Title: The Nursery, February 1881, Vol. XXIX - A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
Author: Various
Language: English
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THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXIX.--No. 2.

    BOSTON:
    THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
    NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
    1881.



    Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
    THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.


[Illustration: JOHN WILSON

& SON.

UNIVERSITY PRESS.]



[Illustration: Contents.]


IN PROSE.

                                                 PAGE
    Almost ready for Launching                     33
    Louis's new Plant                              36
    "One-old-cat"                                  39
    What is the Horse doing?                       40
    Why wouldn't the Kite fly?                     45
    Drawing-Lesson                                 49
    Bertie at his Uncle's                          50
    Rich and Poor                                  56
    Red Coral Beads                                58


IN VERSE.

                                                 PAGE
    The Would-be Travellers                        37
    A Queer Kitten                                 42
    How Blue-Eyes watched for the New Year         43
    The New-laid Egg                               47
    The Good Ship "Rosa Lee"                       54
    The Snow-Fairies                               57
    His Royal Highness                             62
    Nursery Song (_with music_)                    64


[Illustration: ALMOST READY FOR LAUNCHING.

VOL. XXIX.--NO. 2.]



ALMOST READY FOR LAUNCHING.


HERE we have a picture of a ship on the stocks, with a gang of men hard
at work giving her the finishing touches. There are full twenty-six men
in sight.

What are they doing? Well, most of them, I think, are calkers. Do you
know what that means? I will tell you.

After the frame of a ship is set up, the timbers firmly bolted and
braced, and the planking put on and fastened, inside and out, the next
thing to be done is to make the seams water-tight.

For this purpose, slivers of oakum, rolled up in the hand, are driven
into the seams between the planks. When the seams are filled, they are
covered with melted pitch or rosin to preserve the oakum from decay.
This process is called calking.

Most of the men seen in the picture are doing this work, but not all of
them. Some are driving in the oakum with a tool called a calking-iron.
Some are putting on the pitch. I will leave it for you to find out what
the others are doing.

If we could look on deck and on the other side of the ship, we should
see men at work there too. Hark! Don't you hear the sound of their
hammers? All is bustle, but there is no confusion. Every man knows what
to do, and does his work with a will.

After the calking is done, the painters will take their turn. They will
put on two or three coats of paint; then the carvers and gilders will
make a handsome figure-head; every thing will look as neat as a new pin;
and then it will be time to be thinking of a name for the vessel, for,
if I am not mistaken, the ship will be ready for launching. Let us
fancy that we are present at the launch. I think I see her now gliding
into the deep water that awaits her.

She floats away from her cradle. She sits like a duck upon the water.
She is staunch and strong and tight. So far the work has been well done.
What comes next?

[Illustration]

The riggers will now take her in hand. Masts and yards and shrouds and
sails will soon be in their places. Soon we shall see her in the harbor
all ready for sea; and by and by, with sails all set and streamers all
afloat, she will move gracefully down the bay. May she always have fair
winds and prosperous voyages!

                                                  UNCLE CHARLES.



LOUIS'S NEW PLANT.


LOUIS moved to a new home last spring, and, to his delight, had the use
of a plot of ground for a garden. Beans, morning-glories, and other
common plants, edged the little space; but his mamma planned to have
some new thing in the centre.

So they planted three or four peanuts. Louis expected to raise peanuts
enough for the whole neighborhood; and one lady to whom he mentioned it
engaged a bushel on the spot.

In due time a little plant appeared, carrying one of the nuts on its
head; but, finding that too much of a load, it left the parent nut on
the surface of the ground, and sent bright green leaves up, and little
threads of roots down, until, with its sisters, which had been growing
in the same way, it made a group of three pretty plants.

All summer Louis took pride in showing them. Although they grew so
finely, many persons prophesied that they would never bear nuts. But, in
the latter part of September, Louis dug from one of his plants a nut
which was perfect in form, though not yet divided into shell and meat.
It was like a raw potato.

He waited patiently, and early in November he dug a saucer-full of
well-ripened nuts. The plants had sent out a shoot from each joint, and
these grew downward into the ground, and at the end of each shoot grew a
nut. So Louis thinks it is correct to call it a ground-nut.

Louis took a sample of the nuts to "The Nursery" office, and it was
pronounced to be of good quality. Although he could not supply the order
for a bushel, he intends to try again next year, and hopes to raise a
larger crop.

    AUBURNDALE, MASS.                                 LOUIS'S MAMMA.



[Illustration]



THE WOULD-BE TRAVELLERS.

[Illustration]


ARTHUR.

    OH, if I only had a pair
    Of Indian snow-shoes I could wear,
    The storms might beat, the winds might blow,
    Across the drifts I'd northward go,
    And see the Northland's splendid sights,--
    The red, and green, and yellow lights,
    That up the sky at night-time stream,
    The icebergs on the sea that gleam,
    And, peering from his hut of snow,
    In walrus-coat, the Esquimau;
    And with my loud hurrah I'd scare
    From out his den the grizzly bear.

[Illustration]


BERTHA.

    And, if I only had a boat,
    I'd spread my sail, and eastward float,
    And see the far-off Eastern lands,
    The palm-trees, and the desert sands,
    The camels and the caravans;
    Tall shining towers, and curious towns,
    And men with turbans on, and gowns;
    And bring home, lovely to behold,
    A charming dress of cloth-of-gold.

[Illustration]


DICK.

    And, if I only had a horse,
    I'd westward, westward take my course;
    With flying feet and floating mane
    He'd gallop with me o'er the plain;
    As lightly as the wind we'd pass
    Across the waving prairie-grass,
    And strange, tall blossoms, blue and red,
    Would nod about my horse's head.


ELSIE.

    And, if I had some wings to fly,
    I'd southward soar along the sky,
    And see the Southland all aglow
    With roses, when with us there's snow;
    And flutter down to rest me, where
    The starry myrtle scents the air,
    And humming-birds dart out and in
    The blossoms of the jessamine;
    Where his green mate the parrot calls,
    And oranges, like golden balls,
    Hang on the boughs, I'd spend the hours
    In gathering figs, and plucking flowers.


LITTLE SUSY.

    Oh, if you want to, and you can,
      I'm willing you should roam;
    But I'm dear mother's little girl,
      I'll stay with her at home.

                      MARIAN DOUGLAS.

[Illustration]



[Illustration]

"ONE-OLD-CAT."


GRANDMA sat at the window one fine afternoon, knitting. In a group, on
the ground below, sat three little boys dressed in blue sailor suits,
red stockings, and polo caps. "What nice-looking little boys!" thought
grandma.

Presently up jumped one boy, and said, "Come on, fellows, let's play
something."--"All right," said another boy, "One-old-cat." Then they all
ran into the house.

"Dear me!" said grandma, "I thought they were good boys; but they seem
to be going to tease pussy." In a few minutes the boys came back. One of
them carried a large club, while another had something which grandma,
who could not see very well, took to be a stone.

"Oh, what cruel boys!" thought the old lady. "It's bad enough to tie
things to a cat's tail; but to beat her with a club and to throw stones
at her is still worse."

"I'll be pitcher," shouted one of the boys. "There!" said grandma, "he
says he'll pitch her. Who would believe that boys in red stockings and
blue suits could be so cruel?"

"I'll be inner," cried another boy.

"Inner!" said grandma. "What does that mean? Some new expression. I have
no doubt, which I never before heard; but an old lady of eighty years
can't be expected to keep up with the times. It's something dreadful, of
course."

But what was the old lady's surprise when the boys threw aside their
blue jackets, and two of them began to throw the "stone" back and forth,
one to the other; while the third boy stood between, striking at it as
it flew through the air, and sometimes hitting it and sometimes not.
There they staid all the afternoon doing the same thing.

"Why," said grandma, putting on her glasses, and looking more closely.
"I declare! they're only playing ball, after all. Well, I'm glad they're
not so cruel as I thought them. They are such pretty little boys, and
have such pretty red stockings too!"

"But," said she, after a long pause, "there is still one thing that
troubles me. Where is the 'old cat'?"

                                                   MATTIE B. BANKS.



WHAT IS THE HORSE DOING?


CAN any one of my young readers guess from the picture what the horse is
doing to the dog? Do not read the rest of my story till you have tried
to answer this question.

Some boys had placed in a field a snare by which they hoped to catch a
rabbit. It was a sort of noose made of coarse, twisted grass. Fido, the
dog, put one of his forefeet in the noose, and in trying to get away
his leg was doubled up by it.

[Illustration]

He limped off howling to his friend Hero, an old horse that was grazing
near by. Fido lifted up his leg, and Hero at once saw what was the
matter. But Hero had no knife with which to cut the noose. What could he
do?

He did not stay long in doubt. He put down his head, and began to gnaw
at the noose. Taking good care not to bite Fido, he nibbled at the wisp
of twisted grass till it dropped off, and the good dog was free.

You should have seen Fido as he scampered round, jumped up, and barked
at his old friend. "Barked at him?" Yes; but it was all in play, as much
as to say, "You dear old Hero! How I thank you! I will do as much for
you, should you ever get into trouble. Bow, wow, wow!"

And Hero galloped round, and threw up his heels, but took good care not
to hit his friend Fido. Each seemed to be glad in the feeling that a
kind act had been done.

This is a true story, and Mr. Harrison Weir has told it well in his
drawing.

                                                   UNCLE CHARLES.



A QUEER KITTEN.


    CHRISTMAS-DAY, in her stocking,
      Our Marion found a prize,--
    A dear little spotted kitten
      With wonderful bright blue eyes;

    With fur that was fluffy as cotton,
      Yellow and white and gray,
    With paws that were soft as velvet,
      And brimful of fun and play.

    She looked at her little mistress,
      And loved her, it seemed, at sight;
    For she climbed on Marion's shoulder,
      Purring with all her might,--

    Careful never to hurt her
      With sharp little tooth or nail;
    But one thing was very funny,--
      The kitty had never a tail.

    "O mamma!" Marion shouted,
      "What in the world can ail
    This dear little baby-kitty,
      That she hasn't a bit of tail?

    "How funny!" said Marion puzzled,
      And wondering almost frowned,
    "What will she have to play with,
      And run after, round and round?

    "Did somebody snip it with scissors
      Or pinch it off in the door?
    Did you ever see a kitten
      Without a tail, before?"

    Then mamma laughed at her darling,
      And kissed her, and then began
    To tell her about the kittens
      That come from the Isle of Man.

                                 E. A. A.



[Illustration]

HOW BLUE-EYES WATCHED FOR THE NEW YEAR.


    LITTLE Miss Blue-Eyes shook her head
    At nurse's call, "Come, time for bed!"
    "Oh, no! oh, no indeed! not yet!
    I'm 'stonished at you! you forget
    That I and all my family
    Must watch the Old Year out, you see,
    And I must be the first to say
    To all, 'A happy New Year's Day!'"

    "Oh, bless your little heart, my dear!"
    Said nurse, "the New Year won't be here
    Till midnight hour: your curly head
    Must long ere then be snug in bed."
    But Blue-Eyes answered, "No, _no_, NO!
    Please, nursie, do not make me go!
    I mean to keep awake, and hear
    The bells that ring in the New Year."

    But, when the nurse came back to peep,
    A minute later, sound asleep
    Was little Blue-Eyes on the floor;
    And still she slept while nursie bore
    Her softly to the pretty bed
    Which waited for the curly head.
    And the New Year was bright with sun,
    Ere little Blue-Eyes' sleep was done.

[Illustration]

    Then the gay sunbeams kissing her
    Caused the small, drowsy limbs to stir,
    Caused the blue eyes to open wide,
    And see her mother at her side:
    And "Happy New Year!" all things said
    To this same little sleepy head,
    Who meant to be the first to say,
    "To all a happy New Year's Day!"

                              MARY D. BRINE.



[Illustration]

WHY WOULDN'T THE KITE FLY?


JACK and Fred sat on the steps, trying to think of something to do. They
had spent their morning in digging wells and ditches in the sand; for it
was vacation-time, and they were living down by the sea.

Just before dinner they had been in bathing. Since dinner they had been
over in the fields, picking up long feathery grasses to put in mamma's
vases. And now, what should they do next?

At last, Jack thought it would be fine fun to make a large kite, much
larger than any they had ever seen. Fred said he would help; and off
they ran to get sticks, tacks, paper, paste, and string, so as to have
every thing ready.

When they could think of nothing else that was needed, they set to work.
Jack cut and tacked the sticks together, just as the smaller ones were
in his little old kite; while Fred cut the papers, and made the tail.

Having joined the four ends of the sticks with string, they covered the
whole with newspaper, pasted nicely, and left the kite in the sun to
dry. Then Jack thought of one thing that had been forgotten: they had
not tied on the string. So they had to cut a hole in their paper, and
put the string through. Then, of course, the holes had to be patched up
again, and this took a good while.

The wind was blowing quite briskly, and the boys thought they could not
wait any longer, although the kite was not quite dry. Fred said he would
pitch the kite, if Jack would let out the string. You can imagine how
Fred looked, as he ran out before the wind, with this big kite that was
much taller than himself. Jack said it seemed as though the kite had
legs of its own, and was walking off.

Fred pitched the kite. It went up bravely. Jack ran with it, letting out
the string, little by little, when, all of a sudden, there came a heavy
gust of wind. The string broke, and the kite fluttered down, flat on the
ground.

But these boys had been taught to always "try again." So they went to
look for a stronger string.

Jack thought of the clothes-line. Off he went, and soon came back with a
good long rope. This they tied on, and now they thought the kite would
surely fly. Jack pitched it this time, and what do you think happened?
The string was too heavy. The kite went up, but soon came down; and,
what was worse, the paper was so thin, that the wind tore it all to
pieces.

"Never mind!" said Jack, "we'll try again to-morrow. You see, Fred, if
we have a large kite, we must have a strong cover for it and a stout
string."

Then the two boys went to work, and covered the kite-frame with cloth.
They got a string that was very strong but not too heavy; and the next
day they had a grand time flying their kite.

Some day I will tell you more about these boys who were always ready to
"try again."

                                                                 M.



THE NEW-LAID EGG.


      WHO laid the egg?
    "Cut, cut-ca-dah!" said the hen:
      "When the clock struck ten,
        I laid an egg."

[Illustration]

    Who'll take it to the house?
      "I," said little Dick:
      "I'm very quick,
    And I'll take it to the house."

[Illustration]

    Who knows how to cook it?
      "I," said good Mary Ann;
      "In my own frying-pan:
    I know how to cook it."

[Illustration]

    Who'll eat it when it's done?
      "I," said little Phil,
      "Because I am ill:
    "I'll eat it when it's done."

[Illustration]

      Who'll lay another?
    "Cluck, cluck, cluck!" said the hen;
    "Feed me well and then
      I'll lay another."

[Illustration]

                      C. L. K.



[Illustration: DRAWING-LESSON.

VOL. XXIX.--NO. 2.]



BERTIE AT HIS UNCLE'S.


BERTIE is a little boy six years old. His home is in the country. He has
an uncle Frank. Uncle Frank lives in the city. Bertie has come to uncle
Frank's house to stay two weeks.

He has never until now been away from his papa and mamma for a day. But
he thinks he shall not mind it, because uncle Frank is such a funny man.
He can make you believe that there is a big bumble-bee on your hair, or
flying and buzzing about the room. He can squeak just like a mouse, or
mew like a cat, or chirp like a bird.

But uncle Frank cannot play with Bertie all day long. He has an office
down town, where he must stay part of the time. So he tells Bertie to
keep off the street, and be sure not to follow the circus, or the man
with the organ and monkey.

Bertie says he will stay in the house, and visit with Poll the parrot,
and Dick, the canary. "If you need any thing more to make you happy, ask
Dora the housekeeper for it. She will look after your wants till I
return," uncle Frank says as he takes leave of Bertie at the door.

"Good-by, uncle Frank!" says Bertie.

"Don't follow the circus! don't follow the circus!" cries Poll from her
perch.

Bertie laughs, and answers back, "Don't scold! don't scold!"

This puts Poll in the very best of humor. She turns up her eyes, tries
to look smart, and screams back at the top of her voice, "Thieves,
thieves! Call the police; call the police!"

Then Dora comes in, and finds uncle Frank gone. She tells Bertie she has
something to show him. He follows her out through the kitchen, and up a
long pair of stairs, to an attic. There is a large box in the attic.
Dora calls it a chest. It is painted blue, and has a lid to it. The lid
is made of woven wire.

Dora goes on tiptoe and looks over into the box. Then she softly raises
the lid, and lifts Bertie up so that he can see into it. "Oh, what funny
cats!" cries little Bertie.

[Illustration]

"Indeed they are not cats," Dora says, smiling.

"Then they must be little puppies. But what red eyes they have! and such
straight bodies! How funny they do look!" Bertie says.

"No, my little man, they are not puppies. You will have to guess once
more," says the good-natured housekeeper.

"Are they rabbits?" asks Bertie.

"No, not rabbits, either," is the reply. "Guess again."

"Oh, please tell me what they are!" pleads Bertie. "I am sure that I can
never, never guess all alone."

Dora laughs, and says they will go down and get Poll the parrot to help
him guess. Poll is still on her perch; and Dora, holding a
cream-cracker, says, "Here is a nice cracker, Poll. Now tell Bertie what
is in the big chest in the attic."

[Illustration]

"Polly wants a cracker!" cries the bird.

"What is in the attic?" asks Dora.

"Ferrets, ferrets! Run, rats! Run for your lives!" screams the parrot.
"Polly wants a cracker!"

"There, my little man; now do you know what is in the chest?" asks Dora
as she gives the cracker to Poll.

"Polly says they are ferrets," replies Bertie, dropping his eyes; "but I
do not know what that means."

So Dora asks Bertie to sit beside her, and she will tell him about the
little ferrets.

Just as she finishes a nice long story about an old ferret and a great
long-tailed rat, a little girl's voice under the table calls out, "Come
here, Bertie: I want to tell you something." Bertie slides down from the
sofa, and runs to the table. He lifts up a corner of the table-cover and
looks under.

There is nothing to be seen there, except a pair of very crooked legs,
which belong to the table, of course.

"What does all that mean, I wonder!" Bertie says. And his eyes are as
round as moons.

But, before Dora can reply, the same voice says, "Go to the door,
Bertie: there is something there for you."

Bertie walks slowly toward the door, but stops halfway there, and asks,
"Is it April-fool's Day?" And the voice under the table answers, "Go to
the door and see."

So Bertie tries to look bold, and marches up, like a soldier going to
battle. "Left, left! right, right!" calls out the voice under the table.
But this time it is loud and strong, like that of a captain of the
drill.

Bertie is a brave little boy: so he marches straight up to the
door,--which stands open,--and looks out. Then he claps his chubby
hands, and shouts, "Oh! it was my uncle Frank under the table. I forgot
he was such a funny man. Oh, uncle Frank! How can you get in the house
and out of the house, and nobody see you?"

"Look down here at me!" says a strange barking voice from the bottom of
the steps. Bertie looks, and sees something that makes his eyes brighter
than ever. It is a great, black, shaggy dog, hitched to such a nice
little express-wagon. The harness fits its wearer as nicely as can be,
and has silver rings and buckles. The reins are red, white, and blue. A
neat whip lies across the seat of the wagon. On the sides of the wagon,
in large gilt letters, are the words, "CITY EXPRESS."

The dog has a bright silver collar around his neck, with a small bell
hung from it. The dog's name is on this collar. It is Nero.

[Illustration]

But when uncle Frank tells Bertie that the dog, and the wagon, and the
pretty harness, and the whip, are all his own to keep, he is so glad
that he jumps up and down like a young monkey.

He says, "Thank you, thank you, uncle Frank! When I am a man, I shall
try and be just like you." Then his uncle lifts him into the
express-wagon, gives him the reins and the whip, and away they go, down
the area-walk, to the stable.

                                                   M. J. TAYLOR.



[Illustration]

THE GOOD SHIP "ROSA LEE."


    "GAYLY, gayly, over the sea,
      Over the sea and far away,
    Sail, my good ship 'Rosa Lee,'
    Bring ivory, silk, and gold to me
      In another summer's sunniest day.

    "Ever and ever so many a mile,
      Deep in the endless, hazy blue,
    Is a golden shore and a spicy isle;
    The orange blooms there all the while;
      And the monkeys laugh at the kangaroo.

    "Purple and yellow and emerald-green,
      The parrots flit in the groves of palm;
    Like sparks of living fire are seen
    The humming-birds that hover between
      The scarlet blooms in a tropic calm.

    "Over the blue, unending sea
      Sail away, and into the west,
    Till the west is east; then come to me,
    Freighted as full as full can be
      Of all that misty island's best,--

    "Dust of gold and apples of gold,
      A kangaroo, and a monkey or two,
    A cage of parrots to laugh and scold,
    And a silken web, that, when unrolled,
      Would reach to the moon, and back to you."

    The boy lets slip his cedarn boat;
      Gaily she scuds before the breeze,
    With a steady helm, till, far remote,
    Only a dim, white speck afloat
      Is the last glimpse of her that ever he sees.

    No matter! His thoughts sail far and free
      With his good ship, and he finds new joy
    In learning of lands beyond the sea;
    And this is the freight of his "Rosa Lee,"--
      Better than gold to the eager boy.

                                GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.

[Illustration]



RICH AND POOR.


HERE is a young girl taking a walk on a cold day. She is strong and
well. Her dress is very thick. She has a fur cape, and a muff, and good
stout shoes. See how fine she looks. She does not seem to mind the
biting frost.

[Illustration]

But see this poor old woman tottering along. She wraps her thin cloak
around her, but it does not keep out the keen air. She is very cold.

[Illustration]

I hope that the rich young girl will give some aid to the poor old
woman.

                                                   A. B. C.



[Illustration]

THE SNOW-FAIRIES.


    THE moon was dim when we went to bed,
      And the stars were covered over,
    When the wee white fairies came o'erhead,
    And, whirling down the wind, they sped
      The trees and ground to cover.

    They danced all night o'er field and rill
      To the pipe the breeze was blowing:
    When the sun came peeping up the hill
    To see what made the world so still,
      They whispered, "Let's be going!"

                           GEORGE COOPER.



RED CORAL BEADS.


"DID I ever tell you how I lost my red coral beads, and where they were
found?" I said this to my boys, Roy and Fred, one frosty night, when we
were all gathered around the bright open fire.

[Illustration]

"No!" said Fred decidedly. "That is a new story. Does it tell about the
time when you were a little girl? and about the farmhouse and the
sitting-room with the big fireplace, and the bellows, and the queer
hour-glass, and the old-fashioned iron snuffers in a red tray?"

"Yes," I answered, "it is about every thing you like to hear so well."
Then I told the story as follows:--

      "My story begins in the long, low, pleasant farmhouse
      sitting-room, with its big beam running across the low
      ceiling. There was also a great fireplace, and a wide
      stone hearth. There we children cracked our nuts, and
      there, on winter evenings, a great basket of
      Rhode-Island Greenings always stood warming in the
      corner. Of course there was a wide mantel over the
      fireplace. On it stood two tall silver candlesticks,
      between them were the hour-glass and the snuffer-tray,
      and at each end of the shelf was a stiff vase, filled
      with peacock feathers."

[Illustration]

"Don't forget the windows," interrupted Roy.

"Never fear," I said.

      "The windows were the loveliest I ever saw,--wide, and
      deep, and low, and cushioned with red morseen."

"And your grandmother always sat at the south window, knitting, and
reading out of the Bible or the Pilgrim's Progress," said Fred.

[Illustration]

"And she had a bag of red-and-white sugar-plums, to give you when you
were good," continued Roy.

"That is all true," I observed. "What comes next?"

"Why, the chrysanthemum-window, of course," said both boys in a chorus.

"There were yellow, red, and white ones," continued Roy.

"Yes," said I, "and I will tell you of the many other pleasant things in
the room that I so dearly love to remember."

      "There was a chintz lounge, a striped home-made
      carpet, a big arm-chair for father, and a high-backed
      rocking-chair for my mother.

      "But the most attractive place in the whole room was
      the corner cupboard. It had a carved green door, and
      was painted inside a bright vermilion-red. On one
      shelf stood a silver tankard filled with solid silver
      spoons, and behind it, in stately shining rows, my
      grandmother's pewter platters.

      "On the next higher shelf stood a set of pink china, a
      little stout green pitcher, a dozen wine-glasses, and
      a great blue punch-bowl, gorgeous with yellow
      butterflies hovering over great double pink roses.

      "There were tumblers of jelly on the top shelf, and
      jars of preserves, and covered glass dishes of honey,
      and a box made of colored porcupine-quills, in which
      mother kept her currants, raisins, citron, and candied
      lemon-peel.

      "Now comes the story-part. One day my brothers were
      all out in the woods setting traps. Mother had just
      run into Mrs. Newman's for a little call, grandma was
      spending the day in town, and Alice, my sister, was
      out working among the flowers.

      "Suddenly I thought, 'How good those raisins in the
      porcupine box would taste!' I did not pause long to
      consider, but climbed the red shelves of the closet,
      took down the blue-and-yellow box, and helped myself.
      I set it back again hastily, for I heard Alice coming
      in at the back-door. That very night I missed my red
      coral beads.

      [Illustration]

      "'They are gone for good,' said my grandma, 'for I saw
      the child playing on the sand-bank before I went
      away.'--'And she has been on the hay-mow,' chimed in
      my brothers.--'And all over the pine-grove with me,'
      said Alice.--'And down to the grist and saw mill with
      me,' observed father.

      "I mourned greatly over my loss; for my beads were
      precious, and I prized them more highly than any thing
      else I possessed. A few nights after my loss, mother,
      who had gone up to bed with us as usual, said very
      gravely, 'Susan, I have found your beads; and where do
      you think they were?'

      "I could not tell, of course. 'They were in the
      porcupine-box,' continued mother; 'and now how came
      they there?' I told her all about it. My little sin
      had found me out.

      "'Your necklace was a silent witness,' said my mother.
      I wanted to ask what a 'silent witness' was, but was
      too much ashamed. The next day I was sent to the
      store for more raisins and citron. Alice went with me.

      "As we left the store, I heard Mr. Dallas, the
      merchant, say to his clerk, 'Mrs. Chapin is a good
      customer. She bought two pounds of raisins and a pound
      of citron only last week, and to-day as much more. I
      guess they are expecting company. Shouldn't at all
      wonder if John's folks were coming.'

      "My uncle John did come, and brought his pretty new
      wife, aunt Dorothy. Mother made lovely frosted
      pound-cake with plums in it, and mince-pies filled
      with fruit; but what I remember best of all is that
      she made for me a little plain cake, and left out all
      the raisins and currants."

"I think it was real mean for your mother to do so," said Fred, excited,
and almost tearful.

"I think it was just right," I added. "It taught me a lesson I never
forgot."

Since telling this story to my boys, I have observed that the lump-sugar
that I keep in the blue china punch-bowl lasts much longer than it has
for months before.

And this is the moral of my story, I suppose.

                                                   SARAH THAXTER THAYER.

[Illustration]



[Illustration]

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS.


    HIS Royal Highness is out of town.
    The blinds are closed, and the shades are down,
    And silence reigns in the house where he
    Was wont to frolic with merry glee.
    Lonely and drear as a desert-place
    Is the home that misses his merry face;
    And even the skies appear to frown
    When His Royal Highness is out of town.

    His Royal Highness will give command
    As if he fancied he owned the land,
    And all his vassals his laws fulfil
    As if delighted to do his will.
    So sweet and winning his royal sway
    His slightest wishes they all obey;
    With smiling faces on errands go
    When His Royal Highness says thus or so.

    You'd hardly think that the rosy chap
    Sitting up there in his mother's lap,
    Sweet and smiling, dimpled and fat,
    Was very much of an autocrat;
    Yet never a king on his throne could be
    More determined to rule than he,
    And a merry hubbub he's sure to make
    When His Royal Highness is wide awake.

    Some days he's merry; some days he's sad;
    And none are troubled when he is glad;
    Sometimes he's cross, and they're sure to say
    "His Royal Highness is sick to-day."
    They strive to humor his every mood,
    And now the noises are all subdued;
    On tip-toe lightly his vassals creep,
    For His Royal Highness is fast asleep.

                            JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

[Illustration]



[Illustration: music]



NURSERY SONG.

    Words by GEO. COOPER.     Music by HATTIE R. GILMOR.


    1. Where do all the daisies go!
          I know, I know!
       Underneath the snow they creep,
       Nod their little heads and sleep;
       In the spring-time out they peep; ...
          That is where they go.
       Yes! That is where they go.

    2. Where do all the birdies go?
          I know, I know!
       Far away from winter snow,
       To the fair, warm South they go,
       There they stay till daisies blow;
          That is where they go.

    3. Where do all the babies go?
          I know, I know!
       In the glancing firelight warm,
       Safely sheltered from all harm,
       Soft they lie on mother's arm;
          That is where they go.

       *       *       *       *       *


Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

The original text for the January issue had a table of contents that
spanned six issues. This was divided amongst those issues.

Additionally, only the January issue had a title page. This page was
copied for the remaining five issues. Each issue had the number added on
the title page after the Volume number.

Page 35, repeated word "to" removed. Original read (mamma planned to to
have some)

Page 62, the format of the first word of the poem was changed from
regular text to match the format of the first words of the rest of the
text.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Nursery, February 1881, Vol. XXIX - A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers" ***

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