قراءة كتاب The Nursery, April 1881, Vol. XXIX A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
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The Nursery, April 1881, Vol. XXIX A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
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And see how I've tied up my curls!
Dolly and I are both going
To bed now, like wise little girls.
She sleeps on my pillow, the darling;
Not once does she wake in the night;
And, when the first sunbeam is peeping,
We both get up, rosy and bright.
How quiet she is, and how patient,
As she waits till the breakfast-bell rings!
She never is greedy or fussy,
Never pouts, never breaks my nice things.
For "good-night" to the folks, and "by-by!"
Ah! she's tired with playing, poor Dolly,
And so, my own mother, am I.
SUSIE'S DANCING-LESSON.
HEN Susie is fretful and peevish,—which, I am glad to say, is not often,—there is nobody who can put her in good humor so quickly as her grown-up sister Ann. She knows just how to deal with the little girl.
Thus Ann will say, "What is the matter, Susie? Are you hungry? No. Are you sleepy? Not a bit of it. Do you want me to tell you a story? No. Are you tired? No. I have it: you want a good dose of exercise. That is the very thing you need. Come here now, and I'll give you a dancing-lesson."
She takes Susie's hands, and whirls her out on the floor before she has time to say a word. Then Ann begins to sing,—
And here we go down, down, down-y;
Here we go this way and that,
And here we go round, round, round-y,"
"What!" says Ann. "Haven't you had dancing enough? Well, then, how would you like a fancy dance? Mind your steps now. Do as you see me do. Keep time with the music.
Hop and skip, and away we go;
Round and round, and jump Jim Crow:
Oh, won't we dance the polka!"
So the little girl is danced about until she has to stop to take breath; and by that time she is so full of fun, that there is no room for a frown on her pretty face.
FIVE LITTLE SPARROWS.
Under a bench, in the darkness and the snow,
Homeless and cold in the lonesome city square:
What are the little birdies doing there?
Huddled up close in a wretched little heap,
Uttering only a soft and plaintive "cheep,"
Crowding together to keep each other warm,—
Poor little birdies hiding from the storm!
Are their pretty houses with straw and feather-beds:
Why do the birdies leave their shelter warm
To cuddle on a snow-bank, and shiver in the storm?
But, in the morning when the sun came out,
Then we could see how the trouble came about:
Several saucy squirrels, the very day before,
Had moved into their houses, and turned them out of door!
DOBBIN'S COMPLAINT.
So long at the tavern across the way?
I've waited and watched an hour and more,
And there he stands at the tavern-door.
"I've stamped my foot, and champed my bit;
And this musty post, I've gnawed at it;
I've pawed the ground, I've shaken my mane,
And neighed and snorted again and again.
"I'm tired and dusty and hungry too;
I want my dinner! I'm getting blue!
Its ten long miles we have yet to go,
And that my master must surely know.
"'Tis time for us to be on our way;
I want my oats and my clover-hay;
I want a roll on the smooth barn-floor.
Ah! here comes master, I'll say no more!"
THE DESERTED HOUSE.
HIS house has no roof, no chimney, no windows, no front-door, no back-door. Yet it was once the home of a happy family; and, if you went near it, you would hear their sweet low voices from morning till night. Such was this little house when I visited it one fine day last summer.