The Nursery, No. 107, November, 1875, Vol. XVIII. A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers online

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No. 107.


_A Monthly Magazine_



$1.60 a Year, in advance.
A single copy, 15 cents.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875,
by JOHN L. SHOREY, in the Office of the
Librarian of Congress at Washington.


* * * * *

FLORA'S LOOKING-GLASS By _Anna Livingston_ 129
MINOS By _Elizabeth Sill_ 134
NELLIE'S LITTLE BROTHER By _Mary Atkinson_ 142
ANNIE'S WISH By _George Bennett_ 144
GRANDPA'S PIGS By _Homer_ 146
CAPTAIN BOB By _Emily Carter_ 149
PAPA CAN'T FIND ME By _George Cooper_ 151
THE SOLDIER-DOG By _Pinky_ 152
THE SURPRISE By _Ida Fay_ 153
LITTLE PEDRO By _Cousin Emily_ 154
THE PARROT'S LAMENT By _Jane Oliver_ 156
WHAT THE DOVE LOST By _Aunt Emmie_ 157
THE CHICKEN AND THE DOG By _Uncle Charles_ 158
GIRLS AND BOYS (_Music by T. Crampton_) 160

* * * * *


... Now is the time for Canvassers to begin their operations for 1876.
Now is the time for our friends to show their good will. We count all
our subscribers as our friends; and all of them may do us a service by
renewing their subscriptions immediately. A blank form for that purpose
is furnished herewith, and there is plenty of room on it to add the
names of a few new subscribers. We hope that every old subscriber will
try to send us at least one new one.

... On the last page of our cover will be found the advertisement of
"THE NURSERY PRIMER," the most charming book for children, considering
its cheapness, that has yet been put upon the market. Look at it, see
the beautiful and apt engravings, one or more on every page, and you
will want at least a dozen copies to distribute among your little
friends at Christmas.

... We call attention, also, to the advertisement of "THE EASY BOOK" and
"THE BEAUTIFUL BOOK." No more useful or delightful books for beginners
in reading have appeared. These, with "The Nursery Primer." form a cheap
but elegant library for childhood.

... _Progress, improvement_, will be our motto in the future as they
have been in the past. "The Nursery," we can assure our readers, is
younger and more full of life than ever, notwithstanding its nine years.

... Unaccepted articles will be returned to the writers _if stamps are
sent with them_ to pay return postage. Manuscripts not so accompanied
will not be preserved, and subsequent requests for their return cannot
be complied with.

* * * * *

[Illustration: Hand] ~New Subscribers for 1876, whose names and money
are sent us before December next, will receive the last two numbers of
1875 FREE.~

* * * * *

[Illustration: Hand] ~We want a special agent in every town in the
United States. Persons disposed to act in that capacity, are invited to
communicate with the publisher.~


The number of the Magazine with which your subscription _expires_ is
indicated by the number annexed to the address on the printed label.
When no such number appears, it will be understood that the subscription
ends with the current year. Please to look at the printed label. If the
number upon it is ~108~, or if _no_ number appears there, you will know
that your subscription ends with this year (1875). In that case you are
earnestly requested to send the renewal to us _immediately_, so that
your address may remain on our printed list, and you may continue to
receive the Magazine without any interruption. Remember that the amount
to be remitted is ~$1.60~, and that you will receive the Magazine
postpaid. To save you the trouble of writing a letter, we annex a blank
form that may be used in making the remittance.

_JOHN L. SHOREY, 36 Bromfield St., Boston, Mass._

_Enclosed please find $1.60 for renewal of subscription to "THE
NURSERY," to begin with the number for, ................... 1876, to be
sent to the following address_: -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Illustration: FLORA'S LOOKING-GLASS.]


On the edge of a thick wood dwelt a little girl whose name was Flora.
She was an orphan, and lived with an old woman who got her living by
gathering herbs.

Every morning, Flora had to go almost a quarter of a mile to a clear
spring in the wood, and fill the kettles with fresh water. She had a
sort of yoke, on which the kettles were hung as she carried them.

The pool formed by the spring was so smooth and clear, that Flora could
see herself in it; and some one who found her looking in it, one bright
morning, called the pool "Flora's Looking-Glass."

As Flora grew up, some of the neighbors tried to make her leave the old
woman, and come and live with them; but Flora said, "No: she has been
kind to me when there was no one to care for me, and I will not forsake
her now."

So she kept on in her humble lot; and the old woman taught her the names
of all the herbs and wild flowers that grew in the wood; and Flora
became quite skilful in the art of selecting herbs, and extracting their

There was one scarce herb that grew on the border of "Flora's
Looking-Glass." It was used in a famous mixture prepared by the old
woman; and, when the latter was about to die, she said to Flora, "Here
is a recipe for a medicine which will, some day, have a great sale. Take
it, and do with it as I have done."

Flora took the recipe, and the old woman died. But poor Flora was so
kind and generous a girl, that she gave the medicine away freely to all
the sick people; nor did she try to keep the recipe a secret.

So, though she was not made rich by it, she was made happy; and, as
weeks passed on, a man who was a doctor, and had known her father, came
to her, and said, "Come and live with me and my wife and daughters, and
I will send you to school, and see that you are well taught."

"But how can I pay you for it all?" asked Flora.

"The recipe will more than pay me," said the good doctor. "You shall
have a share in what I earn from it; and you shall help me make the

Flora now goes to school in winter; but in midsummer she pays frequent
visits to "Flora's Looking-Glass," and thinks of the kind old lady who
taught her so much about herbs and flowers.


[Illustration: A SHOT AT AN EAGLE.]


I have two little girls here in China, who are constant readers of "The
Nursery." They think I can tell you little readers at home of some
pretty sights they see here. They have asked me so often to do so, that,
now they are tucked away for the night, I will try to please them.

In landing at Hong Kong, after a long voyage, it looks very odd to see
the water covered with small boats, or _sampans_, as the Chinese call
them. In each boat lives a family. It is their house and home; and they
seldom go off of it.

They get their living by carrying people to the ships, and by fishing.
They have a place in the bottom of the boat, where they sleep at night;
and, in cold weather, they shut themselves up in it to keep from
freezing. I went out in one of these boats a few days ago. The water was
very rough; and I was quite astonished, after being out some time, to
see a pair of bright eyes shining from below, through a small crack,
nearly under my feet.

Coming back, it was not quite so rough; and the owner of the bright
eyes - a little girl four years old, with a baby strapped on her
back - came "up topside," as they call up above. When the baby was fussy,
the girl would dance a little; and so the baby was put to sleep in this
peculiar fashion.

It is a very common sight to see a boatwoman rowing the boat, with her
baby strapped on her back. The child likes the motion, and is very
quiet. It must be very hard for the mother; but the Chinese women have
to endure more hardships than that, as I shall show you in future
numbers of "The Nursery."

In cold weather, these people must suffer very much, they are so poorly
clad. They put all the clothing they have on the upper part of their
body; and their legs and feet are hardly covered at all. Fortunately for
them, it is not very cold in this part of China.


In Canton, there are many more boats than here; for the floating
population there is the largest in the world. I have seen as many as ten
children in one boat. The small ones have ropes tied around them: so, if
they fall into the water, they can be picked up easily.

A little fire in a small earthen vessel is all that these strange people
have to cook their food by. The poorer ones have nothing but rice to
eat, and consider themselves very fortunate if they get plenty of that.
Those better off have a great variety of food; and some of it looks
quite tempting; but the greater part is horrible to look at, and much
worse to smell.

All the men and boys have their hair braided in long cues. The women
have theirs done up in various styles; each province in China having its
own fashion. Neither women nor men can dress their own hair. The poorest
beggars in the street have their hair done up by a barber.

For the men there are street barbers, who shave heads on low seats by
the roadside; but, for the higher classes and the women, a barber goes
to their houses. The women's hair is made very stiff and shiny by a
paste prepared from a wood which resembles the slippery-elm. It takes at
least an hour to do up a Chinese woman's hair.




I read, the other day, an account, taken from an English paper, of a
wonderful little dog, called Minos. He knows more arithmetic than many
children. At an exhibition given of him by his mistress, he picked out
from a set of numbered cards any figure which the company chose to call
for. When six was called, for instance, he would bring it; and then, if
some one said, "Tell him to add twelve to it." - "Add twelve, Minos,"
said his mistress. Minos looked at her, trotted over to the cards, and
brought the one with eighteen on it.

Only once was he puzzled. A gentleman in the audience called out, "Tell
him to give the half of twenty-seven." Poor Minos looked quite
bewildered for a moment; but he was not to be baffled so. He ran off,
and brought back the card with the figure on it. Was not that clever?

He has photographs of famous persons, all of which he knows by name, and
will bring any one of them when told to. He can spell too; for when a
French lady in the company wrote the word "_esprit_," and handed it to
him, he first looked at it very hard, and then brought the letters, one
by one, and placed them in the right order.

When Minos was born, he was very sickly and feeble; and his mother would
not take care of him, and even tried to kill him. But little Marie
Slager, daughter of the lady who has him now, took him and brought him
up herself.


From that time he was her doll, her playfellow, her baby. She treated
him so much like a child, that he really seemed to understand all that
was said to him. She even taught him to play a little tune on the piano.

Almost all performing animals are treated so cruelly while they are
being trained, and go through with their tricks in so much fear, that it
is quite sad to see them. But the best thing about Minos's wonderful
performances is, that they were all taught him by love and gentleness.

Remember this, boys, when you are trying to teach Dash or Carlo to fetch
and carry, or draw your wagon: there is no teacher so good as love.




This is the way; here is the gate,
This little creaking wicket;
Here robin calls his truant mate
From out the lilac-thicket.
The walks are bordered all with box, -
Oh! come this way a minute;
The snowball-bush, beyond the phlox,
Has chippy's nest hid in it.
Look at this mound of blooming pinks,
This balm, these mountain daisies;
And can you guess what grandma thinks
The sweetest thing she raises?
You're wrong, it's not the violet,
Nor yet this pure white lily:
It is this straggling mignonette, -
I know you think it silly, -
But hear my story; then, perhaps,
You'll freely grant me pardon.
(See how the spiders set their traps
All over grandma's garden.)
Long since I had a little friend,
Dear as your darling sister,
And she from over sea, did send
This token, ere Death kissed her:
'Twas in a box, a tiny slip,
With word just how to set it:
And now I kiss its fragrant tip, -
You see I can't forget it.


Well, here I get thyme, sage, and mint,
Sweet marjoram and savory;
(Cook says they always give a hint
Of summer, rich and flavory);
Here's caraway - take, if you will:
Fennel and coriander
Hang over beds of daffodil,
And myrtles close meander.
What's next to come, one may not know -
But then I like surprises:
Just here, where tender roses blow,
A tiger-lily rises.
Here cock's-comb flaunts, and columbine
Stands shaded by sweetbrier,
And marigolds and poppies shine
Like beds of glowing fire.
A group of honest sunflowers tall
Keep sentry in yon corner;
And close beside them on the wall,
The peacock, strutting scorner,
Spreads out his rainbow plumes alone,
Or stoops to pick a berry,
Where briers climb the mossy stone
Beneath those clumps of cherry.
Now we'll turn back: you've seen but few
Of my old-fashioned beauties,
But take away a nosegay new
To cheer you at your duties;
Take pansies and forget-me-nots;
Pluck pinks, bluebells, and roses,
And tell me if you know a spot
Where flourish fairer posies.
Grandma herself no lovelier ground
This side of paradise has found.




"What relation is she to me?" said black-eyed Fred, as he heard his
mother say that her Aunt Patience was coming to visit them.

"She is your _great_-aunt," said mamma; "and I want you and Bertie to be
very polite to her."

The little boys had heard their mamma say that Aunt Patience was "a lady
of the old school," and that she was afraid the children would trouble
her, as they were not quite so still as the little boys and girls used
to be forty or fifty years ago.

So Fred and Bertie stood somewhat in awe of this Great-Aunt Patience;
and when the dear old lady arrived, and papa and mamma went to the cars
to meet her, the two boys were watching rather timidly for the carriage,
at the parlor-windows.

As she came up the steps, leaning on papa's arm, little Bertie
exclaimed, "Oh, see, Freddie! she is not _great_ at all: she is as
little as a girl."

"Yes, and she laughs too," said Fred; "and her eyes are as blue as
mamma's, and her hair as white as a snowdrift."

Just then, the driver took off a strange-looking thing from the
carriage, and brought it up the steps. It was an old-fashioned trunk,
covered with stiff, reddish-brown hair. The boys had never seen a hair
trunk, and it seemed to them, at the first glance, more like some kind
of an animal than a trunk.

Before they had a chance to examine it, their mamma called them to come
and kiss their aunt, which they did very politely, as they had been
directed. But her sweet face won their hearts at once; and Bertie
exclaimed, "Oh, you are not a _big_ Patience: you are a _little_ good
Patience, I know; and I am not a bit afraid of you!"


"Bless your little heart, dear! what has mamma been telling you to make
you afraid of me?" said auntie with a merry laugh.

As soon as they could get away, the boys ran up stairs to see what the
driver had carried to their aunt's room. Fred discovered what it was as
soon as he opened the door; but Bertie, who was not yet four years old,
was greatly puzzled. "What can it be?" said he, keeping a safe distance
away from it.

Now, Fred liked to play tricks upon his little brother sometimes: so he
said, with pretended alarm, "Why, perhaps it is a young lion."

After this startling suggestion, Bertie did not wait an instant. He ran
as fast as his legs would carry him, screaming, "O mamma! there is a
young lion up stairs. O papa! do get your pistol, and shoot him." The
poor child was really in a great fright; and all the family ran at once
to see what could be the matter.

They met naughty Fred, laughing, but looking rather guilty. "Why, it is
only great Patience's trunk," said he. "Bertie thinks it is a lion."
Papa told Fred he did very wrong to frighten the boy so; but they all
had a good laugh at poor Bertie's mistake. Bertie was soon induced to
take a nearer look at his frightful little lion; and, when Aunt Patience
took out from it two or three quarts of chestnuts, it lost all its
terrors. The boys were allowed to play in the room as much as they
pleased; and the innocent hair trunk was made to do duty as a wolf, a
bear, a tiger, and various other wild beasts.

"I wish you would stay here a hundred years!" said little Bertie to his
aunt, one day. "I wish she would stay for ever and ever, and longer
too!" said Fred. "What do you go back to your old school for?" said
Bertie. "My school!" said Aunt Patience. "I have not any school, and
never had any." - "Why," exclaimed the little boy, "my mamma said you
were a lady of the old school!"

Then mamma and auntie had a merry laugh; and the boys were informed that
mamma only meant that Aunt Patience was a very polite lady of the olden

The boys constantly forgot to call her "auntie," but remembered the
title of "great," and the precious old lady was just as well pleased to
have them call her "Great Patience."

When she bade them good-by, they both cried, though Fred was very
private about his tears; and both boys declared that the best visitors
they ever had were "Great Patience and her little red lion."




Over the stepping-stones, one foot and then another;
And here we are safe on dry land, little brother.



When Nellie was quite young, she lost her dear mother; and two sad years
passed by for the little girl. She used to go and look at her mother's
portrait, and wonder whether she could see Nellie, though Nellie could
not see her.

But, at last, her father gave her a new mother, who was so kind and
good, that Nellie loved her very much; though she never could forget her
first dear mother. One happy day, Nellie learned that a little brother
had been born. How glad she was then!

Some weeks passed by before Nellie was allowed to take the little fellow
in her arms; but, when she was permitted to do this, it seemed to her
that she had never felt such delight before. When he would put up his
tiny hands, and feel of her face, she was ready to weep with joy.

But one night the nurse was ill; and there was nobody to take care of
the baby. Nellie begged so hard to be allowed to sit up and attend to
it, that she was at last permitted to do so. She passed two hours,
watching baby as he slept, and thinking of the nice times she would
have with him when he grew up.

At last he awoke; and then Nellie gave him some milk from the porringer,
and tried to rock him to sleep again. But the little fellow wanted a
frolic: so she had to take him in her arms, and walk about the room with

She walked and walked till it got to be twelve o'clock; and then she
stood in the faint lamplight, before the portrait of her own mother, and
it seemed as if the sweet face were trying to speak to her.

But Nellie was so very sleepy, that she hardly knew what she was about.
She walked, like one in a dream, - from the bed to the cradle, and from
the cradle to the bed, - and all at once baby seemed quiet, and she was
walking no longer.

At last she started up, and found she had been lying on the bed. The
faint light of the early dawn was coming through the eastern
window-panes. Where was baby? Oh! what had Nellie done with him? She
jumped from the bed, ran here and there, but could not find him.

At last she looked in the cradle, and there he was, lying snugly asleep.
Without knowing what she had done, she had put him in the cradle, and
had covered him up, and then, without undressing herself, had gone and
lain down on the bed. "Oh, you darling, you darling!" cried Nellie; but
the tears came to her eyes, and she could say no more.




"I wish I were a fairy, -
A fairy kind and good,
I'd have a splendid palace
Beside a waving wood.
And there my fairy minstrels
Their golden harps should play;
And little fairy birdies
Should carol all the day.

"A hundred fairy minions
On my commands should wait;
And want and pain should never
Be known on my estate.
I'd send my fairy heralds,
To solace, soothe, and aid;
And love and joy and pleasure
Each dwelling should pervade."

"But, ah! you're not a fairy,
Dear little Sister Ann;
So pray now be contented,
And do the best you can.
To parents, friends, and teachers,
Be docile, true, and fond,
And you will work more wonders
Than with a fairy's wand."


[Illustration: Outline Drawing by MR. HARRISON WEIR, as a drawing lesson.]



Mamma says that I am only
a little boy; but I think I am
quite big. I shall be six years
old next May.

Last summer, mamma took
me to grandpa's, to stay a few
weeks. When we got to the
house, I asked grandpa if I
might go with him every day
to feed the pigs. He said,

So the next morning I went.
There were four large pigs, and
six little ones; and, when the
food was put into the trough,
they were all so eager to get it,
that they kept tumbling over
one another.

One morning, there was not
a pig in the pen. We hunted
everywhere, but could not find
them. At last, grandpa said,
"They must be in the turnip-
garden." Sure enough, there
they were.

The moment they saw us,
they scampered; but, after a
while, we got them all back in
the pen. Then grandpa said
he wanted to know how they
got out: so we hid in the barn.

By and by, an old pig peeped
around, to see if anybody was
watching. As he saw no one,
he grunted, as much as to say,
"All right," and started for a
large hole beneath the fence.
But, before he could get out,
grandpa nailed a plank over
the hole.

I wanted a pig to take home
with me; but grandpa said it
would not live in the city.





At the hotel near the seaside, where I staid last summer, there was a
little fellow who was known to the guests as Captain Bob. He was from
the West, where he had never seen a large sheet of water. But, at his
first sight of old Ocean, he gave him his heart.

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Online LibraryVariousThe Nursery, No. 107, November, 1875, Vol. XVIII. A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers → online text (page 1 of 3)