Chapter I: WANT to tell the readers of "The Nursery" about my dog. My mamma

bought him for me when he was very young. He is a Newfoundland dog, and is very large. He is black, with a white face and neck. His name is Jack.

Jack is very useful in keeping tramps out of our orchard, and is also very kind and playful. I do not like to play with him; for he is so rough, that he sometimes tumbles me over, and hurts me: but I have a good time with him in other ways.

He draws me about in a little cart into which I harness him. He minds a pull on the reins, and will go just as I wish him to. But he will insist on chasing pigs whenever he sees them. He does not like pigs.

One day, when I was harnessing him, he spied a pig, and away he ran after it--cart and all. He broke one wheel of the cart, and came back panting and wagging his tail, as if he had done something good; but I scolded him well.

Jack will sit on his hind-legs, and catch bits of bread or cake in his mouth when I throw them to him. One summer, we went to the seashore, and took him with us. He is a splendid swimmer; and when we took a stick, and threw it into the water, he would plunge through the waves, and bring it back in his mouth.

Sometimes an old fisherman took me out sailing, and as there was not room in the boat for Jack, the good old dog would lie on the wharf and wait patiently till I came back. When he saw the boat coming in, he would jump up and bark in great delight; and one day he leaped into the water, and swam out to meet us.

Once my cousin and I were sitting in a cleft in the rocks, gathering shells and pebbles, when a great black creature jumped right over our heads. We were much frightened, but soon found that it was only our good friend Jack. He had seen us from the top of the rock, and had jumped down full fifteen feet to get to us.

PAUL EATON.

ENSIGN JOHNNY.

THIS is Ensign Johnny:
See him armed for fight!
Mice are in the garret;
Forth he goes to smite.
Ready for the battle,
He is not afraid;
For the cat, as captain,
Will be by to aid.

Now, good-by, my Johnny!
Soldiers must be brave:
While puss does the fighting,
You the flag can wave.
Do not, like a coward,
From the field retreat:
Forward, Ensign Johnny,
And the mice defeat!

IDA FAY.

BERTIE'S STEAMER.

BERTIE has taken much pleasure in hearing me read about the different ways in which the little "Nursery" people amuse themselves. He is very anxious that they should, in return, know about the steamboat which his uncle brought him from the Centennial,--a _real_ little steamboat.

It is nearly a foot long, made of brass, with a "truly" boiler, as Bertie says, and a little alcohol lamp to convert the water in the boiler into steam.

The older folks were as much interested in its trial trip as Bertie. The biggest tub was brought up, and half filled with water. The little boiler was also filled, and the lamp lighted; and we all waited patiently for the steam to start the little wheel. A stick was put across the tub, and a string fastened from its centre to the end of the steamer, to keep it from running against the side of the tub. The rudder was turned to guide the boat in a circle, and soon the steamer started.

But it did not run easily. Could it be that it would prove a failure? Bertie's face began to put on a disappointed look.

"Can't Uncle Nelson fix it?" said he. "Uncle Nelson can do most any thing."

So Uncle Nelson took the delicate machinery apart, and found some particles of dirt, which prevented the piston from working smoothly. Then he cleaned and oiled it, put it together again, and once more it started. This time it was a complete success. How Bertie clapped his hands, as the steam hissed, and the boat went round and round, as if it were alive!

It was half an hour before the water in the little boiler gave out.

BERTIE'S MAMMA.

A STORY ABOUT SQUIRRELS.

FREDDIE is a bright little boy six years old. He goes with his papa and mamma every summer to stay a few months at a nice place in the country. In front of the house, near the fence, stands a large elm-tree, which is the home of many little squirrels.

One day Freddie got his papa to build him a small shelf on the tree, about four feet from the ground, so that he could put nuts on it to feed the squirrels. At first the little fellows were very shy, and would not come near the shelf, but sat on the branches of the tree; and we fancied that we heard them saying to each other, "Do you think that little boy would hurt us, if we should run down, and take one of those nuts?"

But, after a while, they came down, one by one, took the nuts, and went scampering up to the top branches; and in a few minutes down came the empty shells. They grew so tame before the summer was over, that if we put any thing on their shelf, and took a seat a few steps away, they would come down quite boldly, and get their breakfast.

One day we put a small ear of sweet-corn on the shelf. Pretty soon a little squirrel came after it; but it was too heavy for him: so he sat down on the shelf, as though quite at home, ate off about half of the kernels of corn, to make his burden lighter, and, after trying many times, finally got it up to his hiding-place. Presently we saw all the squirrels running to that part of the tree, and we thought he might be having a squirrel-party in his best parlor.

There was a large pond not very far away; and we often saw the squirrels go from tree to tree, jump a fence here and there, and run down behind a stone wall to the pond to get a drink, and then run home again. If they had only known as much as some squirrels we read about, what a nice sail they might have had by jumping on a piece of wood, and putting their bushy tails up in the air for a sail! Wouldn't it look funny to see a squirrel yacht-race?

As we sit in our warm rooms this cold weather, we often wonder what the little fellows are doing, and if they are eating any of the nuts they stored away last summer.

FREDDIE'S PAPA.

WHAT A LITTLE BOY IN ENGLAND SAYS.

MY grandfather and grandmother live in the country. Everybody in their house is very fond of birds, and very thoughtful for the comfort of all dumb creatures.

Among the birds that flock about grandfather's house are the bright little tom-tits. They fly very quickly, and look very pretty, darting in and out of a tall evergreen-tree that grows in front of the dining-room window.

In winter, my Aunt Emily has a pole, about four feet high, stuck in the ground near this tree. Across the top of the pole, a light bamboo stick is fastened, not quite as long as the pole is high. On strings tied at the ends of the bamboo stick, netted bags, filled with fat or suet, are hung.

Now, tom-tits are, I think, the only birds in England that can cling to a thing with their heads hanging down; and they are very fond of fat. So they come to aunty's bags, cling to them as they sway to and fro in the wind, and eat to their little hearts' content. We watch them from the windows, and see what is going on.

Sometimes other birds try very hard to get a share of the feast, particularly when the weather is very cold, and they cannot find much else. Then they will stand on the ground, looking at the bags, and now and then make an awkward spring at them, sometimes snatching a piece of suet, but generally failing to reach it.

A tiny robin (an English robin is not at all like an American one) has practised so much, this cold weather, that he can not only get a taste of the suet by darting at it, but, better still, will sit on the top of the bag, and get at it in that way. But he seems very much afraid of falling off, and I think the tom-tits would laugh at him: perhaps they do, in bird fashion.

When they cling, they do not mind where it is, and often seem to take the very bottom of the bag by choice, and hang there, with their heads down, so long, that it seems as though they would surely get the headache.

I have often seen two, and sometimes three birds on a bag at a time.

H. B.
BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND.

THE FROGGIES' PARTY.

THE frog who would a-wooing go
Gave a party, you must know;
And his bride, dressed all in green,
Looked as fine as any queen.
Their reception numbered some
Of the best in Froggiedom.
Four gay froggies played the fiddle,--
Hands all round, and down the middle.

In the room were stern old croakers,
Yellow vests and snow-white chokers.
Froggie belles with rush-leaf fans,
Froggie beaux in green brogans,
Flirted in the bowers there,
Hidden from the ball-room's glare.
Three old froggies tried a reel,--
Twist 'em, turn 'em, toe and heel.

One young miss was asked to sing;
But she had a cold that spring.
Little frogs were sound asleep,
Late hours--bad for them to keep.
Each one wished the couple joy;
No bad boys came to annoy.
This next fall,--the news is spreading,--
They will have their silver-wedding!

GEORGE COOPER.

FIRST LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star:
How I wonder what you are,
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky!"