The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, March 1881, Vol. XXIX

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Title: The Nursery, March 1881, Vol. XXIX

Author: Various

Release date: September 14, 2012 [eBook #40754]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music

transcribed by June Troyer.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, MARCH 1881, VOL. XXIX ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

FOR YOUNGEST READERS.

VOLUME XXIX.—No. 3.

BOSTON:

THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,

NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.

1881.

Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by

THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

IN PROSE.

PAGE

Telling a Story

65

Turtles

71

Feeding the Swans in Winter

72

Two Friends

74

The Swallows' Nest

76

Drawing-Lesson

81

The Faithful Sentinel

86

Bruce and Old Sheepy

88

Elfrida's Present

92

"Parley-voo"

93

IN VERSE.

PAGE

To the Snowdrop

69

Rather Bashful

72

Bird, Lamb, Baby

75

The Gentleman in Gray

78

The Little Scholars

80

The Three Dolls

82

"Right of Way"

91

Winter (with music)

96

VOL. XXIX.—NO. 3.

TELLING A STORY.

REAR and cold is the winter outside; but within there is a bright fire on the hearth. Jane and Susie, and Charles and John, and their elder sister Ann, are all seated comfortably in front of it. And now the children call on sister Ann to tell them a story; and this is what she tells them:—

"When I was a girl, and wanted to hear a story, and the grown-up people didn't feel like telling me one, they would say,—

"'I'll tell you a story about Jack O'Nory;

And now my story's begun.

I'll tell you another about Jack and his brother;

And now my story's done.'

"Now, every time this was said to me, I would think that I really should hear the story about Jack O'Nory, or the other one about Jack and his brother. But it was always the same; just as I thought the story was coming, I would hear, instead, 'And now my story's done.'

"One day, when I begged for one of the stories, my aunt told me that I couldn't hear about Jack O'Nory or his brother, because Mother Goose never told the stories about them; that she just began, and then thought better of it. After that I didn't ask any more; but I said to myself, 'If ever I get big, I'll find out those stories.' And so, sure enough, I did. And I am going to tell one of them now,—the one about Jack O'Nory himself.

"'It is a story that all came of his having a great liking for buns. Jack lived in the next house to Mother Goose, and every morning, if she peeped between the curtains, she was sure to see Jack waiting on the pavement for the bun-man. You see the bun-man went around very early, so that people could have their buns for breakfast.

"'But one morning Jack slept too late, and, when he ran out, the bun-man had already gone by and was almost out of sight. Jack ran after him, but could not catch him.

"'It didn't seem to Jack a bit nice, not to have any bun with his milk that morning; and so all day Jack kept saying to himself, "That bun-man won't get by the house to-morrow morning without my knowing it, I guess!" And this was the last thing he thought of as he took off his shoes and stockings at night before the fire.

"'But all his thinking did not seem to be of much use; for, before he had slept half as long as he wanted to, he heard the jingle of the bun-man's bell. Up he jumped, pulled on his clothes as fast as he could, and had got on all except one shoe, when the bell rang below the window. Down he ran, but the bun-man wasn't there.

"'Jack forgot that he had on only one shoe, and started to run after the man. He was soon only half a square behind him; but just then the man turned a corner, and was out of sight. Jack turned the corner too; but the man had walked fast and was just turning another corner.

"'Poor Jack began to think he was not going to get his bun; but he still ran on, and turned the next corner and the next, for the bun-man seemed to be always turning corners. Jack got very hot, and was just beginning to cry, when, as he was turning the ninth corner after the man, he saw him go into a house.

"'"Ah!" thought Jack, "that's the place where they make the buns. I'll hurry in after him, and then I'll surely get my bun, and he'll tell me the way home besides."

"'So in went Jack. But the man was not to be seen. There was nothing to be seen except buns, all in great piles like walls, and all smoking hot. Jack was very warm already, you know, and the steam from so many hot buns made him warmer still; but he tried not to mind it, and walked on, looking all the time for the bun-man.

"'He could hear his bell every little while; but the more he tried to go where the bell was, the more he could not find it, Jack by this time, had gone through so many rooms, that he did not know how to get out: so he went down some stairs that he saw ahead of him, and found himself in the place where the buns were baked.

"'There were plenty of men here, all in baker's caps; but instead of making buns, they were pouring out milk for two rows of little boys, who stood, each with a bib under his chin and a bun in his hand. The strangest part of it was that the boys did not seem to be a bit hot, while poor Jack was almost melting. Jack thought that if he could only drink some milk, he should feel better.

"'But just as he was about to take his place with the rest of the boys, they disappeared, and instead of pouring out milk, the men were shovelling buns out of ovens on all sides of the room. Now, Jack had heard his mamma tell about the great oven that buns were baked in, and he had always wanted to see one: so he ran up to the door to look in.

"'The heat drove him back, and he turned quickly to run, just as one of the bakers was putting his shovel in for more buns. The baker did not notice him, and, the first thing Jack knew, the baker's elbow drove him bump against the oven door. My! how he screamed!

"'Then, all of a sudden, there was no oven to be seen, only a fire; and his mother was coming in at the door,—not the bun-man's door, but his own nursery door,—saying, "Why, Jack, not undressed yet! I sent you to bed a half-hour ago!"

"'But she stopped suddenly, and picked Jack up, hugging and kissing him, and calling his father to go for the doctor. Poor Jack! what with the hurt on his head, and his mother's crying, and the thought of the strange bake-shop, he wondered whether he was Jack O'Nory at all.

"'While he was wondering the doctor came, and his mother began to tell him about Jack's hurt. "You see, doctor," she said, "my little boy went to sleep as he was sitting very near the fire, and fell over and cut his head against the hot andiron."

"'Then Jack knew that the bun-man, the bake-shop, and the oven, were all a dream. He told his mamma the dream, and she promised him three buns every day till his head was well. Then she tucked him up in his bed, and told him not to dream of the bun-man again.'

"So this is the story of Jack O'Nory. Some day 'I'll tell you another about Jack and his brother, and now my story is done!'"

MRS. HENRIETTA R. ELIOT.

TO THE SNOW-DROP.

EMBLEM of purity, gracefully lifting

Petals of beauty 'mid wintry snows drifting;

Brave little snow-drop, so fair and so hardy,

First flower to welcome the spring chill and tardy,—

Frost cannot wither thee, cold cannot frighten,

Patiently tarrying till skies may brighten;

Snow-piercer, cloud-gazer, wind-scorner, eye-cheerer,

Bring to my heart thy dear message yet nearer.

When age or sorrow is darkly impending,

Snows of adversity thickly descending,

Then, springing out of them, checked by no blasting,

Let there bloom thoughts of the life everlasting.

Coming, like snow-drops, amid our endurance,

Bringing to each weary heart the assurance,

To joy's frozen waste spring draws nigher and nigher,

And death is the way to life higher and higher.

EPES SARGENT.

TURTLES.

LMOST every one thinks of turtles as exceedingly slow and stupid. Perhaps they may be rather slow, though you know who won the race in the fable of the turtle and the hare. As for their stupidity, I doubt whether they are so very stupid, for I once had one that seemed to me very bright.

When I put him on the floor or ground, he would stay quite still, and draw in his head and legs, until I turned away, or busied myself with something else; then he would make off as fast as his little legs would carry him.

I once lost one in that way: so, now that I know their tricks, I am more careful. But certainly that turtle must have had some sense to be able to tell when my back was turned, or even when I was not looking.

Their habits are quite peculiar. In summer they stay in the water most of the time, coming out only now and then to sun themselves on some log or branch. In the winter they bury themselves in the mud, or remain in a torpid state. When spring comes, they lay their eggs.

They live chiefly on bugs; but I have heard of one living a whole year without any thing to eat. They are very patient, and I have seen one try for hours to get over a wall that one would think he could never get over; and yet he would succeed.

I have a turtle now that will have a funny story to tell his friends, if he ever reaches his native home again. This is it: I once took him to school with me, and left him in a box, with the cover half open, on a table in the dressing-room. In about an hour I heard a suppressed laugh from one of the girls, and, looking up, I saw Mr. Turtle calmly walking into school. He wanted to learn something as well as the rest of us.

LITTLE CHICK.

RATHER BASHFUL!

UNDER this great sunbonnet

Is hid a pretty face,

Belonging to a little girl

Whose name, they say, is Grace.

She is a merry little girl,

As good as good can be;

But she is rather bashful,

As any one may see.

W.

FEEDING THE SWANS IN WINTER.

T is a cold day in February. The icicles hang from the trees. The pond is partly frozen over. Mary and her dog Pug have come down to take a look at the swans.

The swans are often fed by girls and boys in the summer; but in winter they have few visitors: so they are glad to see Mary, and waddle up on the ice to meet her.

She feeds them with something that looks to me like a banana, and they eat it greedily. Pug looks on fiercely, as though he did not quite approve of their doings, and had half a mind to interfere.

Take care, Pug: you had better keep in the background. A blow from a swan's wing would not be good fun to a small dog. Let the swans eat their luncheon in peace.

IDA FAY.

TWO FRIENDS.

JANE and Ann were good friends, but one morning they had a quarrel. They soon made it up. Jane put her arms round Ann's neck, and said, "I am sorry." Ann gave her a kiss, and they were friends again.

Here you see them taking a walk. They have on good warm coats, for it is a very cold day. Just see how lovingly they clasp each other. They are having a nice little chat. I wonder what they are saying.

A. B. C.

THERE was a wee bird that would not sleep,

Though twilight was falling hushed and deep,

And what did its mother do?

She sang it the song it loved the best,

She folded it softly in the nest,

And then, ere that mother knew,

Her birdie had gone to sleep.

There was a wee lamb that still would play,

Though others were resting, after day,

And what did its mother do?

She called it so gently to her side,

She soothed it with loving care and pride,

And then, ere that mother knew,

Her lambkin had gone to sleep.

There was a wee babe that would not rest,

Though crimson and purple crowned the west,

And what did its mother do?

She made this wee song of lamb and bird,

She sang it so softly, every word,

And then, ere that mother knew,

Her darling had gone to sleep.

GEORGE COOPER.

THE SWALLOWS' NEST.

HARLEY came from school one Friday afternoon. He was going home with his grandfather, at whose house he was to spend the next day. It was the month of May; and the drive of ten miles among the green trees and fields was very delightful.

There were no playmates for Charley at grandpa's; but with a calf at the barn, several broods of chickens, and four kittens, he found enough to occupy his mind. He was up very early in the morning, and it was after ten o'clock when he came into the kitchen rather hungry.

"Look under the cloth on the table, Charley," called his grandma from the sitting-room. "You'll find a little cake I baked for you. Don't you see it?" she asked, coming into the kitchen. "There, that one."

"Oh!" said Charley, "I thought that was a loaf."

Then, taking the cake in his hand, he sat on a rock at the foot of a tree a little distance from the house, and began to eat with great relish.

Not far from him, and a little way from the other buildings, was the corn-barn, and at one end of its roof was a bird-house, which had been taken by two little birds for their home. Charley saw one bird come out and fly away. While she was gone, her mate kept watch at a short distance to see that no harm came to the eggs that were within.

Charley noticed, that, in flying, these birds had different motions from the sparrows and robins which lived about his own home in the city, and, when he went nearer, he saw that they were swallows.

As he watched them pass in and out of their house, he observed that there was something inside that opened and shut like a door. It was pressed back when the birds went in, and sprang into place again as soon as they were inside. Charley could not make out what it was, and ran to the house to ask about it.

"Grandma," he said, "is there a real door to the swallows' house?"

"They make one for themselves," she answered: "there is no door to the box. You know their house stands where it is exposed to all the winds, and, on some days since they came, they must have felt the cold very much. But I saw one come flying home one day with a turkey's feather in his beak, and they worked away at it very busily until they had placed it as you see. It keeps out the wind, and makes the house much more comfortable."

Charley went back to look at the door again, and wished he could be small enough, for a few minutes, to go inside the bird-house, and see just how it was fastened. But he could not have his wish, and the swallows kept their secret.

SUSAN CHENERY.

THE GENTLEMAN IN GRAY.

HUSH, little May! Snuggle here by my side:

Do you see in that corner a door open wide?

That's the door of a house: if you watch it a minute,

The shy little owner will come and sit in it.

See! there he comes; in a gray velvet hat,

With his shining black eyes looking this way and that,

And his velvet-shod feet: if you stir but a lash,

They'll twinkle and vanish as quick as a flash.

What do you fancy he does in the dark,

When the fire has gone down to the very last spark,

When the girls and the boys are in bed and asleep,

And there's never a cat on the carpet to creep?

Why, out of his doorway he walks at his ease,

And brings his relations and friends, if he please,

He picks up the crumbs of your candy and cake:

From the tiniest fragments a feast he can make.

He swings on the tassels, he climbs up the shelf;

He peeps in the mirror and winks at himself;

He drops from the table, and lands with a thump;

He slides down the sofa, and squeaks at the bump.

There, now he grows bolder; he's out on the floor;

He's eating an apple-seed there by the door;

He's under the table; he's—where did you say?

Oh, here he is! there he is! shoo! get away!

EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.

THE LITTLE SCHOLARS.

AT your books! A goodly sight!

Learn to cipher, read, and write;

What you do, do always well;

Let your aim be to excel.

If you fail, why, try again;

Mend your pencil or your pen,

Straighten and perfect the line;

Make the fine mark still more fine;

Make the curve a little better;

Let no flaw be in the letter;

So by trying you will gain

Till perfection you attain.

EMILY CARTER.

DRAWING-LESSON.

VOL. XXIX.—NO. 3.

THE THREE DOLLS.

ROSY.

"OH, let me see your dolly!"

Kate.

(Holding up a handsome doll.)

"Take care! you must not touch;

For she was bought in Paris,

And oh, she cost so much!

Her dress is richest satin,

'Tis trimmed with nicest lace.

I do not dare to kiss her,

For fear 'twould spoil her face.

Such dainty little slippers

I'm sure you never saw!

We keep her wrapped in paper

Within the bureau-drawer.

Just see her shining necklace!

I think 'tis truly gold.

Oh, mine's a splendid dolly,

But she's too fine to hold!"

ROSY.

"And do you have one, Lizzie?"

LIZZIE.

(Bringing slowly out an old doll which she has been holding in her hand behind her.)

"Oh, mine's a perfect fright!

I tried to keep her hidden

She's such a sorry sight.

If you had been here Christmas,

I know you would have said

That she was very lovely,

With cheeks like roses red,

And hair that shone like sunbeams,

And pretty, tasteful gown;

But I have been too heedless

Where I have laid her down.

I'd start up in a hurry,

And drop her here or there.

Her head—aunt Sally crushed it:

I left it in a chair.

Bad Jip, our naughty puppy,

Has dragged her all about.

She lost one arm; the sawdust

Has from her form come out.

Her head is cracking open,

Her clothes are soiled and old,

Yet this poor battered dolly

Is all I have to hold.

And I can have no other,

My mother says to me,

Until I learn more careful

And orderly to be."

JENNY.

"Well, you may take mine, Rosy,

And play with her: I know

You will be very gentle,

Because I love her so.

She's but a common dolly,

She has a simple dress;

But then to me she's pretty,

I love her none the less.

I have one place to keep her,—

The closet's lowest shelf:

With mother's help I'm learning

To make her clothes myself.

I kiss her and caress her,

And, when the daylight flies,

I tenderly undress her,

And sing her lullabies.

Kate's doll is fine to look at,

All decked with lace and gold;

But mine's the dearest dolly

In all this world to hold."

MARIAN DOUGLAS.

THE FAITHFUL SENTINEL.

HEN there is war, the safety of an army may depend on the quickness and courage of one sentinel. If he sleeps at his post, he is shot. The sentinel I am to tell you about never fell asleep on duty, never ran away from an enemy, carried no musket, and wore no uniform.

It was more than a hundred years ago that this trusted guard did duty; and when he died, not a drum was heard, and no soldiers fired a volley over his grave. You cannot find his name on the roll of enlisted men; and yet no soldier was ever more faithful.

There was war with the Indians at the time of which I write, and a family of settlers lived in what is now the State of Maine, on the bank of the River Androscoggin. One day the children of the family went down by the river to pick berries.

With the little party of boys and girls went the family dog. He was trained to follow the trail of Indians, and to give warning of their approach. The watchful dog took his place, like a sentinel, near the children, while they ran about from bush to bush, eating more berries than went into the pail.

Suddenly the dog gave a low growl, and looked angrily toward a heap of brush at the edge of the woods. The children knew what that meant, and, without waiting to see what the danger was, they ran at once towards the block-house.

The faithful dog did not run, but stood on guard to meet the Indian whom he had seen coming from the thicket. It was not far to the house; and the children were soon in a place of safety, while the Indian skulked back to the woods.

Several years after, when the war was all over, this very same Indian came that way, and talked with the children. They treated him kindly, and he became their good friend. But he often told them of the danger they all were in, that afternoon, when the good dog gave them such timely warning.

The dog lived to a good old age, and was loved and petted by the family as long as he lived; and to this day the descendants of Enoch and Esther, Martha and Samuel, the children saved by the dog, tell the story that I have related, and speak gratefully of the faithful sentinel.

GEORGE T. PACKARD.

BRUCE AND OLD SHEEPY.

ANY years ago, I spent a few weeks with some friends who lived upon a large milk-farm in the State of New York. They made a great many pounds of butter every day, and packed it in firkins for market. So much churning could not be done by hand, and, as working by steam was not common then, they were obliged to employ dogs, and sometimes sheep.

In the basement of the farm-house was a huge churn, the handle of which was attached to a large barrel made of slats, in such a way, that, when the barrel revolved, the churn was worked. When the dairy-maid was ready to churn, she would lock Bruce, their great dog, into this barrel, and say to him, "Go on, Bruce." If he went on, at every step he turned the barrel. The faster the barrel turned, the faster the churn-handle moved up and down, and the sooner the butter came.

Bruce did not like this kind of work; and who of us would? He often tried to shirk it by running away; but when John, the farmer's son, perceived this trick, he took care to secure the dog over night. The farmer and his son were very good to their animals: so, in order that Bruce might rest, they selected a sheep to perform a part of the labor. This sheep, though quite young, was never called by any other name than "Old Sheepy."

The dog and the sheep took turns in the churning thus: Bruce worked Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; Old Sheepy worked the other three days of the six. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings, Old Sheepy could never be found without much hunting. The other three mornings she would leisurely wander near the house, nibbling the grass near the doorstep.

So John was obliged to drive her into an enclosure, and there confine her for the night, previous to her churning, as it took too much time to find her in the morning.

One Monday evening, Bruce, having done his day's work, was lying on a rug in the sitting-room, where the farmer's children and myself were having a quiet game of "Come, d'ye come?" At eight o'clock, Priscilla and John, as if with one thought, started up from the game with the words, "Has any one shut up Old Sheepy?" No one knew. So off John ran to get the animal, but soon returned, not able to find her.

"No matter," said Priscilla, "Bruce has had an easy time to-day. We'll put him on to-morrow; for we never had more cream ready than now." Bruce pricked up his ears, as if to say, "Catch me churning Old Sheepy's butter!"

When bed-time came, Priscilla said, "I will not let old Bruce out to-night. I will put him in the wash-room." Priscilla didn't quite know Bruce, if she thought he was simple enough to be caught napping after hearing that. He got out, no one knew how; and there was nothing to to be done but to wait patiently till morning.

Bruce had no idea of allowing Old Sheepy to get clear of her task. At midnight a terrible barking and bleating and growling and scampering, was heard some little distance from the house. John went out to see what the noise was about. He found that Bruce had spied Old Sheepy in her hiding-place, had routed her out, and driven her into the enclosure; but, as he could not bar the gate, he stood guard against the opening, and was barking loudly to awaken the household.

As soon as John appeared upon the scene, Bruce returned to his rug as if nothing had happened.

When Old Sheepy was marched into the barrel the next morning, you ought to have seen Bruce strutting about the basement! If Old Sheepy slackened her pace at all, Bruce would growl; if she didn't mind that, he would bark, and would not stop until he had succeeded in calling the dairy-maid to threaten Old Sheepy with the whip.

Priscilla and John thought these little acts of the dog very wise; but I think a sheep that could tell the days of the week, as this one was able to do, and knew enough to run away the night before her turn came, was just as wise as the dog.

The family were loud in their praise of Bruce, however, and, as a reward for his shrewdness, talked of relieving him from further work as soon as they could succeed in training another sheep.

I left the farm-house before this took place: so I cannot say how Bruce bore his laurels. But, if I had had my way, I would have rewarded Old Sheepy too.

AUNT ANNE.

"RIGHT OF WAY."

"BAA, baa! there's no road this way."

"Pretty sheep, do let me pass, I say;

It's too late to go back again to-day:

Nice little sheep, please to go away!"

"Baa, baa! we won't let you by:

It's no use for you to begin to cry.

You can't come this road, it's no use to try;

So never mind asking the reason why."

ELFRIDA'S PRESENT.

LFRIDA is a little German girl who lives in Bonn. She has a brother in New York. He sent her, not long ago, a bound copy of "The Nursery." She was greatly pleased. She spent much time looking at the pictures. Then she said, "Oh, how I wish I could read the stories!"

"You have been saving up your money for some time," said her mother. "For what have you been saving it?"

"To buy one of those beautiful dolls that can walk without being touched: I do so long to have one!" said the little girl. "But why do you ask, mamma?"

"It was only a passing thought," said mamma.

"But I want to know your passing thought," said Elfrida.

"Well, dear, I thought that one-quarter of the money you will have to pay for a doll would buy you a nice English-German dictionary, by help of which you could learn to read those stories in 'The Nursery.'"

"Let me buy it at once, mamma!" cried Elfrida. "Dolls are nice; but I would rather have a dictionary. May I not go to the bookstore, and buy the book now?"

"Yes, dear: your choice is a wise one. You may go."

Elfrida ran up stairs, put on her cape and bonnet, ran out to the bookstore, and bought the book.

It was hard at first to find out the meaning of some of the words. But the stories were simple, and some of the words were so like the same words in German, that she did not have to look them out.

One day she came running home from school, and said, "O mamma! a little American girl named Clara now comes to our school. She says she will teach me to read."

The little American girl kept her promise. First she would give Elfrida a lesson in English, and then Elfrida would give her a lesson in German. And so they both grew to be nice little scholars. Elfrida would talk to Clara in English, and Clara would answer her in German. Soon they could each talk both languages quite well.

IDA FAY.

"PARLEY-VOO."

ARLEY-VOO" was the nickname of a little boy four years old, who was born in Paris. He did not come home until after he had learned to talk, and then he spoke French. So, when he went out to play with the other boys, they laughed at him, and called him "Parley-voo."

His aunt laughed at him too, sometimes. She was rather a queer aunt, and not at all like the aunts we read of in story-books. But his father was just the best father that anybody ever heard of.

They lived in Sunland, a little town not many miles from Boston; and every morning Parley-voo would hurry down to give his father a kiss before he went away to his business in the city. Then, when the train went by, he would stand at the window, and wave his little white handkerchief, and then his father would wave back at him, as if to say, "Good-by, once more, my dear little Parley-voo, good-by!"

But one morning he was so very sleepy, that he could not open his eyes when his nurse told him it was time to get up. He called the nurse a bonne, as they do in Paris. He pushed her away, and went to sleep again, and the first thing he heard was the train going by with a "choo, choo, choo," and his father was gone without a kiss.

Then Parley-voo cried, and said it was his bonne's fault. He went to the window, and there he stood crying. He could not eat the nice breakfast that his nurse brought him, and would not let her dress him. So she went away, and shut the door, and left him to dress himself.

In his hurry he put on one red stocking and one blue one. His little kilt suit hung so high up in the closet, that he could not reach it: so he drew on an old faded dress a good deal too short, and it made him look just like a girl.

In this rig he went down stairs, and his aunt laughed so that she almost cried when she saw him. That made him feel worse than ever, and he grew worse than ever. I am sorry to tell it; but he flew at her, and kicked her. His mother could not stop him, and his aunt had to run away.

But before long Parley-voo began to be sorry; for he was not a bad child, only thoughtless and wilful. And when his mother whispered to him to go and tell his aunt how sorry he was, the little red and blue legs flew across the room, and up the stairs to find his aunt.

She sat in her room at her small table, and was taking a cup of tea. She did not look up when she heard him coming, and he hardly dared to go in. But he had a brave little heart; and calling out, "Aunty, I'm sorry," he ran up to her, and clasping her neck with his little loving arms, "I am very sorry, aunty," he said again. And they made it all up.

His aunt told him that she thought it would be a good plan to write to his papa, and tell him how it happened that his little boy was too late to kiss him good-by. Then she took out of her desk a sheet of paper; and Parley-voo, with his aunt's help, printed this letter:—

Dear Papa,—I did not see you, and I cried. Did you wave to me? I said it was the bonne's fault, and I dressed myself. Aunt Tib laughed. I kicked her. I'm sorry. I sha'n't do it any more. Mamma sends love and three kisses. So do I. Aunt Tib sends her love too.

Your loving little PARLEY-VOO.

After this, Parley-voo and his aunt Tib were the best of friends. It was a long time before he was too late again to say good-by to his father, or had any trouble with his bonne.

ELIZABETH A. DAVIS.

WINTER.

Music by T. CRAMPTON.

[Transcriber's Note: You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking here

and a larger image of the music sheet may be seen by clicking on the image.]

1

'Tis snowing fast, hurrah! hurrah!

Come o'er the hills away;

Away we'll run for healthy fun,

And in the snowdrifts play.

Let me but pull my mittens on,

I'll make the snowballs fly;

If you look out the window, Nell,

You'll see them whizzing by.

2

Papa thinks I'm not old enough

Just now to learn to skate;

And mother says another year

Will not be long to wait.

But famous forts I mean to build,

And on the ice I'll slide;

How swiftly o'er the glassy crust

I shall securely glide.

3

Oh, glad am I the frost has come!

What merry rides we'll take!

We soon shall hear the jingling bells

Their thrilling music make.

I know that lovely summer brings

Its many fruits and joys;

But then old frosty winter gives

Rare fun to lively boys.

Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

The original text for the January issue had a table of contents that spanned six issues. This was divided amongst those issues.

Additionally, only the January issue had a title page. This page was copied for the remaining five issues. Each issue had the number added on the title page after the Volume number.

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Table of Contents

THE NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

IN PROSE.

IN VERSE.

TELLING A STORY.

TO THE SNOW-DROP.

TURTLES.

RATHER BASHFUL!

FEEDING THE SWANS IN WINTER.

TWO FRIENDS.

THE SWALLOWS' NEST.

THE GENTLEMAN IN GRAY.

THE LITTLE SCHOLARS.

THE THREE DOLLS.

THE FAITHFUL SENTINEL.

BRUCE AND OLD SHEEPY.

"RIGHT OF WAY."

ELFRIDA'S PRESENT.

"PARLEY-VOO."

WINTER.

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE