Chapter L: P. a

THE SONG OF THE KETTLE.

MY house is old, the rooms are low,
The windows high and small;
And a great fireplace, deep and wide,
Is built into the wall.

There, on a hanging chimney-hook,
My little kettle swings;
And, in the dreary winter-time,
How cheerily it sings!

My kettle will not sing to-day--
What could it sing about?
For it is empty, it is cold:
The fire is all gone out.

Go, bring to me, to fill it up,
Fresh water from the spring;
And I will build a rousing fire,
And that will make it sing!

Bring white bark from the silver birch,
And pitch-knots from the pine;
And here are shavings, long and white,
That look as ribbons fine.

The little match burns faint and blue,
But serves the fire to light;
And all around my kettle, soon,
The flames are rising bright.

Crack, crack! begins the hemlock-branch,
Snap, snap! the chestnut stick;
And up the wide old chimney now
The sparks are flying thick.

Like fire-flies on a summer night,
They go on shining wings;
And, hark! above the roaring blaze
My little kettle sings!

The robin carols in the spring;
In summer hums the bee:
But, in the dreary winter, give
The kettle's song to me.

MARIAN DOUGLAS.

CLARENCE'S KITTENS.

CLARENCE is a little boy who loves to read "The Nursery," and often laughs at the funny stories in it.

Where Clarence lives, there are two kittens. He calls them kittens; but they are both _grown-up_ kittens, and the elder of the two is a full-grown cat. One is named Ring, because she has such a pretty white ring about her neck; and the other is named Daisy.

Now, Daisy is Ring's aunt, and is sometimes very cross to her niece. Being a sedate cat herself, she tries to stop Ring's fun; but Ring is a happy kitten, and always tries to have a good time.

One day, after coming from church, Clarence's aunt was reading, when the dinner-bell rang. So she left her book on the window-sill, and laid her spectacles upon it.

Pretty soon old Daisy seated herself in a very dignified way right in front of the book. In a few minutes, little Ring came frisking along, and, without paying the least regard to Madam Daisy, up she jumped, and whisked the spectacles down on the carpet.

She was just ready to send them flying across the room, when down came Madam Daisy as stern as a police-officer. She looked at Ring a moment, in a crushing way, then lifted her paw, and boxed the naughty kitten's ears till she mewed for mercy.

Ring ran away as soon as she could, and left the spectacles for Clarence's mamma to pick up; while old Daisy took her seat on the window-sill again, and seemed to feel that she had done her duty.

Clarence thought it was a funny sight to see one cat punish another. What do you think about it, little Nursery people?

MRS. L. A. WHITE.

THE TIGER'S TOILET.

THIS splendid tiger lived in the Zoölogical Gardens at Berlin. He had a very kind keeper named Peens, who used to comb out the long waving hair that grew on his cheeks.

He looks in the picture as though he were very angry, and were growling and snarling terribly; but though he did gnash his teeth, and make a fearful noise, he enjoyed his hair-dressing very much. I have seen some children who acted like this tiger when their hair was combed; but that was because they were really cross. He is not.

Whenever he saw Peens coming toward his cage with the comb in his hand, this tiger would at once throw himself down close to the bars, with his head pressed against them, as you see him here, as if he would say, "I'm all ready, Peens, go ahead!" This showed how much he liked the feeling of the comb.

But, after all, he never forgot that he was a tiger; for if, by accident, Peens pulled his hair, he would give a dreadful growl, and look as if he would like to eat him up in a minute. Then Peens would stop for a moment, until he was good natured again.

A few weeks ago this beautiful and intelligent tiger died. In his last hours he mewed constantly with pain, like a great cat, and was only quiet when Peens came to the bars, and stroked his cheeks. When the keeper went away, he would call after him.

Peens felt very badly at losing his tiger; and I am sure he must have been a very kind keeper to him.

Even a tiger may be taught love and gratitude by kind treatment.

ELIZABETH SILL.

(_Adapted from the German._)

PETERLIN ON HIS TRAVELS.

PETERLIN was a chick just five days out of the shell. He began to think he was somebody now. The old cornfield became too narrow for him. He must start out on his travels, and see something of the world.

Biddy, his mother, clucked and scolded away at him, and told him how he might lose himself in the grass, and never find his way home.

But it was of no use. The mother's warnings were unheeded. Off started Peterlin; and, before he was well aware of it, the cornfield lay far behind him, and he found himself standing on a rock, and gazing forth over the wide world.

The valley lay open before him. Dear me, what a world it seemed!--so very vast! With fright and amazement Peterlin looked down on all the magnificence till he felt himself growing giddy.

He stood on the brink of an abyss; and far beneath him flowed a stream through the blooming land; and over the waters moved proud vessels with their white sails and their waving flags.

All at once Peterlin saw a bird in the air. "Oh, dear! what if it should be a vulture?" thought he, trembling in every joint. "Oh, if I were only once more under my good old mother's wing! Oh! how I wish I had minded her warning!"

Off ran Peterlin back through the grass, back over the ploughed field, along by the edge of the wood; and then he heard a noise,--"cluck, cluck, cluck!" "Oh, joy, joy! That is my mother's voice!" thought he.

Yes, it was Biddy's voice, calling her runaway child. She approached him at a quick run; and it was not till he was safe under her wing that the quick beat of his heart slackened, and he felt once more at peace. Peterlin then and there resolved that he would wait till he was older before he started again on his travels.

FROM THE GERMAN.

ON THE GATE.

WHERE are you going? Have you got
Any thing good to eat
In that big basket? Let me peek!
Do you live on our street?
I'm six years old to-day; aren't you
Surprised? I wish you'd wait!
I'll tell you something, if you will,
And swing you on our gate.

This is my grandpa's house. I wish
He was your grandpa too!
I guess your mother'll let you come
And stay with me; don't you?
I'm making patchwork: it's to keep
The heathens warm. I hate
To keep in-doors. I wish I could
Swing all day on the gate!

Have you a doll? Yes? Mine got drowned:
Joe threw her down the well;
But pretty soon I'm going to buy
A new one; don't you tell!
My bank is almost full; I'll let
You shake it, if you'll wait:
Pa said he'd fill it if I would
Stop swinging on the gate.

We've got some kittens in the barn;
They're way up in the loft:
I like to hold them in my lap,
They feel so warm and soft.
Joe broke my little spade one day,
Digging the earth for bait:
Does your big brother call you names,
And pull you off the gate?

I go to school. I'm at the head:
You ought to hear me spell!
I and another girl are in
The class. There goes the bell!
I'll have to run, and get my books.
Oh, dear! I shall be late:
Another scolding I shall get
For swinging on the gate!

H. B.

GEORGE'S BOAT.

GEORGE had a boat on a little stream that ran not far from the house. The boat was flat; and George pushed it along with a pole. It did not go fast.

One day Mabel asked her brother if she might go in the boat with him. George said, "Oh, yes!" So he pushed up to the shore, and helped Mabel in. Then he pushed off.

How far did they go in the boat? As far as the bridge, by the great elm-tree. George thought that was far enough.

Rover saw George and Mabel in the boat, and he wanted to go too. He ran down to the shore, and barked. But George said there would not be room for him.

There was a place where the grapevines hung over the water. George pushed the boat to the place; and he and Mabel picked some grapes.

By and by the sun was almost down. George and Mabel thought it was time to go home. Their mother had told them to come home before dark.

W. O. C.

THE LITTLE CARPENTER.

THE picture of the little boy on the opposite page is from a photograph from life: so you may look on it as on a real likeness of some one in England. I do not know his name; but I think he must be some one whose parents have fitted up a little carpenter's shop for him, so that he may learn to do something useful.

The picture reminds me of a true story. About sixty years ago, there was a rich man in Germany, of the name of Reinhold, who had seen so much of the changes of life, that he resolved that each of his children, both boys and girls, should learn some useful trade or profession.

Rudolf, the eldest boy, learned to be a carpenter. But, when he was twenty-one years of age, he came into the possession of a large fortune. He married, and thought that he had so much money that he could never spend it all.

But, before he was fifty years of age, the whole of his large possessions had melted away. Some of his stately houses had been burned down; and the insurance-offices had failed. Some men he had trusted had proved dishonest; and many schemes that he had entered upon had turned out badly.

At the age of forty-six, Rudolf Reinhold took up the business of a carpenter, which he had learned between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. He soon became skilful, and turned his attention to building houses in the city of Berlin. So successful was he, that in ten years he was once more a rich man.

One of his daughters had become a dressmaker, and another a music-teacher; and even when, at last, they were once more rich, they always felt glad that their father had made them accomplish themselves in useful pursuits, instead of leading lives of idleness and self-indulgence.

UNCLE CHARLES.

LITTLE MISCHIEF.