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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:37:32 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:37:32 -0700 |
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diff --git a/28140-h/28140-h.htm b/28140-h/28140-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22a872c --- /dev/null +++ b/28140-h/28140-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1542 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, December 1877, Vol. XXII., by Various. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + 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.swallow {width: 600px; text-align: center; background-image: + url("images/illus178.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 */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 70%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 0; 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;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .story {font-size: 200%; margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align:baseline; + position: relative; + bottom: 0.33em; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Nursery, December 1877, Vol. XXII. No. 6, 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, December 1877, Vol. XXII. No. 6 + A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 20, 2009 [EBook #28140] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, DECEMBER 1877 *** + + + + +Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. Music +by Linda Cantoni. + + + + + + +</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 XXII.—No. 6.<br /> + +<br /><br /> +BOSTON:<br /> +JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET,<br /> +1877.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='copyright'><br /><br /><br /> +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by<br /> +JOHN L. SHOREY,<br /> +In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.<br /> +<br /><br /><br /> +FRANKLIN PRESS:<br /> +RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY,<br /> +117 FRANKLIN STREET,<br /> +BOSTON.<br /></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/contents.png" width="400" height="210" alt="Contents" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>IN PROSE.</h3> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents in Prose"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Starlings and the Sparrows </td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Katie and Waif</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Amy and Robert in China</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>About two old Horses</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Baby's Exploit</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Drawing-Lesson</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Birdie's Pig Story</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Our Friend the Robin</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Frank's high Horse</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sagacity of a Horse</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Phantom</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<h3><br />IN VERSE.</h3> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents in Verse"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The last Guest</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>For Ethel</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Fox and the Crow</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Swallows and the Robins</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Christmas (<i>with music</i>) </td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/contents_end.png" width="250" height="194" alt="Birds" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus161.png" width="500" height="353" alt="VOL. XXII.—NO. 6." title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>THE LAST GUEST.</h2> + +<h3>THE MORNING AFTER THE PARTY.</h3> + + +<div class='center'>MARY (<i>angrily</i>).</div> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 112px;"> +<img src="images/illus162.png" width="112" height="125" alt="O" title="" /> +</div><div class='poem2'> <br /><br />Tommy, you deceiver!<br /> +You've turned a regular thiever:<br /> +I've let the light in on your deeds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">You needn't sneak away.</span><br /> +You thought it mighty pleasant<br /> +To devour that dainty pheasant;<br /> +Which cook and I for breakfast meant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To have this very day.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />TOM (<i>calmly</i>).</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Miss Mary, I assure you<br /> +You're entirely mistaken:<br /> +I was finishing my supper—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Don't call me thief or brute,</span><br /> +But please be so obliging<br /> +As to broil a slice of bacon<br /> +As my reward for self-control:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I haven't touched the fruit.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />MARY (<i>sneeringly</i>).</div> + +<div class='poem'> +For that there is good reason,<br /> +You thing of craft and treason;<br /> +You did not touch the grapes, because<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">The grapes you do not like.</span><br /> +You get no slice of bacon<br /> +From me, since you have taken<br /> +The bird I'd set my heart upon.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Away, or I will strike!</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />TOM (<i>derisively</i>).</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Be patient, Mistress Mary,<br /> +Of broomsticks I am wary:<br /> +The door is open, and I see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What you would now be at.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br />MARY (<i>angrily</i>).</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Away! obey my order,<br /> +You sneaking, base marauder!<br /> +I'll teach you to steal birds again!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be off! Take that, and—Scat!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /> +[<i>Exit Tommy at double-quick time, followed by Mary, who strikes with the<br /> +broom, but does not hit.</i>]<br /> +</div> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Alfred Selwyn.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus163.png" width="350" height="238" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus164.png" width="400" height="278" alt="THE STARLINGS AND THE SPARROWS" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>THE STARLINGS AND THE SPARROWS.</h2> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Look</span> here, my dear," said a starling to her mate: "in +our pretty summer-villa a pair of saucy sparrows have +taken up their abode. What shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"What shall we do?" cried Mr. Starling, who was calmly +standing on a fence; "why, rout them out, of course; give +them notice to quit."</p> + +<p>"That we will do," replied Mrs. Starling. "Here, you +beggars, you: out of that house! You've no business +there. Be off!"</p> + +<p>"What's all that?" piped Mrs. Sparrow, looking out of +her little round doorway. "Go away, you impudent tramp! +Don't come near our house."</p> + +<p>"It is not your house!" said Mr. Starling, springing +nimbly to a bough, and confronting Mrs. Sparrow.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> ours!" cried Mr. Sparrow, looking down from +the roof of the house. "I have the title-deeds. Stand up +for your rights, my love!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, stand up for your rights. I'll back you," said Mrs. +Sparrow's brother-in-law, taking position on a branch just +at the foot of the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We'll see about that, you thieves!" cried Mrs. Starling, +in a rage, making a dash at Mrs. Sparrow's brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>But two of Mrs. Sparrow's cousins came to the rescue +just then, and attacked Mrs. Starling in the rear.</p> + +<p>Thereupon Mr. Starling flew at Mrs. Sparrow. Mr. +Sparrow, without more delay, went at Mr. Starling. Mrs. +Sparrow's brother-in-law paid his respects to Mrs. Starling. +There was a lively fight.</p> + +<p>It ended in the defeat of the sparrows. The starlings +were too big for them. +The sparrows retreated +in good order, and left +the starlings to enjoy +their triumph.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illus165.png" width="250" height="227" alt="In the tree" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Now, my dear," +said Mr. Starling, "go +in, and put the house +in order. I'll warrant +those vulgar sparrows +have made a nice mess +in there. Sweep the +floors, dust the furniture, and get the beds made. I'll stay +here in the garden, and rest myself."</p> + +<p>"Just like that husband of mine!" muttered Mrs. Starling: +"I must do all the work, while he has all the fun. +But I suppose there's no help for it."</p> + +<p>So she flew up to the door of the house; but, to her +surprise, she could not get through it: the opening was not +large enough.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Starling," said she, "I do believe we have +made a mistake. This is not our house, after all."</p> + +<p>"Why did you say it was, then?" said Mr. Starling, in a +huff. "Here I have got a black eye, and a lame claw, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +a sprained wing, and have lost two feathers out of my tail, +all through your blunder. You ought to be ashamed of +yourself, Mrs. Starling!"</p> + +<p>"I own that I was hasty," said poor Mrs. Starling; "but +I meant well."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you thought the sparrows were thieves, and so did +I. But it turns out, that we are no better than burglars +ourselves; and, what's more, we shall have a whole army of +sparrows back upon us before long. We had better take +ourselves off." And off they flew.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Dora Burnside.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<h2>KATIE AND WAIF.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">I am</span> Katie Sinclair, and Waif is my dog. Now, as everybody +who knows him says he is the nicest dog in the world, +I will tell my "Nursery" friends why people think so.</p> + +<p>First I must tell you how I got him, and how he came to +have such an odd name. One cold, rainy day, about three +years ago, I heard a strange noise under the window, and +ran to the door to see what it was. There stood a homely +little puppy, dripping wet, shivering from the cold, and +crying, oh, so mournfully!</p> + +<p>I took him in, and held him before the fire till he was dry +and warm. Then I got him some nice fresh milk, which +he drank eagerly; and he looked up in my face in such a +thankful way, that he quite won my heart.</p> + +<p>"Poor little dog!" said I. "He hasn't had a very nice time +in this world so far; but I will ask mamma to let him stay +and be my dog." Mamma consented; and, if that dog has +not enjoyed himself since then, it is not my fault.</p> + +<p>I was bothered not a little to find a name for him. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +wanted one, you see, that would remind me always of the +way he came to me,—not a common name, such as other +little dogs have. No; I did not want a "Carlo," or a +"Rover," or a "Watch." After trying in vain to think +of a name fit for him, I asked mamma to help me.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"> +<img src="images/illus167.png" width="342" height="450" alt="Kate and Waif" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>She said, "Call him Waif." I was such a little goose +then (that was over three years ago, you know), that I had +to ask her what "Waif" meant.</p> + +<p>"A waif," said she, "is something found, of which nobody +knows the owner. On that account 'Waif' would be a +good name for your puppy." So I gave him that name, +and he soon got to know and answer to it.</p> + +<p>Waif grew fast, and we taught him ever so many tricks. +He has learned to be very useful too, as I shall show you.</p> + +<p>On a shelf in the kitchen stands a small basket, with his +name, in red letters, printed upon it. To this basket he +goes every morning, and barks. When Ellen the cook +hears him, she takes the basket down, and places the handle +in his mouth. Then he goes to mamma, and waits patiently +till she is ready, when he goes down town with her, and +brings back the meat for dinner.</p> + +<p>When papa gets through dinner, he always pushes back +his chair, and says, "Now, Waif:" and Waif knows what +that means; for he jumps up from where he has been lying,—and, +oh! such fun as we have with him then! He walks +on his hind-feet, speaks for meat, and catches crumbs.</p> + +<p>Last summer I went out to Lafayette to visit grandma. +Mamma says, that, while I was away, Waif would go to my +room, and sniff at the bed-clothes, and go away whining and +crying bitterly. When I came back, he was nearly beside +himself with delight.</p> + +<p>We never found out where he came from that rainy +day. But I don't love him a bit the less because he was a +poor, friendless puppy; and when I look into his good, +honest brown eyes, and think what a true friend he is, I +put my arms around his neck, and whisper in his ear, that +I would not change him for the handsomest dog in the +country.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +S. E. R.<br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus169.png" width="500" height="373" alt="AMY AND ROBERT IN CHINA" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>AMY AND ROBERT IN CHINA.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Amy</span> and Robert, with their papa and mamma, live in +China, in a place called Foochow. They came here last +January, when Amy was just three years old, and Robert +a little over one year. They came all the way from Boston +by water.</p> + +<p>They have a good grandma at home, who sends Amy +"The Nursery" every month, and she is never tired of +hearing the nice stories.</p> + +<p>Out here, the children see many things that you little +folks in America know nothing about. When they go to +ride, they do not go in a carriage drawn by horses, but in a +chair resting on two long poles, carried by some Chinamen +called <i>coolies</i>. When it is pleasant, and the sun is not too +hot, the chair is open; but, if it rains, there is a close cover +to fit over it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is so warm here, that flowers blossom in the garden all +winter; and Amy is very fond of picking them, and putting +them into vases. When it is too warm to go into the +garden, she has a pot of earth on the shady piazza, and +the cooly picks her flowers, to plant in it.</p> + +<p>Foochow is on a large river; and the children like much +to go out in the sail-boats, called "house-boats." These +boats are fitted up just like a house, with a dining-room, +sleeping-room, bath-room, and pantry.</p> + +<p>The night before Fourth of July, Amy and Robert started +with their papa, mamma, and Amah (their colored nurse), +and went to Sharp Peak, on the seashore, twenty-five miles +from here. They found the boat very nice to sleep in, +but were glad enough to get into their own beds the next +night.</p> + +<p>I am afraid you would not know what these little children +say, if you should hear them talk; for they pick up words +from their Amah, and do not speak like little American +girls and boys.</p> + +<p>By and by I shall have more to tell you about them.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Amy's Mamma.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus170.png" width="400" height="276" alt="Ship" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>ABOUT TWO OLD HORSES.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> my great-great-grandfather's barn-yard stood an old-fashioned +well, with a long sweep or pole, by which the +bucket was pulled up. This well was used entirely for +the horses and cattle.</p> + +<p>Grandfather had a horse named Pete, who would walk +out of his stall every morning, go to the well, take the +pole, by which the bucket was attached to the well-sweep, +between his teeth, and thus pull up the bucket until it +rested on the shelf made for it. Then old Pete would drink +the water which he had taken so much pains to get.</p> + +<p>But one of my uncles had a horse even more knowing +than old Pete. This horse was named Whitey. Every +Sunday morning, when the church-bell rang, Uncle George +would lead Whitey out of his stall, harness him, drive him +to church, and tie him in a certain shed, where he would +stand quietly till church was done.</p> + +<p>After a while, Whitey grew so used to this weekly performance, +that, when the bells rang, he would walk out of +his stall, and wait to be harnessed. One Sunday morning, +Old Whitey, on hearing the bells, walked out of his stall +as usual, and patiently waited for Uncle George. But it +happened that uncle was sick that morning, and none of the +family felt like going to church.</p> + +<p>I do not really know what Whitey's thoughts were; but +I have no doubt that they were something like this: "Well, +well! I guess my master is not going to church this morning; +but that is no reason why I should not go. I must go +now, or I shall be late."</p> + +<p>Whitey had waited so long, that he was rather late; but +he jogged steadily along to his post in the shed, and there +took his stand, as usual.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>As soon as old Mr. Lane, who sat in one of the back-pews +and always came out of church before anybody else, +appeared at the door, Whitey started for home. At the +door of the house he was greeted by several members of +the family, who had just discovered his absence, and who +learned the next day, from Mr. Lane, that old Whitey had +merely been attending strictly to his church-duties.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">K. H. S.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<h2>FOR ETHEL.</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +"<span class="smcap">Good-by</span>! little Ethel, good-by!" says the Light;<br /> +For what does my sleepy one need but the night?—<br /> +The soft quiet night, like a great downy wing,<br /> +To shelter the wee ones, too tired to sing.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Good-by till the dawning:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Some bright star will keep</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its watch o'er your pillow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When you are asleep!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Good-by, little Ethel," so many things say,—<br /> +The wind, that has played in the grasses all day,<br /> +The pretty red squirrels you never can catch,<br /> +And the kitten, that tries all your playthings to snatch.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When bird, bee, and blossom</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Their bright eyes must close,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is Ethel awake?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Go to sleep like a rose.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Charlotte M. Packard.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 305px;"> +<img src="images/illus173.png" width="305" height="400" alt="Baby's Exploit" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>BABY'S EXPLOIT.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the first place baby had her bath. Such a time! +Mamma talked as fast and as funny as could be; and the +baby crowed and kicked as if she understood every word.</p> + +<p>Presently came the clean clothes,—a nice, dainty pile, +fresh from yesterday's ironing. Baby Lila was seven +months old that very May morning; but not a sign had she +given yet of trying to creep: so the long white dresses still +went on, though mamma said every day, "I must make +some short dresses for this child. She's too old to wear +these dragging things any longer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>When baby had been dressed and kissed, she was set +down in the middle of the clean kitchen-floor, on her +own rug, hedged in by soft white pillows. There she sat, +serene and happy, surveying her playthings with quizzical +eyes; while her mamma gathered up bath-tub, towel, and +cast-off clothes, and went up stairs to put them away.</p> + +<p>Left to herself, Lila first made a careful review of her +treasures. The feather duster was certainly present. So +was the old rattle. Was the door-knob there? and the +string of spools? Yes; and so was the little red pincushion, +dear to baby's color-loving eyes.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus174.png" width="200" height="171" alt="Baby and feather duster" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>She was slowly poking over the things in her lap, when +mamma came back, bringing a pot of yeast to set by the +open fire-place, where a small fire burned leisurely on this +cool May morning. She put a little tin plate on the top of +the pot, kissed the precious baby, and then went out again. +Baby Lila was used to being +left alone, though seldom out +of mamma's hearing. At such +times she would sit among the +pillows, tossing her trinkets all +about, and crowing at her own +performances. Sometimes she +would drop over against a pillow, +and go to sleep.</p> + +<p>But this morning Lila had no intention of going to sleep. +She flourished the duster, and laughed at the pincushion; +then gazed meditatively at the bright window, and reflected +gravely on the broad belt of sunshine lying across the floor. +That speculation over, she fell to hugging the cherished +duster, rocking back and forth as if it were another baby.</p> + +<p>A smart little snap of the fire,—a "How-do-you-do?" +from the fire-place,—made the baby twist her little body<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +to look at it. She watched the small flames dancing in and +out, as long as her neck could bear the twist.</p> + +<p>As she turned back again, her eyes fell on the pot of +yeast. Oh! wasn't that her own tin plate shining in the +sunlight? Didn't she make music on it with a spoon every +meal-time? and hadn't her little gums felt of every A, +B, C, around its edge? Didn't she want it now? And +wouldn't she have it too?</p> + +<p>How she ever did it, nobody knows. How she ever got +over the pillows, and made her way across to the fire-place +in her long, hindering skirts, nobody can tell.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/illus175.png" width="250" height="203" alt="Baby on the floor" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Mamma was busy in another room, when she heard the +little plate clatter on the kitchen-floor. Not a thought of +the real mischief-maker entered +her head. She only said to herself,—</p> + +<p>"I didn't know the cat was +in there. Well, she'll find out +her mistake. I'm not going in +till I get this pie done, any +way. The baby's all right, and +that's enough."</p> + +<p>As soon as mamma's hands were at liberty, she thought +she would just look in and see what kept the darling so +quiet. "All right," indeed! What a spectacle she beheld!</p> + +<p>On the bricks before the fire, her pretty white skirts +much too near the ashes, sat Baby Lila, having a glorious +time. She had found her dear little plate empty; but the +brown pitcher was full enough. She had dropped the plate, +dipped the feather-duster into the yeast, and proceeded to +spread it about, on her clean clothes, on the bricks, on the +floor, everywhere.</p> + +<p>So, when mamma opened the door, she saw this wee<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +daughter besmeared from head to foot, the yeast dripping +over her head and face as she held the duster aloft in both +hands.</p> + +<p>Just then papa came in by another door. "O John! +do you see this child! What if she had put the duster into +the fire instead of the yeast!" Mamma shuddered as she +took little Lila into her lap for another bath and change of +clothes. Papa standing by said,—</p> + +<p>"You don't seem to mind having all that to do again."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I don't. To think how near she was to that +fire! I can never be thankful enough that she dusted the +yeast instead of the coals. But how do you suppose she +ever got over there?"</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">S. D. L. H.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<h2>THE FOX AND THE CROW.</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">A crow</span>, one day, stole a nice bit of cheese,<br /> +And flew up in a tree to eat it at her ease.<br /> +A sly young Fox, who was passing below,<br /> +Saw her as she flew, and he said, "Oh, ho!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Madam Crow."</span><br /> +<br /> +"What a fine bird you are, with your feathers so gay!<br /> +As brilliant as the rainbow, and fairer than the day.<br /> +If your voice is as sweet as your form would show,<br /> +Then sing me a song: pray don't say 'No,'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Madam Crow."</span><br /> +<br /> +The crow began her song, when down fell the cheese:<br /> +The fox sprang and caught it as quickly as you please;<br /> +And as he trotted off, he said, "Oh, ho!<br /> +That is just what I wanted. I'll go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Madam Crow."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Annie Moore.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 354px;"> +<img src="images/illus177.png" width="354" height="500" alt="DRAWING-LESSON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">DRAWING-LESSON.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'> <table class="swallow" summary="THE SWALLOWS AND THE ROBIN"> +<tr><td align='left'><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + +<h2>THE SWALLOWS AND THE ROBIN.</h2> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The</span> woods were showing autumn tints<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of crimson and of gold;</span><br /> +The sunny days were growing short,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The evenings long and cold:</span><br /> +So the swallows held a parliament,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And voted it was time</span><br /> +To bid farewell to northern skies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And seek a warmer clime.</span><br /> +<br /> +Southward with glad and rapid flight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They flew for many a mile,</span><br /> +Till in a quiet woodland glen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They stopped to rest a while:</span><br /> +A streamlet rippled in the dell;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on a hawthorn-tree</span><br /> +A robin-redbreast sat alone,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And carolled merrily.</span><br /> +<br /> +The wandering swallows listened,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eagerly said they,</span><br /> +"O pretty bird! your notes are sweet:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, fly with us away.</span><br /> +We're following the sunshine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For it is bright and warm:</span><br /> +We're leaving winter far behind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all its cold and storm.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The iron ground will yield no food,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The berries will be few;</span><br /> +Half-starved with hunger and with cold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor bird, what will you do?"</span><br /> +"Nay, nay," said he, "when frost is hard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the leaves are dead,</span><br /> +I know that kindly little hands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will give me crumbs of bread."</span><br /> +</div></td> +</tr></table></div> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">C.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus179.png" width="400" height="274" alt="The English Robin." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">The English Robin.</span></span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>BIRDIE'S PIG STORY.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">I told</span> my story first, as mammas usually do; and it was +all about a naughty little pig, who did not mind his mother +when she bade him stay in the sty, but crawled through a +hole in the wall.</p> + +<p>Of course this pig got into the garden, and was whipped +by the farmer, and bitten by the dog, and had all sorts of +unpleasant things happen to him, till he was glad to get +back again to the sty.</p> + +<p>"Now I'll tell you a pig story," said Birdie, with a very +wise look.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Once there was a big mother-pig, and she had <i>lots</i> of children-pigs. +One was spotted, and his name was Spotty; one's tail curled, and he +was Curly; another was white, and he was Whitey; another was Browny; +and another was Greeny."</p></div> + +<p>"Oh, dear! the idea of a <i>green</i> pig!" said I.</p> + +<p>But Birdie's eyes were fixed on the floor. He was too busy +thinking of his story to notice my remark. He went on,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"One day the pigs found a hole in the wall, and they crawled through,—all +of 'em, the mother-pig and all; and, when they got out, they ran +off, grunting with—with joy. And when the farmer saw them, he went +after them on a horse; but he couldn't catch them, for they all ran down +under a bridge where there had been a brook; but the water was all +dried up.</p> + +<p>"Then the farmer got a long pole, and poked under the bridge; but +he couldn't reach them. He put some potatoes down there too, but the +pigs weren't going to be coaxed out. And when they had staid as long +as they wanted to, they came out themselves, and got home before the +farmer did."</p></div> + +<p>That was the story, and I forgot to ask how they got +home before the farmer did unless he drove them; but I +think they must have gone home across the field, because +it is plain that Birdie's pigs did just as they liked all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +through. What I did ask was, "Well, what was the good +of it all?" for I thought nobody ought to tell a story without +meaning some good by it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Why, they got some fresh air!</i>" cried Birdie, triumphantly; +and considering that most farmers keep their pig-sties +in a filthy condition, which can't be healthy for the +pigs, nor for those who eat them, I thought Birdie's story +had a very good moral, which is only another way of saying +that it had a good lesson in it.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Birdie's Mamma.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus181.png" width="450" height="287" alt="Our Friend the Robin" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>OUR FRIEND THE ROBIN.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> very hard winter, a robin came, day after day, to +our window-sill. He was fed with crumbs, and soon became +tame enough not to fly away when we opened the window. +One cold day we found the little thing hopping about the +kitchen. He had flown in at the window, and did not +attempt to fly out again when we came near.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>We did not like to drive him out in the bitter cold: so +we put him in a cage, in which he soon made himself quite +at home. Sometimes we would let him out in the room, +and he would perch on our finger, and eat from our hand +without the least sign of fear.</p> + +<p>When the spring came on, we opened the cage-door and +let him go. At first he was not at all inclined to leave us; +but after a while he flew off, and we thought we should +never see him again.</p> + +<p>All through the summer and autumn, the cage stood on a +table in a corner of the kitchen. We often thought of the +little robin, and were rather sorry that the cage was empty.</p> + +<p>When the winter set in, we fancied we saw our old friend +again hopping about outside the window. We were by no +means sure that it was the same robin; but, just to see +what he would do, we opened the window, and set the cage +in its old place.</p> + +<p>Then we all left the room for a few minutes. When we +returned, we found, to our great delight, that the bird was +in the cage. He seemed to know us as we petted him and +chirruped to him; and we felt certain that it was our dear +old friend.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +T. C.<br /> +</div> +<p><span class="smcap">Chiswick, London.</span><br /></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> +<img src="images/illus182.png" width="475" height="263" alt="Bridge" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 284px;"> +<img src="images/illus183.png" width="284" height="350" alt="Frank's High Horse" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>FRANK'S HIGH HORSE.</h2> + +<div class='story'> +<p><span class="smcap">Frank</span> wanted a high horse: +so he took the sewing-chair, put +the hassock on it, put the sofa-pillow +on that, and mounted.</p> + +<p>How he got seated up there +so nicely I don't know; but I +know just how he got down.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> +<div class='story'> +<p>The horse did not mind the +bridle, but he would not stand +the whip. He reared, lost his +balance, and fell over.</p> + +<p>Down came Frank with sofa-pillow, +hassock, and all. By +good luck, he was not hurt; but +he will not try to ride that horse +again.</p></div> + +<div class='sig'> +A. B. C.<br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 306px;"> +<img src="images/illus184.png" width="306" height="350" alt="Frank falling off his high horse" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 351px;"> +<img src="images/illus185.png" width="351" height="400" alt="SAGACITY OF A HORSE" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>SAGACITY OF A HORSE.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A Young</span> gentleman bought a hunting-mare from a +farmer at Malton in England, and took her with him to +Whitby, a distance of nearly sixty miles. One Wednesday +morning the mare was missing from the field where her +owner had placed her. A search was made for her, but +with no success.</p> + +<p>The next day the search was renewed. The owner and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +his groom went some ten miles, and were told that the mare +had crossed the railway the morning before. At this point +the trail was easy. The mare had taken the high road to +her old home at Malton.</p> + +<p>Six men had tried, but in vain, to stop her. At a place +called Pickering, she jumped a load of wood and the railway +gates, and then, finding herself in her old hunting country, +made a bee-line for home. In doing this, she had to swim +two rivers, and cross a railway.</p> + +<p>She was found at her old home, rather lame, and with one +shoe off, but otherwise no worse for her gallop of nearly +sixty miles across the country,—all done in one day; for +her old owner found her on Wednesday night, standing at +the gate of the field where she had grazed for two previous +years. Was she not a pretty clever horse?</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Uncle Charles.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<h2>PHANTOM.</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have a little white dog whose name is Phantom. +This is his portrait. I hope you are glad to meet him. +Ask him to shake hands. He would do so at once if you +could only see him in reality.</p> + +<p>When he was only a few months old, he followed us all +to church without our knowing it; nor did we see him, till, +in the most solemn part of the service, we heard a patter, +patter, patter, coming up the aisle, and there stood Phantom +at the door of our pew. In his mouth was a long-handled +feather duster, which he had found in some obscure corner +of the building, and where it had been put (as it was supposed) +carefully out of everybody's way.</p> + +<p>Phantom is very intelligent, and has learned a number of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +tricks. He can understand what is said to him better than +any dog I ever knew; but he is best known among the +children here for his love of music and singing.</p> + +<p>He has only learned one song yet; but he knows that as +soon as he hears it. Wherever he may be,—up stairs, or +down stairs, or out of doors,—if he hears that song, he will +sit up, throw his head back, and you will hear his voice +taking part in the music.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus187.png" width="500" height="374" alt="Playing for Phantom" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>You may sing a dozen songs, all in about the same tone; +but he will take no notice till he hears the tune he has +learned, and then he will sing with you—not in a bark or +a yelp, but in a pure, clear voice, as if he enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>If you could see him sitting up, with his nose in the air, +his mouth open, and his fore-paws moving as if playing the +piano, and could hear his music, I am sure you would laugh +till the tears came into your eyes.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Uncle Tiffy.</span><br /> +</div> +<p><span class="smcap">Carondelet, Mo.</span><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"><img src="images/divider1.png" width="139" height="19" alt="Divider" title="" /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus188b.png" width="500" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHRISTMAS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +Words by <span class="smcap">Alfred Selwyn</span>.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> Music by <span class="smcap">T. Crampton</span>.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus188-music.png" width="500" height="528" alt="Music" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="center"><small>[<i>Transcriber's Note: You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/dec77.mid">here</a>.]</small><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Christmas lyrics"> +<tr><td align='left'>Hark! the bells are sounding, </td><td align='left'>Welcome to our pleasures</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Christmas draweth nigh;</td><td align='left'>And our Christmas cheer!</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Now let joy abounding,</td><td align='left'>We'll not stint the measures,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bid all sorrow fly.</td><td align='left'>Would you all were here!</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />Ye who pine in sorrow,</td><td align='left'><br />Boys and girls together—</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Come be cheer'd to-day;</td><td align='left'>From all parts and climes,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Of our gladness borrow,</td><td align='left'>To enjoy this weather,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>As you freely may.</td><td align='left'>And these Christmas times!</td></tr> +</table></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus188a.png" width="450" height="113" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Nursery, 1876.</p></div> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> +<p>The July edition of the Nursery had a table of contents for the next +six issues of the year. This table was divided to cover each specific +issue. A title page copied from this same July edition was also used for +this number and the issue number added after the Volume number. +</p> + + +<p>Page 176, period added to end of paragraph (in both hands.)</p></div> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nursery, December 1877, Vol. XXII. +No. 6, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, DECEMBER 1877 *** + +***** This file should be named 28140-h.htm or 28140-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/1/4/28140/ + +Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. 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