Chapter I: Front Matter

THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXIX.--No. 5.

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.

& SON.

UNIVERSITY PRESS.]

IN PROSE.

PAGE
The Bold Soldier-Boys 129
Papa Robin 132
Carlo and the Ducks 135
Picking Oranges 139
Mary and Jenny 144
Drawing-Lesson 145
Piggy's Spoon 146
Bouncer 148
Harry and John 154
"Inches" 155

IN VERSE.

PAGE
The Army of Geese that Came over the Lea 131
The Naughty Cat 136
The May-Queen 141
Sing, Pretty Birds 143
The Traveller 147
The Mouse-Trap 151
One Cat and Two Pigs 152
Small Beginning 157
Jenny Wren 159
Daddy Frog (_with music_) 160

THE BOLD SOLDIER-BOYS.

"FORWARD, my brave boys!" shouted Colonel Bob, rising in his stirrups, and waving his sword. "You see the enemy before you. Charge!"

There stood the enemy in stern defiance,--four chairs, one table, and a sofa,--there they stood, with a plastered wall in their rear, and calmly awaited the attack.

The fiery steed of Colonel Bob reared and plunged, as if eager to dash upon the foe. The roll of the drum made a fearful sound. The standard-bearer waved his flag. The army came rushing on. Snap the dog barked furiously. But above all the din was heard the shout of Colonel Bob, "Forward, my brave boys!"

Not a picture started from its frame. Not a chair moved. But all of a sudden the door opened, and a face looked in. It was Colonel Bob's papa.

"What's all this noise about, Robert?" said he. "This is not the place for such games. Go out of doors if you want to play soldier. I can't have such a drumming and shouting in the house."

This was rather a damper on Colonel Bob's military zeal; but what came next was still worse.

"Do any of you boys know where to-day's 'Advertiser' is?" asked papa.

Colonel Bob came down from his high horse, threw aside his plume, took off his chapeau, and handed it to his papa.

There was the "Advertiser" of that very day, folded up as a soldier-cap.

"Well, that's pretty business," said his papa, laughing. "Please give me a chance to read the papers before you use them in this way." And he went out and shut the door.

Colonel Bob stood leaning on his horse as if in deep thought. At last he said, "Boys, this movement has failed. We must change our base. Follow me." And he led the army out into the back garden.

UNCLE SAM.

THE GEESE THAT CAME OVER THE LEA.

WE talked and we laughed
As we went to the sea,
When an army of geese
Came over the lea,
With a cack, cack, cackle,
And a pat, pat, patter;
And, oh, what a fright
We were in, all three!
Which were the greater geese,--
Just we three,
Or the army of geese
That came over the lea?

E. N. G.

PAPA ROBIN.

ONE summer morning Elizabeth sat on the doorstep, reading. But she looked up often to see the birds fly about, or to watch the butterflies go sailing past.

By and by she heard a shrill chirping. "Poor little bird," she thought, "where can it be? Is it hurt?" She went out into the yard, and looked about her.

There, under a tree, was a baby-bird that had fallen out of its nest. Elizabeth took it up gently. As it lay in her hand, it looked like a soft ball. It chirped as loud as it could, and fluttered.

"Poor birdie," said Elizabeth, "I will try and take you home." And she looked up into the tree. She could see the nest the fledgling had tumbled out of; but she was not tall enough to reach it: so she stood on a knot in the trunk of the tree, and put the nestling in its home.

She saw the father and the mother-bird in the tree, and said to herself that they would take care of the little one. Then she went back to her reading.

Pretty soon she heard the chirping again. This time she knew where to look, and there was the baby-bird on the ground, crying and fluttering as before.

"Papa and mamma Robin ought to take care of you, birdling," she said. But she stepped on the knotted tree-trunk, and put back the bird a second time.

Then she sat down on the doorstep, and watched to see what the parent-birds would do. They flew here and there about the nest, and sang a few notes that Elizabeth knew must be bird-talk. She wondered if they were trying to find a better place for their baby.

But as she was thinking how much care they were taking of it, out tumbled the little one a third time. "You stupid old robin!" she cried. "Do you expect some one to be putting back your birdie for you all day? Why don't you keep it in the nest?"

She picked up the birdie, and was about to put it back a third time, when, as she held it, a strange thing happened; for down flew the robin, and gave her a sharp peck on the forehead.

Elizabeth stood still. She didn't know what to make of this. But soon she began to laugh; and then she put the baby-bird gently on the ground, and went away. She at last understood what papa Robin meant to say to her by his peck. This is it: "Don't interfere when I'm teaching my child to fly. You are very big, and perhaps you know a great deal; but you don't seem to know that it's not right to keep birds in the nest all summer. They would never find out what their wings are for."

FRANCES C. SPARHAWK.

CARLO AND THE DUCKS.

"STOP, Carlo! Come back, sir! Be still!" cried Jane, trying to hold the little dog by a string tied to his collar.

But Carlo was in chase of two ducklings, and did not mind Jane's call. Of course the ducklings took to the water. Carlo ran after them to the water's edge, but there he stopped.

What stopped him? Jane was tugging pretty hard at the string. That was one thing that held him back; but that was not all. Carlo was not fond of the water; but he would not have stopped for that.

I will tell you what stopped him. While the ducklings were swimming away for dear life, the old mother-duck came sailing boldly up, with her great yellow beak, and faced Master Carlo.

She looked like a sloop-of-war all ready for action. Carlo was a brave dog; but he was afraid of her, for all that. So he stood still and barked.

Madam Duck did not mind his noise in the least. She quacked at him fiercely. This is what she meant to say: "Look here, my young friend, you are a dog, and I am a duck. You are at home on the land, but I am at home on the water. Bark as much as you please, but, if you know what is good for your health, keep out of this pond, and let my ducklings alone."

"Do you hear that, Carlo?" said Jane. "Now don't stop to answer, but come with me like a good dog, and we will have a run in the woods."

And then Carlo gave up his chase of the ducks, and went quietly where Jane led him.

JANE OLIVER.

THE NAUGHTY CAT.

LITTLE JACK.

'TIS such a naughty, naughty cat!
Old Tab, that's owned by aunty Gray:
She growls, and spits, and shows her claws,
As sharp as needles in her paws;

And, if I try with her to play,
She always seems so full of spite,
She's sure to scratch me, or to bite.
My hands,--they were a frightful sight
When I came home last Saturday;
I'm sure that she would be no loss,
If she were killed, she is so cross;
Now, when I see her, "Scat, scat, scat!"
I mean to say, "you naughty cat!"

LITTLE JANE.

What, call my poor old Tabby cross!
I'm sure she's very good with _me_;
For, when _I_ go to aunty Gray's,
She always close beside me stays.
If I sit down, she climbs my knee,
And rubs her head against my cheek,
And acts as though she'd like to speak,
And say she wants my friend to be.
I'd rather have her for my own
Than all the cats I've ever known:
Black, yellow, Maltese, large and small,
Old Tab's the nicest of them all.

JAMES.

Yes, Tabby _is_ a knowing cat.
When you have been at aunty Gray's,
She's proved you both, and learned your ways:
She finds that Jack would never fail
To try and swing her by the tail,
While Jane will softly stroke her fur;
So she will answer by a purr,
To show Jane's gentle touch she likes,
But Jack, with her sharp claws, she strikes.
My mother says we ought to treat
With love each living thing we meet,
And even pussy-cats can tell
Who are the ones that use them well.

MARIAN DOUGLAS.

PICKING ORANGES.

WILLY and Ben are two little boys who live in the old city of Saint Augustine. They do not have sleigh-rides and coasts; for Saint Augustine is way down South, in Florida, where snow never falls.

But, while the boys and girls in the North are wearing mittens and tippets and thick coats when they go out to play, Willy and Ben are running about bare-headed in the orange-groves, or plucking roses from the garden.

All around the house are orange-trees, and in among the glossy green leaves hang the great yellow juicy oranges. The fruit is ripe early in December, and ready to be picked.

Miles, the colored man, takes his big clippers and goes up the high step-ladder which he has placed near the tree. He cuts each orange from the branch, taking care not to get hurt by the long, sharp thorns.

Willy stands at the foot of the ladder, ready to catch the oranges as Miles tosses them down. Sometimes they pick five or six baskets in an afternoon. Miles says Willy is a "bery good catch." He sometimes tires of catching them; but he never tires of eating them.

I looked into the packing-room this morning, and there lay seventeen hundred yellow balls. Papa lets both his little boys help wrap the oranges. Each orange is wrapped in a piece of tissue-paper that is cut just the right size. Willy always says as he begins, "Now let's see who'll beat!" Do you know what he means?

Ben cannot wrap oranges as fast as Willy; but, as they are wrapped, he hands them to papa to pack in boxes. He can read the word "Boston" that papa writes in black letters on the outside of the boxes.

Of course papa pays his workers, and they take their money all to mamma to keep for them. They have so much whispering to do about it, that I think they are saving it to buy holiday gifts.

JIMMIE.

THE MAY-QUEEN.

"WHEN I was little," said grandma Gray,
"We used to welcome the month of May
With a song and a dance on the village green,
Choosing and crowning our May-day queen.
We used to choose of the prettiest girls,
The one who had the sunniest curls,
The one who had the merriest eyes,
As clear and bright as the May-day skies.

"We made her throne of the daisies white,
And of yellow buttercups, golden bright,
And we twined gay blossoms about the hair
Of our dear little queen so sweet and fair."
So grandma said, and the children heard,
And a loving thought in each heart was stirred;
And they whispered together, and laughed in glee,
"Dear grandmamma shall our May-queen be!"

Then they brought the chair with the cushioned seat,
And the cushioned footstool for grandma's feet,
And led her merrily to the throne,
And crowned her queen of their hearts alone.
They twined the daisies and buttercups bright
In the queen's soft hair so silvery white,
And better than jewels or necklace rare,
Were the clasping arms of those children fair.

And the bees and butterflies hovered around;
And the sunbeams danced all over the ground;
And the birds sang merrily in the trees;
And the breath of summer was in the breeze;
And the delicate hue of the azure skies
Seemed to lend new light to the loving eyes
Of happy, dear old grandmamma Gray,
Crowned by the children their "Queen of May."

MARY D. BRINE.

SING, PRETTY BIRDS.

SING, pretty birds, and build your nests,
The fields are green, the skies are clear;
Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests,
The world is glad to have you here.

Among the orchards and the groves,
While summer days are fair and long,
You brighten every tree and bush,
You fill the air with loving song.

At early dawn your notes are heard
In happy greeting to the day,
Your twilight voices softly tell
When sunshine hours have passed away.

Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests,
The fields are green, the skies are clear;
Sing, pretty birds, and build your nests,
The world is glad to have you here.