The Nursery, No. 106, October, 1875. Vol. XVIII. | Page 5

[Illustration]
THE UNMOTHERLY HEN.
Now, my dear children, if you will be very quiet, I will tell you a true
story, which I sometimes tell my little daughter Fanny and her cousin
Grace, when they climb up on my knees just before going to bed.
On a farm near Fishkill, where Fanny's Aunt Jane lives, they raise a
great many chickens, turkeys, ducks, and geese. When I was a boy,
ever so many years ago, I used to have great fun hunting for eggs
through the hay and straw in the barns.
Well, last year one of the hens, instead of laying her eggs in the
hen-house or barn, like a well-mannered hen, stole off under a
wood-pile, and was not seen for three weeks, when she made her
appearance with a fine brood of chickens. To keep her from straying
away again, she was put into a coop. For several days, she was a good
mother to her children; but, after a week or so, she began to act very
strangely, and, when her children came near her, she would peck and
abuse them.
Would you believe it, children? in one day, this unmotherly hen had
pecked all but one of her chickens to death; and, when Aunt Jane found
this poor chap, he had but one eye, and all the toes were gone from one
foot; so that he had to stand on the other. At first, Aunt Jane thought it
would be a mercy to kill the little fellow, and put him out of pain; but
she finally determined that she would try to cure him.

So she took him into the kitchen, and made him quite comfortable in a
box half filled with cotton-batting, and placed near the stove. She gave
him cracked-corn to eat, and plenty of water to drink, and, after a while,
he got so strong, that he hopped out of the box, and was just as jolly a
chicken as he could be, with only one eye to see with, and only one
foot and the stump of another to walk on.
Still he would not go out and play with other chickens of his age, but
persisted in hanging around the kitchen. One morning, when Aunt Jane
went into the breakfast-room, she found him on the table, helping
himself from a dish of stewed potatoes. Such impudence could no
longer be tolerated: so the saucy little cripple was banished to the
barnyard to learn manners.
And what do you think became of the unmotherly hen? She lost all her
friends. She was despised and hated by everybody on the farm. She was
pointed at as "that cruel, speckled hen," until life became a burden to
her. She was not permitted to have any more chickens. When the cold
weather came, she was sent to a poor woman for a thanksgiving dinner;
and it is to be hoped that all the hens in the barnyard took warning from
her fate.
C.R.W. LANSINGBURGH. N.Y.
[Illustration: Outline Drawing by MR. HARRISON WEIR, as a
drawing lesson.]

THE CHILDREN'S VISIT TO THE LIGHTHOUSE.
Charlie and Georgie were staying at Appledore, one of the Isles of
Shoals, and, with two other little children, had many nice times fishing
and sailing.
The lighthouse is on White Island, which, as you see in the picture, is a
lonely and rocky place. It would be very dangerous for any ship to
come in from sea on that part of the coast, if it were not for the friendly
warning of the brilliant light.

One warm, sunny morning, Charlie and Georgie, with their papa and
mamma, and their two little friends, rowed across from Appledore, and
landed on the pebbly beach of White Island. Here the children ran
about, and picked up stones until they were tired; and then the whole
party seated themselves on some shaded rocks, and ate their lunch of
crackers and bananas.
While they were eating, an old white dog, belonging to the lighthouse
keeper, came up and made their acquaintance. Georgie shared his cake
with him; and it was amusing to see the old dog watching with eager
eyes every piece that went into any mouth but his own.
When lunch was over, the two older children, Charlie and Anna, led the
way; and all were soon climbing the winding stairs in the lighthouse
tower. When they reached the top, they found themselves in a small
room with windows on every side, and the great lamp in the centre. The
lantern is made of red-and-white glass, and turns around, so that first a
red, and then a white, light may be seen far out at sea.
The keeper explained how, after lighting the lamp, he wound up the
machinery which caused the lamp to revolve;