[to be continued.]
Union Grove, Wisconsin.
In one of the April numbers of Young People I noticed an article entitled, "How to Build a Catamaran." It reminded me of the catamarans I used to see on the surf at Madras, and I thought the boys would like to hear something about them. The name catamaran is taken from two Tamil words, meaning literally "tied trees." Along the coast of South India and Ceylon hundreds of catamarans may be seen dancing up and down the sparkling surf. They are made of three or four mango logs fastened together securely with ropes made from the palmyra-tree. Sitting on deck as our ice-ship, the Robert, approached Madras, it looked as if there were a great many dark figures standing on the water. The boats were invisible, and only the figures seemed coming closer, until they drew so near that we could see under the water the logs on which the fishermen were standing. Every man had a long pole in his hand, with which he guided his curious craft. The fishermen were nearly naked, so that getting wet did not trouble them very much. The hot Indian sun poured down on their heads, but they did not seem to mind it.
Often when sitting on the veranda of our sea bungalow in Ceylon, looking over the blue waves of the Bay of Bengal, we would see the fishermen wade out from the shore, dragging their catamarans until they reached deep water, when, gracefully skipping on, off they would go, paddling skillfully over the white caps of the surf, till they almost disappeared in the blue distance. After a while they would come safely back, balancing their rudderless barks carefully till they were beached on the sand. Then they would go to the bazar or market with the fish they had caught, the long pole resting on their black shoulders. Probably the readers of Young People would not enjoy a sail on a catamaran in India, but the little Hindoo boys enjoy it very much, and are expert and daring in the management of their boats.
There is another queer craft, called a "dhomy," of which you may hear at another time.
Émile de R.
Ottawa, Kansas.
We have a very kind cousin who sends Young People to my little sister. During the days of "Toby Tyler" one of our intimate friends came up every Thursday to read the story with us. One of us would read aloud, pausing now and then to wipe away the tears which would come. Every morning when papa went down town my little three-year-old sister would say, "Don't forget to bring 'Toby' to-night." I am very glad Mr. Otis is writing another story.
We used to have a hen which we called Speck. In one of her broods was a white chick, whose name was Minnie. When Minnie was half grown, Speck had some more little ones, which Minnie seemed to think were as much hers as they were Speck's. Whenever she had anything to eat she called them to share it, and really took as good care of them as Speck did. While Speck was sitting on the eggs, Minnie would get on the nest behind her. One day papa went out to the chicken-coop, and Speck with her brood was on one of the nests, covering as many chicks as she could with one wing, while little Miss Minnie on the other side was covering as many as she could with her wing.
The other day some little swallows fell down through the chimney into the fire-place in mamma's room. They were too young to fly, so we put them in a basket, and hung it on a tree. The mother bird heard their cries, and came and fed them, but in two days the poor things died.
It has been warmer here lately than ever before in Kansas.
Evelyn.
Luzerne, Warren County, New York.
Although I wrote once before, and my letter was not published, I will try again; for I know the Editor must be very busy if he reads all the letters the young people send to Our Post-office Box. I enjoy all the stories very much. "Mildred's Bargain" was excellent.
An Indian was here lately who had three rattle-snakes. He got them from Lake George, and was trying to tame them, but one of them bit him. To cure him they had to give the poor man liquor to drink till he was intoxicated.
Belle N.
Willimantic, Connecticut.
I must tell you about my poor pet kitty. She was black and white, and I thought her splendid, but she was run over by a train, and there were some very sober faces here that day, you may be sure. I have a dog now. His name is Prince, and as he does not like kittens, we have to get along without any. He is eight years old. We have had him about a year.
My brother George is six years old, and I am nine, and we both take great comfort in reading Young People.
Mary W. H.
We are very sorry so dreadful a fate befell your little kitty. If Prince were younger, you might teach him to be friendly with Madam Puss and her kits; but as he is eight years old, which is a quite dignified and "settled" age for a dog, you will have to let him keep his opinions. A kind, intelligent dog is, we think, as satisfactory a pet as a cat.
Edna, Minnesota.
I have been meaning for a long time to write to Young People, and thank the young friend who sends me the paper. I enjoy reading it very much, as I do all other good reading matter. I am driving three horses on a sulky plough. I have broken thirty acres of prairie this summer. I have to strap myself to the seat, as I have no legs to steady me. I like this work, and am very sorry the season is so nearly over.
Elmer P. Blancherd.
The tragic fate of a family of bantams is touchingly told in these rhymes by a little correspondent: