HOW TO INTRODUCE PEOPLE.
"I do dislike to introduce people to each other," said Eva to me one day last week.
"Why, pray?" I asked. "It seems to me a very simple thing."
"Well, when I have it to do, I stammer and blush, and feel so awkward, I never know who should be mentioned first, and I wish myself out of the room."
"I think I can make it plain to you," I said. "You invite Mabel Tompkins to spend an afternoon with you. She has never been at your home before, and your mother has never met her. When you enter the sitting-room, all you have to do is to say, 'Mother, this is my friend Mabel; Mabel, my mother.' If you wish to be more elaborate, you may say to your aunt Lucy, 'Aunt Lucy, permit me to present Miss Mabel Tompkins; Miss Tompkins, Mrs. Templeton.' But while you introduce Mabel to your father, or the minister, or an elderly gentleman, naming the most distinguished personage first, you present your brother, his chum, and your cousin Fred to the young lady, naming her first. Fix it in your mind that among persons of equal station the younger are introduced to the older, and that inferiors in age, position, or influence are presented to superiors. Be very cordial when, in your own house, you are introduced to a guest, and offer your hand. If away from home, a bow is commonly sufficient recognition of an introduction. Please, in performing an introduction, speak both names with perfect distinctness."
"WHAT YER LAUGHIN' AT?"—From a Painting by Philip B. Haus.
[A Story of All-Hallow-Eve.]
BY AGNES REPPLIER.
I wonder how many of the children who roast chestnuts or duck for apples on All-hallow-eve have any idea how venerable are the games they play, or how, all the world over, young people are amusing themselves in pretty much the same fashion? In England, girls are strewing the ashes that are expected, though vainly, I fear, to spell the names of whoever loves them best. In Scotland, they are slyly sowing the hemp that their future husbands must come and gather. In Germany, they are making merry efforts to learn their fate with the help of the looking-glass that hangs by their bed. And many of these sports have been played for centuries, and were old even at the time of my story.
More than eighty years ago three little English children were solemnly arranging their mystic games for All-hallow-eve. They were alone in a tiny cottage, nearly half a mile from any neighbor, for father and mother had gone to the town of Ware, taking the baby with them, and would not be back before the next night; so Rupert, Margery, and little Nance, left to each other's company, were preparing without a shadow of fear to amuse themselves in their own fashion. Two big lumps of lead were ready to be melted, and then poured into water, there to assume hundreds of quaint little shapes; the chestnuts, carefully matched and named, were hopping gayly about on the fire-place; and half a dozen rosy-cheeked apples floated tantalizingly in a tub of water, waiting for a courageous diver.
Rupert, a strong and active boy of twelve, captured his apple at every plunge, thrusting his curly head fairly into the tub, and never bringing it out until his teeth were firmly fixed in its glossy sides; Margery, who did not fancy getting wet, only nibbled at hers, and sent it bobbing about the surface of the water; while poor little Nance would dive boldly down, and come up gasping and choking, her blue eyes tight shut, the water streaming from her fair hair, and looking more like a half-drowned kitten than a little girl who had not succeeded in catching a slippery apple.
"It's no use, Nance," said her sister; "you will never get one, if you keep on soaking yourself all night. Let us see now who will be married and who will die. Rupert, you go into the garden, and bring me in some earth on a plate, while I get the ashes and water."
The boy took a dish of yellow stone-ware, and went out to dig up the mould. It was a clear night, but blowing hard, and wild scraps of cloud came flying before the face of the moon, while to his left he saw the white banks of the river Lea, and could hear the rush of the waters as they swept angrily by. How high the river looked! thought Rupert, watching it, trowel in hand, and how loudly it sounded. He had never seen or heard it like that before, and for a moment he stood wondering what had caused this sudden rise. Then Margery's voice calling for the earth made him forget all about it, and in another minute he was back in the warm, bright kitchen, without a thought of the foaming torrent outside.
The little girl placed side by side on the table the three dishes; one of which held the mould, the other ashes, and the third clear water. Then she bound a handkerchief tightly over Nance's eyes, and after turning her around a couple of times to bewilder her, bade her go and put her hand in one of the plates. If she touched the water, she would be married; if her fingers wandered into the ashes, she was doomed to be an old maid; but if she reached the earth first, then she would surely die before the next All-hallow-eve.
Fully impressed with the solemnity of this awful rite, Nance slowly groped her way to the table, and after a moment's indecision put her little fat fingers softly down, when plump they went right into the water. Margery gave a shout of pleasure, and with a sigh of profound relief that her future was so securely settled, Nance unbound the handkerchief and handed it over to her sister. But with her matters were not so promising, for advancing with a great show of confidence, her evil genius led her straight to the ashes, greatly to her own disgust and Rupert's undisguised delight. It was his turn now; but just as his eyes were being bandaged, little Nance called out, "Look! Margery, look! the floor is all wet!"
With a bound the boy sprang to the door and opened it. Nothing but water met his eyes—water as yet but a couple of inches deep, but which was softly, steadily rising in the moonlight, while the rush of the river sounded now as if it were close by his side. In an instant he realized what had happened. The Lea, swollen by heavy rains, had overflowed its banks, and the water was gaining on them fast. Already it had entered the room where the frightened children stood, only half understanding their great danger.
"Go up stairs," shouted Rupert to his sisters; "and if the flood rises that high, we will climb out on the roof. Go quick!"
But Margery stood still, her brown eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Rupert," she cried, "the poor little baby ducks and chickens! They will all be drowned; and what ever will mother say when she comes back?"
Rupert never heeded her. The water by this time reached to their ankles, and to close the door was impossible. Thoroughly alarmed, he drew the little girls up the ladder-like staircase into their low attic. It would not take long for the waves to mount that high, and their only hope of safety lay in climbing on to the steep sloping roof. Opening the window, he crawled cautiously out, and then helped Nance and Margery to follow him. Side by side stood the three children, and saw the sullen waters, white and foaming in the moonlight, surge and sway around them. Where could they look for help? Their father gone, their neighbors ignorant that they were alone in the house, and perhaps in the general terror forgetting all about them. Abandoned in their great peril, with only a boy of twelve to aid and save them!
Poor little Nance sobbed and shivered as she crept closer to her brother's side; Margery, bewildered with fright, stood as if frozen into stone; but Rupert, with fast-beating heart and a despairing light in his blue eyes, watched the cruel waters as they rose, and tried to think how best to act for his sisters' sake and for his own. He could hear in the distance cries and shouts, and could see bonfires blazing on many roofs—signals of the common danger. He knew that along the outskirts of the town, and through the scattered parish of Ware, relief boats were even now rowing from house to house to save those who lived in cottages too low to shelter them. He called until he was exhausted, but the only answer was the sullen roar of the Lea and the beating of the waves around him. Already they were lapping against the attic windows. Something must be done, and quickly, if he would save his sisters from perishing.
"Margery," he said at last, "would you be very much afraid to stay here alone with Nance, while I try and get some help?"
"Oh, Rupert!" shrieked the child, throwing her arms around him, "you would surely be drowned, and so would we. What can you do in such an awful flood?"
"I could try and swim to the manor farm," said the boy. "It is not more than half a mile off at furthest, and there are plenty of floating boughs and fences in the water to rest me if I tire out. Margery, I must go, or we shall all drown together; and you know," he added, with a sob, "I promised father that I would take care of you."
"But to leave us here alone! Oh, Rupert, I should die!"
But Rupert's mind was made up. "It must be done at once," he said, "or it will be too late. Margery, try and be a little brave, and keep tight hold of Nance if the waves reach you before I can come back. Please God, I will save you yet." Then throwing off his shoes and jacket, he said once more, "Remember to keep tight hold of Nance," and plunged into the seething waters, in which no man could hope to live.
Margery's shriek died into silence, and clutching her little sister, she watched the slight figure tossed on the cruel billows as the boy swam bravely on. How long could his young strength avail against their mighty power?
In a minute he was swept out of sight, and with an awful feeling of loneliness, she crouched on the roof, holding Nance in her arms. Each moment passed slowly as an hour, while the waves crept ever higher and higher, until they washed against the children's feet as they clung closely together. What had become of Rupert? What would become of them? Nance's sobs were hushed from sheer exhaustion, and she only moaned and shivered slightly when the crawling water gained on them inch by inch. Some of her brother's courage had entered Margery's breast in this extremity of peril, and mingling with her broken prayers for aid were words of comfort to her little sister.
But every minute it became plainer to her that they could not keep their hold much longer. Chilled to the heart, their stiffened arms were gradually relaxing. The morning was beginning to break, and its dull gray light showed her nothing but the angry waves on every side. Familiar landmarks were all gone, and the child's lonely heart grew despairing in the midst of so much desolation. All hope was dying fast, when far in the distance came a dark speck, moving steadily over the solid waters, and growing larger and clearer every moment. It was a boat rowed by strong arms that shot forward to help them.
"Nance! Nance!" she sobbed, "they are coming! they are coming! Rupert has sent them, after all. He has saved us, as he said he would."
Another minute, and the two cramped and wearied little figures were lifted down from their perilous resting-place, and laid gently in the boat, Nance hardly conscious, but Margery trembling with the question she scarcely dared to ask.
"Where is Rupert?" she cried. "He sent you, I know; but where is he now?"
The men, two laborers from the manor farm, looked at each other with troubled eyes, but made no answer. Margery's pitiful glance wandered from one down-cast face to the other, as she strove to understand what this silence meant.
"He must have sent you to us," she said, slowly, and as if talking to herself; "else how would you have thought to come?"
"Ay, that he did," answered one of the rowers. "He sent us truly, but he spoke no words to tell his tale. If we had not been a parcel of frightened fools, we would have remembered you before."
He stopped, and Margery looked at him with dazed and startled eyes. As gently as he could he told her how, two hours before, the drowned body of a little fair-haired boy had been swept by the torrent past the windows of the manor farm. Every effort had been made to bring back some spark of life, but it was too late. Struggling alone through the night in the great waters, the child's slight strength had long since given out, and the waves tossed their light burden hither and thither in cruel sport. He had striven with all his might, for his sisters' sake, and he had rescued them; for when the little dead body was recognized, all remembered the helpless family in the cottage cut off from any assistance, and a boat was sent out instantly for those who might still be alive. Here they were, just in time, and Margery and her little sister were that day restored safe and well to their mother's arms.
And long years after, when children of her own gathered around her knee, Margery would tell them on each All-hallow-eve the story of that dreadful night, and of their brave little uncle Rupert, who with boyish courage had risked and lost his life to save the sisters committed to his care.
[ANECDOTES OF COUNTRY LIFE.]
We once had a piping bullfinch that was given to my mother as a birthday present. Bully was very tame, and used to fly about the room every morning, settling now and then upon somebody's head; but he loved his mistress much more than any one else, and was never so happy as when perched on her shoulder, piping his little song, or pecking seeds from her lips. He once showed his love for her in a very pretty way. She had spent several days away from home, which made poor Bully very dull and sad, and returning late one evening, long after children and birds had shut their eyes for the night, went into the room, and spoke to him. Bully woke up, and was so delighted at the sight of his mistress that he at once began piping his tune in joyful welcome to her. The poor little bird had a sad end. It is, I believe, a well-known fact that bullfinches often die of grief or jealousy, but we did not know it at the time; and when we had the large cage of birds, our pretty bright Bully was put into it. He was so much vexed at seeing them share his mistress's attention that he sickened and died in a few days.
One summer we noticed that regularly every morning when the dining-room window was open, a small wasp used to fly in, generally with something in its mouth, and settle on the writing-table. On the side of the table nearest the window there were only sham drawers; but they had key-holes, and into one of them the wasp always crawled, coming out again in a few minutes, and flying away. But it was sure to come back several times, and occupy itself very busily in the hole. In a few days a little white wall gradually rose up in front of the opening, and at last quite closed it, as though it had been built up with a fine cement. About the same time several other key-holes in different parts of the house were closed in this manner, and that so effectually, that no key could be introduced into them. We once opened one with a sharp-pointed instrument, and found inside some fat green caterpillars. The wasp had laid its eggs inside the little house, and imprisoned the caterpillars to serve as food for its young ones as soon as they were hatched. We often wondered how the caterpillars lived so long, when there was apparently no food provided for them. But I have since read in some book of natural history that the wasp, when carrying them by their necks to their prison, sends them into a kind of stupor, which, fortunately for themselves, lasts until the end of their lives.
[WINDOW GARDENING.]
BY A. W. ROBERTS.
A window containing a collection of healthy and blooming plants stamps the owner as one possessing refined tastes and a kind disposition, together with a love for all that is beautiful in nature. Window boxes ornamented with English or American tiles, and lined inside with zinc, are too costly for the size of young people's pockets. Besides, there does not begin to be as much fun in a "store" window box as is contained in one made at home with the assistance of father or big brother.
A well-made window box for the cultivation of plants during the winter and summer months will last a number of years with ordinary care.
Fig. 1.—WINDOW BOX COMPLETE.
Fig. 1 represents a home-made window box when completed. The box consists of well-seasoned one-inch white pine thoroughly nailed together. At one end of the box (A) a hole is bored to allow all surplus water to drain off and into the pan, also shown at A. To prevent the water and moisture contained in the soil from rotting and warping the wood-work, several coats of hot asphalt are applied with an old paint-brush—asphalt varnish will also answer—thus closing up all possible leaks, and thoroughly protecting the wood-work. There is no rule for the proportion of window boxes; the requirements of the plants used and the widths of windows and sills govern the proportion of the boxes. If the windows intended for boxes are very wide, braces of wood should be fastened across the tops and bottoms of the boxes to strengthen them, and extra feet nailed on to support them.
All boxes as well as flower-pots containing growing plants should have a thorough "bottom drainage." This is accomplished by placing on the bottom of the box a layer of broken earthenware or old bones broken into small pieces. The bones answer a double purpose, that of drainage and a supply of plant food (ammonia, etc.).
Fig. 2.—SPRUCE-WOOD PANEL.
Fig. 2 is a spruce-wood panel. A square is first drawn on the outside of the window box; this square is painted a light green, to contrast with the brown of the spruce twigs. After the paint has dried, the guide lines are ruled from corner to corner through the centre. Small twigs of dried spruce-wood of a uniform thickness (about that of a lead-pencil) are selected. If the leaves do not fall off readily, the twigs are placed in an oven and thoroughly dried, so that they fall off at the slightest touch. The twigs are bevelled at the ends, as shown in the engraving. In the centre of the panel is nailed a square of wood equal in thickness to the spruce-wood twigs. This square is painted white, and is also ornamented with spruce twigs and the small cones of the spruce, the intention being to produce an elevated centre to the panel. The spruce twigs are firmly fastened with small brads. Over all two or three coats of furniture varnish are applied to develop the rich colors of the spruce-wood, as well as to protect it from outside moisture.
Fig. 3.—CONE PANEL.
Fig. 3 is a cone panel. The outer border is composed of the burrs of the liquid-amber tree ("alligator-wood"), with corners of pine cones. The next line consists of a band of spruce branches with the cones attached. The centre is a sheet of white-birch bark, with hemlock cone corners. The ground consists of two coats of paint of a cream-white tint. The cones are fastened on with small brads, or pins that have been shortened to a convenient length.
Fig. 4.—GRAPE-VINE PANEL.
Fig. 4 is a tasteful grape-vine panel. The canes are first softened in boiling water or steam to make them pliable for bending into curves. The shorter curved branches consist of short sections neatly joined to the leading curves. The centre is composed of a frame-work of liquid-amber wood, with grape-vine monogram or other device. The grain of the white pine when brought out with the varnish answers for a groundwork.
Fig. 5.—OIL-CLOTH PANEL.
Fig. 5 is a panel covered with marbled oil-cloth (such as is used for covering tables and desks) of a light tint. It is first cut exactly the size of the panel, on which it is glued, the edges being secured by nailing on to them narrow strips of floor oil-cloth of a checkered or vine pattern. The corner pieces and centre consist of simple and neat patterns in oil-cloth, but rich in contrasts of colors. Brilliant oil-colors can be used for borderings and framing in lines; intense blacks, reds, and whites are best. Over all, a coat of varnish is applied. In Fig. 6, the materials consist of "clinkers," or slag, from furnaces, stoves, glass-house furnaces, and iron foundries. These are fastened to the wood-work of the box by means of hot asphalt.
Fig. 6.—CLINKER PANEL.
The corner-pieces in the illustration are composed of clinkers of a light color. The central group consists of vitrified clinkers from an iron foundry or glass-house. The handsomest clinkers are to be obtained from glass-houses, as they are composed of more or less glass of different colors.
After the groups of clinkers are firmly fastened in position, a coating consisting of varnish, mixed with any of the chrome greens is applied to all parts of the exposed wood-work. The clinkers look much more brilliant when touched up here and there with gold or copper bronze. This is accomplished by applying varnish to the clinkers, which before it dries, touch on the bronze with a clabber of cotton or wool.
Fig. 7.—MOSAIC PANEL.
Fig. 7 consists of cross sections of various kinds of woods, which are well seasoned previous to being glued together.
Straight branches of red cedar, black walnut, red birch, etc., etc., are selected; these are cut into uniform lengths, and tightly bound together with strong cord or wire, after which a sufficient quantity of very hot glue is poured on one end of the bundle to fill up all the spaces and join the branches together. After the glue has become dry and hard, the bundle is sawn into cross sections of one-half inch thickness.
These cross sections are smoothed down with emery paper and sawn into strips, which are glued on to the window box when forming the panel. The centre of the panel is composed of various kinds of woods, polished to bring out the grain, after which they are inlaid, the spaces between being filled in with glue. Over all, several coats of varnish are applied.
A handsome panel may be made of plaster of Paris. On a sheet of wrapping paper, exactly the size of the panel, draw the design to be worked in plaster.
In mixing the plaster a solution of glue and water is used; the glue is for the purpose of delaying the setting of the plaster, in order to gain time to trim up the plaster when necessary. To the glue and water is added the coloring material. A small quantity of plaster is mixed with the glue water at a time, to the consistency of a thick paste. The plaster is urged from the point of the spoon with which it is applied with a pointed stick that has been thoroughly oiled to prevent the plaster from adhering to it. Some practice is required to guide the plaster so as to keep it within the outlines of the drawing. Another way is to make a coil or cornucopia of stout, well-glazed, and thoroughly greased writing-paper, made small at the point. A quantity of the plaster is placed in the coil, and by gently squeezing the top of the horn a continuous stream is forced out; this may, by moving the horn in straight or curved lines, be made to fill in any pattern drawn. After the plaster patterns have thoroughly dried they are glued in position in the window box and well varnished.
THE PRINCE'S FIRST RIDE.
Norwalk, Connecticut.
When I was in Palatka, Florida, last winter, my mamma wrote a letter for me, which was published in Young People. I have always been very much pleased and interested by the children's letters, and have begged mamma to write again for me.
So many have written of their little pets, I want to tell of our little pet robin. It fell from the nest when very small, and we thought it would die; but my auntie made a nest for it in a basket, and fed it often with meal and water, and it grew to be quite tame, and when big enough would eat worms, taking them down whole, until it could hold no more. It would fly across the room, and alight on my auntie's thumb, and stand quietly if she was paring fruit. We were all very much attached to it, and were hoping to be able to have it when a full-grown pet; but one day it flew over a kettle on the stove, and the steam scalded it, though how badly we did not know until it died a week later. We buried it in a little box, and really felt very lonely without it. I now have a pretty Maltese kitten, which, like several other readers of Young People, I have named Toby.
Bertha S.
Monticello, Illinois.
I was visiting in Chicago this fall. I went to the Exposition, and at night I attended the Grand Opera, and saw the electric light. I went to Lincoln Park, and saw a petrified alligator lying on the bank of a pond, with its mouth wide open, and I kept close to mamma till the lady we were with said it was dead. There were two live alligators in the same pond, but they were small ones. I saw a live buffalo. There were some swans there, and I poked my parasol at one, and it ran at me. I saw some panthers and bears, and two sea-lions, which would stick their heads up out of the water, and bark like dogs. A gentleman was pointing at something in the water, and a sea-lion, being hungry, thought he was going to feed it, and it jumped almost out of the water. I went to visit the greenhouse, and there was a parrot which would talk, and a whole cage full of other kinds of birds. I talked to the parrot, and said, "Robin," and it repeated the word after me. Not long ago I saw a letter signed Lena W., and as I have sent two other letters which have not been published, I thought it was my own name until I read the letter. I am ten years old.
Lena W.
Neuchâtel, Switzerland.
There is a very large museum here that was founded by Agassiz. One room is entirely devoted to the fauna of Neuchâtel. Among the animals is a beautiful flamingo, and a very huge wolf and a very small bear. There used to be people here who lived in houses that were built on piles driven into the lake.
A few years ago Lake Neuchâtel was lowered seven feet, and many remains of the lake-dwellers were found. Among them was a boat, supposed to have been used by them. Everything that was wooden when found had turned black, and glistened just like tar.
My sister and I have some Alpine flowers that we would like to exchange for pressed flowers from the Southern, Northern, or very far Western States, but not from Illinois.
Please write before sending, and state whether you want them on cards or not. We do not want ours on cards.
Pressed ferns and small autumn leaves desired, and also maiden-hair ferns.
Kenneth Brown,
Care Messrs. Munroe & Co.,
No. 7 Rue Scribe, Paris, France.
The following two letters are in direct contrast with each other, and are illustrations of the different experiences of exchangers.
Seneca, Kansas.
I wonder if all the boys who patronize the "exchange" column have had the experience I have. I advertised to exchange some pictures I had for stamps, and received about sixty letters. I could exchange with only one, and to the rest I have written, and sent their stamps back. Those six stamps have cost me about two dollars. I think hereafter I will buy what stamps I want. I hope I shall not receive any more stamps.
I enjoy the Young People very much. My papa is a printer, and I have learned to set type. We have fine times going out in the woods after wild plums and grapes.
Paul Wilkinson.
Centre, Alabama.
I have been taking Young People two years. I like it very much. I wait for its coming eagerly every week. There are so many pleasant things with which it is associated. Last spring you published a note from me desiring to exchange. That little note has given me many pleasant moments—I had nearly said pleasant acquaintances. It brought me many letters, from every part of the country. I have answered all, I think. I have yet some quartz crystals, country postmarks in Southern States, strange rocks or petrifactions cut or shaped like iron screws, small cones gathered from swamp pines, to exchange for stalactites, ocean shells, or other curiosities.
Schele De Vere McConnell.
Berkshire, Vermont.
I have had a rabbit die. My sister Flora found it dead. I have a little kitty. It is mine and my little brother's. We have a dog named Rover. I have dug thirty-seven bushels of potatoes this year. My papa is going to pay me for digging them.
I am eight years old. My name is
Samuel Sylvester D., Jun., per Mamma.
Friendship, New York.
I am a little girl of seven. My sister and I have Young People by the kindness of our uncle living in Long Island City. I think Jimmy Brown a funny boy. I cried when Mr. Stubbs was shot. I live on a farm, and have a horse twenty-one years old, which I ride after the cows. Her name is Pet. Our mamma teaches us at home. My sister writes for me. I hope "Tim and Tip" will end well.
Mary C. E.
Pittsfield, New Hampshire.
As so many of the children write about their pets, I think I will write about mine. I have a gray and black kitty which came to us three years ago. When he appeared some one called him Tramp, which made me cry; so mother would not let his name be Tramp, but called him Puffy. Now he is a very handsome cat, and walks in and out in the most dignified manner. I have two snow-white kittens, and I love them very much.
My brother has a dog three months old named Carlo. He is very playful and mischievous, and teases the kittens, until they get out of patience, and give him a cuff on the ear for his insolence. I have also a canary-bird that sings beautifully.
Dearest of all my pets is my horse. His name is Jerry, and I harness him when I please, and some of the rides I take over our beautiful hills and around our little village would do all the young people good. I wish they could ride with me some bright, cool morning. They would return with good appetites for dinner. I am thirteen years old.
Rosa M. F.
Roseville, New Jersey.
I have been spending the summer in Dutchess County, New York. I have a fine Maltese cat whose name is Velvet. I brought him from the country; he weighs ten pounds. I earned the money to pay for Young People by rising at half past five in the morning for seven weeks. I am ten years old. Last year, when in the country, I had eight cats.
We have a baby boy six weeks old named Jasper. He was born on my sister's sixth birthday.
Edna B. D.
Houston, Texas.
We are two little sisters, eight and four years old, and have taken Young People ever since the first number, and enjoy it very much. We liked the story of "Toby Tyler" best of all. "Mildred's Bargain," "The Moral Pirates," and "The Daisy Cot" were splendid, and we look for Jimmy Brown's stories every week. Our baby sister says she likes "Tim and Tip" ever so much.
We have a dear little pet rabbit, some pigeons, and two sweet little calves. We have a doll house and fifteen dolls. We hope our letter is not too long.
Lottie and Lillie.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I have just returned from an excursion to Watkins Glen, Niagara, Montreal, Quebec, the White Mountains, and Boston.
I want to tell you about a curiosity which I saw at Watkins, and which amused me very much. It was a blind bat from Havana. The cage was covered with a cloth on which was a label that read, "A blind bat from Havana."
I lifted the curtain expecting to find a great curiosity, but instead of that, I brought to view a brick suspended by a wire from the top of the cage. It was a "brickbat," and it came from Havana, a neighboring town, where there are brick-yards.
C. B. F.
Henrietta, New York.
I have been wanting to write you a letter for a long time, for I see so many letters in the Post-office Box from little girls who are about the same age as myself. I am thirteen years old. I can play on the violin, organ, and piano. All my sisters play the organ also. I have four sisters, two older and two younger than myself. Their names are Fanny, Carrie, Martha, and Alice.
I am learning to ride horseback. Our pony's name is Billy. I do not go to school, and we have had no school since June. We have an aquarium, and in it we have a fish, a bull-head. We have had three mud-turtles. The one we have now is about as large as a silver dollar. I like the story about Toby Tyler and "Aunt Ruth's Temptation" the best. I think "Tim and Tip" promises to be a very good one. I think Jimmy Brown's stories are very funny. I hope he will soon favor us with another story about his misfortunes.
Ella J. N.
Jefferson, Iowa.
I enjoy reading the letters in the Post-office Box very much. I am eight years old. I have no brother nor sister, and no pets except a canary-bird. I go to school, and I have been promoted into the Intermediate Department. My teacher's name is Miss F——, and I like her, though she does give black marks. I haven't had any yet that I know of. When we went to the Centennial Exhibition we visited New York, and mamma, papa, and I went all over Harper's Building, but they didn't print Harper's Young People then. I take music lessons every Saturday. My lesson is in four sharps. I don't like sharps. My music-teacher's name is Mrs. L——, and she intends to teach me a little song when I shall have taken half a term. Mamma says that editors like short letters, so I will stop.
Nettie L. F.
I live at Round Mountain, Alabama. My papa has an iron furnace. It is such a pretty sight to see the iron running into the beds of sand to make pig-iron. I have taken Young People one year, and I like it so much that mamma says I can take it another year. I liked "Toby Tyler" so much, and think "Tim and Tip" is a splendid story. I am eight years old.
Bolling S.
Buffalo, New York.
Two of my little friends have written to this dear paper, and so I thought I would. I live in the city of Buffalo, and I would not change to any other city for anything.
My sister will visit New York this winter, and she is going through the building where Harper's Young People is published; and then I will write another letter, and tell you how she likes it.
I have taken this paper ever since the first number; and even papa and mamma like to read it.
My brother has a piece of wood off Washington's house at Mount Vernon, and a piece of bomb-shell which was thrown from Fort Porter over to Fort Erie; and he has a piece of rope that was cut off the bell of an old Dutch church, New York, at the time of the Revolution. My grandpapa can remember when Canal Street, New York, was nothing but a canal.
Gertrude Hester C.
Several Inquiries.—Harper & Brothers can not bind Young People, but they will furnish a beautifully illuminated cover for thirty-five cents. If by mail, thirteen cents extra. Any book-binder will put it on for you at a trifling expense.
Bertie and Corinne R.—We will publish your exchange as soon as we possibly can; but, dear children, there are ever so many whose exchanges must go in before yours, so be patient. We agree with you both about "Tim and Tip."
G. M.—We would like to see the gray and white kitty, and we think Totty a very pretty name indeed for her.
Frankie D.—If you will write something kind and polite about your sister Emma, we will be glad to print it, but we are afraid, judging from the present letter, that you are very fond of teasing her. You surely do not expect a young lady to be very fond of pigs.