The Nursery, November 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 5

With matches any more.

    H. F. W.

LEARN TO THINK

Walter Dane was in a hurry to go off to play at ball with some of his schoolfellows; and so he did not give much thought to the lesson which he had to learn.

It was a lesson in grammar. Walter's mother took the book, and said, "I fear my little boy finds it hard to put his thoughts on his lesson to-day."

"Try me, mother," said Walter. "I will do my best."

"Then, I will put you a question which is not in the book," said mamma. "Which is the heavier,—a pound of feathers, or a pound of lead?"

"A pound of lead, to be sure!" cried Walter confidently.

"There! you spoke then without thinking," said Mrs. Dane. "A little thought would have made it clear to you that a pound is a pound, and that a pound of feathers must weigh just as much as a pound of lead."

"When I spoke, I was thinking that Tom Burton was out in the yard waiting for me," said Walter.

"Well, take your thoughts off from Tom Burton, and put them on the question I am now about to ask you. What is a noun?"

"A noun is a word used as the name of any object."

"Very well. A noun, then, is a name-word."

"But why is not every word a name-word just the same?" asked Walter.

"Different sorts of words have different uses," said Mrs. Dane. "If I say, 'Walter, come here,' by the word Walter, I name an object or person; and it is therefore a name-word, or noun. Noun means name. By the word come, I tell Walter what to do; and therefore come is a different sort of word from a name-word. Come is a verb. By the word here, I tell Walter where he must come; and so here is a different sort of word from both Walter and come. Here is an adverb."

"But, if I say 'Come,' do I not name something?" asked Walter.

"You certainly do not. What thing do you name? Come is not an object or thing; come is not a person. You cannot say, 'Give me a come,' or 'Let me see a come.'"

"But dog is a name-word, and tree is a name-word," cried Walter. "I can say, 'Give me a dog,' 'Let me see a tree;' can I not?"

"You certainly can, my son," said Mrs. Dane.

"And sister, father, mother, sky, cloud, sun, moon, bread, butter, horse, cow, book, picture, water, land, doll, cart, ball, bat, are all name-words, or nouns; are they not, mother?"

"Yes: I think you begin to see now what a noun is. And let me say one thing more, and then you may run to see Tom Burton."

"What is it, mother?" inquired Walter.

"When your uncle gave you a box of mixed shells last winter, what did you do with them?"

"I sorted them carefully, putting those of the same kind together, so that I might learn their names, the places where they are found, and the habits of the little animals that live in them."

"And just so we ought to treat words. We must first sort them, so as to learn what their use is in speech, and how and where they ought to be used. Grammar teaches us to sort words. Now run and play."

    Uncle Charles.

THE BROTHERS THAT DID NOT QUARREL

Two little brothers, loving fair weather,
Played on the meadow, played there together;
Yet not quite lonely were they that day
On the bright meadow, while at their play.

Six little swallows came and flew round,
Over the tree-tops, over the ground;
Butterflies, also, did not disdain
Near them to flutter, glad to remain.

There on the herbage tender and green
Might these two brothers, playful be seen:
Never they quarrelled; no angry words,
Hastily uttered, shocked the dear birds.

All through the daytime there the two played,
Sometimes in sunshine, sometimes in shade.
"And did not quarrel? Please stop your shams!"
"I tell you truly. Why, they were lambs!"

    Ida Fay.

GRANDPA AND THE MOUSE

Grandpa Crane went into the city every morning. He had to go so far, and it was so late when he came home to dinner, he thought he would like to have something to eat while he was away.

So every day, when he was ready to go to the cars, Aunt Emmie gave him a little basket with a pretty round cover on it.

Inside she put cookies or gingerbread, or plum-cake with ever so many plums in it. Grandpa liked the plum-cake best of all the little basket carried.

The office he sat in was down on a wharf, where the water comes, and the wind blows, just as if it were out at sea.

When he had been there a long while, he would get his basket, and eat what Aunt Emmie had put in it. As he was old, his hand would shake, and let bits of cake fall on the floor.

Now, a little gray mouse lived in a hole in that very floor, way up in a corner. His bright eyes peeped out at Grandpa Crane when he was eating; and he looked as though he would like to get those good bits if he could muster courage to do it.

One day mousie was so hungry, that he made bold to run at a crumb which had fallen a good way from grandpa's feet. He picked it up as quick as he could, and scampered back with it to his safe little hole.

Finding that grandpa did him no hurt, mousie tried it another day. After a while, he came out every time he saw grandpa open the little basket, and picked up all the crumbs that fell down.

One day grandpa was very tired, and fell fast asleep after he had eaten his cake. Pretty soon he felt a pull at his soft white hair. He put up his hand, and down ran mousie.

Not getting as much to eat that day as he wanted, mousie had just walked up grandpa's side to his shoulder, and then up on his head. Wasn't that a queer place for a mouse to try to find something to eat?

    Aunt Emmie.