THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

VOLUME XXI.—No. 1.
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.

IN VERSE.

WORK AND PLAY.

WORK AND PLAY.

O you want your sidewalk shovelled?" This was the question asked of Mr. Prim, as he sat reading his newspaper, one New Year's morning. The question came through a servant who had just answered the door-bell. Mr. Prim looked out of the window. The snow was still falling. So he sent out word, "No shovelling wanted till the storm's over," and went on with his reading.

By and by there was another ring at the door; and in a moment the servant-girl came in, saying, "The snow-shovellers are here again, sir, and they want to see you."

Mr. Prim stepped out into the entry, where he found two rough-looking boys, both of whom greeted him at once with, "Wish you a happy new year! Please, sir, it's done snowing now."

"That means," said Mr. Prim, "that you both want the job of clearing off the sidewalk; but which am I to give it to?"

"Oh, sir!" said the bigger boy, "we are partners. I shovel, and Mike sweeps."

"And what are your names?"

"Mine is Tom Murphy, and his is Mike Flynn."

"Then," said Mr. Prim, "the firm is 'Murphy & Flynn.'"

"That's it," said both boys with a grin.

"Well, Murphy & Flynn, I will employ you to do my shovelling to-day, and I will give you fifty cents for the job; but I am very particular. You must not leave a bit of snow anywhere about the steps or sidewalk."

"All right, sir," said the boys; and they went to work, while Mr. Prim went back to his newspaper. He had not been reading many minutes, when a loud shout in front of the house led him to look out of the window. The picture shows what he saw.

There were the two boys, each mounted on one of the stone lions at the head of the steps, and shouting at the top of his lungs in the excitement of an imaginary race.

Mr. Prim was first astonished, then angry, then amused, at this performance. He opened the window, and called out sharply, "Look here, boys! do you call that work, or play?"

The boys jumped down, and began to ply their broom and shovel with great vigor. But Murphy looked up roguishly, and said, "We were just polishing off the lions, sir."

"Yes," said Mr. Prim, "and a paroxysm of fun got the better of you. Well, it's excusable on New Year's Day. But, if the firm of Murphy & Flynn expect to succeed in business, they must not mix so much play with their work." And Mr. Prim shut the window.

"I say, Mike," said Tom, "what was it the old man said had got the better of us?"

"That's more than I can tell," said Mike. "I can't remember such hard words. But I know what he meant, and I guess he was about right."

Uncle Sam.

BUMBLE-BEE.

Bumble-Bee superbly dressed,
In velvet, jet, and gold,
Sailed along in eager quest,
And hummed a ballad bold.
Morning-Glory clinging tight
To friendly spires of grass,
Blushing in the early light,
Looked out to see him pass.
Nectar pure as crystal lay
In her ruby cup;
Bee was very glad to stay,
Just to drink it up.
"Fairest of the flowers," said he,
"'Twas a precious boon;
May you still a Glory be,
Morning, night, and noon!"

M. A. C.

BILLY AND TOM.

When I was a little boy, six or seven years old, my father had two white horses, named Billy and Tom. Billy had one black foot, and a little dark spot on his face; but Tom did not have a black hair on his whole body.

Billy was the old family horse, kind, gentle, and loving. Anybody could catch him, or lead him, or drive him. He liked to be petted, and in return seemed to take pride in being kind to all in the family.

Tom was a good horse too; but we had not owned him so long, and he did not care much to have any one pet him.

Billy was a little lame; and though he worked everywhere on the farm, and in drawing loads on the road, yet he was generally excused from going with the carriage, except when it was necessary for some of us children to drive.

One day my father went to the village with Tom, leaving Billy at home alone, in a field near the house. He missed his old friend Tom. They had worked together so much, that they had become great friends; and either one was very lonesome without the other.

Billy ran about here and there, neighing loudly whenever another horse appeared in sight upon the road, hoping that it might be his friend Tom coming back.

At last I went out to comfort him. I patted his head and his neck, and leading him by the mane to the fence, climbed first upon the fence, and then upon his back.

He seemed pleased, and started in a gentle walk along the farm-road leading down into the field, away from the house. When he had gone as far as I wished to ride, I called out, "Whoa!"

But he was a wise old horse. Instead of stopping in the middle of the road, where he then was, he turned out at one side, and stopped close by the fence, for me to get off upon that; as much as to say, "A boy that is not large enough to get upon my back without climbing a fence, is not large enough to climb from my back to the ground."

Edith's Papa.

THE WISE HARE AND HER PURSUERS.

A poor little hare was one day closely pursued by a brace of greyhounds. They were quite near her, when, seeing a gate, she ran for it. She got through it easily; but the bars were too close together for the hounds to get through, so they had to leap over the gate.

As they did so, the hare, seeing that they would be upon her the next instant, turned around and ran again under the gate where she had just before passed. The hounds, in their speed, could not turn at once. Their headway took them on some distance; and then they had to wheel about, and leap once more over the upper bar of the gate.

Again the hare doubled, and returned by the way she had come; and thus she went backward and forward, the dogs following till they were fairly tired out, while the little hare, watching her chance, happily made her escape.

Thus you see that wit and self-possession are sometimes more than a match for superior strength and speed. If the little hare could not run so fast as the greyhounds, she could outwit them, and they saw no way to prevent it.

Uncle Charles.

GENTLE JESSIE AND THE WASP.

There is a little girl in our village whom we call "Gentle Jessie;" for she is so kind and gentle, that even the dumb animals and the insects seem to find it out, and to trust her.

On a dry pleasant day, last autumn, I saw her seated on the grass. I went up to tell her not to sit there; for it is not safe to sit on the ground, even in dry weather.

As I drew near to Jessie from behind, I heard her talking. To whom could she be talking? There was no one by her side; that is to say, no human being. But soon I found she was talking to a wasp that was coming as if to sting her.

"Wasp, wasp, go away, and come again another day," said she. But the wasp did not heed her. It flew quite near to her face. Instead of striking at the bold insect, she merely drew back a little out of its way; for she thought, "Surely the wasp will not harm me, if I do not harm it."

And she was right. It alighted near her for a moment, but did not sting her; and gentle Jessie did not try to harm it. Then the wasp flew to the flowers on her hat; but, not finding the food it wanted, at last it flew away.

"Well done, Jessie," said I, lifting her from the ground, and giving her a kiss.

Emily Carter.

GRETCHEN.

Gretchen's old; she's neat and good:
See her coming from the wood!
She bears fagots on her back,
Lest her darlings fire may lack.

Here you see her far from town,
With her darlings sitting down:
Gretchen, Emma, Fritz, and Paul,—
They are happy, happy all.

M. A. C.

FRIENDS IN NEED.

Once a poor crippled sparrow fell to the ground, and fluttered about in a vain attempt to regain a place of safety. Some of its mates gathered around it, and seemed eager to help it; but they did not know what to do. Their chirping drew together a good many of the sparrow tribe.

One thought this thing ought to be done, and another thought that. Some tried to lift the helpless bird by catching its wings in their beaks; but this failed, and such a chattering and scolding as took place!

"I told you that wasn't the way to do it."—"How stupid!"—"You should have taken my advice." Perhaps such were the speeches which were uttered in bird-language; for all the little creature seemed much excited.

Presently two of the birds flew away, but soon came back with a twig six or seven inches long and an eighth of an inch thick. This was dropped before the poor little cripple, and at each end was picked up by a sparrow, and held so that the lame bird was able to catch the middle of the twig in its beak.

Then the crippled bird, with the aid of the other two, flew off, till they came to the wall covered with ivy, where it had its home. There it chirped to show how glad it was. All the other sparrows followed, as if to share in the pleasure of the rescue. This is a true story.

Ida Fay.

A NOONDAY LULLABY.

"Hush-sh-sh! Hush-sh-sh!"
Whisper leaves on the tree:
"As through our shadow soft sunlight streams,
See how the angels send smiles in his dreams!
Hush-sh-sh! Hush-sh-sh!"

M. A. C.

THE BEAR THAT PUT ON AIRS.

There was once a bear that had been tamed and made to dance by a man who beat him when he did not mind. This bear was called Dandy, and he had been taught many queer tricks. He could shoulder a pole as if it were a gun, and could balance it on his nose, or stand on his hind-legs and hold it by his fore-paws behind his back.

He did all these things at his master's bidding because he stood in great fear of his master's whip. His master made a show of him; and, though Dandy did not like it, he was forced to submit.

But one day, when he had been left alone, the chain, that held him by a ring in his nose, got loose from the ring; and Dandy was soon a free bear. Taking his pole, he made his way, as fast as he could, to a mountain where the woods were high and thick.

Here he found a number of fellow-bears. Instead of treating them as equals, he put on fine airs, told them what a rare life he had led among men, how many nice tricks he had learned, and how much wiser he was than all the bears that had ever lived.

For a time the other bears were simple enough to take him at his word. They thought, because he said so, that he must be a very great bear indeed. He never was at a loss when they asked him a question, never would confess his ignorance, and so had to say much that was not true.

Dandy boasted so of the respect which men had paid him, that he made the other bears think he was doing them a great honor by living with them. He made them all wait on him. But at last a young bear, that had escaped from a trap which some men had set for him, said to Dandy, "Is that ring in your nose for ornament or for use?"

"For ornament, of course," said Dandy. "This ring was a gift from a man who was once my partner. He was so fond of me, and so pleased with my dancing, that he never tired of serving me. He brought me all my food. In fact I had him at my beck and call."

"My friends," said the young bear, "he tells a fib. That ring was put in his nose to be fastened to a chain. He was held a slave by the man who, he says, treated him so finely. He was made to dance through fear of being touched up with a red-hot iron. In short, he is what men call a 'humbug.'"

"Yes, he is a humbug," cried the others, though they did not know what the word meant. "We will have no more of his fine airs."—"I never liked him."—"Drive him off."—"Send him back to his dancing-master!"—"Kick him!"—"Stone him!"—"Beat him!"—"We'll have no humbug here."

And so poor Dandy was driven out from the woods, and forced to get his living by himself; while the knowing young bear that had exposed him, looked on and laughed at his misfortune. If Dandy had not been so boastful; if he had spoken the truth, and been modest,—he might have been respected by his fellow-bears to the end of his days.

Alfred Selwyn.

DRAWING-LESSON BY HARRISON WEIR.
VOL. XXI.—NO. 1.

A SQUEAK!

I'm only a little brown mouse
That lives in somebody's house,
And in that same house there's a cat;
But oh, ho! what care I for that?
She sits in the sunshine,
And licks her white paws,
With one eye on me,
And one on her claws.
How she watches the crack
Where she sees my brown back!
But she'll never catch me!
For oh, ho! don't you see
That I'm just the smartest young mouse
That lives anywhere in the house?
I'm only a little brown mouse
That lives in somebody's house,
And in that same house there is Rover:
He has chased me the whole house over.
And there, too, is fat Baby Tim;
But oh, ho! what care I for him?
When he sprawls on the carpet,
And bumps his pink nose,
I scamper around him,
And tickle his toes.
How he kicks and he crows!
For he knows, oh, he knows,
That I'm only a little brown mouse
That lives in his grandmother's house.

I'm only a little brown mouse
That lives in somebody's house;
And in that same house there's a clock,
That says, "Tick-a-tock, tick-a-tock!"
And I've not forgotten yet quite,
How once, on a very still night,
I was sitting just over the clock,
When it gave such a terrible knock,
With a whirring and whizzing,
And buzzing and fizzing,
That I tumbled headlong from my perch on the shelf,
And, scampering wildly, I crowded myself
Right under the door, through such a small crack,
That I scraped all the hairs off the top of my back.
Oh, I am the merriest mouse
That lives anywhere in a house!
I love toasted cheese, and I love crusts of bread,
And bits of old paper to make a soft bed.
Oh! I tell you it's nice
To be one of the mice,
And when the night comes,
And the folks are abed,
To rattle and race
On the floor overhead.
And, say, don't you wish you could run up a wall
As I do, every day, without getting a fall?
And don't you wish you were a mouse,
Living in somebody's house?

Fleta F.

WHAT YOU DO, DO WELL.

"Why do you take such pains in cutting out these little figures?" asked Winifred of her brother Ernest.

"I will tell you why, sister," replied Ernest. "I take pains because my teacher tells me, that, if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well."

"Did he mean that we should try to do well even in trifles?" asked Winifred.

"Yes," answered Ernest, "because, as a great man once said, 'Perfection is no trifle.'"

Winifred sat looking at her brother, as, handling a pair of scissors, he carefully cut out figures of horses, dogs, pigs, and various other animals.

Three years afterward she remembered this conversation; for it happened at that time, that, her father having died, her widowed mother was left almost destitute with a family of seven children to support.

What should the poor woman do? At first she thought she would take in washing, then that she would try to keep a little shop. While she was hesitating, Mr. Mason, a brisk old gentleman, came to the door, and asked, "Where is the boy who cuts these figures and faces in profile?"

One of his grandchildren had brought him home from school some specimens of Ernest's skill; and Mr. Mason saw at once that they were the work of a gifted and painstaking artist.

"You must mean my little Ernest," said the mother. "Poor little fellow! He little dreams what is coming. I shall soon have to take him away from school."

"Why so?" cried Mr. Mason. "Take him away from school? You shall do no such a thing. I'll not allow it."

"We are destitute, sir, and I have no means of support," said the mother with a sigh.

