EDITOR’S PORTFOLIO.

The beautiful picture of The Cataract of Lodore, in our present number, is well illustrated by Southey’s famous lines which were written for his little boys and girls, or, as he phrased it, “for the nursery.”

We call special attention to the illustration of “The First Corner” on page 117.  It is a design by Perkins, exquisitely engraved by John Andrew & Son.

“The Boy who loved his mother” is another picture that is worthy of special notice.  The “Drawing-Lesson” by Weir, should attract the attention of all children who want to learn to draw.

Canvassers will find from our terms that we offer them rare inducements for extending the circulation of “The Nursery.”  It is poor economy, even in the hardest times, for parents to neglect what may largely contribute to the education of their children.

“The Easy Book” and “The Beautiful Book,” are now recognized as Standard works for the young, and continue to be in great demand.  To these we shall soon add “The Nursery Primer,” which will surpass everything of the kind yet got up.

“Next to a baby,” writes a subscriber in Charlotte, Mich., “there never was such joy in a household as ‘The Nursery.’  My little girl will repeat nearly every poem, though she does not know a letter.  My boy is just two, and such a yell of delight when he finds a ‘bow-wow,’ as he calls the dog, all to himself, would astonish a Piute Indian.  I don’t have to keep any ‘cramp drops,’ ‘baby jumpers’ or ’patent food,’(?) for the children.  I find they never have an ail or grievance, but ‘The Nursery’ acts as a specific.  I wish every mother in the land would give it to her children on trial.  And really it makes old people feel quite sunny.”

It will be seen by a notice in our advertising pages, that the Publisher of “The Nursery” is prepared to execute various commissions in the way of purchasing and forwarding books, Maps, Games, Stationery, &c., for parties desiring them.

[Illustration:  The boy who loved his mother.]

THE BOY WHO LOVED HIS MOTHER

When Felix was a little fellow, hardly two years old, he used to pet his mother, and tell her how much he loved her.

As he grew up, he showed his love by his acts.  He minded his mother; he gave her his attention when she talked to him; and, if she told him not to do a thing, he would not do it.

If she said, “Felix, don’t do that,” he would not fret, and say, “Why not, mother?” Oh, no!  He would at once give up what he was doing; for he knew she would not, without some good reason, forbid him to do a thing that pleased him.

Once, when Felix had grown to be six years old, his mother took him with her on a journey in the railroad-cars to New York.  It was a fine day in June:  the windows of the cars were open.