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Title: The Nursery, December 1881, Vol. XXX

Author: Various

Release date: February 22, 2013 [eBook #42161]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music

transcribed by Veronika Redfern.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, DECEMBER 1881, VOL. XXX ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXX.—No. 6.

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.

IN PROSE.

PAGE

The Bird-Store

353

What Astonished Charley

357

The Christmas Carol

358

How the Sheep were Saved

360

The Two Rats

362

The Roman Pigeon

366

Ready for a Walk

370

Lily and her Kitten

371

Thirsty Billy

373

About Windmills

375

Annie's Gift

376

Flossie's Pet Alligator

378

IN VERSE.

Christmas

355

That Girl

356

A Funny Little Boy

365

A Defiance

374

"The Nursery" to its Readers

379

THE BIRD-STORE.

VOL. XXX.—NO 6.

THE BIRD-STORE.

USAN WELSH lived near a large store, where birds, and pet animals of various kinds, were kept for sale.

She had often been there to play with the pretty creatures, and many of them had come to know her well. One large gray parrot had learned her name, and would call out, "Good-morning, Susan!" as soon as she appeared. And when she put out her hand, and said, "Shake hands," he would give his claw, and go through the ceremony very well, often saying, "Glad to see you! How do you do?"

One day Susan had two little friends visit her,—Willy and Bessie Hill; and, as they had never seen a parrot, she proposed to take them to the bird-store. They were both delighted to go; and Bessie took her doll and her dog Snip with her.

In her right hand she carried a cake; and the first thing the parrot said as she went towards him was, "Polly wants a cake."

This made the little girl laugh. She laughed still more when the parrot took a piece of cake in his claw, and ate it, bit by bit, as nicely as she could herself.

But when Snip barked at the parrot, and the parrot barked too, she thought it was the funniest thing yet, and laughed till the tears came.

The parrot was so well pleased with his visitors, and talked so fast, that a boy with oranges to sell, came behind to listen. He was much astonished; for he too had never heard a bird speak before.

The children looked a little at the other birds and pets; but none interested them as much as the parrot.

Bessie did not want to leave him, and wished she might have him for her own. But when Mr. Smith, his owner, asked if she would like to give him her dog, and take the parrot, she shook her head, and said, "No, no!"

She could not think of parting with her old friend Snip, even for the funny parrot.

DORA BURNSIDE.

CHRISTMAS.

DAINTY little stockings

Hanging in a row,

Blue and gray and scarlet,

In the firelight's glow:

Curly-pated sleepers

Safely tucked in bed;

Dreams of wondrous toy-shops

Dancing through each head:

Mother, stepping lightly,

Plans with tender care,

How to give each dreamer

Just an equal share.

Funny little stockings

Hanging in a row,

Stuffed with sweet surprises,

Down from top to toe,—

Skates and balls and trumpets,

Dishes, tops, and drums,

Books and dolls and candies,

Nuts and sugar-plums.

Little sleepers waking:

Bless me, what a noise!

Wish you merry Christmas,

Happy girls and boys!

RUTH REVERE.

THAT GIRL.

HER hood is of the common sort,

Her dress is very plain,

Her apron's long, her sleeves are short,

Her name is Mary Jane.

She goes to school, and on her way,

She always likes to meet

The muffin-man, who, every day,

Comes marching down the street;

Though very fond of study,

She dearly loves to eat.

H. V. G.

WHAT ASTONISHED CHARLEY.

HARLEY had been spending the day with his grandmother. When he was starting for home in the afternoon, she gave him a nice red apple, saying, "Take this to your mother from me."

With the apple in his hand, Charley was trudging along through the fields, when he met Peter, the son of a farmer who lived near by.

Now Peter was a bad boy, with whom Charley had been told to have nothing to do. But, as Peter greeted him very kindly, how could poor Charley help speaking to him?

Pretty soon Peter began to ask questions. "What kind of an apple is that?" said he.

"I don't know," said Charley.

"Let me look at it," said Peter.

Charley did not want him to take it, but hadn't quite courage enough to say "No;" and in a moment Peter had the apple in his hand. "I wonder whether it is sweet, or sour," said he.

The picture shows what happened next. Peter munched the apple, while the little boy looked on amazed, not knowing what to do or say.

"It's for my mother," gasped out Charley as soon as he could speak.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" said the saucy Peter, handing him back the core. "Here, take the sour thing: I don't want it."

Poor Charley had to go home and tell this pitiful story. But he learned a lesson from it that he never forgot.

IDA FAY.

THE CHRISTMAS CAROL.

