OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
There was once a little girl who had a garden of her own, in which she planted a great many seeds. But somehow her seeds did not grow into flowers very fast. Do you know why?
It was because she kept digging them up every day, to make them show her the new leaves and buds. She vexed Mother Nature so by her worry and hurry that the wise old lady frowned until her cap ruffles shook, and said:
"That child shall have no flowers this year. When she plants her seeds, she must trust me to make them grow, and not peep into my work-shop so often."
The little girl who owns the flower-pot we give you this week will not put the good old mother in a pet. She knows that Nature is very busy waking up the sleeping flowers, and making their new spring dresses. And of course when the rain comes pit-a-pat on the roofs, and the wind goes racing along, driving the surf on the shore, that little girl knows that Dame Nature is full of her annual house-cleaning. When she is done, how everything will shine! The world will look as bright as a new penny. So let us all say,
"Little old woman, whither so high?"
Hark! What was that voice which came down the chimney?
"To sweep the cobwebs out of the sky."
To be sure! Now whose is this pretty flower-pot?
"Mine," says Dot. "Mine," says Fanny. "Yours," says Lulu to her little sick brother.
Somehow Lulu seems to deserve it most, but the Postmistress thinks we will all share the flowers together.
Ann Arbor, Michigan.
I am a little boy almost seven years old. My papa gave me Harper's Young People for a present last Christmas. I enjoy hearing my grandmamma read it very much. I live in Ann Arbor, where the Michigan University is located. I go to school every day, and I expect, if I live, to go by-and-by to the university. Would it not be strange and pleasant if I should there meet some of the little friends that write such interesting letters for the Post-office Box? I live with my grandpapa and grandmamma, for my dear mamma died when I was four months old. I have not many pets, but I love to play marbles. Do not some of the little boys I read about like to play with them too? I had a large bag of the most beautiful marbles ever seen sent me from my uncle living in California.
Wicker J. M.
Playing marbles is delightful if you will only return the marbles you win to their former owners when your game is over. Playing marbles for fair makes some little fellows so unhappy that the Postmistress does not approve of it, unless both parties agree on playing "for fun" only. What does Wicker's grandmamma say on the subject?
Strasburg, Alsace.
I don't believe that any of the American subscribers of Harper's Young People enjoy reading it more than I do, though I am not an American girl, but an Alsatian, like my father. Mamma was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, but I have never been to America, though I would much like to see for myself what are the customs and habits of the American people. It is mamma's sister, who dwells in Galveston, Texas, who has the kindness to send me this nice paper. I like especially to read the stories about French people, like the one of King Louis XVI. of France and Queen Marie Antoinette, which appeared in one of your numbers, and the beautiful story of Charlotte Corday, who was one of my countrywomen too; for the Alsacians are French, and though the Germans took our poor land and separated us from our dear country, they never can take our hearts, which will always remain French.
I hope this letter will be published, for it would be a pity that, coming from so far away, it should be put into that doleful pigeon-hole, which must surely be the terror of every one who contributes to swell the number of the Post-office Box letters.
As I saw that many of the correspondents tell about their pets, I too will write about my nice canary-birds. One of them papa gave me for my birthday, and the other— Why, one cold winter day, as we were at dinner, we heard a little noise at the window, and there was the poor little thing. Of course we made it come in, and it just flew into the opened cage and ate some seeds, for it was nearly starved to death and frozen. Since then it lives with us, and we call it "Bienvenu," which means in English "welcome." Last spring it laid five eggs in a basket I gave it as a nest, and I rejoiced at the thought of having little birds, but Bienvenu was cruel enough to eat all her eggs before they were hatched.
Eliza T.
It pleases us very much when our far-away little readers send us letters to tell us what they have most enjoyed. It was too bad that little Bienvenu behaved so strangely. But another time she may consent to sit upon the tiny eggs instead of making her dinner of them.
"BO-PEEP."
THE STORY OF DOLLY AND POLLY.
Dear little Rosa had bright golden hair,
And she sang so sweetly to Dolly;
But "Little Bo-peep, little Bo-peep,"
Was re-echoed incessant from Polly,
Who swung in his cage, as happy as she,
And free from all care as Miss Dolly;
He seemed to enjoy her innocent glee.
But Rosa grew angry with Polly:
"You have no right at all thus to mock me," she said;
"Besides, you're disturbing my Dolly;"
And then she threw over the bird's scarlet head
Her apron, and silent was Polly.
Gayly the lullaby music she trilled,
Triumphantly swaying her rocker,
While poor disgraced Poll, in his dark cage stilled,
Did nothing but think of his cracker.
At last little Rosa, with soft pinky cheek,
Slept, twining her arms around Dolly,
Forgetting in dreams that real naughty freak
She had just had with poor banished Polly.
While he, growing tired of the dark cloistered cell,
And missing the sound of the rocker,
Concluded the world was under a spell,
Because no one had brought him a cracker.
Then screeched he in loud and parroty voice.
Rosa started, and down went her Dolly,
All broken—her beautiful holiday choice!
Still she blamed not the bird, but her folly.
Shut up in the dark, so gloomy, while she
Sang "Little Bo-peep" blithe and jolly.
"How I wish I had let you sing too, pretty bird!
Then I would not have broken my Dolly."
A. E. T.
Elkmont, Alabama.
I live in a little railroad town in the northern part of Alabama. I have a black rabbit and a white one. Their names are Jesse and Bessie. They are very cunning. I keep them in a little paled yard. They have a little house in the centre of the yard. I have a cat named Ed. When he wants to come in, he will shake the door until some one lets him in. When I roll a rock on the ground, he will run after it. I have seventeen chickens. I went fishing to-day, and caught fifty-one, but they were little fellows.
Ernest W.
Baltimore, Maryland.
Last year mamma gave me Harper's Young People for a birthday present, and this year my papa gave it to me. I am so happy to see it every week. Papa always reads "Talking Leaves" to me; I am delighted with it. Mamma or one of my aunties reads the other stories and letters. We are all pleased with "The Dolls' Dressmaker" (little Jenny Wren), but I did love "Toby Tyler" best of all, and wish Mr. Otis would hurry up the new story he has promised us.
So many of the children tell you of their pets! I have two; both of them are cats—one a big Maltese named Cann, the other a little gray and white kitten named Pocahontas. She does not love old Cann, and fights him every time she finds a chance. He never fights her back. My little gray cat comes to my room every morning, and cries until I let her in, and then we have fine fun for awhile.
I am too small a boy to write, so mamma is writing this letter for me. I am the only pet mamma and papa have. I can read a little, and hope soon to be able to write.
Carlton R. B.
Just a little patience, dear! The Postmistress saw Mr. Otis yesterday. Keep a bright lookout until April comes, and then when the showers are falling, and the buds are springing, "Mr. Stubbs's Brother," with his queer little eyes, flat nose, and funny long tail, will make his appearance in Young People.
Sacramento, California.
I have been wanting to write to this dear little paper for a long time, but did not know that you published the letters of those who did not subscribe. My papa brings me a paper regularly every week.
I have no little pets, like most children, and even if I had, I would not have time to play with them, as I go to school, take lessons in chenille embroidery, and practice on the piano.
I spent three months in the Eastern States last summer, and visited a great many places in New York State, Connecticut, Ohio, and Illinois. I saw many wonderful beauties of nature, among which was the Devil's Slide, which was two perpendicular walls one hundred feet high, and twenty feet apart, coming down the steep side of a mountain. The Devil's Gate is a stream of water flowing under a mountain. Witches' Rocks are five rocks that look like ladies. Pulpit Rock is the place where Brigham Young preached his first sermon in Utah. They are both in Echo Canon, which is a canon that throws the echo back when you speak very loud. Cape Horn is in California, and is a mountain rising up from the American River about 2500 feet, and has a railroad cut around the side of it. I wish all the readers of the Young People could see all the beautiful things I did last summer.
I will exchange some pretty shells, stones, advertising cards, unpressed sea-moss, or a small piece of petrified wood, for fossils, minerals, stalactites, stalagmites, foreign stamps, old coins, or flint. Please write before sending.
I hope my letter is not too long.
Alida Lewis, 726 O St., Sacramento, Cal.
Ilchester, Maryland.
I am going to Europe in April, in the great steamer City of Rome, and mamma says I may have Harper's Young People sent over to me. It would be too much for me to give it up, as my brother Tom and I read it, and it gives us so much pleasure. I have been to Europe before. We staid two years, but now I am ten, and I will enjoy it much more. Tom is eight years old, and we are reading Young Folks Abroad, so we can know about London and Paris and the other cities. We have read Abbott's Histories, and the death of Charles I. and Marie Antoinette almost made me cry. Would you like me to write you what I see when I am across the great "ditch"? We expect to be in Germany this summer, and in the winter in Nice, but I don't want to leave you behind.
Katie R.
You will enjoy yourself very much more if you study and read before going to the Old World, in order to understand what you see. Write to the Postmistress, and describe some of your adventures, and tell her what pleases you most in London and Paris and in other places where you may stop awhile.
Beauclerc, Florida.
I saw in No. 111 a picture of seven oranges on one branch. We had two bunches on this place with twelve on, and one with sixteen. They were just as close together as could be. Some of them were flattened, they pressed each other so hard. We had a curiosity of an orange—a large one with a smaller one growing out of it. It did look too funny, but it dropped from the tree before ripening.
I would like to exchange nice fresh moss, with blossom on, for unused postage stamps, foreign and domestic—no revenue. Do not send less than five at once; and no two alike. I will send the moss according to the value of the stamps. Cancelled ones will not be accepted.
It will not be necessary to write beforehand, as I will send the moss without fail to any one sending the stamps. I would like to exchange with foreign correspondents, and this offer will remain open four months for that reason.
Can you tell me which is the best stamp album, or, rather, where to get a good one?
F. C. Sawyer.
Bridgeport, Kansas.
We moved to Kansas from Indiana more than a year since, and witnessed our first large prairie fire on the afternoon and evening of February 9. We first noticed the reflection on the sky in the southeast on the night of the 8th, and by the afternoon of the next day the fire had come so near that we began to make preparations to protect our property by burning a "fire guard" around the house, etc. After that we had leisure to watch the progress of the fire, and as it grew dark the grandeur of the sight increased. We mounted a hill which commanded a view for miles in every direction, and turn in whatever direction we would there was fire. It looked like a grand torch-light procession of men in single file marching and countermarching, forming circles, squares, and all conceivable shapes, ever widening their circuit, until there were miles on miles of lines of flame. The wind freshened about 9 p.m., and then the sight was grand beyond my powers to describe. No doubt much damage to property was done. Many families in this vicinity have related to us damage inflicted by former prairie fires.
Mrs. E.
P.S.—We walk three miles to Sunday-school.
We never hear of people who walk miles to day or Sunday school without feeling ashamed of ourselves, because, sometimes we think it hard to have to walk a few blocks on some such errand. A prairie fire must be a magnificent sight.
I want to tell you about my Polly. We bought him in New Orleans, and not knowing his birthday, we set it at the 1st of May. At first he would not talk at all; he was very cross, and would not let us touch him. One night my sister began to play on the piano and sing; Polly began to sing also, in a little low voice. Papa threw a newspaper at him, and said, "You old humbug, you could sing all the time."
I will tell you some of the things he says. Of course he can say, "Polly wants a cracker," and "Pretty Poll." He can say "Hurrah, Polly!" My name is Estelle, and when I come into the dining-room in the morning he will say "Stella" just as plain. There was a crowd of children standing at our gate one day, and they said, "Polly, can we come in?" and he said, "Come along."
Our Polly's name is Jack, but we never call him that. He had a fight with a dog once. The dog was coming up to him, and he just put up his wings and flew screaming to the dog. The dog did not stop to fight, but ran for his life.
Polly is very tame now, and will get on my hand and talk to me.
That is all I have to say about Polly at present.
E. M.
Palmyra, Missouri.
As I like so much to read the letters from the little girls in Young People, I thought I would write one. I have been sick, and not able to walk for a year, but my pa, who is a doctor, thinks by the time the leaves and flowers come out I will be able to go out too. I study at home, so that I may keep up with my class at school; and that keeps me so busy that the time does not seem long. I always look forward to Thursday, which brings Young People, as we live in the country, and think more of getting the papers than the little girls in the city. We have had lots of ice and sleet, and it makes me wish, when I see my little brother on his sled going down the hill, that I could go too; but maybe I will be able to when another winter comes. We have a good many pets, but the best one is our dog. To close, I will tell the readers what my ma tells me, always to sew the paper before reading it. I am eleven years old.
Ellen McC.
The "time of the singing of birds," as the Bible says, is coming nearer every day, and we hope little Ellen will be able to walk out-doors and enjoy the spring, with its many delights.
The letters from East Northport, Long Island, which came in a bundle the other day, were all so very good that the Postmistress could not make up her mind to publish any of them, when there was not room for every one of the bright little missives. She hopes to hear from the school again.