The Nursery, July 1877, XXII. No. 1 / A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
Date: 2009-02-20T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Children's literature; American -- Periodicals

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Nursery, July 1877, XXII. No. 1

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Title: The Nursery, July 1877, XXII. No. 1

Author: Various

Release date: February 20, 2009 [eBook #28135]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. Music
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, JULY 1877, XXII. NO. 1 ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

VOLUME XXII.—No. 1.

BOSTON:
JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET,
1877.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by
JOHN L. SHOREY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

FRANKLIN PRESS:
RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY,
117 FRANKLIN STREET,
BOSTON.

IN PROSE.

| PAGE
Percy and the Oxen | 3
Pet Rabbits | 5
Fourth of July Morning | 7
A Fish Story | 11
Buttercup's Circus | 13
At Sea | 14
Drawing-Lesson | 17
Solomon and the tame Bear | 18
Sixth Lesson in Astronomy | 21
Pictures for Mary | 25
The Chamois | 28

IN VERSE.

| PAGE
The Wild Bees' Home | 1
Chipping-Birds' Song | 6
The little Deserter | 9
At Dinner | 20
Teddy's Kitten | 23
The Garden Tools | 30
What does little Birdie say? (with music) | 32

Wild bees of the wood are we;
But our hive you must not see.

THE WILD BEES' HOME.

Wild bees of the wood are we;
But our hive you must not see:
Here behold our happy home,
Where we labor, where we roam.
Brooks that on their shining bosoms
Catch the overhanging blossoms;
Banks all bright with clustering flowers,—
Here is where we pass our hours.

Seldom on this solitude
Does a girl or boy intrude;
Few among you are aware
What a home is ours, so fair!
In the brook are little fish;
You would like them on a dish:
Keep away, and bring no hooks
To these happy, murmuring brooks.

You would like to find our hoard
Of honey-comb and honey stored;
You would track us, if you could,
Through the field, and through the wood,
Till, within some hollow tree,
You our waxen cells could see.
But beware now what you do;
Treat us well, and we'll treat you.

Dora Burnside.

PERCY AND THE OXEN.

Summer came, and the city streets were dry, dusty, and noisy, and the bricks made everybody's eyes ache.

So mamma took little Percy, who was only three years old, and the rosy, fat one-year-old baby, and went away in the steam cars to the green, fresh, cool, sunny country. Grandpa was left all alone in the still city home, with good old 'Titia to keep house for him until the family should come back in the fall.

Well, those who could go to the country had just as much fun as they could wish for,—sitting out under the trees all the sunny days, and in the barn, when the sun was too hot for them to want him to shine on them.

One day, great-aunt Hannah was giving her nephews and nieces a dinner of corn and beans, and apples and cream, and nice bread and butter, and they all sat at the table a long time, talking and laughing, and enjoying themselves.

All at once little mamma said, "Why, where's Percy?" and sprang up, and ran to the side-door, which opened on to the green.

No Percy was to be seen there: so all began to hunt through the sitting-room, even through the parlor (where he never played), out in the kitchen, farther out through the long wood-shed, still farther out in the carriage-house; but he was in none of these places.

Then great-aunt Hannah opened the cupboards, and pulled out the drawers, as though she expected to find the "grand-boy" rolled up in a napkin, and tucked away in a corner.

There was a high state of flutter when mamma peeped round the edge of the open dining-room door, and said, "Come with me."

She was so smiling, that every one knew the search was up; and a row of tall people and short people, headed by little mamma, and ended by tall aunt Hannah, streamed out and over the green, across the road. There they were stopped, and told by mamma to go softly and look in one of the barn-windows.

What did they see? A good load of sweet-scented hay piled on a wide hay-cart, two big oxen yoked to that, standing in the middle of the barn-floor, with their two great heads held down very low.

In front of them was little chubby Percy, in his clean white frock, swinging a tiny pail, that would hold a teaspoonful of berries, in one hand, and with the other holding out a berry to the oxen, as they put their great mouths down to be fed.

Aunt Emmie.

PET RABBITS.

Many of my little readers have owned tame rabbits; but I doubt if they ever had for a pet the little wild rabbit who lives in the woods, and, at the South, builds his nest above ground.

On a warm, sunny afternoon in May, two little rabbits, whose mother had been killed by a dog, were brought home in a gentleman's pocket, and given to my little boys. They were not old enough to feed themselves: so we put some milk in a small bottle, and tied a piece of sponge to the neck of it, and in that way the little things sucked up the milk.

The children had a large, old-fashioned fireplace in their room, and, after taking out the andirons, they covered the bricks with fresh clover and grass, making a safe and snug home for the rabbits at night. Several times a day they were allowed to run about the lawn, and crop the sweet white clover; and often at night, they would jump out from their home in the fireplace, and run about the room.

They were named George and Mary Rabbit, and always used to sleep side by side. But after a few weeks they must have felt tired of their humdrum life; for one bright morning they ran away. I hope they are living happily together in the fragrant woods from which they were brought.

Charlie's Mamma.

Kittrells, N. C.

CHIPPING-BIRDS' SONG.

"Chipper, chipper, clear the way;
We must be at work to-day.
See us swiftly fly along,
Hear our bursts of merry song.
Watch me in my busy flight,
Glancing in your window bright;
Save your bits of yarn for me,
Just think what a help 'twould be!"

"Chip, chip, chipper!" How he sings,
As he comes for shreds and strings,
Which he is not slow to see,
From the budding lilac-tree!
Now with cunning, saucy pranks,
See him nod his hearty thanks:
"These are just the thing," sings he;
"Truly you are helping me!"

"Chipper, chipper!" See him go;
Now 'tis fast, and now 'tis slow;
Working ever at the nest,
Never stopping once to rest;
Getting little straws and strings
For his good wife, while he sings,
"Chip, chip, chipper, gay are we;
See us in the lilac-tree!"

"Chipper, chipper," all day long;
Thus I hear his tuneful song,
Meaning, as he flutters past,
Gayly warbling, working fast,
"I can't stop to talk to you;
I have got my work to do:
Chip, chip, chipper, clear the way;
We shall finish up to-day."

Annie A. Preston.

FOURTH OF JULY MORNING.

Mat, Let, and Win are the names by which three little sisters of my acquaintance are usually called. These are nicknames, of course. Can you guess what their real names are?

Lest you should be too long about it, I will tell you: they are Matilda, Letitia, and Winifred. Mat is the one standing on the chair in the picture; Let is the one sitting on the bed, with her left foot hanging down; and Win, the youngest, is the one sitting up in bed.

What is the cause of all this commotion? It is only four o'clock in the morning; but Mat and Let have rushed into Win's room to get a good view, out of her window, of the men firing guns out on the green. It is the Fourth of July.

"Why do they wake us up so early with their bell-ringing, their crackers, and guns?" said Let. "I hate the Fourth of July!"

"She talks like a rebel," said Win. "She must be put in prison."

"That is not a bad idea, Win," said Mat. "She hates the Fourth of July, does she?—the birthday of the great republic! She hates it!—the day that made us a nation."

"Yes; and I hate the stars and stripes, and all this fuss and noise, this smell of smoke, and firing of crackers," said Let, showing a fist.

"Jump up, Win, and help me arrest this rebel," said Mat. "The country is lost if we allow such talk."

The next minute, the three sisters were running about the room,—Mat and Win trying to catch poor Let, and thrust her into the closet, which was to be her prison. Such a stamping, such an outcry, as there was!

"What's all that racket there?" cried papa, at last, from the foot of the stairs that led into his room underneath. "Isn't there noise enough out of doors, without your shaking the house over our heads?"

"Let says she hates the Fourth of July, and the old flag," cried Mat; "and we think she ought to be put in prison as a rebel. We are trying to arrest her."

"Go to bed, every one of you, you rogues!" said papa, "or I will put you all in prison for breaking the peace,—Where's my big whip, mother?"

"I'll tell you where it is, papa," cried little Win.

"Where, then, is it, you little darl—I mean you little rogue?" said papa.

"It is where Cinderella's glass slippers are," screamed Win. "Ask the fairies where that is."

What a scampering and laughing there was then!

Papa made a pounding with his feet on the stairs, as if he were coming up in a great rage; but he and mamma were laughing all the time, and so were Mat and Let,—all but Win, and she kept a grave face.

It was now almost five o'clock, and the three sisters made up their minds that they would dress themselves, and go out on the green to see the fun.

Emily Carter.

THE LITTLE DESERTER.

FREDERICK.

See him on the apple-tree,
Looking down so bold and free!
Now that he his wings can show us,
He pretends he does not know us.

Ah, you rogue! are you aware
How deserters often fare?
Come, be good, and I'll not chide:
See, the door is open wide.

BIRDIE.

Peep, peep, peep!

CLARA.

Were you not well treated by us?
Why, then, do you thus defy us?
Salad every morning early,
Crumbs of bread, and grains of barley,
Sugar, now and then a berry,
And in June a nice ripe cherry,—
These were yours; don't be ungrateful;
To desert us is too hateful.

BIRDIE.

Peep, peep, peep!

FREDERICK.

Now 'tis pleasant all, and sunny,
Bees are busy making honey,
You can flit from bough to bough,
You can sing and twitter now:
Wait till winter comes, you rover,
Then your frolic will be over.
Cats are on the roof already:
Birdie, dear, come back to Freddy.

BIRDIE.

Peep, peep, peep!

CLARA.

Peep and peep! What then, deserter?
Was there creature ever perter?
Mine you are; to me belong;
Me you owe each day a song.
Darling, here's your cage all clean;
Come, I say, and don't be mean;
Come, and be once more our pet,
And your fault we will forget.

BIRDIE.

Peep, peep, peep! T'wee, t'wee, t'wee!

PAPA.

Ha! he takes his merry flight,
And the little bird is right.
No deserter, child, is he,
Who escapes to liberty.
Air and sun and open sky
Birdie likes, as you and I.
Paid to him is now your debt,
And I'm glad: so do not fret.

Ida Fay.

A FISH STORY.

Cousin Willie lives on a pleasant island in Chesapeake Bay. He has a boat called the "Nautilus." One morning he was taking a sail in his boat, when he saw a large fish-hawk soaring and wheeling through the air, as though in search of a breakfast for its young nestlings. At length it made a dive down to the water, and brought up a large fish.

Just then an eagle that had been watching the fish-hawk from the top of a tree, came swooping down toward the hawk, as if determined to have the fish for his own breakfast.

The eagle attacked the hawk; and the two birds fought for the fish until the hawk was forced to let it drop, when the eagle made a rapid swoop, and caught the fish in his talons.

Cousin Willie, from his boat, watched the fight of the birds, and thought he would like to make the bold robber give up his prey. So he shot at him with a pistol, and gave him such a fright that he dropped the fish in his turn.

Willie picked up the fish, took it home, and laid it upon a table in the kitchen to be cooked for dinner. But a sly old cat saw it on the table, and, as no one was near to prevent, she grabbed it quickly, and stole away with it to give herself and her kittens a breakfast.

Thus the cunning puss and her kitties, you see,
Got the better of those brave fishers three.

Cousin Lucy.

BUTTERCUP'S CIRCUS.

Fred and Bertie, two little black-eyed boys, were visiting their Aunt Susan in a beautiful country village. The large, old-fashioned house, under a giant elm-tree, was full of wonders to them; but their greatest delights were in driving the old gray horse, or feeding and petting an Alderney calf which their Uncle Harry was raising.

This "baby-cow," as little Bertie called her, was kept away from its mother, old Clover, most of the day, and tied to a cherry-tree in the side yard. The boys named her Buttercup. They were allowed to feed her with meal and water; and she soon grew so tame, that they could pat and caress her as much as they pleased.

One day Fred found an old saddle in the stable; and he proposed to Bertie to help him put it on the calf, and have a ride the length of her rope. They succeeded in fastening it upon Buttercup's smooth back; and Freddie exclaimed with delight, "Now we will have a first-class circus!"

They brought a chair from the house, and placed it by the side of Miss Cow, she looking wonderingly at them with great round eyes. The boys both stood together in the chair, and Fred said, "Now I will count, and, when I say four, we must spring upon the saddle. One—two—three—four;" and on they went.

But, before they could have said "five" Miss Buttercup's heels were in the air, and her head went down so quickly, that Master Fred felt a sudden chill, and found himself in a tub of rain-water that stood under the eaves of the wood-shed; while Bertie went head-foremost into a pan of meal and water.

A slight noise followed their fall. Their uncle and aunt appeared. The saddle was sent back to the stable, and the boys did not engage Buttercup for any more circus performances that summer.

Mamma Maggie.

AT SEA.

Bark "Murray," Pacific Ocean, December, 1876.

Dear Nursery,—I am making a voyage, on a sailing vessel from San Francisco to the Sandwich Islands. We have been on the water for three weeks.

Every day at noon, if the sun shines, the captain comes up on deck with a queer thing in his hand, which he calls a sextant. With this he looks at the sun, and finds out just where on this great ocean we are, and just how far we have gone in the last twenty-four hours. To-day he says we are three hundred miles from Honolulu.

There are twenty sails on this ship. I love to lie down on deck, and look at them; and I think it is a beautiful sight to see them all spread and filled with wind. It almost seems as if their tops touched the sky. All the masts and sails and ropes have names. I am sure it would take me a good while to learn them; but all the sailors know them.

When the captain wants a sail changed, he gives the order in a very loud tone; then the first mate, who is never very far from the captain, repeats the order; and then the sailors run quickly to the ropes and pull away, and sing while they pull; and the sail goes up or down, just as the captain wants it.

Every hour a sailor takes his turn at steering the ship: so there is always one man at the wheel. There is a large bell swung just in front of him, which he strikes every half-hour to mark the time. When it is twelve o'clock, he strikes the bell eight times; and it is eight bells again at four o'clock and at eight o'clock. The first hour after eight bells is two bells; the second, four bells; the third, six bells; and the half-hours strike the odd numbers,—three, five, and seven bells. It is a very funny way to tell time, I think.

One day the captain slung a hammock on deck, and we had a nice time swinging in it. Another day, when the sea was very calm, he hung a rope from the rigging, and made a real swing for us. We have long fish-lines which we throw over the ship's side. Once a gentleman on board caught a beautiful dolphin, all green and blue and gold. The steward made a nice chowder out of the dolphin for our lunch, and we had baked dolphin for dinner that day.

Thanksgiving Eve a little lamb was born on board. The sailors named it "Thanksgiving," for the day. It is a dear little lamb now,—so white and gentle! We have tied a blue ribbon around its neck, and it will run all over the deck after us, and go to sleep in our laps. There is a cunning little pig, too, which I call "Dennis," after the pig that I read about in "The Nursery." I wish it were really the same wonderful little pig; but mamma says she does not think it can be.

I must tell you about the beautiful bouquet the steward made for our Thanksgiving dinner. It was made out of vegetables with a knife—yellow roses from carrots, and white roses, japonicas, and tuberoses from turnips and potatoes. Some of the petals he dipped into beet-water, and so made blush roses of them. Then he made two canary-birds of carrots, and perched them among the flowers. Mamma said that she had seen many a cluster of wax flowers that were not as beautiful.

Perhaps I will write again when we arrive at Honolulu.

Rose.

DRAWING-LESSON BY HARRISON WEIR.

SOLOMON AND THE TAME BEAR.

Uncle Reuben was a farmer; and he had a great many cattle, sheep, horses, pigs, geese, and turkeys, all of which, you know, are usually found on a large farm; and, besides these, he had one animal not usually found on a farm, and that was a tame bear. He hired a large boy to do the "chores," as the easy part of farm-work is called; and this boy's name was Solomon Sturtevant.

Now, although the bear was tame, he was kept chained; for there was no knowing what mischief even a tame bear might take it into his head to do. He might take a notion to find out how a nice tender pig would taste.

Solomon thought it fine sport to tease the bear, and there was one way of doing it more amusing than any other, and that was to pelt him with green chestnut-burs.

Chestnut-burs, you know, are covered with sharp thorns; and yet the bear, being very fond of chestnuts, would try to get at the nuts which he knew were in them,—snarling and whining, and making up very comical faces, because the burs pricked his mouth.

Solomon would stand and watch him, and think it fine fun. But he came near doing it once too often; for one day, when he had carried the bear a capful of burs, intending to have a good laugh at him, the chain that held the bear was not fastened as firmly as usual. After trying two or three burs, the bear made a spring toward Solomon, got loose from his chain, and started after him in earnest.

Solomon was not long in deciding that he had something to do that time besides laughing, and started in a hurry to get out of the bear's way. Now there was a ladder leaning against the side of the barn close by, and Solomon thought that if he went up on the barn-roof he would be all right.

No such thing. The bear went right up the ladder after him. Then Solomon ran up the roof to the ridge; but the bear followed. Solomon ran down the other side of the roof, and so did the bear. Solomon jumped down to the cow-house, and still the bear followed him. Then Solomon jumped on to a shed that was close by the cow-house, and the bear jumped too.

Solomon now began to think that his time had come. He gave one more jump from the shed to the ground. This was too much of a jump for the bear to take, and so Solomon made good his escape.

I do not remember how the bear got down; but I am sure, that, when he did, Solomon did not care to feed him any more with green chestnut-burs. I think Solomon was too glad to escape a hugging to try it very soon again.

This is a true story.

Aunt Em.

AT DINNER.

My little kittens, here, you see,
Are just as good as they can be;
Not often do three children dine,
Who are as well-behaved as mine.

I've taught them how to be polite,
To keep their bibs all clean and white,
To say, "Mee-oo" for "If you please,"
And never to be cross, or tease.

My darlings, Muff and Puff and Fluff,
Stop always when they've had enough:
They never come unwashed or late,
They never crowd or push the plate.

My care has not been vainly spent;
That's why I purr with such content;
For I'm the milk-white puss, you know,
That sits close by—their mother—Snow.

SIXTH LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

Did you ever hear of a great bear and a little bear made of stars? And a big dog? And a lion? If you never did, I suppose you would like to be told where they are,—such astonishing things as animals made of stars. But, if you think a minute, you will see that every thing that has any thing to do with stars must be up in the sky.

Now this very night, if the stars come out before you go to bed, I want you to look for the Great Bear. It is not a real bear, of course; but it is a kind of picture of a bear. I wish it could growl, to give you an idea where it is, because, it really looks so little like a bear, it is very hard to find. It is nearly overhead now; but you needn't be a bit frightened. The Great Bear has never been known to drop down on little girls and boys.

There is a funny thing about this bear. Part of him is a big dipper, and I think you will find him out by that. If you can find the seven bright stars in the shape of a dipper, you have found the bear's tail and a part of his body.

And now I want to tell you how it happens that these stars are called the Great Bear. If you look up in the sky some bright starlight night, you will see there a good many different figures, in stars; and a long time ago, people gave names to these figures. To one of them they gave the name of the Great Bear; to another, the Little Bear; to another, the Great Dog; and so on. These different star-figures are called constellations. They really look very little like the things they are named for: so I can't expect you to find them without help.

Now, it is very convenient to have the stars divided up in this way. When I asked you to find the red star last winter, it would have been a great help to you if I had told you what constellation it was in; but you might not have known what I meant by a constellation.

I had so many pleasant letters about that red star, I am going to ask you to write again when you find the Great Bear, although I suppose most of you are abed and asleep before he comes out for the night. He will appear earlier when the days are shorter, and I do not believe he can escape all your bright eyes. But I should advise you to ask some one who knows where he is to point him out to you.

M. E. R.

TEDDY'S KITTEN.

To let the kitten lie and sleep
Is something Teddy cannot do;
Like caterpillar in a heap,
She'd like to curl the whole day through,
If Teddy did but want her to.

I wonder if she understands,
How just the look of her soft fur
So tempts his little roguish hands
He cannot keep away from her:
He says he wants "to hear her purr!"

And, if he does, 'tis well enough;
But then, why does he rub the way
To make her silky coat look rough?—
That coat of shining silver-gray,
So washed and polished every day?

Why is it that he loves so much
To tickle the unconscious paws
With just a finger tip or touch,
Or open them to find the claws?
His reason for it is, "Because!"

When Teddy sometime wanted rest,
What if a giant came and sat
Beside him when he slept the best,
And rolled him this way, rubbed him that,
And teased him, as he does the cat?

Do you believe he'd smile and blink,
And bear the teasing patiently?
I think he'd wink a sleepy wink,
And say, not over pleasantly,
"O giant, please to let me be!"

Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

PICTURES FOR MARY.

When little Jack Horner was eating pie, he put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum. When Mary's mother reads to her out of a book, the little girl acts a good deal like Jack.

She puts out her finger, and points to the pictures. She thinks them the best part of the book. They are her plums.

If Mary calls out, "Moo-o-o," you may know that she sees a picture of cows. Here is the very one she found a day or two ago. In it you see two cows,—a big one and a little one. The big cow is standing up, and the little cow is lying beside her.

The little cow has no horns. Mary calls it "a little cow," because it looks too old to be called a calf.

Here is the very picture that Mary was looking at when she called out, "Ba-a-a!"

How many sheep do you see in it? There are two lying down: there is one standing up: that makes three. Is that all?

Look very sharp. See if you can't find more of them. Mary found some straying about on the hills. She thought she could see lambs too; but sheep, when a long way off, look very much like lambs.

A. B. C.

THE CHAMOIS.

The chamois is a sort of antelope. But first let us say something of the pronunciation of this word chamois. It is often pronounced as if it were spelled sham´my. This is, perhaps, the easiest mode. But it would be nearer to the French mode to pronounce it sham-wah, the last a having the sound of a in wall.

The family of antelopes consists of nearly seventy species, upward of fifty being found nowhere but in Africa. The whole of America, North and South, contains but one species. All the antelopes have a most delicate sense of smell, and few quadrupeds can equal them in fleetness. They will outrun the swiftest greyhounds.

The antelopes live in herds, and are very careful not to be surprised: so they place sentinels to watch, and give alarm. The eye, large and brilliant, is a marked feature of the tribe. The word "antelope" signifies "bright eyes."

Our picture shows us several young chamois, standing amid the crags and chasms and precipices which they delight in. A chamois can descend in two or three leaps a rock of twenty or thirty feet, without the smallest projection on which to rest.

The horns of the full-grown chamois are quite black and smooth, and formed like a perfect hook with very sharp points. These elegant creatures are the only animals of the antelope kind to be found in Western Europe. They choose for their home the loftiest mountains.

They dislike heat, and in the summer time they frequent the cold upper regions of the everlasting hills,—either the lofty peaks, or those valleys where the snow never melts. In the winter time, however, the cold of those bleak solitudes seems too much for them, spite of their long, hair and thick coat of fine wool; and they descend to the lower regions. It is then, and only then, that the hunter has any chance of capturing them.

It is said they can scent a man a mile and a half off; and their restlessness and suspicion are extreme. At the prospect of danger they are off and away, racing at an incredible speed, scaling crags with the most amazing agility, and leaving the pursuer far behind.

They are usually taken by a party of hunters, who surround the glen where they are, and advance towards each other until the herd is hemmed in on all sides.

The flesh of the antelope is like venison. No animal ought to yield sweeter meat than the chamois, when we think what he feeds upon. Mountain herbs and flowers, and tender shoots from tree and shrub—such is his food. He drinks very little, but that little is sparkling water; while the air which reddens his blood is the purest in the world.

Uncle Charles.

THE GARDEN TOOLS.

Come, hoe and shovel and rake,
From your winter nap awake!
The spring has come;
There's work to be done:
The birds are calling,
And off I must run
My little garden to make.

You have lain in the attic so long,
Perhaps you forget you belong
In the sunshine and air full half of the year;
And to leave you to mice and to cobwebs up here
Any longer would surely be wrong.

Come out of the darkness to light,
Where the sunbeams are glittering bright,
And the green grass is growing;
For I must be hoeing,
And digging the earth, and my seeds be a-sowing,
And finish it all before night.

Oh, how I hurried and dressed!
For the robin was building his nest,
And he cried, "Fie! For shame!
What is the boy's name,
Who sleeps in the morning? He's surely to blame
For not working here with the rest."

Come then, rake, shovel, and hoe,
With a run and a jump, here we go!
Soon so busy we'll be,
That the robins shall see,
For all their fine words, they're no smarter than we,
As off to the garden we go!

Auntie Frank.

WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY?

Words by Tennyson.

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

1. What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly says little birdie,
Mother let me fly away.
Birdie wait a little longer
Till the little wings are stronger.
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

2. What does little baby say
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says like little birdie.
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby sleep a little longer
Till the little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
She shall fly away.

Transcriber's Notes

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. The issue number added after the Volume number on the title page.

On the midi, second to last bar, bass staff, last chord, B-natural changed to B-flat.

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Table of Contents

- NURSERY

- A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

- IN PROSE.

- IN VERSE.

- THE WILD BEES' HOME.

- PERCY AND THE OXEN.

- PET RABBITS.

- CHIPPING-BIRDS' SONG.

- FOURTH OF JULY MORNING.

- THE LITTLE DESERTER.

- A FISH STORY.

- BUTTERCUP'S CIRCUS.

- AT SEA.

- SOLOMON AND THE TAME BEAR.

- AT DINNER.

- SIXTH LESSON IN ASTRONOMY.

- TEDDY'S KITTEN.

- PICTURES FOR MARY.

- THE CHAMOIS.

- THE GARDEN TOOLS.

- WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY?

- Transcriber's Notes

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE