OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
We have very great pleasure in publishing a letter from the kind lady who has charge of the ward in which our Young People's Cot will be placed when sufficient money shall have been contributed to endow it. We think that perhaps after reading this letter, with its touching description of the ward, and suggestive account of the manner in which the little sick children play at nursing their dolls, some of you who have not yet done so may like to give a Christmas offering to aid this good work. When we shall be so happy as to hear that the cot is really ours, we will take a special interest in the little ones who may occupy it.
St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children,
407 West Thirty-fourth Street, New York,
November, 1881.
My dear Young People,—It has been suggested to me that you would like to hear something of the "Holy Innocents' Ward" from one who knows all about it. Now I certainly "know all about it," for I see it at almost every hour of the day, and very often at different hours of the night. But whether I can say what will be of interest to you is to me a very doubtful question. You have already been told who furnished the ward; but I wonder how many have really seen it, and know just what it is like? I am sure that some of you have, but for the benefit of those who live far away, I will give a little description; and when We come to tell of your own cot, you will have perhaps a better understanding as to its place in the ward, etc., etc.
The "Holy Innocents' Ward," then, is a long room, with two large windows at either end reaching almost from the ceiling to the floor. Outside of these windows are piazzas, where in warm weather the little ones can sit in their tiny rocking or arm chairs, and listen to the "moosic man" or shake hands with a favorite monkey who climbs up on the outside of the house, and to whom they always give a few pennies, and a drink from one of their own mugs.
In cold weather the children—those who are able to be up, of course—can sit close to the windows inside, and see all that is taking place in the street. On either side of the ward are rows of blue cribs with brass knobs on the corners, and hanging over each crib is a little blue frame holding a card, on which is written the name of the child who sleeps in the cot. Between each crib is a small square table with a shelf underneath. The shelves of these tables are for toys, and the tops are used for a great many different purposes. Sometimes you would find on one of them a tiny red tray holding a cup of milk-punch, on another a glass of flowers, or at times a queer-looking deep tray, in which are kept lint, bandages, plaster, etc. In addition to the tables beside the beds, each crib has a little table that stands on it—something like a butler's tray, with four legs, only the little ledge is around three sides instead of four. These "bed-tables," as they are called, can be put close up to the children, and were intended to hold the toys, scrap-books, and the blocks out of which are built most marvellous houses, that come down with a terrible "bang"—the louder the better, (Occasionally a small child has been discovered sitting on one of these little tables; but that, of course, is "out of order," although it may be a good symptom of returning health.)
There is still another table, that stands on the floor, and around which several children can sit and play together; sometimes—in fact, often-times—the favorite play is "Hospital"; and I have often seen very sick dolls, who are treated in the most skillful manner. They are probed and bandaged, have their pulses and temperatures taken, are given "mick-punce" and "q'nine," have weights tied to their feet, and poultices on their chests. The ward also contains a small organ and a large music-box, and around the walls are several pretty pictures. Now can you see it all?—the long room; the blue cribs with brass knobs; the little ones in bed with bright red jackets on; those able to be up sitting in the tiny chairs, and wearing gray wrappers bound with red, and fastened with red buttons; the sun shining through the long windows on the little ones sitting near or at the "play table," and perhaps just lighting up "Young People's Cot"; the little organ, the music-box, and the pictures? I hope so; and when I write again, I will tell you just where your own cot is.
S.
Terra Ceia Island.
I am a little girl from New York who came to this beautiful island a year ago in October with mamma for her health. The climate is lovely, and has benefited mamma very much, for which I feel repaid, and am willing to be away from other children for her sake. There are only two little children besides myself on the island, and sometimes weeks pass and I do not see a child's face. We live in the midst of a beautiful orange grove, and have one of the largest and handsomest-looking orange-trees in the State. Last year it bore 4200 oranges; this year not as many. Others of our trees are bearing from 800 to 2000 each. We have fine bananas, figs in their season, guavas, plums, lemons, and other fruits of which we are very fond. The ivory-billed woodpecker steals our figs, and the pretty, naughty redbirds pick all the fruits and vegetables. Meat is scarce here sometimes, and my uncle has to shoot the quails or the pink curlews, with their beautiful spoon-bills, and the blue herons, with their lovely large human-looking eyes. We must sometimes have them to take the place of fresh meat, but not often, as uncle dislikes killing the beautiful birds, which never do any one any harm. The redbirds sing sweetly. The little phœbe-birds call "Phœbe" all day long. The mocking-birds are the first to sing in the morning, and the last at night. In the summer the quails say, "Bob White," "Bob White." The beautiful gray mourning doves come around a little later, and at night a bird that takes the place of the Northern whip-poor-will calls out, "Whip the widow," in the same strain as the whip-poor-will. I am very fond of my island home. There is a beautiful bay that our grove and house front on, called Terra Ceia Bay, about five miles long, and in some places nearly two miles wide. I have a small row-boat that I go out in with mamma, and sometimes I stand in the stern of the boat, with a long pole, and pole the boat in shallow water. The beautiful sunsets we see on the water sometimes make me wish other children could enjoy natural scenery and the wonders of the sky as I see them here. We have very fine fish called mullet that are caught with a cast net, besides other kinds, clams, and oysters.
I have four cats, named Punch and Judy (because I thought those names different to others in general) and Beauty and Topsy, and a dog named Jip. One day Jip was barking furiously, and we went to see what was the matter, and for the first time he saw himself in the looking-glass. We had a hearty laugh.
Another day he made a great deal of noise when a praying mantis, shaped similar to our large Southern grasshoppers, but with a waist similar to a wasp, instead of its being on all four legs, was standing up straight, with its fore-legs raised in an attitude of devotion, looking right at the dog. When we came, it turned around with its head, just like a Shaker woman, and looked first at one of us and then at the other, without moving its body.
I was so interested in "Toby Tyler," and knowing that Mr. Otis must like children, and as you say he is now through our State travelling in his little steam-yacht, please give him an invitation to call on us and eat some of our fine oranges, as we will have them until April. Aunt and uncle and mamma join in the invitation. He—that is, Mr. Otis—can sail from Key West or Cedar Keys into the Gulf of Mexico, then into Tampa Bay, into the mouth of Manatee River, through the cut-off into our Terra Ceia Bay. Or he could keep in the Manatee River to Palma Sola, at the Warner Mill, and they could show him through the small cut-off into our bay. We are very hospitable, and have wanted to see him ever since he wrote "Toby Tyler," and about his pet bird.
I was afraid Jimmy Brown was on a long vacation. So long as he has to be in so much trouble, please ask him to tell his tales of woe oftener, and relieve his mind.
Sometimes I go over to Manatee after my paper with my uncle. We go in a sail-boat, and I enjoy sailing so much! I wanted to have a little vegetable garden of my own, so uncle let me have a patch, and I set out fifty tomato plants, just to see what a little girl could do; they are growing finely, and putting on blossoms now—not all, but part of them.
Mamma teaches me, as there is no school near us short of six miles, and I would have to go in a sail-boat to attend school. I have most of my time taken up, as mamma teaches me to be industrious, and wishes me to try to grow up a smart girl, as it would have pleased papa so much, had God permitted him to live and know his little girl was trying to do right.
Florence M. Brewster,
P. O. Braidentown, Manatee Co., Fla.
The verses which follow were sent by a little reader: