The Nursery, No. 107, November, 1875, Vol. XVIII. | Page 7

a steam-engine before, and he knew better than to attack one after that. But he was not afraid of any thing else.
When the soldiers went out to battle, Major would go with them, and bark and growl all the time. Once, in a battle way down in Louisiana, Major began to bark and growl as usual, and to stand up on his hind-legs. Then he ran around, saying, "_Ki-yi, ki-yi_." By and by he saw a cowardly soldier, who was running away; and he seized that soldier by the leg, and would not let him go for a long time. He wanted him to go back and fight.
Soon after this, Major began to jump up in the air, trying to bite the bullets that whistled over his head. When a bullet struck the ground, he would run and try to dig it out with his paws. At last he placed himself right in front of an advancing line of soldiers, as much as to say, "Don't come any further!" He seemed to think that he could drive them back all alone.
By and by a bullet hit Major as he was jumping about; and he dropped down dead. The soldiers all felt sad, and some of them cried. They missed him like one of their comrades, and they had many to mourn for in that dreadful battle. I hope there never will be another war.
PINKY.
PORTLAND, ME.

[Illustration]
THE SURPRISE.
"Whose hands are over your eyes? Guess quick."
"Old Mother Hubbard's?"
"Wrong: guess again."
"The good fairy's, Teenty Tawnty?"
"There are no fairies in this part of the country, and you know it. Guess again."
"Well, I guess it is the old woman that lived in a shoe."
"She is not in these parts. I will give you one more chance. Who is it?"
"I think it must be little Miss Muffit,--the one who was frightened by a spider."
"Nonsense! One would think you had read nothing but 'Mother Goose's Melodies.'"
"Can it be Tom, Tom, the piper's son?"
"No, I never stole a pig in my life. Now give the right name this time, or prepare to have your ears pulled."
"Oh, that would never do! I think it must be my cousin, Jenny Mason, who is hiding the daylight from me."
"Right! Right at last! One kiss, and you may go."
IDA FAY.

[Illustration]
LITTLE PEDRO.
Pedro is a little Italian boy, who lives in Chicago. When I first knew him, he was roaming about from house to house, playing on the fiddle, and singing.
Sometimes kind persons gave him money, and then he always looked happy. But many times he got nothing for his music, and then he was very sad; for he lived with a cruel master, who always beat him when he came home at night without a good round sum.
One day last spring, he had worked very hard; but people were so busy moving, or cleaning house, that, when night came, he had very little money. He felt very tired: so he went home with what he had.
But his cruel master, without stopping to hear a word from the little fellow, gave him a whipping, and sent him out again. He came to my gate, long after I had gone to bed, and played and sang two or three songs; but he did not sing very well, for he was too tired and sleepy.
Just across the street, in an unfinished building, the carpenters had left a large pile of shavings. Pedro saw this by the moonlight, as he went along; and he thought he would step in and lie down to rest. His head had hardly touched the pillow of shavings before he was asleep.
He dreamed about his pleasant home far away in Italy. He thought he was with his little sisters, and he saw his dear mother smile as she gave him his supper; but, just as he was going to eat, some sudden noise awoke him.
He was frightened to find it was daylight, and that the sun was high in the sky. In the doorway stood a kind gentleman looking at him. Pedro sprang up, and took his fiddle; but the gentleman stopped him as he was going out, and asked if that pile of shavings was all the bed he had. He spoke so kindly, that Pedro told him his story.
The gentleman felt so sorry for him, and was so pleased with his sweet, sad face, that he took him to his own home, and gave him a nice warm breakfast; and, being in want of an errand-boy, he concluded to let Pedro have the place.
Pedro has lived happily in his new home ever since; and, though he still likes to play on his fiddle, he has no wish to return to his old wandering mode of life.
COUSIN EMILY.
[Illustration]

[Illustration]
THE PARROT'S LAMENT.
Swinging in a gilded cage, Petted like a baby's doll, Thus I spend