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Read Ebook: The Nursery July 1877 XXII. No. 1 A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers by Various
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Ebook has 163 lines and 11959 words, and 4 pages
THE
NURSERY
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
BOSTON: JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET, 1877.
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? 32
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 , 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."
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