Four little birds came out to greet The first pond-lily, so fair and sweet, The first that opened its petals white To the wooing breeze and the golden light. They flew around, then sat on the tree, And sang, "You are sweet as sweet can be: O dear Pond-lily! we do not jest: Now, which of us all do you love best?" Pond-lily spoke not, but, instead, Dipped in the water her beautiful head, As much as to say, "I'm well content In this my own pure element." The birds they sang in their very best style, But got no answer, not even a smile; For Pond-lily knew it was safest and best To keep where she was, on the wave's cool breast, And never to listen to flattering words From idle suitors and wandering birds.

Emily Carter.

EDWIN'S DOVES

Edwin has two doves. They were given to him by his uncle. He has a nice little house for them. There are two doors in it, where they go in and out. In front of the doors there is a shelf, on which they perch.

The doves are free to go where they please; but they always come home at night. They are quite tame. Sometimes they fly up to Edwin's window, and light on the sill. They tap on the pane to let him know they are hungry.

Then he opens the window, and feeds them. He gives them corn, crumbs of bread, and sometimes oats. They like the corn best. One of them is rather apt to be greedy; and both get so much to eat that they are very plump and fat.

Here are the doves looking at the turkeys. They do not know what to make of such birds.

W. O. C.

THE LITTLE FORTUNE-SEEKERS

Young as Alan was, he had heard from his uncle Paul many a story about people seeking their fortune: so, one fine summer day, he set off with his brother Owen and his sister Amy a-fortune-seeking. Alan carried a stick; and Amy had a little basket on her arm.

Alan led the way, telling Owen and Amy to keep close to him, and to fear nothing. As they passed by Lakin's pond, a duck gave a loud quack; when they came to the great ash-tree, a bee buzzed by them: but neither the quacking nor the buzzing frightened the bold Alan; and on he went, holding up his stick.

They had almost reached the sawyer's cottage, when a black animal ran out towards them. Alan asked if he should attack the tiger? Owen would have it that it was only a puppy dog: but Alan said that did not matter; for it had four legs and a head and a tail, and so had a tiger. Owen thought he had better let it alone; and Amy tamed the tiger at once by giving it a bit of bread from her basket.

Suddenly they came to a spot where five or six geese and a few goslings were waddling about. The gander came towards them, stretching out his neck, and hissing loudly. Owen and Amy ran back, followed by Alan, who told them, that, if he had hit the gander with his stick, he would have frightened the goslings.

As there was a stile near, leading into a field, they all got over the stile, and thus passed the geese.

"I wonder how that gander would like it," said Alan, "if I were to turn back, and lay hold of him by his long neck, and shake him?" Amy begged of him by no means to think of such a thing; and so Alan told her that he would not. Little did the gander know of his narrow escape!

Ah, me! what perils await those who go on their travels to seek their fortunes! A little brook was now before them; and Alan said, "This river must be crossed, and I hope that none of us will be carried away by the current. What we shall do if an Indian springs from behind the bushes, or a crocodile comes out of the sedge, I don't know. Here is the narrowest part of the river. I will lay my stick across it; and, if we make believe very much, it will do for a bridge."

"But I can't walk along your stick," said Amy. "Never mind that," said Alan: "a bridge is a bridge, whether we walk along it or not." So Alan laid his stick across the narrow part, and then jumped over the brook, followed by Owen and Amy. No Indian sprang from the bush, no crocodile came out of the sedge; and the river was crossed without one of them being drowned.

All at once it came into Alan's head that Uncle Paul had once been attacked by a wolf, and that they ought to have an adventure of the same kind: he therefore asked Owen if he would consent to be eaten up by a wolf. Owen said he did not like it: he thought Alan ought to be eaten, for he was the biggest. Alan said that would never do; for then there would be nobody to care for him and Amy.

But, besides this difficulty, there was another: they had no wolf; and, where to get one, they did not know. At last it was settled. Owen was to be the wolf, and to spring on Amy; but before he had eaten her up, or even so much as snapped off her little finger, Alan was to rush upon him with his stick, and drive him back into the woods.

Amy was now left alone, that Owen might get behind one bush, and Alan behind another. No sooner was this done, than, with her basket on her arm, she went on her journey.

And now Amy was almost come to the bush behind which Owen was crouching. For a moment she made a stop, as though she hardly durst go by; but at last she went on. Suddenly the wolf leaped out, and caught hold of her.

What was poor Amy to do? Well was it for her that Alan happened to come up. Many people are frightened at wolves; but Alan did not seem frightened at all.

It was a hard struggle; for the wolf pulled poor Amy one way, and Alan pulled her the other; but at length Alan won the day. "Shall I kill the wolf, Amy?" cried he, lifting up his stick. "No, no!" cried Amy: "he has not hurt me a bit. He is not a real wolf, but only my brother Owen."

The affair of the wolf having passed off so well, Alan began to bethink himself of other adventures. So much had he heard from Uncle Paul about Indians, that his heart was set on going among them.

Both Owen and Amy wondered where he would find the Indians; but Alan said, "That thicket yonder is quite as likely a place to find them in as any that I know."

"We have not seen one yet," said Owen. "No," replied Alan: "Indians always get behind the trees." This made Owen and Amy look about them, as if they feared every tree had an Indian behind it.

Alan set off for the thicket, while Owen and Amy sat down to talk over their travels; but it was not long before Alan again joined them. Whether the Indians were absent on some expedition, or whatever else might be the cause, certain it was that Alan had found no Indians. He had, however, torn the leg of one of his stockings: so he asked Amy to bind up his wounds.

"But you have not hurt your leg," said Amy: "you have only torn a hole in your stocking."

"Never mind that!" replied Alan. "We are out on our travels, seeking our fortunes, and must make the most of every thing. Bind up my wounded leg."

Little Amy tied up his leg with his handkerchief; and, considering that she had never bound up a wound before, it did her great credit.

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

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THE BIRDS AND THE POND-LILY

EDWIN'S DOVES

THE LITTLE FORTUNE-SEEKERS

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