"No means of support! Nonsense! With a boy in the house who can cut figures like that, do you say you have no means of support?" exclaimed Mr. Mason. "Good woman, I will insure your boy good wages every week for the next year, if you will let him come between school-hours, and cut pictures under my direction."

The rest of my little story may soon be told. Ernest became the staff and stay of his family. The little talent he had cultivated so carefully and diligently was the means of giving him not only an honest employment, but a liberal support. He rose to distinction; and his productions were much sought after by all good judges of art.

Emily Carter.

St. Catherine's Rock, South Wales.

IN THE WINTER.

There are some nice apples in the cellar, and William is going down with a light to get a dish full. He will pick out some that are as yellow as gold, and some that are as red as a rose.

This man is cutting a hole through the ice, so that the cows may drink. The stream is all frozen over. When the thick ice is broken, they can drink all they want. Walk up, old Brindle, and help yourself.

Here are the fowls, and each stands on one leg. The ground is covered with snow, and their toes are very cold. So they all hold their feet under their feathers, to keep them warm.

The old gray cat comes in the morning, and jumps up on the children's bed. Then she creeps towards them, and rubs her soft fur on the little boy's face, and wakes him up. She would like to say, "Good morning!" but she only says, "Mew, mew!"

W. O. C.

MY LITTLE SISTER.

Good folks who read "The Nursery," this is my little sister;
The picture shows you truly how I caught her up, and kissed her:
She is so sweet, so very sweet, that I am quite decided
If you could see her as she is you would do just as I did.

Brother Carlos.

A LETTER TO MINNIE.

The following is an exact copy of a letter found in little Minnie's stocking last Christmas:—

Sitting Room, at Mamma's Desk.

You must excuse my calling you by your pet name; but you see I'm so fond of all good children that I can't Master and Miss them, and they're all Tommie, and Johnnie, and Fannie, and Minnie, to me.

Your stocking is so small that I can't put much of any thing into it: but if that piano, with the nice white cloth on it, isn't for presents, then I'm mistaken.

I shall put yours there, and I hope I sha'n't crock that tablecloth; for your mamma wouldn't like to find my sooty marks all over it. Though I don't see how she could expect me to be clean when she has had a soft-coal fire burning in her grate all the evening, and that does make the chimney so black!

If you will look at the picture of me in your new book (they call me St. Nicholas there), you'll see how fat I am; and how do you suppose I get down such a small place? I never could if I didn't love children so much, and if I hadn't done it for so many hundred years. But I began, you see, before I grew so fat; and so now I know the easiest way to do it.

I hope you'll have all you wanted this year; but you all grow so fast, and have so many wants from year to year, that I sometimes fear that I sha'n't always be able to satisfy you. Still, as it's only the good little children that I visit, I fancy they will be pleased, whatever I bring.

I must confess, though, that it isn't all guesswork. I know pretty well what my little folks want. But if you knew the amount of listening at doors and windows and registers, that I do to find out all these wants, you'd be astonished.

And now, if I don't hurry off, you'll be waking up, and catch me here; besides, I've staid a deal longer than I ought, for I've lots to do before daylight. But, seeing your mamma's desk and writing-materials so handy, I really couldn't help sitting down to write you a letter.

Tell your brother Walter, that as I brought him presents ten years before you came, he mustn't expect quite so many now; for he can have no idea how many little folks I have to provide for. And if my reindeers weren't the kindest, and strongest, and fleetest of creatures, we never could get through the amount of work we have to do "the night before Christmas."

Wishing you, and your brother, and papa, and mamma, a "Merry Christmas," I remain, with a heart full of love, yours,

Santa Claus.

THE HEDGEHOG.

The hedgehog is a queer little animal with short limbs. It feeds mostly on insects. It has its body covered with sharp spines instead of hairs, and can roll itself up in a ball, and thus show an array of prickles pointing in every direction.

Slow of foot, this little creature cannot flee from danger; but in the sharp, hard, and tough prickles of its coat, it has a safeguard better than the teeth and claws of the wildcat, or the fleetness of the hare.

The hedgehog has powerful muscles beneath the skin of the back; and by the aid of these, on the slightest alarm, it rolls itself up so as to have its head and legs hidden in the middle of the ball it thus makes of itself.

Our dog Snip saw a hedgehog, the other day, for the first time. As soon as it saw him, the little creature seemed to change from a live thing into a ball. Snip did not know what to make of it. His curiosity was much excited. He went up, and looked at it.

If the two could have spoken, I think this would have been their talk:—

Snip.—"Of all the queer things I ever saw, you are the queerest. What are you anyhow?"

Hedgehog.—"Suppose you put out your paw, and try."

Snip.—"I don't like the look of those prickles."

Hedgehog.—"Don't be a coward, Snip! Put your nose down, and feel of my nice soft back."

Whether the cunning hedgehog really cheated him by any such remarks as these, I cannot say. But Snip at last mustered courage enough to put his nose down to the ball. Rash Snip! Up rose the bristles, and pricked him so that he ran back to the house, howling and yelping as if he had been shot.

Having put Snip to flight, the hedgehog quietly unrolled itself, thrust out its queer little head with the long snout, and crept along on its way rejoicing. As for Snip, I am quite sure he will never put his nose to the back of a hedgehog again, as long as he lives.

Charles Selwyn.

I took up my gun, and I said, "Now why,
Little black monkey, should you not die?
I'll hit you soon in a vital part,
It may be your head, or it may be your heart."
I steadied the gun, and I aimed it true:
The trigger it snapped, and the bullet it flew;
But just where it went to, I cannot tell,
For I never could see where that bullet fell.
Little black monkey still sat in the tree,
And placidly, wickedly, grinned at me:
I took up my gun, and walked away,
And postponed his death till another day.

Laura E. Richards.

THE LITTLE SCISSORS-GRINDER.

Willie is a three-year-old darling. This summer he visited his aunt in the city, and was very much interested in the curious sights and sounds which abound there.

A few days after his return home, when his mamma sat on the piazza with some friends, Willie marched up the gravel path with his little wheelbarrow on his back.

He stopped at the foot of the steps, set his burden down, resting it upon the handles, so that it stood upright. Then holding it with one hand, and rolling the wheel with the other, he kept his foot rising and falling, just as if he were at work with a genuine treadle. He looked very sober, and said, "Please, madam, have you any scissors to sharpen?"

The ladies handed him several pairs, which he ground in the best style, trying the edge with his finger, and at last passing them to the owner with the request for ten cents.

Mamma gave him a bit of paper, which he put into his pocket, returning the change in the form of two leaves.

When he had finished his task, he shouldered the wheelbarrow, and was saying "Good-afternoon," when one of the party ran after him, calling to him to kiss her.

"Scissors-grinders don't kiss," he said; but the fun sparkled in his bright black eye, and he burst into a hearty laugh, which must have been a relief to the merry boy after being sober so long.

Mrs. G.

Words by Marian Douglas. Music by T. Crampton.

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

1. The north winds blow o'er drifts of snow.
Out in the cold who goes from here?
"Good-by! good-by!" loud voices cry;
"Good-by!" returns the brave Old Year.
But looking back what word leaves he?
"Oh, you must all good children be!"
2. A knock, a knock! 'tis twelve o'clock!
This time of night, pray who comes here?
Oh, now I see, 'tis he! 'tis he!
All people know the glad New Year!
What has he brought? and what says he?
"Oh, you must all good children be!"

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

HE publication of "The Nursery" was begun in 1867. The work met a want which was then wholly unsupplied, and it was at once received with a high degree of public favor. Since then it has gone on increasing, from year to year, in circulation and in reputation,—maintaining its supremacy over all imitators and rivals,—and it now holds a firmly established place among first-class American periodicals, and is admitted to be the best magazine in the world for the class of readers to whom it is addressed.

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Sixteen volumes. 32mo. Tastefully bound. Price, per volume, $1.00

These inexpensive editions of the most popular living poets, are tasteful, excellently printed, and well illustrated.

Besides giving the above as premiums, we offer them for sale, postpaid, at the prices named.

We will give as a Premium for two Subscriptions, at 1.60 each, any book the price of which does not exceed One Dollar. It may be selected from any publisher's catalogue.

MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES.

A small Rubber Pencil Case.—Gold-tipped. Price	1.00
A small Writing-Desk.—Embossed cloth; made to contain paper, envelopes, etc. Price	1.00
A Patent Pocket Tool-Holder.—It is made of hard Maple. In it are neatly packed 20 cast steel tools. It can be carried in the pocket, and yet the tools it contains are so many and so varied, and of such convenient size, as to make it almost a necessity to any boy or to any family. Price	1.00
A Pocket Knife.—Two blades. Nice English steel. Very neat. Price	1.00
A nice Morocco Portmonnaie.—Made of the best materials. New pattern. Price	1.00
A Butter Knife.—Silver-plated. Extra quality. Price	1.00
A Sugar-Shell.—Extra quality. Silver-plated. A handsome pattern. Price	1.00
A Gold-Plated Pencil.—Price	1.00
A neat Portfolio.—Beautifully embossed, well made, with four pockets, and blotting-paper, lock and key. Price	1.00