The Nursery, July 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 1

WORKS OF ART FOR CHILDREN

I have a little daughter who never returns from a walk in the woods without bringing a bunch of gay flowers. I have taught her to make of them many little works of art, which you may also like to learn, dear reader.

Here is the first. Certainly there must grow in your neighborhood some larch or spruce trees. If we look sharp, we shall soon find on them a handsome half-open cone. In the small openings of this cone we stick delicate flowers and grasses which we find in the meadows and fields.

When our nosegay is ready, we lay the cone with the flowers very carefully in a dish of water.

After an hour, the cone is so closely shut, that the flowers are held as fast in its scales as if they had always grown there. This makes a very nice present.

I will tell you how to make another pretty thing. You know what a burr is. Alas! it has often played you many a naughty trick,—woven itself provokingly into your clothes, or perhaps into your hair. I can teach you to make a better use of it.

Pluck an apron full: lay them one against another so that they shall stick fast together, and make in this manner the bottom of a small basket of any shape you like,—round, square, or oval.

Now build the burrs up around the edge to form the sides. When this is finished, make also the handle of burrs. A lovely little basket stands before you, which you can fill with flowers or berries from the fields, and carry home to your mother. Of course you know how to make wreaths and bouquets; but to make them tastefully is a true work of art, in which all children should try to become skilful.

Anna Livingston.

MY CLOTHES-PINS

 
My clothes-pins are but kitchen-folk,
Unpainted, wooden, small;
And for six days in every week
Are of no use at all.
 
 
But when a breezy Monday comes,
And all my clothes are out,
And want with every idle wind
To go and roam about,
 
 
Oh! if I had no clothes-pins then,
What would become of me,
When roving towels, mounting shirts,
I everywhere should see!
 
 
"I mean," a flapping sheet begins,
"To rise and soar away."
"We mean," the clothes-pins answer back,
"You on this line shall stay."
 
 
"Oh, let me!" pleads a handkerchief,
"Across the garden fly."
"Not while I've power to keep you here,"
A clothes-pin makes reply.
 
 
So, fearlessly I hear the wind
Across the clothes-yard pass,
And shed the apple-blossoms down
Upon the flowering grass.
 
 
The clothes may dance upon the line,
And flutter to and fro:
My faithful clothes-pins hold them fast,
And will not let them go.
 
 
My clothes-pins are but kitchen-folk,
Unpainted, wooden, small;
And for six days in every week
Are of no use at all.
 
 
But still, in every listening ear,
Their praises I will tell;
For all that they profess to do
They do, and do it well.
 

Marian Douglas.

KIT MIDGE

Kit Midge was thought in the family to be a wonderful little cat. She enjoyed sitting in the sunshine; she liked to feast upon the dainty little mice; and, oh, dear me! now and then, she liked to catch a bird!

This was very naughty, of course; but the best trained cats have their faults. One morning Kit ate her breakfast with great relish, washed her face and paws, smoothed down her fur coat, and went into the parlor to take a nap in the big arm-chair.

The sun shone full in her face; and she blinked and purred and felt very good-natured; for, only the night before, she had caught her first rat, and for such a valiant deed had been praised and petted to her heart's content.

Well, Kit Midge fell asleep in the chair, with one little pink ear turned back, that she might wake easily, and a black tail curled round her paws. By and by one eye opened; and, peeping out, she saw her mistress walking across the room with a dear little yellow-bird in her hand, which she placed on a plant that stood on the top shelf of the plant-stand.

Now, Midge had looked with longing eyes for weeks upon a lovely canary, which sang on its perch far out of her reach; and I suppose she thought this was the same bird among the green leaves.

But she was a wise little cat: so she slept on, with both eyes open, until her mistress had left the room. Then Kitty came down from the chair, and, creeping softly to the stand, made a spring, and seized birdie between her teeth. Then, jumping down, she dropped the bird on the carpet, smelled it, looked ashamed, and sneaked away.

It was only a stuffed bird; and when her mistress, who had been peeping in at the door all the time, said, laughing, "O Kit Midge, I am perfectly ashamed of you!" Kitty just ran out of the room, and did not show herself the rest of the day.

Kit Midge was never known to catch a bird after that.

Aunty May.