T is Christmas morning, bright, clear, and cold. A class of little girls have assembled with their teacher in an old country church in England.

They are singing joyous carols; and their faces look so sweet and happy, that I am sure they must be singing with their hearts as well as their voices.

Even the youngest, though she cannot yet read or sing, sits cuddled against her sister, her small hands folded on her lap, quietly listening. The pleased look on her face tells us that she loves to hear the others sing.

I think she will remember some of the sweet words, and will very likely try to sing them when she is at home.

Behind the group of children may be seen a table monument. There are many of these in old English churches. The figure on the top, carved in stone, probably resembles some knight or warrior, in memory of whom the monument was placed here long, long ago.

After the service, we can fancy the children having a merry time,—such as we hope every child in our own land, as well as in Old England, may have, this very next Christmas, which is so near at hand.

JANE OLIVER.

HOW THE SHEEP WERE SAVED.

ANY years ago a farmer, living in the county of Somerset, England, on rising one morning early in December, found that the weather had grown bitterly cold. Looking out of the window, he saw that it had been snowing fast through the night.

Such a storm, indeed, had not been known for a long, long time. The wind was blowing hard, and the snow was still falling steadily.

Now, the farmer had a great many sheep, and had not yet housed them for the winter. They were out on the hills in the open air, without any shelter.

"My poor sheep!" exclaimed the farmer. "They will be buried in the snow. They will perish with the cold."

He dressed as quickly as possible, called all his men, and his good dog Watch, and started out. It was slow work getting through the snow-drifts. Poor Watch was almost buried sometimes. But the men helped him out, and on he ran again, leaping after them like the good faithful dog he was. At last they came to the place where the sheep had been left. Not one could be seen; but in a corner of the field there was a huge pile of snow, about which Watch began to scratch and howl.

By this they knew that the sheep were all huddled under the snow. The men set to work with their shovels; but for some time no sound came from the sheep. It was so cold that some of the men got discouraged, and wanted to give up the search, and go home.

"Go, if you choose," said the farmer; "but I shall stay and dig till I find my sheep."

This made the men feel ashamed, and they picked up their shovels and went to work again.

"Wait a bit," said the farmer: "let me listen."

He put his ear close to the wall of snow, and heard a faint "Ba-a-ah" through it. Then they knew that one sheep at least was alive. So they dug away briskly and in a few minutes they pulled it out.

Watch took charge of it at once, pressing his warm body against the frosty fleece, and licking its face and feet to warm them.

So, one after another, the sheep were drawn out of their snow-cave, and then the men drove them home. Some of the small and feeble ones they had to carry in their arms, wrapping their cloaks about the little creatures to protect them from the sharp wind.

The snow beat in the faces of the men so that it almost blinded them; and it was very difficult, both for themselves and the poor weak sheep, to make their way through the great drifts.

They were glad enough, you may be sure, when they got safely back to the farm. There the sheep were soon put in a comfortable shed, and fed with warm milk to restore their strength. The poor animals would certainly have died, but for the kind care that was taken of them.

The farmer thanked his men for staying to help him. His wife gave them a good hot breakfast; and I think they enjoyed it all the more for having saved the poor, helpless sheep from perishing under the snow.

ANNA LIVINGSTON.

THE TWO RATS.

HEY were about the same size, and looked much alike. They were great friends. One was a wise old rat, and the other was a young rat who thought himself wise.

The wise old rat we will call Crafty. His home was in Farmer Rural's cellar: that is to say, the front-door of it opened into the cellar; but there was a back-door in the garden, and there were passage-ways under ground, leading to the corn-barn and the drain.

Crafty had studied the ways of the human race for many years. In his view man was created for the benefit of rats. He had known men who were almost as sly as rats; but on the whole he looked upon them as inferior beings.

Simple, who lived close by, had also a great contempt for men and women. He often boasted that he got his board and lodging all at their expense. But he did not know half as much as he thought he did; and many a time he had been kept from getting into a scrape by his good friend Crafty.

One night, about twelve o'clock, Crafty and Simple started out together to see what they could find. Having poked into every corner of Farmer Rural's cellar, without getting any thing better than raw potatoes, they made their way up stairs.

Just at the head of the stairs they came upon a sort of wire safe in which there was a most tempting bit of cheese. The door of the safe was open.

"Here's a feast," said Simple; and he was about to dart into the safe.

"Stop, my young friend," said Crafty, sitting bolt upright on his haunches. "That cheese has been put there on purpose for us."

"Well, then, why shouldn't we take it?" said Simple.

