The swallows had won their house-lot, and they speedily began to build. The linnets' nest was beautifully made of soft grasses and hair and other fibrous materials, and the first thing which the swallows did was to plaster that across the top solidly with mud, so as to make a foundation on which they could work. The barn-swallows always construct their nests of mud, mixing with it a small number of pieces of straw or grass. They heap up the mud until often the nest weighs as much as two pounds, and then the hollow top is beautifully lined with soft materials, grasses, feathers, etc., on which the eggs are laid.
These swallows went on as usual, and just as though they had not obtained their home by robbery and violence. They reared their brood of young ones, and in the fall all flew away to the south with the others of their kind.
In the spring of 1872 the scene was repeated. A pair of linnets—probably the same pair—built their nest on the same post, but it was necessarily placed on the top of the swallows' nest of the last year. Their work was completed just before the swallows arrived. One pair of the latter appeared to understand that the place belonged to them, for without any delay or hesitation they attacked the linnets furiously, and after a conflict lasting until the second day, drove them away, buried the soft nest in mud as before, and occupied the spot as their home for the summer.
The same thing transpired in 1873, and when I saw the structure in 1874 it had occurred for the fourth time. The linnets had built and been driven away, the swallows had occupied the field, and I saw the female bird sitting quietly on her eggs in a nest which was in the summit of a strange-looking pillar. The pillar was a rough mass, four or five inches in diameter, and more than a foot high, composed of eight layers. The layer at the bottom was very thin, of hair and grass, the one above it being a solid heap of mud more than three inches thick, then a thin one again, and so on until the swallows' nest at the top made the eighth.
You can easily see that the linnets' soft nest would be crushed down by the great weight of mud heaped on it, and would thus make only the thin layers as stated. It was plain that no such scene could be witnessed the next year, for the successive building of the nests had heaped up the mass until it almost touched the roof above it. In fact, the swallow had barely room to creep into her nest and out of it. I saw her come and go, and each time her back rubbed against the shingles. When she had settled down on her eggs, she had, of course, a little more free space.
Now what do you say? Did not both the linnets and the swallows know the old nest, and did not they consider that it belonged to them individually, and that they were determined to occupy it because it belonged to them, and then to fight for the possession of it if necessary? Otherwise why should the linnets in 1872 have persisted in building on the top of the swallows' nest? There were other posts all around the veranda, each one of them just as good as that, so far as I could judge, and then, too, that one was spoiled by having the nest already there, for the linnets are not in the habit of building where another nest has occupied the place. But no: that spot was theirs, and they had been unjustly driven from it the year before, and they seemed to consider that, though it was not so convenient as a dozen other places close at hand, justice to themselves required that they should assert their ownership. No birds with spirit could allow themselves to be despoiled of their rightful possession in any such manner. Then presently came the swallows, with just the same feelings, and the battle followed.
But this brings in another question. Do birds choose their mates for life? We have always thought that it was not so—that their partnership lasted for but a single year. We see, however, that when the swallows returned, they plunged into the conflict as though they both understood it, and were interested in the ownership. It may be, however, that the female came alone, and when she found that her house was occupied, she said nothing until she had selected a mate, and then she informed him that before any housekeeping could be commenced he must be prepared to fight for his "altars and his fires," for his "hearth and home," and so, like a dutiful husband, he toed the mark at once, and the battle commenced.
In whatever light you look at it, it is a remarkable example of the intelligence of birds, and of their power of communicating ideas to one another. I give you my assurance that the story is absolutely true, just as I have written it.
Shortly after my call upon the young noblemen, father and mother returned, but only to start off at once with Thad and me for Paris. Remembering my experiences in Germany, and finding that the Frenchmen were even harder to understand than the Germans, as they seemed to speak a whole sentence just as if it were one word, I determined to be extra careful whenever I went out.
But as I was taking my very first walk on the boulevard in front of the hotel, a young fellow with a wild sort of expression in his eye stopped me and began "parlez-vooing" away, with his arms flopping about like water-wheels. Of course I thought I ought to say something, and as I didn't know anything else in the language I replied, "Oui," which made the young man look at me so queerly as to convince me that I must have given my consent to do some horrible deed.
In my confusion I cried out, "Oh no, I don't mean that!" upon which the fellow began to laugh awfully, and then it turned out that he was English and had taken me for French. He had asked what line of omnibuses ran nearest to the Champ de Mars, and when I answered "Yes," you can imagine why he stared at me.
This affair having ended all right, I was thrown a little off my guard; so when mother, who was suffering from loss of appetite, asked me to go out to one of the suburbs and bring in a basket of fresh eggs a friend had promised to send her, I felt no fears of any unpleasant consequences.
As I started she placed in my hands the pretty little basket with, "Now, Max, above all things, don't drop this, and be very careful to allow no one to touch it but yourself."
I declared I would stand by the eggs to the last, and promising to return with them as speedily as possible, set out for Neu— But there! as I never could pronounce the name of the place, there's no use in my attempting to spell it.
It was a long distance from the hotel, but as a line of street-cars ran right past the house, and mother told me that the number was painted in big figures on the gate post, I was not afraid of losing my way.
On reaching the car I saw that there was a crowd of people on both the front and back platforms, and was wondering if there was any room for me, when I suddenly discovered to my amazement that there was nobody at all inside. I squeezed through the crowd, and presently the car started, with six or seven persons standing on each platform, and not a soul sitting down but myself.
I puzzled over the reason for this during the whole ride, and never found it out until mother's lady friend, at the end of it, told me that only half-fare was charged outside.
On hearing this, I affirmed that in my opinion the pleasure of standing next the driver was worth double the money, and hinted that I would much prefer returning home in that exalted locality. However, Mrs. Freemack begged that I would not think of doing so with a basket of eggs to guard; and after she had put on her hat and gone out to the gate with me, to make sure the car would stop, I stepped carefully aboard and took a seat inside. The basket I established safely on my knees, with both arms encircling it by way of protection.
Just as we reached the city gates a man came up and got into the car. He did not sit down, but glanced at the lady, the girl, and the soldier, and then at—the basket on my lap. With a quick stride he placed himself in front of me, and put out his hand to catch up the treasure in my charge, calling upon me at the same time to vous-vous something or other, in very stern tones.
Of course no American boy was going to stand being robbed in this daring daylight fashion without making an attempt at defending himself; so I grasped the basket with a firmer grip, and pressed it closer to my heart, as I cried out, "Don't touch this, if you please!"
You see, I never could remember that nobody would understand my English; and besides, it comes a great deal more natural to stand up for your rights in an easy language like your own.
Well, the man stood and looked at me a minute when I said that, while the old lady, the little girl, and the soldier all moved toward me, staring as hard as if I had suddenly been transformed into a three-legged chicken.
"What's the matter? what do you want?" I continued, still tightly hugging the basket.
Another outburst of French followed, in which the other three passengers, and also the driver and conductor, joined, and I began to grow somewhat alarmed.
Still, there were the eggs I had promised to guard, and I was determined not to give up that basket; so I planted my arms firmly on the cover, and sat there confronting "my man" like a dragon—at least I hope he thought so. By this time two other men had entered the car, and my persecutor left me for an instant to speak with them.
This was my opportunity, and with the basket still pressed close to my breast, I sprang up and made a dash for the door. But alas! that soldier saw me just in time to put out his foot and seek to stay my course. And this he did most effectually; for I tripped, and fell full length to the floor, and might have been badly hurt had not the basket acted as a sort of cushion to receive me, for of course it went down under me.
And the eggs! There were two dozen of them, and they and I and the bottom of the car were all "scrambled" together with a vengeance before I got up. Oh, how I wished I was young enough to cry, as I heard the roars of laughter!
But I had one consolation: nobody wanted to touch either me or the basket after that, and I was left in peace to wipe off my jacket with my pocket-handkerchief as the car rolled on its way again into Paris.
I took the basket and a few of the egg-shells home with me, where I learned from father that there is a sort of custom-house at every gate of the city, and that if I had only shown the man what I was carrying, it would probably have been all right. It seems Mrs. Freemack forgot to tell me about it.
Somehow I am not as fond of omelet as I used to be.
Perhaps the reason why rabbits are so popular with boys is that they are something which they can attend to and care for entirely alone.
A rabbit-hutch is a simple affair, but if the animals are worth caring for, they are worth something better than an old packing case for a house. One of these, if water-tight, does well enough for the shell of the hutch, but it will require some fixing up before it is ready to be the abode of a rabbit that "knows what's what."
In the first place, as regards the floor. If this is not kept sweet and clean, the inhabitants will be liable to disease. Let the floor slope gently to the back of the hutch, and let it be double, so that the upper one can be drawn out to be cleaned. This upper board should be painted with two or three coats of paint, and every day it should be drawn out to be washed and brushed. The advantage of the slope is that the floor may be easily drained, and to carry off the drainage a gutter should be placed along it. When the board is cleaned it should have a layer of sand sprinkled over it after it has been put back in its place.
The hutch should be from thirty to thirty-six inches long, eighteen inches wide, and about as many high. As a rabbit should not be expected to eat in its sleeping-room any more than a human being should, the hutch should be partitioned off by a board, leaving the sleeping-room about twelve inches long. In this board should be a round hole large enough for a rabbit to pass through, and protected by a door sliding up and down in a groove.
The simplest way to make the front of the hutch is to nail strips of wood down it, but this is not the best way. Galvanized (white) wire netting is perhaps the best thing, and it can be bought very cheap at any hardware store. The mesh should not be more than three-quarters of an inch wide, or some prowling cat may get her paw into the house and do mischief. The writer lost his first young rabbits by allowing too large a space between the bars of his hutch. The open front of the hutch should extend as far as the end of the living-room. The sleeping-room should be inclosed by a solid door, opening in the ordinary way; and inside this should be a shutter about six inches high, sliding in a groove up and down. The advantage of this is that when the doe has young ones you may open the door and look at them without danger of their falling out.
The bedding should be of straw, well broken and bruised. It need be used only in the sleeping-room, except in very cold weather, and it should be changed at least once a week. It should always be put in dry. The hutch should be raised about a foot from the ground.
It used to be thought that cabbage and bran were all that were necessary for rabbits, but modern fanciers have learned better. The principal thing in rabbit-feeding is variety, and as rabbits will eat almost every kind of vegetable, this is easily managed.
A little book called The Practical Rabbit-Keeper gives a table of diet for a week. This is printed here, not because it need be strictly followed, but to show what is meant by variety of feeding:
Sunday.—Morning, roots and dry oats; afternoon, green food and hay; evening, mash of potatoes and meal.
Monday.—Morning, roots, crushed oats, and tea leaves; afternoon, small quantity of green food and hay; evening, bread and meal mash.
Tuesday.—Morning, soaked oats; afternoon, roots and green food; evening, crusts of bread (dry).
Wednesday.—Morning, barley or wheat (dry); afternoon, roots and green food; evening, mash of meal and pollard.
Thursday.—Morning, roots and dry oats; afternoon, green stuff and hay; evening, soaked pease or lentils.
Friday.—Morning, hay and roots; afternoon, green food; evening, meal and potato mash.
Saturday.—Morning, dry oats and chaff; afternoon, green stuff and roots; evening, bread.
The diet given above provides for three meals a day, which makes the rabbit appear to be a very greedy animal. But, on the contrary, it is very dainty in its feeding, and will neither eat much at a time nor return to that which it has left. Hence it is best to give but little at a time, and to feed regularly. Food should be given in a trough like a gutter, and to prevent the rabbits getting into it, it is well to fasten wires from end to end of the trough, just far enough from the sides to allow the rabbits to get their heads into it.
When a doe has "babies," she will eat nearly twice as much as at other times, and she should be separated from the little ones at her meal-times, so that she may eat in peace. The young ones may stay with their mother for seven or eight weeks, but should then be taken away, one at a time, and put with other young rabbits, if there are any, the bucks and does being kept separate. The father buck will often kill the little ones, so he should be kept apart from them.
If good care is taken of the rabbits, they will probably escape disease, but in a long spell of wet weather, or in a sudden cold snap, "snuffles" may make its appearance. The symptoms are like those of a severe cold with us—running at the eyes and nose, etc. A good authority recommends sponging the eyes and nose with warm tea, and a few drops of camphorated spirit given twice a day.
For the first ten minutes our drive was enchanting. But presently the chatter of the others became more personal, and on subjects of which I knew nothing. Before we reached the academy, they had begun to whisper now and then, and I felt a little embarrassed; but this feeling wore off under the excitement of entering the noisy lecture-room, where we took our places with a great deal of flourish, and where a circle of Mattie's boy friends was soon around us. Kate Rivers sat on one side of me, and Mattie on the other, and the two leaned across me, continually chatting on things I did not understand, while the boys now and then spoke to me with an easy tone, half jest, half, as it seemed to me, rude familiarity.
Slowly it began to come upon me that these fine friends of Mattie's never would be ladies and gentlemen. Fine as they were, much as they talked of "fun" they had had and were going to have, I knew they were unlike the simple-minded, refined young people I had been among in my quiet country home; and then I began to wish I had not come.
I was ashamed of sitting there in Mattie's finery—of being teased about "running away," of being asked if it wasn't "too jolly to escape the dragon," as Bob and Mattie called our dear Miss Harding, and last, but worst of all, glancing across the crowded hall, I saw in the distance Philip and Laura Sydney. Then they had come! The voices of my new friends buzzed in my ears, their loud laughter was dreadful for that moment.
I shrank back, afraid to meet Laura's gentle gaze, ashamed to have either her or Philip see me in my borrowed plumes, and with such a company.
I heard Kate Rivers's voice in a whisper behind my back.
"Your old muslin, isn't it?"
"Yes," was Mattie's giggling rejoinder. "She hadn't anything of her own."
A contemptuous "Humph!" from Bob's sister followed.
My cheeks flamed. Could I get away? No; the speeches were beginning. How it went on for an hour I do not know. It was a dreadful period for me, and Mattie vainly tried to rouse me. Finally I managed to say:
"Mattie, I see the Sydneys," and to my horror she answered, promptly:
"Oh, what fun! I do want to know them. Come, Cecy, after all I've done for you, you'll have to introduce me."
"But, Mattie," I faltered, "how can I—I—"
"Nonsense!" was the retort. "Here, now, we have an intermission. Come along, Kate, Bob; we're going over to see some friends."
How it was done I never knew, but in a few moments I was following Mattie along a corridor, ashamed of everything about me, the more so when we got into the side room, where she knew the Sydneys were to be found, and I saw Laura's startled recognition of me, and Philip's evident surprise. Mattie pushed me forward. I managed the introductions; and, oh! what a contrast there was between the two girls! Laura's pretty, gentle manner, Mattie's boisterous, dashing one, and Bob and Philip looking at each other with nothing to say, while I stood back, ashamed of my position among them all.
"We went to the school for you," Laura said, presently, "and Miss Harding was out."
Mattie said nothing for an instant; then, with a blush, she said, looking straight into Laura's honest face:
"Miss Harding made an exception in our favor. She refused the general invitation."
In the silence which followed this audacious speech I turned away, not daring to meet the look Philip gave me. I stood by the window, looking out, and while Mattie chatted on, I tried to see how this day would end. Not that I feared Miss Harding, but that I felt I never should know how to shake myself free of the vulgar associations in which my dear Laura had found me; nor could I ever forget I had so placed myself that a lie was told for my benefit. Benefit! If you could have seen me, a miserable, unhappy little girl in borrowed clothes, standing in that window, with a forlorn expression and tightly clasped hands, you would not have thought there was much "fun" in this escapade, nor much "benefit" in its results; I heard the voices in a dreamy sort of way; I heard Philip and Laura saying they were going to take tea at Professor Patton's—the big brick house next the academy. Then, to my surprise, I heard Mattie say we were to stay all night at the Riverses'. There was to be a sort of party. I felt desperate. Laura and Philip said good-by pleasantly, and I could only look at them with a piteous air of appeal. They were gone; we were again in the lecture-room, and I had not recovered my wits, or at least my sense of what I ought to do, until I found myself, with the same boisterous party, driving to Mrs. Rivers's house, half a mile from the academy.
The Riverses had a large showy house; and on entering I was received by an overdressed stout lady, to whom all the young people talked with the sort of rough freedom which is sometimes called "Young America," and which so completely does away with the sacredness of "Mother."
We went upstairs to lay aside our wraps; and remembering I had left something I needed in the hall, I ran down for it while Mattie and Kate were busy washing their hands in the dressing-closet, chattering all the time. As I passed a hall window I saw it had grown suddenly dark, and that rain-drops were pattering against the pane. It was a sudden summer storm, and I began to think of my particular dread—thunder and lightning.
I found what I wanted, and sped back; but on entering the room, I heard my name spoken by Mattie, and stood still in a sort of nameless wonder or dread.
"I had to bring her," Mattie was saying; "I wanted to put her under an obligation to me, don't you see, so that she wouldn't tell of different things. I can always hold this over her. Doesn't she look horrid in my clothes?"
A laugh from Kate was the answer.
"Little goose," Mattie went on, "I wish we could get rid of her. She'd spoil any fun. I've taken to her at school because all the girls told me she was Miss Harding's favorite, it's a good thing for me, you see."
For a moment the revelation of Mattie's real character overpowered me. I do not remember that at first I thought of anything but that she was not what I had believed her to be. Then mortification, fright, tears—everything—seemed to follow, and then, in a sort of dream, I turned and ran down-stairs and out into the rain, thinking only that I must find Laura and ask her to help me.
I knew the way to Professor Patton's house; but long before I reached it I was drenched through, Mattie's thin muslin being draggled and soaked when I stumbled up against the big doorway, within which lights were shining, and voices sounding of laughter and happy cheer.
I wondered, long afterward, what the servant thought of me, standing there in my soaked finery. Whatever she thought, little was said. In a moment Laura appeared from a side door, coming out with a look that went to my heart. I tried to speak. I began to cry; then I remember moving a little toward her, and darkness seemed to close in about me.
Laura Sydney was—and is—one of those people who always know just what to do on every occasion. So it was no surprise to me to find myself, on coming to consciousness, warm and snug in a comfortable bed, with a tray of tea and toast at my side, and curtains drawn about the windows, on which the rain was beating. It took only a few words to make Laura understand everything. She sent a message to Mattie and one to Miss Harding, and the next day brought that kind lady to Professor Patton's house. I was ill with a feverish cold: perhaps that is why they were all so good to me. At all events, when I had freely confessed all of my wrong-doing there seemed no more to be said, and the only reference made to it was when I went home and Aunt Anna reminded me I had spoiled Mattie's dress.
"I think, dear," she said, one morning, when we were in the garden, "you had better send her a new one. Perhaps it would be a good idea to save some of your pocket-money for this purpose." And very gladly I consented to this little discipline.
Laura, who is opposite me as I write, teaching my little girl to pronounce f, has just asked me if I remember how long ago all this happened.
"Can it be fifteen years?" she says—and in my heart it seems only yesterday, although never since have I forgotten the lesson that day taught: that false colors never help us to be happy, and that "fun" built up on wrong-doing never can be honest enjoyment.
h, lovely days are hasting here, when Summer's tripping feet
Will dance along the clover fields and o'er the golden wheat,
When winds will wander through the rye, and merry brooks shall sing,
And scarlet-vested orioles in cradle nests shall swing.
Then up and down the sunny hills, and o'er the velvet turf,
And where the great waves thunder in to break in foamy surf,
You'll see the little children come, so quick to hear are they
When Summer bids them follow her, and tells them what to play.
She'll show them where the berries ripe are blushing thick and sweet;
She'll lead them where the tangled boughs in fragrant arches meet;
She'll smile when in the shady pool the little fishers dip,
And hush the prattling breezes near with finger on her lip.
What fun to pitch the new-mown hay, and climb the load so high
That proudly lifts the darlings up between the earth and sky!
What joy to build the mimic fort, and pelt it down with sand!
What wealth to fill with buttercups each small despairing hand!
And, oh, to toss the torn straw hat upon the shining curls,
And after Bess and Brindle trot through pastures strung with pearls!
What bliss and what supreme content in afternoons to lie,
And from the hammock watch the clouds like white sails gliding by!
Ah! sweet it is to sit and dream, my little Golden-Hair,
And picture summer's happy days without a single care;
For blither than your gladdest thought the summer-time will be,
That hither comes with tripping feet to reign o'er land and sea.
The Postmistress would like to hear from each little reader of Our Post-office Box who has a garden which he or she takes care of without any help from papa, mamma, or older brothers and sisters. What have you planted in your gardens? Which flowers are in bloom now? When do you work in them? What do you do with your buds and blossoms? The pleasure of having flowers to give away is very great. If you have a little friend who is ill—too ill to see playmates, or talk, or hear merry voices—you can show how sorry you are for Jack or Fanny, or whoever it may be, by leaving a tiny bouquet at the door, with your love. A few pansies, a rose-bud tied up with a couple of geranium leaves, a bunch of mignonette or lilies-of-the-valley, do not cost much, but they show your good-will, and cheer a sick-room with their sweet faces and sweeter perfume.
Of course you all know what Flower Missions are. There are many suffering children in hospitals who are made very happy by the gift of flowers, either daisies and violets from woods and fields, or roses and lilies from gardens. Some of you, no doubt, send flowers every summer, that poor, or sad, or sick people in the cities may be comforted by them.
Now remember, little gardeners, that you are to have your turn, and tell us all about your successes and your failures.
The vegetable and fruit gardeners may speak too. Let us hear about the lettuce, the onions, the radishes, and the strawberries. If there are any little business men or women who earn money of their own by selling the nice things they raise, they are invited to write and tell us how they manage their affairs.
Stoddard, New Hampshire.
I am a little boy eleven years old, and live on a farm in the town of Stoddard. I have a dog, and call him Jack, two nice calves, a very pretty lamb, four doves, and some hens. I like to attend to my father's stock. He keeps horses, oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, and some young stock. I let out the cattle to water, and tie them up again. When my father is away in the summer-time, Jack and I go after the cows. Sometimes Jack trees a woodchuck, and then he and I have a grand time digging him out. He and I caught twenty-one last year. Jack is a splendid dog. You ought to see him drive up the cows; they have to go home when he says so, and they will start when they see him coming.
I have been making sugar for myself this spring. My father let me have twenty buckets, and my mother let me take her large brass kettle and two pots. I hung them up by a large rock, and tapped fourteen trees, and have made forty pounds of sugar, which I sold at ten cents per pound. I have bought me a pair of boots and some books, and have almost enough left to pay for Young People next year. I start to school next week.
J. W. T.
Well done, my little man! You worked faithfully, and spent your money very wisely. I wish you had told Our Post-office Box what books you bought, and I hope the boots will wear well. And then you had a splendid time making the sugar. I wish some of us had been there to help you.
If woodchucks were not such pests to the farmer, I think I would feel sorry that Jack trees so many of them. I think I can see him bounding along after the cows. What is your name? J. stands for Jonathan, James, Jerome, and a number of other names; and I like my boys to send more than their initials to me, so that I can remember them when they write again.
Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands.
I read your Post-office Box with a great deal of interest every time it comes. I used to live in Kansas, and often saw prairie fires there, and one nearly burned up my father's hay-stack and barn. But we fought it, and saved them. My father and mother moved to these islands from there, and landed here the last day of 1878. We have Kanaka policemen to guard the streets, and most of the sidewalks are made of lava sand: some are of broken boards, and there is a nice stone pavement once in a long distance. So when it rains the sidewalks are muddy. Most of the yards are very beautiful. We have a nice band. They are all Kanakas except the leader, who is a German. They give moonlight concerts free in the Park several times a month, and every Saturday afternoon at half past four o'clock. The little Park is very nice, and has plenty of seats in it. I went to Hilo with my papa, and also to the lava flow, which is only a mile and a half from that place. It is still too hot to step on in some places, though the flow stopped on the 9th of last August. When it rained you could trace it a long distance by the steam. I am nearly eleven years old, and go to school, and have not been absent or tardy this term.
Charlotte H. P.
When next I go to one of our Saturday afternoon concerts in Prospect Park, I will think of you, dear, and wonder whether the bands are playing the same airs in Brooklyn and Honolulu.
I send you some poetry my father wrote on my birthday. I live in Mount Vernon, a few miles from New York. We have a large martin box, and this spring, before the martins came, a lot of sparrows built their nests in it. When the martins arrived and found the sparrows in their house, they gave them notice to leave; but the sparrows fought for their place like little warriors, and the battle lasted a week before the brave sparrows were beaten off. I like Young People ever so much!
Harry L.
Darling little Harry,
Only eight years old,
Healthy as a sparrow
On the tree-top bold;
Cheeks as red as roses
By a lily laid,
Little form as perfect
As was ever made.
Cunning little package
Of brain and nerves and things,
Wrapped up in the whitest
And pinkiest of skins,
Labelled "Papa's Treasure,"
Worth its weight in gold;
Miser-like I hug it,
To my heart enfold.
Would that I could keep you
Ever young as now,
So innocent and loving,
With unclouded brow;
But days speed on so fast,
That in a few years more
My little boy will be a man,
That I can hug no more.
Mountain House, Sierra County, California.
When I opened Young People yesterday, the first thing I saw was the picture of Toby Tyler, looking as natural as ever. If I knew Toby, I would tell him about my black cat, which he could have in his circus. It was born with hardly any tail, and what there is of it is crooked at the end. His hind-feet are much higher than his fore-feet, and he growls like a bear when we touch him; so we have named him Bruin. I also have a dog that Toby would like to have, as he can ride on the velocipede, with my sister. He can ride sitting in my brother's cart, with a hat on his head and a pipe in his mouth. His name is Tiger, and he is quite large. I should think that Toby had had enough of a circus, without wanting to be the manager of one. I hope this letter will be put in print, for I would like Bob Simpson to see that my cat would do as well in the circus as his three-legged cat with four kittens.
Ida C.
Trinidad, Colorado.
I have been a constant reader of your paper for nearly two years, and like it very much. The Post-office Box has a great many interesting letters in it, and I have often thought I should like to write one myself for it. I am nearly twelve years old. I was born in Madura, Southern India, where my father was a medical missionary. Eight years ago we left India on account of father's health, and a short time after our arrival in America we came to Colorado. We have been living in Trinidad nearly four years. It is an old Spanish town, I don't know how old. The word Trinidad means the Trinity. The population of this place is made up of Americans and Mexicans. There are a great many things I would like to tell you about the Mexicans and their mode of living, but it would make my letter too long.
Lela P.
No, dear, it would not have made your letter too long, and so I shall expect another from you before a great while, telling all that is interesting about your Mexican neighbors.
St. Joseph, Tensas Parish, Louisiana.
I hope you will want to hear from a little over-flowed girl. I will try to tell you some of the trouble we have been in. The water came over our yard on the 15th of March. In a few days we had to move out of our kitchen and lower floor, and go upstairs. The next week there were three families who had to move out of their houses and come here. My aunty's house was seven feet from the ground, and she had to come here.
They had to make platforms on their galleries and put cows on them, and their stable started to float off. They had to bring their horses into the dining-room. The gin was full of colored people, and the barn full of mules. I can't tell you how much we have lost. All our hogs were drowned; we lost many chickens; the fences and bridges are all gone.
This house is like a bee-hive. There are twenty-three people in it. We had to put cloth around one end of the gallery for some colored people to live in, as our gin and barn were full.
There has been much suffering among the old colored folks. They had to leave their comfortable homes, and go to the gins, without fires. My old black mammy came into the house with us.
I have a fine dog named Roswell. He stands on the steps, and catches all the minnows that go by. I have also one of the smartest black-and-tans I ever saw. His name is Rover. I have a nice little boat that belongs to me alone, and I am learning to row. I would like to tell you how much my little cousins and I like this dear paper. How happy we are when Saturday comes—for that is the day we receive it—and that night mamma reads to us. But I must say good-by. I forgot to say how deep the water was here in our yard. It was six feet deep in our front yard, and eight in the back yard.
Sadie N.
The girls and boys who have not been over-flowed as you have will enjoy reading your description of the exciting time you have passed through. I am afraid some of them will think it was fun to have had water so high that Roswell could stand on the steps and catch minnows. But the people who had to live through so much fright and danger will hope that no such flood may ever come again.
Here is a pretty story about a cat and a dog who were great friends.
Puss and Pincher ate from the same plate, and slept on the same rug. Puss at one time had a little family of kittens, whom she kept in the attic at the top of the house.
One morning there was a terrific thunder-storm. Pincher was taking his ease in the parlor, and Puss was looking after her children in the garret.
Pincher was rather afraid of the lightning, and creeping close to his mistress, hid himself under her skirts. Presently somebody opened the parlor door, and in came Puss, mewing very pitifully.
She came up to Pincher, rubbed her face against his cheek, touched him gently with her paw, and then walked to the door, all of which said as plainly as words could have done, "Come, Pincher, come and help me."
But Pincher would not go, and Puss, after trying a little longer, went away herself.
A lady visiting at the house followed her upstairs, and found that she had brought one kitten down and tucked it under a wardrobe. She had probably wanted Pincher to stay with this child while she went after the others. She brought it in her mouth to the lady, who took it in her arms, went to the attic with Puss, where she moved the whole family away from the window, and then sat down by them till the storm was over.
The next morning, when the kind lady opened her door to go to breakfast, there sat Puss, who rubbed against her, purred, and showed the greatest pleasure in seeing her. This was her way of showing her gratitude.
Toogana, Kansas.
I thought perhaps the Postmistress would like to hear from a boy who lives in the far West. My brother Wroy and I earned by herding the money that brings to us the weekly visits of Young People, and we hail it with joy. Only some weeks it does not come, and then we wonder what can be the matter, and go home very sad. "Talking Leaves" is the best story I ever read. I will be sorry when it is done.
