The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, March 1877, Vol. XXI. No. 3

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Title: The Nursery, March 1877, Vol. XXI. No. 3

Author: Various

Release date: February 20, 2009 [eBook #28131]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online

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

by Linda Cantoni.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, MARCH 1877, VOL. XXI. NO. 3 ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXI.—No. 3.

BOSTON:

JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET,

1877.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by

JOHN L. SHOREY,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

FRANKLIN PRESS:

RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY,

117 FRANKLIN STREET,

BOSTON.

IN PROSE.

An Old-Time Scene

65

Nelly's First Lesson in Dancing

69

Old Jim

71

Second Lesson in Astronomy

73

How a Rat was once Caught

74

To Sea in a Tub

76

Drawing-Lesson

81

A Woodchuck Hunt

82

The Schoolmistress

85

Peter and Polly

88

Tommy and the Blacksmith

89

In the Country

91

Dodger

93

The Mother-Hen

94

IN VERSE.

Tom-Tit

68

A Lenten-Song

79

A Mew from Pussy

86

Down on the Sandy Beach

90

Song of the Cat (with music)

96

AN OLD-TIME SCENE.

OOK at the picture, and see if you can tell what has roused all those children up so early in the morning. There is Mary in her stocking-feet. There is Ann in her night-dress. There is Tom, bare armed and bare legged.

Why have they all left their beds, and run into the play-room in such haste? And why is little Ned, the baby, sitting up in the bed, as though he wanted to come too?

It is plain enough that the children use that room for a play-room; for you can see playthings on the mantle-piece. But why are they all flocking about the fireplace? And why is mamma coming upstairs with a dust-brush in her hand? And why is that cloth hung over the fireplace? And whose are those bare feet peeping from under it?

"Oh!" perhaps you will say, "it is Santa Claus; and the children are trying to catch him." Oh, no! Santa Claus never allows himself to be caught in that way. You never see even his feet. He never leaves his shoes on the floor, nor dirty old brushes, nor shovels. It is not Santa Claus—it is only a chimney-sweeper.

"But what is a chimney-sweeper?" I think I hear you ask. Well, we do not have such chimney-sweepers now-a-days, at least not in this part of the world. But ask your grandfathers and grandmothers to tell you about the chimney-sweepers that were to be seen in Boston forty or fifty years ago, and I warrant that many of them will remember just such a scene as you see in the picture.

In those days, before hard coal fires had come in use, chimney-sweepers were often employed. They were small boys, working under the orders of a master in the business, who was very often a hard master. Generally they were negroes; but, whether so or not, they soon became so black with soot, that you could not tell them from negroes.

The Modern Chimney-Sweeper.

The chimney-sweepers always came early in the morning, before the fires were lighted; and their coming was a great event to the children of a household. "When a child," says a famous English writer, speaking of the chimney-sweepers of London, "what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their operation!—to see a chit no bigger than one's self enter into that dark hole—to pursue him in imagination, as he went sounding on through so many stifling caverns—to shudder with the idea, that 'now surely he must be lost forever!'—to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered daylight,—and then (oh, fulness of delight!) running out of doors, to come just in time to see him emerge in safety!"

There are chimney-sweepers even now; but none of the old-fashioned kind. In many places it is forbidden by law to send boys up the chimneys. So the modern chimney-sweeper puts his brush on the end of a pole, which is made in joints, like a fishing-rod, and, by attaching joint after joint, thrusts it farther and farther up the chimney.

TOM-TIT.

WHAT is it? What is it?

Only a feather

Blown by the wind

In this cold stormy weather,

Hunted and hurried so

Hither and thither?

Leaf or a feather,

I know not if either.

There, hark now, and see!

'Tis alight on a tree,

And sings, "Chick-a-dee-dee,

Chick-a-dee-dee!"

I know it! you know it!

'Tis little Tom-tit.

Look at it! Look at it

Flutter and hover!

Only a tuft of down

On it for cover!

Only a bare bough

To shelter it over!

Poor little rover,

Snow-fields for clover

Are all that you see!

Yet listen the glee

Of its "chick-a-dee-dee,

Chick a-dee-dee!"

Hark to it! look at it!

Little Tom-tit!

How is it? Why is it?

Like a snow-flurry,

With swish of wings,

And a swoop and a scurry,

Comes a whole flock of them

Now in a hurry!

Busy and merry

The little things, very;

Watch them, and see

How blithe they can be

With their "Chick-a-dee-dee,

Chick-a-dee-dee!"

Each one such a bit

Of a little Tom-tit!

MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.

NELLY'S FIRST LESSON IN DANCING.

GRANDPA MASON has not quite forgotten his dancing days. So one day, when little Nelly said, "I wish I knew how to dance like Emma Drake!" grandpa replied, "I'll teach you, Nelly, if you will bring me my accordion."

So Nelly brought the accordion; and grandpa seated himself in his old wooden arm-chair. First he taught her the steps, and then said, "Now, Nelly, you must try to move round just as you saw Emma do; and be sure and keep time to the music."

Nelly made a courtesy, and began to dance; and, as grandpa looked on, his heart seemed to dance with her; for he felt young once more, and went back, in thought, to the times when he was about as old as she.

That was a long while ago—more than seventy years. He sighed as he thought of his little brothers and sisters, all now gone to the better world. But Nelly's merry look soon drove away his sad mood.

"Well done, Nelly!" said he. "You will make a dancer; for you follow the music well, and step out lightly and easily. Now let me see you rise a little on your left foot, and whirl round once."

Nelly did it, and grandpa said, "Bravely done, little girl! Here ends your first lesson in dancing. To-morrow we will have another. Now get your new 'Nursery,' and let me hear one of the stories; for we must take care of the head, as well as the heels."

Nelly laughed; but, when she began to read, the tune she had just heard came back to her, and she could hardly keep from dancing up and down.

"One thing at a time, darling," said grandpa. "If we would do one thing well, we must not let our thoughts wander to something else. Tell me when you think you can give your thoughts to reading. I can wait."

Nelly took a few more dancing-steps, whirled around twice, made a courtesy, then came, and read so well, that grandpa said, "You deserve a good mark for reading, my dear. Now, whether you read, or whether you dance, mind this:—

"What you do, if well you would do it,

Rule your thoughts, and give them all to it."

IDA FAY.

OLD JIM.

JIM is a fine large horse. He lives in the engine-house, and draws the hose-carriage. His stall is so made that, when the alarm-bell strikes, it opens in front of him, leaving the way clear for him to rush out and take his place in front of the hose-carriage.

One night, the hoseman (who sleeps upstairs in the engine-house, so as to be all ready if there is an alarm of fire) heard a great noise down below,—a stamping and jumping, as if the horses were getting ready to go to a fire, when there was no alarm at all. He went softly to the stairway, and looked down; and there was Jim, jumping over the shafts of the hose-carriage, first one way, then another, just to amuse himself.

One day old Jim was in the yard behind the engine-house, and a man went out to catch him, and lead him in. But he rushed and pranced around the yard, and would not be caught. Then the man set out to drive him in; and what do you think Jim did?

Instead of going in at the open door, he made a leap, and went in at the open window, without breaking a glass, or hurting himself in the least. No one who saw the window would believe that such a great horse could possibly have gone through it.

When Jim is fed, he sometimes puts his nose in the oats, and throws them all out on the floor. Then he begins to eat them up, and, after he has eaten all he can reach standing, he goes down on his knees, and reaches out with his long tongue, and picks up every oat he can find.

Outside of his stall, on one side, is a watering-trough, where Jim is taken to drink. The water comes through a pipe, and is turned on by a faucet. Two or three times the water was found running, so that the trough overflowed, when no one had been near to meddle with it.

At last the men suspected that Jim was the rogue, and they kept very still, and watched one night till Jim thought he was all alone. Then they saw him twist himself almost double in his stall, stretch his long neck out, take the faucet in his teeth, turn on the water, and get a good drink. But he could not shut it off again.

