The sweetest of letters.
Miss Bessie, for you,
From bonny Prince Charlie
Or Little Boy Blue.
The brightest of letters,
Sir Arthur, for you.
From fair Lady Edith
Or dear little Sue.
Your name is not Arthur?
Your name's not Bess?
Peep into your letter;'
You'll find it, I guess.
For the loveliest missives
Are flying all round
As thick as the white flakes
That fly to the ground.
And Our Post-office Box,
Like a ship in the bay,
Is crammed and is jammed
This Valentine's Day.
Detroit, Michigan. The other night, about eleven o'clock, as my father and Mr. Sherrill (he is a student, and my father is a doctor) were reading in the office, they heard a noise on the steps, and my father went out, and saw a large owl right before him. So he threw a rubber cloak over him, and brought him in, and Mr. Owl screamed and yelled like anything, but he was put safely into a bushel basket, and a cover clapped over it. The next morning we went out on the steps, and found a large dead rat, which the owl had brought there with the purpose of eating. The following night we let him go.
Royal T.F.
New York City. My name is Paul. I live in New York, near Central Park. I am five years old, and go to school. My teacher is my beau. My teacher is Miss Lizzie C. I love her. I printed this all on my slate myself, and my mamma copied it off for me. I can draw a boat; and I can draw it nice, too. My big brother has a big boat. Susie helped me spell all the big words in this letter. Susie is eight. She is my sister, and she had a big French doll named Eva. Naughty Charlie broke Eva's head, and Susie cried. Charlie is our baby girl. We haven't any cat or dog, but the firemen on our block have a nobby little dog named Prince, and we boys all play with him. He sometimes follows me into our house, and we think he is so cute. I drew the boat all myself. Don't you think it a nice one?
Paul L.L. Yes, Paul, the boat you drew in your letter was very well done indeed for such a little boy. You must send us some Wiggles.
Cambridge, Massachusetts. I live in Cambridge, very near the famous Washington Elm, of which you gave an illustration in Vol. I., No. 25, page 340. It does not look very much like that now, but resembles any other large old tree, and has an iron fence around it, and an upright slab, with an inscription, saying, Under This Tree Washington First Took Command of the American Army. July 3d. 1775. It is on Garden Street. On the north side is the Common, on the southwest is the Shepard Congregational Church. Near to this, though on another street, is Longfellow's house. I had Miss Anna Longfellow for my Sunday-school teacher last Sunday. I very much liked the picture in Young People entitled "Little Dreamer." I have had the two volumes of Harper's Young People bound in your handsome cover. I am glad to have Tuesday come, because I get my paper on that day.
Arthur M.M.
Washington, D.C. My name is Eugenia A. I am nine years old, and my sister Bessie is five. Every summer we go to visit our Aunt Ella in Pennsylvania, near Pittsburgh. Last summer we made the journey alone, changing cars at Cumberland. The conductor helped us, and a gentleman was at the last station to help us off, and take care of us. We had a trunk and a lunch basket. When mamma was packing, papa said she might as well take the trunk for our lunch and the basket for our clothes. Aunt Ella came down for us, and bought me a large doll, which I named Mignonette, and a set of dishes, and Bessie two dolls and a rocking-chair. We hunted eggs, and tried to milk, and had a good time. Aunt Ella sends me Young People, and Bessie Our Little Folks.
Chicago, Illinois. I am going to tell Young People about my great fishing last summer. I went to Milwaukee on an excursion, and staid there a few days. While there I thought I would go a-fishing. So I went one morning early, and staid on the pier until noon, but did not catch a single fish, missed a half-day's pleasure while there (because there were other places I could have gone to), spent nearly all my money for car fare, lost my fishing-tackle, and, besides, broke my fishing-pole, and since that time I have not been fishing.
F.E.K. You had quite a day of disappointment. But we have no doubt other fishermen have at times had equally bad luck, and the only way to do is to take such misfortunes philosophically.
