Chapter 1

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THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XIII.--No. 5

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.

Mabel's Cow 129

Harry and the Big Pop-Corner 131

What Dempsey is proud of 134

What Mamie did 136

Snip's Story 139

The Brindled Cow 142

Naming the Kitten 144

Little Gilbert 146

What Birdie saw in Town 148

Prince and Tip 151

The Napoleon Violets 153

The Life of a Sparrow 154

Little Mischief 158

IN VERSE.

Jenny and Timothy Wren 135

Baby in the High Chair 140

Guess 150

Mistress Mouse 152

The Kitten (_with music_) 160

MABEL'S COW.

Harry wanted to go to bed earlier than usual that night; and, before seven o'clock, he ran to the kitchen to ask Patty to put the coals in the pan. Patty took a shovel, and first put in some hot ashes. "What is that for?" said Harry.

"So the sheets will not be burned," said Patty. Then she put in some glowing coals, and told Harry that the warming-pan was ready.

Harry called his mamma; and they went up to the square front-room. Patty gave the cold sheets a good warming while mamma was unbuttoning the little shoes and clothes; and, when Harry had got on his night-gown, he said, "Now for a good jump,--one, two, three, four, and away!"

Then he sprang into the warm nest; and such a shout as the little fellow gave made even grandpa start from his rocking-chair. "Oh, goody! oh, how _jolly_! oh, how splendid!" said Harry. "I thought grandpapa's house was splendid in the summer; but it is a great deal _splendider_ in the winter.

"But, mamma," continued he, "won't I have a nice story to tell Charlie and Susie when I get home, about this big pop-corner?"

MAMMA.

WHAT DEMPSEY IS PROUD OF.

"WHAT are you proudest of?" said Mattie to Bertie. "I'm proudest of my new red-top boots," said Bertie. "_I'm_ proudest of my new black hat," said Clay. Mattie was proudest of her muff and boa. Little Bell was proudest of her wax doll.

But Dempsey had the queerest pride of all. He had no boots or mittens; and his clothes were coarse and worn. What had he to be proud of? This is what he said, "I'm proudest of my papa's wooden leg." The other little people were too polite to laugh at him; but they looked at him with wonder.

"Let me tell you," said he, "why I'm proud of my papa's wooden leg. One time when there was a war, and men were wanted to help fight the battles, my papa took his gun, and went into the army. And when there was a great battle, and men were shot down all around him, my papa stood beside the man that held the flag. And, when the man was killed, my papa would not let the flag fall, but took it in his own hands. Then the soldiers on the other side fired at the flag with a big cannon; and the ball took off my papa's leg. He was sick a long time; but he got a letter from his commander that said he was a brave man, and had done his duty nobly. This is why I am proud of my papa's wooden leg."

Mattie and Bertie and Clay and Bell all thought that this was a pretty story; and Clay said, "Dempsey is right. He has something more to be proud of than any of us."

FANNIE.

JENNY AND TIMOTHY WREN.

SWEET little, neat little Miss Jenny Wren, On a white hawthorn spray, In the bright month of May, Sat chirping so sweet,-- "Pewhit and pewheet," Where daisies unfold. And kingcups of gold Shine out on a glad May morning.

Down-crested, brown-breasted Timothy Wren, As he fluttered along, Trilled the snatch of a song; Then chirruped her name As near her he came, And told of his love, As meek as a dove, To Jenny, that bright May morning.

"Hear, Jenny, dear Jenny, sweet Jenny Wren: If you'll be my own wife, I will love you through life; We'll gather the moss, Soft feathers, and floss; And build us a nest, The neatest and best, And sing through the bright May mornings."

May blossoms, gay blossoms, curtained their nest: Through the tiny mouse-hole, Little Jenny she stole; There, of no one afraid, Ten fine eggs she laid, While Timothy dear Sang blithely and clear, "How sweet are the bright May mornings!"

GEORGE BENNETT.

WHAT MAMIE DID.

MAMIE is a little girl five years old, with bright black eyes, and rosy red cheeks.

She is very fond of "The Nursery," as are a great many other Mamies.

Now, which Mamie is this story about? They are all wondering, but cannot tell certainly, till they have heard it read.

Well, one cold winter's day, _this_ little Mamie came to her mother with a very urgent request. What do you suppose it was? To go out coasting? No.

To go to visit her little friend Nellie? No.

To take a sleigh-ride with her papa? Wrong again.

Ah! you can never guess, and I will tell you.

It was this: "O mamma! do put on my things, and let me go out and get _ex_scribers for 'The Nursery.'"

Mamma shook her head; though she could not help laughing at the little girl's mistake, for she meant _sub_scribers. It _is_ a hard word; but this little Mamie knew the meaning well.

"O mamma! _please_ do; for you know _I_ love it. And Jennie and Katie and Bessie will love it too, if they only _know_ about it; and, besides, I can get a present, if I send some new names to 'The Nursery' man."

Little Mamie was so urgent in her request, that her mother asked papa what he thought about it.

Papa said, "Oh, let her try if she wants to: it will do no harm." How the black eyes danced! and the little feet could hardly keep still, while mamma dressed her up very warmly, till she was just about as large one way as the other.

"Now, mamma, for my muff; and, oh! I must have a 'Nursery' to show." So, with a "Nursery" sticking out of one end of the little muff, this Mamie started on her errand. All the way along to Bessie's house, she kept saying, _sub_scribe, _sub_scribe, so that she might not make another mistake in the word.

She was gone but an hour, and returned with the names of six children, who were to be made glad each month by the visits of Mamie's friend.

Mamie was full of glee, and could hardly eat any supper, so anxious was she for her papa to send the names to Boston.

Well, they were all sent; and the six little friends have been made glad by receiving each a "Nursery" of her own; and next month they will be glad again, and so on for a whole year.

Did Mamie get a present? Oh, yes! She got a present from "The Nursery" man, which she values very highly.

Now, can you tell _which_ little Mamie this is?

MARY MYRTLE.

SNIP'S STORY.

MY name is Snip. You can read it on my collar: though why my master put it there I can't tell; for everybody knows me, and almost everybody is my friend. People stop in the street to pat me; the little children love to have me play with them, because I never snarl and bite; and the butcher round the corner saves me a bone every day. I think butchers are very nice men.

Every morning I go down street to get the newspaper for my master. The bookseller always has it rolled up, waiting for me, and puts it in my mouth; and back I trot as fast as my legs will go. To-day I had a hard time of it; for, just as I got nicely started for home, some bad boys who were playing in the road saw me, and thought it would be fine fun to catch me, and take my paper away.

They ran after me, hooting and yelling; and I was so frightened, that I trembled all over. But I could run faster than they; and they soon gave up the chase. That was not the end, though; for one of them threw a stone after me, which hit me on one of my paws, and so I came home limping. But do you suppose I let the newspaper drop? Not a bit of it.

I have been barking at this door a long time; and yet nobody comes to open it. I wonder where my master is, that he doesn't hear me. Perhaps he is asleep. I am very hungry for my dinner; and I should like to get into the house, and lie down in my corner by the kitchen-fire.

I can push open the garden-gate with my nose; but this door won't move a bit when I put my paws on it. I wonder why dogs can't open doors as well as gates. I am going to bark again. Bow-wow-wow! There! Didn't you hear a footstep? Yes: there comes some one to let me in.

H. B.

BABY IN HER HIGH CHAIR.

HERE I am all ready: here's my little plate Wants some 'tato on it: papa, you'll be late. Here's the milk a-waiting in my silver cup; I'm so hungry! will somebody please to push me up.

Didn't see me, did you, scrambling up my chair? Got up all alone too; would you think I'd dare? Got my clothes all twisted; 'fraid I mussed my curls: What did papa say about frowsy-headed girls?

Dear, I have such troubles! people are so slow! Don't they want some supper, I should like to know? There's a fly gone swimming in my silver cup; And I can't quite reach him, 'cause I'm not pushed up.

Here's my mamma coming; here come Sue and Fred; Now there goes the ding-dong, just as if it said, "Little folks and big folks, time to come and sup!" Thank you, papa, thank you, for pushing Bessie up.

HELEN BARRON BOSTWICK.

THE BRINDLED COW.

THE cow is in the pasture, feeding. The pasture has been wet with the rain, and the grass is fresh and sweet. The rain makes the grass grow.

The sun is hot, and the cow has lain down under a shady tree. She is chewing her cud. It is nice and cool in the shade.

But the flies bite her, and plague her. She tries to scare them off; but they come again. Then she gets up, and rubs her nose against the tree.

Now she is standing in the water. The water feels cool to her feet; but the flies still plague her. She splashes the water to drive the flies away.

By and by the milk-maid comes out, and calls, "Co-boss, co-boss!" The cow hears her, and walks slowly along to the barn.

The cow stands quite still while the maid is milking her. But is not the maid seated on the wrong side of the cow? My cow would kick the pail over if I should milk her in that way.

W. O. C.

NAMING THE KITTEN.

"WHAT shall be the kitten's name?" asked Rachel of her younger sister, who stood holding up her apron, and begging to take the little pet.

"It is _my_ kitten," pleaded Alice; "and I ought to have it."

"The old cat evidently thinks it is _her_ kitten. Hark! Hear her mew! 'Mine, mine, mine,' she seems to say."

"Oh!" said Alice, "I can soon quiet the old cat with a saucer of milk. Come, give me the kitten; that's a good Rachel!"

"Well, I will give it to you on one condition."

"Name it: perhaps I can grant it."

"The condition is, that you give the kitten a name,--a name that I shall approve of."

"Oh! that I can do right off. We will call her Arabella."

"Nonsense! that is too long and grand a name for a kitten. It will do very well for a proud lady-doll from Paris, but not for this little scratcher."

"How would you like the name of Betsy?"

"Not at all. I think it a homely sort of name."

"Well, will any of these do?--Pet, Muff, Tabby, Tit, Tip-top, Scamper, Nap, Mop, Pop, Grab?"

"I think you must have got those from some story-book."

"You guessed right that time," said Alice. "Name the kitten yourself, if none of my names will satisfy you. Put her in my lap, and I will get some cream, and let her lap it."

"Lappit, did you say? That's a new name, and a good one!" cried Rachel. "You have hit upon a name at last. We will call the kitten Lappit. Now hold up your apron, and I will put Lappit in your lap."

Alice laughed at her sister's play upon the word; and, taking the kitten in her apron, she ran off into the garden, followed by the old cat.

LITTLE GILBERT.

A TRUE STORY.

MANY years ago a little boy, named Gilbert, lived in a small town in New Brunswick, on the banks of the St. John River. The river is deep and swift; and Gilbert's papa had often warned him not to go too near the brink.

One day, when the little fellow was about six years old, he went with his papa down to the river; and, while his papa stopped to talk with a friend, Gilbert wandered along the shore.

He took with him his fishing-rod, and thought it would be fine fun to catch a fish all by himself: so he went close to the edge of the water, and dropped in his line.

After waiting a few minutes without getting a bite, he thought he would walk out on a raft that he saw close by, and try his luck in a new spot. He crept along till he reached the outer edge of the raft; but then, as he threw out his line, his little bare feet slipped, and over he went, plump into the river. A splash, a scream, and down he went.

At the time of this story, there were a good many Indians in New Brunswick; and a party of them were in camp in the woods near the river. They were harmless, peaceable Indians, and very friendly to the boys of the neighborhood, who liked to visit their tents, and see them weave baskets, and make bows and arrows, and scarlet slippers, and other pretty things.

Luckily for Gilbert, an Indian boy happened to be fishing near the raft, and saw him slip off into the water. Although the Indian boy was not much older than Gilbert, he was larger and stronger, and he knew how to swim. In an instant he plunged into the river, seized the poor little drowning boy, and brought him to the land safe and sound.

His papa took him in his arms, all wet and dripping, and, after thanking the brave Indian boy for his noble deed, hurried home, scolding Gilbert by the way for disobedience. Poor little Gilbert was very miserable. It was not at all nice to be wet and frightened and scolded all at once; and, worse than all, he feared he would be punished when he got home.

So, when his papa carried him into the kitchen, it was a great comfort to the little fellow to see his good grandmother sitting by the fire. She was very fond of Gilbert; and, when she saw what a plight he was in, she begged his papa not to punish the dear child this time, saying she was sure he had been punished enough already by his fright and his ducking.

His papa was so happy to have his little boy alive and safe, that it was easy to forgive him; and in a little while Gilbert was dressed in dry clothes, and sat down on his little stool before the fire to eat a red apple which his grandmother had brought him.

That night, when little Gilbert said his prayer, he put in at the end, "God bless the brave Indian boy who saved my life!"

MUZ-MUZ.

WHAT BIRDIE SAW IN TOWN.

"BIRDIE," you must know, is a little girl three and a half years old. Her real name is Maud; but "Birdie" is her pet name.

One day she went to the city in the horse-cars with her mamma. They waited on the corner of the street till a car came in sight; then Birdie held up her little fat finger, and the conductor saw it, and stopped the car.

After they were seated, the conductor called out, "Fares, ladies!" And Maud said to him, "Here is mamma's ticket; and won't you please leave us at grandpa's house?" He smiled, and nodded his head, and Birdie felt satisfied; for she thought he must know, of course, where grandpa lived.

When they reached town, mamma took her into a store where birds are kept for sale; and Birdie saw, to her great delight, hundreds of canary-birds, and a good many bright-colored parrots. It was very funny indeed to hear them all singing and chattering together.

There were two beautiful birds in a large cage, taking their morning bath. They would jump down into their little bath-tub, dip their heads in the water, and then plunge in all over; then they would perch on the side of the tub, shake the bright drops from their feathers, and seem to be enjoying themselves as much as Birdie herself does when mamma puts her into her bath-tub.

Then there were some squirrels in a cage that went round and round; and Birdie thought she should never get tired of looking at them, with their bushy tails and bright black eyes. She saw them crack some nuts with their little sharp teeth.

There were also a great many goldfishes in a little pond; and Birdie watched them darting through the water, and thought how nice it would be to have some of them at home.

One thing more Birdie saw, which pleased her very much. On the corner of the street stood a man with a basket on his arm; and in it were four or five little black-and-white puppies ("baby-dogs" Birdie called them), all cuddled up in a heap, and looking very comfortable in their wicker-carriage.

The little girl took good care to point out all the sights to Daisy, her doll, whom she carried in her arms, and who always has to take an airing when her little mistress does.

FLORENCE.

GUESS.

I SEE two lilies, white as snow, That mother loves and kisses so; Dearer they are than gold or lands: Guess me the lilies,--baby's hands!

I know a rosebud fairer far Than any buds of summer are; Sweeter than sweet winds of the south: Guess me the rosebud,--baby's mouth!

I've found a place where shines the sun: Yes, long, long, after day is done; Oh! how it loves to linger there: Guess me the sunshine,--baby's hair!

There are two windows where I see My own glad face peep out at me; These windows beam like June's own skies: Guess me the riddle,--baby's eyes!

GEORGE COOPER.

PRINCE AND TIP.

PRINCE is a small shaggy dog, of a light-brown color. Tip is also a small dog, but is black, and has short, smooth hair. They are very fond of each other, and frolic together like two kittens.