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diff --git a/24479-h/24479-h.htm b/24479-h/24479-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b3b8a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/24479-h/24479-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1474 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, June 1873, Vol. XIII., by Various. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + table.maying {width: 600px; text-align: center; background-image: + url("images/illus185.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat;} + table.seasons {width: 559px; text-align: center; background-image: + url("images/illus188.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat;} + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .story {font-size: 200%; margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nursery, June 1873, Vol. XIII., by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Nursery, June 1873, Vol. XIII. + A Monthly Magazine for Youngest People + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 31, 2008 [EBook #24479] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, JUNE 1873, VOL. XIII. *** + + + + +Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h3>THE</h3> + +<h1>NURSERY</h1> + +<h2><i>A Monthly Magazine</i></h2> + +<h2><span class="smcap">For Youngest Readers.</span></h2> + +<div class='center'>VOLUME XIII.—No. 6<br /> + +<br /><br /> +BOSTON:<br /> +JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.<br /> +1873.<br /> +</div> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<small>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,</small><br /> +<br /> +<small><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN L. SHOREY,</small><br /> +<br /> +<small>In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.</small><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap"><small>Boston:</small><br /> +<small>Rand, Avery, & Co., Stereotypers and Printers.</small></span><br /> +</div> + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/contents.png" width="400" height="208" alt="Contents" title="Contents" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>IN PROSE.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='center'><small>PAGE.</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Children at Grandmother's</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Flying Wood-Sawyer</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Papa's Story</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>About Bees</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bad Luck</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cherry and Fair Star</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>About some Indians</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Playing Tableaux</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Little Mischief</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />IN VERSE.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='center'><small>PAGE.</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Old Blind Man and his Granddaughter</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dixie</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Fat Little Piggies</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Song of Noses</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A-Maying</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Seasons</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus04.png" width="300" height="146" alt="Decoration: Cherub and birds" title="Decoration: Cherub and birds" /> +</div> +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 285px;"> +<img src="images/illus161.png" width="285" height="400" alt="THE CHILDREN AT GRANDMOTHER'S." title="THE CHILDREN AT GRANDMOTHER'S." /> +<span class="caption">THE CHILDREN AT GRANDMOTHER'S.</span> +</div> +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<h2>THE CHILDREN AT GRANDMOTHER'S.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 187px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="187" height="200" alt="T" title="T" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />HERE was once a grandmother who had fourteen +little grandchildren. Some of them were +cousins to one another; and some were brothers +and sisters. This grandmother lived in an old, +old cottage not far from the sea-beach. The +cottage had a long sloping roof; and there was an elm-tree +in front of it.</div> + +<p>One fair day in June, the boys went down to the sea-beach +to bathe, and the girls went out on the lawn to play. Some +of them thought they would play "hunt the slipper."</p> + +<p>But little Emma Darton, who was a cousin to the rest, +said, "I promised my mother I would not sit down on the +grass: so, if you play 'hunt the slipper,' I must not play +with you; for in that game you have to sit."</p> + +<p>Then her Cousin Julia replied, "Nonsense, Emma! It +is a bright warm day. Don't you see the grass is quite dry? +Come, you must not act and talk like an old woman of sixty. +Come and join in our game."</p> + +<p>But Emma said, "When I make a promise, I always try +to keep it. If to do that is to be like an old woman of +sixty, then I am glad I am like one."</p> + +<p>"You are the oldest-talking little witch I ever knew for +a five-year-old," cried Julia. "If you don't look out, you'll +not live half your days."