THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

[97]

“TRY, TRY AGAIN.”

[98]

“TRY, TRY AGAIN.”

His first attempts were poor enough. One day, when he
had been playing ball with a young friend, he stopped, and,
taking out his pencil, began to draw a picture on the wall.

“What do you call that?” asked his friend. “Why,
that is a horse!” replied William: “can’t you see?”—”A
horse! is it?” cried his friend, laughing. “Why, I took it
for a donkey.”

“You are quite right in laughing at it,” said William.
“Now that I look at it again, I see it is all out of drawing;
but I will keep at it till I can make a good drawing
of a horse.”

William was not afraid of being laughed at; and he felt
much obliged to those who pointed out any faults in what
he did. He was not discouraged by failures. He kept trying
till he had used his pencil nearly all up. Still he had
not yet made a good drawing of a horse.

“You’ll never learn to draw: so you may as well give it
up first as last,” said his friend to him one day, some six
months after their last meeting. “Your horses are all
donkeys still.”

William opened a portfolio, and, taking out some pictures,
said, “What do you think of these?”

“Ah! here is something like a horse,” replied his friend,
looking at one of the drawings. “You will never do any
thing like this, Willy.”[99]

William smiled, but said nothing; though it was his own
drawing that his friend was praising.

Well, by bravely keeping at it, William at last began to
make pictures worth looking at. While yet a boy, he sent
in a painting to the Society of Arts, for which he received a
present of a silver palette. He rose to be Sir William Ross,
miniature painter to Queen Victoria.

Don’t be discouraged, my young friends, by failing in
your first attempts. Learn to persevere. Keep at it.
That’s the Way.

THE PRISONER.

Eva is six years old, and has deep-blue eyes. Ernest is
almost four years old, and has very black eyes. Jessie will
be two years old next week, and has large brown eyes.[100]
Their papa, who has been kept at home by illness for a
week, thinks that he is just getting acquainted with them,
and never knew before that he had three such fine children.

He noticed, the other day, that every hour, almost, they
would run into the sitting-room with cake or sugar or
bread-and-butter, scattering crumbs all over the carpet, and
keeping their mamma busy much of the time in sweeping
up. So he thought he would call a council to consider the
matter, and see what could be done about it.

Papa, robed in his dressing-gown, took the chair; Eva
was placed in front; Ernest stood on the right hand, and
Jessie on the left. The chairman then told the children
how much work they made mamma, and proposed a rule,—that
no more food should be brought into the sitting-room.
All who were in favor of such a rule were requested to vote
for it by raising their hands. Each of the children raised a
hand; and fat little Jessie raised both of hers as high as she
could. So the vote was passed.

Then papa said that a rule was good for nothing unless
there was a penalty with it. So he made Eva judge, and
asked her what the punishment should be for breaking the
rule. “I think,” said she, “the first one that spoils the
rule should be shut up in jail five minutes.”

This was thought to be about the right thing: so the bedroom
was selected for a jail, and Ernest was made jailer.
Eva wanted to know, since she was judge, and Ernest was
jailer, what Jessie could be. Her papa said that Jessie
would probably be the first prisoner. As to Ernest, he
went at once and told his mamma that he was “no more a
little boy, but a jailer-man.”

Well, that day no more crumbs were scattered; and Ernest
did not get a prisoner, though he kept a bright lookout
for one. But the next day he got one; and this is the[101]
way it happened. Papa said he would like an apple. Eva
brought him one; and, while he was paring and eating it, he
dropped some of the peel on the floor. In an instant, to
his great dismay, he was arrested and locked up; and he
might have languished in jail full five minutes, if Ernest had
not been such a kind jailer that he let him out in two.

Papa thinks that the next time he makes a rule he will
be careful not to break it.

THE SONG OF THE KETTLE.

CLARENCE’S KITTENS.

Clarence is a little boy who loves to read “The Nursery,”
and often laughs at the funny stories in it.

Where Clarence lives, there are two kittens. He calls
them kittens; but they are both grown-up kittens, and the
elder of the two is a full-grown cat. One is named Ring,
because she has such a pretty white ring about her neck;
and the other is named Daisy.[104]

Now, Daisy is Ring’s aunt, and is sometimes very cross to
her niece. Being a sedate cat herself, she tries to stop
Ring’s fun; but Ring is a happy kitten, and always tries to
have a good time.

One day, after coming from church, Clarence’s aunt was
reading, when the dinner-bell rang. So she left her book on
the window-sill, and laid her spectacles upon it.

Pretty soon old Daisy seated herself in a very dignified
way right in front of the book. In a few minutes, little
Ring came frisking along, and, without paying the least regard
to Madam Daisy, up she jumped, and whisked the
spectacles down on the carpet.

She was just ready to send them flying across the room,
when down came Madam Daisy as stern as a police-officer.
She looked at Ring a moment, in a crushing way, then
lifted her paw, and boxed the naughty kitten’s ears till she
mewed for mercy.

Ring ran away as soon as she could, and left the spectacles
for Clarence’s mamma to pick up; while old Daisy took
her seat on the window-sill again, and seemed to feel that
she had done her duty.

Clarence thought it was a funny sight to see one cat
punish another. What do you think about it, little Nursery
people?

THE TIGER’S TOILET.

This splendid tiger lived in the Zoölogical Gardens at
Berlin. He had a very kind keeper named Peens, who used
to comb out the long waving hair that grew on his cheeks.

He looks in the picture as though he were very angry,
and were growling and snarling terribly; but though he did[105]
gnash his teeth, and make a fearful noise, he enjoyed his
hair-dressing very much. I have seen some children who
acted like this tiger when their hair was combed; but that
was because they were really cross. He is not.

Whenever he saw Peens coming toward his cage with the
comb in his hand, this tiger would at once throw himself
down close to the bars, with his head pressed against them,
as you see him here, as if he would say, “I’m all ready,
Peens, go ahead!” This showed how much he liked the feeling
of the comb.

But, after all, he never forgot that he was a tiger; for if,[106]
by accident, Peens pulled his hair, he would give a dreadful
growl, and look as if he would like to eat him up in a minute.
Then Peens would stop for a moment, until he was
good natured again.

A few weeks ago this beautiful and intelligent tiger died.
In his last hours he mewed constantly with pain, like a great
cat, and was only quiet when Peens came to the bars, and
stroked his cheeks. When the keeper went away, he would
call after him.

Peens felt very badly at losing his tiger; and I am sure
he must have been a very kind keeper to him.

Even a tiger may be taught love and gratitude by kind
treatment.

PETERLIN ON HIS TRAVELS.

Peterlin was a chick just five days out of the shell. He
began to think he was somebody now. The old cornfield
became too narrow for him. He must start out on his travels,
and see something of the world.

Biddy, his mother, clucked and scolded away at him, and
told him how he might lose himself in the grass, and never
find his way home.

But it was of no use. The mother’s warnings were unheeded.
Off started Peterlin; and, before he was well aware
of it, the cornfield lay far behind him, and he found himself
standing on a rock, and gazing forth over the wide world.

The valley lay open before him. Dear me, what a world
it seemed!—so very vast! With fright and amazement
Peterlin looked down on all the magnificence till he felt
himself growing giddy.[107]

He stood on the brink of an abyss; and far beneath him
flowed a stream through the blooming land; and over the
waters moved proud vessels with their white sails and their
waving flags.

All at once Peterlin saw a bird in the air. “Oh, dear!
what if it should be a vulture?” thought he, trembling in
every joint. “Oh, if I were only once more under my good
old mother’s wing! Oh! how I wish I had minded her
warning!”

Off ran Peterlin back through the grass, back over the
ploughed field, along by the edge of the wood; and then he
heard a noise,—”cluck, cluck, cluck!” “Oh, joy, joy!
That is my mother’s voice!” thought he.

Yes, it was Biddy’s voice, calling her runaway child. She
approached him at a quick run; and it was not till he was[108]
safe under her wing that the quick beat of his heart slackened,
and he felt once more at peace. Peterlin then and
there resolved that he would wait till he was older before
he started again on his travels.

ON THE GATE.

[109]

[110]

GEORGE’S BOAT.

[111]

[112]

THE LITTLE CARPENTER.

The picture of the little boy on the opposite page is from
a photograph from life: so you may look on it as on a real
likeness of some one in England. I do not know his
name; but I think he must be some one whose parents have
fitted up a little carpenter’s shop for him, so that he may
learn to do something useful.

The picture reminds me of a true story. About sixty
years ago, there was a rich man in Germany, of the name
of Reinhold, who had seen so much of the changes of life,
that he resolved that each of his children, both boys and
girls, should learn some useful trade or profession.

Rudolf, the eldest boy, learned to be a carpenter. But,
when he was twenty-one years of age, he came into the possession
of a large fortune. He married, and thought that
he had so much money that he could never spend it all.

But, before he was fifty years of age, the whole of his
large possessions had melted away. Some of his stately
houses had been burned down; and the insurance-offices had
failed. Some men he had trusted had proved dishonest;
and many schemes that he had entered upon had turned
out badly.

At the age of forty-six, Rudolf Reinhold took up the
business of a carpenter, which he had learned between the
ages of fourteen and eighteen. He soon became skilful,
and turned his attention to building houses in the city of
Berlin. So successful was he, that in ten years he was once
more a rich man.

One of his daughters had become a dressmaker, and another
a music-teacher; and even when, at last, they were
once more rich, they always felt glad that their father had
made them accomplish themselves in useful pursuits, instead
of leading lives of idleness and self-indulgence.

[113]

THE LITTLE CARPENTER.

[114]

LITTLE MISCHIEF.

X.

Bessie’s mother had an aquarium. If you do not know
what that is, I will tell you. The Latin word aqua means
water; and the name aquarium has been given to a glass
case holding water for fishes and for sea-plants.

One day, when the pretty gold-fishes were not swimming
about in a very lively manner, Bessie thought it must be
because they were cold. “Poor things!” said she, “there
is no fire in the room; and the water feels quite chilly. It
must be sad to swim about in cold water all day. What can
I do for them?”[115]

XI.

Although there was no fire in the room, there was a jug
of hot water on the hearth, which Susan had left there a
few minutes before.

“How fortunate!” thought Bessie. “Now I can give
these poor little fishes a nice hot bath. They will like it, I
know. What a kind little girl they will think me!”

So she took the jug, mounted into the arm-chair, and
poured the whole jugful of water on the fish. It made
them very lively; and Bessie put down the jug, jumped off
the chair, and got a stool to stand on to watch the little
things through the glass.[116]

XII.

Soon the little fishes grew still; and then, one by one,
they rose to the surface, and turned over upon their backs.
Bessie had never seen them do that before; and she began
to feel a little frightened. She wished they would move
their fins, and begin to swim again; but they did not: they
lay quite still.

At last she put in her hand, and drew one out of the
water, so that she might look at it closer. Then she could
no longer doubt what was the matter with it. The poor
fish was quite dead,—cooked, in fact. Bessie burst out
crying, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

[117]

WALTER’S DOG.

“Mamma, why can’t I have a collar for Fido, like that on
Charley’s dog?”—”You must wait until our ship comes
in,” said his mother, laughing.[118]

Walter believed that a ship was really coming, and set to
thinking of the things that he hoped it would bring him.
Then he called Fido, and told him how much he wished to
give him a collar.

If Fido had known how to speak, perhaps he would have
said, “I don’t care much about a collar: I get along just as
well without it.” But Fido could not speak English, though
he barked smartly when Walter said, “Speak, sir.”

I must tell you some of Fido’s funny ways. He would
sit up on his haunches, drop his fore-paws, and wait for Walter
to put a piece of bread on his nose; then he would sit
quite still while Walter counted, “One, two, three;” and, at
the word “three,” he would give his head a toss, and catch
the bread in his mouth.

Fido had a great taste for music. There was one tune in
particular that he was very fond of; and, when it was played
on the piano, he would begin to make a whining noise, which
would grow louder and louder, until it ended in sharp, quick
barks, keeping time with the music. Walter called this
“Fido’s singing.”

Fido liked dancing-tunes; but there was a friend of his,
one of the neighbor’s dogs, that liked only psalm-tunes.
He would whine solemnly until a lively tune was struck up;
when he would slink away in manifest displeasure. He
would not countenance such frivolity.

So you see, dogs have their fancies as well as human
beings.

[119]

THE HORSE THAT LOVES CHILDREN.

This is a picture of the horse that refuses to run over
children. His name is Prince. Once his master was driving
him along a narrow street, when Prince saw an infant
creeping along across the street right in his way.

Prince at once slackened his speed; and though his master,
who did not know that the infant lay in the way, touched
him with the whip, Prince knew better than to hurt the poor
little infant.

At last the good horse stopped short, and refused to move.
His master got out of the buggy to see what was the matter;
and there, close by the horse’s fore-feet, was a baby on its
knees.[120]

Was not Prince a good, wise horse to refuse to harm the
baby? Another time, when a little boy came up behind
him, when the flies were pestering him, Prince, instead of
kicking him, just lifted up one of his hind-feet, and pushed
him gently away.

Prince is very fond of sugar; and, as his master’s little
girls used to feed him with it, I think that is one reason
why he is so kind to all children. Whenever Prince sees
these little girls, he will make a queer whinnying noise, the
meaning of which is, “Oh, do give me a lump of sugar!”

In the picture, the hostler is offering Prince some oats;
but Prince knows that the man has some sugar, and so he
refuses the oats. He wants his sugar first.

HOW TADDY LEARNED HIS LESSON.

Taddy and his mamma had just got nicely settled, she
with some sewing, and he with a little primer, out of which
he was beginning to learn his lesson, when mamma was
called away to see a neighbor who was sick. She only
stopped to tell Taddy to study his lesson like a good boy,
while she was gone. But, instead of looking on his book,
the little boy, as soon as he was left alone, began to look
out of the window. In an open lot behind the house he
saw grown-up Jamie, who lived next door, skating on a
little sheet of ice.

Taddy’s eyes began to grow round. “Don’t I wish I was
a big boy too, so I could skate!” he said to himself.

Then he saw Jamie take off his skates, and lay them down
on the ice, and go off on an errand for his mother.

All at once it popped into Tad’s head to slip down the[121]
back-stairs, and out through the gate, and just see if he
could not skate.

“I’m sure,” said he, “it can’t be so very hard: the boys do
it so easy! What if I do tumble down a few times at first!
I don’t mind a little bump.”

So he sped down the stairs, tied on his cap and scarf,
tucked his mittens in his pocket, and was off for the ice.

“The skates are too long for me, but that is no matter.
I know how to put them on. There! now they’re on. Hurrah!
here I g—! Oh!”

Down he sat, before he had hardly got upon his feet. He
got a hard bump; and his bare hands rubbed upon the ice
till they were so cold, that, if he hadn’t made up his mind to
be stout-hearted, he would have been glad to go in and
warm them.

But he pulled out his mittens, saying, “I must get up
slowly: that’s the way the boys do.” So he raised himself[122]
on his hands and knees first, planting one foot at a time
firmly before trying to stand. But, as he was straightening
up his back, somehow his heels slipped up; and this time it
was his poor little head that rapped so smartly upon the
treacherous ice.

Taddy lay still a minute, not feeling quite so hopeful
about the next attempt; when he happened to see a little
tree just a few steps off. So he crept quickly over to it,
feeling sure now of success. Catching hold of it, he helped
himself up to a firm stand, saying, “Now, I must put one
foot out at a time, so,—and then the other. Oh! I can do
it now.”

So he tried again. One beautiful stroke, then another,
and over he went again, flat on his nose! But this was
not all. Such a crash as even his little body could make
was too much for the ice, which happened to be rather thin
around that friendly tree; and, by the time Taddy had picked
himself up, he was above his knees in water. There was a
terrible ache at his nose; and he put up his hand to warm it
a minute, but was frightened to find his mittens all spotted
with blood. This was too much for him. He sent forth a
cry that would have made your heart ache.

Just then Jamie came back; and there he found poor
Taddy standing in the water, holding out one hand, and
looking at the bloody mitten through his tears, the other
covering tightly his aching nose; while a big purple bump
was rapidly appearing on his forehead.

“Halloo! what’s going on?” shouted Jamie. Taddy’s
story was very humble; and kind-hearted Jamie carried him
into the house, where his mother was just inquiring for him.

“I left my little boy to learn another kind of lesson,”
she said. “But perhaps the one he has taught himself
will do as much good.”

[123]

THE OLD CLOCK.

“Tick, tock! tick, tock!” said again
the old clock; and then there was a little
buzzing noise, and the old clock began to
strike; and all at once a little door over
the dial-plate opened, and there stood a
little bird crying,
“Cuckoo, cuckoo!”
And over the bird,
on the top of the
clock, a little man
started up in a red
coat, with sabre and
musket complete,
and began to march
backwards and forwards.

Henry did not
look up to see the
bird and the little man; for he wanted to be out in the garden
at play with his sister, instead of trying to write a theme
on the “Flight of Time.”

At last Henry finished his theme in these words: “Time
does not fly at all fast for me when I am trying to write a[124]
theme. On the contrary, it seems very long indeed. We
ought to improve our time. We ought to work. Life is
short. My theme is ended. And now, having written the
required number of words, I will go out in the garden, and
see if any peaches have fallen during the night.”

So Henry ran out in the garden; and he and his sister
had a good frolic among the flowers and the fruit-trees.
Whether he got a good mark, the next day at school, for
his theme on the “Flight of Time,” I cannot tell you.

IN THE MAPLE WOODS.

In the early spring, when the snow melts, thousands of
men in the Northern and Western States are busy making
maple-sugar. If you have seen only the dirty-looking
brown cakes of maple-sugar sold in many places, you know
very little about it. I have seen it as white as snow, although
it is generally brown. Then there is the nice sirup;
and did you ever eat any maple-candy? Well, I will tell
you a story.

Willy and his sisters lived in Vermont, where a great deal of maple-sugar
is made. One spring, when their Cousin Leonard came to see them, they
thought it would be fine fun to go to the maple woods, where the men had
been making sugar, and try to make some candy. It was a bright day,
not very cold, although some snow was still left upon the ground.

“Mother,” said Willy, “may we go to the woods to-day, and make some
maple-candy?”—”Yes,” said his mother, “only be careful not to wet
your feet.”—”Oh! what a nice time we will have!” said the two
girls; and they all clapped their hands for joy.

In a few minutes their mother had put them up a nice luncheon. Then
they took a small kettle, two or three tin cups, three spoons, and a hatchet.
These things they packed upon a hand-sled; and, when all was ready, they[125]
set out at a brisk pace through the fields, over the snow, the boys drawing
the sled, and the girls following close behind.

There was a good path, and they soon came to the woods. On the edge
of the woods was a hut, where the men rested sometimes while making
sugar. The children thought they would play that was their house. Nobody
was there that day: so they had it all to themselves.

A little way out of the woods were two large stakes with a pole across
them, on which hung a large kettle. Some half-burnt logs and ashes were
under the kettle, but the fire was all out. A pile of wood was not far off;
and branches of trees, chips, and logs were scattered around.

The children gathered dry leaves and sticks, and made a fire in a safe
place. The next thing to do was to get some sap to boil into candy.
What is sap? It is the juice of a tree. When the warm spring sunshine
melts the snow, the roots of the tree drink in the moisture of the earth.
This goes up into the tree, and makes sap. The sap within the tree, and
the sunshine without, make the buds swell, and the bright fresh leaves
come out.

For making sugar the sap of the maple-tree is used. But how is the
sap got from the trees? and how is it made into sugar? I will tell you.[126]
A hole is bored in each tree, a spout put in the hole, and a bucket is placed
underneath. This is called “tapping the tree.” The sap runs from the tree
into the bucket, drop by drop, until it is full. Then the sap is boiled till
it becomes sirup; and the sirup is boiled into sugar.

The children found that the sap was dropping from the spouts in the
trees around them. Some of the buckets were nearly full. They soon
gathered enough into their little tin cups to fill their kettle; and then they
put it on the fire to boil.

While it was boiling, they thought they would eat their luncheon. What
do you suppose they had besides bread? I will tell you. They had thin
slices of raw meat. “But did they eat it raw?” perhaps you will ask. Oh,
no! The boys whittled out some clean, pointed sticks, on which they held
their meat close to the fire till it was roasted to a beautiful brown; and
then you cannot think how good it tasted. After eating their bread and
meat, they had some nice crullers and cheese to end off with.

Well, by and by the sap in the little kettle had boiled into sirup. Then
the children brought some clean snow in their cups, and carefully dipped
a spoonful of hot sirup into each cup. The snow cooled it at once, and
turned it into clear, hard candy. I wish you could have had some of it to
eat! I know they thought it was delicious.

Soon after they had eaten their candy, they put out the fire with snow,
and went home, having had a very happy time; and they did not forget
to take candy enough with them for mother and little sister, and all the
rest of the family.

WHERE IS THE BABY?

[127]

THE BIRD’S RETURN.

[128]

THE DUCKS AND GEESE.