The Nursery, February 1878, Vol. XXIII, No. 2 / 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, February 1878, Vol. XXIII, No. 2

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Title: The Nursery, February 1878, Vol. XXIII, No. 2

Author: Various

Release date: February 20, 2009 [eBook #28141]

Language: English

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

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NURSERY, FEBRUARY 1878, VOL. XXIII, NO. 2 ***

THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

VOLUME XXIII.—No. 2.

Contents.

IN PROSE.

| PAGE
Ebony and Lucy | 34
Daisy | 37
My First Attempt at Fishing | 40
New Method of Catching Mice | 43
Jamie Canfield's Sand-Heap | 45
Dick's Dream | 47
Drawing Lesson | 49
Romeo the Shirk | 51
Tied Not Mated | 54
My Kitten | 56
A Lesson in Flying | 58
How Little Edith Went to Sleep | 62

IN VERSE

| PAGE
The Terrible Trio | 35
Shy Little Pansy | 41
A Song for Baby | 44
Three Little Chicks | 50
Mother's Last Look | 53
"Lullaby!" | 60
Blow, Blow, East Wind (with music) | 64

EBONY AND LUCY.

BONY is the name of Lucy's black dog. I will leave you to guess why he is so called.

On a bright, cold winter day, when no wind was stirring, and the ice of the pond was smooth as glass, Lucy went out, followed by Ebony. Such joyful barking as there was!

Her father knew that the good dog would pull her out of the water, if the ice should break through. But the day was so cold, there was little danger from thin ice.

A bright idea occurred to Lucy when she had put on her skates. She had scarfs and handkerchiefs with her, and, tying three or four of these together, she made a noose, which she threw over Ebony's head. Thus she held him, so that he could pull her on her skates over the ice.

"Now, Ebony, let us see how fast you can go," said Lucy. Ebony started at a full gallop; and she began to sing,—

"We issue no tickets, we close no gate,
We blow no whistle, and nobody's late;
Our train is off as soon as we're in it;
We go at the rate of ten miles a minute,
(And that is six hundred miles an hour!)—
For ours is an engine of one-dog power;
But that dog's Ebony, bold and fleet,
A dog, you'll find, that is hard to beat:
So look out, stragglers and tramps! I guess
You'd better not trifle with our express!"

Hardly had Lucy finished her song, when Ebony, who had been going at great speed for some distance, slipped on his haunches, where the ice was very smooth, and, sliding along, fell over on his side.

Lucy fell too, but she was not hurt. "You good Ebony," said she. "You have done well. But it is too bad to make you play the part of a locomotive engine. And so, old fellow, I will take off your harness, and let you go free."

Then Lucy took the scarf from the dog's neck, and darted off alone on her skates to a part of the pond where her brother Felix had just had a tumble on the ice.

But Ebony would not forsake her. He kept close at her heels; for he knew there was water underneath the ice, and he meant to be near at hand, should any accident happen. I am glad to say, that, after a good frolic on the ice, they reached home safely in time for dinner.

Uncle Charles.

THE TERRIBLE TRIO.

These are the robbers,—the terrible three!
In showing no mercy they all agree;
They fill the woods with their war-whoops dire:
Policemen and soldiers, beware, retire!

Rinaldo's the name of the captain: you learn
His rank from his cap, and his frown so stern.
The next is Grimaldi, a desperate fellow!
His eyes they are blue, and his hair it is yellow.

The youngest but dreadfulest of them all
Has a terrible name that I cannot recall:
'Tis hard to pronounce; and it's well, perhaps,
That memory here has suffered a lapse.

Oh! doesn't it make you all shudder to look
At their likenesses even, all here in a book?—
Rinaldo the fierce, and Grimaldi the grim,
And that young, nameless bandit, so bold and so trim.

But if you should meet with this terrible band,
Now don't run away, but come quick to a stand:
Be humble and quiet, and don't act amiss,
And all that they'll rob you of, will be—a kiss!

Ida Fay.

DAISY.

