[to be continued.]

MR. MARTIN'S EYE.

BY JIMMY BROWN.

I've made up my mind to one thing, and that is, I'll never have anything to do with Mr. Martin again. He ought to be ashamed of himself, going around and getting boys into scrapes, just because he's put together so miserably. Sue says she believes it's mucilage, and I think she's right. If he couldn't afford to get himself made like other people, why don't he stay at home? His father and mother must have been awfully ashamed of him. Why, he's liable to fall apart at any time, Mr. Travers says, and some of these days he'll have to be swept up off the floor, and carried home in three or four baskets.

There was a ghost one time who used to go around, up stairs and down stairs, in an old castle, carrying his head in his hand, and stopping in front of everybody he met, but never saying a word. This frightened all the people dreadfully, and they couldn't get a servant to stay in the house unless she had the policeman to sit up in the kitchen with her all night. One day a young doctor came to stay at the castle, and said he didn't believe in ghosts, and that nobody ever saw a ghost, unless they had been making beasts of themselves with mince-pie and wedding cake. So the old lord of the castle he smiled very savage, and said, "You'll believe in ghosts before you've been in this castle twenty-four hours, and don't you forget it." Well, that very night the ghost came into the young doctor's room, and woke him up. The doctor looked at him, and said, "Ah, I perceive: painful case of imputation of the neck. Want it cured, old boy?" The ghost nodded, though how he could nod when his head was off I don't know. Then the doctor got up and got a thread and needle, and sewed the ghost's head on, and pushed him gently out of the door, and told him never to show himself again. Nobody ever saw that ghost again, for the doctor had sewed his head on wrong side first, and he couldn't walk without running into the furniture, and of course he felt too much ashamed to show himself. This doctor was Mr. Travers's own grandfather, and Mr. Travers knows the story is true.

But I meant to tell you about the last time Mr. Martin came to our house. It was a week after I had scalped him; but I don't believe he would ever have come if father hadn't gone to see him, and urged him to overlook the rudeness of that unfortunate and thoughtless boy. When he did come, he was as smiling as anything; and he shook hands with me, and said, "Never mind, Bub, only don't do it again."

By-and-by, when Mr. Martin and Sue and Mr. Travers were sitting on the piazza, and I was playing with my new base-ball in the yard, Mr. Martin called out, "Pitch it over here; give us a catch." So I tossed it over gently, and he pitched it back again, and said why didn't I throw it like a man, and not toss it like a girl. So I just sent him a swift ball—a regular daisy-cutter. I knew he couldn't catch it, but I expected he would dodge. He did try to dodge, but it hit him alongside of one eye, and knocked it out. You may think I'm exaggelying, but I'm not. I saw that eye fly up against the side of the house, and then roll down the front steps to the front walk, where it stopped, and winked at me.

I turned, and ran out of the gate and down the street as hard as ever I could. I made up my mind that Mr. Martin was spoiled forever, and that the only thing for me to do was to make straight for the Spanish Main and be a pirate. I had often thought I would be a pirate, but now there was no help for it; for a boy that had knocked out a gentleman's eye could never be let to live in a Christian country. After a while I stopped to rest, and then I remembered that I wanted to take some provisions in a bundle, and a big knife to kill wolves. So I went back as soon as it was dark, and stole round to the back of the house, so I could get in the window and find the carving knife and some cake. I was just getting in the window, when somebody put their arms around me, and said, "Dear little soul! was he almost frightened to death?" It was Sue, and I told her that I was going to be a pirate and wanted the carving knife and some cake and she mustn't tell father and was Mr. Martin dead yet? So she told me that Mr. Martin's eye wasn't injured at all, and that he had put it in again, and gone home; and nobody would hurt me, and I needn't be a pirate if I didn't want to be.

