The Nursery, February 1873, Vol. XIII. / A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
Date: 2008-01-30T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Children's literature; American -- Periodicals

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, February 1873, Vol. XIII.

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Title: The Nursery, February 1873, Vol. XIII.

Author: Various

Release date: January 31, 2008 [eBook #24475]

Language: English

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

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, FEBRUARY 1873, VOL. XIII. ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

VOLUME XIII.—No. 2

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.

IN PROSE.
| PAGE.
The Biography of a Bubble | 33
The Story of a Little Duck | 37
Our Thanksgiving Dinner | 40
The Grandpa Story | 42
Miss Jones's Picture | 45
Clear the Coast | 48
Our New Dog | 50
Bunny | 52
Dandy the Bear | 55
Little Mischief | 57
Too Many Presents | 61
The Dog and the Shadow | 63
IN VERSE.
| PAGE
Jack's Menagerie | 36
Jack Frost | 44
Sue's Seasons | 47
The Children's Party | 54
Jack and Jill (with music) | 64

THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BUBBLE

THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BUBBLE.

HE papa who writes this biography of a bubble never wrote a biography before in all his life. This is his first printed work. Perhaps some old person will criticise it severely.

"Why use such big words as 'biography' and 'criticise'?" this old person may ask. "Are you not writing for little people? Is not your subject a poor little bubble that could not have lived longer than three or four seconds?"

To which this papa replies: "Old person, do not meddle. This papa knows what he is about. The little folks understand very well that a 'biography' is a story of a life; that to 'criticise' is to find fault; and that a 'critic' is a fault-finder."

So all critics will please get out of the way, and leave this papa alone while he writes the biography of a bubble.

This bubble was born just as the clock struck four, on the afternoon of the 13th of January, 1873. Its name was "Diamond."

"Why, how could a bubble have a name?"

Now, you just be quiet and patient, and in good time you shall learn all. Papa had promised his little daughter Grace, that one of these days he would blow some bubbles for her amusement.

Grace reminded him several times of his promise; but papa was always too busy to attend to it. At last Grace said, "When will one of these days come?"—"It shall come now," said papa.

So he got a pipe, and a bowl of soap-suds; and Grace stood at his knee while he blew bubbles. Grace was delighted. "Name them," said she; for papa had named her kittens, and she thought he could name the bubbles.

The first one's name was "Sparkle." It was a very big bubble; but it did not live long. The name of the second was "Glory." I think it might have lived a second longer than it did, if Grace had not touched it with her finger.

The third bubble floated up almost to the ceiling. Its name was "Napoleon." It rose as bravely as if it had no fear of breaking. It expired of old age, after reaching the term of ten seconds and a half.

At last, just as the clock struck four, little "Diamond" appeared. She was a delicate little thing, and bright with all the colors of the rainbow. She was not proud like the other bubbles. She did not try to mount. Perhaps papa's breath made her go as she did.

Grace admired "Diamond" very much. "Why, see, papa! She is coming to kiss me," said the little girl;—"she is on my cheek."

Yes, little "Diamond" ended her life on the cheek of innocence. What better end could she have had? Was it not much better than mounting to the cold, white ceiling, and living to a dull old age, like the big bubble whose name was Napoleon?

Grace's Papa.

JACK'S MENAGERIE.

"This is our grand menagerie,
Beneath the crooked cherry-tree.
The exhibition now begins:
Admittance, only thirteen pins;
And if the pins you cannot borrow,
Why, then, we'll trust you till to-morrow.
Don't be afraid to walk inside:
The animals are safely tied.

"This is the elephant on the right:
Don't meddle with him, or he'll bite.
(He's Rover, Neddie's dog, you know.
I wish he wouldn't fidget so!
He doesn't think it fun to play
Wild beast, and be chained up all day.)
We'll feed him, pretty soon, with meat;
Though grass is what he ought to eat.

"In that box are the kangaroos:
Go near and pat them if you choose;
(They're very much like Susie's rabbits,
With just a change of name and habits.)
You'll find them lively as a top:
See, when I poke them, how they hop.
They are not fierce; but, oh! take care:
We now approach the grizzly bear.