A friend of mine, Mr. S., had a beautiful colt named Daisy, who was the pet of all the family. She was so tame she would put her head in at the open windows to see what was going on in the house; and very often, when she saw the front-door open, she would go up the steps of the piazza, and deliberately march into the hall. No one ever struck Daisy with a whip, or even a switch. A little slap of the hand, and a "Go out, Daisy," were all that were necessary.

Mrs. S. had a new cook; and one day she set a pan of custard on the back-porch to cool. When she went out to get it, an hour or two after, she found nothing but the empty pan. Molly ran to Mrs. S. in great distress, and told her of the loss of the custard. "Ah!" said Mrs. S., "then Daisy has eaten it." And, sure enough, Daisy was the thief.

Another time the naughty colt put her head in the kitchen-window, and ate up some apple-pies that were on the table. All this was very bad indeed, but Daisy was always forgiven because she was so lovely and gentle. She would follow any of the family about the grounds, and rub her head against them to show how much she loved them.

One day a man came to Mr. S.'s house to make a visit. He was not in the habit of visiting the family, and so had not made Daisy's acquaintance. After tea, Mr. S. and his visitor were standing on the piazza, when Daisy came trotting up, as she always did when she saw one of the family there, and opened her mouth, expecting Mr. S. to put a piece of bread or apple in. The stranger did not understand this little trick, and (coarse man that he was!) spat a quantity of tobacco-juice into Daisy's face. Poor little Daisy! She hung her head down, and walked off under the trees, where she stood looking very miserable.

The next morning Mr. S. asked his visitor to walk with him through his grounds; and, as they were walking along, they passed a place where Daisy, who still looked as if she felt insulted and injured, was quietly grazing.

As soon as she saw her enemy (as she must have considered him), she pricked up her ears as if some happy idea had come into her head. She gave herself a little shake, and, walking behind him until she was quite near, suddenly wheeled around, and gave a kick that would have broken some of his bones, if he had not jumped out of the way just in time to escape her heels.

As it was, he was very much frightened, and looked very mean; for he knew that a kick was just what he deserved for his vulgarity and insolence.

Daisy had never been known to kick at anybody before, and she never kicked anybody afterwards.

A.

THE FAMOUS MOZART BAND.

The famous Mozart Band, as everybody ought to know, was formed in our village. It has serenaded almost every family on the street; and there is no end to the money (in the form of beans and smooth stones) that has been poured into the hat carried round by Miss Amy, the youngest member.

The band is composed of five members, whose names are Charles, Edwin, Susan, Bella, and Amy. Charles was the founder of the band. While on a visit to his uncle in the city, he had seen a strolling band of men in the street, who played finely on trumpets and flutes. He resolved to form a band at home, and to call it the Mozart Band.

But why call it the Mozart? Well, Mozart was a wonderful musical genius, who could compose music when he was five years old, and who astonished all Germany by his skill and aptness as a performer. So Charles decided on calling his band the Mozart Band.

At great expense I have obtained a drawing of the members of the Mozart Band. Charles (first drum) is the leader; Edwin (second drum) is next in rank; Amy (trumpet) is the next, for she owns the trumpet, and so comes before the other two ladies, who are merely vocal performers, by which I mean singers.

Now, if you want to hear the famous Mozart Band, you must come to our village. Performances take place every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, and sometimes oftener. If you come, you must bring some money to put into Amy's hat; for the band cannot afford to play for nothing. They are getting to be so famous that I should not wonder if they were to have an invitation soon to come on to New York or Boston, and give a concert in one of the large halls.

Aunt Cecilia.

MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT FISHING.

When I was seven years old, my father took me down to the river to fish. I had a nice new line, and a little hook that I bought of a peddler the week before. My father cut me a pole from the woods near by; and I caught a grasshopper for bait.

I tried to put the grasshopper on the hook, but I pricked my finger: so my father put it on for me. Then I threw in my line, and kept moving it up and down.

Pretty soon I thought I felt a bite, and called out to my father, "O father, I've got a fish!" I pulled it up, and what do you think I had caught? You could not guess in a week. It was my sister's old rag baby.

Frank Lynn.