Jim is a brave horse to go to a fire; but there is one thing that frightens him dreadfully, and that is—a feather duster! He is not afraid of any thing he sees in the streets, and the greatest noise of the Fourth of July will not scare him; but show him a feather duster, and his heels will fly up, and he will act as if he were going out of his senses.

The firemen think Jim a most amusing horse; and they sometimes say that he understands as much as some people do, and can do most every thing but talk.

H. W.

SECOND LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star:

How I wonder what you are,

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky!"

DID any of you find the red star I asked you to look for last month? I hope you did; for I want you to look at it again while I tell you something about the "twinkle" of it.

Look very carefully, first at the red star, and then at just as large a white star; and, if your eyes are bright, you will see that the white one twinkles the most. I wish I could tell you why; but I think nobody knows.

Be very careful, though, not to choose a white star that is not a star; for, as that twinkles very little, you may think I am mistaken.

"A star that is not a star?" I think I hear you say, "How I wonder what you are!" Well, I will tell you.

Although most of the "diamonds in the sky," commonly called stars, are real stars, or suns like our sun, a few of them are not suns, but solid globes or worlds like that which we inhabit, warmed and lighted by our sun. When the sun is shining on them, they look bright to us; but it is only the light of our own sun thrown back, or reflected. They give no light themselves.

Because they have our sun, we and they are like members of one family. We call them "planets" (just as our earth is called "a planet"), and are as familiar with their names as if they were our brothers and sisters. One of them, for instance, is called Venus; another, Jupiter; and another, Saturn. Can you remember these hard names?

Now you would never notice the difference between these few stars and all the others, if you did not look very carefully to see whether they twinkle or not. And I would advise you to ask somebody to point them out to you whenever they are in sight.

I cannot tell you exactly where to look for them, because they wander about a good deal, and I do not know where they will be when you happen to read this number of "The Nursery."

From all this you will see that you will have to be very particular what kind of a star you look at when you say,—

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star."

M. E. R.

HOW A RAT WAS ONCE CAUGHT.

DO you know what sly and cunning creatures rats are? The picture shows how they sometimes contrive to carry off eggs. The old fox in the background seems to be watching the performance with great interest.

But, cute as they are, they sometimes get caught. I am going to tell you how a rat was once caught by a clam. It happened when I was a little child, and lived with my mother. Whether such a thing ever happened before or since, I do not know; but this is a true story.

One day, my father went to town, and bought some clams. When he came home, I took them down cellar in a basket, and laid them on the brick floor of the cellar. Now, when clams are put where it is dark and cool and quiet, they open their shells. If you should go softly up, and put a straw in one of their mouths, it would clasp its shells together so tightly, that you could not get them open.

The cellar was under my mother's bed-room; and in the night she heard a great noise, like something bumping and slamming, down below. Being a brave woman, she lighted a candle, and went down stairs; and what do you think she found? I will tell you; for I am sure you would never guess.

When the house came to be still with the night-stillness, and every one was in bed, an old rat had come out of his hole, and gone foraging around for his supper. As he walked majestically along, swinging his long tail after him, it happened to switch into a clam's opened shell, when, presto change! the clam was no longer only a clam: it was a rat-trap.

It pinched hard; and I am sure it hurt the old rat very much. He ran across the cellar to his hole; and the clam bounced on the bricks as he went; and that was what my mother had heard. The rat could not get the clam into the hole. It held him fast by the tail all the rest of his life, which was not long; for he was killed soon after.

LIZZIE'S MAMMA.

TO SEA IN A TUB.

HERE is a picture of a boy trying his new boat in a tub of water. His brothers and sisters are looking on. His elder brother seems to be pointing out some fault in the rig of the boat. Perhaps he thinks the sails are too large. The dog Tray takes a good deal of interest in the matter. I wonder what he thinks of it.

But the story I am going to tell you is about a little girl named Emma, and what happened one day, when she went out in the yard to play. Her mother had told her not to go outside the gate: so she looked around the doorway to see what she could find to play with. There stood a great tub full of water; and there, close by, was a pile of chips. "Boats!" said Emma to herself: "I'll sail boats!"

It didn't take a minute to get six of the nicest chips well afloat; but after all they were not much better than rafts.

"I must put on sails," said Emma. And running into the sitting-room, and getting some pins, and then putting a bit of paper on each pin, and sticking a pin upright in each chip, at last she had her little boats with little sails, going straight across the tub with a fair wind.

Once a fly alighted on one of the boats, and took quite a long voyage. That made Emma think of trying to find other passengers; and she picked up a great ground beetle, and put him aboard. Poor beetle! he didn't want to go, and he wasn't used to it. He tumbled about on the deck; the boat tipped under him, and the next thing Emma knew he was overboard.

"Oh, he mustn't drown!" she cried. "I must get him out!" And she stooped over in great haste to save the poor beetle. But it was a large tub, and a very deep one too; and what did little Emma know about being careful? She lost her balance, and down into the water she went, with a great splash that wrecked all the boats in the same instant. "Mother, mother!" screamed a choking, sputtering voice, as Emma managed to lift her head.

Her mother heard it, and flew to the spot. It didn't take long to get Emma into the warm kitchen, to pull off the wet clothes, to wrap her in a blanket, and set her before the fire in the big rocking-chair, with a bowl of hot ginger-tea to drink. There Emma sat, and steamed, and begged for stories. By eleven o'clock she couldn't stand it any longer, and by noon she was out in the yard again, playing tea-party, and not one whit the worse for her sudden cold bath. But what became of the poor beetle?

MARY L. B. BRANCH.

A LENTEN-SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN.

QUOG, quog, quog, quog!

A very unmusical note:

This eminent basso, Mr. Frog,

Has surely a cold in his throat.

But he does his best, with a good intent,

The little speckled man;

For every frog must sing in Lent,

As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!

When the morning sky is red,

He sits on the slippery, mossy log,

With the rushes over his head.

He does his best, with a good intent,

The little sprawling man;

For every frog must sing in Lent,

As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!

When the evening sky is pale,

He nestles low in the sheltering bog,

While the gentle dews exhale.

He does his best, with a good intent,

The little struggling man;

For every frog must sing in Lent,

As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!

He strains till he shakes the reeds,

And scares his neighbor, Miss Polly Wog

As she hides in the water-reeds.

He does his best, with a good intent,

The little panting man;

For every frog must sing in Lent,

As loud as ever he can.

Quog, quog, quog, quog!

Oh! aren't you afraid you'll burst?

You should have put on, dear Mr. Frog,

Your girdle of leather first.

But on he goes, with his good intent,

The little gasping man;

For every frog must sing in Lent,

As loud as ever he can.

OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.

DRAWING-LESSON BY HARRISON WEIR.

A WOODCHUCK HUNT.

ONE September morning, before breakfast, Ned and Harry went woodchuck hunting. They took Dick, who is a big, fat, spotted coach-dog, and Gyp, a little black-and-tan, with short ears, and afraid of a mouse,—both "such splendid hunters," Harry said.

Gyp ran ahead on three legs; and Dick walked sedately behind. Ned carried the bow, and Harry, the three arrows: and it was enough to make any wise woodchuck tremble to see them.

First they crossed a potato-field, and then a meadow where there was a brook, and where they lost Gyp so often among the bogs, that Harry carried him at last so as to know where he was. Dick ran through the brook, and shook himself over Ned's new sailor-suit; but that was no matter.

Then they came to a rickety old stone wall, and Dick barked. "It must be a woodchuck in the wall. We've got him!" shouted Ned. "Down comes the wall!" Then the stones fell; and Gyp jumped up and down with excitement, while Dick gave a low and terrible growl. "He must be here," said Ned.

But, as he was not to be found, Dick was reproved for giving a false alarm; and they all jumped over the stones of the old wall, and ran up the hill towards the walnut-grove, where woodchucks were sure to be as thick as nuts.

"Here's a fresh hole!" shouted Harry. "Now it's almost breakfast-time: he'll be out before long. Come on, Mr. Chuck, we're waiting for you."

So the boys lay down flat on the mound of earth, and peered into the hole, by way of inviting its owner to come out and be shot; while Dick and Gyp gave persuasive growls and yelps.

Strangely enough no woodchuck appeared; and after waiting an "age,"—five minutes long,—the brave hunters decided to dig in. "We ought to have brought spades," they said; but sticks and stones and hands did very well in the soft, wet earth.

About the time that Harry got out of breath, and Ned had dropped a stone on his foot, Dick barked furiously at something moving under a hazel-bush. "Shoot, Ned, shoot!" Harry shouted. "Whiz" went an arrow straight into the bushes, where it lodged, and never more came out.

"A chase, a chase!" cried Ned, throwing down his bow; and away they went,—Harry and Ned, Dick and Gyp,—over stones and fences, bushes and bogs, in pursuit of something; but whether it was a woodchuck or a cat they never got near enough to tell. Suddenly it disappeared in a corn-field.

Dick and Gyp put their tails between their legs, and dropped their ears; but Ned and Harry spied some pumpkins ripening among the stacked corn.

"Gay for Jack-o-lanterns!" said Harry. "Wouldn't they frighten Belle and Lucy, though!"

So two of the biggest pumpkins were cut off. "Now let's take 'em home," said Harry, thinking of his breakfast. But, oh, how heavy those pumpkins grew! In getting over a wall, Harry's fell and was smashed: so the boys took turns in carrying the other one.

Mamma stood on the piazza, in a fresh white morning-dress. She heard Dick and Gyp, and then she saw her little boys. Oh, what a sight!—the striped stockings and blue sailor-suits all one shade of yellow brown earth!

"Did you have good sport?" asked papa, coming to the door.

"Splendid! Found lots of holes," said Ned, dumping the pumpkin. And what they did with the pumpkin, perhaps I'll tell you another time.

MISS A. H. R.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS.

"THERE are many thousand words in our language," said Ellen, reading from a book, "and some words are used for one purpose, and some for another; and the same word may be used in different ways. When your uncle gave you a lot of shells last December, what did you do with them, Edwin?"

"I classified them: that is, I put one kind into one heap, and another kind into another heap; and so on."

"Well, that is just the way we do with words; we put them in classes which we call Parts of Speech. Now, there is one class of words which is made up of name-words or nouns; that is, of words that are used as names of persons or things. In the sentence, 'Birds fly,' birds is a noun, and fly is a verb."

"I think I knew that much already, Schoolmistress."

"Well, sir, since you know so much, let me hear you correct the mistakes in the following sentence: 'A pear or peach, when they are ripe, are good food for the boy or girl who like them.'"

"It should be: 'A pear or a peach, when it is ripe, is good food for the boy or girl who likes it.'"

"Well done, Edwin! go up to the head of your class."

Edwin walked round his sister, as she sat in her chair, and then gravely took his place again before her.

"Here are two sentences, Edwin: 'I fell down,' and 'I fell down stairs.' Down is not the same Part of Speech in the two sentences. What is it in the first?'"

"An Adverb; and in the second it is a Preposition."

"Well, sir, school is dismissed. You may go. I shall give you a good mark in grammar."

IDA FAY.

A MEW FROM PUSSY.

IN ANSWER TO "A SQUEAK."[A]

I AM only the lazy old cat

That sleeps upon somebody's mat:

I sit in the sunshine,

And lick my soft paws,

With one eye on mousie,

And one on my claws.

Little mouse, little mouse! look out how you boast!

Of just such as you I have eaten a host!

I'm a much smarter cat than you seem to suppose;

I have very keen eyes, and, oh—such a nose!

I'm an innocent looking cat;

I am well aware of that:

I squint up my eyes,

And play with the flies,

But underneath I am wondrous wise:

I know where your nest is,

And just where you hide

When you have been thieving,

And fear you'll be spied.

I saw your small tracks all over the meal;

And I saw your tail, and I heard you squeal

When grandmamma's broom

Nearly sealed your doom,

And you went whisking out of the room.

I am only a lazy old cat:

I care not much for a rat;

But a nice tender mouse

About in the house

Might prove a temptation too great,

Should I be in a hungry state.

Little mouse, little mouse! Beware, beware!

Some time, when you think not, I shall be there,

And you'll not only look at,

But feel of, my paws;

And, the first thing you know,

I'll be licking my jaws,

And washing my face with an innocent air,

And mousie will be—oh, where? oh, where?

RUTH KENYON.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] See January number, page 18.

Peter.—Fresh baked peanuts! Give a fellow some, Polly.

Polly.—Yes, Peter, you shall have a good share.

TOMMY AND THE BLACKSMITH.

Tommy.—Do you shoe horses here, Mr. Blacksmith?

Blacksmith.—Yes, little man: that's my business.

Tommy.—Well, I want my horse shod.

Blacksmith.—How much can you pay for the job? It will take a good deal of iron to shoe such a big horse as that.

Ruth.—He wants you to do it for nothing, Mr. Blacksmith.

Blacksmith.—Every trade must live, my little lady. If Tommy can afford to keep a horse, he ought to be able to pay for having it shod.

Tommy.—I will pay you next Christmas.

Blacksmith.—-Never run in debt, my lad. If you can't pay for a thing on the spot, do without it. Shun debt as you would poison.

Ruth.—That is just what my grandfather says.

Tommy.—Well, when I get some money, I'll come again, Mr. Blacksmith; for this horse must be shod, if there's iron enough to do it with. Good-by!

Blacksmith.—Good-by, Tommy! Good-by, Ruth!

ARTHUR SELWYN.

DOWN ON THE SANDY BEACH.

DOWN on the sandy beach,

When the tide was low;

Down on the sandy beach,

Many years ago,

Two of us were walking,

Two of us were talking

Of what I cannot tell you,

Though I'm sure you'd like to know.

Down in the water

A duck said, "Quack!"

Up in the tree-top

A crow answered back,

Two of us amusing,

Two of us confusing:

So we had to give up talking,

And just listen to their clack.

"Quack!" said the little duck,

Swimming with the tide;

"Caw!" said the saucy crow,

Swelling up with pride,

"I'm a jolly rover,

And I live in clover:

Don't you wish that you were here,

Sitting by my side?"

"Quack, quack!" said the duck,

Very much like "No."

"Caw, caw!—ha, ha!"

Laughed the silly crow:

Two of us delighting,

Two of us inviting

To join the merry frolic

With a ringing ho, ho, ho!

Crack!—and a bullet went

Flying from a gun!

Duck swimming down the stream,

We on a run,

Wondered why or whether

We couldn't be together

Without another coming in

And spoiling all the fun!

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

IN THE COUNTRY.

FANNY and Willy are having a nice ride on the back of the great cart-horse.

Mamma points at Willy with her sun-shade, and says, "Hold on tight, little boy." Pink, the dog, says, "Bow-wow! Take me up there with you."

Kate and Jane have the care of the biddies. They feed them with corn every day. The hens flock around the door as soon as the two girls come out.

Kate and Jane both say that the hens are fond of them; but I think they are still more fond of the corn.

A. B. C.

DODGER.

DODGER is a full-blooded Scotch terrier. His eyes are the brightest of all bright eyes; and he acts just as one might suppose from his name. He dodges here and there,—under the sofa, and behind the stove, and up in a chair, and sometimes puts his paws up on the baby's cradle.

The other day, the baby's red sock dropped off from his foot; and Dodger slyly picked it up, and, going to a corner of the room, ate off the red tassels that were on it. I don't think he will do it again; for he did not act as though they tasted very good.

Dodger has many cunning ways. He will bring his master's slippers, sit up straight, pretend to be dead, and do many other funny things. Just now his master is trying to teach him to shut a door.

Dodger belongs to a little boy in Hartford, Conn., who has read "The Nursery" for five years. The little boy's name is Georgie, and I am

GEORGIE'S MAMMA.

THE MOTHER-HEN.

BY the side of my home a river runs; and down close by the banks of it lives a good family named Allen. Mr. Allen keeps a large number of hens and ducks. One old hen had twice been put to sit on ducks' eggs, and hatched two broods of ducks.

The first brood she hatched took to the water as soon as they saw it, as all little ducks will. The old hen was almost crazy at such behavior on the part of her chicks, and flew down to the water's edge, clucking and calling at a great rate. However,—to her great surprise, probably,—they all came safely to land. Every day after that, when the little ducks went for a swim, their hen-mother walked nervously back and forth on the shore, and was not easy till they came out of the water.

By and by, after those ducks had all grown large, the hen hatched another brood. These, too, at first sight of the water, went in for a swim. The old hen was not quite as frightened as before, but stood and looked at them, clucking a little to herself, as if to say, "Strange chickens these of mine; but yet, if they like it, I don't know as I need care, so long as they don't ask me to go with them." So, after a while, that brood grew to be big ducks.

One day last summer, as I sat on the bank of the river, looking at the pretty blue rippling water, who should come walking proudly down to the water's-edge but, Mrs. Hen with another brood of little, waddling, yellow ducks behind her! She led them clear to the edge of the water, saw them start off, and, turning away, went contentedly to scratching at some weeds on the shore, taking no more notice of her little family. She had come to regard this swimming business as a matter of course.

Now one little duck, for some reason,—maybe he was not so strong as the others,—had not gone into the water with the rest, but remained sitting on the shore. Presently the mother-hen, turning round, happened to spy him. She stopped scratching, and looked at him as if she were saying, "All my chickens swim: now what is the matter with you? I know it must be laziness; and I won't have that."

Then spreading out her wings, and making an angry clucking, she flew towards the unlucky duckling, took him by the back of his neck in her beak, and threw him as far as possible into the water. As she walked back to her weeds again; it seemed almost as if I could hear her say,—

"The chicken who can swim and won't swim must be made to swim."

L. W. E.

SONG OF THE CAT.

Words by A. LLOYD.                         Music by T. CRAMPTON

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

1. The cat and her kittens recline in the sun,

Mew! mew! mew!

They're fond of their food and they're fond of their fun;

Mew! mew! mew!

Their old mother says they must sit in a row,

The biggest is Jack and the little one Joe,

And now altogether they make the place ring,

With the one song they know and the chorus they sing:

Mew! mew! mew! . . .

Mew! mew! mew!

2. My dear little kittens when you are well grown,

Mew! mew! mew!

Some day you will each have a home of your own;

Mew! mew! mew!

You'll catch all the mice and you'll kill all the rats,

And grow up, I hope, both respectable cats,

Don't get in the cupboard, nor kill the poor lark,

Keep away from big dogs and get home before dark;

Mew! mew! mew! . . .

Mew! mew! mew!

3. The kittens they listen'd and said they'd be good,

Mew! mew! mew!

And not kill the birds nor destroy the young brood!

Mew! mew! mew!

They lov'd their good mother, and tho't 'twould be nice,

To grow strong and hearty and catch and kill mice.

She wash'd all their faces and put them to bed,

And now what do you think was the last thing they said;

Mew! mew! mew! . . .

Mew! mew! mew!

Transcriber's Notes:

The January edition of the Nursery had a table of contents for the first six issues of the year. This table was divided to cover each specific issue. A title page copied from the January edition was also used for this number.

A comma was changed to a period on page 94. (tasted very good.)

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Table of Contents

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

IN PROSE.

IN VERSE.

AN OLD-TIME SCENE.

TOM-TIT.

NELLY'S FIRST LESSON IN DANCING.

OLD JIM.

SECOND LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

HOW A RAT WAS ONCE CAUGHT.

TO SEA IN A TUB.

A LENTEN-SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN.

A WOODCHUCK HUNT.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS.

A MEW FROM PUSSY.

IN ANSWER TO "A SQUEAK."[A]

FOOTNOTE:

TOMMY AND THE BLACKSMITH.

DOWN ON THE SANDY BEACH.

IN THE COUNTRY.

DODGER.

THE MOTHER-HEN.

SONG OF THE CAT.

Transcriber's Notes:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE