The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, November 1877, Vol. XXII. No. 5

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Title: The Nursery, November 1877, Vol. XXII. No. 5

Author: Various

Release date: February 20, 2009 [eBook #28139]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28139

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, NOVEMBER 1877, VOL. XXII. NO. 5 ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXII.—No. 5.

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.

PAGE

Sarah's Picture

131

Kitty Bell

134

A clever Fox

136

How Ponto got his Dinner

138

The Pet Pigeon

141

Eighth Lesson in Astronomy

143

Drawing-Lesson

145

The Farm

146

The Drawing-Master

148

Learning to iron

151

Birdie and Baby

153

Boys and Rabbits

156

Tobacco and Egg

158

IN VERSE.

PAGE

Steering for Home

129

Three naughty Pigs

133

The Butterfly and the Grasshopper

139

Little Mosquito

150

A naughty Baby

154

The Apple Tree (with music)

160

STEERING FOR HOME.

STEERING FOR HOME.

LOW, thou bitter northern gale;

Heave, thou rolling, foaming sea;

Bend the mast and fill the sail,

Let the gallant ship go free!

Steady, lad! Be firm and steady!

On the compass fix your eye;

Ever watchful, ever ready,

Let the rain and spray go by!

We're steering for home.

Let the waves with angry thud

Shake the ship from stem to stern;

We can brave the flying scud,

It may go, it may return:

In the wind are cheerful voices,

In the waves a pleasant song,

And the sailor's heart rejoices

As the good ship bounds along.

We're steering for home.

Standing on the briny deck,

Beaten by the blinding spray,

Fearing neither storm nor wreck,

Let us keep our onward way.

Loving hearts for us are yearning,

Now in hope, and now in doubt,

Looking for our swift returning,

How they try to make us out!

We're steering for home.

Fainter blows the bitter gale,

And more peaceful grows the sea;

Now, boys, trim again the sail;

Land is looming on the lee!

See! the beacon-light is flashing,

Hark! those shouts are from the shore;

To the wharf home friends are dashing;

Now our hardest work is o'er.

Three cheers for our home!

TOM BOWLING.

SARAH'S PICTURE.

MY name is Sarah. I live in Bristol, Conn., and am not quite five years old. I have taken "The Nursery" ever since I was two.

About three years ago a lady gave me a little trunk, and I have kept my magazines in it ever since. Last winter, when snow was on the ground, and I had to stay in the house a good deal, I used to get my trunk and sit down on the floor by mamma, and look my "Nursery" through almost every day. So mamma thought she would like to have my picture taken just in that way.

Now I must introduce you to my dog Beauty, who sits by my side in the picture. You see he is a Spitz; but do not be frightened: he will never have hydrophobia. I cannot think of having him muzzled, for one of his charms is the way he opens and shuts his mouth when he barks. Oh, no, Beauty! I will never hurt your feelings by making you wear a muzzle.

My grandma gave me this dear dog a year ago last Christmas. He had two beautiful red eyes then; now he has none. He had two long silky ears then; now he has but one. He had four legs, and a bushy tail curled over his back; now he has but two legs, and no tail. But I love him just as well as ever.

The dolly you see sitting up against the trunk is my daughter Nannie. I have four other children.

Nellie is a fair-haired blonde, but is getting rather past her prime. You know blondes fade young.

Rosa Grace once had lovely flaxen curls, and very rosy cheeks; but now her curls are few and far between, her cheeks are faded, and her arms and feet are out of order.

Next comes Florence, who has joints, and can sit up like a lady anywhere. My papa brought her from San Francisco. She has yellow hair, and is dressed in crimson silk.

My youngest is not yet named. She is quite small, has black hair and eyes, and is rather old-fashioned looking. If you can think of a name just right for her, I wish you would please let me know. It is so perplexing to name so many children!

SARAH H. BUCK.

THREE NAUGHTY PIGS.

THREE naughty pigs,

All in one pen,

Drank up their milk

Left by the men.

Then all the three,

Fast as they could,

Dug their way out

To find something good.

Out in the garden

A maiden fair

Had set some flowers,

Of beauty rare.

Out in the garden

A merry boy

Had planted seeds,

With childish joy.

One naughty pig

Ran to the bed;

Soon lay the flowers

Drooping and dead.

Two naughty pigs

Dug up the seeds,

And left for the boy

Not even weeds.

Three naughty pigs

Back in the pen,

Never could do

Such digging again.

For in their noses

Something would hurt

Whenever they tried

To dig in the dirt.

F. L. T.

KITTY BELL.

ONCE there was a little girl named Alice, and she had an Uncle George whom she loved very dearly. One day, as Alice was looking out of the window, she saw her Uncle George coming into the yard with a covered basket in his hand.

Alice ran to meet him, and, as she was kissing him in the hall, she heard a faint sound in the basket, and exclaimed, "O Uncle George! what have you brought me?"

"Look into the basket and see," said her uncle.

So Alice peeped in very carefully, and saw a little black kitten. The little girl was delighted, and fairly danced around her uncle as she said, "What a dear little kitten! Is it for me, Uncle George? Who sent it to me? Did you bring it from your house?"

"Yes," said her uncle, "your Cousin Edith sent it to you; she thought you would like it."

"Well," said Alice, "you must thank Edith a thousand times, and here is a kiss for you for bringing it to me; and I'm sure the poor little thing must be hungry: so I'll give it something to eat."

She carried the kitten into the kitchen, and soon got from the cook a nice pan of milk. Her little brother Harry came running in to see the new kitten eat its dinner, and with him came the old family cat, Mouser, who rubbed and purred against Alice, as if he wanted her to pet him too.

The next thing was to find a name, "pretty, and not too common," Alice said. While she was trying to think of one, she went up to her own little room, and searched among her ribbons for a piece to tie around the kitten's neck. She soon found one that was just the thing.

In one of her drawers she found a tiny bell that somebody had given her, and thought it would be a good plan to hang that around kitty's neck by the ribbon. Kitty made no objection to being thus decorated, and a happy thought struck Alice; "Kitty Bell would be just the name for her!" and Kitty Bell it was.

Kitty grew very fast; and one morning, after she had got to be a good-sized kitten, she came to Alice, and mewed quite piteously. Alice gave her some milk; but Kitty Bell was not hungry, and mewed still more. Alice could not think what was the matter.

At last Kitty Bell gave her head a shake, and put one paw up to the ribbon on her neck, as if trying to pull it over her head. Alice untied the ribbon, and away ran Kitty Bell quite out of sight. In a short time she came back with a mouse in her mouth, which she laid at Alice's feet.

Do you see what had been the trouble? The bell had frightened the mice away, so that Kitty Bell could not get near enough to catch them.

W.

A CLEVER FOX.

ON a summer day, a gentleman was lying under the shelter of some shrubs on the banks of the River Tweed, when he saw a large brood of ducks, which had been made to rise on the wing by the drifting of a fir-branch among them. After circling in the air for a little time, they again settled down on their feeding-ground.

There was a pause for two or three minutes, and then the same thing took place again. A branch drifted down with the stream into the midst of the ducks, and made them take to flight once more. But when they found that the bough had drifted by, and done no harm, they flew down to the water as before.

After four or five boughs had drifted by in this way, the ducks gave no heed to them, and hardly tried to fly out of their way on the stream, even when they were near to being touched.

The gentleman who had been observing all this now watched for the cause of the drifting of the boughs. At length he saw, higher up the bank of the stream, a fox, which, having set the boughs adrift, was watching for the moment when the ducks should cease to be startled by them.

This wise and clever fox at last seemed satisfied that the moment had come. So what did he do but take a larger branch of spruce-fir than any he had yet used, and, spreading himself down on it so as to be almost hidden from sight, set it adrift as he had done the others!

The ducks, now having ceased to fear the boughs, hardly moved till the fox was in the midst of them, when, making rapid snaps right and left, he seized two fine young ducks as his prey, and floated forward in triumph on his raft. The ducks flew off in fright, and did not come back.

That fox must have had a fine dinner that day, I think. The gentleman who saw the trick pitied the poor ducks, but could not help laughing at the fox's cunning.

UNCLE CHARLES.

HOW PONTO GOT HIS DINNER.

PONTO in his youth had been a very wise and active dog. Not only had he been brave at watching, but he had been taught to carry packages and notes for his master.

But, as he grew old and feeble, he gradually got out of the way of doing such services, and spent his time mostly in sleeping, or in jogging about, without care.

One day his mistress had told her husband, as he went to his business in the morning, to send around the carriage at ten o'clock. This he forgot to do; and when the hour came, and there was no carriage, the lady knew it would be necessary to remind her husband of his promise.

But she had no one to send with a message. At last she chanced to remember that Ponto used to go on such errands, and, writing a note, she called him to her, and said,—

"Here, Ponto, take this note to your master."

Ponto took the note carefully in his mouth, but did not seem to know what he was expected to do with it.

"Go, Ponto," she said; "take the note to your master."

He trotted on a little way, paused, turned and hesitated, and then trotted a little farther. This he repeated several times, and at last, started off at a good gait.

But wise old Ponto! Did he, after so much pondering, take the note to his master? Not a bit of it! He went straight to the butcher's, and presented the billet, wagging his tail at the same time, as much as to say, "Here's an order for my dinner!"

The butcher, understanding the situation, rolled up a nice piece of meat in a paper, gave it to Ponto, and then himself delivered the note to the gentleman.

Ponto stalked home as proud as a king, laid the package at his mistress's feet, and waited, with a delighted, expressive wag, for her approval.

Of course she gave him all the meat, patted his faithful old head, and called him "good Ponto."

The carriage came in good time; and Ponto does not know to this day but what he did exactly as he was told.

C. D. B.

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE GRASSHOPPER.

"PRETTY Butterfly, stay!

Come down here and play,"

A Grasshopper said,

As he lifted his head.

"Oh, no! and oh, no!

Daddy Grasshopper, go!

Once you weren't so polite,

But said, 'Out of my sight,

You base, ugly fright!'"

"Oh, no! and oh, no!

I never said so,"

The Grasshopper cried:

"I'd sooner have died

Than been half so rude.

You misunderstood."

"Oh, no! I did not;

'Twas near to this spot:

The offence, while I live,

I cannot forgive."

"I pray you explain

When and where such disdain,

Such conduct improper,

Was shown by this Hopper."

"I then was a worm:

'Tis a fact, I affirm,"

The Butterfly said,

With a toss of her head.

"In my humble condition,

Your bad disposition

Made you spurn me as mean,

And not fit to be seen.

In my day of small things

You dreamed not that wings

Might one day be mine,—

Wings handsome and fine,

That help me soar up

To the rose's full cup,

And taste of each flower

In garden and bower.

This moral now take

For your own better sake:

Insult not the low;

Some day they may grow

To seem and to do

Much better than you.

Remember; and so,

Daddy Grasshopper, go!"

EMILY CARTER.

THE PET PIGEON.

WHEN I was about nine years old, my father and mother were living in a Southern city; and, as I had been very ill for a long time, I was taken from school, and permitted to do as I liked.

In one of my walks I met an old colored woman, who took quite a fancy to me; and once, when I was sick at home, she came to see me, bringing as a present a young pigeon. Its feathers were not grown enough to show its color; but it proved to be brown and white.

I was very much grieved when my mother said that she could not have a pigeon kept in the house; but my father persuaded her to indulge me till I was able to go out again; and then my pet gave so little trouble that nobody objected to him.

For the first two or three weeks, he was put at night in another room; but I begged so hard that finally "Pidgy," as I called him, was allowed to roost on top of the wardrobe in my bed-room.

The first time he saw me asleep, he seemed very much alarmed (so my mother told me); but he settled down on my shoulder, and kept very quiet till I awoke. This he always did after that morning, sometimes waiting more than two hours. After amusing myself with him till it was time to get up, I used to give him a large basin of water, into which he would jump with great delight; and he would be making his toilet while I was making mine.

For two or three months I kept his wings clipped, so that he could not fly far. When I went out for a walk, I generally took him, either in my arms or perched on my hand; and thus I and my pet became known all over the neighborhood; and, when my little playmates invited me to visit them, an invitation was always sent for "Lillie and her pigeon."

He followed me everywhere. If I was reading, he rested on my chair; if playing on the piano, he would listen attentively: indeed he acquired such a taste for music, that the only time he ever seemed willing to leave me was to perch upon the foot of a gentleman who was singing very finely.

I taught him a number of tricks, such as bringing me any thing that he could carry, lying down very still till I told him to get up, and running over the piano-keys to make music for himself.

During the two years that Pidgy and I enjoyed so much together, he never fed from any hand but mine; and once, when I staid from home over night, he would not eat at all, but pecked at my mother and sister so that they were quite provoked with him. On my return, he flew to meet me with an angry "coo," his feathers all ruffled up, as if trying to reprove me for my neglect.

What finally became of my pet I never knew. I had him out on the porch, one day, and, as I ran into the house for a few minutes, the door was blown to, so that he could not follow me. A boy caught him up, and was seen running away with his prize. Every effort was made to find him; but I never saw my dear little pigeon again.

ANNE PAGE.

EIGHTH LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

HOW shall I make such little folks understand that the sun and the stars really stand still, when they seem to take a journey across the sky every day? Perhaps the best way will be to make a little game of it. We will explain it with boys.

I want a boy to represent the earth, and as many as can be found for sun and stars: there is no danger of too many. Now, the fattest boy of all must be the earth, and stand in the middle. We want him fat and round, because the earth is as round as an orange. (We need not mind about the size of the stars: they always look small, they are so far off.)

All the other boys must stand about him, and stand still. If they are not satisfied with their places, they must not move; for they are fixed stars. That is right. I can imagine you now just as you are, the fat boy in the middle.

But you must not stand still, fat boy, because I told the star-boys not to move. You are the earth, and must do what the earth does. Don't you know what it does? Oh! it does not run away. Come back, and I will tell you what it does. It turns around just as a top spins. That is right. Every time the earth turns, it makes a day and a night, by turning towards the sun, and away from it again.

Don't turn so fast, my dear: you make the days and nights too short, and you will be dizzy. Besides, you are turning the wrong way. The earth turns from west to east, and you must remember you are the earth, and not Charlie. Now go the other way, and more slowly, and keep your eyes on the little boys who are the sun and stars.

We will suppose now that Frank is the sun. There he is just behind you. He is shining now on the other side of the earth,—on your back. As you turn around to the left, to the east, you begin to see him: he rises. Now, as you turn more towards him, he seems to pass in front of you towards the west, and pretty soon he is out of sight. He has set. So much for the sun.

It is just the same if you look at the stars,—John, or Willie, or James. As you turn round they all seem to be going round you. Now can't you see, that, as the real earth turns around, the sun and stars about it seem to you to rise and set, although they stand still, like Frank and John and Willie and James.

A great many years ago, everybody supposed that the earth stood still, and the sun and stars revolved around it; but a wise man named Copernicus found out the mistake, and you had better call your game the Copernican game.

M. E. R.

DRAWING-LESSON BY HARRISON WEIR.

THE FARM.

VERY often in summer, after looking at the sky, and consulting the barometer, my father would say to me, "Tell John to bring around the horse and carryall, and we will all go out to the farm for the day." John had the horse harnessed in a little while, mother sent out a great basket of lunch, and in less than half an hour we were all off,—father, mother, Dick, and I.

The farm was seven miles in the country, and the road leading to it was a fine one. There were some hills, to be sure; but, whenever we came to one, Dick and I used to climb out of the back-window, and hang on behind, fancying that we lightened the load by not being inside. We always enjoyed the ride very much.

At the farm there was a pretty cottage, where the tenant Mr. Clark lived. We used to go in for a little while to see Mrs. Clark's babies, and then we started off in search of adventures. What fun we did have! Sometimes there would be great brush-heaps to burn, made of bushes and branches of trees that had been cleared off from the land. They made glorious bonfires.

There was an old yellow horse on the farm, that used to run the wood-sawing machine. He was blind in one eye, but was the very gentlest horse in the world. Dick and I would both get on him at the same time, with only the halter to guide the horse, and go all over the farm.

Now and then, in shaking himself to get rid of the flies, Bob (the horse) would shake us both off; but he always stopped at once when we met with such an accident, so that we could get on again. Once, when we were riding in this way, our horse stopped and refused to go on.

On looking to see what was the matter, we saw a large black snake in the road just ahead of us. Being very reckless children, we slid off old Bob, found some heavy sticks, and attacked the snake. First Dick struck it, and, when it turned on him, I struck it; and so we pounded the snake, turn and turn about, until it was killed.

Another thing that we enjoyed very much was to go down to the creek that ran through the farm, and put some ears of green corn in the water close by the edge. We would then keep very still, and watch the corn, and, as soon as we saw it move a little, we would give it a sudden slap out of the water, and would almost always succeed in landing one or two crawfish. We dug wells in the sand, which we would fill with water to put our crawfish in. Sometimes we would have a dozen or more.

It would have been great fun to wade in the creek, but for one thing: there were sand-leeches in the water, and they would get between our toes, and bite so firmly into the flesh, that we could hardly get them off.

A great event in the day was lunch, which we ate in picnic style on the ground near the spring. We were always so hungry, that the simplest food seemed delicious. I don't think we were ever very fond of bread and butter anywhere else. By night we were very tired, and generally went sound asleep on the way home.

A.

THE DRAWING-MASTER.

OUR Peter has opened a school for teaching drawing. At present he has only two pupils; but he hopes to have more. They pay him two pins a lesson; not a high price. I fear that Peter will not get rich very soon at that rate.

But he is no miser. He loves to do good, and to teach to others all the good he knows. So he says to Tom and Harry, "This that I am drawing now is what we call a horizontal line; and this is a curved line. Do you know what a circle is, Tommy?"

"A circle is something round, isn't it?" replies Tommy.

"A circle," says Peter, drawing one on paper,—"a circle is a plane figure, bounded by a single curved line called its circumference, every part of which is equally distant from a point within it called the centre."

"How can I remember all that stuff?" said Harry.

"Stuff! Do you call it stuff, sir?" said Peter, snapping him twice on his closely-shorn head: "I will teach you not to call my definitions stuff."

"What's a definition?" asked Tommy.

"A definition," said Peter, "is what I say to you when I tell you what a thing means. If I ask you what green is, and I tell you it's the color of fresh summer grass, I give you a definition."

"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.

ANCIENT ARMOR.

THE APPLE TREE.

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

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

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.

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.")

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Table of Contents

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

IN PROSE.

IN VERSE.

STEERING FOR HOME.

SARAH'S PICTURE.

THREE NAUGHTY PIGS.

KITTY BELL.

A CLEVER FOX.

HOW PONTO GOT HIS DINNER.

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE GRASSHOPPER.

THE PET PIGEON.

EIGHTH LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

THE FARM.

THE DRAWING-MASTER.

LITTLE MOSQUITO.

LEARNING TO IRON.

BIRDIE AND BABY.

A NAUGHTY BABY.

BOYS AND RABBITS.

TOBACCO AND EGG.

THE APPLE TREE.

Transcriber's Notes

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE