The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nursery, No. 109, January, 1876, Vol.
XIX., by Unknown
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Title: The Nursery, No. 109, January, 1876, Vol. XIX.
A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
Author: Unknown
Release Date: April 12, 2007 [EBook #21047]
Language: English
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No. 109.
JANUARY, 1876.
Vol. XIX.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
BOSTON:
JOHN L. SHOREY, 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
AMERICAN NEWS CO., 119 NASSAU ST., NEW YORK.
NEW-ENGLAND NEWS CO., 41 COURT ST., BOSTON.
CENTRAL NEWS CO., PHILADELPHIA.
WESTERN NEWS CO., CHICAGO.
$1.60 a Year, in advance.
A single copy, 15 cents.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by JOHN L.
SHOREY, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CONTENTS OF NUMBER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE.
* * * * *
PAGE
CHRISTMAS AT THE NORTH By _Alfred Selwyn_ 1
POMPEY GUARDING BABY By _Master John_ 3
THE PARROT FEEDING ITS YOUNG By _Uncle Charles_ 4
LITTLE RUTH'S PRAYER By _Dora Burnside_ 7
PUSSY GETS A WARNING By _Frank_ 9
"PROUD AS A PEACOCK" By _Anna Livingston_ 10
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY By _Jane Oliver_ 12
CHRISTMAS AT THE SOUTH By _Uncle Harry_ 16
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENTS By _D._ 18
THE PROPER TIME By _Emily Carter_ 19
OUR DOG MILO (_From the German_) 20
THE THREE CALVES By _A. B. C._ 23
"WHY?" By _the author of "Dick and I."_ 25
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW 27
A MORNING CALL By _M. L. B. Branch_ 28
"HE DID IT FIRST." By _the author of "Dick and I."_ 30
THE CATS AND THE MOUSE (_Music by T. Crampton_) 32
* * * * *
EDITOR'S PORTFOLIO.
... A happy New year to all friends and subscribers, old and young! They
are sending us such an amount of encouragement, notwithstanding the hard
times, that, instead of growing older the coming year, we think we shall
grow younger. So do not fear, little ones, that we shall talk too
learnedly for you yet awhile.
... See the capital articles by the author of "Dick and I" in this
number. They are written in words of one syllable, and are as witty as
they are wise and good. Read them, and then hear your little ones read
them.
... We need not commend to lovers of art the fine original drawings in
this number. That of "Christmas at the North," by Merrill, and that of
"Christmas at the South." by Sheppard, of Richmond, are excellent. The
drawing of the two dogs by Harrison Weir is also capital.
... The little boys in all parts of the country, who have been asking us
so urgently to give a picture of a train of cars, will be glad to learn
that Mr. Merrill has drawn a capital one which will appear in our next
number.
... There is a great rush for THE NURSERY PRIMER. We can hardly get the
books from the binder fast enough to supply the demand. It is no wonder;
for no cheaper or better present for a child can be found.
... THE EASY BOOK and the THE BEAUTIFUL BOOK are also in great demand
for holiday Gifts.
... Unaccepted articles will be returned to the writers _if stamps are
sent with them_ to pay return postage. Manuscripts not so accompanied
will not be preserved, and subsequent requests for their return cannot
be complied with.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Hand] ~We want a special agent in every town in the
United States. Persons disposed to act in that capacity, are invited to
communicate with the publisher.~
* * * * *
~THE NURSERY.~
~TERMS--1876.~
~SUBSCRIPTIONS~,--$1.60 a year, in advance. Three copies for $4.30 a year;
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A SINGLE NUMBER will be mailed for 15 cents. _One sample number will be
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BACK NUMBERS can always be supplied. _The Magazine commenced January,
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N. B.--To obtain the benefit of the above rates, it must be distinctly
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* * * * *
~NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS.~
The number of the Magazine with which your subscription _expires_ is
indicated by the number annexed to the address on the printed label.
When no such number appears, it will be understood that the subscription
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receipt. ~Any one not receiving it will please notify us immediately,
giving date of remittance.~ Address
~JOHN L. SHOREY,~
~36 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.~
~THE NURSERY.~
PREMIUM-LIST FOR 1876.
For ~three~ new subscribers, at $1.60 each, we will give any one of the
following articles: a heavily gold-plated pencil-case, a rubber
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Webster's Dictionary (unabridged), sheet-music or books worth $10.00.
[Illustration: Hand] ~Any other articles equally easy to transport may
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of subscribers sent. Thus, we will give for three new subscribers, at
$1.60 each, a premium worth $1.50; for four, a premium worth $2.00; for
five, a premium worth $2.50; and so on.~
BOOKS for premiums may be selected from any publisher's catalogue: and
we can always supply them at catalogue prices. Under this offer,
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* * * * *
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~BOOKS.~--For ~two~ new subscribers, at $1.60 each, we will give any
_half-yearly_ volume of THE NURSERY; for ~three~, any _yearly_ volume:
for two, OXFORD'S JUNIOR SPEAKER; for ~two~, THE EASY BOOK; for ~two~,
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~MARSHALL'S ENGRAVED PORTRAITS OF LINCOLN AND GRANT.~
Either of these large and superbly executed steel engravings will be
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* * * Do not wait to make up the whole list before sending. Send the
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* * * _Take notice that our offers of premiums apply only to
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Address
~JOHN L. SHOREY~
~36 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.~
* * * * *
NOTICE.
Any of the following articles will be sent by mail, postpaid on receipt
of the price named:--
[Illustration]
PRICE
~Fret, or Jig-Saw~, for fancy wood-carving. With 50 designs,
6 saw-blades, Impression-paper, &c. ~$1.25~
~Fuller's Jig-Saw Attachment~ by the aid of which the use of
the Saw is greatly facilitated. (See advertisement on another
page) ~1.50~
~Hollywood Designs~ for Amateur Wood-Carvers, ready for cutting,
twenty patterns in a box, for ~.75~
~New Spelling Blocks~ ~1.00~
~Picture Cubes~, For the Playroom ~1.50~
~Initial Note-Paper and Envelopes~ ~.50~
" " " ~.75~
" " " ~1.00~
" " " ~1.50~
~Boys and Girls Writing-Desk~ ~1.00~
~The Kindergarten Alphabet and Building Blocks~, Painted:
Roman Alphabets, large and small letters, numerals, and animals ~.75~
" " " " ~1.00~
" " " " ~1.50~
~Crandall's Acrobat or Circus Blocks~, with which hundreds of queer,
fantastic figures may be formed by any child ~1.15~
~Table-Croquet~. This can be used on any table--making a Croquet-Board, at
trifling expense ~1.50~
~Game of Bible Characters and Events~ ~.50~
~Dissected Map of the United States~ ~1.00~
~Household Elegancies~. A splendid new book on Household Art, devoted to a
multitude of topics, interesting to ladies everywhere. Among the
subjects are Transparencies on Glass, Leaf work, Autumn Leaves, Wax
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pages, which are full to overflowing with devices to ornament a home
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~Window Gardening~. An elegant book, with 250 fine Engravings and 300
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or Window Garden. Tells all about Bulbs for House Culture, Geraniums,
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~Silk Book-Marks~ in great variety. (For full description and prices, see
advertisement on another page.)
Books of all kinds will be sent at publishers' prices.
~JOHN L. SHOREY,~
Publisher of "The Nursery."
~36 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.~
* * * * *
SOMETHING NEW AND CHOICE!
* * * * *
~SILK BOOK-MARKS, OR TEXTILOGRAPHS.~
[Illustration]
These New and Beautiful Productions of the Loom are the wonder and
admiration of all. They are not only useful as Book Registers, but
elegant and tasteful as presents. Each design is woven in silk in
various colors, and the views and likenesses are remarkably clear and
correct. The engraving here given is a careful reproduction of one of
them on a reduced scale, and will give a faint outline of their beauty.
From the large list of mottoes and designs we have made the following
selections, which we specially recommend:
~SERIES No. 1. Price 50 Cents Each.~
NO
The Busy Bee 76
Little Red Riding-Hood 85
I Love Little Pussy 87
For a Good Girl 88
For a Good Boy 89
Little Boy Blue 90
Little Bo Peep 91
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star 93
Mistress Mary 94
To my Darling 96
To my Pet 98
To my Favorite 99
Love's Emblem 51
To my dear Cousin 52
Birthday Wish 54
Happy may thy Birthday be 62
A Birthday Blessing 64
Dearest, I love but Thee 66
Forget me not 67
The Lily 68
True Love 69
Compliments of the Season 70
God is Good 73
The Lord my Pasture 74
A Tribute of Affection 77
A Blessing 78
To my dear Brother 79
A Wish 80
Remember Me 81
Unchanging Love 82
To my dear Sister 83
To my dear Father 84
To my dear Mother 86
With best Wishes 100
To one I Love 101
~SERIES No. 2. Price $1.00 Each.~
NO
A Birthday Gift 251
Hope the Anchor of the Soul 252
Remember now thy Creator 257
The Ascension 258
A Happy New Year 260
Family Worship 262
The Beatitudes 265
Birthday Blessing 266
Many Happy Returns of the Day 269
Home, Sweet Home 277
I Love Thee 278
The Old Arm Chair 280
The last Rose of Summer 282
The Priceless Gem 288
Unchanging Love 289
True Love 293
A Birthday Wish 295
Remember Me 352
Thy Will be Done 358
Compliments of the Season 359
Forget me not 364
A Happy New Year 367
The above will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price, by
~JOHN L. SHOREY,~
PUBLISHER OF "THE NURSERY,"
~36 Bromfield Street, Boston.~
* * * * *
~SPECIAL OFFERS TO SUBSCRIBERS.~--Any subscriber now on our list, who
shall send us ~$3.20~, in payment for his own renewal and ~one new~
subscription, may select as a premium, any one of the Book-Marks
described above in Series No. 1. Or, for ~$4.80~, and ~two new~
subscribers, any Book-Mark in Series No. 2.
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS AT THE NORTH.]
CHRISTMAS AT THE NORTH.
Hark! the bells are sounding;
Christmas draweth nigh;
Now let joy abounding
Bid all trouble fly.
Ye who pine in sorrow,
Come, be cheered to-day;
Of our gladness borrow,
As you freely may.
First give your attention
To our Christmas-tree;
But pray do not mention
All the things you see:
These are for surprises
To the children dear,--
To the Anns, Elizas,
Johnnys, Charleys here.
Are you hale and hearty,
And still young enough?
Come, then, join our party,
And play blind man's buff.
But if with the coasters
You would rather be,
See them there, the boasters!
Join them: you are free.
Hark! the sleigh-bells tinkle:
Do you wish a ride?
Will it smooth a wrinkle
Just to have a slide?
See, the road invites you;
See, the ponds entice:
Take, then, what delights you:
Whether snow or ice.
If the path to glory
Best your mood befits,
If you'd live in story,
And can brave hard hits,
See, where heroes yonder
Storm the fort with balls;
Do not stop to ponder:
Go where glory calls!
Or, perhaps, the skaters
Now attract you most:
We are patient waiters--
Will you skate, or coast?
Do not fear a tumble;
See poor Tommy there!
Up, without a grumble,
He will never care.
Welcome to our pleasures
And our Christmas cheer!
We'll not stint the measures:
Would you all were here!
Boys and girls together,--
From all parts and climes,
To enjoy this weather,
And these Christmas times!
ALFRED SELWYN.
[Illustration]
POMPEY GUARDING BABY.
My real name is Pompey; but Mr. John sometimes calls me Pompous. What he
means by that I do not know. Perhaps it is a joke. Mr. John is the
eldest brother of Dot, the baby.
I am put here to keep watch over Dot. That is a picture of me as I
appear seated on a chair by the side of the cradle where Dot is
sleeping.
I am very fond of babies. One reason of it, I think, is, that they
cannot hurt me with their little hands. They pull my ears, but not so
hard as to give me pain.
Once, on a hot day, when my mouth was open, and my tongue was out, Dot
took hold of my tongue, and pulled it as hard as he could. I did not
even say _Bow-wow_. I let him pull away.
I would have all people know that this baby is not to be touched while
I am here. If you come near to disturb baby, I shall bark; but, if you
try to touch him, I shall bite. So be careful. You must not even touch
baby's rattle that lies on the floor.
I hear my mistress tell people what a good dog I am, and how she can
trust me to take care of baby. Yes, I am proud to say I do my duty. I
hold my head up, and keep my eyes wide open. That drawing of me is from
a photograph, and is a very good likeness. As I can't write, I have got
Master John to write this down for me.
MASTER JOHN.
THE PARROT FEEDING ITS YOUNG.
The parrot is a curious bird. Here is a picture of one feeding its
young. It has a large hooked beak, and climbs trees by the aid of its
beak and feet.
The plumage of parrots varies in color. I have seen it of a bright
green, also, red and gray. These birds were well known to the ancient
Greeks and Romans, who got them mostly from India and Africa.
The parrot, as every child knows, can be taught to talk. This power it
shares with some other birds whose tongues are thick, round, and almost
the same in form as that of the parrot. Starlings, blackbirds, jays,
jackdaws, and ravens can imitate the human voice.
The parrot imitates all the noises it hears--the mewing of cats, the
barking of dogs, and the cries of birds--as easily as it imitates
speech. The parrots brought from Africa seem to prefer imitating the
voices of children, and, on that account, more easily receive their
education from them.
[Illustration]
But the gray parrot imitates the grave tones of older persons. A parrot
from Guinea, taught on the voyage by an old sailor, had caught up his
hoarse voice and cough perfectly. Afterwards, owned and taught by a
young girl, it did not forget the lessons of its first master. It was
amusing to hear this bird pass from a soft, girlish voice to his hoarse
and sailor-like tone.
Not only has the parrot the power of imitating the human voice, but it
seems to wish to do so. This is shown by its attention in listening, and
by the efforts it makes to repeat every word. It will often repeat words
or sounds that no one has taken the trouble to teach it.
A parrot which had grown old with its master, and shared with him the
pains of old age, being used to hear but little more than the words, "I
am very ill," when asked, "What is the matter, Polly?" answered in a
dismal tone, and stretching itself, "I am very ill."
The language of the parrot is not wanting in ideas. When you ask one if
it has breakfasted, it knows well how to answer you, if it has satisfied
its hunger. It will not tell you that it has breakfasted when this is
not the case: at least, you cannot force it to say "No" when it ought to
say "Yes."
I have heard of a parrot, which, when pleased, would laugh most
heartily, and then cry out, "Don't make me laugh so! I shall die, I
shall die." The bird would also mimic sobbing, and exclaim, "So bad, so
bad! got such a cold!" If any one happened to cough, the parrot would
remark, "What a bad cold!"
UNCLE CHARLES.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SEA-SWALLOW.]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
LITTLE RUTH'S PRAYER.
Stormy and chilly had been the day;
Drifts of snow on the sidewalk lay:
All who were out in the wintry street
Went shivering on with rapid feet;
And some were poor, and thinly clad,
And wished that a good warm home they had.
But, gloomy without, it was bright within,
In the house where our little Ruth had been:
By the nursery fireside's cheerful blaze
Merry had been her thoughts and plays;
She had dressed her dolls for a fancy ball,
And read her story-books one and all.
But when, at the close of the happy day,
She knelt, her one little prayer to say,
She thought of the hungry, perishing poor,
Of the children who cold and sorrow endure,
And, laying her head on her mother's knee,
Said, "Give them, O Father, _all_ you give _me_!"
DORA BURNSIDE.
ARTHUR'S MISHAP.
I am a little boy, three years old, named Arthur; and I want to tell you
what happened to me last summer.
I went down to the seashore to visit my grandmamma, alone, without
mamma, or Mary, my nurse. Grandpapa took me in the cars, and I staid
almost a week. I had a good time; for they have horses and cows and pigs
and chickens, and a swing.
One day, Aunt Anna and I went to the duck-pond. I had a rod and line,
and made believe fish. Aunt Anna turned away for a minute, and, when she
looked around, all she could see of me was my hat, floating on the
water. I had tumbled in, and was way down at the bottom of the pond.
But I soon rose to the top; and Aunt Anna reached over, and pulled me
out, and ran up to the house with me in her arms. I did not cry at all,
but coughed and sputtered a little, and told her I didn't like that old
duck-pond.
Grandmamma took off all my wet clothes, and wrapped me in a blanket, and
sang me to sleep. When I waked up, I felt all right. I got a good drink
of water when I was in the pond; but I don't mean to go very near the
edge next time.
E. B.
[Illustration]
PUSSY GETS A WARNING.
"Pussy, now that you are here, I wish to say a few words to you; and it
will be for your peace of mind to give heed to them at once. I have seen
you several times, of late, looking sharply at that little wren's nest
in the pear-tree."
"Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow!"
"Yes, I know what you mean by that; but you need not plead innocence.
You think, that, as soon as those eggs are hatched, you'll have a good
feast on the little birds."
"Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow!"
"Oh, you needn't deny it. Now, old cat, take my advice, and, if you
don't want to come to grief, shun temptation in season. If I find you
harming those birds, do you know what will happen?"
"Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow!"
"Oh, you don't, eh? Well, I'll leave it to you to guess what will
happen. I'll only say this: there will be a noise at the river-side one
of these fine mornings, and a certain cat may get a ducking."
"Mee-ow, mee-ow! Fitt! Fitt!"
"You object to that, do you? Then, pussy, don't let me find you meddling
with the little birds or watching their nests."
FRANK.
[Illustration]
"PROUD AS A PEACOCK."
A DIALOGUE.
_Laura._--Why is it, Rachel, that you wear that old winter dress to
church, this fine spring morning? Look at me.
_Rachel._--What a pretty silk! And what a becoming hat and plume!
_Laura._--I gave my mother no peace till she got them for me. Why don't
you make your father buy you a new spring dress, Rachel?
_Rachel._--He would have given me such a dress, if I had not told him I
should like something else better.
_Laura._--Indeed! Pray, what else would you like better than a beautiful
spring dress?
_Rachel._--I knew that if my father gave me a silk dress this spring, he
could not afford to let me take music-lessons: so I told him I would
rather study music than have a new dress.
_Laura._--What a silly girl, to prefer music-lessons to a nice new
dress!
_Rachel._--Hark! What is that harsh noise?
_Laura._--It is the cry of that foolish peacock from the balcony of the
garden yonder. He wants us to admire him.
_Rachel._--How he struts about, and arches his neck, and shows his fine
feathers, bright with all the colors of the rainbow!
_Laura._--I would not change my canary-bird for him.
_Rachel._--And I would not change my music for your new silk dress,
Laura.
_Laura._--Why do you say that? But, first, who is that man standing
there by the garden-gate?
_Rachel._--That is Mr. Blunt, the clergyman who is to preach for us
to-day.
_Laura._--He looks at me, and now he looks at the peacock, and now at me
again, and now, with a smile, at the peacock, and now--O Rachel! this is
too bad. I know what he is thinking of.
_Rachel._--Let us hurry on to church. The bell has begun to toll.
_Laura._--Ah, Rachel, he says to me, as plainly as looks can say, that I
am as vain as yonder peacock.
_Rachel._--Why, Laura, how you blush! Do you think you deserve such a
reproof?
_Laura._--I do, I do. Here, this Sunday morning, I have been thinking
more of my new summer silk than of any thing else. Like that screeching
peacock, I have been vain of my fine feathers. Yes, let us hurry on to
church. One sermon I have had already. It was all given in a look.
_Rachel._--You are quick to take a hint, I see.
_Laura._--I hope I may be as quick to profit by it. "Pride shall have a
fall," says the proverb; and my pride has fallen.
_Rachel._--I shall not try to help it up, my dear.
ANNA LIVINGSTON.
GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.
One summer afternoon, when grandmother was sitting in her old arm-chair,
just outside of the door, little Jane looked fondly up in her face, and
said,--
"Tell us a story, grandma."
"A story, child!" said grandma. "Why, I never made up a story in my
life."
"But you can tell a true story," said Ruth, who was seated on the
doorstep,--"about something that happened when you were a little girl."
While they were talking, George and Charles and Snap, the dog, had come
running up to join the group. Grandma stopped in her knitting, thought a
moment, and said,--
"Well, children, sit down, all of you, and I will tell you a true
story."
So the children all took seats; and grandma began:--
When I was a little girl, about the age of Ruth, my father was
preceptor of the Hingham Academy. You have all been in Hingham. It
is only fifteen miles from Boston. We go there now, by rail or by
steamboat, in less than an hour; but, in those days, we used to go
by a sailing-packet; and it was sometimes a whole day's journey.
Well, in our family there was a French boy, named Bernard Trainier.
His mother was not living. His father lived in Toulon, France. At
that time, France, under the great Napoleon, was continually at war,
and all her young men were forced into the army. I suppose it was to
save Bernard from this fate, that he was sent to America. Mr.
Trainier was acquainted with a French gentleman, Mr. Duprez, who
then lived in Boston; and, through him, Bernard was placed in my
father's care to be educated.
Well, he was a bright, pleasant boy. He soon learned to speak
English; and I and my sisters and brothers became very fond of him.
He would have been very happy, but for one thing. He longed to see
his little brother John, whom he had parted with at Toulon.
One day, to his great delight, Bernard received a letter from his
father, telling him that John was also to be sent to America, and
that he would take passage from Marseilles by the first vessel bound
for Boston.
[Illustration]
At that time there were no steamships and no regular packets from
Europe. The only way of coming was by a merchant-vessel. So Bernard,
who was looking and longing for the arrival of his brother, did not
think it strange when six weeks passed away without bringing him.
But when two months passed, and he did not appear, poor Bernard
began to be anxious. Four months, five months, six months, passed.
Nothing was heard of John. Not a word came from Mr. Trainier. More
than a year passed away, and still there was no news. Bernard was in
despair.
One August day (it must have been, I think, in the year 1805), when
my father had occasion to visit Boston, he took Bernard with him;
and, while there, went with him to call on Mr. Duprez, from whom
they hoped to hear some good news.
But there was no comfort for poor Bernard in what Mr. Duprez had to
tell. He had learned from friends in Toulon that Mr. Trainier, soon
after sending his youngest son to America, had gone to St. Domingo
to look after some estates. St. Domingo was then in a state of
insurrection. The slaves had risen against their masters. When last
heard from, Mr. Trainier had been taken prisoner, and it was feared
that he had been put to death. As to John Trainier, all that could
be learned was that he had been put on board a vessel bound from
Marseilles to Boston, but the name of the vessel or what had become
of her nobody knew.
You may imagine the distress of Bernard at hearing this, and how sad
my father was when he took the poor boy's hand to return with him to
Hingham. The packet station was at the head of Long Wharf. They
reached it long before the vessel was ready to sail: so, to pass
away the time, they walked slowly down the wharf,--my father still
holding Bernard by the hand. They stopped a few minutes at the end
of the wharf, then walked back again.
They had got about half way up the wharf when they heard a shout
behind them. They looked around. The voice seemed to come from the
water side. As they looked, a boy about eleven years old, dressed in
rough sailor-clothes, jumped ashore from a brig at the wharf, and
came running towards them, calling, "Bernard! Bernard!" again and
again.
Bernard stood a moment as if amazed; then, suddenly letting go of my
father's hand, he gave a cry of joy, sprang forward and caught the
little sailor in his arms. It was his brother John.
Here grandma stopped. There was silence a few minutes. Then the
questions began to come thick and fast. "Where had John been all this
time?" "And why didn't he get to Boston before?"
"Well," said grandma, "I must tell that in a few words; for my story is
getting long."
The captain of the brig had promised Mr. Trainier that he would see
the little boy safely landed at the house of Mr. Duprez in Boston.
But the captain was a bad man. Instead of treating John as a
passenger, he forced him to do duty as a cabin-boy.
Then, instead of going to Boston, the brig went to New York, and
from there on a long voyage to some foreign port. At last she had
come to Boston; but the captain had no idea of letting John go even
then. He meant to carry him away again, and would have done so but
for the accidental meeting of the two brothers on Long Wharf.
"The captain _had_ to let him go after that, didn't he, grandma?" said
little Jane.
"Of course he did," said grandma. "My father soon settled that point. He
took John on board the packet, and brought him to Hingham. I well
remember the time when the brothers came home, and how John told the
story of his hardships, and how we all cried when we heard it, and then
laughed with joy to see Bernard so happy."
"And was not John happy too?" asked Ruth.
"Yes, indeed," said grandma. "And yet both the boys were sad when they
thought of their father's fate, and felt that they were orphans with no
means of support. We all did our best to cheer them up, and my father
told them they should have a home with us till they were old enough to
take care of themselves."
"And what became of them? Are they living now? Tell us all about them,"
said the children.
"Ah! I must save that for another story. This is enough for to-day."
JANE OLIVER.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SCENE ON THE HUDSON RIVER.]
* * * * *
CHRISTMAS AT THE SOUTH.
Christmas at the South is usually a much milder day than it is at the
North. The ponds are not often frozen, and there is little or no snow on
the ground: so there is no skating, or coasting, or throwing of
snow-balls, or merry jingle of sleigh-bells.
But we have very good times at the South notwithstanding. The boys go
out with their guns, and sometimes shoot a wild turkey; but often they
shoot just for the sake of making a noise. Their traps are set, too,
about this time, for squirrels, as you may see in the picture.
Games of foot-ball and base-ball are not uncommon; and I have known it
mild enough for girls and boys to play croquet on the lawn, or to row in
a boat on the river.
What is that little girl doing in the central part of the picture? She
is making a present of a sack to her good old nurse, who now has a baby
of her own. The sack is for the baby. How glad they all are--the mother,
the aunt, and the little boy, who, I think, must be the baby's brother!
As for the Christmas feast at the South, it may be very much like that
at the North. In the picture we get a glimpse of a roast pig and a plum
pudding. There is often a wild turkey and a plenty of other game.
"But is there a Christmas-tree? And does Santa Claus come with his
trinkets, and his picture-books, as at the North?" Yes, in many families
there is a Christmas tree, and Santa Claus does not forget that there
are little children at the South also.
In the evening, the little ones play blind-man's-bluff, or
hunt-the-slipper. Sometimes Jack Frost steals down from the North, and
pinches them. But he does not stay long. He likes his northern home
best.
UNCLE HARRY.
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS AT THE SOUTH.]
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.
Mr. D. had promised to give his wife a beautiful rattan rocking-chair as
a Christmas present. It was his employment to sell these articles. In
due time, Mrs. D. called at his place of business, and selected a chair;
but, as she sat enjoying it for a few minutes, a new idea came into her
mind, and she told her husband that she would gladly do without her
present, if he would give Jennie and Alice (their two little daughters)
each a chair.
Her husband agreed to this; and on Christmas Eve he took home with him
two elegant little rocking-chairs. Leaving them in his garden, he went
in to tea, and, after taking his seat at the table, said to his
children, "I have a story to tell you, and it is a true story. Would you
like to hear it?"
Of course they were all eager to do so. So he said, "There was a lady in
my store to-day, whose husband had promised to make her a Christmas
present of a rocking-chair. After she had selected a very nice one, she
turned to her husband, and said, 'If you will give each of our children
a chair, I will forego the pleasure of having mine.' Now, wasn't she
truly kind?"
The children were much interested in the story; and both exclaimed,
"Yes, sir!" Then he added, "I liked the lady very much."
Here, little Alice, growing slightly jealous, exclaimed, "Did you like
her better than you do mamma?"
"Oh, no! not _better_, but _full as well_," answered her father.
After supper, the chairs were brought in, much to the surprise and
delight of Jennie and Alice, who both joyfully exclaimed, "O papa! you
meant us!"
D.
[Illustration]
THE PROPER TIME.
"Will you play with me? Will you play with me?"
A little girl said to the birds on a tree.
"Oh, we have our nests to build," said they:
"There's a time for work, and a time for play."
Then, meeting a dog, she cried, "Halloo!
Come play with me, Jip, and do as I do."
Said he, "I must watch the orchard to-day:
There's a time for work, and a time for play."
A boy she saw; and to him she cried,
"Come, play with me, John, by the greenwood side."
"Oh, no!" said John, "I've my lesson to say:
There's a time for work, and a time for play."
Then thoughtful a while stood the little miss,
And said, "It is hard, on a day like this,
To go to work; but, from what they all say,
'Tis a time for work, and not for play."
So homeward she went, and took her book,
And first at the pictures began to look;
Then said, "I think I will study to-day:
There's a time for work, and a time for play."
EMILY CARTER.
OUR DOG MILO.
Milo was the name of a fine Spanish pointer. He had such an expressive
face, such delicate ears, and such wise eyes, that you could not help
looking at him.
And then he could stand up so cleverly on his hind-legs, dressed in his
little red coat and cap! An old beggar-woman, whose eyesight was not
very good, once took him for a boy, and thanked the "little man," as she
called him, for a present which we boys had trained him to go through
the form of offering.
He had belonged to a travelling company of jugglers and rope-dancers, by
whom he had been taught various tricks, though he had been made to
undergo much hard treatment. He could fire off a pistol, stand on guard
as a sentinel, beat a drum, and serve as a horse for the monkeys of the
show.
This last piece of work poor Milo did not at all like. The monkeys would
scratch and plague him; and, if he resented it, he would be whipped. His
worst enemy was a little monkey named Jocko, who delighted to torment
him.
[Illustration]
At last, we boys talked so much to our good papa about Milo, that he
bought him of the jugglers. How happy we were when we got possession of
him! Poor Milo seemed to be aware of our kind act. After that, it seemed
as if he could not do too much to show his gratitude.
How patiently he would stand on his legs, or march with us in our mimic
ranks as a soldier, when we went forth to battle! In all our plays we
could not do without Milo. He would stand on guard beside our camp; and
he it was who always had to fire the pistol when a deserter was to be
shot.
Sometimes we would play going through the woods, where the Indians were
likely to waylay us. Then Milo was our pathfinder. With his nice sense
of smell he must find out where the cunning redskins were lying in wait.
There was no end to the uses to which we put the dear little dog in our
plays. Never did he snarl, or lose his temper. He saw that we loved him;
and he repaid our love by taking all the pains he could to please us.
But a dark time came for Milo and for us. A fright about mad dogs broke
out in our town. A bad fellow said he had seen another dog, who was
known to be mad, bite Milo. This was untrue; for Milo was at home at the
time.
But all our prayers were of no use. We must bring Milo to the town-hall
to have him shot. How we children wept and took on! Poor Milo, our dear
little playmate! Must we lose him forever? We could not bear the
thought.
The little dog himself saw that something was the matter, and whined at
seeing us all so sad. All at once up started our eldest brother, Robert,
and declared it should not be. He would rescue the little dog.
[Illustration]
He did so without letting any one know of his plan. He took Milo, at
night, in the cars, to the nearest great city. Here one of our cousins
lived. Placing Milo in his charge, Robert came back; and when the
town-officer came after the little dog, to kill him, he was told that
Milo had stepped out, and, if the town-folks wanted him, they must find
him.
In a few months, the outcry about mad dogs was hushed; and then we had
Milo home again. What rejoicing there was! And how glad was Milo himself
to get back, and greet all his little friends with barks and leaps!
FROM THE GERMAN.
[Illustration]
THE THREE CALVES.
My little friend Max was on a farm, a whole week last May, and he likes
to talk of the good time he had there.
He says there were no less than three calves in the great field; and he
used to watch them and feed them two or three times a day.
They grew to be so tame that they would let him come up and pat them on
the back, and feel of their budding horns. He gave them each a name.
One he called Daisy; one, Pink; and one, Rose. He said if he had been
with them three weeks, he should have taught them to know their names.
He hopes to see them again next May; but I think they will be good sized
cows by that time, for they grow very fast.
A. B. C.
[Illustration]
"WHY?"
"You must not go in there!" said an old dog to a young pup who stood on
the white steps of a large house. "You must stay out now."
"Why?" asked the young pup. For it was a trick (and a bad trick) of his
to say, "Why?" when he was told to do, or not to do, a thing.
"Why?" said the old dog: "I cannot say why. Old as I am, I do not know
why. But I do know, that, if you go in when it is a wet day like this,
the maid will drive you out."
"But why?" went on the pup. "It is not fair. There is no sense in it. I
have been in the house some days, and no one turned me out; so why
should they now?"
"Those were fine, sunny days," said the old dog.
"Well, it is on the wet days that I most want to be in the house," said
the pup. "And I don't see why I should stay out. So here I go."
And so he did; but he soon found, that, though no one stopped to tell
him "why" he must not come in, it was quite true that he might not. The
first who saw him was the cook, who had a broom in her hand.
"That vile pup!" cried she. "Look at his feet!"
"What is wrong with my feet?" barked the pup.
But she did not wait to tell him. She struck him with the broom; and he
fled with a howl up the stairs.
"Oh, that pup!" cried the maid, as she saw the marks of his feet. "He
ought not to come into the house at all, if he will not keep out on wet
days."
"But why?" yelped the pup, as the maid threw a hearth-brush at his head.
Still no one told him why. But a man just then came up stairs. "Why,
what a mess!" he said. "Oh, I see! It is that pup. I thought he knew he
must not come in!"
"So I did; but I did not know _why_," growled the pup, as, with sore
back and lame foot, he crept under a chair.
"Come out, come out!" cried the man. "I will not have you in the house
at all. Out with you!" And he seized him with a strong hand, and chained
him in a stall.
"You might have stopped out, and played on the grass, if you had staid
there," the man said. "But, as you will come into the house when you
ought not to, you must be kept where you cannot do so."
