Chapter 2

"Now look here, Tom," said his brother Sam, a sturdy little chap, who was always trying to keep Tom in order; "this won't do. You go into the house and get your cap. Go quick, or you'll get this snowball right in your face."

"Fire away!" said Tom, dancing around, and putting up his arm to keep off the snowball.

"I'm going to have a hand in this game," said Joe, aiming a snowball at Sam. "Look out for yourself, old fellow."

"Clear the track!" cried Bill and Ned, rolling a huge snowball down the hill.

Mrs. O'Sullivan, who was just going up the back-steps to ask for cold victuals, looked around to see what was going on; while Charles had his own fun in dragging his little sister up the hill on her sled.

All this time, a little boy named Jim, who had been having a private coast in the field near the house, was peeping over the fence, and wishing he were old enough to play with the other boys. He didn't venture to join them, for he was bashful, and rather timid: but he saw all that took place, and he will remember all about it when he sees this picture.

UNCLE SAM.

OLD WHITEY.

I AM a great boy six years old, and I take "The Nursery." Some of the stories I spell out myself; but the most of them mamma reads aloud to my little brother Albert and me.

Last summer, we all went to visit an uncle who lives on a large farm. We had just the best kind of a time. There was a big dog, named Rover, that would play with us for hours. He would run after and bring back a ball or stick, or any thing that we would throw for him. He would "speak," "roll over," "sit up and read," and do lots of funny tricks.

Then there was a white horse twenty-five years old, and just as sleek and fat as a colt. Old Whitey has lived on the farm ever since he was a little colt. Old as he is, he is still able to do a great deal of work.

One day Uncle Wash was ploughing, and he put me on the back of Old Whitey. Well, I liked that very much, and began to cluck, and jerk the reins, to make him go along; when in an instant, without any warning, he pricked up his ears, kicked up his heels, and ran away, leaving the plough behind.

I can't tell you how scared I was. I held on as long as I could; but it was of no use. The old horse ran through swamps and bogs, and dropped me, head first, in the mud and dirt. I was hurt on my head and side, but I would not cry because I was too big for that. When the men got to me, I was hunting for my hat.

After getting rid of his load, the runaway coolly walked up to the barn, and stood looking as mild as a lamb. I didn't have any faith in Old Whitey after that, though his master said he never knew him to do such a thing before.

NELSON. WOODSTOCK, VT.

FRED AND NED.

"OH, this is weather for play, for play! And I will not go to school to-day," Said Master Frederic Philip Fay.

So he hung his satchel upon a tree: And over the hills to the pond went he, To frolic, and see what he could see.

He met a boy on the way to school, And said, "Ned Foster, you're a fool To study and plod because it's the rule."

Quoth Ned, "You'll find that _he's_ the fool Who, for his pleasure, shirks his school: Sun, moon, and stars, all go by rule."

Then Ned passed cheerily on his way, And not another word did say To Master Frederic Philip Fay.

Fred sat him down on a rock near by, And cast a look on the bright blue sky, And then at the sun, that was mounting high.

"Yes, truly, the sun has no time for play: He has to go in a certain way," Said Master Frederic Philip Fay.

"Oh! what would become of us all, suppose The sun, some morn, should say, as he rose, 'A truant I'll be to-day--here goes!'

"Then off should whirl in a mad career, And leave it all night and winter here,-- No blue in the sky, no flower to cheer?

"Yes, there is a duty for every one, For Master Fay, as well as the sun: A law must be minded, a task must be done."

Up started Frederic Philip Fay: He took from the tree his satchel away, And ran off to school without delay.

IDA FAY.

WHY DO THEY ALL LOVE FREDDY?

"BUT do they all love Freddy, mamma?"

"I think there is no doubt of it, Freddy. The cat loves you; for she will let you pull her about, and never try to scratch you."

"Yes; and I think old Towser loves me. He lets me get on his back: he never bites me."

"I would like to catch him at it--biting my little Freddy! He knows too much for that; and, besides, he loves you."

"But does the old cow love me, mamma?"

"Why, didn't she let you play with her calf, and never try to hook you? The old cow loves Freddy, and will give him all the fresh milk he wants."

"The hens love me because I feed them."

"Yes, the hens love you; and, more than that, the little sparrows love you; for they follow you, and hop about your feet, as if they wanted to say, 'Good-morning, Freddy! We all love you, Freddy.'"

"But I will tell you one beast that does not love me, mamma. The old sow does not love me."

"Don't you believe it, little boy! The old sow loves you just as well as Towser does; just as well as the cow does; just as well as old Scamper, the horse, loves you."

"I should like to be sure that the sow loves me."

"Come with me, and I will put you on her back; and, if she does not like it, it will be a sign that she does not love you; but, if she does like it, it will be a sign that she loves my little Freddy just as much as the others do."

So mamma took Freddy, and placed him on the back of the old sow. The old sow gave a look over her ears, saw it was Freddy, and then uttered a contented grunt, as much as to say, "All right! Freddy, you are a darling, and I love you."

"Did I not tell you that the old sow loved you, like the rest?"

"Yes, mamma; but why, why, do they love me? Tell me that."

Mamma snatched Freddy up in her arms, took him into the house, and then said, "I think they must love you, Freddy, because you love them. Love wins love, you know. The person who says that no one loves him should ask himself the question, 'But do I love any one?'"

IDA FAY.

HOW THE MORNING COMES.

CHEERY, cheery, Out of the dreary Dark there glows A tint of yellow, a purple gleam, A shine of silver, a brazen beam, A flush of rose; The darkness, meanwhile, flying, gone: Thus does the morning dawn.

Creeping, creeping, Daintily peeping, Hastes the light Through the window to see where lies The little girl with the sleepy eyes; Glistens bright With very joy to find the place Where lies her dreaming face.

Drowsy, drowsy, A little frowzy Gold-locked head Turns on its pillow, yawns, and winks; Lifts from its pillow, peeps, and blinks; Turns in bed; Then with a slow, reluctant shake, Is almost wide awake.

MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.

MY RABBITS.

ONE day Cousin John asked me if I would like two nice rabbits. I said I would like them very much. So he gave them to me, and I had a pen made for them.

One I called Pink, and the other White. They were very tame, and soon got to know their names. I took them out and let them run about the yard every fine day.

Once Pink ran away, and I thought he was lost. I had a long chase after him through the bushes; but I caught him at last and brought him home.

My brother George kept a lot of chickens in the yard, and while I fed my pet rabbits, he would feed his chickens.

HATTIE.

THE COUNCIL OF BUZZARDS.

THE buzzard is a large black bird, nearly as large as a turkey. He never kills that he may eat, but devours the refuse in the city streets, and the dead animals on the prairies and swamps of the Southern States. It is against the law to shoot buzzards; for they are the health officers of the South.

Here, in beautiful, sunny Louisiana, I seldom look out doors without seeing one or more buzzards slowly circling around in the air in quest of food. Before they begin to eat, they arrange themselves in a solemn row, as if holding a council, and "caw" in a very wise manner. Then one flies down, and then another, and another; and as they eat, they seem to comment on their repast. At last nothing is left of it but the bare bones to bleach in the sun. They will eat an ox in a day.

AUNT ANN. LA TECHE, LA.

A MOTHER GOOSE MELODY.

Music by ANNIE MOORE.

Three little dogs were basking in the cinders, And three little cats were playing in the windows, Three little mice popp'd out of a hole, And a piece of cheese they stole, they stole! The three little cats jump'd up in a trice, And crack'd the bones of the three little mice, The three little mice.

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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.