New York City. I am nothing but a little white mouse, and I am almost two years old. I was born in a market, and my mate and I were bought by a little girl. I have had over twenty babies, and have only one left. My mistress lets us run around the room once a day to exercise ourselves. One evening she let us run out as usual, and my son that I have now and his little sister were about two weeks old. My grandmistress had company, and my mate ran right under the rockers, and was killed instantly. My troubles seemed to come right in a bunch, for a few days after, my little daughter was carried down stairs by the old cat. My mistress weighed me and my little son this morning, and I heard her say I weighed one-sixteenth of an ounce, and my son one-fourth of an ounce. My mistress takes Young People, and I often hear her say it is the nicest little paper she ever read. I have travelled about a great deal, and my name is
Little Mother Mouse. Ever so many thanks to Maud for helping her pretty white mouse to write this tragic tale.
Clanton, Alabama. I live in a little town of about three hundred inhabitants. It is only eleven years old, though, and builds up tolerably fast; don't you think so? About half a mile from this place there is an old field in which we think there must have once been an Indian battle fought, because the ground is almost covered with broken arrow and spear heads. My brother and I found some that were perfect. He found one that was stained with blood.
John Nat T.
Newark, New Jersey. I go to school every day. We have Harper's Young People in our school, and I have taken it at home from the first number. We are soon to have an entertainment, which is going to be splendid. I wish you could attend it. Our principal is a very nice man when he has no boys to punish. I think he does not like to punish boys. We have a very nice teacher. At the end of the last term the pupil who had received the greatest number of merits was rewarded by an elegant medal. Her name was Nellie A. The best writer received a story-book, and the scholar with the highest average a silver napkin-ring. Do you not think it is very nice for the teachers to present the best scholars with handsome presents? In the last class that I was in I received the medal. It was made out of solid silver, with a bar attached to a round plate by a little chain. On the bar the word Merit was engraved: on the medal there was a wreath, inside of which were my initials.
C.F.K.
Mount Pulaski, Illinois. I am a little girl eight years old. My home is in Mount Pulaski, Illinois. I am not going to school this winter. I have had the typhoid fever, and now have the whooping-cough. My papa hears me say my lessons at home, so that I may not get behind my class. I read in the Fourth Reader, and study spelling, arithmetic, and geography. I have two pet rabbits, and I keep them in a cage. They are black and white. I shall turn them out in the spring. We have a little niece at our house. She is two years old, and her name is Ella. Her mother died last fall.
Lena A.A. We are glad, dear, that you are safely through the typhoid fever, and we advise you to study very little, and play a great deal for a good while to come. Never mind if your class does get on a little faster than you can. Health is more important for you just now than rapid progress in study.
Urbana, Ohio. I have taken Harper's Young People from the first number. My mamma reads me all the stories and letters, and I enjoy them very much. I have several pets: a white rabbit, which is very pretty, a large-yellow-striped cat named Tiger, but called Tige for short, and two canaries. I have also quite a case of butterflies, which I caught last summer. Some of them I took when caterpillars, and fed them until they spun their cocoons, and then watched them as they came out. I am learning to read, write, and draw, but can not write well enough yet, so mamma is writing this for me. I will not be seven years old until next spring.
James A.N.
Stockton, California. I think Young People is a very nice paper. I am nearly eleven years old. I have a sister nine years old. A friend of mamma's told me this story one day: A father was telling his little daughter that the earth turned around once every twenty-four hours. The little girl sat quietly on his knee for a few minutes, and then said, 'Papa, I do think I feel a little dizzy.' She lisped a little bit. I got a great many nice things Christmas. Papa gave me a gold pen. We have a pet canary-bird.
Louie E.P. Did you write your letter with your new pen? We think so, it was so beautifully written.
