By Elizabeth L. Banks.

"The Sunny Hour—A Monthly Magazine for Boys and Girls. Published and Edited by Tello d'Apery, a Boy twelve years old."

This was the inscription which appeared on the title-page of a new periodical which made its appearance in New York a few years ago. Editors of important daily and weekly newspapers, finding the pretty brown-covered magazine on their desks along with more ambitious-looking first numbers of other periodicals, stopped in the midst of their work to glance over the result of a twelve-year-old editor's work. Accustomed as they were to reading and hearing of prodigies in America, the land of prodigies, they were yet surprised at the enterprise, not to say the audacity, of the young boy who essayed to put himself before the public as the editor and proprietor of a magazine.

"The commercial instincts of the American nation show themselves in its very infants!" they reflected amusedly. "A few years hence that twelve-year-old, grown to be a man, is likely to make Wall Street hum."

Commercial instincts! Well, yes, perhaps, but of an order more likely to bring about results in the neighbourhood of Baxter Street and the other poverty-stricken haunts of the lowly East Side than among the brown-stone business palaces of Wall Street.

Turning to the first "leader" written by the young editor on his editorial page, the literary critics were told in childish language why so small a specimen of humanity had dared to venture into the world of letters.

"I am twelve years old," ran the leading article, "so I hope all the public will excuse any mistakes I make in my paper. I am publishing it to earn money to buy new boots and shoes and get old ones mended for poor boys and girls in New York who have to go barefooted. That's what I'm going to do with all the profits. I want to make enough money to rent a house where I can have my offices and lots of room for a Barefoot Mission, where the boys and girls in New York can come and get boots for nothing. I hope the public will buy my paper, which is a dollar a year and ten cents for single copies."

How to Manage Fathers and Mothers.

BY THE EDITOR.

I have had a father and mother twelve years, and I am said to manage them pretty well, and I am going to tell all boys and girls just how I do it, and it would do no harm for them to try the same plan and see how it works in their cases.

FACSIMILE OF AN EXTRACT FROM NO. 1
OF "THE SUNNY HOUR."

So it happened that when the important editors of New York and other large cities read the leading article in the first copy of The Sunny Hour, there was a kindness and gentleness in their tones as they threw the little periodical over to the "exchange editors," saying, "Here, this little thing isn't a bad idea at all! Be sure you notice it in your reviews."

I doubt if any other new paper ever published received from its contemporaries such kind and encouraging "press notices" as did The Sunny Hour, and when it appeared upon the stalls for sale the newsdealers sold a great many copies.

When the first number of his magazine was off his hands, little Tello began to think of ways and means for insuring its success and getting as much money as he could for his Barefoot Mission. He decided that he must have patrons, and so with his own hands he folded up and addressed copies of his paper to many great people of whom he had heard. One of the papers went to the Queen of England, and along with it was posted a letter to her Majesty telling her all about his paper and his mission and asking her to let her name go first on his list of patrons. What mattered it to the Queen that she was simply addressed as "Dear Queen" by the little American boy who wanted her for his patron! In the reply which she sent through Sir Henry Ponsonby, she told him of her interest in his noble work and gladly became his first patron.

Letters and papers were also sent to the Empress of Russia, the Queen-Regent of Spain, Queen Olga of Greece, Queen Elizabeth of Roumania, the Khedive, and numerous other royalties, all of whom wrote to him and became his patrons and subscribers. The great Church dignitaries of America, Europe, and Asia, wrote charming letters to the boy-editor, subscribing for his paper and saying that they would like to be considered patrons of The Sunny Hour Mission.

After the first number of the magazine appeared, the list of contributors became a very notable one indeed. The Queen of Roumania (Carmen Sylva) wrote several autograph poems for it, and sent an autographed photograph for publication. The Prince of Montenegro, Prince Albert of Monaco, Prince Roland Bonaparte, Osman Pasha (Grand Master of Ceremonies to the Sultan), Pierre Loti, Sir Edwin Arnold, Mr. Justin McCarthy, Sully-Prudhomme, the Rev. Edward Everett Hale, Marion Harland, and many other literary celebrities, had articles, stories, and poems in The Sunny Hour, for which they asked no reward, except the knowledge that they were helping to sell the paper and thus putting shoes on little bare feet.

With the money that came in from the subscriptions and advertisements for the paper, a building on Twenty-fourth Street was rented as an editorial and mission house. It was fitted up in the most practical way possible, with a play-room for the very little "Barefoots," a library for the older ones, a reception-room for "Barefoots," a storeroom for boots and shoes, and the editorial and publishing offices of The Sunny Hour. Though the help of grown-up people was always gladly received, only little folks were employed about the headquarters of the boy-editor and missionary. His assistant editor was a boy of his own age, Jack Bristol, whose happy face and manner gained for him the title of "Jolly Jack." Three small boys, friends of the editor, were the type-setters and printers. They had a small steam press on which they printed the magazine. Florencia Lewis, a young girl, acted as secretary and general manager.

I must not forget to mention another very important employee of the mission, who acted as carrier and distributer of boots and shoes to the little "Barefoots." He also was of very tender years—or rather I should say months, for Prince Roland Bonaparte, the St. Bernard puppy, though very much larger than many of the children who took the shoes he carried to them in his mouth, was only a few months old when the mission was started. "Prince," as he was called for short, was (and is) one of the most indefatigable and enthusiastic supporters of the Barefoot Mission in New York. As a puppy he always had a place of honour in the reception-room where the barefooted children went to make their requests. By the time he was four months old "Prince" learned to tell a "Barefoot" on sight, so that, as soon as a poor little shivering tot made its appearance, the puppy would wag his tail and gravely trot into the storeroom, procure a pair of boots, and, returning, lay them at the bare feet of the applicant. It must be confessed that "Prince's" sagacity, great though it was, did not always enable him to select just the right-sized boot for the would-be wearer. There were also a few occasions, during his initiation into his new duties, when he disgraced himself by chewing up one shoe while the "Barefoot" was putting on the other, but he has outgrown these puppyish proclivities. He now weighs one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and is one of the finest and most useful St. Bernards in New York. When out walking with his young master, he always stops in front of any shops where boots and shoes are displayed in the windows, and with a worldly-wise look in his eyes and numerous wags of his huge tail seems to be trying to calculate in his mind just how many applicants at the Barefoot Mission could have their feet shod if the shopkeepers did their duty. It takes all Tello's powers of coaxing and persuasion to keep him from entering the shop and carrying off by force (in his mouth) some of the wares displayed for sale.

Not all, perhaps only a very few, new enterprises in the literary world are able to meet all their expenses and show a profit during the first year of their existence, but the twelve-year-old boy's enterprise was able to do this. Beside meeting all his expenses, he had at the end of the first year been able to distribute 760 pairs of shoes to the poor children of New York. Not all of these were new. Some were old ones mended by Tello's special shoemaker in such a way as to make them almost as good as new in the matter of usefulness, if not in appearance. Then people began to send in stockings (some new, some old), dresses, boys' suits, underwear, old playthings, etc., until the Barefoot Mission became indeed a blessed place to the poor of New York. When Christmas came, the boy-editor provided a great Christmas tree and festival, where not only boots and shoes and clothing were distributed to the needy, but turkeys and ham, and cakes and "candies" were given out, to the great delight of the 700 children who attended it. Here is one of the many pathetic little letters the young editor received just before one of the Christmas festivals. It was published at the time in The Sunny Hour:—

"Dear Mr. Tello,—Me and my little sister and the baby can't have no crismus this year 'cause our father is dying and granma is sick with perelisis and our little bruther died two weeks ago and the city had to bury him. Mother is not working 'cause the baby is too little—there's ten of us all counted. So if you have any crismus won't you let us come, for we all haven't got clothes to keep us warm nor shoes, and no coal except what my big brother picks up—nothing to eat hardly. Yours respecfully."

Childish letters of appeal similar to the above have been coming in ever since the mission was started, and they have acted as a continual spur to the young missionary. The distributions increased until one day 3,032 pairs of shoes and stockings were given out, and about 2,000 flannel garments as well.

Meanwhile The Sunny Hour magazine increased in interest and circulation. The list of eminent contributors and patrons became larger every month. Very busy men and women, for the product of whose pens the editors of the best periodicals were willing to pay liberally, sent in gratis to The Sunny Hour stories and poems to be edited by a little boy.

When the mission and the magazine had been running for about three years Tello d'Apery's health broke down from overwork, and through the kindness of a friend he made a trip round the world, leaving his paper and mission in the care of "Jolly Jack," the assistant editor. The boy carried copies of his little paper along with him, his object being to interest everyone he met in his work, and this object was attained to such an extent that on his return he numbered among his subscribers nearly every Oriental potentate. He was received in audience by the Sultan and the Khedive. The latter was especially kind to him, delegating one of his sons to show him about Cairo, and became so interested in the Barefoot Mission that he contributed one hundred dollars towards it. It was during his visit to Egypt that Tello d'Apery became distinguished as the only American boy who has ever been decorated by a foreign potentate. The Khedive conferred upon him the Order of the Medjidieh, which carried with it the title of Bey. Other orders, medals, and titles have been showered upon the young American. He is a Chevalier of the Order of Bolivar, conferred upon him by the President of Colombia. The Order of Umberto was also conferred upon him in Italy. He is also a Chevalier of the Order of St. Katherine, and another order gives him the title of "Don." He has received in all eighteen decorations and medals, and it is by special request that he has had his portrait taken with a number of his decorations fastened to his coat. In writing to me recently concerning this portrait, he says: "Of course, being an all-round and patriotic American boy, I could not use a title, and care only for my decorations because of the good friends who gave them to me and the interest that they show has been taken in my work by great people abroad."

With this issue I present the initial number of The Sunny Hour, modestly, as becomes so young an editor, but hopefully, because I mean to try and make it worthy of a place in every home where there are children.

If I find as much encouragement in my subscription list and advertising patronage, as I hope, I shall enlarge my paper every three months, and add new features. In any case it has come to stay one year.

I shall devote my paper to such literature as mothers will approve, and there will be no Indian Scalping, nor pistols, nor any such thing. I shall always uphold the cause of temperance and morality and so shall not touch upon politics, and it shall be my earnest endeavor to deserve well of the public.

If my paper ever falls below expectations, please remember that I am only twelve years old.—The Editor.

———

SPECIAL NOTICE.

All paying subscribers, who desire it, are entitled to a cabinet photograph of the editor, with his autograph. This is not done from vanity, but because he thought perhaps some persons might like to see what the youngest editor and publisher in the world looks like.

FROM NO. 1 OF "THE SUNNY HOUR."

When Tello returned from his travels, much improved in health, his boy friends took a notion to call him "Chevalier d'Apery," but on pain of his sore displeasure the title was dropped, he declaring that it was not for publication but only as an evidence of good faith on the part of his decorators. A medal that he very highly prizes is a gold one given him by the venerable Patriarch of Alexandria, Sophronius, who had it struck when he had been fifty years in office. There are only four others like Tello's in the world. The Patriarch presented one to Tello, one to the Queen of Greece, one to the late Queen of Denmark, and one to the Empress Dowager of Russia. Sophronius is now one hundred and six years old, and is one of Tello's most devoted friends, writing frequent letters to him in Apostolic Greek.

Many also are the presents Tello d'Apery has received from noted people. Don Carlos of Spain, the Queen of Greece, and many other royalties, have sent him tokens of their interest and esteem, so that, besides his medals and decorations, he has a number of interesting and valuable scarf-pins, rings, etc. While in Athens the Queen of Greece entertained him at the palace, and begged him to make her a member of The Sunny Hour Mission Club, which he did by himself pinning at her throat the pretty little badge of the Order of The Sunny Hour, the Queen repeating after him the promise made by all those who join the Club: "I promise to give one hour each week to some good action. I will be kind to my parents, to my brothers and sisters, to the poor and the unfortunate, and to animals."

These Sunny Hour Mission Clubs are auxiliaries of The Sunny Hour and Barefoot Mission, and have been formed in different parts of the world. There is one in Paris, which has been very prosperous, and there has also been one in London. There are a number of little persons belonging to royal families who wear the badge of The Sunny Hour. Among them are the little Lady Alexandra Duff, and the tiny Prince Boris of Bulgaria.

After his return from abroad Tello d'Apery published an account of his experiences in a book called "Europe Seen through a Boy's Eyes," all the profits of which went to buy shoes for the barefooted children of New York. He also, in order to get more money for his work, started a little book and stationery shop, spending a part of his time there behind the counter and a part of it behind his editorial desk. Recently his health has again failed, and he has been obliged to lessen some of his arduous labours. He is now trying to establish a mammoth boot- and shoe-mending shop of his own, where old foot-gear may be repaired at less expense than it is now. When this object is accomplished, some of the "Barefoots" themselves will learn the cobbler's trade and work in the establishment, thus helping others while helping themselves.

The idea is to rent a building, or at least a part of a building, for the purpose, and issue circulars to the residents of New York and vicinity, asking them to send their old boots and shoes to the building, or, better still, to have a horse and cart go about from house to house to collect them. Then two or three expert cobblers will be hired for a few months to mend them and to take a certain number of apprentices from among the "Barefoots" and teach them the trade of cobbling. Only such boys as show a liking and aptitude for the work will, of course, be chosen as apprentices. They will spend the whole day or only a few hours a day at the work, as their other duties permit. Not only will they be taught to mend boots—they will also be taught to make them. When they have learned their trade they will receive the same wages as other workmen are paid. Of course, when The Sunny Hour "Barefoots" (or, rather, those who have been "Barefoots" in times gone by) become expert shoemakers, there is no reason why they should confine their efforts to making and mending boots for the New York poor alone. Tello d'Apery hopes that many orders for men's and women's and children's footgear will be received from well-to-do New Yorkers, so that not only will the expenses of the establishment be met, but an extra amount of money taken in for the mission. It is a magnificent scheme, and we can but hope that this noble American boy may be able to carry it out.