Chapter 1

Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. Music by Linda Cantoni.

THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXIII.--No. 2.

Contents.

IN PROSE.

PAGE Ebony and Lucy 34 Daisy 37 My First Attempt at Fishing 40 New Method of Catching Mice 43 Jamie Canfield's Sand-Heap 45 Dick's Dream 47 Drawing Lesson 49 Romeo the Shirk 51 Tied Not Mated 54 My Kitten 55 A Lesson in Flying 58 How Little Edith Went to Sleep 62

IN VERSE

PAGE The Terrible Trio 35 Shy Little Pansy 41 A Song for Baby 44 Three Little Chicks 50 Mother's Last Look 53 "Lullaby!" 60 Blow, Blow, East Wind (_with music_) 64

EBONY AND LUCY.

THE TERRIBLE TRIO.

THESE are the robbers,--the terrible three! In showing no mercy they all agree; They fill the woods with their war-whoops dire: Policemen and soldiers, beware, retire!

Rinaldo's the name of the captain: you learn His rank from his cap, and his frown so stern. The next is Grimaldi, a desperate fellow! His eyes they are blue, and his hair it is yellow.

The youngest but dreadfulest of them all Has a terrible name that I cannot recall: 'Tis hard to pronounce; and it's well, perhaps, That memory here has suffered a lapse.

Oh! doesn't it make you all shudder to look At their likenesses even, all here in a book?-- Rinaldo the fierce, and Grimaldi the grim, And that young, nameless bandit, so bold and so trim.

But if you should meet with this terrible band, Now don't run away, but come quick to a stand: Be humble and quiet, and don't act amiss, And all that they'll rob you of, will be--a kiss!

IDA FAY.

DAISY.

A FRIEND of mine, Mr. S., had a beautiful colt named Daisy, who was the pet of all the family. She was so tame she would put her head in at the open windows to see what was going on in the house; and very often, when she saw the front-door open, she would go up the steps of the piazza, and deliberately march into the hall. No one ever struck Daisy with a whip, or even a switch. A little slap of the hand, and a "Go out, Daisy," were all that were necessary.

Mrs. S. had a new cook; and one day she set a pan of custard on the back-porch to cool. When she went out to get it, an hour or two after, she found nothing but the empty pan. Molly ran to Mrs. S. in great distress, and told her of the loss of the custard. "Ah!" said Mrs. S., "then Daisy has eaten it." And, sure enough, Daisy was the thief.

Another time the naughty colt put her head in the kitchen-window, and ate up some apple-pies that were on the table. All this was very bad indeed, but Daisy was always forgiven because she was so lovely and gentle. She would follow any of the family about the grounds, and rub her head against them to show how much she loved them.

One day a man came to Mr. S.'s house to make a visit. He was not in the habit of visiting the family, and so had not made Daisy's acquaintance. After tea, Mr. S. and his visitor were standing on the piazza, when Daisy came trotting up, as she always did when she saw one of the family there, and opened her mouth, expecting Mr. S. to put a piece of bread or apple in. The stranger did not understand this little trick, and (coarse man that he was!) spat a quantity of tobacco-juice into Daisy's face. Poor little Daisy! She hung her head down, and walked off under the trees, where she stood looking very miserable.

The next morning Mr. S. asked his visitor to walk with him through his grounds; and, as they were walking along, they passed a place where Daisy, who still looked as if she felt insulted and injured, was quietly grazing.

As soon as she saw her enemy (as she must have considered him), she pricked up her ears as if some happy idea had come into her head. She gave herself a little shake, and, walking behind him until she was quite near, suddenly wheeled around, and gave a kick that would have broken some of his bones, if he had not jumped out of the way just in time to escape her heels.

As it was, he was very much frightened, and looked very mean; for he knew that a kick was just what he deserved for his vulgarity and insolence.

Daisy had never been known to kick at anybody before, and she never kicked anybody afterwards.

A.

THE FAMOUS MOZART BAND.

THE famous Mozart Band, as everybody ought to know, was formed in our village. It has serenaded almost every family on the street; and there is no end to the money (in the form of beans and smooth stones) that has been poured into the hat carried round by Miss Amy, the youngest member.

The band is composed of five members, whose names are Charles, Edwin, Susan, Bella, and Amy. Charles was the founder of the band. While on a visit to his uncle in the city, he had seen a strolling band of men in the street, who played finely on trumpets and flutes. He resolved to form a band at home, and to call it the Mozart Band.

But why call it the Mozart? Well, Mozart was a wonderful musical genius, who could compose music when he was five years old, and who astonished all Germany by his skill and aptness as a performer. So Charles decided on calling his band the Mozart Band.

At great expense I have obtained a drawing of the members of the Mozart Band. Charles (first drum) is the leader; Edwin (second drum) is next in rank; Amy (trumpet) is the next, for she owns the trumpet, and so comes before the other two ladies, who are merely vocal performers, by which I mean singers.

Now, if you want to hear the famous Mozart Band, you must come to our village. Performances take place every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, and sometimes oftener. If you come, you must bring some money to put into Amy's hat; for the band cannot afford to play for nothing. They are getting to be so famous that I should not wonder if they were to have an invitation soon to come on to New York or Boston, and give a concert in one of the large halls.

AUNT CECILIA.

MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT FISHING.

WHEN I was seven years old, my father took me down to the river to fish. I had a nice new line, and a little hook that I bought of a peddler the week before. My father cut me a pole from the woods near by; and I caught a grasshopper for bait.

I tried to put the grasshopper on the hook, but I pricked my finger: so my father put it on for me. Then I threw in my line, and kept moving it up and down.

Pretty soon I thought I felt a bite, and called out to my father, "O father, I've got a fish!" I pulled it up, and what do you think I had caught? You could not guess in a week. It was my sister's old rag baby.

FRANK LYNN.

SHY LITTLE PANSY.

"WHY so shy, my Pansy, Tell me why so shy? Mother's arms are round thee; This is grandma by. She can tell you stories Of the time, my dear, When she was a little girl Just like Pansy here.

"Once there was a dolly, And its name was Bess; Grandma then, like Pansy, Was--how old? Now guess! Just the age of Pansy! Well, one night, you see"-- "Grandma," said the little girl, "Take me on your knee."

Pansy's shyness melted; Grandma won the day: Now hugged tight in grandma's arms Little Pansy lay; And she heard a story Of a doll so fine, Left out on the cold, cold ground, Where no sun could shine.

And the snow fell slowly, Softly fell, like down, Till a heap of drifted flakes Covered dolly's gown. Yes, it hid and covered All the bright blue dress, Then her hair and rosy cheeks-- Poor forsaken Bess!

Dolly's little mother Hunted for her child; But no trace of her was seen Till the air grew mild. When the snow was melted, There was dolly found, With her silken dress all soiled On the muddy ground.

EMILY CARTER.

NEW METHOD OF CATCHING MICE.

PERHAPS some of your youthful readers will be glad to know how I catch mice. If you think so, you are at liberty to publish the following; for I do not intend to apply for a patent.

One evening last week we made some molasses candy; and, as too much of it, eaten before going to bed, is not good for the teeth, I spread some on a baking-tin, and set it away to cool for the next day.

It was not cooked enough to harden thoroughly; and a little mouse had the curiosity to taste it; but, the moment his feet touched it, they stuck fast, and he could not get away.

His cries for help brought two other mice to his assistance; but they shared the same fate, the molasses candy holding all three prisoners.

When I found them the next morning, all three were stuck fast. This shows what a useful thing molasses candy is to have in a house, and is a warning to all mice not to meddle with it.

ARTHUR F. CORBIN. GOUVERNEUR, N.Y.

A SONG FOR BABY.

NUTS for all the baby-birds In the merry budding spring; Roses, where the dusty bees May sip and cling.

Shade for all the pretty lambs That in the summer stray; Hedges, where the crickets chirp Their time away.

Holes, where nimble squirrels hide When autumn hours are chill; Heaping barns, where horse and cow Have shelter still.

Homes for rabbit, mouse, and mole, When winter strews the ground; But mother's arms for baby dear The whole year round!

GEORGE COOPER.

JAMIE CANFIELD'S SAND-HEAP.

JAMIE CANFIELD is a three-year-old boy who lives in Lawrence, Kansas, the prettiest town in the State. He and Freddy Bassett, a four-year-old neighbor, love to play in the dirt; and their mammas allow them to do it, because it is so healthy.

It certainly has proved to be so in Jamie's case; for he was quite pale and delicate in the spring, and now he is brown and rugged, and ready to eat all the food he can get. But dear me! he used to get so dirty!

What was the use of washing him, and putting on clean dresses and aprons, when he was constantly throwing aside his other playthings, and making mud pies, or carting earth in his little red wagon?

His papa laughed and said, "Oh, never mind! Dirt is good for him." But mamma thought it was not very good for his clothes; and, besides, she wanted him to be clean enough to kiss without being washed every time he came into the house.

So she said one day to his papa, "James, I think it would be a good idea to get a load of sand for Jamie to play in. It will at least be cleaner than that dust-heap."

That very day up came a load of yellow, shining sand. It was heaped into a shady corner by mamma's bedroom-door, and Jamie and Freddy dived into it at once.

They made pies; they dug holes, and filled them with water for wells; they made mountains with caves in their sides, and every thing else they could think of. When dinner-time came, Jamie had to be coaxed away from his sand-heap; and mamma said she believed he would sleep in it, if he were allowed to.

After dinner, as soon as he waked from his nap, he went straight to his sand again. Freddy was there before him; and soon Minnie Rich, a little girl eleven years old, came out, and played with them.

She knew how to work sand better than any of them. First she wet it. Then she made a house with holes in the sides for doors and windows, and a chip for a chimney. Then she made a smooth lawn in front of the house, and some hills and valleys in the rear, fenced in a yard, and set out some flowers.

The boys were delighted; and mamma went to the door more than once to look at the plantation, as Jamie called it, before it was finished. It was really quite a pretty thing, and Jamie declared his intention of keeping it just as it was. But the hot sun dried the sand, so that the house crumbled away; and the two boys were soon digging and shovelling in their own way as before.

JAMIE'S MAMMA.

DICK'S DREAM.

"YES, step right down upon me, and kill me, if you like," said Mrs. Tarantula to Dick, as they met at the schoolhouse door. "This is a hard world, Dick Adams, and I am about tired of living in it.

"You don't know what a fine home I once had! It was in that clay mound; and, when I had dug me a hole fully a foot deep and an inch across, my jaws and my eight legs were quite tired out. I left some small stones on the side for stairs: I lined the hole with brown silk next to the dirt, and with white satin inside, both of which I spun and wove on the spot.

"My nice round lid fitted so snug and even, that I thought no one but myself ever could find my house. But, last week, your brother Will's sharp eyes spied the round ring that marks my nest; and he went and tore the lid from its hinges, and left my hundred and ten children without a roof to cover their heads. _How I would like to bite that boy!_

"I found the lid, and tried to fasten it down again; but a heavy shower came up, and I could not fix it in the rain. Then my husband came over from his house. You know our husbands never live with the rest of the family. They are too cross and get too hungry at times.

"We were not on very good terms; for, some time before, when he thought I was away from home, he tried to get into my house. I heard him, and, running up stairs, I put my claws in the two little holes in the lining of the lid, and braced myself so that he could not pry open the lid. He said he only wanted to pay me a visit; but I knew he was hungry, and wanted to eat up our children.

"But now he spoke very kindly to me, and told me that my lid could not be fixed on; but, as my children were now old enough to care for themselves, I had better go home with him. I went to his house to talk it over and forgot to give the children their supper, and tell them to work for themselves after this.

"My husband told me a few days after that my boys and girls got into a fight, and, before they quit, ate each other up; but he was away from home for two days, and looked very full when he came back.

"He may have told the truth; but I can't see how one of my little ones could eat the other one hundred and nine, and then swallow himself too."

This is what Dick Adams dreamed that a tarantula said to him. He had seen one on his way to school, and what the teacher told him about the insect had interested him so much that he found himself dreaming about it all night.

C. M. DRAKE. SAN DIEGO, CAL.

THREE LITTLE CHICKS.

THREE little chicks, so downy and neat, Went out in search of something to eat: Ter-wit, ter-weet! Something to eat! And soon they picked up a straw of wheat.

Said one little chick, "That belongs to me!" Said the other little chick, "We'll see, we'll see!" "Ter-wit, ter-weet! It is nice and sweet," Said number three: "let us share the treat!"

One little chick seized the straw in his bill, And was just preparing to eat his fill, When the other chick Stepped up so quick, He hadn't a chance for a picnic pick.

They pulled, and they tugged, the downy things; And, oh, how they flapped their baby wings! "Ter-wit, ter-weet! Something to eat! Just please let go of this bit of wheat!"

Fiercer and fiercer the battle grew, Until the straw broke right in two, And the little chicks Were in a fix, And sorry enough for their naughty tricks.

For a saucy crow has watched the fight, And laughs, "Haw, haw! It serves you right!" So he snatches the prize From before their eyes, And over the hills, and away, he flies!

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

ROMEO THE SHIRK.

SIXTY years ago, when grandpa was a boy, he had a dog called Romeo, who was made to do the work of churning butter. I never saw a churn that went by dog-power; but it must have been a clumsy affair.

The task could not have been an agreeable one, and I do not wonder that Romeo did not like it. One morning, when the churn was taken out, and the cream was all ready to be made into butter, there was no Romeo to be found. Long and loud were the calls made for him; but he did not answer to his name.

The churning was done that day without his help. Nothing was seen of him until just before dark, when he came into the house with the air of a prodigal son. He did not walk up like an honest dog to get his supper, but slunk under a table.

The family had agreed to neither chide him nor caress him; but grandfather, who was then a little boy, slyly carried him some supper. Romeo ate it greedily, but looked unhappy all the time as though he knew he had done wrong. It was plain that his conscience was smiting him.

The next week, when churning-time came, Romeo did not try to get away. He stood by watching while the cream was made ready; and, when his master whistled for him to take his place at the churn, he came forward, wagging his tail, as much as to say, "I am not going to be a shirk. I was not half so happy the day I ran away as I should have been if I had done my work cheerfully. I will never be caught shirking again." And he never was.

DAISY'S MAMMA.

MOTHER'S LAST LOOK.

THEY'RE asleep, So I'll keep Very still, and peep: Not too bright, Candle-light Is for them to night.

Saturday Makes them gay, And they've had their play: Sled and shout Have, no doubt, Tired them fairly out.

Once in bed, Prayers were said By each curly-head: But, before Half was o'er, They saw slumber-shore.

Darlings! may Angels stay, Bless and for you pray! May their love, Like a dove, Watch you from above!

EMILY CARTER.

TIED, NOT MATED.

ONE fine summer day, Master Fritz took his mother's greyhound, Leda, and his father's spaniel, Neptune, out for a run. They were quite ready for a frolic, for they had been tied up in the barn all the forenoon, and had been longing for Fritz to come.

So off they went; and, after they had gone some distance, Fritz thought it would be fine fun, as he had in his pocket a piece of string, to tie the two dogs together, and play they were a span of horses.

No sooner had he got them well tied than some one called him, and off he ran, leaving the two dogs tied, but not mated. They roamed about a while over the fields and meadows, till they came to the pond.

Now, the dogs could not talk in our language; but they made certain noises, which meant, I think, just this: "Here's a chance for a fine swim!" cried Neptune. "Come, Leda, the water is nice and cool."

"I'd rather not go in," said Leda. "I'm not a very good swimmer, and I easily take cold. Pray don't drag me in. Come back and have a race in the meadow."

"Oh, it's too fine, too fine!" barked Neptune; and he began to lap up water with his tongue.

Leda pulled back, and cried, "Oh, don't!"

But the temptation was too great for Neptune. In he pulled poor Leda, and swam about with her till she was chilled through.

Fritz's father, Mr. Pitman, passing that way, saw the dogs, and called them out. Glad enough was Leda to get on dry land. She shivered; but Neptune shook himself till he drenched her all over.

Then Mr. Pitman untied the dogs, and, taking some dry grass, gave Leda a good rubbing till she felt warm and brisk.

Then she began to bark at Neptune, and to caper round him, as much as to say, "Did you not serve me a pretty trick, sir? But I shall not let Master Fritz tie me to you again. Never, never!"

ALFRED SELWYN.

MY KITTEN.

I WANT to tell you about my kitten, and some of her funny ways. She is black and white, and her name is Beauty.

I have great sport making her run up and down the room after my ball. But a little piece of string is the best plaything for her. She will jump right up on my shoulder to catch it.

If I throw a newspaper on the floor, she will jump upon it, and tear holes in it, making believe that she hears a mouse under it. This she seems to do to amuse me; for, as soon as I stop looking at her, she will go away and lie down. But she is growing fast, and soon will be a grave old cat.

VIOLA DAY.

A LESSON IN FLYING.

BIRDS have their trials as well as little boys and girls. To be sure they don't have to stand in a line, and shout "Twice one are two" at the top of their voices; but they have to learn to fly, and I think it very likely that they take singing-lessons, although I am not sure as to that.