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

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

Author: Various

Release date: January 31, 2008 [eBook #24477]

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, APRIL 1873, VOL. XIII. ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

VOLUME XIII.—No. 4

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.

Try, try again
97

The Prisoner
99

Clarence's Kittens
103

The Tiger's Toilet
104

Peterlin on his Travels
106

George's Boat
110

The Little Carpenter
112

Little Mischief
114

Walter's Dog
117

The Horse that loves Children
119

How Taddy learned his Lesson
120

The Old Clock
123

In the Maple-Woods
124

IN VERSE.

PAGE.

The Song of the Kettle
101

On the Gate
108

Where's the Baby?
126

The Birds' Return
127

Song of the Ducks (with music)
128

"TRY, TRY AGAIN." "TRY, TRY AGAIN."

"TRY, TRY AGAIN."

T is a true story that I am going to tell you now. It is about a little boy whose name was William Ross. Having had a present of a pencil, he thought he would make use of it by trying to draw.

His first attempts were poor enough. One day, when he had been playing ball with a young friend, he stopped, and, taking out his pencil, began to draw a picture on the wall.

"What do you call that?" asked his friend. "Why, that is a horse!" replied William: "can't you see?"—"A horse! is it?" cried his friend, laughing. "Why, I took it for a donkey."

"You are quite right in laughing at it," said William. "Now that I look at it again, I see it is all out of drawing; but I will keep at it till I can make a good drawing of a horse."

William was not afraid of being laughed at; and he felt much obliged to those who pointed out any faults in what he did. He was not discouraged by failures. He kept trying till he had used his pencil nearly all up. Still he had not yet made a good drawing of a horse.

"You'll never learn to draw: so you may as well give it up first as last," said his friend to him one day, some six months after their last meeting. "Your horses are all donkeys still."

William opened a portfolio, and, taking out some pictures, said, "What do you think of these?"

"Ah! here is something like a horse," replied his friend, looking at one of the drawings. "You will never do any thing like this, Willy."

William smiled, but said nothing; though it was his own drawing that his friend was praising.

Well, by bravely keeping at it, William at last began to make pictures worth looking at. While yet a boy, he sent in a painting to the Society of Arts, for which he received a present of a silver palette. He rose to be Sir William Ross, miniature painter to Queen Victoria.

Don't be discouraged, my young friends, by failing in your first attempts. Learn to persevere. Keep at it. That's the Way.

Uncle Charles.

THE PRISONER.

Eva is six years old, and has deep-blue eyes. Ernest is almost four years old, and has very black eyes. Jessie will be two years old next week, and has large brown eyes. Their papa, who has been kept at home by illness for a week, thinks that he is just getting acquainted with them, and never knew before that he had three such fine children.

He noticed, the other day, that every hour, almost, they would run into the sitting-room with cake or sugar or bread-and-butter, scattering crumbs all over the carpet, and keeping their mamma busy much of the time in sweeping up. So he thought he would call a council to consider the matter, and see what could be done about it.

Papa, robed in his dressing-gown, took the chair; Eva was placed in front; Ernest stood on the right hand, and Jessie on the left. The chairman then told the children how much work they made mamma, and proposed a rule,—that no more food should be brought into the sitting-room. All who were in favor of such a rule were requested to vote for it by raising their hands. Each of the children raised a hand; and fat little Jessie raised both of hers as high as she could. So the vote was passed.

Then papa said that a rule was good for nothing unless there was a penalty with it. So he made Eva judge, and asked her what the punishment should be for breaking the rule. "I think," said she, "the first one that spoils the rule should be shut up in jail five minutes."

This was thought to be about the right thing: so the bedroom was selected for a jail, and Ernest was made jailer. Eva wanted to know, since she was judge, and Ernest was jailer, what Jessie could be. Her papa said that Jessie would probably be the first prisoner. As to Ernest, he went at once and told his mamma that he was "no more a little boy, but a jailer-man."

Well, that day no more crumbs were scattered; and Ernest did not get a prisoner, though he kept a bright lookout for one. But the next day he got one; and this is the way it happened. Papa said he would like an apple. Eva brought him one; and, while he was paring and eating it, he dropped some of the peel on the floor. In an instant, to his great dismay, he was arrested and locked up; and he might have languished in jail full five minutes, if Ernest had not been such a kind jailer that he let him out in two.

Papa thinks that the next time he makes a rule he will be careful not to break it.

