قراءة كتاب The Nursery, June 1881, Vol. XXIX A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
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The Nursery, June 1881, Vol. XXIX A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers
mamma. "What are you doing up there?"
"Going to climb through the little hole, mamma; but I'm tired."
His uncle climbed after him, and soon brought him down.
Six tired little children went early to bed that night, and dreamed of stony men and women, lions and bears.
MARGIE'S TRIAL.
Come listen to me, my dear;
I want to tell you a secret
That nobody else must hear:
We're going away to the country,—
Mamma and baby and I,
And grandmamma doesn't like dollies,
Now please, my darling, don't cry.
Oh, don't you remember last winter
She called you an image, my pet!
Just think, like those ugly old idols:
I'm sure I shall never forget.
She's the loveliest grandma, my precious;
But some things are not to be borne:
I'm sure that my heart would be broken
If she should treat you with scorn.
Your pretty pink shoes on your feet;
And you shall sit up by the window,
And look at the folks in the street.
Oh, dear! but I never can leave you
A whole summer long on the shelf;
If you are an "image," my baby,
I'll just be a heathen myself.
TWO SMALL GIRLS.
Ann is not yet five years old. But she knows how to read, and is very fond of her book. She does not care to sit down, but reads her book as she walks. This is not a good plan. It hurts the eyes.
Grace, who is nine years old, often has a book in her hand. But she does not read and walk at the same time. She sits down on the floor. It would be quite as well for her to take a chair and sit up straight.
THE CAREFUL NURSE.
HIS is little Grace taking Dolly out for an airing. It is a bright June day. The birds are singing. The flowers are in bloom. It is so warm that Grace goes without a hat.
Dolly is snugly seated in her carriage; and Snip the dog, who barks, but never bites, has a place in it too. He is one of the breed known as the toy dog. He does not bark unless you squeeze him. He is never cross.
Grace rolls them down the broad path through the garden. She gives Dolly a nice ride, and then takes her home, and puts her to sleep in her little bed. She never lets Dolly miss her nap. Grace is a careful nurse.
WHY THE CHICK CAME OUT.
Heaps of crisp and fragrant clover,
Spies the dearest, cutest thing,
Hiding under Biddy's wing.
What sees Benny next? A wonder!
Rudely pushed quite out from under
Biddy's breast, an egg comes sliding,
In its shell a chicken hiding.
"Ah!" says Benny as he gazes,
And his merry blue eyes raises,
"I know why his house he's spoiled:
He's afraid of being boiled."
RALPH'S GREAT-GRANDMOTHER.
ISS EASTMAN, the pretty drawing-teacher at the academy, boards in our family. Some time ago she chanced to take up an old, faded daguerrotype-likeness of my grandmother. She proposed copying it; and a lovely picture in crayon, of Ralph's great-grandmother, is the result.
My grandmother was ninety years old when the likeness was taken; yet she appears in it erect and vigorous, sitting in her high-backed chair, with her knitting-work in her hand. She wears a snug cap, and a plain Quaker kerchief folded smoothly over her black silk dress.
Naturally we have talked much about her; and my boys, Ralph and Fred, who have a happy faculty for drawing me out, have well-nigh exhausted all my memories of their great-grandmother.
"Can't you think of something else about her?" Fred pleaded, a few nights ago when, tired of his books and games, he had seated himself comfortably before the fire.
"Yes," I replied, "I have been thinking of another story as I sit here knitting. It is about going to Southampton on a canal-boat."
"Oh, that's splendid, I know!" said both boys in a breath. "Hurry up, and count your stitches quick, mamma."
I paused a moment to knit to the seam-needle, and then began:—
"My father and mother lived in Westfield, on the banks of the New-Haven and Northampton Canal. My grandmother lived in Southampton, the town next north of ours. She, too, lived near the canal. We children used to think that the trip we often took from our house to hers was like a journey through fairy-land.
"The first time I ever went out from under my mother's wing was with my grandmother, who took me from home with her one bright June day. I was a little sober on parting with
