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Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, August 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 2, by Various

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Title: The Nursery, August 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 2

Author: Various

Release Date: March 29, 2008 [EBook #24939]

Language: English

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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NURSERY, AUG. 1873, VOL.XIV. NO.2 ***




Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Music
by Linda Cantoni.







THE

NURSERY

_A Monthly Magazine_

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XIV.--No. 2

        BOSTON:
        JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36, BROMFIELD STREET.
        1873.




        Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by

        JOHN L. SHOREY,

        In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.





        BOSTON:
        STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY RAND, AVERY, & CO.

[Illustration: CONTENTS.]


IN PROSE.

                                                    PAGE.

  The Mother's Prayer                                  33

  Coosie and Carrie                                    36

  The Fourth of July Cake                              38

  How our School came to have the Nursery              42

  Where the Dandelions went                            43

  The Bird's Nest                                      44

  Meditations of a Shut-out One                        46

  Dreaming and Doing                                   48

  Prairie Dogs                                         51

  A Journey to California                              55

  A Letter to George                                   58

  The Blackberry Frolic                                60


IN VERSE.

                                                    PAGE.

  Charley's Opinion                                    35

  Song of the Brook                                    41

  Bobolink                                             50

  Dear Little Mary                                     53

  Little Jack Homer (_with music_)                     64

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE MOTHER'S PRAYER.]




THE MOTHER'S PRAYER.


[Illustration: O]NCE there was a good mother whose chief prayer for her
little boy in his cradle was that he might have a loving heart. She did
not pray that he might be wise or rich or handsome or happy or learned,
or that others might love _him_, but only that _he_ might love.

When that little boy, whose name was Edward, grew up, it seemed as if
his mother's prayer had been answered, and that, in making it, she had
been wiser than she knew or dreamed.

She had not prayed that he might be _wise_; but somehow the love in his
heart seemed to make him wise, and to lead him to choose what is best,
and to remember all the good things he was taught.

She had not prayed that he might be _rich_; but it turned out that he
was so anxious to help and serve others, that he found the only way to
do that was to get the _means_ of helping: and so he became diligent,
thrifty, and prompt in business, till at last he had the means he
sought.

Edward's mother had not prayed that he might be _handsome_; but there
was so much love and good-will manifest in his face, that people loved
to look on it: and its expression made it handsome, for beauty attends
love like its shadow.

The prayer had not been that he might be _happy_; but--dear me! how can
there be love in the heart without happiness? Edward had no time for
moping discontent, for revenge, or anger. He was too busy thinking what
he might do for others; and, in seeking _their_ happiness, he found _his
own_.

But was he _learned_? Of course, when he found it pleased his parents
to have him attend to his studies, he did his best: and though there
were many boys quicker and apter than he, yet Edward generally caught up
with them at last; for love made him attentive and earnest.

But last of all, though Edward loved others, did others love him? That
is the simplest question of all. You must first _give_ love if you would
_get_ it. Yes: everybody loved Edward, simply because he loved
everybody. And so I advise those little boys and girls who think they
are not loved, to put themselves the question, "But do you love?"

                                                   EMILY CARTER.




CHARLEY'S OPINION.

        THE girls may have their dollies,
        Made of china or of wax:
        I prefer a little hammer,
        And a paper full of tacks.

        There's such comfort in a chisel!
        And such music in a file!
        I wish that little pocket-saws
        Would get to be the style!

        My kite may fly up in the tree;
        My sled be stuck in mud;
        And all my hopes of digging wells
        Be nipped off in the bud:

        But with a little box of nails,
        A gimlet and a screw,
        I'm happier than any king:
        I've work enough to do.

                                                  ANNA E. TREAT.




COOSIE AND CARRIE.


COUSIN CHARLES said, "Come and see the sheep." So I went to where he was
standing on the front porch, and calling "Co-nan, co-nan, co-nan!" The
gate was open; and the sheep and lambs were coming into the yard.

I asked, "Why do you tell John to drive the sheep into the yard?"
Charles answered, "Because it has been raining hard; and the brook in
the meadow has grown so big, that I am afraid the sheep will get drowned
in it.

"Last year we found a sheep lying dead in the brook. Her two lambs were
standing near by, crying for her. We took them to the house, and fed
them with milk. We named them Coosie and Carrie. Mother can tell you
about them."

Then I ran to auntie, and said, "Oh! tell me all about Coosie and
Carrie." So my aunt told me about them; and this is what she said:--

        When the two little lambs were first brought
        in, Mary, the cook, made a nice bed for them in
        one corner of the kitchen. Then she put some
        warm milk in a bottle, and took one of the
        lambs up in her lap and fed it. Oh, how pleased
        it was! And the other lamb stood by crying
        until its turn came.

        The lambs soon grew fat and strong, and ran
        about the yard. But they made themselves quite
        at home in the house; and we could not keep
        them out.

        One day I went into my room; and there were
        Coosie and Carrie jumping up and down upon my
        spring-bed.

        I sat down and laughed heartily; and the lambs
        kept on jumping, and looked as if they were
        trying to laugh too. But I could not have such
        saucy lambs about the house any longer: so they
        were driven to the meadow with the rest of the
        flock.

Auntie and I laughed again, to think of the lambs' frolic; and I said,
"O auntie! how I wish they would eat out of my hand now! Do you think
they will?"

"I am afraid not," said she. "They have been with the flock a whole
year, and I suppose are no longer tame; but you can try. Take some
apples to them."

So, with some apples in my hand, I went out, calling "Co-nan, co-nan!"
The sheep were afraid, and walked away, crying "Baa-a-ah;" and the
little lambs answered, "~Baa-a-ah.~"

[Illustration]

I followed slowly; and at last one sheep stood still. I went up close to
her, calling "Coosie, Carrie!" for I knew it must be one or the other.
She ate the apples out of my hand, and let me pat her head, and feel her
soft wool.

The next time I went out with apples, two sheep came to my call. They
looked exactly alike to me; but Mary told me which was Coosie, and which
was Carrie. After that, they did not wait to be called, but came
running up as soon as they saw me.

When the sheep were driven away into the meadow-lot again, I stood near
the gate to see them go. The old sheep walked along quietly; but the
lambs jumped and frisked about, and kicked up their heels in a very
funny way. The sheep called out "Baa-a-ah!" and the lambs answered,
"~Baa-a-ah!~" and sometimes it sounded like "~Maa-a-ah.~"

Coosie and Carrie ran up, and licked my hand as I said good-by. Now,
were they not dear little pets?

                                                        A. F. A.

[Illustration]




THE FOURTH OF JULY CAKE.


_Fred._--Oh! look here, Bessy and Maggy: come and see the splendid
Fourth of July cake that mother has made!

_Bessy._--You must not touch it, Fred: mother will be displeased if you
touch it.

_Fred._--I want to see if she has salted it well. Look at the currants
and the raisins!

_Bessy._--And how nicely it is sugared and frosted!

_Maggy._--Me see; me see!

_Fred._--There! Maggy has put her whole hand in. What will mother say?

_Bessy._--It will do no harm now for me to taste it.

_Fred._--Isn't it nice?

[Illustration]

_Maggy._--Me want plum.

_Bessy._--Maggy mustn't stick her hand in. She will spoil mamma's nice
cake.

_Maggy._--Me want taste. You and Fred taste.

_Fred._--Hark! I hear mother's step on the stairs. Now scatter, all
three! Lick your fingers clean, and run.

_Bessy._--I wish we hadn't touched the cake.

        (_Enter_ MOTHER.)

_Mother._--What's this? Who has been at my cake,--my cake that I took so
much pains to make handsome?

_Bessy._--Fred wanted to see if it was properly salted.

_Mother._--Here's the mark of Maggy's hand! And here's a deep hole which
Fred's naughty finger must have made! And here, Bessy, are your marks.
I'm ashamed of you all. Meddling with my nice cake without leave.

_Bessy._--I'm very sorry I touched it, mother.

_Fred._--So am I; but I wanted to see if it was well seasoned.

_Mother._--Well seasoned, sir? You deserve to be well seasoned with a
rod. Now, your punishment shall be, not to taste a crumb of this nice
cake, any one of you. I shall give it to the poor family opposite.

_Fred._--Hoo-oo-oo-oo! Oh, don't!

_Maggy._--Don't, mamma; don't!

_Bessy._--Such a beautiful cake!

_Mother._--The cake shall be given to the poor; and you must be
contented with your bread and water.

_Fred._--Forgive us this once, mother. Remember it's the Fourth of
July,--a day when we all want to be jolly.

_Mother._--They who would be jolly, must begin by being good. The cake
goes to those who need it much more than we do.

        (_The children all cry._)

                                                  ALFRED SELWYN.

[Illustration]





[Illustration: SONG OF THE BROOK]


        WHAT was the song of the meadow brook,
        As under the willows his way he took?
              Wouldn't you like to know?
        "Let me play a while as I will:
        By and by I must turn the mill,
              As farther down I go.

        "Daisies, hanging over my side,
        Beautiful daisies, starry-eyed,
              Kiss me for I must go!
        But think of me as I turn the wheel,
        Grinding the corn into powdery meal
              And drifts of golden snow."

                                                      A. D. W.

[Illustration]




HOW OUR SCHOOL CAME TO HAVE THE NURSERY.


THERE are fifty little boys and girls who go to the Blank street Primary
School. Brown heads, black heads, yellow heads, all shades of heads, may
there be seen studying their A, B, C. Some are very pretty, and some are
very plain; but they are all good children. I think so, and I ought to
know; for I am their teacher.

Well, they read and sing and spell; and some of the larger ones write a
little. But we all get tired of doing the same thing day after day; and
I felt that my little pupils needed a change.

So, one day, I said to them, "If you will each of you learn a little
verse so as to say it very nicely, we will have a good time next
Saturday morning. There shall be no lessons,--nothing but speaking and
singing."

Some of the little children looked as if they did not know what I
meant. But the older ones came to me, one after another, and said,
"Please find a piece for me to learn."

So I undertook to find pieces for them all. I thought that was an easy
thing to do; but, when I came to try it, it proved to be a hard task. I
looked through all my books and papers, without finding much of any
thing to suit me.

I was almost ready to give up the whole plan, when a bright little boy
handed me a book with a green cover, and said, "I think there are some
nice pieces in this."

I took the book, and looked it through. First I looked at the pictures;
and they pleased me so well, that I turned back to the first page, and
began to read. The more I read, the better I liked it; and, before I got
to the end, I was delighted.

"Why, Johnny," said I, "I thank you for bringing me this. It is the very
thing we want."

I sent out at once, and bought twelve back numbers of "The Nursery;"
and, before Saturday morning came, each of the children had learned a
piece from them by heart.

Since then "The Nursery" has been in regular use in our school; and we
depend upon having a new number every month. Every one of the children
wishes to be the owner of a copy: so I think we shall soon make up quite
a large club.

                                                           E. H.




WHERE THE DANDELIONS WENT.


WHEN Willy was two years old, he lived in a red farmhouse with a yard in
front of it. The dandelions were very thick there; so that the yard
looked yellow, instead of green.

One bright morning Willy's mamma put on his straw hat, and sent him out
in the yard to play. She knew the yard had a high fence; and he could
not open the gate; so he was safe.

When it was time for him to have a nap, and mamma went to call him, she
noticed that a great many of the dandelions were gone. She wondered
where they were; but, as Willy could not talk much, she did not ask him
about them.

A short time after, while Willy was asleep in his crib, his mamma went
out to draw some water. When the bucket came up full of water, the top
was all yellow with dandelions. Looking down into the well, she could
see no water at all, only dandelions.

It was no wonder, then, where the blossoms had gone. Willy had been very
busy _trying to fill up the well_!

                                                      L. W. GAY.




THE BIRD'S-NEST.


LAST summer little Josie, with her papa and mamma, went into the country
to spend a few weeks with her grandmother. Grandmother lives on a farm;
and Josie had many happy times, tumbling about in the hay, hunting hens'
eggs in the barn, and watching the birds and squirrels.

One day her papa told her that he had found a bird's-nest in the
orchard, with some queer little birds in it. Of course, Josie was very
anxious to see it; but papa was too busy to go with her then: so mamma
said that she would go.

Josie clapped her hands, and said, "Oh! you are a good mamma;" and they
started at once for the orchard. A pair of kingbirds had built a nest on
a low branch of an apple-tree; and in the nest were two little
baby-birdies. As soon as the old birds saw Josie and her mamma coming,
they began to scold, and fly about in great alarm.

[Illustration]

I guess the father-bird said, "Oh, dear! here come some giants; and, if
we are not very fierce, they will steal away our babies. So,
mother-bird, you just sit here on this cherry-tree, and scream, while I
stand ready on the apple-tree to fly at them if they come near our
nest."

Josie and her mamma walked slowly along, not knowing how angry the
kingbirds were getting, until they came to the apple-tree. "Here is the
nest, Josie," said mamma; and they went close to the tree. But the
mother-bird began to scream, and fly about, and seemed to feel so badly,
that mamma said, "We will go away from the nest, Josie; for we are
making the old bird unhappy." But Josie said, "Oh! do let me take just
one peep at the little birdies. Do, mamma, hold me up to the nest just
once!"

Now, all this time the father-bird had kept so still that they did not
know he was on the tree just above their heads; but, as soon as mamma
lifted Josie so that she might look into the nest, he flew straight down
at them, pecked at Josie's hands, pulled mamma's hair, and beat her face
with his wings. Josie was frightened, and began to cry; but mamma held
her close in her arms, and ran away from the tree as fast as she could.

When they reached the gate, and stopped to rest, they heard the old
birds talking it over. I guess the father-bird said, "There! I've driven
those wicked thieves away. They'll never dare to come here again." And
the little birds began to cry, "Tweet, tweet!" And the mother-bird sat
down in the nest, and said, "There, darlings, just tuck your little
heads under my wings and go to sleep. No one shall harm my dear babies."

Josie says, "I think they were real cross not to let a little girl just
_look_ at their babies." But I think they were brave birds to take such
good care of their little ones. What do you think about it, little
"Nursery" folks?

                                                  JOSIE'S MAMMA.




MEDITATIONS OF A SHUT-OUT ONE.


WELL, now, do you call that good manners? My master shut the gate in my
face, as much as to say, "Stay where you are, Bob." Then he goes in to
dine and play chess with the parson, and leaves me here to watch and
wait.

Three hours, I do believe, I have been here on the watch,--three long,
long hours. And there he sits yonder with the folks in the summer-house.
The roast meat seems to be deliciously done, if I may judge from the
odor. Just one little bone for me, if you please, good master mine.

What do I see? He gives a bone to that scamp Fido; but for me, his
trusty one, who, year in and year out, have guarded yard and stable so
faithfully,--for me he has nothing, not even a mouthful! And here I sit
hungering and thirsting till my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

[Illustration]

But stop! I hear a whistle. Yes, it comes from my master. And there
comes Betty with a whole plateful of bones in her hand! After all, there
isn't a master like mine in all the world. I knew he wouldn't forget old
Bob. Yes, here they come. Truly a patient waiter is no loser. Bow-wow!

                                                FROM THE GERMAN.




DREAMING AND DOING.


AMY was a dear good girl in many things; but she had one bad habit: she
was too apt to waste time in dreaming of doing, instead of doing.

In the village where she lived, Mr. Thornton kept a small shop, where he
sold fruit of all kinds, including berries in their season.

One day he said to Amy, "Would you like to make some money?"

"Of course I would!" said Amy; "for my dear mother often has to deprive
herself of things she needs, so that she may buy shoes or clothes for
me."

"Well, Amy, I noticed some fine ripe blackberries along by the stone
walls in Mr. Green's five-acre lot; and he said that I or anybody else
was welcome to them. Now, if you will pick the ripest and best, I will
pay you sixteen cents a quart for them."

Amy was delighted at the thought, and ran home and got her basket, and
called her little dog Quilp, with the intention of going at once to pick
the blackberries.

Then she thought she would like to find out, with the aid of her slate
and pencil, how much money she should make, if she were to pick five
quarts. She found she should make eighty cents,--almost enough to buy a
new calico dress.

"But supposing I should pick a dozen quarts: how much should I earn
then?" So she stopped and figured that out. "Dear me! It would come to a
dollar and ninety-two cents!"

Amy then wanted to know how much fifty, a hundred, two hundred, quarts
would give her; and then, how much she should get if she were to put
thirty-two dollars in the savings bank, and receive six per cent
interest on it.

[Illustration: DREAMING AND DOING.]

Quilp grew very impatient, but Amy did not heed his barking; and, when
she was at last ready to start, she found it was so near to dinner-time
that she must put off her enterprise till the afternoon.

As soon as dinner was over, she took her basket, and hurried to the
five-acre lot; but a whole troop of boys from the public school were
there before her. It was Saturday afternoon. School did not keep; and
they were all out with their baskets.

Amy soon found that all the large ripe berries had been gathered. Not
enough to make up a single quart could she find. The boys had swept the
bushes clean. All Amy's grand dreams of making a fortune by picking
blackberries were at an end. Slowly and sadly she made her way home,
recalling on the way the words of her teacher, who once said to her,
"One doer is better than a hundred dreamers."

                                                ANNA LIVINGSTON.




BOBOLINK.


          BOBOLINK, Bobolink!
          Are you tipsy with drink?
        Or why do you swagger round so?
          You've a nest in the grass
          Somewhere near where I pass,
        And fear I'll molest it, I know.

          Bobolink, Bobolink!
          Do you think, do you think,
        I'd trouble your dear little nest?
          Oh! I would not do that;
          For I am not a cat:
        So please let your mind be at rest.

  NORTH ANDOVER, MASS.                               AUNT CLARA.

[Illustration]




PRAIRIE-DOGS.


ANNIE and her baby-brother went to ride with their papa and mamma. They
crossed the river on a long bridge; and beyond it they saw horses and
cows feeding on the green prairie.

"What are all these heaps of dirt for?" said Annie.

"We are just entering 'dog-town,'" said her papa; "and those are the
houses of the inhabitants. Do you see the two little fellows sitting up
on that mound?"

"Yes," said Annie; "but they look like little fat squirrels; don't they,
mamma?"

Baby pointed his little chubby finger, and said, "Ish!"

"They are prairie-dogs," said mamma; "but are sometimes called the
'wish-ton-wish' and 'prairie marmot,' and sometimes 'prairie marmot
squirrel.' It is like the marmot because it burrows in the ground, and
like the squirrel because it has cheek-pouches."

"Well, what do they call them _dogs_ for?" said Annie.

"Let us stop and watch them," said her papa. "Hark! do you hear them
bark?"

"Yes: it is a little squeaking bark," said Annie. "It sounds like
'chip-chip-chip.'"

"Now see," said her papa, "how funnily that little fellow sits up, with
his fore-paws hanging down, and watches us."

Annie shook the whip; and the prairie-dog scampered into his hole. Up
he popped his head again in a moment, and jerked his short tail, and
barked.

This seemed a signal for the whole town. On almost every mound appeared
two or three dogs; and they set up such a barking and jerking of tails,
that everybody in the wagon laughed and shouted.

"Now we will ride up close to the mound," said papa, as he started up
old Fox, and sung a bit of the old song:--

        "The prairie-dogs in dog-town
          Will wag each little tail,
        And think there's something coming
          Riding on a rail."

There were several bushels of dirt in the mound. In the centre of it was
the hole, which was very large at the entrance. The earth all around was
worn very smooth and hard.

Here the little dogs sit and bark and jerk, ready to dodge into their
hole in a moment. They all looked fat and clumsy. Their color is
reddish-brown. Owls and rattlesnakes are often found living with them;
but Annie did not see any.

                                                 MRS. O. HOWARD.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




DEAR LITTLE MARY.


        DEAR little Mary,
          Susan and Loo,
        Jenny and Lizzie,
          And Margaret too;
        Now the sun's peeping,
          Softly and sly,
        In at the window,
          Pets, where you lie!

        Up, up, my darlings,
          Up and away!
        Out to the meadows
          Sweet with new hay;

        Out where the berries,
          Dewy and red,
        Hang in great clusters,
          High overhead!

[Illustration]

        Out where the golden-rod
          Bends on its stalk,
        And the wild roses
          Gladden our walk;
        Where amid bushes
          Hidden but heard,
        Joyous and grateful
          Sings many a bird.

        Out where the waters,
          Merry and sweet,
        Ripple and tinkle
          Close by your feet;
        Where all things happy,
          Fragrant, and fair,
        In the bright morning
          Welcome you there!

