er the trees, and all about, grow ferns, and mosses soft as velvet.

Bright-eyed squirrels frisk about over the ground, and run nimbly up
into the tree-tops; and pretty brown partridges walk daintily around,
picking up seeds and berries to carry home to their baby-partridges,
hidden away in soft nests on the ground.

Through a forest like this, where it had always been so quiet and
peaceful that the birds and squirrels did not know what it was to be
afraid, a railroad-track was laid not long ago. Then the great engine
went thundering on its way to a pleasant city by the sea, carrying with
it a long train of cars, the smoke curling up brown and thick from the
smoke-stack, and the shrill whistle waking the echoes among the distant
hills.

One day, when the train was going at full speed through the woods, a
partridge, flying from one part of the forest to another, being
frightened and bewildered by the noise, dashed against the smoke-stack,
and fell at the engineer's feet. The engineer, whose name was Nathaniel
Grant, took up the poor frightened bird, gently stroked its ruffled
feathers, and carried it carefully to his home.

There the partridge was treated with the greatest kindness, and soon got
over its bruises. But it longed for the quiet woods, where its life had
been spent. It could not eat, and seemed to be almost breaking its heart
with home-sickness.

So the next day, when Mr. Grant started off again on the engine, he took
the bird with him. Watching very carefully for the place where the
partridge had flown in, he found, at last, the exact spot. There he set
the bird free, and away it flew, back to its peaceful home.

DORA'S MAMMA.

[Illustration]

A LETTER FROM MINNESOTA.

WHEN "The Nursery" came the other day to St. Paul, two little boys who
live here, named Charley and John, found a story in it about a bear who
used to walk in our streets. That story was true; and these little boys
were so pleased with it, that they want me to write you about a new pet
they have.

[Illustration]

It isn't a kitty with nice soft fur, nor a dog that will run and jump
and play with them, nor a canary-bird to wake them up with his sweet
songs; but it is a turtle, which the boys found trying to get across the
street near their home.

John, who is three years old, said, "I guess the poor little turtle is
lost, and is trying to find his mamma again." So he picked