</p> + +<p>"I think Emma is right," said Marian, another cousin. +"So, if you insist on sitting on the grass, Emma and I will +go and sit by ourselves on the trunk of the old fallen tree."</p> + +<p>But Julia insisted on having her game of "hunt the +slipper;" and Emma and Marian went and sat down on the +fallen trunk, and looked on while the rest played.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next day five of grandmother's little visitors did not +seem to be well. Some were coughing, and some were +sneezing, and some were complaining of pains in their +limbs.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter with you, children?" said the +old lady. "If I did not know you were sensible little girls, +I should say you had been sitting on the damp grass,—all +of you but Emma and Marian."</p> + +<p>The cousins looked at one another; but no one spoke +aloud. Then Marian whispered to Emma, "Are you not +glad you kept your promise to your mother?"</p> + +<p>Emma looked up and smiled, but did not say a word.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Dora Burnside.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE FLYING WOOD-SAWYER.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> day last winter I was cutting maple-logs in the woods +with a cross-cut saw. It was about five feet long, and had a +handle at each end, so as to be used by two persons together. +My brother generally helped me; but, for some reason, he +was not with me then, and I was at work all by myself in a +rather lonesome place.</p> + +<p>I had finished eating my dinner, set my pail under a +clump of trees, and commenced my afternoon job; but, as +the log was large and hard, I often had to stop and rest a +minute. While I was standing still, with my hands upon one +handle of the saw, all at once a bird came flying down +towards me; and, after resting upon the ground behind the +log a few moments, what do you suppose he did?</p> + +<p>Whether he knew I was tired, and thought it was too hard +for me to cut the wood all alone, I cannot say; but suddenly +he gave a little spring, and seated himself right on the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +handle of my saw, as you see in the picture, grasping it +with all the hands he had, and looking as though he had +come on purpose to help me saw that log through.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus164.png" width="277" height="209" alt="The Wood-Sawyer and the Bird" title="The Wood-Sawyer and the Bird" /> +</div> + +<p>For my part, I rather think he did help me; for, while he +kept his hold upon the other end of the saw, I <i>rested</i> faster +than I ever did before. I stood as motionless as a statue; +for I feared that any movement would scare the bird away.</p> + +<p>How soon I should have got through my sawing with his +help, I cannot tell. But suddenly he seemed to think of +something more important; and away he went, like a streak +of sunshine, off into the woods beyond me.</p> + +<p>I have never seen my sawyer-bird since then. I call him +my "sawyer-bird" because I don't know how else to name +him. He was a strange bird to me: but he seemed like a +good friend; and I shall always remember him as he looked +when trying to help me work that winter's day.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Uncle William.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus165.png" width="300" height="391" alt="The Blind Old Man and His Granddaughter" title="The Blind Old Man and His Granddaughter" /> +</div> +<h2>THE OLD BLIND MAN AND HIS GRANDDAUGHTER.</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Silver-white</span> his locks are straying<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As upon the bench he sits,</span><br /> +While his little grandchild, playing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round about him sings and flits.</span><br /> +<br /> +Calmly there, and unrepining,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waits he—he is old and blind;</span><br /> +But the sun is brightly shining,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the soft spring airs are kind.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Ah! if he could once, once only,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See the splendor of the vale!</span><br /> +He, so old and weak and lonely,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See the trees wave in the gale!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Then his little daughter, pressing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up against the old man's knee,</span><br /> +With her childish, soft caressing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Filled his heart with boyish glee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Through her eyes once more beholding<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the glories of the spring,</span><br /> +Now his youth once more unfolding,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hope and joy and beauty bring.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">From the German.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PAPA'S STORY.</h2> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Now</span>, papa, for another army story," said little Eddie, +as he climbed into papa's lap, and prepared himself to listen.