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قراءة كتاب The Nursery, March 1877, Vol. XXI. No. 3 A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
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The Nursery, March 1877, Vol. XXI. No. 3 A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
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Once a fly alighted on one of the boats, and took quite a long voyage. That made Emma think of trying to find other passengers; and she picked up a great ground beetle, and put him aboard. Poor beetle! he didn't want to go, and he wasn't used to it. He tumbled about on the deck; the boat tipped under him, and the next thing Emma knew he was overboard.
"Oh, he mustn't drown!" she cried. "I must get him out!" And she stooped over in great haste to save the poor beetle. But it was a large tub, and a very deep one too; and what did little Emma know about being careful? She lost her balance, and down into the water she went, with a great splash that wrecked all the boats in the same instant. "Mother, mother!" screamed a choking, sputtering voice, as Emma managed to lift her head.
Her mother heard it, and flew to the spot. It didn't take long to get Emma into the warm kitchen, to pull off the wet clothes, to wrap her in a blanket, and set her before the fire in the big rocking-chair, with a bowl of hot ginger-tea to drink. There Emma sat, and steamed, and begged for stories. By eleven o'clock she couldn't stand it any longer, and by noon she was out in the yard again, playing tea-party, and not one whit the worse for her sudden cold bath. But what became of the poor beetle?
A LENTEN-SONG.
FROM THE GERMAN.
A very unmusical note:
This eminent basso, Mr. Frog,
Has surely a cold in his throat.
But he does his best, with a good intent,
The little speckled man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.
Quog, quog, quog, quog!
When the morning sky is red,
He sits on the slippery, mossy log,
With the rushes over his head.
He does his best, with a good intent,
The little sprawling man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.
Quog, quog, quog, quog!
When the evening sky is pale,
He nestles low in the sheltering bog,
While the gentle dews exhale.
He does his best, with a good intent,
The little struggling man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.
Quog, quog, quog, quog!
He strains till he shakes the reeds,
And scares his neighbor, Miss Polly Wog
As she hides in the water-reeds.
He does his best, with a good intent,
The little panting man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.
Quog, quog, quog, quog!
Oh! aren't you afraid you'll burst?
You should have put on, dear Mr. Frog,
Your girdle of leather first.
But on he goes, with his good intent,
The little gasping man;
For every frog must sing in Lent,
As loud as ever he can.
DRAWING-LESSON BY HARRISON WEIR.A WOODCHUCK HUNT.
One September morning, before breakfast, Ned and Harry went woodchuck hunting. They took Dick, who is a big, fat, spotted coach-dog, and Gyp, a little black-and-tan, with short ears, and afraid of a mouse,—both "such splendid hunters," Harry said.
Gyp ran ahead on three legs; and Dick walked sedately behind. Ned carried the bow, and Harry, the three arrows: and it was enough to make any wise woodchuck tremble to see them.
First they crossed a potato-field, and then a meadow where there was a brook, and where they lost Gyp so often among the bogs, that Harry carried him at last so as to know where he was. Dick ran through the brook, and shook himself over Ned's new sailor-suit; but that was no matter.
Then they came to a rickety old stone wall, and Dick barked. "It must be a woodchuck in the wall. We've got him!" shouted Ned. "Down comes the wall!" Then the stones fell; and Gyp jumped up and down with excitement, while Dick gave a low and terrible growl. "He must be here," said Ned.
But, as he was not to be found, Dick was reproved for giving a false alarm; and they all jumped over the stones of the old wall, and ran up the hill towards the walnut-grove, where woodchucks were sure to be as thick as nuts.
"Here's a fresh hole!" shouted Harry. "Now it's almost breakfast-time: he'll be out before long. Come on, Mr. Chuck, we're waiting for you."
So the boys lay down flat on the mound of earth, and peered into the hole, by way of inviting its owner to come out and be shot; while Dick and Gyp gave persuasive growls and yelps.
Strangely enough no woodchuck appeared; and after waiting an "age,"—five minutes long,—the brave hunters decided to dig in. "We ought to have brought spades," they said; but sticks and stones and hands did very well in the soft, wet earth.
About the time that Harry got out of breath, and Ned had dropped a stone on his foot, Dick barked furiously at something moving under a hazel-bush. "Shoot, Ned, shoot!" Harry shouted. "Whiz" went an arrow straight into the bushes, where it lodged, and never more came out.
"A chase, a chase!" cried Ned, throwing down his bow; and away they went,—Harry and Ned, Dick and Gyp,—over stones and fences, bushes and bogs, in pursuit of something; but whether it was a woodchuck or a cat they never got near enough to tell. Suddenly it disappeared in a corn-field.
Dick and Gyp put their tails between their legs, and dropped their ears; but Ned and Harry spied some pumpkins ripening among the stacked corn.
"Gay for Jack-o-lanterns!" said Harry. "Wouldn't they frighten Belle and Lucy,