upholsterer. Instead of calling Nelly "her
darling," as Nelly's first mother used to do, the queen merely said, as
she swept by, "Where are your manners, child?" for you must know that
poor Nelly had forgotten to courtesy.

Nelly put her face in her hands, and began to cry. "Oh, you cruel
Pitpat!" said she, "why did you tempt me? Oh! give me back my own dear
mother in her calico dress, my own dear father with the smirch on his
face, my doll Angelica, my black-and-white kitten Dainty, and my own
dear, dear home beside the lovely pond where the air is so sweet and the
bushes are so green."

"Take the end of my wand again, and touch your eyes with it," said the
voice of Pitpat. And there on the carpet, in her little gilded carriage,
stood the fairy once more with her wand held out. Nelly seized it
eagerly, and touched her eyes.

"Why, Dainty, what are you about?" said Nelly, as she felt the kitten's
head against her arm; and then, opening her eyes, she started to find
herself in the old wood-shed, seated with her back against the door,
Angelica in her lap, and the soft breeze from the pond fanning her cheek
and bosom. She looked at her feet. Ah! the golden slippers had
disappeared. "Dear me! I must have been dreaming," said Nelly.

                                                  IDA FAY.




ROSE'S SONG.


            So it's hush-a-by, baby,
            Hush-a-by now,
        Mamma's gone to buy something good;
            And she will not forget
            Her own darling pet,
        But will buy her a bonny blue hood:
        Yes, she'll buy her a bonny blue hood.
            Oh! she will not forget
            Her own baby pet,
        But will buy her a bonny blue hood.

            Then it's crow away, baby,
            Crow away, sweet,
        Papa he is coming to-night;
            And he'll bring home a kiss,
            Like _this_ and like _this_,
        For his sweet little Minnie so bright,
        For his dear little Minnie so bright.
            Oh! he's many a kiss,
            Like _this_ and like _this_,
        For his sweet little Minnie to-night.

                                                  GEO. BENNETT.

[Illustration]




THE SIX DUCKS.


IN the pond near Emily's house six tame ducks used to have a fine time
swimming about, except in winter, when the pond was frozen. Emily had a
name for each one of them. They used to run to her when she called; for
they knew she loved them all, and would treat them well.

Among these six happy ducks there was a white one that was at one time
of his life a wild duck. Emily named him _Albus_; for _albus_ is Latin
for _white_. I will tell you how Albus happened to become tamed.

He was once on his way to the South with a large flock of his wild
companions, when, as they were alighting near a creek, Albus was shot in
the wing by Dick Barker, a sportsman who was out gunning. Dick ran with
his dog Spot to pick up the poor wounded bird; but Albus was not so much
hurt that he could not fly a little.

He flew and flew till he came to Emily's little garden; and then he fell
at her feet, faint, but not dead, as if pleading for protection. Emily
took him up in her arms, though she soiled her apron with blood in so
doing. Dick and Spot came up; and Dick said roughly, "Give me up that
duck."

"The duck has flown to my feet for protection; and I would be shot
myself before I would betray him and give him up," said Emily. "I shall
keep him, and heal his wounds."

Mr. Dick Barker scolded wildly; but it was of no use. He had to go off
duckless. As for Albus, he soon grew well under Emily's tender care; but
his wing was not as strong as it used to be: so he concluded he would
become a tame bird, and not try to fly off again with his wild
companions. He had a happy home, a kind mistress, and pleasant duck
acquaintances. So, like a good sensible waddler, he was content.

                                                  EMILY CARTER.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




THE BUNCH OF GRAPES.


"I AM thinking what I shall do with this beautiful bunch of grapes,"
said Reka Lane as she sat on the bench near the arbor. Her real name was
Rebecca; but they called her, for shortness, Reka.

"I know what I should do with it," said little Matilda, who had been
wading in the brook, and was without shoes and stockings. "I should
divide it among the present company."

"Good for Matty!" exclaimed brother Henry. "The best use you can put
grapes to is to eat them before they spoil. Come, Reka, divide, divide."

"I am not sure that I shall do that," said Reka.

"Look at that queer dog!" said Matty. "He has crept under the shawl on
the ground, and looks like a head with no body to it."

"That shawl was left there the other day by old Mrs. Merton," said Reka.
"The dog is her son's terrier; and his name is Beauty."

"He is any thing but a beauty," said Matty. "I think him the ugliest dog
I ever saw."

"I suppose they call him Beauty to make up for the bad word he gets from
every one as being ugly," said Reka. "He is a good dog, nevertheless;
and he knows that shawl belongs to his mistress.--Don't you, Beauty?"

Here Beauty tore out from under the shawl, and began barking in a very
intelligent manner.

"Now I will tell you what we will do," said Reka. "Put on your shoes and
stockings, Matty, and we will all go and call on Mrs. Merton, who is
ill; and we'll take back her shawl, and give her this beautiful bunch of
grapes."

"Bow, wow, wow!" cried Beauty, jumping up, and trying to lick Reka's
face.

When the children left Mrs. Merton's, after they had presented the
grapes, Henry Lane made this remark, "I'll tell you what it is, girls,
to see that old lady so pleased by our attention gave me more pleasure
than a big feast on grapes, ice-creams, and sponge-cake, with lemonade
thrown in."

                                                  DORA BURNSIDE.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




A TRUE STORY ABOUT A DOG.


I AM a middle-aged gentleman who is blessed with only one child, a
little girl now nearly six years old. Her name is Fanny; and her cousin
Gracie, who is about the same age, lives with us.

Both of these little girls are very fond of having me tell them stories;
and I have often told them about a dog I once had. They liked this story
so much, that they made me promise I would send it to "The Nursery," so
that a great many little girls and boys might hear it also. This is the
story:--

        When I was a little boy, not more than eight
        years old, my mother consented to my having a
        dog which a friend offered to give me. He was a
        little pup then, not more than five weeks old.
        I fed him on milk for a while, and he grew very
        fast. I named him Caesar.

        When he got to be six months old, he became
        very mischievous. Things were constantly being
        missed from the house. Handkerchiefs, slippers,
        shoes, towels, aprons, and napkins disappeared;
        and no one could tell what became of them. One
        day Caesar was seen going into the garden with a
        slipper in his mouth; and I followed him to a
        far-off corner where stood a large
        currant-bush.

        I looked under the bush, and saw Caesar digging
        a hole, into which he put the slipper, and then
        covered it up with earth. Upon digging under
        this bush, I found all the things that had been
        missed.

        A neighbor's dog, called "Dr. Wiseman," was
        Caesar's particular friend. One day we heard a
        loud scratching at the front-door; and, when we
        opened it, in walked Caesar and Dr. Wiseman.
        Caesar took the Doctor by the ear, and led him
        up to each of the family, just as if he were
        introducing him, and then led him into the
        garden, and treated him to a bone.

        Although Caesar did many naughty things, we all
        loved him; for he was quite affectionate as
        well as intelligent: but our neighbors
        complained of him because he chased their
        chickens, bit their pigs, and scared their
        horses. A farmer who came to our house one day
        with a load of potatoes took a great fancy to
        him. He wanted him for a watch-dog on his farm,
        which was only four miles from our house.

        As he promised to treat him kindly, my mother
        thought it was best to let him have the dog;
        and I finally consented, although I believe I
        cried a good deal about it.

        So Caesar was put into the farmer's wagon, much
        against his will; and off he went into the
        country. About three months afterwards, when
        there was a foot of snow on the ground, there
        came a great scratching at the front-door of
        our house, early in the morning, before I was
        up; and, when the servant opened the door, in
        bounded Caesar with a rope around his neck, and
        a large chunk of wood fastened to the other end
        of it.

        He ran by the servant, and up the stairs, with
        the piece of wood going bump, bump, all the
        way, dashed into my room, jumped right up on my
        bed, and began licking my face.

        I was very glad to see my dog again. He staid
        with us several days; and, when the farmer came
        for him, he lay down on the floor, closed his
        eyes, and pretended to be dead; but the farmer
        took him back to the farm in his wagon.

        About a year and a half after that, when I came
        home for a vacation, we all went up to the
        farm, hoping to see Caesar; but we never saw him
        again. The farmer had shot him, because he
        killed the chickens, and chased the sheep, and
        would not mind any thing that was said to him.
        Thus you see, children, that Caesar came to a
        bad end, although he had every advantage of
        good society in his early youth.

                                                  LANSINGBURGH, N.Y.

C. R. W.

[Illustration]




A LITTLE TEASE.


        I KNOW a little fellow
          Who is such a wilful tease,
        That, when he's not in mischief,
          He is never at his ease:
        He dearly loves to frolic,
          And to play untimely jokes
        Upon his little sister,
          And upon the older folks.

        He rings the bell for Sarah,
          And then slyly runs away;
        And tries to make a fool of her
          A dozen times a day:
        He hides away in corners,
          To spring suddenly in sight;
        And laughs, oh! very heartily,
          To see her jump with fright.

        When kitty's lying quiet,
          And curled up warm and snug,
        This little fellow always feels
          Like giving her a hug;
        And kitty from his fond embrace
          Would surely never flinch,
        Did she not know the little tease
          Would give her many a pinch.

        But this provoking fellow
          Has a very curious way
        Of feeling rather hurt at tricks
          That other people play,--
        Just like some older jokers,
          Who laugh at fun they make,
        But never can enjoy the fun
          Of jokes they have to take.

                                                  JOSEPHINE POLLARD.




PITCHER-PLANTS AND MONKEY-POTS.


[Illustration]

PITCHER-PLANTS are so called, because, at the end of the leaves, the
midrib which runs through them is formed into a cup shape; and in some
it looks very like a pitcher or water-jug You will understand this
better if you look at the drawing.

There are various kinds of pitcher-plants. Some are shorter and broader
than others; but they are all green like true leaves, and hold water as
securely as a jug or glass. They grow in Borneo and Sumatra, hot islands
in the East. The one shown in the drawing grows in Ceylon.

Some grow in America; but they are altogether different from those in
Borneo and Ceylon. One beautiful little pitcher-plant grows in
Australia: but this is also very different from all the rest; for the
pitchers, instead of being at the end of the leaves, are clustered round
the bottom of the plant, close to the ground.

All these pitcher-plants, though very beautiful to look at, are very
cruel enemies to insects: for the pitchers nearly always have water in
them; and flies and small insects are constantly falling into them, and
getting drowned.

Monkey-pots are hard, woody fruits; some as large and round as a
cannon-ball, and some shaped