Wroy and I have been practicing "spring and fall styles for boys," springing from the millet stack, and falling on the millet that is spread out to be threshed. It is fun, and threshes the millet too. Papa has been away all winter, so we take care of mamma and sister Zella, feed and herd forty head of cattle, yoke up old Ben and Sam and haul wood and chips, and do whatever mamma tells us.
Zella and I have sixteen turkeys. We want to raise two hundred this year. Wroy has ten Pekin ducks; they are pure white, and look very handsome as they swim around over our Home Lake.
But I must close, and if this letter is published, I may write more of our frontier life another time.
Walter William C.
Something wrong, we fear, about the mails in your neighborhood, Walter, when you fail to receive your paper. We hope it seldom happens. You and your brother are leading a very manly life, with plenty to do, to think of, and to enjoy, and we will be pleased to hear from you again.
Madison, Wisconsin.
I thought I would write you, and tell you about my pets. I have a bob-tailed kitten; it was born without a tail. They are called Manx cats. I have a dog named Gip; he is so fat that mamma is ashamed to take him up town with her. I have six large dolls. One of them is a boy doll named Fred, after my uncle in Dakota. I had all my Harper's Young People bound this winter, and they make a lovely book. I attend a private school, and the school-room is fitted up beautifully, with a Brussels carpet and lace curtains.
Helen Julia K.
Since you have so pleasant a school-room, I suppose you find it very easy to study, and so make great progress. I wish a number of the little correspondents would write about their school-rooms. I had charming times at one to which I was sent when about eight years old. There was no carpet. Instead of curtains, there were faded shades of green paper. The school-master sat at a battered desk at the head of the room. On one side were the boys, and on the other the girls. The girls used to play at noon under a mighty oak-tree. We had picnics there nearly every day, with oak-leaf plates and a tin dipper for a goblet. Do any of my little friends have such picnic parties now?
I thought I would write and tell you about a pet I had; it was a canary-bird. It would sit on my finger when I would put it in the cage. Its name was Dicky. It was only a young bird, and could not sing very well. I am thirteen years old. I would like to exchange with any little girl or boy a 5-cent piece dated 1775 and a fifth of a Chinese penny, for the best offer.
Nettie Amelung,
865 Lincoln Place, Brooklyn, N. Y.
I wouldn't cry about it, dear.
Though things are going wrong;
'Tis much the better way, my dear,
To sing a little song.
Lima, Ohio.
I am six years old to-day. I never have been to school, but can read some of the stories in my Young People. My mamma is giving me music lessons. I can sing and play a number of tunes. I like my paper very much.
Nettie N.
Cahto, Mendocino County, California.
I am a little girl living in Long Valley, Mendocino County, California. My brother is trapping. The eagles have been killing father's lambs. Brother took a lamb which they had killed, set his trap with it, and caught the eagle. That time the lamb caught the eagle. I go with him sometimes to his traps to see the foxes, 'coons, and wild-cats try to get out.
My little brother, four years old, went with father to feed the hogs. Father said so much rubbish would kill them. "Well," said he, "papa, you won't have to shoot them so many times."
I go to school. My mother tells me that my school days are pleasant days for me. I would agree with her if I had not so far to go—two miles over hills; and everything looks so cheerful when I start to school!
Allie R.
Perhaps you think you would rather stay at home than take that long walk; but your mother is right. School days are very happy ones, and your little feet skip over the two miles quickly, do they not? Have you any little friends who go with you to school?
Fred M. Dille, Greeley, Colorado, desires the name of a boy living in Cincinnati who sent him a match-box containing fossils, shells, and minerals, that he may send specimens in return.
A Boy's Grievance.—A boy of fourteen complains to us that his mother treats him as if he were a baby. He says she forbids his going to a certain safe and pleasant lake, to bathe or swim, and that she will not consent to his taking trips into the country with two friends of his own age, who are splendid fellows.
No doubt it seems to this lad that his mother is a little bit unreasonable. But she may have a strong feeling of terror about the deep waters of the lake which he thinks so safe, and if, as I judge from his note, he is really a kind and manly boy, he would prefer to go without the pleasure of swimming rather than make his mother anxious or uneasy about him.
Ladies are sometimes more timid than there is any need to be about places and things which boys and men consider entirely free from danger. Yet a gentleman always prefers to yield his own wishes rather than to let his mother or sister suffer from alarm.
As for the out-of-town trips, the mother's objection might be removed if the boys would get some older friend to go with them. It is always well to take the advice of mothers with regard to friends. Boys think they can choose wisely for themselves, but they are not able, as older persons are, to see just what companions are best for them. I do not think you would complain of home restraints if you remembered how much the dear mother has done for you all your life. No love is so unselfish as a mother's, and we can not prize it too highly.
Glens Falls, New York.
We live only nine miles from Lake George, where we go in the summer. There are many places of historical interest there. French Point, where we went last summer, used to be the camping-place of the French and Indians. I have an arrow-head from there, and a friend a spear-head. Opposite French Point, is Black Mountain, the highest mountain on the lake. Farther down is Sabbath-day Point, and Rogers's Slide, where the Rogers's Rock Hotel is. There you can take a carriage and go to Fort Ticonderoga. I have seen the oven and under-ground passage. Mamma has an old-fashioned cup with the fort on it. Recently, while digging for the foundation of a paper mill in the village, they found a cannon-ball and several other things. I almost feel acquainted with the Postmistress and the children that write to Young People.
Jessie L.
West Haven, Connecticut.
I enjoy reading your nice stories very much indeed, especially the stories written by Mr. Otis. My sister Bessie and I have five hens and one rooster. Dora is my hen. Year before last I was sick a little while. That same year Dora had some little chickens. Specky killed some, the other hens killed one, and the cats killed all the rest except two. One day papa carried me out to see them; only two came out. I supposed the others were in the coop. The first time I went to feed them I was taking out their usual amount of food, when my sister asked me what I was getting so much for. I did not know until then that there were only two left. I was nine years old last 22d of February. I have never written before, so please print this.
Mary E. C.
You poor darling! It was too bad so many chicks were killed.
St. Marys, Ontario, Canada.
I am a little boy seven years old. I do not go to school, but study at home. I can write a little, and read very well, and I read all about Jumbo, and I want to tell the little people a funny story about him. My auntie was in England, and when in the Zoological Gardens one day she saw Jumbo carrying many happy children about on his back. After a time she sat down on a bench with a lady, and had a biscuit in her hand. They had their faces close down over a book, to learn all about where to go. Presently it grew dark before them, and my auntie felt something strange touching her hand, and looking up, there stood Jumbo helping himself to the biscuit in her hand without any ceremony. My auntie says Jumbo had the bench all to himself without any delay. I like Harper's Young People so much! and watch for it every week.
Reggie R.
That was very "cute" in Jumbo.
Brooklyn, New York.
I am a little girl nine years old. I have taken Harper's Young People since last January. I like it very much, and always look forward to Tuesday with pleasure, for that is the day I receive it. Most little girls tell about their pets, but I have none, because I have lived all my life in hotels. I am more fond of my books than anything else. I have one that I should think many little girls would like to have; it is The History of the Bible Made Simple for Children, with three hundred beautiful pictures, and I like it ever so much.
Madeleine W.
Louisville, Ohio.
I am an Ohio boy fourteen years of age. On my last birthday my parents gave me a dollar and a half, and told me to make good use of it. I did so by subscribing for Harper's Young People. I find now that I could not have made a better use of it. My father is a physician, and I intend to be one also. I go to school every day, and in a few years expect to go to college.
I will now tell you of some of my pets. First of all are my dogs, of which I have two. The one I call Dash is a water-spaniel, brown in color, with a white breast, which I call his shirt bosom. The other one is a Gordon setter, whose name is Duke. He is two and a half feet high, and from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail he measures four and a half feet. He is my pony in the winter season, and enjoys hauling me as well as I enjoy being hauled. I often take both dogs to the creek. They are very good swimmers. I have one brother ten years old, and a sister eight. My brother says he will be a druggist. I the doctor, and he the druggist; won't that be nice? My father has a drug store, and I act as clerk for him during vacation. When we ask sister what she will be, she says she will be a mamma. I have a great many other pets besides my dogs, but will not write about them this time.
J. C. E. S.
We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to the article on the "Steam-Engine," and to an interesting account by Eesung Eyliss of some little inhabitants of the feathered world, given under the title "Do Birds Know Their Old Homes?" Then Sherwood Ryse has some good advice to give the boys on the treatment of "Rabbits as Pets."
1.—1. Pertaining to the moon. 2. Custom. 3. Pertaining to the nose. 4. A precious stone. 5. To lease again.
Empire City.
2.—1. To scratch. 2. The top. 3. A kind of fungus. 4. Things which children like.
3.—1. A fruit. 2. To frost. 3. To obtain.
4.—1. The front. 2. A unit. 3. Clear profit.
Museum.
1. A fuel. 2. A compound of iodine and a metal. 3. An angel. 4. An island. 5. Fright. 6. Conclusion. 7. To idle. Primals and finals name a mountain range of Germany.
I. Scycle.
1.—1. In dish. 2. Right. 3. Birds. 4. To supply. 5. In sap.
2.—1. A letter. 2. What skaters like. 3. Thoughts. 4. A doubter. 5. A corrosive. 6. A title. 7. A letter.
3.—1. A letter. 2. A science. 3. To wither. 4. Part of the body. 5. A letter.
Benny Fishel.
4.—1. A letter. 2. An end. 3. An animal. 4. To fondle. 5. A letter.
C. B. K. and Mary S.
5.—1. A letter. 2. A drink. 3. A girl's name. 4. A reptile. 5. A letter.
6.—1. A vowel. 2. Finis. 3. To enrich. 4. A girl's nickname. 5. A vowel.
Blanche F.
My first is in river, but not in bay.
My second is in vex, but not in annoy.
My third is in corn, but not in hay.
My fourth is in gem, but not in toy.
My fifth is in lady, but not in girl.
My sixth is in screw, but not in nail.
My seventh is in hair, but not in curl.
My eighth is in strong, but not in frail.
My ninth is in cripple, but not in lame.
My whole is a poem well known to fame.
Eureka.