"See her long claws, and only hear
Her awful growl when I go near!
We found her lying on a rug,
And just escaped her fearful hug.
It took some time to get her caged:
She's terrible when she's enraged.
(You think, perhaps, it's Mabel's cat,
But don't you be too sure of that!)

"Here is the ostrich in her pen
(It's Ernest's little bantam-hen):
She came from Africa, of course,
And runs as fast as any horse;
And up above there is a bird
Of whom you all have often heard,—
The eagle ('That is not,' says Mary,
'A pretty name for my canary')."

Just at this point, I grieve to say,
The elephant broke quite away,
O'erthrew the grizzly bear in rage,
Upset the eagle in his cage,
Flew at the kangaroos, and then
Attacked the ostrich in her pen.
Thus ended Jack's menagerie
Beneath the crooked cherry tree!

H. B.

THE STORY OF A LITTLE DUCK.

I was one of a family of nine brothers and sisters. We all found ourselves outside our shells one fine, sunny day in spring; but we felt chilly, and were glad to nestle under the wings of the kind old hen whom we regarded as our mother.

In a day or two, we began to look about the world. We found that it comprised a pretty lawn, on which our mansion was placed, with a brick wall at one end of it. The other end of the world was at the foot of the lawn, and consisted of a level expanse as smooth as a sheet of glass.

Our mansion was formed of wood, with a high pointed roof, and with open bars in front, through which we could look out and enjoy the prospect. We could crawl under the bars easily; but mother-hen could not.

One day a great, strong giant came and lifted up our mansion right over our heads. This giant had two legs, but no wings. Poor thing! They called him a little boy. He frightened us very much at first; but as he fed us, and called us, "Ducky, ducky!" we soon grew fond of him.

When the boy had lifted up our mansion (which he called a coop), mother-hen started at once on a journey round the world. We stopped to pick up some bits of grain, and some little worms, which we found. "Cluck, cluck!" said mother-hen, which means, "Come, come!" and we all said, "Quack, quack!" which means, "Yes, yes!"

On we went, threading our way through the forest of grass; and our ideas were much enlarged by finding that the world comprised a vast farm-yard as well as our lawn, and the distant glass-like boundary. On we went, "Cluck, cluck! quack, quack!" and at last found ourselves close to the smooth expanse, which we learned was called a pond, and composed of a beautiful liquid called "water."

Into this pond my brothers and sisters dashed, and of course I followed. How delicious! The water was cool and refreshing, and so buoyant, that we moved about on it more easily than we could walk on the land; but, when we looked back to the bank, we saw mother-hen calling out in grief and dread, "Cluck, cluck! come, come! you'll drown, drown! Oh, oh!"

"All right!" said my eldest brother; "no fear: here we are as jolly as sandboys! You may as well come. It's capital. Here goes for a dive!" And, so saying, under he went, and soon came up again, laughing, "Quack, quack! oh, it's so jolly!"

But poor mother-hen did not see any thing jolly about it, and was always in fear when we went to the pond, into which she would never go herself.

In time we grew up, and found that we could actually fly in the air. Oh, capital! When that horrible monster with four legs, which they called "a dog," ran after us, we opened our wings, and flew over the lawn to the pond. And there stood the stupid dog bawling out, "Bow, wow! bow, wow!"

One day our ideas were again expanded by our being driven through a gate. We then found that the world was much larger than we had thought; for beyond our wall was a broad ploughed field, as well as a vast forest, the edges of which touched the distant sky. Wonderful discovery! How grand a duck feels when gaining useful knowledge!

Every thing went on pleasantly enough, until a great awkward giant, named Bob, came and looked very hard at us. At first we did not like him; but he was really very kind, and called us "Ducky, ducky, ducky!" and threw us handfuls of barley. He then seized two or three of my fattest brothers and sisters, and frightened them so much, that they called out, "Quack, quack! don't, don't!" But they need not have made such a fuss, as he put them safely in a basket with a lid to it to keep off the rain, and took a great deal of care of them indeed.