Wentworth, New Hampshire. My brother Harry has taken Young People a year, and we like it very much. I read about the little girls' dolls in their letters, and want to tell them about mine. I have eight. Papa says he don't know about supporting so many children for me. I had a large wax doll at Christmas last year; her name is Jennie, a small one this year, named Florence, and one named Mamie, and others named Budge, Todie, and George. I have a very large cat named Nicodemus. There are no children but my brother Harry and myself. He is thirteen, and I am seven. Harry takes Harper's Young People and Wide Awake magazine, and I Our Little Ones and the Pansy. I go to school when we have one, and can read all our papers; but can only write in printing, so I asked mamma to write this for me. Please give my love to all the little girls.
L. Addie M.
South Amboy, New Jersey. I am twelve years old. I am going to tell you about the little canary-bird we have. When we first got him, several years ago, his eyesight was perfectly good. We used to let him fly around the room with another canary-bird we had. That canary-bird died, and the other bird gradually got blind in one eye, and then in the other; and now he is perfectly blind. But he sings from morning until night. We have to cover him in the morning, he sings so early he wakes us up before the time. You can hear him singing all over the house during the day. Children, how much happier ought we to be, who have our eyesight, than this poor little blind canary!
Julia S.
Hastings. I write to tell you that I have learned the names of all the Kings and Queens of England, and the dates of their coronation; I learned them in just one week. I have to walk nearly two miles to school. I have no brother or sister; my sister Ella died one year ago, and was buried on my ninth birthday. I want to tell you about a trout-pond we have on our farm, and how we raise the little speckled trout. We put their spawn on wire screens in a wooden trough, and let spring water run through it. It takes about fifty days for them to hatch. When they are hatched, they have something attached to their stomach which is called a food sac, and on which they live for about forty days. After that is gone we have to feed them. Last winter we hatched twenty thousand, and expect to raise as many more this year. Trout spawn in November and December, and the eggs are hatched in the winter. A few weeks ago my father noticed his screens had been disturbed in the night. We set a trap, and in the morning it had a musk-rat caught in it. My auntie takes Harper's Young People for me, and I am very glad every week when it comes.
Bert Campbell. In what State is your Hastings? You forgot to tell us.
Bardstown, Kentucky. I want to tell you all what a nice pony I have. My papa presented him to me when I was eight years old. I call him Leander. Oh, he is perfectly splendid! and although I am only eight years and a little over, I can ride and manage him quite well. I know some of the little girls, and boys too, would laugh to see me when I start off to school, which is only six or seven squares from home. I ride every morning on my pony, and there is a little colored boy named Ed, who lives in our family, who likes to ride so well that he runs along beside me to school so that he can ride home alone. He thinks it is jolly. I have the cutest little black-and-tan terrier, which I call Tim. I just wish you could see him. And then my papa and I have a very fine mocking-bird, which we call Dick. I saw the letter of dear Rosie K.B., and know her very well; so, dear Editor, please put my letter in, and see if anybody can guess who I am.
Florence E. McK.
Bowling Green, Kentucky. I am a little boy nine years old, and I have a little dog just the same age, named Fannie. She has been my constant companion ever since I was six months old. I have two white rabbits, one named Floss and the other Fleece. I would like some of the little boys who have had some experience in raising rabbits to tell me how to treat them. I have the smallest little pony you ever saw. He is nearly white. I call him Santa. I live in the sweetest little city in Kentucky. We have nice hills to coast on in the winter, and the finest river in the world to go swimming in in the summer; it is clear as glass on account of its gravel bottom. We go up to a sand-bar, and jump off the sycamore logs into the water over our heads. Sometimes fishing parties of young ladies and gentlemen come by in boats while we are swimming, and in trying to hide ourselves we look like so many turtles sitting on logs. I have two brothers older than myself. I have no sisters, but I have a darling little cousin. I called her Little Buttercup once, and she said, "You tan't dink out of me."
Richard T.
Aberdeen, Mississippi. We are two little Southern girls, and live away down in Mississippi. We read the Young People, and like it ever so much. We are little girl neighbors. Emma and Eugenia are our names. We are great friends, go to the same school, and take music lessons. Eugenia's mamma gave her a Christmas tree. Emma received on it two nice books and a ring, and Eugenia one book, one talking doll, and a work-box. Our tree was just too lovely. We had it in our parlor, and some other little girls were here. We were just too happy. We wish Christmas would come oftener, and are sorry when it is over. We have three pet cats, two gray ones and one yellow one. Eugenia is very anxious for a canary. Mamma had two; the cat caught one, and the owl caught one at night. That was a long time ago. We have violets and white hyacinths in bloom. Mamma has a great many flowers. If you do not think this too long, we would be so glad to see it in print, as it is our first letter to the little people. Eugenia was the first to take this little paper in Aberdeen, and now several are taking it, mamma spoke so well of it to her friends. Emma has three sisters.
Emma and Eugenia. How we wish we had violets too! But we must wait a while in this latitude for out-door flowers.
Clara W.—Your little story about "May in Fairy-land" is very well written, and we advise you to cultivate your taste for composition by writing such stories frequently.
Ruby R.—Your dear little poem is put away safely in a pigeon-hole, but not to stay there forever. If you have patience to wait until the year rolls around again, you will probably see it in Our Post-office Box.
Frank B.B.—You are very kind to read the stories in Young People to your little sisters, and we are glad to hear about your fun with your sled and velocipede. There is not room for your letter, nor for those of at least a hundred other boys, but we will be pleased to hear from you again. Why don't you solve some of the puzzles?
Florence.—Read what I said to Rita in last week's paper. Isn't it fun to put your dollies to bed at night? We hope you undress them carefully, little girls, and fold up their garments, and put on their night-gowns nicely. Here is a rhyme for you to sing to them when they are going to sleep: A BED-TIME SONG. Hushaby, baby—now, baby, don't cry;
You are quite safe, dear, when mother is by.
Lullaby, dolly, lie still now, and rest,
Safe in your cradle as bird in a nest.
Hushaby, baby—now, baby, be good;
Only the naughty are angry and rude.
Lullaby, dolly, to-morrow you'll ride
Out in your carriage, with me by your side.
Hushaby, baby—you sweet little pet!
Mother is pleased when her baby don't fret.
Lullaby, lullaby, what shall I do?
For I am afraid I am half asleep too. And as we do not mean to neglect the boys, here is a song for them: HURRAH! Hurrah for the ice,
For the snow and sleet!
Hurrah for the wind
That is fierce and fleet!
Hurrah for lessons!
Hurrah for fun
When lessons are over,
And school is done!
Hurrah for the boys
Who are full of glee!
Hurrah for old winter!
The time for me!
Lucy P.N.—Mr. James Payn is writing a series of articles descriptive of thrilling adventures, experiences, and disasters. They appear under the general title of "Perils and Privations," and will be given from time to time. They will not be dependent upon each other for interest, but each will stand by itself. We are glad you like such reading.
Thanks to Mary P.L. for the spray of trailing arbutus from her mother's window garden. It must be delightful to have this darling of spring perfuming the sitting-room in midwinter.
Little correspondents will please write their address plainly at the head of their letter—town, county, and State—in every case. We like to know where you live as well as who you are.
The Editor of Young People can not conduct any business or supervise any correspondence which concerns exchanges. Exchangers must write directly to each other, to the addresses given in the notices, and not to the care of Messrs. Harper & Brothers.
Exchangers will please address Vaux Chadwick, 44 St. George Street, Toronto, Canada. In No. 116 his name was incorrectly printed Vance.
C.Y.P.R.U. Do you know, dear C.Y.P.R.U., that a princess named Kudsia Begum, whose palace was at Bhopal, India, has lately died, leaving behind her a very beautiful train of memories? This princess was very good to the poor, and every month a great many aged and sick men and women received a sum of money from her treasury. She also fed a great many forlorn dogs; and as for the birds, hundreds of them built their nests around her palace, and were tenderly cared for by the kind lady.
A Colorado correspondent sends us a slip from the Pueblo Daily Chieftain, giving a thrilling description of the bravery of a boy twelve years of age who was suddenly confronted by a savage beast. We condense the account. The boy's name was Amos Bennett, and he lives at the Carlile Springs Ranch. He started off one day lately, with his dog Curly, to hunt rabbits, armed only with a gun loaded with small shot. The boy and dog went up the gulch a little way, when the latter began to tremble, whine, and take hold of his master's clothing, evidently urging him to go back. Little Amos kept on, however, until, rounding a point of rocks, he came on a huge mountain lion which had just killed a large gray mare which was being wintered on the ranch. The monster left his prey, and came gliding toward the boy, lashing his sides with his tail. The boy stood perfectly still, his dog crouching at his feet. He waited, with his gun cocked and thrown forward, ready for the assault, determined to sell his life dearly. When the lion sprang into the air, the boy took steady and deliberate aim, and fired when the animal was high in the air, the charge entering the animal's mouth, and passing out through the top of its head, going directly through the monster's brain, and killing it instantly, the animal dropping dead at the boy's feet. The beast measured eleven feet and three inches from the end of its nose to the tip of its tail, and was one of the largest and most powerful animals of the kind ever seen in this section of the State. The young hero of this exploit says that he does not think he was much scared, but does not care to have his courage tested in that way again. Honor to the brave little fellow who did not lose his presence of mind in those terrible moments.
Members of the C.Y.P.R.U. will find in this number, under the title of "Picciola," a most interesting article by Mrs. Sophia Herrick, illustrating some of the leading principles in the growth of plants. The boys will be interested in an account by Sherwood Ryse of the Scottish game of "Curling,", including the description of a match recently played at Central Park. Aunt Marjorie Precept also gives us some excellent hints how to act in sudden and dangerous emergencies, in her little article entitled "Presence of Mind."
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS. No. 1. A NINE-LETTER DIAMOND. 1. A letter. 2. A spider. 3. Inclosed. 4. A provider. 5. Endured, 6. Scolds. 7. To prevent by fear. 8. Certain foreign coins. 9. A letter. Rengaw.
No. 2. ENIGMA. Percy F. Jameson.
No. 3. DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 1. Purchasing. 2. A thief. 3. A drug. 4. A long dress. 5. High regard. Primals—The envied of her sex. Finals—A servant. Combined—The happiest of men. Bob.
No. 4. A WORD SQUARE. 1. A city in France. 2. A part. 3. To rob. 4. A sluggard. 5. Prophets. Bob.
No. 5. A HALF-SQUARE. 1. To refrain. 2. The east. 3. Stiff. 4. German for leg. 5. Termination. 6. A preposition. 7. A letter. W.D.M.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 117. No. 1. Pine. Oak. Maple. Elm. Ash. Beech. Fir. Apple. Pear. No. 2. Whip-poor-will. No. 3. Tubular. Pollen. Web. Wapiti. Emeu. Deer. Metamorphosis. AntennÆ. Chrysalis. Fin. Ornithorhynchus. With time and patience the mulberry leaf will become satin. No. 4. Clink. Clog. Lore. Wheel. Broom. Slush. Lash. No. 5. The letter R.
Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Jamie Richardson, George E. McGreevey, "Gun Tzer," "Queen Bess," Belle T. Smart, Clara, Nellie, John S. Payne, May and Harvey Ridgway. "Fill Buster," "Lodestar," S. Brewster, William A. Lewis, Georgie Wardell, H. Jacobs, C.N.B., George P. Deacon, Anna F. Brown, Mabel Strobridge, Robert Andrews, Jun., "Rengaw," Arthur E. Dornin, Frank Lomas, Georgie Wardell, Jessie Godine.
Answer to Enigma on page 224—Courtship.
[For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover.]
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