the ocean
in a big ship. Papa and mamma were seasick; but Fanny and I were not,
and we liked to live on the water.

[Illustration]

When mamma packed our trunks, I wanted her to put in my little pails and
wheelbarrow; and she said there wasn't room, but that we could bring as
many numbers of "The Nursery" as we pleased. So we brought all we had.

We have used them so much, that papa says they are not fit to be bound;
but I don't want to put them away on a shelf to be kept nice. I like to
have them every day; and so does Fanny.

When we were coming on the steamer, Fanny used to sit in the captain's
lap, and tell him the stories.

[Illustration]

Our auntie sends us a new "Nursery" every month. One was lost, and we
were very sorry; for we can't read other picture-books so well. Fanny
always has a "Nursery" to take to bed with her; and in the morning, when
I wake up, I hear her talking to the boys and girls in the pictures.

C.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

HOW NORMAN BECAME AN ARTIST.

THE landscape-painter sat on a camp-stool with an umbrella over his
head. His palette and his box of paints were on the ground by his side.
He was there to draw a picture of the village of F----.

Hardly had he begun his crayon outline when he heard a boy's voice
behind him. "May I look on? sir?" said the boy. "Yes, look as much as
you please, but don't talk," said the painter without turning his head.

The boy had a basket strapped to his back, and stood looking intently,
with both hands resting on his knees. His name was Norman Blake. Other
boys, and a young woman, soon came up, and joined him as spectators.

Norman studied every movement of the painter's hand; and, when he got
home, he took a piece of charcoal, and tried to draw a picture on the
wall. Rather a rough picture it was, but pretty good for a first
attempt.

The next day Norman went again, and looked on while the painter
sketched. "You've got that line wrong," cried Norman all at once,
forgetting that the painter had told him not to talk.

"What do you know about it, you young vagabond?" cried the painter
angrily. "Out of this! Run, scamper, and don't show your rogue's face
here again! But stop. Before you go, come here, and point out what
struck you as wrong."

Norman pointed to a certain line which made the village church seem a
little out of its right place in the picture. The landscape-pain