"Take my advice," said Crafty, "and let the cheese alone. Many a fine young rat has been cut off in the flower of his youth by snatching at the first good thing that happened to be put in his way. That safe is what men call a trap, and it is a very unsafe thing for you to meddle with."

A few nights after, the two friends started out once more, and in the middle of the cellar they found a nice barrel of meal. Simple was on the point of jumping right into it; but old Crafty stopped him again.

"Don't you know better than that, you greenhorn?" said he. "Never jump into a barrel in that way. Look here." And, crawling on the rim of the barrel, he flapped his long tail into the meal. "Splash, splash!" Right under the meal there was water.

"Ho, ho, Farmer Rural!" said Crafty, "that's your game, is it? You can keep this meal for your own eating."

But the next time that the two rats went out together, poor Simple did not come off so well. In spite of his friend's advice, he went after some bread-crumbs that were scattered on the top of what seemed to be a harmless wooden box.

It was a trap, of course. Simple was caught, and Crafty had to go back to his hole alone.

ALFRED SELWYN.

A FUNNY LITTLE BOY.

A FUNNY little chin,

A funny little nose,

A funny little grin,

Ten funny little toes,

Two funny little eyes,

And funny little hands:

How funnily he tries

To give his wee commands.

A funny little chat

With funny little bees,

A funny little cat,

And funny toads and trees,

A funny little dress,

A funny laugh of joy:

May Heaven ever bless

My funny little boy!

A funny little sigh,

A funny little head

That funnily will try

To miss the time for bed,

A funny little peep

From funny eyes that gleam,

A funny little sleep,

A funny little dream.

GEORGE COOPER.

THE ROMAN PIGEON.

N the famous city of Rome I once lived in a house which had been a palace. It had secret closets and trap-doors, and all such queer things. There was one long, dark entry that we called a tube.

We were obliged to go through this entry often, as it was the only passage-way between our rooms. It was so narrow that one could touch both side-walls at the same time. I had often, in going through it, felt that I was not alone: the movement of something always startled me.

It was not like the motions of a human being, and I was too old to have visits from fairies. A dog would bark; a kitten would mew; a parrot would say "Pardon!" Then what was it? I could not tell.

One night, after spending the day in the Catacombs, which are nothing more than cities of the dead, under ground, and after tumbling over my companions, and treading on the heels of the guide, I came home hoping for a quiet, peaceful evening. Finding, however, an invitation to spend that evening with a lady who lived at the other end of the palace, I felt bound to accept it.

As I passed along the dark, narrow entry, which seemed like going through the Catacombs again, I heard a patter, patter, patter, on the brick floor. I supported myself by putting my hands out until they touched the sides of the tube, for I was just the least bit frightened.

The sound was approaching me; but I dared not turn my back. It echoed from the walls and the high ceiling, and the whole air seemed filled with a weird noise. I tiptoed along, when suddenly my foot came down directly upon a pigeon.

Only those who have been wandering about all day in caverns can imagine what it is to feel the flutter of a live pigeon under your very tread, and this, too, in the dark. This pigeon reeled to his left, and I to my right, which, of course, brought us together again. He flapped and fluttered, I panted and screamed. He flew to his right, I to my left, and again we met.

If I had known that it was only a pigeon, I should not have been afraid. I am not afraid of a pigeon, I hope! But I did not know what it was, and the whizzing, and the fluttering, and the panting, and the shrieks so resounded from the roof above, that I had a mind to cry out for help.

The landlady, who in that country is called padrona, knew that all was not quiet in her dwelling: so she shortly appeared at one end of the tube, with a dim candle. This so alarmed the pigeon, that he was more frightened than I. He turned to the other opening just at the moment when two young ladies appeared there with a light.

What could the poor thing do!—a woman at one end, two women at the other, and a greater obstacle, which was myself, in the centre. He could not fly far, for his wings had been clipped; but, exerting what wing-power he had, he whizzed over my head into empty space.

When I ran away, he seemed to be balancing himself upon nothing. There was no beam under that roof, upon which he could alight; and how he bore his plight I did not wait to see.

But the funniest thing about this pigeon was his manner of treating me the next morning, and, indeed, as long as I remained in Rome. I often met him in various parts of the house; and as I approached he would throw back his head, swell his white throat, wink at me,—first with one eye, then with the other,—and then, with a quick prance, get by me.

I think pigeons have a language of their own; for his winks said plainly, "Come on, if you want to try that game again! Who's afraid!" But I never moved a muscle as I glided by him. I didn't want him to know that my heart went pit-a-pat when he gave me those side glances.

The last morning that I was in Rome, as I stepped into the carriage to go to the cars, a flock of doves appeared to be quietly feeding on the roadside; but my familiar footfall aroused one of them from his occupation, and he stood apart gazing at the scene.

When the carriage-door was shut and the driver was mounting his box, the same old patter attracted my attention. I put my head out of the window, and there stood my fowl friend; and as long as he could see me his strut continued, and probably his eyes winked.

AUNT ANNE.

DRAWING-LESSON.

VOL. XXX.—NO. 6.

READY FOR A WALK.

PUT a good thick coat on the little girl. Button it well. Tie on her bonnet. Put a scarf over her ears. Now she is all ready. Now she will not mind the cold. Ah! whom does she see coming to meet her?

It is her cousin Sue. She is going to walk too. Is not that nice? "Come, little Ann," says Sue, "take hold of my hand and we will have a good time."—"So we will," says Ann. And off they go hand in hand.

A. B. C.

LILY AND HER KITTEN.

HERE can Lily be?" said Mrs. West to her sister Helen, as they sat sewing and chatting together. "I have not seen the child this half hour."

"When I saw her last," answered Helen, "she was having a great frolic with her kitten in the hall."

"Well," said Mrs. West, "I must have a hunt for Miss Lily. She may be getting into mischief." So she opened the door, and called, "Lily, Lily, where are you?"

No answer came. Mrs. West looked into the nursery and bedrooms, but saw nothing of the little girl.

Then she went down stairs and looked into the parlor and hall. Lily was not there. She opened the front door and called "Lily, Lily!" but still in vain.

At last she went into the dining-room, and there, to be sure, was Lily fast asleep in a large chair, with Dinah the kitten in her lap, and a little black paw clasped in her chubby hand.

Mrs. West smiled and shut the door softly, saying to herself "Dear child, she is certainly doing no mischief." Then she called her sister to come down and peep in at the sleeping companions.

Helen said, "Isn't that a pretty picture? Suppose we take a big peach from this basket of fruit and put it softly beside her on the chair to surprise her when she wakes."

When Lily woke soon after, she rubbed her eyes, and said, "Why, where did this peach come from, I wonder! Have I been asleep, and has a fairy dropped it in my chair?"

AUNT SUE.

THIRSTY BILLY.

HOA, Billy!" said a farmer, as he was driving home from the mill with a load of meal. "We'll stop here, and you shall have a good drink. You must need it after climbing up this long hill.

"There are good people in the world, are there not, old fellow? And it certainly was one of them who put this trough here for poor beasts like you to drink from. Well, you are thirsty, to be sure! Don't you mean to leave a drop there? What do you think the next donkey that comes along will do?

"Ah, you prick up your ears, and wink your eye, as much as to say, 'Never you fear about that, my friend. There's no danger of my drinking all there is in this trough, and you know as well as I that there is plenty more water in the spring where this came from.'

"So at last, then, you have enough," added the farmer, as Billy lifted his dripping nose from the water.

"Come on then, long ears: we have another hill to climb, you know, and wife wants some of this meal to make a corn-cake for supper."

And Billy started on briskly, as if he knew well what supper meant, and thought he should have a share of corn-cake too.

UNCLE CHARLES.

A DEFIANCE.

KING of the barn-yard here am I.

If any bird my power deny,

That bird to combat I defy;

I raise my ancient battle cry,

Resolved to conquer or to die.

Who has the rashness to reply?

CHANTICLEER.

ABOUT WINDMILLS.

APA, what is that funny-looking house, with that great whirligig going round and round on it?" said Charlie to his father, pointing to this picture.

"That is a windmill," his father answered. "I don't wonder you call those long arms a whirligig, for they whirl round very swiftly when the wind blows.

"But they do not go round and round for nothing, as your toy whirligigs do. They are busy at work, turning a great wheel inside the mill; and the wheel is busy grinding corn into meal.

"There are not many windmills to be seen in our country; but if you should go to Holland, you would see them in all directions. Holland is a very flat country and has no swift rivers to turn the mill-wheels, so the wind has to do the work instead.

"There are said to be ten thousand windmills there. The arms of some are a hundred feet long."

"I should like to see them," said Charlie. "Will you not take me there sometime, papa?"

"Perhaps," said his father, "but you are a small boy yet, and have much to see and learn at home first."

ALFRED STETSON.

ANNIE'S GIFT.

NNIE FAY had been taking a walk, one winter day, with her mother. On their way they had stopped to see her grandmother, and she had given Annie a large apple to take home.

But just before reaching the house, they saw a forlorn-looking girl with her apron full of dry twigs which she had been picking by the roadside. She was thinly dressed, and looked pale and sad.

Annie's heart was touched at the sight. "Oh, mamma!" she said, "how tired and cold and hungry that poor girl looks! May I give her my apple?"

"Certainly, dear," said her mother, "you may give it to her. And ask her in to get warm."

So, quick as thought, Annie ran to the girl and held up the apple, saying, "Please take this. And mamma wants you to come into the house with us and get warm."

The girl could hardly keep back her tears at being so kindly spoken to. But she took the apple, thanked Annie, and followed her into the house. On questioning her, Mrs. Fay found that she was an orphan. She lived with a woman who was too poor to do much for her. She had to work hard, and the woman was not always kind to her.

After getting warm and eating a good dinner, she cheered up wonderfully. And when Mrs. Fay put on her a woolen sacque and mittens and some thick shoes, she looked so happy and thankful that Annie was quite delighted.

When Annie saw her grandmother, the next day, and told her what was done with the apple, the kind old lady said, "That was right. I am very glad you gave it to her. If she is a nice child I would like to have her live with me. I cannot move about much, and for some time I have wanted to find a handy little girl to wait on me."

And when Annie next went to her grandmother's house, there was the little girl, neatly dressed, and fast losing the sad look she had on her face when they met her that cold day.

JANE OLIVER.

FLOSSIE'S PET ALLIGATOR.

UNT MEG, did you ever see an alligator,—a real live one, such as papa took me to see in Boston, last summer?"

"Oh, yes, Toddy! I have seen more alligators than you can count fingers and thumbs on your little dimpled hands. But I saw the funniest one when I was in Kansas last winter; and if you will sit here on my lap, I will tell you all about it.

"One day, last year, when Flossie was in Jacksonville, Florida, with her parents, she saw a baby-alligator, and took such a fancy to it, that her papa bought it for her. They brought it home in the spring, and cousin Fred made a pen for it in the back-yard, near a large puddle of water; for alligators, you know, live in the water.

"Always after a rain, the water was quite deep, and 'Allie,' as Flossie named her pet, would splash about in it, as happy as could be. Flossie and all the children in the neighborhood, used to play with him every day.

"Before the spring was over, Allie was so tame, that he would follow Flossie up to the house, where the children would feed him with fish or meat.

"The alligator kept growing and growing, until he was too large for the pen; and as he grew old, he grew so cross, that Flossie's papa sold him to a circus-man for a twenty-dollar gold-piece, and the children never saw their pet again."

AUNT MEG.

"THE NURSERY" TO ITS READERS.

FIFTEEN years ago, in my green cover

Faintly colored like the leaves in spring,

High and low, of every child the lover,

First I came my welcome words to bring.

And from then till now I have not rested;

I have still kept busy every day;

When the cowslips bloomed, and, crimson-breasted,

Sang the robins in the golden May,

When the silver daisies starred the mowing,

When the nestling swallows fluttered forth,

When the maple-woods like flame were glowing,

Or the wild wind piped from out the north;

All the time I used to look and listen:

"Something for the children I must find,

Merry tales to make their bright eyes glisten,

Useful lessons they should keep in mind."

Fifteen years—how brief they were and pleasant!

When these little golden heads are gray,

Looking back on what is now the present,

Who can tell? There may be one will say,—

"These few words that once my mother taught me

From 'The Nursery,' ere I could read,

Lingering in my memory, have brought me

Helpful counsel in life's hours of need."

Everywhere, of every child the lover,

Willing doer of my best was I;

For the last time, in my pale green cover,

I have come to say to you "Good-by!"

MARIAN DOUGLAS.

Transcriber's Notes

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

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

Additionally, only the July 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.

Table of Contents omits the mention of the Drawing-Lesson on page 369.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, DECEMBER 1881, VOL. XXX ***

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Table of Contents

THE NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

IN PROSE.

IN VERSE.

THE BIRD-STORE.

CHRISTMAS.

THAT GIRL.

WHAT ASTONISHED CHARLEY.

THE CHRISTMAS CAROL.

HOW THE SHEEP WERE SAVED.

THE TWO RATS.

A FUNNY LITTLE BOY.

THE ROMAN PIGEON.

READY FOR A WALK.

LILY AND HER KITTEN.

THIRSTY BILLY.

A DEFIANCE.

ABOUT WINDMILLS.

ANNIE'S GIFT.

FLOSSIE'S PET ALLIGATOR.

"THE NURSERY" TO ITS READERS.

Transcriber's Notes

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE