THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

IN PROSE.

IN VERSE.

[33]

ALMOST READY FOR LAUNCHING.
VOL. XXIX.—NO. 2.

[34]

ALMOST READY FOR LAUNCHING.

What are they doing? Well, most of them,
I think, are calkers. Do you know what that means? I
will tell you.

After the frame of a ship is set up, the timbers firmly
bolted and braced, and the planking put on and fastened,
inside and out, the next thing to be done is to make the
seams water-tight.

For this purpose, slivers of oakum, rolled up in the hand,
are driven into the seams between the planks. When the
seams are filled, they are covered with melted pitch or rosin
to preserve the oakum from decay. This process is called
calking.

Most of the men seen in the picture are doing this work,
but not all of them. Some are driving in the oakum with
a tool called a calking-iron. Some are putting on the pitch.
I will leave it for you to find out what the others are doing.

If we could look on deck and on the other side of the ship,
we should see men at work there too. Hark! Don’t you
hear the sound of their hammers? All is bustle, but there
is no confusion. Every man knows what to do, and does
his work with a will.

After the calking is done, the painters will take their
turn. They will put on two or three coats of paint; then
the carvers and gilders will make a handsome figure-head;
every thing will look as neat as a new pin; and then it will
be time to be thinking of a name for the vessel, for, if I am
not mistaken, the ship will be ready for launching. Let us[35]
fancy that we are present at the launch. I think I see her
now gliding into the deep water that awaits her.

She floats away from her cradle. She sits like a duck
upon the water. She is staunch and strong and tight. So
far the work has been well done. What comes next?

The riggers will now take her in hand. Masts and yards
and shrouds and sails will soon be in their places. Soon
we shall see her in the harbor all ready for sea; and by
and by, with sails all set and streamers all afloat, she will
move gracefully down the bay. May she always have fair
winds and prosperous voyages!

[36]

LOUIS’S NEW PLANT.

So they planted three or four peanuts. Louis expected
to raise peanuts enough for the whole neighborhood; and
one lady to whom he mentioned it engaged a bushel on
the spot.

In due time a little plant appeared, carrying one of the
nuts on its head; but, finding that too much of a load, it
left the parent nut on the surface of the ground, and sent
bright green leaves up, and little threads of roots down,
until, with its sisters, which had been growing in the same
way, it made a group of three pretty plants.

All summer Louis took pride in showing them. Although
they grew so finely, many persons prophesied that they
would never bear nuts. But, in the latter part of September,
Louis dug from one of his plants a nut which was
perfect in form, though not yet divided into shell and meat.
It was like a raw potato.

He waited patiently, and early in November he dug a
saucer-full of well-ripened nuts. The plants had sent out
a shoot from each joint, and these grew downward into the
ground, and at the end of each shoot grew a nut. So Louis
thinks it is correct to call it a ground-nut.

Louis took a sample of the nuts to “The Nursery” office,
and it was pronounced to be of good quality. Although he
could not supply the order for a bushel, he intends to try
again next year, and hopes to raise a larger crop.

[37]

THE WOULD-BE TRAVELLERS.

ARTHUR. Oh, if I only had a pair Of Indian snow-shoes I could wear, The storms might beat, the winds might blow, Across the drifts I’d northward go, And see the Northland’s splendid sights,— The red, and green, and yellow lights, That up the sky at night-time stream, The icebergs on the sea that gleam, And, peering from his hut of snow, In walrus-coat, the Esquimau; And with my loud hurrah I’d scare From out his den the grizzly bear.

BERTHA. And, if I only had a boat, I’d spread my sail, and eastward float, And see the far-off Eastern lands, The palm-trees, and the desert sands, The camels and the caravans; Tall shining towers, and curious towns, And men with turbans on, and gowns; And bring home, lovely to behold, A charming dress of cloth-of-gold.

[38]

DICK. And, if I only had a horse, I’d westward, westward take my course; With flying feet and floating mane He’d gallop with me o’er the plain; As lightly as the wind we’d pass Across the waving prairie-grass, And strange, tall blossoms, blue and red, Would nod about my horse’s head. ELSIE. And, if I had some wings to fly, I’d southward soar along the sky, And see the Southland all aglow With roses, when with us there’s snow; And flutter down to rest me, where The starry myrtle scents the air, And humming-birds dart out and in The blossoms of the jessamine; Where his green mate the parrot calls, And oranges, like golden balls, Hang on the boughs, I’d spend the hours In gathering figs, and plucking flowers. LITTLE SUSIE. Oh, if you want to, and you can, I’m willing you should roam; But I’m dear mother’s little girl, I’ll stay with her at home. MARIAN DOUGLAS.

[39]

“ONE-OLD-CAT.”

Presently up jumped one boy, and said, “Come on, fellows,
let’s play something.”—”All right,” said another boy,
“One-old-cat.” Then they all ran into the house.

“Dear me!” said grandma, “I thought they were good
boys; but they seem to be going to tease pussy.” In a few
minutes the boys came back. One of them carried a large
club, while another had something which grandma, who
could not see very well, took to be a stone.

“Oh, what cruel boys!” thought the old lady. “It’s bad
enough to tie things to a cat’s tail; but to beat her with a
club and to throw stones at her is still worse.”[40]

“I’ll be pitcher,” shouted one of the boys. “There!”
said grandma, “he says he’ll pitch her. Who would believe
that boys in red stockings and blue suits could be so cruel?”

“I’ll be inner,” cried another boy.

“Inner!” said grandma. “What does that mean? Some
new expression. I have no doubt, which I never before heard;
but an old lady of eighty years can’t be expected to keep up
with the times. It’s something dreadful, of course.”

But what was the old lady’s surprise when the boys threw
aside their blue jackets, and two of them began to throw
the “stone” back and forth, one to the other; while the
third boy stood between, striking at it as it flew through
the air, and sometimes hitting it and sometimes not. There
they staid all the afternoon doing the same thing.

“Why,” said grandma, putting on her glasses, and looking
more closely. “I declare! they’re only playing ball, after all.
Well, I’m glad they’re not so cruel as I thought them.
They are such pretty little boys, and have such pretty red
stockings too!”

“But,” said she, after a long pause, “there is still one
thing that troubles me. Where is the ‘old cat’?”

WHAT IS THE HORSE DOING?

Some boys had placed in a field a snare by which
they hoped to catch a rabbit. It was a sort of noose made
of coarse, twisted grass. Fido, the dog, put one of his forefeet[41]
in the noose, and in trying to get away his leg was
doubled up by it.

He limped off howling to his friend Hero, an old horse
that was grazing near by. Fido lifted up his leg, and Hero
at once saw what was the matter. But Hero had no knife
with which to cut the noose. What could he do?

He did not stay long in doubt. He put down his head,[42]
and began to gnaw at the noose. Taking good care not to
bite Fido, he nibbled at the wisp of twisted grass till it
dropped off, and the good dog was free.

You should have seen Fido as he scampered round, jumped
up, and barked at his old friend. “Barked at him?” Yes;
but it was all in play, as much as to say, “You dear old
Hero! How I thank you! I will do as much for you,
should you ever get into trouble. Bow, wow, wow!”

And Hero galloped round, and threw up his heels, but
took good care not to hit his friend Fido. Each seemed to
be glad in the feeling that a kind act had been done.

This is a true story, and Mr. Harrison Weir has told it
well in his drawing.

A QUEER KITTEN.

[43]

HOW BLUE-EYES WATCHED
FOR THE NEW YEAR.

[45]

WHY WOULDN’T THE KITE FLY?

Just before dinner they had been in bathing. Since
dinner they had been over in the fields, picking up long
feathery grasses to put in mamma’s vases. And now, what
should they do next?

At last, Jack thought it would be fine fun to make a
large kite, much larger than any they had ever seen. Fred[46]
said he would help; and off they ran to get sticks, tacks,
paper, paste, and string, so as to have every thing ready.

When they could think of nothing else that was needed,
they set to work. Jack cut and tacked the sticks together,
just as the smaller ones were in his little old kite; while
Fred cut the papers, and made the tail.

Having joined the four ends of the sticks with string,
they covered the whole with newspaper, pasted nicely, and
left the kite in the sun to dry. Then Jack thought of one
thing that had been forgotten: they had not tied on the
string. So they had to cut a hole in their paper, and put
the string through. Then, of course, the holes had to be
patched up again, and this took a good while.

The wind was blowing quite briskly, and the boys thought
they could not wait any longer, although the kite was not
quite dry. Fred said he would pitch the kite, if Jack would
let out the string. You can imagine how Fred looked, as
he ran out before the wind, with this big kite that was
much taller than himself. Jack said it seemed as though
the kite had legs of its own, and was walking off.

Fred pitched the kite. It went up bravely. Jack ran
with it, letting out the string, little by little, when, all of a
sudden, there came a heavy gust of wind. The string
broke, and the kite fluttered down, flat on the ground.

But these boys had been taught to always “try again.”
So they went to look for a stronger string.

Jack thought of the clothes-line. Off he went, and soon
came back with a good long rope. This they tied on, and
now they thought the kite would surely fly. Jack pitched
it this time, and what do you think happened? The string
was too heavy. The kite went up, but soon came down;
and, what was worse, the paper was so thin, that the wind
tore it all to pieces.[47]

“Never mind!” said Jack, “we’ll try again to-morrow.
You see, Fred, if we have a large kite, we must have a
strong cover for it and a stout string.”

Then the two boys went to work, and covered the kite-frame
with cloth. They got a string that was very strong
but not too heavy; and the next day they had a grand time
flying their kite.

Some day I will tell you more about these boys who were
always ready to “try again.”

THE NEW-LAID EGG.

Who laid the egg? “Cut, cut-ca-dah!” said the hen: “When the clock struck ten, I laid an egg.”

Who’ll take it to the house? “I,” said little Dick: “I’m very quick, And I’ll take it to the house.”

[48]

Who knows how to cook it? “I,” said good Mary Ann; “In my own frying-pan: I know how to cook it.”

Who’ll eat it when it’s done? “I,” said little Phil, “Because I am ill: “I’ll eat it when it’s done.”

Who’ll lay another? “Cluck, cluck, cluck!” said the hen; “Feed me well and then I’ll lay another.” C. L. K.

[49]

DRAWING-LESSON.

VOL. XXIX.—NO. 2.

[50]

BERTIE AT HIS UNCLE’S.

He has never until now been away from his papa
and mamma for a day. But he thinks he shall not mind it,
because uncle Frank is such a funny man. He can make
you believe that there is a big bumble-bee on your hair, or
flying and buzzing about the room. He can squeak just
like a mouse, or mew like a cat, or chirp like a bird.

But uncle Frank cannot play with Bertie all day long.
He has an office down town, where he must stay part of
the time. So he tells Bertie to keep off the street, and be
sure not to follow the circus, or the man with the organ and
monkey.

Bertie says he will stay in the house, and visit with Poll
the parrot, and Dick, the canary. “If you need any thing
more to make you happy, ask Dora the housekeeper for it.
She will look after your wants till I return,” uncle Frank
says as he takes leave of Bertie at the door.

“Good-by, uncle Frank!” says Bertie.

“Don’t follow the circus! don’t follow the circus!” cries
Poll from her perch.

Bertie laughs, and answers back, “Don’t scold! don’t
scold!”

This puts Poll in the very best of humor. She turns up
her eyes, tries to look smart, and screams back at the top
of her voice, “Thieves, thieves! Call the police; call the
police!”

Then Dora comes in, and finds uncle Frank gone. She
tells Bertie she has something to show him. He follows her[51]
out through the kitchen, and up a long pair of stairs, to an
attic. There is a large box in the attic. Dora calls it a
chest. It is painted blue, and has a lid to it. The lid is
made of woven wire.

Dora goes on tiptoe and looks over into the box. Then
she softly raises the lid, and lifts Bertie up so that he can
see into it. “Oh, what
funny cats!” cries little
Bertie.

“Indeed they are
not cats,” Dora says,
smiling.

“Then they must be little puppies. But what red eyes
they have! and such straight bodies! How funny they do
look!” Bertie says.

“No, my little man, they are not puppies. You will have
to guess once more,” says the good-natured housekeeper.

“Are they rabbits?” asks Bertie.

“No, not rabbits, either,” is the reply. “Guess again.”

“Oh, please tell me what they are!” pleads Bertie. “I
am sure that I can never, never guess all alone.”

Dora laughs, and says they will go down
and get Poll the parrot to help him guess.
Poll is still on her perch; and Dora, holding
a cream-cracker, says, “Here is a nice cracker,
Poll. Now tell Bertie what is in the big chest
in the attic.”

“Polly wants a cracker!” cries the bird.

“What is in the attic?” asks Dora.

“Ferrets, ferrets! Run, rats! Run for
your lives!” screams the parrot. “Polly wants a cracker!”

“There, my little man; now do you know what is in the
chest?” asks Dora as she gives the cracker to Poll.

[52]

“Polly says they are ferrets,” replies Bertie, dropping his
eyes; “but I do not know what that means.”

So Dora asks Bertie to sit beside her, and she will tell him
about the little ferrets.

Just as she finishes a nice long story about an old ferret
and a great long-tailed rat, a little girl’s voice under the
table calls out, “Come here, Bertie: I want to tell you something.”
Bertie slides down from the sofa, and runs to the
table. He lifts up a corner of the table-cover and looks
under.

There is nothing to be seen there, except a pair of very
crooked legs, which belong to the table, of course.

“What does all that mean, I wonder!” Bertie says. And
his eyes are as round as moons.

But, before Dora can reply, the same voice says, “Go to
the door, Bertie: there is something there for you.”

Bertie walks slowly toward the door, but stops halfway
there, and asks, “Is it April-fool’s Day?” And the voice
under the table answers, “Go to the door and see.”

So Bertie tries to look bold, and marches up, like a soldier
going to battle. “Left, left! right, right!” calls out the
voice under the table. But this time it is loud and strong,
like that of a captain of the drill.

Bertie is a brave little boy: so he marches straight up to
the door,—which stands open,—and looks out. Then he
claps his chubby hands, and shouts, “Oh! it was my uncle
Frank under the table. I forgot he was such a funny man.
Oh, uncle Frank! How can you get in the house and out of
the house, and nobody see you?”

“Look down here at me!” says a strange barking voice
from the bottom of the steps. Bertie looks, and sees something
that makes his eyes brighter than ever. It is a great,
black, shaggy dog, hitched to such a nice little express-wagon.[53]
The harness fits its wearer as nicely as can be, and
has silver rings and buckles. The reins are red, white, and
blue. A neat whip lies across the seat of the wagon. On
the sides of the wagon, in large gilt letters, are the words,
“City Express.”

The dog has a bright silver collar around his neck, with a
small bell hung from it. The dog’s name is on this collar.
It is Nero.

But when uncle Frank tells Bertie that the dog, and the
wagon, and the pretty harness, and the whip, are all his own
to keep, he is so glad that he jumps up and down like a
young monkey.

He says, “Thank you, thank you, uncle Frank! When I
am a man, I shall try and be just like you.” Then his uncle
lifts him into the express-wagon, gives him the reins and the
whip, and away they go, down the area-walk, to the stable.

[54]

[56]

RICH AND POOR.

Here is a young girl
taking a walk on a cold
day. She is strong and
well. Her dress is very
thick. She has a fur
cape, and a muff, and
good stout shoes. See how
fine she looks. She does not
seem to mind the biting frost.

But see this poor
old woman tottering
along. She wraps
her thin cloak around
her, but it does not
keep out the keen
air. She is very cold.

I hope that the rich young
girl will give some aid to the
poor old woman.

[57]

THE SNOW-FAIRIES.

[58]

RED CORAL BEADS.

“Did I ever tell you how I lost my red
coral beads, and where they were found?”
I said this to my boys, Roy and Fred, one
frosty night, when we were all
gathered around
the bright open
fire.

“No!” said
Fred decidedly.
“That is a new
story. Does it
tell about the
time when you
were a little girl? and about
the farmhouse and the sitting-room
with the big fireplace, and
the bellows, and the queer hour-glass,
and the old-fashioned iron snuffers in a red tray?”

“Yes,” I answered, “it is about every thing you like to
hear so well.” Then I told the story as follows:—

“My story begins in the long, low, pleasant farmhouse sitting-room,
with its big beam running across the low ceiling. There was also a
great fireplace, and a wide stone hearth. There
we children cracked our nuts, and there, on
winter evenings, a great basket of Rhode-Island
Greenings always stood warming in the corner.
Of course there was a wide mantel over
the fireplace. On it stood two tall silver
candlesticks, between them were the
hour-glass and the snuffer-tray, and at
each end of the shelf was a stiff vase,
filled with peacock feathers.”

[59]

“Don’t forget the windows,” interrupted Roy.

“Never fear,” I said.

“The windows were the loveliest I ever saw,—wide, and deep, and
low, and cushioned with red morseen.”

“And your grandmother always sat at the south window,
knitting, and reading out of the Bible or the Pilgrim’s
Progress,” said Fred.

“And she had a bag of red-and-white
sugar-plums, to give you
when you were good,” continued
Roy.

“That is all true,” I observed.
“What comes next?”

“Why, the chrysanthemum-window,
of course,” said both boys in
a chorus.

“There were yellow, red, and
white ones,” continued Roy.

“Yes,” said I, “and I will tell
you of the many other pleasant
things in the room that I so dearly love to remember.”

“There was a chintz lounge, a striped home-made carpet, a big arm-chair
for father, and a high-backed rocking-chair for my mother.

“But the most attractive place in the whole room was the corner
cupboard. It had a carved green door, and was painted inside a bright
vermilion-red. On one shelf stood a silver tankard filled with solid
silver spoons, and behind it, in stately shining rows, my grandmother’s
pewter platters.

“On the next higher shelf stood a set of pink china, a little stout
green pitcher, a dozen wine-glasses, and a great blue punch-bowl, gorgeous
with yellow butterflies hovering over great double pink roses.

“There were tumblers of jelly on the top shelf, and jars of preserves,[60]
and covered glass dishes of honey, and a box made of colored porcupine-quills,
in which mother kept her currants, raisins, citron, and candied
lemon-peel.

“Now comes the story-part. One day my brothers were all out in
the woods setting traps. Mother had just run into Mrs. Newman’s for
a little call, grandma was spending the day in town, and Alice, my
sister, was out working among the flowers.

“Suddenly I thought, ‘How good those raisins in the porcupine box
would taste!’ I did not pause long to
consider, but climbed the red shelves of
the closet, took down the blue-and-yellow
box, and helped myself. I set it back
again hastily, for I heard Alice coming
in at the back-door. That very night I
missed my red coral beads.

“‘They are gone for good,’ said my
grandma, ‘for I saw the child playing
on the sand-bank before I went away.’—’And
she has been on the hay-mow,’
chimed in my brothers.—’And
all over the pine-grove with me,’
said Alice.—’And down to the
grist and saw mill with me,’ observed
father.

“I mourned greatly over my
loss; for my beads were precious,
and I prized them more highly
than any thing else I possessed. A
few nights after my loss, mother,
who had gone up to bed with us as
usual, said very gravely, ‘Susan, I
have found your beads; and where
do you think they were?’

“I could not tell, of course.
‘They were in the porcupine-box,’ continued mother; ‘and now how
came they there?’ I told her all about it. My little sin had found
me out.

“‘Your necklace was a silent witness,’ said my mother. I wanted
to ask what a ‘silent witness’ was, but was too much ashamed. The[61]
next day I was sent to the store for more raisins and citron. Alice
went with me.

“As we left the store, I heard Mr. Dallas, the merchant, say to his
clerk, ‘Mrs. Chapin is a good customer. She bought two pounds of
raisins and a pound of citron only last week, and to-day as much more.
I guess they are expecting company. Shouldn’t at all wonder if John’s
folks were coming.’

“My uncle John did come, and brought his pretty new wife, aunt
Dorothy. Mother made lovely frosted pound-cake with plums in it,
and mince-pies filled with fruit; but what I remember best of all is that
she made for me a little plain cake, and left out all the raisins and
currants.”

“I think it was real mean for your mother to do so,”
said Fred, excited, and almost tearful.

“I think it was just right,” I added. “It taught me a
lesson I never forgot.”

Since telling this story to my boys, I have observed that
the lump-sugar that I keep in the blue china punch-bowl
lasts much longer than it has for months before.

And this is the moral of my story, I suppose.

[62]

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS.

[64]

NURSERY SONG.