And so the young pup had to stay in the dull stall. And when, at last,
he was let out, he did not ask, "Why?" if he was told to do, or not to
do, a thing, but did as he ought at once, like a wise dog.
AUTHOR OF "DICK AND I."
[Illustration]
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.
"Good-by, Old Year!" "Good by, good-by!" he replies, as he goes out into
the cold and snow. "Be good children!" "Who comes? who comes?" "This is
I, the glad New Year!" "What have you brought?" "A plenty of good
wishes. Oh! you must all be good children!"
A MORNING CALL.
Baby Nan has company,
Baby Nell has come a-calling
In her carriage riding gay:
Nan sits on a great soft shawl
With two pillows, lest she fall.
Nan, here's little Nell come calling!
Haven't you a word to say?
"_Gar goo, ghee! gar ghee, argoo!_"
Nell, she's saying, "How d'ye do?"
Pillows bring for baby Nell;
On the soft shawl seat her grandly,
With her mouth set rose-bud way,
And her grave blue eyes surveying
This strange room she's so astray in.
Nell, dear Nell, don't cry! see Nannie!
Haven't you a word to say?
"_Ar-goo, dah, dah! dah dah, goo!_"
"I am pretty well, are you?"
Baby Nan has not a fear;
Up and down her small fists flying,
Bright eyes dancing, laughing gay!
Nell, she's showing you her socks;
Now she shakes her rattlebox;
Hands and feet she keeps a-flying;
She has something more to say:
"_Bab, bab, bab! kee-ee, bab, er!_"
I cannot interpret her.
[Illustration]
Baby Nell can. See her laugh!
Forth her dimpled hand she stretches.
Pass your rattle, Nan, that way;
She, you see, can shake it too.
Now look out, she's seizing you;
Eagerly your toes she reaches!
Both the baby voices say,
"_Goo, goo, bab, bab! argoo ghee!_"
They're great friends so soon, you see.
They have secrets, Nell and Nan,
Laugh and coo, and crow together;
Nan wants Nell to stop all day
Playing with her on the shawl.
Must she go? How short the call!
Come again this sunny weather.
Hear the little darling say,
"_Argoo, kee ee! gar goo, gay!_"
Shake your hand, Nan, too, "_Day-day!_"
MARY L. BOLLES BRANCH.
"HE DID IT FIRST."
There were once two sheep who lived in a field. One was black, and one
was white. In the same field lived a horse and a cow. Now, the black
sheep was not at all good. But, where he chose to go, the white sheep
would go; and, what he did the white sheep would do.
So they both did what they ought not. And when the white sheep was asked
why he did what he ought not, he would say, "The black sheep did it
first!" One day, a boy went through the field, and did not shut the
gate. The black sheep saw it, and ran out of the field with great glee.
The white sheep saw it too, and they both went some way.
But soon they met a large dog, who knew that they ought not to be out in
the road. He ran at them, and bit them, and tore some wool off their
backs. They were glad to run back to the field; and the white sheep was
quite ill with fright all the rest of the day.
"But why did you go?" said the old cow. "The black sheep went," said the
white one. "He did it first."
Well, the gate was shut; but one day the black sheep found a way out of
the field through a hole in the fence. He crept through the gap; and, of
course, the white sheep crept through as well. They got out on the moor,
and thought it fine fun to be there, with no one in sight.
Soon the black sheep, who was first, came to the edge of a deep pit. He
gave a great jump, and leaped in.
The white sheep did not stop to think. He gave a great jump, and leaped
in too. Down, down, down he fell, on to a heap of great sharp stones.
Both he and the black sheep were much hurt. They could not get out, and
were forced to lie there in great pain. By and by some men came by, and
saw the sheep in the pit. The men got them out, and took them back to
the field, and sent for some one to see what could be done for them.
The horse and the cow, in great grief, came and stood by the side of the
white sheep as he lay on the grass. They were fond of him in spite of
all his faults. "Oh, why!" cried the cow, with tears in her eyes (and
the bell that was hung round her neck shook and rang as she leaned over
him),--"why did you leave the field with the black sheep?"
"He did it first," said the white one in a faint voice.
"Then why did you jump down that steep place? Could you not see that it
was a pit?"
"I did not stop to see. He did it first," said the white sheep. Then,
with a groan, he went on to ask, "How _is_ the black sheep? Is he here
too? And what does the man think who comes to see us?"
"I grieve to say," said the cow, "that he thought you were both far too
much hurt to live. The poor black sheep has just died, and I fear that
you must die too."
"He did it first," said the white sheep. And with those words he died.
AUTHOR OF "DICK AND I."
[Illustration: Musical Score.]
THE CATS AND THE MOUSE.
T. CRAMPTON.
1. All the cats con-sult-ed,
What was it a-bout?
How to catch a lit-tle mouse
Running in and out.
The cat with the black nose,
She made this re-mark;--
I will eat the mouse up,
Be-cause my nose is dark.
2. Pus-sy with the long claws,
Curl'd with pride her lip--
You can on-ly snip snap;
I'm the one to grip,
And I'll stretch my long claws,
And hold mous-ey tight;
Then within my strong jaws,
Whisk him out of sight.
3. Lit-tle mous-ey listen'd.
Heard all that was said;
Felt her limbs shake with af-fright;
Thought she'd soon be dead.
But time may be wast-ed.
If cats have much to say;
And while they con-sult-ed,
Mous-ey ran away.
[Illustration: COLGATE & CO. NEW YORK]
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[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
~THE MOST EMINENT AUTHORS OF THE DAY, such as Hon. W. E. Gladstone, Prof.
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[Illustration]
~LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.~
In 1876 The Living Age enters upon its thirty-third year. It has never
failed to receive the warmest support of the best men and journals of
the country, and has met with constantly increasing success. Having
recently absorbed its younger competitor, "~EVERY SATURDAY~," it is now
without a rival in its special field. _A Weekly Magazine_ of sixty-four
pages, it gives more than
~THREE AND A QUARTER THOUSAND~
double-column octavo pages of reading-matter yearly, forming four large
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Essays, Reviews, Criticisms, Tales, Sketches of Travel and Discovery,
Poetry, Scientific, Biographical, Historical and Political information,
from the entire body of Foreign Periodical Literature.
During the coming year, the serial and short stories of the
~LEADING FOREIGN AUTHORS~
will be given, together with an amount ~unapproached by any other
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living Essayists, Scientists, Critics, Discoverers, and Editors_,
representing every department of Knowledge and Progress.
The importance of The Living Age to every American reader, as the only
satisfactorily fresh and ~COMPLETE~ compilation of an indispensable
current literature,--_indispensable_ because it embraces the productions
of
~THE ABLEST LIVING WRITERS~
in all branches of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics,--is
sufficiently indicated by the following recent
~OPINIONS.~
"Ought to find a place in every American Home."--_N. Y. Times._
"In no other single publication can there be found so much of sterling
literary excellence."--_N. Y. Evening Post._
"It reproduces the best thoughts of the best minds of the civilized
world, upon all topics of living interest."--_Philadelphia Inquirer._
"The best of all our eclectic publications."--_The Nation, New York._
"And the _cheapest_. A monthly that _comes every week_."--_The Advance,
Chicago._
"A pure and perpetual reservoir and fountain of entertainment and
instruction."--_Hon. Robert C. Winthrop._
"The best periodical in America."--_Rev. Dr. Cuyler._
"Its pages teem with the choicest literature of the day."--_N. Y.
Tribune._
"_With it alone_ a reader may fairly keep up with all that is important
in the literature, history, politics, and science of the day."--_The
Methodist, N. Y._
"The ablest essays, the most entertaining stories, the finest poetry of
the English language, are here gathered together."--_Illinois State
Journal._
"Its publication in weekly numbers gives to it a great advantage over
its monthly contemporaries in the spirit and freshness of its
contents."--_The Pacific, San Francisco._
"It is indispensable to every one who desires a through compendium of
all that is admirable and noteworthy in the literary world."--_Boston
Post._
"It has no equal in any country."--_Philadelphia Press._
Published Weekly at ~$8.00~ a Year, free of Postage. An extra copy sent
_gratis_ to any one getting up a club of five new subscribers. Volume
begins January 1. _Address_
~LITTELL & GAY, Boston.~
* * * * *
~CLUB PRICES FOR THE BEST HOME AND FOREIGN LITERATURE.~
"Possessed of ~THE LIVING AGE~ and one or other of our vivacious American
monthlies, a subscriber will find himself in command of the whole
situation."--_Phila. Evening Bulletin._
For $10.50 The Living Age and either one of the American $4 Monthlies
(or _Harper's Weekly_, or _Bazar_, or _Appleton's Journal_, weekly) will
be sent for a year, both postpaid; or, for $9.50, The Living Age and
Scribner's _St. Nicholas_; or, for $8.50, The Living Age and _The
Nursery_. Address as above.
* * * * *
~CHOICEST BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.~
~The Beautiful Book.~
_This is a collection of the best poems that have appeared in "The
Nursery." It is a volume of 128 pages, richly bound in cloth, with one
or more Pictures on every page. It is specially attractive as a
Gift-Book for the holidays._
Price ... 75 Cents.
* * * * *
~The Easy Book.~
_This is a Book of 128 pages, prepared expressly for children just
learning to read. It is in large Old English type, with a profusion of
pictures and delightful object-lessons, and is made so fascinating that
a child learns to read from it with little or no aid._
~Elegantly bound in full cloth 75 Cents.~
" " " ~half cloth 50 "~
* * * * *
~Bound Volumes of The Nursery.~
_These now form a complete juvenile library. The Magazine was begun in
1867, and all volumes from that date can be supplied,_
~Half-Yearly volumes, elegantly bound in cloth, $1.00~
~Yearly volumes, " " " 1.75~
* * * * *
[Illustration: Hand] _The above books will be sent,
postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publisher,_
~JOHN L. SHOREY,~
86 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.
* * * * *
~"Truly a Treasure of Delight for the Little Ones."~
~"Not only a Primer, but a Superb Present for a Child."~
CHOICE! CHARMING!! CHEAP!!!
~THE NURSERY PRIMER.~
~Beautifully Bound in Boards.~
SIXTY-FOUR PAGES OF THE SIZE OF "THE NURSERY."
Every Page Richly Illustrated.
~PRICE ONLY 30 CENTS!~
_"In cheapness and attractiveness, the greatest book ever put into the
market as a Holiday-Gift for children."_
_"The Best Book yet for Teaching Children to Read."_
_"The Choicest and Cheapest of all books for children."_
_"With such tools as this, learning to read is no longer a task."_
~EXTRACT FROM THE PREFACE.~
"We can confidently claim that no Primer or First Book for Children has
yet appeared, either in Europe or America, which, in the variety,
beauty, aptness, and interest of its illustrations, can be compared with
this. As an aid in Object-Teaching it will be found invaluable."
~Price 30 Cents. A single copy by mail for 30 Cents. Six Copies sent by
mail for $1.50.~
[Illustration: Hand] ~Dealers wanting a cheap, but truly
elegant work for children, to place on their counters the coming
holidays, should order at once.~
Address
~JOHN L. SHOREY,~
~36 Bromfield Street, Boston, Mass.~
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nursery, No. 109, January, 1876,
Vol. XIX., by Unknown
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, NO. 109 ***
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