SHY LITTLE PANSY.

"Why so shy, my Pansy,
Tell me why so shy?
Mother's arms are round thee;
This is grandma by.
She can tell you stories
Of the time, my dear,
When she was a little girl
Just like Pansy here.

"Once there was a dolly,
And its name was Bess;
Grandma then, like Pansy,
Was—how old? Now guess!
Just the age of Pansy!
Well, one night, you see"—
"Grandma," said the little girl,
"Take me on your knee."

Pansy's shyness melted;
Grandma won the day:
Now hugged tight in grandma's arms
Little Pansy lay;
And she heard a story
Of a doll so fine,
Left out on the cold, cold ground,
Where no sun could shine.

And the snow fell slowly,
Softly fell, like down,
Till a heap of drifted flakes
Covered dolly's gown.
Yes, it hid and covered
All the bright blue dress,
Then her hair and rosy cheeks—
Poor forsaken Bess!

Dolly's little mother
Hunted for her child;
But no trace of her was seen
Till the air grew mild.
When the snow was melted,
There was dolly found,
With her silken dress all soiled
On the muddy ground.

Emily Carter.

NEW METHOD OF CATCHING MICE.

Perhaps some of your youthful readers will be glad to know how I catch mice. If you think so, you are at liberty to publish the following; for I do not intend to apply for a patent.

One evening last week we made some molasses candy; and, as too much of it, eaten before going to bed, is not good for the teeth, I spread some on a baking-tin, and set it away to cool for the next day.

It was not cooked enough to harden thoroughly; and a little mouse had the curiosity to taste it; but, the moment his feet touched it, they stuck fast, and he could not get away.

His cries for help brought two other mice to his assistance; but they shared the same fate, the molasses candy holding all three prisoners.

When I found them the next morning, all three were stuck fast. This shows what a useful thing molasses candy is to have in a house, and is a warning to all mice not to meddle with it.

Arthur F. Corbin.

Gouverneur, N.Y.

A SONG FOR BABY.

Nuts for all the baby-birds
In the merry budding spring;
Roses, where the dusty bees
May sip and cling.

Shade for all the pretty lambs
That in the summer stray;
Hedges, where the crickets chirp
Their time away.

Holes, where nimble squirrels hide
When autumn hours are chill;
Heaping barns, where horse and cow
Have shelter still.

Homes for rabbit, mouse, and mole,
When winter strews the ground;
But mother's arms for baby dear
The whole year round!

George Cooper.

JAMIE CANFIELD'S SAND-HEAP.

Jamie Canfield is a three-year-old boy who lives in Lawrence, Kansas, the prettiest town in the State. He and Freddy Bassett, a four-year-old neighbor, love to play in the dirt; and their mammas allow them to do it, because it is so healthy.

It certainly has proved to be so in Jamie's case; for he was quite pale and delicate in the spring, and now he is brown and rugged, and ready to eat all the food he can get. But dear me! he used to get so dirty!

What was the use of washing him, and putting on clean dresses and aprons, when he was constantly throwing aside his other playthings, and making mud pies, or carting earth in his little red wagon?

His papa laughed and said, "Oh, never mind! Dirt is good for him." But mamma thought it was not very good for his clothes; and, besides, she wanted him to be clean enough to kiss without being washed every time he came into the house.

So she said one day to his papa, "James, I think it would be a good idea to get a load of sand for Jamie to play in. It will at least be cleaner than that dust-heap."

That very day up came a load of yellow, shining sand. It was heaped into a shady corner by mamma's bedroom-door, and Jamie and Freddy dived into it at once.

They made pies; they dug holes, and filled them with water for wells; they made mountains with caves in their sides, and every thing else they could think of. When dinner-time came, Jamie had to be coaxed away from his sand-heap; and mamma said she believed he would sleep in it, if he were allowed to.

After dinner, as soon as he waked from his nap, he went straight to his sand again. Freddy was there before him; and soon Minnie Rich, a little girl eleven years old, came out, and played with them.

She knew how to work sand better than any of them. First she wet it. Then she made a house with holes in the sides for doors and windows, and a chip for a chimney. Then she made a smooth lawn in front of the house, and some hills and valleys in the rear, fenced in a yard, and set out some flowers.

The boys were delighted; and mamma went to the door more than once to look at the plantation, as Jamie called it, before it was finished. It was really quite a pretty thing, and Jamie declared his intention of keeping it just as it was. But the hot sun dried the sand, so that the house crumbled away; and the two boys were soon digging and shovelling in their own way as before.

Jamie's Mamma.

DICK'S DREAM.

"Yes, step right down upon me, and kill me, if you like," said Mrs. Tarantula to Dick, as they met at the schoolhouse door. "This is a hard world, Dick Adams, and I am about tired of living in it.

"You don't know what a fine home I once had! It was in that clay mound; and, when I had dug me a hole fully a foot deep and an inch across, my jaws and my eight legs were quite tired out. I left some small stones on the side for stairs: I lined the hole with brown silk next to the dirt, and with white satin inside, both of which I spun and wove on the spot.

"My nice round lid fitted so snug and even, that I thought no one but myself ever could find my house. But, last week, your brother Will's sharp eyes spied the round ring that marks my nest; and he went and tore the lid from its hinges, and left my hundred and ten children without a roof to cover their heads. How I would like to bite that boy!

"I found the lid, and tried to fasten it down again; but a heavy shower came up, and I could not fix it in the rain. Then my husband came over from his house. You know our husbands never live with the rest of the family. They are too cross and get too hungry at times.

"We were not on very good terms; for, some time before, when he thought I was away from home, he tried to get into my house. I heard him, and, running up stairs, I put my claws in the two little holes in the lining of the lid, and braced myself so that he could not pry open the lid. He said he only wanted to pay me a visit; but I knew he was hungry, and wanted to eat up our children.

"But now he spoke very kindly to me, and told me that my lid could not be fixed on; but, as my children were now old enough to care for themselves, I had better go home with him. I went to his house to talk it over and forgot to give the children their supper, and tell them to work for themselves after this.

"My husband told me a few days after that my boys and girls got into a fight, and, before they quit, ate each other up; but he was away from home for two days, and looked very full when he came back.

"He may have told the truth; but I can't see how one of my little ones could eat the other one hundred and nine, and then swallow himself too."

This is what Dick Adams dreamed that a tarantula said to him. He had seen one on his way to school, and what the teacher told him about the insect had interested him so much that he found himself dreaming about it all night.

C. M. Drake.

San Diego, Cal.

DRAWING-LESSON BY HARRISON WEIR.

THREE LITTLE CHICKS.

Three little chicks, so downy and neat,
Went out in search of something to eat:
Ter-wit, ter-weet!
Something to eat!
And soon they picked up a straw of wheat.

Said one little chick, "That belongs to me!"
Said the other little chick, "We'll see, we'll see!"
"Ter-wit, ter-weet!
It is nice and sweet,"
Said number three: "let us share the treat!"

One little chick seized the straw in his bill,
And was just preparing to eat his fill,
When the other chick
Stepped up so quick,
He hadn't a chance for a picnic pick.

They pulled, and they tugged, the downy things;
And, oh, how they flapped their baby wings!
"Ter-wit, ter-weet!
Something to eat!
Just please let go of this bit of wheat!"

Fiercer and fiercer the battle grew,
Until the straw broke right in two,
And the little chicks
Were in a fix,
And sorry enough for their naughty tricks.

For a saucy crow has watched the fight,
And laughs, "Haw, haw! It serves you right!"
So he snatches the prize
From before their eyes,
And over the hills, and away, he flies!

Josephine Pollard.

ROMEO THE SHIRK.

Sixty years ago, when grandpa was a boy, he had a dog called Romeo, who was made to do the work of churning butter. I never saw a churn that went by dog-power; but it must have been a clumsy affair.

The task could not have been an agreeable one, and I do not wonder that Romeo did not like it. One morning, when the churn was taken out, and the cream was all ready to be made into butter, there was no Romeo to be found. Long and loud were the calls made for him; but he did not answer to his name.

The churning was done that day without his help. Nothing was seen of him until just before dark, when he came into the house with the air of a prodigal son. He did not walk up like an honest dog to get his supper, but slunk under a table.

The family had agreed to neither chide him nor caress him; but grandfather, who was then a little boy, slyly carried him some supper. Romeo ate it greedily, but looked unhappy all the time as though he knew he had done wrong. It was plain that his conscience was smiting him.

The next week, when churning-time came, Romeo did not try to get away. He stood by watching while the cream was made ready; and, when his master whistled for him to take his place at the churn, he came forward, wagging his tail, as much as to say, "I am not going to be a shirk. I was not half so happy the day I ran away as I should have been if I had done my work cheerfully. I will never be caught shirking again." And he never was.

Daisy's Mamma.

MOTHER'S LAST LOOK.

They're asleep,
So I'll keep
Very still, and peep:
Not too bright,
Candle-light
Is for them to night.

Saturday
Makes them gay,
And they've had their play:
Sled and shout
Have, no doubt,
Tired them fairly out.

Once in bed,
Prayers were said
By each curly-head:
But, before
Half was o'er,
They saw slumber-shore.

Darlings! may
Angels stay,
Bless and for you pray!
May their love,
Like a dove,
Watch you from above!

Emily Carter.

TIED, NOT MATED.

One fine summer day, Master Fritz took his mother's greyhound, Leda, and his father's spaniel, Neptune, out for a run. They were quite ready for a frolic, for they had been tied up in the barn all the forenoon, and had been longing for Fritz to come.

So off they went; and, after they had gone some distance, Fritz thought it would be fine fun, as he had in his pocket a piece of string, to tie the two dogs together, and play they were a span of horses.

No sooner had he got them well tied than some one called him, and off he ran, leaving the two dogs tied, but not mated. They roamed about a while over the fields and meadows, till they came to the pond.

Now, the dogs could not talk in our language; but they made certain noises, which meant, I think, just this: "Here's a chance for a fine swim!" cried Neptune. "Come, Leda, the water is nice and cool."

"I'd rather not go in," said Leda. "I'm not a very good swimmer, and I easily take cold. Pray don't drag me in. Come back and have a race in the meadow."

"Oh, it's too fine, too fine!" barked Neptune; and he began to lap up water with his tongue.

Leda pulled back, and cried, "Oh, don't!"

But the temptation was too great for Neptune. In he pulled poor Leda, and swam about with her till she was chilled through.

Fritz's father, Mr. Pitman, passing that way, saw the dogs, and called them out. Glad enough was Leda to get on dry land. She shivered; but Neptune shook himself till he drenched her all over.

Then Mr. Pitman untied the dogs, and, taking some dry grass, gave Leda a good rubbing till she felt warm and brisk.

Then she began to bark at Neptune, and to caper round him, as much as to say, "Did you not serve me a pretty trick, sir? But I shall not let Master Fritz tie me to you again. Never, never!"

Alfred Selwyn.

MY KITTEN.

I want to tell you about my kitten, and some of her funny ways. She is black and white, and her name is Beauty.

I have great sport making her run up and down the room after my ball. But a little piece of string is the best plaything for her. She will jump right up on my shoulder to catch it.

If I throw a newspaper on the floor, she will jump upon it, and tear holes in it, making believe that she hears a mouse under it. This she seems to do to amuse me; for, as soon as I stop looking at her, she will go away and lie down. But she is growing fast, and soon will be a grave old cat.

Viola Day.

Birds have their trials as well as little boys and girls. To be sure they don't have to stand in a line, and shout "Twice one are two" at the top of their voices; but they have to learn to fly, and I think it very likely that they take singing-lessons, although I am not sure as to that.

One day last summer I was picking flowers in the woods, when, happening to look up, what should I see perched on a twig just in front of me but a cunning little bird!

At first I kept very quiet, lest I should frighten him away; but, as he showed no sign of moving, I ventured nearer and nearer, until I even covered him with my hand.