It's perfectly dreadful for a man to be made like Mr. Martin, and I'll never come near him again. Sue says that he won't come back to the house, and if he does, she'll send him away with something—I forget what it was—in his ear. Father hasn't heard about the eye yet, but if he does hear about it, there will be a dreadful scene, for he bought a new rattan cane yesterday. There ought to be a law to punish men that sell rattan canes to fathers, unless they haven't any children.

POLLY.

BY FIDELIA REES MORTON.

"It's no use to tell me Polly Clark's only young and flighty, and that she's got a good heart, and she'll be all right when she gets older, and all that kind of thing. That's all stuff and nonsense. I tell you she's the wickedest child I ever laid eyes on, and if she were a boy, I'd know she'd be hung afore she died; as it is, she's sure to get her death in some queer way, with all them outlandish goings on of her'n." Having given vent to her feelings, and settled poor Polly's fate to her own satisfaction, Deacon Jones's wife proceeded to relate the particulars of the latest scandal to Sallie Perkins, the village gossip.

Mrs. Jones—alas that I am forced to say it!—was not alone in her convictions. The majority of the inhabitants of L—— would have assured you, with a solemn shake of the head, that Polly Clark was, without exception, the "most ornery youngster" that ever was born, and "sech a pity, too, that Squire Clark's only child should be sech an everlastin' worrit to him." And yet a look at Polly would disarm suspicion. A more gentle, lovable-looking girl it would be difficult to find; but then we all know that appearances are deceitful. At church on Sunday she looked so fair and innocent, always paying such good attention to the sermon, and gazing so earnestly at the minister with those clear, soft brown eyes of hers, as if so anxious to understand every word he uttered, that the uninitiated would be ready to declare that hers was indeed a heart without guile. But those who knew her best were well aware that behind this calm exterior was a mind in which the love of mischief reigned supreme, and for aught they knew, at the very moment when she seemed most impressed by the minister's arguments, she had unexpectedly thought of some brilliant plan that promised ill for the peace of mind of some intended victim. Indeed, as poor nervous little Mrs. Clark said, "No one ever knows what Polly is going to do next. I never get up in the morning but I dread what may happen before night. I don't even feel safe about her after she goes to bed, since the time she went into the woods in the middle of the night to try some trick or other with a dead cat, thinking, silly child, that in that way she could cure a wart she had on her thumb. But then," Mrs. Clark always adds, "Polly is always so good-tempered when she is scolded for doing wrong, and seems really to be so sorry about it, that I can't help forgiving her, and hoping she will do better next time. But she don't; she keeps on doing the most dreadful things, and—" And here the poor little woman generally broke down completely, and wept bitterly over the unaccountable depravity of her only child.

As her mother said, Polly did indeed do "dreadful things." Many were the sermons the kind-hearted old minister had preached, which, although delivered to the congregation at large, were expressly intended to move Polly's heart, while she would sit calmly unconscious through them all, wondering what old Aunt Cassy would say when she found her pet Tabby gayly decorated with red, white, and blue paint in honor of the glorious Fourth; or whether Granny Lukens would enjoy the flavor of Cayenne pepper in her tea.

All the old ladies in the neighborhood stood in wholesome awe of her, and Mrs. Jones's melancholy predictions for her future were called forth by the remembrance of how, a week before, Polly had presented her with a batch of doughnuts of her own making, which, when partaken of by some friends invited to tea, were found to be filled with cotton; and that was not the worst of it, for when Mrs. Jones attempted to pull the cotton from her mouth, her teeth came with it, which unexpected letting of the cat out of the bag, so to speak, was more than a nine days' wonder in L——. It is hardly necessary to add that from that time forth there was open warfare between Mrs. Jones and Polly.

It would be too great a task for me to tell you of all my heroine's adventures. How, for instance, she frightened the servant-girl into convulsions one night by suddenly appearing to her in a dark hall, after having, with the aid of some sulphur matches, succeeded in making her face bear a startling resemblance to a grinning, ghastly-looking skull; and how she tied a bunch of fire-crackers to the tail of her father's best mule, and set them off, in return for which doubtful favor that agile animal bestowed upon her a kick that broke two ribs, and confined her to her bed for many weeks, during which period the old ladies of L—— were allowed to rest in peace.

These are but samples of the dozens of tricks with which Polly busied her active brain, and by means of which she was enabled to keep those around her in a continual state of uncertainty as to what unheard-of thing she would attempt next.

But Polly, like Napoleon, was doomed to meet her Waterloo. Her last and most disastrous exploit ended sadly both for herself and others. It happened in this way. Polly went to the circus. From that time forth her daring acrobatic feats supplied the gossips of L——with plenty of material for conversation. They would tell how Polly broke her horse's leg by urging him to jump over a stone wall, and how she almost dislocated her collar-bone in turning a double somersault off a hay-rick; and in fact, they argued, "If she was any one else but Polly Clark, she'd 'a been dead long ago; but them that's born to be hanged will never be drowned," though in what way that proverb was appropriate in Polly's case they themselves could not have told you.

One day Polly conceived a brilliant idea. She would get up a circus of her own. The little boys of the town eagerly agreed to Polly's plan of proceedings. They were to meet and rehearse in her father's barn on Wednesday night, while Mr. and Mrs. Clark were attending the Lyceum meeting.

The appointed hour drew near, and so did the boys. With Polly at their head, they marched in grim silence past the house, and when they reached the barn, she informed them that Bridget, thinking she had gone to bed, was entertaining her beau in the front parlor, so they could make all the noise they wanted to, without fear of detection.

After a moment's search Polly unearthed a couple of candles, which Tommy Briggs lighted; and while he and Polly adjusted the trapeze he had constructed in stolen moments, the other actors in the drama rigged up a remarkably insecure tight-rope.

At last all was ready. "Down in front!" shouted Tommy, in an imperative manner, to the imaginary audience. "The performance is a-goin' to begin. First, Mr. Adolphus Popinjay is goin' to do some gymnastics with the trapeze."

Mr. Adolphus Popinjay, otherwise Jack Hybbed, after many attempts, and with much assistance, succeeded in getting into the trapeze, where he went through a number of extraordinary antics, the most difficult of which was that of standing on one foot, the other leg being extended stiffly behind him, while with both hands he clutched convulsively to the sides of the trapeze. Polly felt a keen sense of disappointment over Jack's performance. Somehow or other it lacked the ease and grace that the man in the circus had exhibited. She was impatient for her turn to come, that she might show them her idea of acrobatism. She was delighted when Tommy announced that "Pauline, the great unbeaten tight-rope walker, is now a-goin' to come out."

Polly advanced majestically toward the tight-rope, which was fastened at one end to a big hook in the side of the barn, and at the other end to the loft, against which was placed a ladder, which she proceeded to ascend. There was a beam overhead, which Polly was to hold on to in order to keep herself from falling, and assisted by it, she started out quite bravely; but she had taken but four steps when Tommy shouted, "Hold on fast, Polly! the hook's comin' out." Alas! the warning came too late. Before she could get hold of the beam securely, the hook came out, and with a cry of terror poor Polly fell with a dull thud to the floor. Her dress knocked over the candle as she fell, and in a second the hay that was scattered on the floor was in a blaze. All the boys except Tommy Briggs rushed screaming from the barn, but he, by straining every muscle, succeeded in dragging Polly out of the now blazing building, and then, the necessity for exertion on his part being over, he fell in a dead faint by the side of the unconscious girl.

Help soon arrived, and the doctor being summoned, Polly was found to be severely injured, while Tommy escaped with some slight burns and an attack of brain-fever. Poor Polly! for weeks she suffered the most intense pain, and when at last she was able to leave her bed, she rose up a sadder and a wiser girl.

Polly is a young woman now, but she still bears the mark of her last frolic in the shape of a long scar on her cheek, where she struck on the rake when she fell.

Polly has one peculiarity. She is the confidential friend of every wild tom-boy of a girl in town, because, as she says, she has such unbounded sympathy with them, and also because she is so anxious to keep them from trying any such dangerous experiments as the one to which she fell a victim.

HOW TROTTY GOT HIS JUMPING-JACK.

BY AGNES CARR.

rotty sat on the nursery floor, gazing sadly at a broken jumping-jack, with only one leg, no arms, and not much of a head to speak of. It was weeks since Christmas, and all the toys Santa Claus had stuffed into Trotty's little striped stocking were cracked and broken, and now this jumping-jack, the last and dearest of all, had gone to pieces too.

"I sink it's time Santa Tlaus tomed aden," remarked Trotty at last.

"Oh no," said nurse, who was holding baby by the window; "he is busy now, making toys to give the good children next Christmas."

"Where does he live?" asked Trotty.

"In a house set in a garden of Christmas trees," began nurse; but just then somebody called her from the room.

"I b'lieve I'll try and find dat house," thought Master Four-year-old, "and ask Santa Tlaus to div me anodder jumping-jack."

To think, with Trotty, was to do, and five minutes later he had on his beloved new rubber boots, and was running down the road as fast as his little fat legs would carry him, with a big apple in his hand to eat on the way.

He came first to a pond where a duck was swimming. "Quack, quack," said the duck; which meant, "What a nice red apple! I wish I had some."

"I will div you a bite," said Trotty, "if you will show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house."

"I don't know the way," said Ducky; "but give me some, and I will take you to the cat, and she will tell you."

So Trotty gave her a bite, and the duck came out of the water, and waddled along in front of Trotty till they came to a barn, where the cat and her five kittens were playing in the door.

"Please, Mrs. Pussy," said Trotty, "show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house, and I will div you a bite of my apple."

"Mew, mew," said the pussy cat; which was, "I don't know the way; but give me some, and I will take you to the dog, and he will tell you."

So Trotty gave her a bite, and she led him to the dog-kennel, where Towser the dog was snapping at flies in the sun.

"Please, doggy," said Trotty, "show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house, and I'll div you a bite of my apple."

"Bow, wow, wow," said Towser; which meant, "I don't know the way; but give me some, and I will take you to the horse, who can tell you."

So Trotty gave him a bite, and together they went on to a green field, where a horse was feeding, and Trotty asked him to show him the way.

"Neigh, neigh," said Horsy, "I don't know; but give me a piece of your apple, and I will take you to the boy, who will surely tell you."

So Trotty gave him a bite, and the horse took him on his back, and galloped away, until they came to a nice little boy sitting on a fence whistling. There was nothing now left of the apple except the core; but Trotty said, "Please, boy, show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house, and I'll div you the tore of my apple."

"I don't know the road," answered the boy; "but give it to me, and I will take you to the little old woman who lives under the hill, and she will tell you."

So Trotty gave him the core, and the boy took him to a wee bit of a cottage, where an old woman was spinning, and a girl with yellow hair was stirring something in a pot over the fire.

"Please, ma'am, will you show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house?" asked Trotty. But now he had no more apple to offer.

"Yes, my little dear," said the old woman, sweetly. "Come in and rest, and then I will take you there."

But the moment he was inside, she caught hold of him, took off all his pretty clothes, and dressed him in old rags, and would have cut off his curls, but the yellow-haired girl said the scissors were rusty, and she must wait till they were sharpened.

Trotty was dreadfully frightened, and thought he should never get home again; but when it grew dark the old woman went to sleep on a bed in the corner, and then the girl with yellow hair dressed him in his own clothes again, opened the door, and let him run away.

Trotty ran along in the dark until he saw a light, and found it came from a large house, and all around the house grew beautiful evergreen trees.

"Dis must be Santa Tlaus's house," thought Trotty, "for there are the Tismas trees." So he trotted up to the door, and knocked. It was opened by a big man with bushy whiskers.

"Is you Santa Tlaus?" asked Trotty.

"Bless us!" said the man. "And if I am, what do you want?"

"I wants a jumping-jack," sobbed Trotty. "And oh! I's tired, and I wants my supper."

"Bless us!" said the man again. But he caught Trotty up in his arms, carried him in, and set him in a high chair in front of a great bowl of bread and milk.

Trotty went to eating right away, for he was very hungry; but before he came to the bottom of the bowl his head nodded, his eyes closed, and he was fast asleep.

He never knew how long he slept; but when he woke up he was in his own little white bed at home, and papa, mamma, and nurse were hugging and kissing him.

But on the pillow by his side lay a beautiful new jumping-jack; so he knew he had found the house in the garden of Christmas trees, and seen good old Santa Claus himself.

BIRDIE'S VANITY.

BY C. L.

Pussie and Kittie strolled out one day
Into the garden to walk and play;
They rolled on the grass, and jumped so high
That the old drake "quacked" as he passed by.
Said he, "I wish I could hop so light,"
And on he hobbled with all his might.
Above, little Susie's Birdie swung;
His cage from a lofty window hung.
As soon as he heard the drake's lament,
His head on mischief was quickly bent.
"Oho, Mister Drake, you soon shall see
That Mistress Puss can not outjump me;
And although my legs are short and thin,
I'll wager that in a race I'll win."
So saying, he flapped against the door
Till his pretty wings were getting sore.
At last, with a snap, the door came loose,
And Birdie flew out—the little goose!
He flew right down to the very ground
Where Pussie and Kittie played around.
And now there began a lively race,
Which gained excitement at every pace.
Little Birdie chirped, and hopped about,
And Pussie followed him in and out,
Under the rose-tree and through the hedge,
Until they came to the garden's edge;
And then Mister Birdie, full of pride,
Mounted a tree by the water's side;
And there he perched, with a proud delight,
Boasting and singing with all his might,
Until, quite weary and worn, at last
He drooped his head, and soon slept fast.
Then up jumped Puss from her hiding-place,
And mounted the tree with nimble grace;
But so gently did her footsteps fall,
Not a sound the sleeper heard at all.
And now, alas! Pussie crouches low:
Poor Birdie will soon be gone. But no!
A shrill little scream is heard to rise,
And there stands Susie with frightened eyes.
Old Pussie scampers with might and main,
And Birdie pops wide his eyes again.
Now think of his horror when he saw
How near he had been to Pussie's paw!
I really think he deserved the pain,
Because he had been so very vain;
And I'll venture that he did not seek
Another frolic within a week.

"KITTY, WHAT MAKES YOU SO CROSS?"

Our exchange department is increasing so rapidly that we find it necessary to offer a few suggestions to our young correspondents. In the first place, if you desire to exchange with other correspondents, always give your full address. If you live in a large city, like Brooklyn, New York, or Philadelphia, you should state your residence, street and number, or the number of your post-office box, as otherwise it is not probable that you will ever receive an answer to your request. You have all heard about hunting for a needle in a haymow; and if you stop to think, you will see it would be just as useless to hunt for any little boy in New York city, unless you knew the street in which he lived; and the faithful "little man in gray" who hurries from house to house with his load of letters certainly can not be expected to know the residence of every Johnny Smith in the city. With many of you who live in the country the case is different. Probably the postmaster himself knows you, and will give you your letter, even if it is not addressed to your father's care. In future we trust you will be careful always to give your residence or your father's address, otherwise, as Uncle Sam's postman does not keep a directory of every little boy and girl in the land, many of you may wait in vain for a chance to exchange your pretty pressed flowers and other objects of interest.

One thing more. When any correspondent offers exchange, and gives a full address, as many have done, it would simplify matters very much, and save us unnecessary trouble, if any one desirous of accepting the offer would write at once to the given address instead of to us. As we can in no case take charge of the transfer of specimens, which must always be directly between yourselves, it is useless for you to write and tell us you are willing to accept the offer of exchange made by any particular boy or girl. Write directly to them, and you will gain time, and save yourself unnecessary postage.

As our exchange department is intended to develop in our readers a knowledge of the flowers, trees, butterflies, birds' eggs, minerals, and other natural products of different sections of their own country, we pay no attention to requests for exchanges of useless things, which could lead at best to nothing higher than the gratification of an idle curiosity.

The following communication was written in Danish, but as we fear that language is not understood by many of our readers, we publish only the translation:

Riserup Parsonage, Falster, Denmark.

I am seven years old, and I live in Denmark. I like the pictures in Young People very much, and my aunt translates the stories to me, for I can not read English. We have made a drawing of Wiggle No. 11, and send it to you. I have a little white cat, and a big black dog called Sagax. Just outside of our garden there is a wood dove on its nest. I can stand close by it, and it is not at all afraid of me.

Emil Koch.

We are very sorry your Wiggles came too late to be printed among our answers to No. 11, for they are very pretty.

Marion, Iowa.

I take Young People, and I don't know what I should do without it. I am eleven years old, and I have three brothers, all older than myself. We have two colts. One of them kicked me on the hip, but did not hurt me very much. I wish some little girl would send a nice recipe for making cookies.

Nellie E. O.

Yonkers, New York.

I have read every number of Young People, from the first to the last one published. I enjoy reading the letters sent by the correspondents, and I like to read all the recipes for candy and cake. During vacation I am going to try them all. I have a pet canary-bird, which was a birthday gift.

I am pressing a few leaves that I gathered on the Palisades, and I am going to press a good many this summer. When they are ready, I shall try to exchange with some little girl.

Edith L. G.

St. Henrys, Ohio.

I like Young People better than any other paper I have ever taken.

I have a pet 'coon, a squirrel, a canary, a dog, and two cats. And I have a large doll. She is three feet and eight inches tall. Her name is Gervaise. I got her at the Centennial Exhibition.

I love to read the letters in the Post-office Box.

I went fishing this spring for the first time, and caught six fish. I am eleven years old, and now in the summer I am not going to school.

Will any little girl send me a recipe for cream candy?

Flora B.

Okolona, Mississippi.

I am a little girl six years old, and I can not write very well yet. I do not go to school, but mamma teaches me at home. I like Young People so much! I have a little dog named Snip. I live in the South, and it is pretty warm here now.

Two mocking-birds have a nest and four little baby birds in a rose-bush near our sitting-room window.

Mamma and I are going to Michigan in a few weeks to see my grandma and grandpa. My papa is a preacher. I have no brother or sister.

Bessie M. McL.

Belle Plaine, Iowa.

Captain William Eaton, the subject of the sketch, "An American Soldier of Fortune," in Young People No. 34, was my mother's great-uncle on her father's side. So on her mother's side was Colonel William Knowlton.

Cora F.

Cedar Falls, Iowa.

I thought I would write about my pets. They are two old cats, three kittens, and a dog. Two of the kittens are gray, the other one is Maltese. My dog meets me every night when I come home from school, and always accompanies me when I go after wild flowers. I live in the country, and I think it is a very pretty place to live. I have no canary, but the birds sing very sweetly out-of-doors, and I like that much better than having one in a cage. I think Misfits are very amusing. I have no sister, and only one brother.

Josie M. J.

Hokendaugau, Pennsylvania.

I tried the recipe for kisses sent by C. H. S., and printed in Young People No. 35, and the kisses were splendid.

B. H. T.

Excelsior Farm, Kansas.

A pair of mocking-birds are rearing a nest of young birds in our front yard, and I would like to tame two of them. Can you tell me how to feed them and care for them?

Sidney B. P.

Directions for feeding mocking-birds were given in Post-office Box No. 13, but no doubt some of our young correspondents in the South can give farther particulars respecting the care of young birds. We will gladly print any information they will kindly send.

Wilmington, North Carolina.

In the summer we go to the sea-shore, about eight miles from where we live. We ride there in carriages, and see many pretty flowers along the road. There is a very curious one among them. It is called Venus's-flytrap. If you put a fly in it, it will kill it and eat it.

I think Young People is the best paper I ever read. I am ten years old, and my name is

Lottie May W.

The Venus's-fly trap does not eat the fly, but at the end of each leaf, which springs from the root, it has a kind of appendage, armed on the edge by glands resembling hairs, which contain a sweet liquid attractive to insects. No sooner does a fly alight upon this sensitive leaf, than, with a sudden spring, it closes, and crushes its victim to death. When the fly is dead, the leaf again unfolds. This singular plant is a native of North Carolina.

Papa and I took a ride early this morning, before six o'clock. We saw three little squirrels, and we passed many chestnut-trees in full bloom (June 28), and saw wild raspberry bushes covered with ripe fruit.

My canaries have hatched, but one egg broke, and one tiny birdling died, but out of five eggs I have three fine young birds. Their names are Ganarra, Goldie, and Downy. They are hopping around on the perches now. The mother bird behaved so badly that I took her out of the cage, and now the father takes care of the little ones. Is such an action common on the father's part, or is my Neddy the sweetest, dearest little bird in the world?

I have tried almost all the recipes sent to the cooking club, and I send one myself, for white cake: Half a cup of butter; one cup of sugar; the whites of three eggs; half a cup of sweet milk; one and a half cups of flour; one tea-spoonful cream of tartar; half a tea-spoonful soda. Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, and froth the whites of the eggs before stirring in.

I think the Tree Album is very nice, and I would like to exchange specimens of our trees for some of other localities as soon as I have enough ready.

Altia R. Austin,
Portland, Connecticut.

Elizabethtown, Illinois.

I varnish leaves with rosin. I sprinkle fine powdered rosin on the leaf, and then pass a hot iron over it. The rosin melts and spreads over the leaf, varnishing it beautifully. The method is both cheap and easy.

Here is a recipe for cream candy for the cooking club: Three pounds of sugar; one cup of rich cream. Stew until the syrup candies when dropped in cold water. Flavor with lemon, and pour into buttered tins, or pull, as you prefer.

Edith L.

Rodetta F. Bartlett and Margery R. H. send the cooking club recipes for sugar-candy. We acknowledge them with thanks, but do not print them, as they vary only slightly from recipes given in previous numbers.

Watervliet Centre, New York.

Here is a recipe for citron cake for Puss Hunter's cooking club: One tea-cup of sugar; two-thirds of a tea-cup of butter; two tea-cups of flour; half a tea-cup of milk; one tea-spoonful of soda dissolved in the milk; a little essence of lemon. Stir in bits of citron cut thin, and bake in hearts and rounds.

I have taken Young People since Christmas, and I look eagerly for it every week. I have two dolls, Nellie and Pearl. I am eleven years old.

Anna W. C.

I have a few specimens of trees arranged according to the directions given in Young People No. 31. I would like to exchange them with some little girl living in any locality except San Francisco.

As I live in the city, I do not have many opportunities to get specimens, but when I do go to the country I make good use of my time, and in spite of being very much afraid of cows, snakes, and lizards, I sometimes venture in pretty wild places for good specimens.

This year we went out to Napa Valley with a friend, who drove us all over the valley. We saw hundreds and hundreds of acres of vineyards, and passed lots of places where they were laying out more.

I am an only child, and I have no pets now except my flowers and dolls, and my own lovely piano.

Ida Belle Diserens,
734 Grove Street, San Francisco, California.

I would like to exchange pressed flowers with some little girl, and when the seeds are ripe I will exchange seeds. I have some nice flowering beans, and different kinds of larkspurs. I will exchange larkspur seed for pink seed. There are many varieties of ferns here.

Can any one tell me how to varnish leaves, and also if there is any way to keep pressed flowers from fading?

Mary Lowry,
Elizabethtown, Hardin County, Illinois.

As a great many of the other little girls write to Our Post-office Box, I thought I would write too. Papa takes Young People, and we children like it very much. I guess he does too.

I have no pets, but my older sister has a pet calf, and it is very pretty. Its name is Lily May. She feeds it on meal and water. I have three dolls. Two are china, and one is a large wax doll, with beautiful brown hair.

I would like to exchange pressed flowers with any little girl.

Sallie M. Brown,
London, Kentucky.

Since my letter was published in Young People No. 33, I have received so many letters from different States—several of them accompanied with eggs—that it is impossible for me to answer them all promptly. I wish to tell the correspondents, through the Post-office Box, that I will surely answer all their letters and return them eggs, but they must not be surprised if it is not immediately, for nearly all asked me for the same kind of eggs, and I can only send them as fast as my agents, who are colored children, find them and bring them to me.

Alice I. Paine,
Ingleside Farm, Cherokee County, Georgia.

I would like to exchange birds' eggs with some one in a distant State or Territory.

George L. Rusby,
Franklin, Essex County, New Jersey.

I am eleven years old. My papa is a doctor, and my mamma teaches a Kindergarten school. I have a little sister we call Fredie. We each have a kitten, and I have a canary.

I am making a collection of bugs, butterflies, shells, and minerals, and I would like to exchange with "Wee Tot" Brainard, or any other little girl. I have not a very large collection yet, but I am adding to it fast.

Jessie May Allen,
Charlotte, Michigan.

Salt Lake Station, Utah.

My new telescope works a great deal better than my first one. We had to exclude about half of the light by putting a piece of pasteboard with a hole in it in front of the object-glass, which has a diameter of two inches, and a focus of sixty inches. It magnifies the moon about forty times, as near as we can judge. How can I tell exactly how many times a glass magnifies?

How many of the other boys have tried to make a telescope according to the directions given in Young People No. 1?

How can I make a cheap camera obscura?

Is it injurious to the eyes to look at the moon through the telescope without smoked glasses?

Olaf T.

The oculist from whom you obtained your lenses will tell you their magnifying power.—You do not need smoked glass when looking at the moon.—A simple form of the camera obscura (dark chamber) is a box furnished with a lens whose focal length is equal to the length and height of the box. At the opposite end of the box from the lens a mirror is placed at an angle of forty-five degrees, from which the image received through the lens is reflected upon a piece of glass, the under side of which should be ground, placed flat directly above the mirror. The image will of course be inverted. It will be more distinct if the ground glass be shaded from the light.

George L. R.—You will see by the letter of Alice Paine in this Post-office Box that she did give her right address. Why your letter miscarried we can not explain.

H. Scott.—Send your full address, and we will gladly publish your request for exchange.

W. Chapman, Mary L. L., and others.—Write directly to the address given by those with whom you desire to exchange.

Maud W.—Paste your leaves firmly to the paper, and leave them under heavy pressure until they are dry, and you will not be troubled by their curling up. When you take them from the press varnish them, and they will give you more satisfaction.

G. W. Davis.—A projectile kaleidoscope may be of any convenient size, varying from six to ten inches in length, fitted with two lenses—one at the object end, to throw light from a lamp through the instrument, and the other at the eye end, through which the image is projected on a screen, placed at the proper focal distance. Any ingenious boy can fit these lenses to an ordinary kaleidoscope, and fit it to a stand, which may be placed on a table.

H. T. Wilson.—The correspondent you inquire about did not desire exchange, and we have no authority to give full address. Any short communication you may wish to make in reference to minerals will be printed in Our Post-office Box.

Favors are acknowledged from Bertha B. Allen, "Dick Deadeye," Elsie H. Tatum, George Empey, S. F. W., Lizzie Allie Hill, Jessie H. R., May Bell and Laura Milles, John R.

Correct answers to puzzles are received from A. H. Ellard, Warren S. Banks, Frank E. Hayward, Anna W. Cragier, Jennie F. S., C. B. Howard, L. M. Fobes, Maud Mathewson, Eddie S. Hequembourg, R. D. C.