THE END.
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.