Chapter I: Front Matter

THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXX.--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.

IN PROSE.

PAGE
The Young Fisherman 225
A slight Mistake 227
Two Games 231
More about "Zip Coon" 232
Sam and his Goats 234
Mary's Squirrel 240
Drawing-Lesson 241
The Chimney-sweep 244
Billy and Bruiser 246
"If I were only a King" 248
Use before Beauty 249
Ten Minutes with Johnny 251
A Cat Story 252
Tom's Apple 254

IN VERSE.

The Hen-Yard Door 228
Toy-Land 238
A Turtle Show 242
Two Little Maidens 247
Summer Rambles 250
See-Saw (_with music_) 256

THE YOUNG FISHERMAN.

WHEN Charley was eight years old, his father gave him, for a birthday present, a nice fishing-line.

The little boy was greatly pleased. He had fished often in a tub of water with a pin-hook; but now, for the first time, he had a real fishing-line and pole, and was able to go a-fishing in earnest.

The very first pleasant day, he got leave from his father to go to the pond and try his luck.

"Be sure to bring home a good mess of fish, Charley," said his father.

"Oh, yes! papa," said Charley, and with his fishing-pole on his shoulder out he went.

What fun it was! First he dug some worms for bait; then he baited his hook nicely; then he took his stand on a little platform, made on purpose for the use of fishermen, and threw out his hook.

There he stood, in the shade of the old willow-tree, and waited for the fish to bite. As he looked down into the calm, clear water, he saw a boy, just about his own size, looking up at him. He had no other company.

He kept close watch of the pretty painted cork, expecting every moment to see it go under water. But for a long, long time it floated almost without motion.

Charley's patience began to give out. "I don't believe there are any fish here," thought he. Just then the cork dipped a little on one side. Then it stopped. Then it dipped again.

"Hurrah!" said Charley, and he pulled up the line with a jerk. Was there a fish on it? Not a bit of one. But the bait was all gone.

"Never mind!" said Charley, "I'll catch him next time." He baited the hook, and threw it out again. The sport was getting exciting.

Pretty soon the cork bobbed under, as before. "Now I have him!" said Charley. He pulled up once more, and this time with such a jerk that he tossed the hook right over his head, and it caught in the weeds behind him. But there was no fish on it.

"The third time never fails," said Charley, as he threw out his line again. He waited now until the cork was pulled clear under water; then he lifted it out, without too much haste, and, sure enough, he had caught a fish.

How long do you suppose it had taken him to do it? Pretty nearly all the forenoon. No matter! he had one fish to carry home, and he had had a real good time besides.

Charley has caught many a mess of fish since then; but I doubt if he has ever enjoyed the sport more than he did in catching that one fish.

UNCLE SAM.

A SLIGHT MISTAKE.

A DONKEY walking with a lion, fancied himself a lion also, and pretended not to know his own brother.

THE HEN-YARD DOOR.

WHEN careless Tommy fed the fowls,
He did not shut the door;
Out came the rooster and the hens;
Out came the pullets four;
Out came old Speckle-wings, with six
Bewitching little Bantam chicks.

At once the hens began to cluck,
The cock began to crow,
And here and there, and everywhere,
They seemed possessed to go;
They pecked the turnips; in a patch
Of spinach they began to scratch:
And when to drive them in we tried
They straightway to our neighbors hied.

Upon our right, a new-made lawn
Was just with grass-seed sown;
Upon our left, a garden-plot
With pinks and lilies shone.
In rushed our right-hand neighbor's son,
With flaming face, and said,
"'Shut up your hens,' my father says,
Or he will shoot them dead."
Our left-hand neighbor wrote a note,--
"I all the spring have toiled
To rear the lovely flowers I find
Your roving fowls have spoiled."

To get them home, the livelong day
We tried, till evening gathered gray:
Then back to roost returned the cock,
But some were missing from his flock.
Four hens were with him; where were two?
Perhaps our right-hand neighbor knew!
Back came the pullets, having fed
On dainty pinks, and roses red;
Back came old Speckle; of her six
The cat had caught three little chicks.

We shut the door, and made it fast;
We all were glad the day was past:
We'd lost our hens, and lost our friends;
Our neighbors smile no more;
And all because our careless Tom
Forgot to shut the door!

MARIAN DOUGLAS.

TWO GAMES.

HERE is a boy, full ten years old, playing with a peg-top. What a sight! He might find some better game, I should think. Why is he not out of doors playing baseball? He is big enough to use his arms and legs?

This girl could teach him a much better game than peg-top. She is out on the lawn, all ready to play croquet. She will have fun and fresh air at the same time. Those are two things that all girls and boys need.