                                                   MATHIAS BARB.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




A JOURNEY TO CALIFORNIA.


TWO little girls, Annette and Lisette, went to California with their
parents in 1849. There was no Pacific Railroad at that time; and the
journey across the plains was a long and a hard one.

Annette and Lisette rode in the great wagon drawn by oxen. They thought
that fine fun. At night they slept in a tent. On pleasant days they
walked with their mamma for miles over the green prairies, plucking
wild-flowers as they went along.

They saw great numbers of the funny little prairie-dogs sitting in the
doors of their cunning houses; sometimes they caught sight of an
antelope; and they often passed great herds of shaggy buffaloes.

They liked the prairie-dogs and the antelopes; but they were afraid of
the buffaloes; and, when their papa went out to shoot one, they would
almost cry for fear he would get hurt. But, when he came back with
plenty of nice buffalo-meat, they had a real feast; for they had had no
meat but salt-pork for many a day, and they did not like that very well.

Sometimes a storm would come up with fearful peals of thunder, and
flashes of lightning. More than once the tent was blown down, and the
rain came pouring on them; but the little girls put their heads under
the bed-clothes, and crept close to their mamma, and never minded the
storm.

After travelling in this way three or four months, they were still many,
many days' journey away from California, and Annette and Lisette began
to wish themselves back in their old home; for now the plains were no
longer green and bright with flowers, but hot, sandy, and dusty, with
only ugly little bushes, called "sage-bushes," growing on them.

Sometimes they would have to go all day without water; for the water was
so warm and impure, that nobody could drink it,--not even the cattle.
They saw several hot springs, so hot that they could not put their hands
in them; but their mamma found them very nice for washing clothes.

Late in the fall they crossed the Sierra Nevada Mountains; and, oh! how
steep and narrow and rough the road was! Often their papa had to fasten
logs of wood to the wagons to keep them from going down the mountains
too fast. Sometimes a wagon would upset, and go rolling down hill.

Yet the children enjoyed being in the mountains; for they liked to play
under the tall pine-trees, picking up the cones, and hunting for lumps
of pine-gum, and hearing all the time the sweet music of the wind as it
sang in the branches.

But in a few days the weather got very cold. Heavy snow-storms came on.
One night twenty head of cattle were frozen to death; and as there were
few oxen left, and the flour was almost gone, the little girls began to
be very much afraid that they should perish too.

Luckily their papa shot some fat deer, which gave them plenty to eat;
and, after many hardships, the whole party reached the Sacramento River
in safety. Here they got on board of a flat-boat, and went to Sacramento
City, where they lived in a tent for many months. I may some time tell
you how they went to the mines.

A journey to California is a very easy matter now-a-days. You may go by
railroad all the way, and have every comfort by day and night.

Annette and Lisette have made the journey more than once in a palace
car; but they often think of the times when they were two happy little
girls riding over the prairies in a baggage-wagon, or playing together
under the mountain pines.

                                                           A. F.

        SALT-LAKE CITY, UTAH.

[Illustration]




A LETTER TO GEORGE.


DEAR GEORGE,--I wish you were with me now on my farm. We are having nice
times. There is a little colt here that follows me all about. He does
this because I give him apples. But I think he is more fond of the
apples than of me.

[Illustration]

One day I had nothing to give him; and this made him feel very cross. He
put back his ears, and kicked up his heels, and scared the chickens
almost to death.

[Illustration]

There are ten little chickens. One of them was sick; but it has got
better. One of them was running along the other day, and caught his foot
in a string; the string caught on a bush, and held him fast; and there
he was standing on one leg and struggling until I pulled the string off.

[Illustration]

William and Jane are going down to Mr. Walker's to get a basket of
apples. Come and see me, and I will give you some; and you shall make
friends with the colt.

                                                        W. O. C.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




THE BLACKBERRY FROLIC.


"WHY, where are you going, Nelly?" asked Martin Ray of his sister, as,
with a plate of pudding for him, she entered his chamber where he was
confined to his bed.

Poor Martin had broken his leg by a fall from a tree, and he had to keep
very still.

"We have made up a blackberry-party," said Nelly. "The girls and boys
are waiting for me at the door; and I can only stop a minute to say that
you must be good, and not fret while I am away."

"Don't be late in returning home," said Martin; "for mother is going to
take me down stairs for the first time, this afternoon; and I want to
see you before I go up to bed."

"All the sweetest berries I can find shall be saved for you," said
Nelly, as she tied the little scarf about her neck, put on her hat, and
kissed Martin for good-by.

Nelly's companions were waiting impatiently for her at the door; and,
when she came, they raised a shout of "Here she is!" Then they set off,
through a shady lane, on their walk to Squire Atherton's woods, along
the borders of which the blackberries grew in great profusion.

Soon they came to a place where a brook crossed between two fields, with
such a narrow plank for a bridge that some of the girls did not half
like going over it; for the brook seemed to be quite full and deep.

"What a fuss you girls make about trifles!" cried Robert Wood. "Who but
a girl would think of being frightened at a bridge like this?"

[Illustration]

"Stop that, Robert," said Harry Thorp. "I will help them across in a way
that will prevent all danger."

Harry plucked up a stout bulrush that grew near by, and held it out over
the plank to the girls to serve as a kind of support for them to hold
by. Susan Maples was the first to lay hold of the thick end of the
bulrush, by which Harry led her across. Then the other girls followed;
but, just as Nelly got on, Robert Wood shook the plank, and tried to
scare her.

He did not succeed in this; for Nelly was thinking of her dear brother
at home with his broken leg, and she felt that she would not be afraid
of a much more dangerous crossing than that over the plank.

After a walk of a mile, they came to the edge of the wood. "Jewels of
jet! Look here!" cried Harry Thorp. "See the bouncers! Here's sweetness!
Here's blackness! Here's richness!"

[Illustration]

And, true enough, there they were. Never were high-bush blackberries
finer or riper; but the largest and ripest seemed always the hardest to
get at. The boys cut hooked sticks, with which they pulled down the
branches; and their mouths were soon black with the juice of the
berries. Then the girls began filling their baskets.

The sun was low in the west when Nelly remembered her promise to Martin,
and said, "Now for home!" to which the rest cried, "Agreed!"

But the girls had not gone far before they began eating the berries from
their baskets, and offering them to one another,--all but Nelly Ray. She
did not eat any of her blackberries, nor did she give any away; and yet
she had the best basketful of all.

She had, besides, a branch of a bush, with berries on it, which she was
carrying very carefully; so that she kept a few steps behind the other
girls.

When Nelly reached home, she looked in at the open door, and saw Martin
down stairs for the first time since his accident. He was wrapped in
shawls; and Nelly said, as she put the full basket on his knees, and
waved the branch before his eyes, "Why, brother, they have wrapped you
up so, and your face is so pale, that you look like a girl."

"Looks are nothing: behavior is all," said Martin, laughing. "Why,
Nelly, what a splendid feast we shall have! What big ones! Thank you,
dear, dear sister."

As she heard those words, and saw his pleased looks, Nelly felt she was
well repaid for all her trouble.

                                                        IDA FAY.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Music]





LITTLE JACK HORNER.


 Words by AUNT CLARA.             Music by T. CRAMPTON, W. London.

        1. Little Jack Horner,
           He sat in the corner,
        Crying for something to eat;
           In came Mother Hubbard,
           And went to the cupboard,
        And bro't him a nice plate of meat.
           Then little Jack Horner
           Came out of the corner,
        And threw his nice meat on the floor:
           "I want some mince pie!"
           Was the naughty boy's cry,
        As he clung to the drawing-room door.

        2 "I don't like cold lamb;
           Give me raspberry-jam:"
        But old Mother Hubbard said, "No!
           If a boy cannot eat
           Such nice, wholesome meat,
        To bed without food he must go."

        3  So little Jack Horner,
           Who cried in the corner,
        Was washed clean, and put into bed:
           After sleeping all night,
           He awoke fresh and bright,
        And was glad to eat plain meat and bread.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

This issue was part of an omnibus. The original text for this issue did
not include a title page nor a table of contents. This was taken from
the July issue with the "No." added. The original table of contents
covered the second half of 1873. The remaining text of the table of
contents can be found in the rest of the year's issues.

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

On pages 37 and 38, the sounds of the lambs were in a smaller font. For
this text version, this has been represented with tildes. (~)





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