Jack Frost, he is with us again; He comes every winter, you know: But we're hardy and bold, And we don't mind the cold, And we welcome the ice and the snow. Jack Frost plays a rough sort of game With the children wherever he goes: He pinches their cheeks; Their noses he tweaks; And he treads on their ten little toes. Jack Frost makes the ground rather hard: But with thick boots we clatter about; And we run till our breath Puffs away like a wreath Of white steam from the teakettle's spout. Jack Frost lays his hand on the pond, And turns it to glittering ice; Then the skaters they glide, And the sliders they slide: Think of that, Charley; isn't it nice! Jack Frost, he is sure to be found Where the sleigh-bells are tinkling clear; As the horses, so strong, Canter gayly along, While the lads give a shout and a cheer. Jack Frost, then, you're welcome again; Of pleasures you bring us a store: But be mild as you can, Oh, you fierce little man! When you visit the feeble and poor.

George Bennett.

MISS JONES'S PICTURE

I have just been looking at Miss Jones's picture. How do you think Miss Jones looks?

She wears a shawl pinned close up to her throat, a cap tied under her chin, and a pair of spectacles over some very wise-looking eyes.

What a funny-looking picture! I call it a funny picture, because the clothes are an old lady's clothes; but the face is a little girl's face, round and plump and rosy. If I could take off the cap and the shawl and the spectacles, I should see a little girl of four years, with a white dress, a pink sash, and long curls hanging down over her shoulders.

Her name is Edith May. Her mamma calls her Edie. Edie likes to fix herself up, and "play people" as she calls it. She takes many different parts.

Sometimes she is an old lady, and sometimes she is a young lady. Sometimes she plays she is mamma; and then she runs round taking care of her dollies, and says she doesn't know what she shall do now that Tilly has the measles, and Hannah has the chicken-pox, and she verily believes that the baby has the measles too.

The other day, she said she was going to be Miss Jones, and go down to the saloon and have her picture taken.

So she fixed herself up with cap and spectacles and shawl, and went down to the photograph-room, and told the artist that she was Miss Jones, and she had called to have her picture taken.

Then the artist placed a chair for her, and she sat up as straight as she could. When the pictures were finished, he sent them to her mamma, who has sent one to me; and here you have it in "The Nursery."

S. F. W.

SUE'S SEASONS

In the spring, when the leaves all start, The crocus thrills at its glowing heart, The windflower opens its tinted cup, While the sap mounts merrily up and up. In the spring all the birds begin, Early and late to build and sing: Sweeter music was never heard Then the merry note of a building bird. In the summer the roses smile, Painting the roadside, mile by mile; The sweet-brier catches you as you pass, The violets thicken among the grass; Little nests run over with song, Little wings grow restless and strong; Daisies shine in the fields afar, Odors float where the lilies are. In the autumn the sap runs down, And leaves are tinted with gold and brown: In the winter when wild winds blow, The leaves are dead in a shroud of snow.

Mary N. Prescott.

"CLEAR THE COAST!"

I told you last month how Robert hoped that Santa Claus would bring him a sled; and how Robert woke on Christmas morning to find by his bedside a beautiful sled, painted red, with thick iron runners.

The next day he went with Uncle Charles to the hill on Boston Common, near Park Street, to see the boys coast. Here is a picture of the scene, drawn from life; and a very correct idea it will give you of the sport that may be witnessed in Boston after every snow-storm.

Robert had his sled with him; and as he stood with Uncle Charles, looking at the coasters, the little boy longed to be of them and among them. But Uncle Charles said, "You are not quite old enough yet to coast in public: you have not had practice enough."

Then a big boy, who had been admiring Robert's sled, stepped up and said, "I should like to try that sled, sir: I can take the little fellow on the sled in front of me. I will take good care of him, sir."

Robert begged so hard to take his first lesson in coasting under the care of this big boy, that Uncle Charles at last consented; and in the picture you may see Uncle Charles waiting for the two boys to come along on the sled.

He could not see them at first: but in about five minutes down they came like the rush of a torrent; and little Robert, as he saw Uncle Charles, cried out as loud as he could, "Clear the coast, clear the coast!"

Uncle Charles clapped his hands; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs; and Robert felt quite proud, when, as he reached the bottom of the hill, some boys gathered round, and pronounced his sled "a first-rate runner."

That was a proud day for Robert; for, before he left the Common, he was allowed to coast once all alone; and he did it in such good style, that the big boy told him he would make a "prime coaster."

"What did he mean by a "prime coaster"?" asked Robert. "He meant," said Uncle Charles, "that, with a little more practice, you will coast very well,—as well, perhaps, as he does himself."

Alfred Selwyn.

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The Nursery, February 1873, Vol. XIII.

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JACK FROST

MISS JONES'S PICTURE

SUE'S SEASONS

"CLEAR THE COAST!"

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