How kind of him to take the trouble to carry them in this basket on his arm, instead of leaving them to waddle along the road! In this way he has taken all my brothers and sisters away with him, except myself and my brother little Jack Drake. I dare say he will soon take us with him in his nice basket.

Certainly it is a good thing to have men to attend to us so well. I am sure they must be very fond of ducks to take such care of us. And so I said to Jack Drake; but all he said in reply was, "Quack, quack! quack, quack!"

T. C.

OUR THANKSGIVING DINNER.

We live in a little village near the city of Cincinnati. We have not lived here many years; and our grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins are so far away, that they cannot often come to see us.

This year, on Thanksgiving Day, none of our friends were with us; and mamma and papa felt very sad to have the big turkey cooked, and only our own family to eat it.

So, happening to see a ragged little boy in the street, mamma called him, and told him to go out and find eleven more poor little boys, and tell them to come with him and get a Thanksgiving dinner.

He ran off in high glee; and, sure enough, when twelve o'clock came, along came the whole number of poor, hungry little boys. Their eyes sparkled with delight when they saw the nice brown turkey, and the pies and cakes. They were soon seated at the table; and papa and mamma waited on them.

It made us all glad to see how the poor fellows enjoyed their dinner. One ragged little boy was so afraid of soiling the cloth, that he quietly slipped the bones under the table. Another boy saw him, and told the rest; and then they all had a good laugh.

After they had eaten as much as they wanted, they were taken into the room where the piano is; and mamma got "The Nursery" containing the song of "Mother Hubbard," and played and sung it to them.

Papa then gave each one a paper of candy and a nice large apple, and sent them off. No sooner were they out of the door than they set up a yell like so many little Indians, and ran to their homes as fast as they could, I suppose, to tell about the good time they had had.

We all think now that we enjoyed our Thanksgiving as well as children who had their own friends to dine with them. And I do not doubt that those poor little boys will remember their unexpected dinner as long as they live.

Harrison, O.

Annie Gray Pattison.

THE GRANDPA STORY.

"Which shall it be to-night, Harry?" I said a little while ago?—"The Goblet Story, The Grandpa Story, or About the Runaway Boy?"

"Oh! The Grandpa Story," said Harry at once; "for grandpa has been here to-day, and brought me ten notched sugar-plums,—five red ones, and five white." So I began:—

One bright Monday morning, I looked out of the front-window, and said, "Why, Harry, Uncle David has come to town! He is tying his horse under the elm-tree." A minute after, Uncle David opened the door into the sitting-room, and said, "Is there any one here who would like to go out to grandpa's to-day?" And mamma spoke right up, and said, "We would all like to go. It will do my little lads good to have a nice ride."

"Get ready quick, then," said Uncle David. So mamma put a little blue cloak and a white sun-bonnet on Freddy the baby, and a linen coat, and straw hat with blue ribbons on Harry; and they all went out, and got into the carriage.

Then away they rode through the pretty streets, and over a covered bridge, where the horse went trot, trot, trot. Then they crossed a railroad-track, and drove past a station, and stopped at a store; and Uncle David went in and bought a great box of sugar for Aunt Mattie, and a little bag of candy to carry home to his little boy Philly.

Then they rode up a steep hill, and came out upon Westfield Plains. And then what beautiful things they saw!—a man with a gun, a squirrel cracking a nut, a little girl with red hair, a man picking apples from a tree, and, best of all, a boy flying a kite.

By and by they drove up a hill to grandpa's house. Cousin Philly, who was out on the piazza, ran into the house to tell his mamma that Aunt Susan had come, and brought all her little boys with her.

Tiger, the great black dog, said, "Bow, wow!" to Harry, as he went up the steps. Cousin Anne sat in a great rocking-chair by the open window, and sang to her dolly, "Rock-a-by baby."

Aunt Mattie was glad enough to see them, and gave Harry a round cooky with a hole in the middle, that he thought very funny. Mamma always makes square cookies, with no holes to put your fingers through.

By and by, when grandpa came in from the orchard, they had a nice supper. They had peaches and cream, and biscuits and honey; and, oh! how good every thing tasted!

Philly lent Harry his cup with the picture of a queen on one side, and "Remember me" on the other; and Harry drank two cups of milk, the cup was so pretty.

After supper Harry's eyes began to droop; and so mamma said, "Kiss grandpa, my little boy, and the dear little cousins, and then let's run to bed with sleepy head."

In six seconds after Harry's head touched the pillow, he was fast asleep.

The next morning he awoke fresh and bright; and, after breakfast, Philly and Harry went out into the road to play. They made little sand-hills and houses of pebble-stones, and dug wells in the sand, and had a real good time.

In the afternoon, mamma put the cloaks and hats on Harry and Freddy; Uncle David drove up to the house; and they all got into the carriage, and had a nice ride home.

S. B. T.

JACK FROST.

Jack Frost, he is with us again;
He comes every winter, you know:
But we're hardy and bold,
And we don't mind the cold,
And we welcome the ice and the snow.

Jack Frost plays a rough sort of game
With the children wherever he goes:
He pinches their cheeks;
Their noses he tweaks;
And he treads on their ten little toes.

Jack Frost makes the ground rather hard:
But with thick boots we clatter about;
And we run till our breath
Puffs away like a wreath
Of white steam from the teakettle's spout.

Jack Frost lays his hand on the pond,
And turns it to glittering ice;
Then the skaters they glide,
And the sliders they slide:
Think of that, Charley; isn't it nice!

Jack Frost, he is sure to be found
Where the sleigh-bells are tinkling clear;
As the horses, so strong,
Canter gayly along,
While the lads give a shout and a cheer.

Jack Frost, then, you're welcome again;
Of pleasures you bring us a store:
But be mild as you can,
Oh, you fierce little man!
When you visit the feeble and poor.

George Bennett.

MISS JONES'S PICTURE.

I have just been looking at Miss Jones's picture. How do you think Miss Jones looks?

She wears a shawl pinned close up to her throat, a cap tied under her chin, and a pair of spectacles over some very wise-looking eyes.

What a funny-looking picture! I call it a funny picture, because the clothes are an old lady's clothes; but the face is a little girl's face, round and plump and rosy. If I could take off the cap and the shawl and the spectacles, I should see a little girl of four years, with a white dress, a pink sash, and long curls hanging down over her shoulders.

Her name is Edith May. Her mamma calls her Edie. Edie likes to fix herself up, and "play people" as she calls it. She takes many different parts.

Sometimes she is an old lady, and sometimes she is a young lady. Sometimes she plays she is mamma; and then she runs round taking care of her dollies, and says she doesn't know what she shall do now that Tilly has the measles, and Hannah has the chicken-pox, and she verily believes that the baby has the measles too.

The other day, she said she was going to be Miss Jones, and go down to the saloon and have her picture taken.

So she fixed herself up with cap and spectacles and shawl, and went down to the photograph-room, and told the artist that she was Miss Jones, and she had called to have her picture taken.

Then the artist placed a chair for her, and she sat up as straight as she could. When the pictures were finished, he sent them to her mamma, who has sent one to me; and here you have it in "The Nursery."

S. F. W.

SUE'S SEASONS.

In the spring, when the leaves all start,
The crocus thrills at its glowing heart,
The windflower opens its tinted cup,
While the sap mounts merrily up and up.

In the spring all the birds begin,
Early and late to build and sing:
Sweeter music was never heard
Then the merry note of a building bird.

In the summer the roses smile,
Painting the roadside, mile by mile;
The sweet-brier catches you as you pass,
The violets thicken among the grass;

Little nests run over with song,
Little wings grow restless and strong;
Daisies shine in the fields afar,
Odors float where the lilies are.

In the autumn the sap runs down,
And leaves are tinted with gold and brown:
In the winter when wild winds blow,
The leaves are dead in a shroud of snow.

Mary N. Prescott.

"CLEAR THE COAST!"

I told you last month how Robert hoped that Santa Claus would bring him a sled; and how Robert woke on Christmas morning to find by his bedside a beautiful sled, painted red, with thick iron runners.

The next day he went with Uncle Charles to the hill on Boston Common, near Park Street, to see the boys coast. Here is a picture of the scene, drawn from life; and a very correct idea it will give you of the sport that may be witnessed in Boston after every snow-storm.

Robert had his sled with him; and as he stood with Uncle Charles, looking at the coasters, the little boy longed to be of them and among them. But Uncle Charles said, "You are not quite old enough yet to coast in public: you have not had practice enough."

Then a big boy, who had been admiring Robert's sled, stepped up and said, "I should like to try that sled, sir: I can take the little fellow on the sled in front of me. I will take good care of him, sir."

Robert begged so hard to take his first lesson in coasting under the care of this big boy, that Uncle Charles at last consented; and in the picture you may see Uncle Charles waiting for the two boys to come along on the sled.

He could not see them at first: but in about five minutes down they came like the rush of a torrent; and little Robert, as he saw Uncle Charles, cried out as loud as he could, "Clear the coast, clear the coast!"

Uncle Charles clapped his hands; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs; and Robert felt quite proud, when, as he reached the bottom of the hill, some boys gathered round, and pronounced his sled "a first-rate runner."

That was a proud day for Robert; for, before he left the Common, he was allowed to coast once all alone; and he did it in such good style, that the big boy told him he would make a "prime coaster."

"What did he mean by a "prime coaster"?" asked Robert. "He meant," said Uncle Charles, "that, with a little more practice, you will coast very well,—as well, perhaps, as he does himself."

Alfred Selwyn.

OUR NEW DOG.

We have a new dog. His name is Bright. He is only two years old. His master one day took the cars near our place for California; and poor Bright was left behind.

I met him at the railroad-station. He seemed to be in great distress. I had some bread in my hand, and offered him a piece. He was too sad to eat. I patted him on the head, and said, "Poor doggie, have you lost your master?"

Bright howled as if he understood my question; and I believe he did. When I got home that day, I found that he had followed me. As I stood on the door-step, he fawned at my feet, and made a low, imploring noise, as if he would like to say, "Do be my master, and let me be your dog: I will be such a good dog!"

I understood what he wanted, and said, "Well, old fellow, you shall have your wish. I adopt you as my own dog."

Thereupon Bright wagged his tail, and barked, and put his fore-feet on my shoulders, and tried to lick my face. We understood each other now completely.

Bright seemed to understand that he must not only be good to me, but to all under my care. I had a little white kitten named Snow-drop. When she and Bright first met, she was so much afraid, that she leaped up on top of the bookcase to be out of his way.

It was amusing to see how he tried to coax her down, and to make her feel that he was her friend. Snow-drop mewed, and raised her back; but Bright, by some good-natured half-barks and playful grunts, soon made her understand that he was one of the family, and bound to treat her well.

By and by Snow-drop left off mewing, and began to purr. Bright lay down on the carpet, and began flapping and brushing it in a half-circle with his tail. That meant play.

So Kitty at last came down; and, when I left the room, she and Bright were having a grand frolic together. I know you would like my dog Bright if you could see him.

Kansas.

Edwin Barton.

BUNNY.

One day, when I was in the barn, I happened to look up, and there, on a beam, I saw a red squirrel with a great bushy tail. He was looking right at me.

The next day I saw him in my yard, trying to jump from one tree to another. I thought he would fall; but he just saved himself by catching the end of a twig.

Up in one of the chambers there was an old satchel hanging on a nail. Bunny climbed in at the window, and filled the satchel with nuts and apple-seeds. There was a basket of corn in the wood-house; and Bunny carried it almost all away.

One day, as Bunny was going along in the grass, he heard a noise: so he sat up, and looked about. He saw a dog. Up went Bunny into a tree.

The dog came under the tree, and barked. The saucy squirrel ran down, and said with his eyes, "Now catch me if you can," and then ran up to the top of the tree as quick as a wink.

W. O. C.

THE CHILDREN'S PARTY.

Will you come to our party to-day, Carrie Wynn?
The party is all ready now to begin;
And you shall be mother, and pour out the tea,
Because you're the oldest and best of the three.

My white cups and saucers that came Christmas Day
Are all set out nicely on Hatty's gilt tray;
Real milk in the cream-jug, and real sugar too;
But only play-tea—we pretend that it's true.

We've got a whole orange, and three macaroons,
And some blue-mange—we'll eat it with Hatty's new spoons;
And we've carried our table out under the trees:
So come, Carrie Wynn, to our party, do, please!

Hatty'll sit at one end, and the other you'll take;
And I'll cut the orange, and she'll help the cake:
You'll see something funny—the reason, don't ask it—
When we've eaten the cake, we can eat up the basket!

We invited the dolls; but they both have the mumps;
And yesterday mine got two terrible bumps:
So we left them in bed; and I do not much care,
For dolls never will sit up straight on a chair.

Then, nicest of all, when our party is done,
We'll wash up the dishes; and won't that be fun!
Then scrub sticky fingers and sugary thumbs;
And the sparrows and robins may clear up the crumbs.

Elizabeth Sill.

DANDY THE BEAR.

We have a dancing bear in our village. His name is Dandy. He belongs to Mr. Werner, a German, who leads him about the streets, and makes a show of him. We children all give Dandy some of our spare cents when we see him; for a bear has to be fed like you and me.

"Come, Dandy," Mr. Werner will say, "here are the young ladies and gentlemen, all with plenty of cents in their pockets to give you if you perform well. They are good judges of high art. They can admire the poetry of motion. So do your prettiest."

Mr. Werner has a monkey and a pet dog. The monkey is called Captain. He wears a hat with a feather in it. The name of the pet dog is Grip. He is fat and greedy; and, if he sees a boy with a cake, he begs for a piece of it; indeed, he wouldn't object to the whole of it. I wonder if you can spy out Grip and the Captain in the picture.

But Dandy makes more fun for us than all the rest. "Now, Dandy," Mr. Werner will say, "make your most stunning bow to the ladies, and then give us a turn on the light fantastic."

By the "light fantastic," Mr. Werner means "the light fantastic toe." He has made this joke so many times, that we know what he means by it.

Thus encouraged, Dandy will bow, raise himself on one of his hind-feet, and whirl round in a pirouette. (If you do not know what a pirouette is, you must get some one to explain and pronounce the word for you.)

You would laugh to see Dandy imitate the great dancers. Though he can hardly be called graceful, he is very amusing; and we children willingly pay for the sight a cent each when the Captain passes round the hat.

Mr. Werner thinks of taking Dandy to other towns to show off his accomplishments. If you should ever see him, I hope you will treat him well for my sake. I am the boy in the picture with a slate under his arm; and my name is

Richard Roe.

LITTLE MISCHIEF.

IV.

Bessie went to pass a week with her Aunt Clara and Uncle Frank. Uncle Frank was a portrait-painter. One day Bessie took her doll Cornelia, and went into his studio.

On the easel stood a portrait. Bessie looked at it, and thought it must be a likeness of her friend Col. Fraser. "But," said she, "the mustache is too faint: it wants paint."

Then she remembered hearing her uncle say that he had more work than he could attend to. "What if I do a little work for him, and so give him a surprise!" thought she.

V.

"Uncle Frank, when he is by, never lets me touch his paints," said Bessie to herself; "but that must be because he does not know how clever I am. Nothing can be easier to paint than a mustache. It is only a number of hairs."

So Bessie climbed up into her uncle's chair, and took one of his long brushes in her hand. Then she looked at the colors on the palette, and tried to mix the blue and red as she had seen Uncle Frank do.

The long brush was hard to manage. However, she remembered the rhyme, "Try, try, try again;" and she worked away until she thought she had got the tint.

VI.

At last Bessie was ready to begin her great work. So, standing on tiptoe, she applied the brush to the upper-lip. She was determined, while she was about it, to give Col. Fraser a thoroughly good mustache, long and thick.

Now and then she would step back a little way, and consider the picture from a distance, as she had seen her uncle do. She was well pleased with her work. It was certainly a great improvement: so Bessie thought.

At last she laid down her brush. She felt quite charmed with her success, and picked up her doll off the floor, that she might see how well her little mamma could paint.

VII.

"It is beautiful! Is it not, Cornelia?" she said, as she threw herself back in the chair. "Uncle will never say again that I cannot paint. Perhaps it is more blue than Col. Fraser's mustache; but it is all the prettier for that."

Bessie remembered, too, that her mamma had once read to her a story about a man with a blue beard. "So people do have blue mustaches sometimes," thought she.

What did Uncle Frank say when he saw what she had done? I am sorry to say he did not agree with Bessie that the picture was improved. At first he was vexed; then he laughed; then he gave Bessie a kiss.

TOO MANY PRESENTS.

Did you ever hear of the boy who had a drum and a trumpet and a rocking-horse for his Christmas presents, and cried, after all, because Santa Claus had given his sister a doll, and hadn't given him one?

I have heard of that boy; but, to tell the truth, I doubt the whole story. It is a little too tough for me. I don't believe there ever was such a boy; and I won't believe in him until I see him.

But I did know a little boy who almost cried because he had no Christmas present. He was a good boy too. He would have been pleased with any thing; and it was too bad that Santa Claus forgot to bring some little gift for him.

The queerest case, though, is that of the little boy whose picture we have here. You see him just as he looked on Christmas morning, with his presents all around him; and yet you see he does not look happy. What can be the matter with the child?

Ah! the trouble is, that he has too many presents. He has so many that he doesn't know what to do with them. He doesn't know which to play with first. He is afraid all the time that some of them will get lost. And so, by trying to enjoy them all at once, he fails to enjoy them at all.

Poor boy! he is having a hard time of it, and I pity him very much. If I were going to prescribe for him, this is what I should say, "Tom, my boy" (I know by his looks that his name is Tom), "don't be cast down. I'll show you the way out of your trouble. Your case is pretty bad; but there's a remedy. What you want to do is to give away something.

"Now, there's that doll that you are hugging so closely. What does a boy like you want of a doll? That must have been meant for some little girl. It was sent to you on purpose to give away. Of course it was.

"Then there are those two wagons. You don't want both of them. You know you don't. Find the boy who hadn't any Christmas presents, and give one of the wagons to him. Let that wooden soldier go with it; for what do you want of a soldier, when you have a gun of your own?

"And what if you should give away something that you do want very much; why, it wouldn't hurt you a bit: you would feel all the better for it. Just try now, Tom, and see if you wouldn't."

Perhaps the little boy would take my advice; and perhaps he wouldn't, but, if he should, I'm sure he would make a much more cheerful picture than he does now.

Uncle Sam.

THE DOG AND THE SHADOW.

A dog, crossing a bridge with a piece of meat in his mouth, saw in the water what he took to be another dog, with a piece of meat twice the size of his own. Letting go his own, he flew at the other dog to get the larger piece from him. He thus lost both,—that which he grasped at in the water, because it was a shadow; and his own, because the stream swept it away.

[Transcriber's Note: You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking here.]

2. Jack and Jill went round the hill
To tend the geese and gander,
But strolled away to sport and play,
And left the geese to wander:
A fox came down and pounced on one,
And stole it for his dinner.
While Jill and Jack came running back,
But Foxy was the winner.

3. Jack and Jill went down the hill
To scare away the crows there:
Jack fired his gun, and soon killed one,
But blew off his own nose there.
Says Jill, "Good luck, my darling Jack!
I'll go and fetch your master;
And don't suppose you've lost your nose,
We'll stick it on with plaster."

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.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, FEBRUARY 1873, VOL. XIII. ***

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Table of Contents

- THE

- NURSERY

- A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

- THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BUBBLE.

- JACK'S MENAGERIE.

- THE STORY OF A LITTLE DUCK.

- OUR THANKSGIVING DINNER.

- THE GRANDPA STORY.

- JACK FROST.

- MISS JONES'S PICTURE.

- SUE'S SEASONS.

- "CLEAR THE COAST!"

- OUR NEW DOG.

- BUNNY.

- THE CHILDREN'S PARTY.

- DANDY THE BEAR.

- LITTLE MISCHIEF.

- IV.

- V.

- VI.

- VII.

- TOO MANY PRESENTS.

- THE DOG AND THE SHADOW.

- Transcriber's Note:

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE