The Nursery, September 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 3

"Now I will tell you what we will do," said Reka. "Put on your shoes and stockings, Matty, and we will all go and call on Mrs. Merton, who is ill; and we'll take back her shawl, and give her this beautiful bunch of grapes."

"Bow, wow, wow!" cried Beauty, jumping up, and trying to lick Reka's face.

When the children left Mrs. Merton's, after they had presented the grapes, Henry Lane made this remark, "I'll tell you what it is, girls, to see that old lady so pleased by our attention gave me more pleasure than a big feast on grapes, ice-creams, and sponge-cake, with lemonade thrown in."

    Dora Burnside.

A TRUE STORY ABOUT A DOG

I am a middle-aged gentleman who is blessed with only one child, a little girl now nearly six years old. Her name is Fanny; and her cousin Gracie, who is about the same age, lives with us.

Both of these little girls are very fond of having me tell them stories; and I have often told them about a dog I once had. They liked this story so much, that they made me promise I would send it to "The Nursery," so that a great many little girls and boys might hear it also. This is the story:—

When I was a little boy, not more than eight years old, my mother consented to my having a dog which a friend offered to give me. He was a little pup then, not more than five weeks old. I fed him on milk for a while, and he grew very fast. I named him Cæsar.

When he got to be six months old, he became very mischievous. Things were constantly being missed from the house. Handkerchiefs, slippers, shoes, towels, aprons, and napkins disappeared; and no one could tell what became of them. One day Cæsar was seen going into the garden with a slipper in his mouth; and I followed him to a far-off corner where stood a large currant-bush.

I looked under the bush, and saw Cæsar digging a hole, into which he put the slipper, and then covered it up with earth. Upon digging under this bush, I found all the things that had been missed.

A neighbor's dog, called "Dr. Wiseman," was Cæsar's particular friend. One day we heard a loud scratching at the front-door; and, when we opened it, in walked Cæsar and Dr. Wiseman. Cæsar took the Doctor by the ear, and led him up to each of the family, just as if he were introducing him, and then led him into the garden, and treated him to a bone.

Although Cæsar did many naughty things, we all loved him; for he was quite affectionate as well as intelligent: but our neighbors complained of him because he chased their chickens, bit their pigs, and scared their horses. A farmer who came to our house one day with a load of potatoes took a great fancy to him. He wanted him for a watch-dog on his farm, which was only four miles from our house.

As he promised to treat him kindly, my mother thought it was best to let him have the dog; and I finally consented, although I believe I cried a good deal about it.

So Cæsar was put into the farmer's wagon, much against his will; and off he went into the country. About three months afterwards, when there was a foot of snow on the ground, there came a great scratching at the front-door of our house, early in the morning, before I was up; and, when the servant opened the door, in bounded Cæsar with a rope around his neck, and a large chunk of wood fastened to the other end of it.

He ran by the servant, and up the stairs, with the piece of wood going bump, bump, all the way, dashed into my room, jumped right up on my bed, and began licking my face.

I was very glad to see my dog again. He staid with us several days; and, when the farmer came for him, he lay down on the floor, closed his eyes, and pretended to be dead; but the farmer took him back to the farm in his wagon.

About a year and a half after that, when I came home for a vacation, we all went up to the farm, hoping to see Cæsar; but we never saw him again. The farmer had shot him, because he killed the chickens, and chased the sheep, and would not mind any thing that was said to him. Thus you see, children, that Cæsar came to a bad end, although he had every advantage of good society in his early youth.

    Lansingburgh, N.Y.                                                                       C. R. W.

A LITTLE TEASE

I know a little fellow
Who is such a wilful tease,
That, when he's not in mischief,
He is never at his ease:
He dearly loves to frolic,
And to play untimely jokes
Upon his little sister,
And upon the older folks.

He rings the bell for Sarah,
And then slyly runs away;
And tries to make a fool of her
A dozen times a day:
He hides away in corners,
To spring suddenly in sight;
And laughs, oh! very heartily,
To see her jump with fright.

When kitty's lying quiet,
And curled up warm and snug,
This little fellow always feels
Like giving her a hug;
And kitty from his fond embrace
Would surely never flinch,
Did she not know the little tease
Would give her many a pinch.

But this provoking fellow
Has a very curious way
Of feeling rather hurt at tricks
That other people play,—
Just like some older jokers,
Who laugh at fun they make,
But never can enjoy the fun
Of jokes they have to take.

    Josephine Pollard.

PITCHER-PLANTS AND MONKEY-POTS

Pitcher-plants are so called, because, at the end of the leaves, the midrib which runs through them is formed into a cup shape; and in some it looks very like a pitcher or water-jug You will understand this better if you look at the drawing.

There are various kinds of pitcher-plants. Some are shorter and broader than others; but they are all green like true leaves, and hold water as securely as a jug or glass. They grow in Borneo and Sumatra, hot islands in the East. The one shown in the drawing grows in Ceylon.

Some grow in America; but they are altogether different from those in Borneo and Ceylon. One beautiful little pitcher-plant grows in Australia: but this is also very different from all the rest; for the pitchers, instead of being at the end of the leaves, are clustered round the bottom of the plant, close to the ground.

All these pitcher-plants, though very beautiful to look at, are very cruel enemies to insects: for the pitchers nearly always have water in them; and flies and small insects are constantly falling into them, and getting drowned.

Monkey-pots are hard, woody fruits; some as large and round as a cannon-ball, and some shaped like a bowl. They grow on large trees in Brazil and other parts of South America; and the natives take out the seeds, and use the fruits for holding water, or to wash themselves in.

They are called monkey-pots because monkeys are very fond of the seeds. Some of the seeds are so good, that they are collected, and sent to London and other places, where they are sold in the markets. The Brazil-nut is one of them.

    J. R. J.

UNDER THE CHERRY-TREE

"Now is the time to pick the cherries!" shouted Charles as he came running in from the garden one July afternoon.

"Are they quite ripe?" said his mother.

"Ripe? I should think so. Just look at them!" answered Charles, pointing to the trees.