</p> + +<p>Papa closed his eyes, stroked his whiskers; and Eddie +knew the story was coming. This is it,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>One day, when we were camping in Virginia, some of us got leave to go +into the woods for chestnuts, which grew there in great abundance. We +were busy picking up the nuts, when we heard a scrambling in the bushes. +We thought it was a dog.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>Was</i> it a dog?" asks Eddie.</p> + +<p>"No, it was not a dog."</p> + +<p>"Was it a cat?"</p> + +<p>"No, it was not a cat."</p> + +<p>"O papa! <i>was</i> it a <i>bear?</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 206px;"> +<img src="images/illus167.png" width="206" height="300" alt="Papa's Story" title="Papa's Story" /> +</div> + +<p>"No, it was not a bear."</p> + +<p>"Do tell me what it was!"</p> + +<p>"Well, let me go on with my story, and you shall hear."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It was a fox. How he did run when he saw us! We ran after him, +and chased him into a pile of rails, in one corner of the camp.</p> + +<p>You see, the soldiers had torn down all the fences, and piled them up for +fire-wood. The fox ran right in among the rails; and, the more he tried to +get out, the more he couldn't.</p> + +<p>"A fox, a fox!" we shouted; hearing which, all the men, like so many +boys, rushed up, and made themselves into a circle around the wood-pile, +so that poor foxy was completely hemmed in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then a few of us went to work, and removed the rails one by one, until +at last he was clear, and we could all see him. With a bound, he tried +to get away; but the men kept their legs very close together, and he was a +prisoner. We got one of the tent-ropes and tried to tie him.</p> + +<p><i>Such</i> a time as we had! One man got bitten; but after a while foxy +was caught. Then what did the cunning little thing do but make believe +he was dead! Foxes are very cunning: they can play dead at any time.</p> + +<p>He lay on the ground quite still, while he was tied, and the rope was +made fast to a tree. When we all stepped back, he tried again to get away. +The rope held him fast; but he bit so nearly through it, that we feared we +should lose him, after all.</p> + +<p>So off rushed one of the boys, and borrowed a chain from one of the +wagons at headquarters. With this Master Fox was made quite secure.</p> + +<p>We tried to tame him; for, being away from all little children, we were +glad of any thing to pet. But it was of no use; for, even when foxes are +taken very young, they cannot be tamed. They do not attach themselves +to men, as dogs and some other animals do. He would not play with us at +all; but we enjoyed watching him, as we had not many amusements.</p> + +<p>One day we had to go off on a march, and left our little fox tied to a +tree. When we came back, he was gone. We never knew how he got +away; but we were not very sorry, for he was not happy with us. It was +much better for him to be in the woods with his own friends. If he was +smart enough to stay there, he may be living now; but he must be a pretty +old fox by this time.</p></div> + +<p>Here papa stopped; and his little boy drew a long breath, +as though very glad that the little fox got into the woods +again.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Mary Myrtle.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus168.png" width="200" height="158" alt="The Fox" title="The Fox" /> +</div> + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus169a.png" width="300" height="95" alt="DecorationDecoration" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>DIXIE.</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Dixie</span>, this little dog of mine,<br /> +Had legs like a spider, black and fine,<br /> +A nimble tail, and a body slim,<br /> +And ears that would almost cover him.<br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus169b.png" width="200" height="157" alt="Dixie" title="Dixie" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +If you whispered to him of "birds" or "rats,"<br /> +Of "cows" or "squirrels" or "pigs" or "cats,"<br /> +He was all a-tremble with hope and fun,<br /> +Ready to hunt or fight or run.<br /> +<br /> +But Dixie is older now; he shows<br /> +A gray mustache on his once black nose:<br /> +Slower his legs to frolic and leap;<br /> +And he needs a nice soft place to sleep.<br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus170a.png" width="200" height="157" alt="A nice, soft place to sleep" title="A nice, soft place to sleep" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +But he has such brown and gentle eyes,<br /> +Has love so human, and ways so wise,<br /> +Has tastes so dainty,—the wilful elf!—<br /> +That he rules all things to suit himself.<br /> +<br /> +Only Flora has any fear<br /> +If he speaks too loud, or comes too near;<br /> +Yet she told me bravely the other night<br /> +She could pat the end that didn't bite.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sig'><br /> +<span class="smcap">Clara Doty Bates.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus170b.png" width="200" height="157" alt="Flora and Dixie" title="Flora and Dixie" /> +</div><div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>ABOUT BEES.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 203px;"> +<img src="images/illus171.png" width="203" height="600" alt="L" title="L" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br /><br />OUDLY weeping, I ran to my +father from the garden, a bee +having stung me in the hand. +He drew out the sting, washed +my swollen hand in cool water, +told me about those wonderful creatures +the bees, and promised to take +me to visit a gentleman who kept +many hives of them.</div> + +<p>So, the first fine day, we walked +to a neighboring village, and found +the bee-master, as he was called, very +glad to show us his little pets. He +first led us to a hive made wholly of +glass, so that we might watch the +bees at their labors.</p> + +<p>He told us there were three kinds +of bees; and in the picture you may +see how they look, both when flying +and when at rest. Those marked <i>A</i> +are queen-bees; <i>B</i> are the male bees, +or drones; and <i>C</i> the working-bees.</p> + +<p>The most important bee in the hive +is naturally the queen. She is longer +and sleeker than the others, and has +a crooked sting, of which, however, +she seldom makes use. Similar in +form, but smaller, are the working-bees, +whose sting is straight. The +male bee, or drone, is thicker than +the others, and stingless.</p> + +<p>"What has the queen to do in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +hive?" I asked. The old gentleman replied, "She is the +mother-bee, lays all the eggs, and is so diligent that she +often lays twelve hundred in a day, having a separate cell +for each egg. That is her only work; for she leaves the +whole care of her children to the industrious working-bees, +who have various labors to perform. Some of them build +cells of wax; others bring in honey on the dust of flowers, +called pollen; yet others feed and take care of the young; +and a small number act as body-guard to the queen."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bee-master next took us to a strange-looking old hive, +and asked us what it was like. I said, "The trunk of a +tree." He told me I was right, and that the wild bees +still dwell in hollow trees.</p> + +<p>He then showed us various kinds of hives, and, last of all, +a glass globe, in which the bees had built a beautiful white +comb in the form of a star, and filled it with honey. This +he was to send as a wedding-present to a bride.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus172.png" width="277" height="327" alt="At the hive" title="At the hive" /> +</div> +<p>He said, "The bees can make of any egg, either a queen +or a working bee, according to the food and treatment they +give it. The queen requires but sixteen days in which to +come to maturity; while the workers require twenty, and the +drones twenty-four. When several queens appear at the +same time, they fight until one gains the victory."</p> + +<p>Honey is the nectar of flowers, which they collect with +their tongues, place in their honey-bags, and deposit in cells +built for the purpose, which, when filled, they cover with +wax.</p> + +<p>Bee-bread is made of the dust of flowers, with which the +bee gets covered in collecting honey. This it brushes off, +kneads into two little masses, which are placed in a sort of +basket on the joint of the leg, where a fringe of hairs acts +as a cover.</p> + +<p>Wax is a secretion from honey, which oozes out between +the rings which form the body, and is then worked with the +mouth until it is fit for the construction of the comb. Bees +also make a gummy substance for varnishing their cells, +which they procure from the buds of trees.</p> + +<p>When we took leave of the kind old gentleman, he gave +me in a basket a nice honeycomb to take to my mother; +and since that my father has bought me a hive of bees. +Every summer I plant flowers in my garden for them, that +they may not have far to go for their honey.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Bertha.</span><br /> +</div> + + + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus174.png" width="200" height="200" alt="Bad Luck" title="Bad Luck" /> +</div> +<h2>BAD LUCK.</h2> + + +<div class='story'><span class="smcap">John</span> went down to the brook +to catch a mess of fish. He +took off his boots, took his seat +on the bank, and threw out his +line.</div> + +<div class='story'>The fishes took John's bait. +He could see them dart at the +bait as fast as he threw it in; but +they did not take his hook.</div> + +<div class='story'>While he watched them, some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +one touched him on the arm. +It was his sister Jane.</div> + +<div class='story'>"How many have you caught, +John?" said she. "I'll help you +take them home."</div> + +<div class='story'>"Thank you," said John. "We +shall not have much of a load. +I have had bad luck."</div> + +<div class='story'>There were three men a mile +down stream, who did full as well +as John did. Here is a sketch +of them.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus175.png" width="277" height="168" alt="Three men downstream" title="Three men downstream" /> +</div> + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHERRY AND FAIR-STAR.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">I could</span> not have been quite six years old when I became +the possessor of a canary-bird, to which I gave the name of +Cherry.</p> + +<p>There were three children of us,—myself (the oldest), +Arthur, and baby. My father was at sea; and my mother +had charge of us all in her little house near the ocean.</p> + +<p>Well do I remember one cold day in winter when we were +all gathered in the one little apartment that served us for +nursery, dining-room, and sitting-room. Arthur, who had +overslept himself, was at his breakfast; mother was feeding +baby; and I was looking at my dear Cherry in his cage.</p> + +<p>Pots of hyacinths in bloom were on the table; Mr. Punch, +Arthur's Christmas present, lay as if watching the cat on +baby's pillow in the basket; and Muff, the old cat, with Fair-Star +her kitten, were lapping milk from a basin on the floor.</p> + +<p>My dear mother had taught Muff to be good to Cherry; +and Muff seemed to have overcome her natural propensities +so far as to let Cherry even light on her head, and there +sing a few notes of a song.</p> + +<p>So, on the day I am speaking of, I let Cherry out of his +cage; and he flew round, and at last lighted on the kitten's +head. At this Muff seemed much pleased; and Fair-Star +herself was not disturbed by the liberty the little bird took.</p> + +<p>But all at once Muff sprang upon Cherry, and, seizing him +in her mouth, jumped up on the bureau. At last it would +seem as if the old cat had chosen her time to kill and eat my +poor little bird.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus177.png" width="277" height="187" alt="Cherry and Fair-Star" title="Cherry and Fair-Star" /> +</div> +<p>No such thing! Our good Muff was all right. A neighbor, +who had come to borrow our axe, had left the back-door +open; and a hungry old stray cat had suddenly made her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +appearance. Muff saw that Cherry was in danger, and +seized him so that the strange cat should not harm him.</p> + +<p>Cherry was not only not hurt, but not frightened. Well +do I remember how my mother placed baby on the pillows, +drove out the strange cat, and then took up Muff, and petted +and praised her till Muff's purr of pleasure was loud as the +noise of a spinning-wheel.</p> + +<p>After that adventure, Cherry and Muff and Fair-Star were +all better friends than ever.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Lucy Korner.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE FAT LITTLE PIGGIES.</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Said</span> a sow to her piggies so white,<br /> +"Oh! the chilly winds whistle around,<br /> +There is ice on the old miller's dam,<br /> +And there's snow on the hard frozen ground;<br /> +But a warm, sheltered stackyard have we,<br /> +Where all day you may play hide-and-seek:<br /> +So away, little piggies, my white little piggies,<br /> +For a gambol and scramble and squeak.<br /> +<br /> +"You have all had your breakfasts, I know;<br /> +For your trough was full, up to the top,<br /> +Of the sweetest potatoes and milk;<br /> +And you've not left a bit or a drop;<br /> +But, though an old sow, I'll not grunt:<br /> +So begone round the barn for a freak,<br /> +And I'll watch you, dear piggies, fat, curly-tailed piggies,<br /> +As you hurry and scurry and squeak."<br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus179a.png" width="277" height="209" alt="Piggy and Babies" title="Piggy and Babies" /> +</div> + +<div class='poem'> +So at once, 'mid the fresh-sprinkled straw,<br /> +The young pettitoes scampered away;<br /> +And they rooted and burrowed and hid,<br /> +Then all quiet a minute they lay:<br /> +Soon their pink-pointed, noses peeped out;<br /> +Then their bodies, so plump and so sleek.<br /> +Oh the glad little piggies, the mad little piggies—<br /> +How they snuffle and scuffle and squeak!<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sig'><br /> +<span class="smcap">George Bennett.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus179b.png" width="200" height="116" alt="In a shoe" title="In a shoe" /> +</div> + + + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> +<h2>A SONG OF NOSES.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="First two stanzas"> +<tr><td align='left'><img src="images/d.png" width="200" height="204" alt="D" title="D" /> +</td><td align='right'>UNCAN has a nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Points my finger at it:</span><br /> +<br /> +Has a nose the hare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He will let you pat it.</span><br /> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="12" cellspacing="0" summary="Stanzas Three through Six, Seven"> +<tr><td align='center'><img src="images/illus180b.png" width="200" height="168" alt="Cow" title="Cow" /> +<br /> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Cow stanza"> +<tr><td align='left'>Has a nose the bull,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon he will be lowing.</span></td></tr> +</table></div><br /><br /><br /> +<img src="images/illus180c.png" width="200" height="173" alt="Fox" title="Fox" /> +<br /> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Fox Stanza"> +<tr><td align='left'>Has a nose the fox,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">He is very knowing.</span></td></tr> +</table></div><br /> +</td><td align='left'><img src="images/illus180d.png" width="210" height="81" alt="Peacock" title="Peacock" /> +<br /> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Peacock Stanza"> +<tr><td align='left'>Peacock has a nose,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Very proud he's feeling.</span></td></tr> +</table></div><br /><br /> +<img src="images/illus180de.png" width="180" height="204" alt="Hog" title="Hog" /> +<br /> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Hog Stanza"> +<tr><td align='left'>Has a nose the hog,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon he will be squealing.</span></td></tr> +</table></div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Final Stanza"> +<tr><td align='left'>Tell me which of all these noses</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Duncan now the best supposes.</td></tr> +</table></div></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus181.png" width="277" height="208" alt="About Some Indians." title="About Some Indians." /> +</div> +<h2>ABOUT SOME INDIANS.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Last</span> summer a party of Indians,—men, women, and +children,—in nine little birch canoes, came paddling down +the Mississippi River, and landed at our village in Illinois. +They were of the Chickasaw tribe from Minnesota, who are +half-civilized, and speak our language imperfectly.</p> + +<p>Indians, you must know, do not live in good warm houses +as we do. They live in wigwams, as they call their houses, +which are merely a few poles stuck in the ground, and covered +with skins or blankets.</p> + +<p>They do not provide regular meals, but live from hand to +mouth by hunting and fishing. Sometimes they have to go +without food a long time. The men are too lazy to work. +They like better to strut about with their faces painted all +the colors of the rainbow.</p> + +<p>The Indians who came to our village were very good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +specimens of their race. Of course, their visit made quite +a sensation, especially among our young folks. As soon as +they landed, the squaws (women) threw their blankets over +their shoulders, swung their pappooses (babies) on their +backs, and, with their little boys and girls, came up into town.</p> + +<p>The Indian boys made some money by shooting arrows at +cents stuck in a stake. They were quite skilful. The +squaws offered for sale slippers, moccasons, and bags, which +they had worked themselves with sinews and porcupine-quills.</p> + +<p>Their chief, a large man, whose face was painted bright +red, got the use of our town hall, and in the evening gathered +his party there, and showed us some of their dances. +Two of the men beat a "tum-tum" on their rude drums +(which looked like nail-kegs); and the little and big Indians +danced or hopped around in a circle, singing, "Ye, ye! yu, +yu! hi, yi! ye, ye!"</p> + +<p>Now and then the chief would pull out a long knife, and +swing it around his head; and another Indian would draw +up his bow, as if he were going to shoot. This was the war-dance.</p> + +<p>We were all much amused; and our little boys and girls +laughed heartily. We gave the Indians some money to buy +their breakfast, and they said, "Yank, yank!"</p> + +<p>When they, or a like party, come again, I will tell you +more about them.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Carlos.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 167px;"> +<img src="images/illus182.png" width="167" height="200" alt="Cat" title="Cat" /> +</div> +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus183.png" width="277" height="213" alt="Playing Tableaux" title="Playing Tableaux" /> +</div> + + + +<h2>PLAYING TABLEAUX.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> picture of "Miss Jones" in the February "Nursery" +reminded me of two other little girls who are as fond of +"playing people" as Edith May.</p> + +<p>Nearly every day in winter, when they cannot play out +of doors, these little girls dress up to represent different +characters. They call this "Playing Tableaux;" but their +<i>tableaux</i> are something more than pictures, as they act their +parts as well as dress them.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, for instance, one of the little girls appears as +a peddler, who is quite as hard to get rid of as a real one.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a washerwoman comes in, and gets about tubs +and clothes, and makes all the confusion of washing-day.</p> + +<p>Sometimes papa's great shaggy black coat covers what +pretends to be "your good old dog Tiger," who is very +kind to his friends, but has loud, fierce "bow-wow-wows" +and sharp bites for those who are not good to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sometimes poor little lame Jimmy, who can only walk on +crutches, comes in to sell shoe-strings, "because," he says, +"you know I can do nothing else to help my poor mother."</p> + +<p>Sometimes a ring at the door-bell calls our attention to +the wants of a deaf-and-dumb beggar, who makes fearful +gestures till he is fed, and then forgets that he cannot speak, +and says, "Thank you!" in a very familiar voice.</p> + +<p>When these little girls have company, they often fit out +travelling parties for California, or a trip to Europe; and +the baggage they make out to collect would serve very well +if they were "really and truly going," as they tell us they are.</p> + +<p>Their good-bys are very affecting as they kiss us all, and +beg us write by the first mail.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Aunt Mercy.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus184.png" width="277" height="200" alt="ALL FOR ONE, AND ONE FOR ALL." title="ALL FOR ONE, AND ONE FOR ALL." /> +<span class="caption">ALL FOR ONE, AND ONE FOR ALL.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A-MAYING.</h2><div class='center'> +<table class="maying" summary="A-Maying"> +<tr><td align='left'><br /><br /><br /> + +<span class="smcap">When</span> the wild March winds were blowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Not so very long ago,</span><br /> +And it still kept snowing, snowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Piling, drifting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Heaping, sifting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Snow on snow,</span><br /> +Faithless Fanny said, "Spring never<br /> +Will be here; 'twill snow forever;<br /> +And I don't believe I ever<br /> +Shall again a-Maying go!"<br /> +<br /> +April pleased her little better:<br /> +Now 'twas rain as well as snow;<br /> +Every day was wet and wetter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Drifting, dropping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Soaking, sopping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Raining so,</span><br /> +That poor Fanny feared the showers<br /> +Would quite drown her precious flowers;<br /> +And for what, in May's bright hours,<br /> +Could she then a-Maying go?<br /> +<br /> +Now the gay May sun is shining,<br /> +Pink and sweet the Mayflowers blow;<br /> +And forgetting her repining,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Her complaining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the raining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the snow,</span><br /> +With its fitful, frosty flurries,<br /> +Fanny lingers not, nor worries,<br /> +But to field and greenwood hurries;<br /> +For she must a-Maying go.<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Fenno Hayes.</span></span><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p><h2>LITTLE MISCHIEF.</h2> + + +<h3>XV.</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">What</span> now? Will this child never be out of hot water? +What is Bessie doing now? I will tell you. She found in +one of her mother's drawers a box; and, on opening it, she +found some little round things something like sugar-plums.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus186.png" width="300" height="288" alt="Little Mischief" title="Little Mischief" /> +</div> + +<p>She began putting the little round things in her mouth, +and swallowing them. They were not quite so pleasant as +she had expected, or she would have taken more. "I wonder +what makes them taste so bitter?" thought Bessie.</p> + +<p>She will find that out by and by, to her sorrow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>XVI.</h3> + +<p>"What makes me feel so?" thought Bessie as she sat in +the big arm-chair in mother's best chamber, rubbing her +eyes, and feeling very uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>She had not sat there long, before she began to cry. Her +mother, who had been wondering who could have been meddling +with her pill-box, came in. "Have you been swallowing +these pills?" she asked.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/illus187.png" width="275" height="300" alt="What makes me feel so?" title="What makes me feel so?" /> +</div> + +<p>"Yes; but I didn't know they were pills," said Bessie.</p> + +<p>"Well, you will be well punished for your fault," said her +mother. "The pills will make you quite sick."</p> + +<p>And so it happened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='center'> +<table class="seasons" summary="Seasons"> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>THE SEASONS.</h2><br /> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The Seasons"> +<tr><td align='center'>MARY.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>How I love the blooming Spring,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>When the birds so gayly sing!</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br />JOHN.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>More the Summer me delights,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>With its lovely days and nights.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br />EMILY.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Autumn is the best of all,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>With its fruits for great and small.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br />RICHARD.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Nay! old Winter is the time!</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Jolly then the sleigh-bells' chime!</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br />GRANDMOTHER.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Every season will be bright,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Children, if you'll live aright.</td></tr> +</table></div> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div><br /><br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"><img src="images/divider.png" width="141" height="16" alt="Divider" title="Divider" /></div><div><br /><br /></div> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3> +<p>This issue was part of an omnibus. The original text for this issue did +not include a title page or table of contents. This was taken from the +January issue with the "No." added. The original table of contents +covered the first six months of 1873. The remaining text of the table of +contents can be found in the other issues.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, June 1873, Vol. XIII., by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, JUNE 1873, VOL. 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