Chapter 2

"School is out!" cried Harry. "Peter uses too many big words for us. Hallo! there's Bob, the butcher's dog. I'm going to have a frolic with him. Good-by, drawing-master!"

And so the school was broken up. "Never did I see boys behave so in school-time," said the teacher.

I hope his pupils will be more attentive the next time he tries to teach them how to draw.

UNCLE CHARLES.

LITTLE MOSQUITO.

LITTLE Mosquito she sits on a sill,-- Whee, whee, whee! And longs for the time when the people are still, That she, in the darkness, may stab them at will,-- Whee, whee, whee!

She whets up her dagger, and looks at the moon,-- Whee, whee, whee! She says to herself, "I'll begin pretty soon To look for my victims, and sing them a tune,"-- Whee, whee, whee!

With a hum and a flutter, the way to prepare,-- Whee, whee, whee! She rises and circles about in the air; Then settles herself with a great deal of care,-- Whee, whee, whee!

But one,--more awake than he seeks to appear,-- Whee, whee, whee! Slaps little Mosquito, alight on his ear, And thus puts an end to her hopeful career,-- Whee, whee, whee!

FLETA F.

LEARNING TO IRON.

"NOW I've had my lesson in my 'Nursery Primer,'" said little five-year-old Ellen, "and I want to learn to iron clothes."

"You are rather too young to be trusted with a flat-iron," said her mother: "you might burn your fingers."

"I'll promise not to cry if I do," said Ellen. "Please let me go out and help Patience iron, mamma."

Mamma at last gave her consent; and our picture of Ellen and Patience at work at the ironing-board gives about as good likenesses of the two as their reflections in a mirror could have given.

Ellen saw how Patience used her flat-iron, and then used hers in the same way. She ironed a towel so well, that Patience praised her, and said she could not have done it better herself.

But, as she was trying to put a flat-iron on the stove, Ellen burnt her fingers so as to make her hop. She did not cry; for she remembered her promise. Patience wet a cloth with cold water, and put it on the burn; then she remembered that common brown soap was the best thing for a burn, so she spread some soap on a cotton rag and put that on. Soon the pain was gone, and Ellen ran and told her mother what had happened.

"You should not have tried to put the flat-iron on the stove," said her mother. "If your clothes had caught fire, you might have had a bad time."

"Would my dress have blazed up?" asked Ellen.

"I take care to dip your clothes in a weak solution of nitre before they are worn; for that prevents their blazing, even if they should catch fire," said mamma. "But you must not let that keep you from taking great care."

"Next Tuesday may I take another lesson in ironing?" asked Ellen.

"Yes: if you say your lessons well during the week, you shall not only learn to iron your clothes, but to wash them."

"That will be fun!" cried Ellen, clapping her hands, and quite forgetting her burnt finger.

DORA BURNSIDE.

BIRDIE AND BABY.

BIRDIE is a canary-bird of pale gold color. Tiny as he is, he is quite old compared with baby.

He was the sole pet of the house long before baby came into the world, and he did as much as any bird could to fill a baby's place.

All the bright hours of the day, the door of his cage stood open. He would fly to Aunt Minnie's shoulder while she sat sewing, and sing his sweetest notes for her, or perch on her finger and take the bit of fresh lettuce she brought for him from the table.

But after baby came--can you believe it?--this dear little birdie behaved just like a spoiled child. He rolled himself up into a soft yellow ball, and actually moped.

Not a note would he sing. Aunt Minnie could not coax him with green leaf or seed. He would insist on making himself unhappy until baby was taken out for an airing. Then he would burst into song again, and seem to feel that he was in his old place,--the only treasure.

It was a long time before the poor little bird found out that Aunt Minnie's heart was large enough to love him and her precious baby too. But he is learning it now, and likes to have baby held up to his cage.

When Aunt Minnie lets him out into the room, he hops close by the baby; and baby laughs, and stretches out his dimpled hands to catch him; but he is wise enough to keep out of baby's way.

Don't you think it is nice for Aunt Minnie to have such treasures?

E. P. B.

A NAUGHTY BABY.

HE'S a very naughty baby, For he will not shut his eyes And go to sleep, though I have done My best to hush his cries. I've trotted him, I've patted him, I've given him some food; But nothing that I do for him Will do him any good.

I've sung a little lullaby, The one that mother sings; One that to weary little ones, Sweet slumber, always brings. I've scolded him, I've shaken him, All sorts of things I've tried; But the naughty, noisy baby-man Will not be pacified.

He screams so loud he frightens me; He's getting worse and worse. I do wish mother would come home, Or get this boy a nurse. I'll toss him up, I'll tumble him, Play "creep-mouse," and "bo-peep," Perhaps if I can make him laugh, The laugh will make him sleep.

You naughty, naughty baby, How could you vex me so? One would not think you ever cried, To hear you laugh and crow! Hush, hush! He's getting tired out: Now very still I'll keep; There's nothing like a hearty romp, To put a child to sleep!

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

BOYS AND RABBITS.

HERE are two little boys and two little rabbits, all down on the ground.

The two boys are just the same age. They are twin brothers. Their names are Paul and John.

The girl who stands near them is their sister Jane. She is quite a little girl, as you see; but she is full three years older than the boys: so she takes great care of them.

You would laugh to see Paul and John try to lift their rabbits by the ears. The rabbits look most as large as the boys. But the boys are growing larger and stronger every day.

A. B. C.

TOBACCO AND EGG.

OUR house had a long back piazza, covered all over with grape-vines, with steps going down to the yard.

I discovered that by standing on my tip-toes, half way up the steps, I could see into the next yard, where there grew such different flowers from ours, and where there often came a little girl of six or seven--about my own age--to gather bouquets.

She did not see me at first: so, for many days, I quietly watched the stout little figure. During one of my observations, her mother called her, and such a name as she had! The call, as I heard it, was "Tobacco, my daughter!"

I felt deeply for the girl who was afflicted by such a name. I determined to throw her the finest bunch of grapes on our vine by way of consolation.

Some days after, when I was giving my large family of dolls an airing in the garden, I saw a small face staring at me just over the top of the fence. Being familiar with the position myself, I was not alarmed, but hastened to mount to the same level on my side, and offer some grapes.

After a long stare on the part of both of us, I timidly broke the silence by asking, "What is your name?"

"Rebecca," was the reply.

"Why," I said, "I was pitying you all this time, thinking you were called Tobacco."

"Oh, no!" she cried, "it is not so bad as that. You have a funny name, though. I have often wondered how you came to have such a name. Perhaps you were born on Easter-Monday, or were very fond of eggs."

"What can you mean?" I replied. "I don't see any thing funny about my name: I am told it is pretty."

"Well, I should not call it pretty exactly," she giggled: "it always makes me feel hungry."

"Hungry?" I was trying to be friendly; but I did feel slightly offended at this. At last, just as tears of vexation were rising to my eyes, I thought of asking, "What do you think my name is?"

"Why, Egg, of course."

"Oh the idea of such a thing!" We both laughed till we nearly fell off our perches. As soon as I was sober enough, I made haste to explain that my name was Agnes, but that my brothers and sisters called me "Ag." It must have been "Ag" that she heard, and thought it was Egg.

AGNES.

THE APPLE TREE.

Words by CLARA D. BATES. Music by T. CRAMPTON.

1. Up in the apple tree, See the rosy cheeks: See the balls that look like gold: See the crimson streaks. In the lovely autumn day, Bright as in the bloom of May, Filled with fruit and fair to see, Is the apple tree.

2. Under the apple tree, See the rosy cheeks: Little Jinx the baby boy; What is it he seeks? Ah! his tiny teeth are white, And are eager for a bite,-- Such a tempting store to see, Is the apple tree.

3. Under the apple tree, Other rosy cheeks: Edith, Mabel, Golden-Locks: Full of merry freaks, Here they run and there they run, Shouting merrily if one Fallen in the group they see, From the apple tree.

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Transcriber's Notes:

The July edition of the Nursery had a table of contents for the next six issues of the year. This table was divided to cover each specific issue. A title page copied from this same July edition was also used for this number and the issue number added after the Volume number.

Page 150, single quotation mark changed to double (them a tune,")

Page 159, double quotation mark added to text (fond of eggs.")