L. P. A.

THE SONG OF THE KETTLE.

My house is old, the rooms are low,
The windows high and small;
And a great fireplace, deep and wide,
Is built into the wall.

There, on a hanging chimney-hook,
My little kettle swings;
And, in the dreary winter-time,
How cheerily it sings!

My kettle will not sing to-day—
What could it sing about?
For it is empty, it is cold:
The fire is all gone out.

Go, bring to me, to fill it up,
Fresh water from the spring;
And I will build a rousing fire,
And that will make it sing!

Bring white bark from the silver birch,
And pitch-knots from the pine;
And here are shavings, long and white,
That look as ribbons fine.

The little match burns faint and blue,
But serves the fire to light;
And all around my kettle, soon,
The flames are rising bright.

Crack, crack! begins the hemlock-branch,
Snap, snap! the chestnut stick;
And up the wide old chimney now
The sparks are flying thick.

Like fire-flies on a summer night,
They go on shining wings;
And, hark! above the roaring blaze
My little kettle sings!

The robin carols in the spring;
In summer hums the bee:
But, in the dreary winter, give
The kettle's song to me.

Marian Douglas.

CLARENCE'S KITTENS.

Clarence is a little boy who loves to read "The Nursery," and often laughs at the funny stories in it.

Where Clarence lives, there are two kittens. He calls them kittens; but they are both grown-up kittens, and the elder of the two is a full-grown cat. One is named Ring, because she has such a pretty white ring about her neck; and the other is named Daisy.

Now, Daisy is Ring's aunt, and is sometimes very cross to her niece. Being a sedate cat herself, she tries to stop Ring's fun; but Ring is a happy kitten, and always tries to have a good time.

One day, after coming from church, Clarence's aunt was reading, when the dinner-bell rang. So she left her book on the window-sill, and laid her spectacles upon it.

Pretty soon old Daisy seated herself in a very dignified way right in front of the book. In a few minutes, little Ring came frisking along, and, without paying the least regard to Madam Daisy, up she jumped, and whisked the spectacles down on the carpet.

She was just ready to send them flying across the room, when down came Madam Daisy as stern as a police-officer. She looked at Ring a moment, in a crushing way, then lifted her paw, and boxed the naughty kitten's ears till she mewed for mercy.

Ring ran away as soon as she could, and left the spectacles for Clarence's mamma to pick up; while old Daisy took her seat on the window-sill again, and seemed to feel that she had done her duty.

Clarence thought it was a funny sight to see one cat punish another. What do you think about it, little Nursery people?

Mrs. L. A. White.

THE TIGER'S TOILET.

This splendid tiger lived in the Zoölogical Gardens at Berlin. He had a very kind keeper named Peens, who used to comb out the long waving hair that grew on his cheeks.

He looks in the picture as though he were very angry, and were growling and snarling terribly; but though he did gnash his teeth, and make a fearful noise, he enjoyed his hair-dressing very much. I have seen some children who acted like this tiger when their hair was combed; but that was because they were really cross. He is not.

Whenever he saw Peens coming toward his cage with the comb in his hand, this tiger would at once throw himself down close to the bars, with his head pressed against them, as you see him here, as if he would say, "I'm all ready, Peens, go ahead!" This showed how much he liked the feeling of the comb.

But, after all, he never forgot that he was a tiger; for if, by accident, Peens pulled his hair, he would give a dreadful growl, and look as if he would like to eat him up in a minute. Then Peens would stop for a moment, until he was good natured again.

A few weeks ago this beautiful and intelligent tiger died. In his last hours he mewed constantly with pain, like a great cat, and was only quiet when Peens came to the bars, and stroked his cheeks. When the keeper went away, he would call after him.

Peens felt very badly at losing his tiger; and I am sure he must have been a very kind keeper to him.

Even a tiger may be taught love and gratitude by kind treatment.

Elizabeth Sill.

(Adapted from the German.)

PETERLIN ON HIS TRAVELS.

Peterlin was a chick just five days out of the shell. He began to think he was somebody now. The old cornfield became too narrow for him. He must start out on his travels, and see something of the world.

Biddy, his mother, clucked and scolded away at him, and told him how he might lose himself in the grass, and never find his way home.

But it was of no use. The mother's warnings were unheeded. Off started Peterlin; and, before he was well aware of it, the cornfield lay far behind him, and he found himself standing on a rock, and gazing forth over the wide world.

The valley lay open before him. Dear me, what a world it seemed!—so very vast! With fright and amazement Peterlin looked down on all the magnificence till he felt himself growing giddy.

He stood on the brink of an abyss; and far beneath him flowed a stream through the blooming land; and over the waters moved proud vessels with their white sails and their waving flags.

All at once Peterlin saw a bird in the air. "Oh, dear! what if it should be a vulture?" thought he, trembling in every joint. "Oh, if I were only once more under my good old mother's wing! Oh! how I wish I had minded her warning!"

Off ran Peterlin back through the grass, back over the ploughed field, along by the edge of the wood; and then he heard a noise,—"cluck, cluck, cluck!" "Oh, joy, joy! That is my mother's voice!" thought he.

Yes, it was Biddy's voice, calling her runaway child. She approached him at a quick run; and it was not till he was safe under her wing that the quick beat of his heart slackened, and he felt once more at peace. Peterlin then and there resolved that he would wait till he was older before he started again on his travels.

From the German.

ON THE GATE.

Where are you going? Have you got
Any thing good to eat
In that big basket? Let me peek!
Do you live on our street?
I'm six years old to-day; aren't you
Surprised? I wish you'd wait!
I'll tell you something, if you will,
And swing you on our gate.

This is my grandpa's house. I wish
He was your grandpa too!
I guess your mother'll let you come
And stay with me; don't you?
I'm making patchwork: it's to keep
The heathens warm. I hate
To keep in-doors. I wish I could
Swing all day on the gate!

Have you a doll? Yes? Mine got drowned:
Joe threw her down the well;
But pretty soon I'm going to buy
A new one; don't you tell!
My bank is almost full; I'll let
You shake it, if you'll wait:
Pa said he'd fill it if I would
Stop swinging on the gate.

We've got some kittens in the barn;
They're way up in the loft:
I like to hold them in my lap,
They feel so warm and soft.
Joe broke my little spade one day,
Digging the earth for bait:
Does your big brother call you names,
And pull you off the gate?

I go to school. I'm at the head:
You ought to hear me spell!
I and another girl are in
The class. There goes the bell!
I'll have to run, and get my books.
Oh, dear! I shall be late:
Another scolding I shall get
For swinging on the gate!

H. B.

GEORGE'S BOAT.

George had a boat on a little stream that ran not far from the house. The boat was flat; and George pushed it along with a pole. It did not go fast.

One day Mabel asked her brother if she might go in the boat with him. George said, "Oh, yes!" So he pushed up to the shore, and helped Mabel in. Then he pushed off.

How far did they go in the boat? As far as the bridge, by the great elm-tree. George thought that was far enough.

Rover saw George and Mabel in the boat, and he wanted to go too. He ran down to the shore, and barked. But George said there would not be room for him.

There was a place where the grapevines hung over the water. George pushed the boat to the place; and he and Mabel picked some grapes.

By and by the sun was almost down. George and Mabel thought it was time to go home. Their mother had told them to come home before dark.

W. O. C.

THE LITTLE CARPENTER.

The picture of the little boy on the opposite page is from a photograph from life: so you may look on it as on a real likeness of some one in England. I do not know his name; but I think he must be some one whose parents have fitted up a little carpenter's shop for him, so that he may learn to do something useful.

The picture reminds me of a true story. About sixty years ago, there was a rich man in Germany, of the name of Reinhold, who had seen so much of the changes of life, that he resolved that each of his children, both boys and girls, should learn some useful trade or profession.

Rudolf, the eldest boy, learned to be a carpenter. But, when he was twenty-one years of age, he came into the possession of a large fortune. He married, and thought that he had so much money that he could never spend it all.

But, before he was fifty years of age, the whole of his large possessions had melted away. Some of his stately houses had been burned down; and the insurance-offices had failed. Some men he had trusted had proved dishonest; and many schemes that he had entered upon had turned out badly.

At the age of forty-six, Rudolf Reinhold took up the business of a carpenter, which he had learned between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. He soon became skilful, and turned his attention to building houses in the city of Berlin. So successful was he, that in ten years he was once more a rich man.

One of his daughters had become a dressmaker, and another a music-teacher; and even when, at last, they were once more rich, they always felt glad that their father had made them accomplish themselves in useful pursuits, instead of leading lives of idleness and self-indulgence.

Uncle Charles.

THE LITTLE CARPENTER. THE LITTLE CARPENTER.

LITTLE MISCHIEF.

X.

Bessie's mother had an aquarium. If you do not know what that is, I will tell you. The Latin word aqua means water; and the name aquarium has been given to a glass case holding water for fishes and for sea-plants.

One day, when the pretty gold-fishes were not swimming about in a very lively manner, Bessie thought it must be because they were cold. "Poor things!" said she, "there is no fire in the room; and the water feels quite chilly. It must be sad to swim about in cold water all day. What can I do for them?"

XI.

Although there was no fire in the room, there was a jug of hot water on the hearth, which Susan had left there a few minutes before.

"How fortunate!" thought Bessie. "Now I can give these poor little fishes a nice hot bath. They will like it, I know. What a kind little girl they will think me!"

So she took the jug, mounted into the arm-chair, and poured the whole jugful of water on the fish. It made them very lively; and Bessie put down the jug, jumped off the chair, and got a stool to stand on to watch the little things through the glass.

XII.

Soon the little fishes grew still; and then, one by one, they rose to the surface, and turned over upon their backs. Bessie had never seen them do that before; and she began to feel a little frightened. She wished they would move their fins, and begin to swim again; but they did not: they lay quite still.

At last she put in her hand, and drew one out of the water, so that she might look at it closer. Then she could no longer doubt what was the matter with it. The poor fish was quite dead,—cooked, in fact. Bessie burst out crying, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

WALTER'S DOG.

"Mamma, why can't I have a collar for Fido, like that on Charley's dog?"—"You must wait until our ship comes in," said his mother, laughing.

Walter believed that a ship was really coming, and set to thinking of the things that he hoped it would bring him. Then he called Fido, and told him how much he wished to give him a collar.

If Fido had known how to speak, perhaps he would have said, "I don't care much about a collar: I get along just as well without it." But Fido could not speak English, though he barked smartly when Walter said, "Speak, sir."

I must tell you some of Fido's funny ways. He would sit up on his haunches, drop his fore-paws, and wait for Walter to put a piece of bread on his nose; then he would sit quite still while Walter counted, "One, two, three;" and, at the word "three," he would give his head a toss, and catch the bread in his mouth.

Fido had a great taste for music. There was one tune in particular that he was very fond of; and, when it was played on the piano, he would begin to make a whining noise, which would grow louder and louder, until it ended in sharp, quick barks, keeping time with the music. Walter called this "Fido's singing."

Fido liked dancing-tunes; but there was a friend of his, one of the neighbor's dogs, that liked only psalm-tunes. He would whine solemnly until a lively tune was struck up; when he would slink away in manifest displeasure. He would not countenance such frivolity.

So you see, dogs have their fancies as well as human beings.

THE HORSE THAT LOVES CHILDREN.

This is a picture of the horse that refuses to run over children. His name is Prince. Once his master was driving him along a narrow street, when Prince saw an infant creeping along across the street right in his way.

Prince at once slackened his speed; and though his master, who did not know that the infant lay in the way, touched him with the whip, Prince knew better than to hurt the poor little infant.

At last the good horse stopped short, and refused to move. His master got out of the buggy to see what was the matter; and there, close by the horse's fore-feet, was a baby on its knees.

Was not Prince a good, wise horse to refuse to harm the baby? Another time, when a little boy came up behind him, when the flies were pestering him, Prince, instead of kicking him, just lifted up one of his hind-feet, and pushed him gently away.

Prince is very fond of sugar; and, as his master's little girls used to feed him with it, I think that is one reason why he is so kind to all children. Whenever Prince sees these little girls, he will make a queer whinnying noise, the meaning of which is, "Oh, do give me a lump of sugar!"

In the picture, the hostler is offering Prince some oats; but Prince knows that the man has some sugar, and so he refuses the oats. He wants his sugar first.

Anna Livingston.

HOW TADDY LEARNED HIS LESSON.

Taddy and his mamma had just got nicely settled, she with some sewing, and he with a little primer, out of which he was beginning to learn his lesson, when mamma was called away to see a neighbor who was sick. She only stopped to tell Taddy to study his lesson like a good boy, while she was gone. But, instead of looking on his book, the little boy, as soon as he was left alone, began to look out of the window. In an open lot behind the house he saw grown-up Jamie, who lived next door, skating on a little sheet of ice.

Taddy's eyes began to grow round. "Don't I wish I was a big boy too, so I could skate!" he said to himself.

Then he saw Jamie take off his skates, and lay them down on the ice, and go off on an errand for his mother.

All at once it popped into Tad's head to slip down the back-stairs, and out through the gate, and just see if he could not skate.

"I'm sure," said he, "it can't be so very hard: the boys do it so easy! What if I do tumble down a few times at first! I don't mind a little bump."

So he sped down the stairs, tied on his cap and scarf, tucked his mittens in his pocket, and was off for the ice.

"The skates are too long for me, but that is no matter. I know how to put them on. There! now they're on. Hurrah! here I g—! Oh!"

Down he sat, before he had hardly got upon his feet. He got a hard bump; and his bare hands rubbed upon the ice till they were so cold, that, if he hadn't made up his mind to be stout-hearted, he would have been glad to go in and warm them.

But he pulled out his mittens, saying, "I must get up slowly: that's the way the boys do." So he raised himself on his hands and knees first, planting one foot at a time firmly before trying to stand. But, as he was straightening up his back, somehow his heels slipped up; and this time it was his poor little head that rapped so smartly upon the treacherous ice.

Taddy lay still a minute, not feeling quite so hopeful about the next attempt; when he happened to see a little tree just a few steps off. So he crept quickly over to it, feeling sure now of success. Catching hold of it, he helped himself up to a firm stand, saying, "Now, I must put one foot out at a time, so,—and then the other. Oh! I can do it now."

So he tried again. One beautiful stroke, then another, and over he went again, flat on his nose! But this was not all. Such a crash as even his little body could make was too much for the ice, which happened to be rather thin around that friendly tree; and, by the time Taddy had picked himself up, he was above his knees in water. There was a terrible ache at his nose; and he put up his hand to warm it a minute, but was frightened to find his mittens all spotted with blood. This was too much for him. He sent forth a cry that would have made your heart ache.

Just then Jamie came back; and there he found poor Taddy standing in the water, holding out one hand, and looking at the bloody mitten through his tears, the other covering tightly his aching nose; while a big purple bump was rapidly appearing on his forehead.

"Halloo! what's going on?" shouted Jamie. Taddy's story was very humble; and kind-hearted Jamie carried him into the house, where his mother was just inquiring for him.

"I left my little boy to learn another kind of lesson," she said. "But perhaps the one he has taught himself will do as much good."

M. L.

THE OLD CLOCK.

ICK, tock! tick, tock!" That is what the old clock said. And the boy sat at a table near by, and leaned his head upon his hand, and put the end of the pen-holder in his mouth, instead of writing his theme on the "Flight of Time."

"Tick, tock! tick, tock!" said again the old clock; and then there was a little buzzing noise, and the old clock began to strike; and all at once a little door over the dial-plate opened, and there stood a little bird crying, "Cuckoo, cuckoo!" And over the bird, on the top of the clock, a little man started up in a red coat, with sabre and musket complete, and began to march backwards and forwards.

Henry did not look up to see the bird and the little man; for he wanted to be out in the garden at play with his sister, instead of trying to write a theme on the "Flight of Time."

At last Henry finished his theme in these words: "Time does not fly at all fast for me when I am trying to write a theme. On the contrary, it seems very long indeed. We ought to improve our time. We ought to work. Life is short. My theme is ended. And now, having written the required number of words, I will go out in the garden, and see if any peaches have fallen during the night."

So Henry ran out in the garden; and he and his sister had a good frolic among the flowers and the fruit-trees. Whether he got a good mark, the next day at school, for his theme on the "Flight of Time," I cannot tell you.

Carl Heinsman.

IN THE MAPLE WOODS.

In the early spring, when the snow melts, thousands of men in the Northern and Western States are busy making maple-sugar. If you have seen only the dirty-looking brown cakes of maple-sugar sold in many places, you know very little about it. I have seen it as white as snow, although it is generally brown. Then there is the nice sirup; and did you ever eat any maple-candy? Well, I will tell you a story.

Willy and his sisters lived in Vermont, where a great deal of maple-sugar is made. One spring, when their Cousin Leonard came to see them, they thought it would be fine fun to go to the maple woods, where the men had been making sugar, and try to make some candy. It was a bright day, not very cold, although some snow was still left upon the ground.

"Mother," said Willy, "may we go to the woods to-day, and make some maple-candy?"—"Yes," said his mother, "only be careful not to wet your feet."—"Oh! what a nice time we will have!" said the two girls; and they all clapped their hands for joy.

In a few minutes their mother had put them up a nice luncheon. Then they took a small kettle, two or three tin cups, three spoons, and a hatchet. These things they packed upon a hand-sled; and, when all was ready, they set out at a brisk pace through the fields, over the snow, the boys drawing the sled, and the girls following close behind.

There was a good path, and they soon came to the woods. On the edge of the woods was a hut, where the men rested sometimes while making sugar. The children thought they would play that was their house. Nobody was there that day: so they had it all to themselves.

A little way out of the woods were two large stakes with a pole across them, on which hung a large kettle. Some half-burnt logs and ashes were under the kettle, but the fire was all out. A pile of wood was not far off; and branches of trees, chips, and logs were scattered around.

The children gathered dry leaves and sticks, and made a fire in a safe place. The next thing to do was to get some sap to boil into candy. What is sap? It is the juice of a tree. When the warm spring sunshine melts the snow, the roots of the tree drink in the moisture of the earth. This goes up into the tree, and makes sap. The sap within the tree, and the sunshine without, make the buds swell, and the bright fresh leaves come out.

For making sugar the sap of the maple-tree is used. But how is the sap got from the trees? and how is it made into sugar? I will tell you. A hole is bored in each tree, a spout put in the hole, and a bucket is placed underneath. This is called "tapping the tree." The sap runs from the tree into the bucket, drop by drop, until it is full. Then the sap is boiled till it becomes sirup; and the sirup is boiled into sugar.

The children found that the sap was dropping from the spouts in the trees around them. Some of the buckets were nearly full. They soon gathered enough into their little tin cups to fill their kettle; and then they put it on the fire to boil.

While it was boiling, they thought they would eat their luncheon. What do you suppose they had besides bread? I will tell you. They had thin slices of raw meat. "But did they eat it raw?" perhaps you will ask. Oh, no! The boys whittled out some clean, pointed sticks, on which they held their meat close to the fire till it was roasted to a beautiful brown; and then you cannot think how good it tasted. After eating their bread and meat, they had some nice crullers and cheese to end off with.

Well, by and by the sap in the little kettle had boiled into sirup. Then the children brought some clean snow in their cups, and carefully dipped a spoonful of hot sirup into each cup. The snow cooled it at once, and turned it into clear, hard candy. I wish you could have had some of it to eat! I know they thought it was delicious.

Soon after they had eaten their candy, they put out the fire with snow, and went home, having had a very happy time; and they did not forget to take candy enough with them for mother and little sister, and all the rest of the family.

Anna Holyoke.

WHERE IS THE BABY?

Oh! who has seen my baby?
Does anybody know
Where I can find my darling,
My precious little Joe?

The house is very lonesome;
No baby do I see:
Oh! if my missing treasure
Would but come back to me!

Ah! here is a young lady,
Just four years old to-day,
Who tells me that my darling
Is not so far away.

What! this great girl my baby?
Well, well, it must be so;
But, really, it's amazing
To see how babies grow.

Kate Cameron.

THE BIRD'S RETURN.

"Where have you been, little birdie,—
Where have you been so long?"

"Warbling in glee
Far o'er the sea,
And learning for you a new song,
My sweet,—
Learning for you a new song."

"Why did you go, little birdie,—
Why did you go from me?"

"Winter was here,
Leafless and drear;
And so I flew over the sea,
My sweet,—
So I flew over the sea."

"What did you see, little birdie,—
What did you see each day?"

"Sunshine and flowers,
Blossoms and bowers,
And pretty white lambkins at play,
My sweet,—
Pretty white lambkins at play."

"Who kept you safe, little birdie,—
Who kept you safe from harm?"

"The Father of all,
Of great and of small:
He sheltered me under his arm,
My sweet,—
Under his dear, loving arm."

George Cooper.

THE DUCKS AND GEESE.

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

Now the snows are melting, going,
Now the little streams are flowing;
Buds are swelling, birds are singing,
Odors sweet the wind is bringing;
Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack!
Good soft mud and running water,
Now waddlers shall not lack.

Little girls and boys are straying,
Or in sunny meadows playing,
Seeking buttercups and clover,
While their hearts with joy run over;
But—what goose can't see it plainly?—
Spring for us is given mainly.
Quack, quack, &c.

Transcriber's Note:

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.

The remaining correction made is indicated by a dotted lines under the correction. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will appear.

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

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