"Why, dear me! he's nothing but a baby-bird, and can't fly," I said to myself; and then I sat down on a mossy mound near by, and waited; for I knew the mother-bird was not far off, and I wanted to see what was going on.

It was not long before I heard a gentle whirr in the leaves overhead, and, looking up, saw two birds circling around the twig, but at some distance above it. Then one of them, the mother, of course, drew nearer and nearer in smaller and smaller circles, at the same time calling to her baby in encouraging little chirps.

Birdie on his perch seemed very much excited, turning his head from one side to the other in the cunningest way. But when his mother came close to him, only to dart off and call on him to follow, he looked so disappointed that I really felt as if I must comfort him.

The mother came back very soon and resumed her lesson in flying, and very hard work she found it too, for the little fellow was timid and refused to follow her, in spite of all her coaxing and scolding. After working a long while, she flew off, leaving her baby trembling on his perch. I pitied the poor little fellow, he seemed so forlorn and helpless.

The little bird, left to himself, got tired at last of staying where he was, and made one or two efforts to fly. He flapped his wings, rounded up his back until he looked like a ball of down, and leaned forward, as much as to say, "I'll do it now." But when he saw the awful distance between himself and the ground, his courage failed him, and he clung to his perch more tightly than ever.

After a while the mother-bird came back, bringing a large bug which she used as a bribe for her timid birdling, holding it under his very bill, and then darting off in the hope that he would follow. The youngster chirped for the bug, but he would not fly for it; and, after many efforts, the old bird, unable to resist his pleading, perched on a twig just beneath him, and held up the bug, which you may be sure he was not slow to seize and eat.

The little fellow now seemed to make up his mind to fly, even if he died in the attempt. He flapped his wings, rounded his back, and leaned forward as before, while the mother-bird flew about, fluttering and chirping to such an extent that the father came down from the top of a high tree to see how they were getting along.

The little bird was just about to fly, and I was just ready to clap my hands in applause, when, lo! there he was clinging to his perch again, trembling with fear, and chirping, "I can't do it. I dare not. Oh, dear!"

The two old birds flew away much disappointed; but the mother soon returned with another bug, and the lesson was repeated. Indeed it was repeated so many times, that I began to lose patience with the little coward, and to be full of pity for the poor tired mother.

His birdship had just eaten a bug, and the parent-birds were chirping and flying around, when, with the hope of helping them in their labors, I stepped forward, and tapped him on the bill with a flower-stem. The blow was so sudden and unexpected, that, before he had time to think, he lifted his wings and flew to a neighboring twig, where he clung, frightened and delighted at what he had done.

I left him then, with his father and mother making just such a time over him as your fathers and mothers made over you when you took your first steps.

Mabel Elwell.

"LULLABY!"

Now the shadows gather fast, "by-low" time has come at last;
Little birds have gone to rest, safe within their downy nest;
Little lambkins seek the fold, warmly housed from wind and cold:
Baby darling, you and I now must sing our lullaby!

I will sing a sweet good-night to my baby's blue eyes bright,
To the little cheeks so fair, to the sunny, golden hair,
To the rosy lips so sweet, to the dimpled hands and feet;
Gently rocking to and fro, singing softly, singing low.

Into "Dreamland," baby wee, you will slip away from me;
Out from shadow into light, to the world of visions bright;
While the mother-love so true, keeping tender watch o'er you,
With the lullaby shall seem still to soothe and bless your dream.

Lullaby, oh, lullaby! stars are lighting in the sky;
All the sunshine of the day like yourself is tired of play:
Tell me, are the sunbeams there in that dreamland bright and fair?
Bring them back, my baby, then, when you wake to earth again.

Sweetly on her mother's breast sinks the little one to rest.
By-low time is sweeter far than all the hours of play-time are:
So thinks baby, so think I, as we sing our lullaby,
Rocking gently to and fro, chanting softly, chanting low.

Mary D. Brine.

HOW LITTLE EDITH WENT TO SLEEP.

"I'm sleepy; and I want my mamma to rock me to sleep; and I don't want grandma, or auntie, or papa, or any one else, to rock me, but just my own mamma." And the little queen planted her feet firmly, and looked at us with so much defiance, that we felt it was of no use for us to coax, rock, or sing.

Little Edith was tired, and sadly in need of her nap; but her mamma was sick in bed, and could not be disturbed. What was to be done?

Papa held up a bright silver-piece as a reward of merit to the little girl, if she would be good, and go to sleep. Grandma ventured a little coaxing. But it was all of no avail: the sleepy eyes opened wide, as if they meant to keep open in spite of us all.

But when auntie remarked that she was going to her room to sharpen her pencil, and draw some pictures of a cat, or a dog, or a rabbit, Edith's eyes brightened; and she said, "Let me go too?"

So Edith sat on her auntie's lap, and asked her to draw a rabbit,—a "yabbit," Edith called it,—and to begin at his ears.

"Yes, little pet. Here are his ears, and here is his body, and here is his tail, and here are his feet, and here are some spectacles for him to see through," said auntie, drawing each article as she named it. "And here are some pretty red beads around his neck, and some rings in his ears; and now we will tie a nice blue ribbon on his tail." Here Edith suggested shoes for his feet.

"Yes," said auntie. "And now he wants an apple to eat: so here is an apple for him (1). Now he wants some grass (2); now some nuts (3). Now he is crying for a piece of pie (4); no, he doesn't want that kind, he wants gooseberry-pie: well, rabbit, here it is (5). Here is some bread for him (6), and we will spread it with nice butter; and he wants a potato too (7), and a nice sweet orange (8), and a brush to smooth his fur (9)."

Little Edith's eyes were gradually closing; but, becoming aware of the fact, she started up as if she thought of going away.

"Stop, darling," said auntie. "We must give the rabbit a wash-bowl to wash in (10), and some nice cool water in it; and now he must have a comb (11), and a cup and saucer to drink his tea from (12), and a doll to play with (13). Now he says he wants a house to live in (14), with a tree growing by it, and a nice walk to the front-door, and a fence all around it; and there he is crying for a bed to sleep on. Oh, what a rabbit you are! you want so many things! Well, here is a nice bed for you (15). Now I hope you will go to sleep, and not ask for another thing; for little Edith's eyes are shut."

And, sure enough, Edith was fast asleep.

C. L. K.

BLOW, BLOW, EAST WIND!

Music by T. Crampton.

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

1. Blow, blow, east wind!
What does the east wind do?
Shine, shine, sunlight!
And what does the sunshine do?
The sunshine clear
Goes here and there,
And searches ev'ry nook;
And while it is going,
The wind it is blowing
Much farther than you can look.

2. Blow, blow, east wind!
Woodlands and valleys through!
Shine, shine, sunlight!
With beams of a golden hue
The fields grow green
By winds swept clean,
But end your blowing, do!
And south breezes dear
Very soon will be here
With the skies of a deep warm blue.

Transcriber's Note:

The title page and table of contents were created for this issue following the pattern from the 1877 issues.

Page 48, comma removed from text. The original read (said, he only)

Page 63, end quotation mark added (his fur (9).")

On the midi, last bar, bass staff, first chord changed from E-G to G-B.

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Table of Contents

- THE
- NURSERY
- A Monthly Magazine For Youngest Readers.

- Contents.

- IN PROSE.

- IN VERSE

- EBONY AND LUCY.

- THE TERRIBLE TRIO.

- DAISY.

- THE FAMOUS MOZART BAND.

- MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT FISHING.

- SHY LITTLE PANSY.

- NEW METHOD OF CATCHING MICE.

- A SONG FOR BABY.

- JAMIE CANFIELD'S SAND-HEAP.

- DICK'S DREAM.

- THREE LITTLE CHICKS.

- ROMEO THE SHIRK.

- MOTHER'S LAST LOOK.

- TIED, NOT MATED.

- MY KITTEN.

- "LULLABY!"

- HOW LITTLE EDITH WENT TO SLEEP.

- BLOW, BLOW, EAST WIND!

- Transcriber's Note:

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE