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

We are in Germany now, but our home is in America; and, when I go out to play with the boys here, they call me "America." We came over the ocean in a big ship. Papa and mamma were seasick; but Fanny and I were not, and we liked to live on the water.

When mamma packed our trunks, I wanted her to put in my little pails and wheelbarrow; and she said there wasn't room, but that we could bring as many numbers of "The Nursery" as we pleased. So we brought all we had.

We have used them so much, that papa says they are not fit to be bound; but I don't want to put them away on a shelf to be kept nice. I like to have them every day; and so does Fanny.

When we were coming on the steamer, Fanny used to sit in the captain's lap, and tell him the stories.

Our auntie sends us a new "Nursery" every month. One was lost, and we were very sorry; for we can't read other picture-books so well. Fanny always has a "Nursery" to take to bed with her; and in the morning, when I wake up, I hear her talking to the boys and girls in the pictures.

    C.

HOW NORMAN BECAME AN ARTIST

The landscape-painter sat on a camp-stool with an umbrella over his head. His palette and his box of paints were on the ground by his side. He was there to draw a picture of the village of F–.

Hardly had he begun his crayon outline when he heard a boy's voice behind him. "May I look on? sir?" said the boy. "Yes, look as much as you please, but don't talk," said the painter without turning his head.

The boy had a basket strapped to his back, and stood looking intently, with both hands resting on his knees. His name was Norman Blake. Other boys, and a young woman, soon came up, and joined him as spectators.

Norman studied every movement of the painter's hand; and, when he got home, he took a piece of charcoal, and tried to draw a picture on the wall. Rather a rough picture it was, but pretty good for a first attempt.

The next day Norman went again, and looked on while the painter sketched. "You've got that line wrong," cried Norman all at once, forgetting that the painter had told him not to talk.

"What do you know about it, you young vagabond?" cried the painter angrily. "Out of this! Run, scamper, and don't show your rogue's face here again! But stop. Before you go, come here, and point out what struck you as wrong."

Norman pointed to a certain line which made the village church seem a little out of its right place in the picture. The landscape-painter seized him by the ear, and said, "You little scamp, how did you find that out? You are right, sir! But what business have you to criticise my picture? I am hesitating whether to thrash you, or to make a painter of you."

"Make a painter of me, by all means;" said Norman, laughing; for he saw that the honest painter was only half in earnest.

Well, the end of it was, that Norman accompanied the painter to the city, and began to study drawing and painting. He succeeded so well, that, after he had been studying six years, he one day brought to his friend the painter the sketch which we have had copied above.

"Do you remember that?" asked Norman.

"Of course I do!" said the painter. "It represents our first meeting. Little did I think that the young vagabond with the basket on his back would one day beat me in sketching."

    Alfred Selwyn.

PICTURES FOR WALTER

Here are some birds having a ride on the weather-vane. The vane is on the top of the barn.

I should think it would make the birds dizzy to swing backwards and forwards. But they like it just as well as some boys like to swing on a gate.

Here is an old crow sitting on the fence. He is a sly old thief. There is a nest in the grass; and he is after the eggs. If you try to get near him, he will fly away, saying "Caw, caw, caw!"

The milk-maid set down her pail of milk, and went to the orchard. A little pig came along, and tipped the pail over; and the milk was all spilled. Never leave milk where a pig can get at it.

A woodpecker had a nest in a hollow tree. A boy climbed up to get the eggs; but the old birds flew at him, and pecked him, and made him get down. I am glad they drove him away. What right had he to meddle with their nest?

    W. O. C.

THE FISHERMEN'S CHILDREN

There were three children on the beach looking out to see the boats of the fishermen sail off to the fishing-grounds. Little Joe Bourne and his sister Susan stood side by side, watching their father's boat. Rachel, who was with them, was not their sister, but an orphan-child, whose grandfather, Mr. Harrison, was in one of the boats.

It was a windy day in November. The waves broke with a great noise on the shingly beach. Soon the wind rose higher: the sea rose too, and the rain fell fast. The children walked back to the village; and there the old men said, shaking their heads, "We shall have a storm."

That night, all the boats came safely back into the harbor, excepting the boat in which Rachel's grandfather had sailed. It was a long, sad night for poor Rachel. The next day and the next passed by; and no grandfather came back to take care of her, and find her in food and clothes, and carry her in his strong arms when she was tired out with walking.

Susan and Joe in their own house felt sad for the little orphan. One day their mother went to market. Baby was in the cradle, and Susan was rocking it, whilst Joe was cutting out a boat with an old jack-knife. The kettle on the stove began to sing; and Susan and Joe began to talk.

"Poor Rachel will have to be sent to the workhouse now," said Joe.

"I hope not," said Susan. "I hope father will give her a home in our own house."

"Why, he says he can hardly earn enough to feed his own family," said Joe.

"But can't we do something to help him?" asked Susan.

"I know of nothing children like us can do," said Joe.

When their mother came home, Susan begged so earnestly to have Rachel come and stay with them, that Mrs. Bourne at last replied, "Well, we will take her in for a week or two, and see; but mind, Susan, you must try and earn a little money somehow. You will now have less time to play on the sands, remember."

So Susan went and found Rachel, and brought her home to live with them all. The poor little orphan was a bright, joyous child. She had a strange hope that she should see her grandfather again; that he was not lost; for he had told her many stories of his escape from great dangers at sea.

"Why, grandfather was on a wreck once a whole week," said Rachel: "he was cast away once on an island where he had to live on clams a long while before he was rescued. I think we shall hear from him soon."

One day Joe caught a fine basket of perch from the rocks, and went round to try and sell them. But all the folks in the village told him they could get as many fish as they wanted without buying them. So Joe walked off to a town four miles away from the sea, and there he sold his fish.

He told a kind blind lady, to whom he sold some, that his sister wanted to get work, so that she could help a poor little orphan-girl. The kind lady sent Susan half a dozen handkerchiefs to hem; and the next morning Susan rose early, and sewed by candle-light, while the other children were in bed and asleep.

For three years the poor Bourne family gave Rachel a nice happy home in their little house; and they would have kept her longer, but one day, while the children were all playing on the beach, they heard a great shouting, and ran to see what it was about.

It was all in honor of Grandfather Harrison. He had come back, as Rachel had always said he would. He had been picked up at sea in his sinking boat by a ship bound for Australia. The old man was carried to that far country. He went to the mines, and helped some men dig gold. He made a good deal of money, thinking it would be a good thing if he could only be rich enough to send his dear little grand-daughter to school.

But Rachel was not the only one who was benefited by his good fortune. The Bournes shared in it. Joe and Susan, and all the rest of the children, were sent to school also; and they studied with a will. It was always a happy thought to Rachel that the great kindness of these good people did not miss its reward even in this life.

    Ida Fay.

YOUNG LAZYBONES

2.

Then little Maggie sings to him,
And plays upon the harp;
While rapid Robert, keen and slim,
Cries, "Lazybones, look sharp!"
And Lucy tickles with her wand,