HOW KID GLOVES ARE MADE.

"Oh, mamma, see how it is raining!" said little Lottie; "and it looks so dark, too, all around, that I fear it will keep on all the afternoon."

"And then we can't go for the new kid gloves you promised us," chimed in Helen. "Won't that be too bad?"

And the two little sisters—Helen, eleven years of age, and Lottie, nine—were quite disposed to pout and feel very ill-humored at the prospect of a rainy Saturday afternoon, and the consequent postponement of their anticipated walk for the purpose of purchasing two pairs of new kid gloves.

Mamma smiled at them. "Now, little folks, although you take so much pleasure in having and wearing kid gloves, I am sure you do not often think how many nice and careful operations these gloves have to go through, and how many hands are employed in their manufacture, before they can be put in the stores for sale. If you will sit down contentedly by me, with your cork-work or knitting, I will tell you, while I sew, much that is interesting about kid gloves, so that we can make this disappointment of a rainy afternoon as instructive and profitable as possible.

"Well, to begin, then, the materials used in making a kid glove are either the skins of kids from six weeks to three months old, or the skins of the little lambs of about the same age; but those of the kid make the finest glove, while for a cheaper and of course poorer article the skins of sheep even quite full grown are used. The first thing to be done with the skins freshly stripped from the animal is called 'towing'—to get the hair or wool off; the best and easiest way is to put the skins in a mixture of lime-water, very strong, where they must remain for some time, after which they are taken out and placed in running water, to remove all the lime, and then with a blunt kind of scraper the hair is carefully removed. This last process has to be repeated two or three times, until every hair, and every particle of flesh which may stick to the fleshy side of the skin, is removed. Then the skins are placed in a mixture (or the 'pudding,' as it is sometimes called) of yolks of fresh eggs, well beaten, with fine white flour, alum, salt, and carefully filtered water, and are left in this compound for some weeks, or about thirty or forty days, until they absorb or take up as much of this mixture as they can contain. When the skins are taken from this bath they are white and very elastic and soft, and are now ready for the dyer.

"The dyeing of kid gloves requires very skillful workers, and a very fine eye for the making of all the different and varied shades of color. The coloring matter is put on each and every skin separately with a brush, each needing from one to four applications of the dye, according to the shade desired. But the light or so-called evening gloves do not need quite so much care, as frequently two hundred or more skins can be put into the vat of dye, which will soak through every particle of the skin. Then they are well dried in a large room or space, where the heat must be at least 180 degrees of our ordinary thermometer.

"And now the cutter begins his task of cutting the skins into square pieces of a certain size, which must be done very carefully, as all gloves have to be cut with the grain of the skin, to run from the head downward, and a great deal of the skin would, of course, be wasted if any but very skillful hands were employed. One fine skin will generally cut about three or four gloves, according to the size required, and often large sheep-skins turn out nine or ten gloves, but of a much poorer quality. After the squares are cut they are put up in packages of from six to twelve pairs of gloves, and by the use of a sharp punch and a very heavy press are cut out in all the different-shaped pieces required for the entire glove, usually from about twenty to twenty-three pieces. Then comes the sewing, which for all the best gloves is done entirely by hand, and requires the best of needlewomen, as over six thousand stitches are needed to sew a pair of ordinary-sized ladies' gloves.

"Within a short time a machine has been put in use for sewing gloves, but even with this, which can only be used satisfactorily on low-grade gloves, not over a dozen pairs can be sewed in a day. Then putting on the buttons or hooks, dressing, and packing or assorting in numbers, colors, and sizes, passes the gloves through many more hands, until at last, after careful inspection of a skilled foreman, they are placed on sale, and forwarded to their many destinations."

"Thank you, dear mamma, thank you," cried both the children in a breath. "But where does all this take place?"

"Principally," answered mamma, "in France, Germany, and Italy, although some nice but heavy gloves come also from England; and here in our own country we are now beginning to manufacture some gloves which compare quite well with the imported, and as we in America generally succeed in all our undertakings, I think we shall soon be able to make first-class kid gloves."

M. E. M.

The two following letters are from a little sister and brother, Americans, who are studying music and French in beautiful Paris:

Paris, France.

We are always so glad to get Harper's Young People. Papa sends it to my largest brother. I have a little brother with long curls. Sometimes he is taken for a girl, but he don't mind it. We have a picture of Mozart with long curls. We have five canaries. We had more, but sent three to papa, and we all sent a kiss by them to papa. They were so tame they would eat sugar out of my mouth. I have a big dollie; I call her Daisy; she is very lovely, and can put her arm around my neck. We go to school here in Paris, and like it very much, but not so much as I liked my school in Germany. I wore the blue ribbon for six months last session in school for getting the highest mark in music. We have vacation now. My large brother got a prize in drawing. He liked the piece in Harper's Young People about Michael Angelo. We go out in the country with him sometimes when he goes to paint, and we play while he is sketching. We went to St. Cloud a few days ago, and had a nice time. We go to Park Monceaux nearly every day with the girl and play, but it is not so nice as in the country. I like to read the letters written by the little girls that live in the country. I can not write a very good English letter, but I hope you will print it. I can write French, and some German. I am coming back to America next year, and will be glad to go to school again, but I suppose I will have to study very hard. My cousin Blanche went home to America last month in the big steamer Servia.

Annie L. D.

Paris, France.

I send you a little Wiggle picture. I like the story of "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" very much. My little mother bird died after she had laid a little nest full of eggs three times, but only six of the little birdies lived. We buried our little birdie in Park Monceaux. I think she died because she was sorry we sent her three little birdies to papa. When my school closed I got a prize in arithmetic and conduct; it was a nice story-book. My sister read it to me. She can read French better than I, but I understand all the little story. I have a little violin, but I can't play much yet. I am tired now, as I have written a letter to my big brother to-day.

Robbie Lee D.

Buffalo, New York.

I am a little boy four years old. My name is Clifford, but when any one calls me, they say Chippy. I have two brothers and a sister Bessie. We have a mamma kitty that is ours, and she has a family of six kittycats. She takes five of them away every evening, and leaves one there. We don't know where she goes to, but she comes back to get ready to go again. She pays no attention to the one she leaves. We are all good little boys, I and my brothers; never play in the dirt to get ourselves dirty, and yet we are never clean. We try awfully hard. Do you know why? We play circus in the barn. There are no horses there. We jump over the barrels and in the barrels, pull on a long rope, and do lots of tricks. Our grandma made us a clown's suit. She took white cloth, and cut out big flowers and animals out of some more cloth, then took some flour and water and pasted and sewed them all on the white cloth. It covers us over; and we have a big cap just like it. We have a circus, when the people will come; the people are Clinton and Emma and Winnie. My mamma sent me to Sunday-school to-day, but I did not get my Golden Text. All the other children said theirs, but I know a nice one that my auntie sent me in a little letter, "Little children, love one another." I like to say that every time; then I don't have to learn another. Please hurry up and put this into a little paper, so I can see how it looks. My mamma is writing this for me; but I can write, but nobody can read it, so I guess you couldn't, for I make little lines all over, and then put little round marks all over. I knew you wanted to hear from me, because I wanted to write to you; and mamma reads the little letters to me out of your nice paper every Sunday afternoon.

Chippy H.

I know another little man about your age whose name is Clifford, and what do you think they call him? Tupper. He gave himself this name when he was learning to talk. Chippy is a very pretty pet name for a boy. I would like to go to your circus, but, dear, if I were your Sunday-school teacher, I think I would coax such a big and clever boy as you to learn the Golden Text every week. Don't you think you can do so if you try?

A dear child who lives in Titusville, Pennsylvania, incloses a verse which she made up herself about her dog Bruno. Here it is:

One Sunday morn the sky was blue,
August the first, in Eighty-two,
A little dog, both round and fat,
Was brought to us, small as a rat.
Old mother Gyp, so proud and wise,
Smiled upon it with loving eyes.
The dog is mine; I named it Bruno;
But mother said to name it Uno.
I said, "Oh no," and got my ball.
The dog is mine; and that is all.

Minnie J. B.

Here is another bit of rhyme from a little girl whose home is in Berryville, but who forgot to tell her State. Her verse is so droll that we will excuse her for that, however:

Johnny Gray went astray;
It was on a summer's day;
He went so far, he met a car.
And in it was his own papa.
Papa jumped out, and John did pout,
Because he wished to go for trout.
This is the end, you may depend,
Of Johnny Gray, who went astray
Upon a lovely summer's day.

Lizzie S. S.

Westport, California.

I have not written in a long time, because I wrote you two letters once before, and did not see either of them in the Post-office Box, and I thought I would wait a good while, and then perhaps you would have room for me. I like all the little letters so much! Especially I like to hear of all the pets each one has. It seems that I have had bad luck with all my pets. I had a pretty pony (her name was Daisy), and papa had me a nice saddle made to order in San Francisco, and I was very fond of horseback riding; but one night my dear Daisy was taken out of the field and stolen, and I never expect to see her more. The next pet I had was a pretty canary-bird, a present from my brother, with a new cage. I named him Dicky. One morning I was cleaning the cage, and he flew away just as I was putting the top on it. Oh, how badly I felt! But one of my school-mates caught me a wild bird, and I had it in the cage for some time; but it did not sing, and so I let it go.

I have no playmates near me, and I am often very lonesome. How I should enjoy playing with the dear little girls who write to you! I have one brother older than I am; he is away at school. It is called the Boys' Home School, in San Mateo, twenty miles from San Francisco. My brother is twelve years of age, and reads in the Fifth Reader. I am nine, and read in the Fourth Reader. I am piecing up a bed quilt for my bed, and hope to finish it before I am ten years old, which will be in January. The name of it is Lincoln's Platform.

Etta M.

South Haven, Michigan.

I wrote a letter to Young People some time ago, and it wasn't printed, so I thought I would try again. I go to school now, and study reading, writing, grammar, arithmetic, geography, and spelling! I picked raspberries for papa this summer for two cents a quart, and blackberries for one and a half cents a quart, and got two dollars and ninety-two cents for all. We live on the bank of Lake Michigan. My two cousins from Iowa are here now; they are the only cousins I have. We have had a nice time. We make houses on the beach in the sand, and go in bathing. We had four cats, and yesterday morning we found one of them dead. My sister felt very badly about it; she cried like everything. We think the kitten had fits. I like the story of the "Cruise of the Canoe Club."

Myrta R.

You were a very industrious girl to earn so much money. It was a great pity about the poor kitty. You see that Etta M., like yourself, has written before, and has had to wait a good while before finding her niche in the Post-office Box.

No little letter-writer must feel discouraged at delay in the publication of a letter. Even if we can not print a letter, we are glad to read it, and many loving thoughts are sent away to dear boys and girls whose words are read only by the Post-mistress.

Morristown, New Jersey.

I have taken your nice paper since the first number, and have never written to you yet. I rode on the locomotive of an express train for the first time the other day. It was splendid, but I got shaken up a good deal. I sat three seats ahead of President Garfield in church at Long Branch the Sunday before he was shot. He looked like such a good man it was a shame he was shot. There is an old house here which General Washington had as his head-quarters during the winter of 1780-81. I have been through it a great many times, and my father (who is a clergyman) showed me the room which an old lady parishioner of his, who has been dead over twenty years, had when General Washington was occupying the house. She was his housekeeper, and papa was told about his life here. I would like to have known her; would not you? I am afraid my letter is too long.

Alexander R.

I have been in Washington's Head-quarters at Morristown, and felt, when there, how much we owe as a nation to that great and good man, "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen."

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

THREE DIAMONDS—(To Count No Account).

1.—1. A consonant. 2. A large cask. 3. Purport. 4. An insane person. 5. Celebrated. 6. Freed. 7. A letter.

Eureka.

2.—1. A letter. 2. Pulp. 3. Furnished with panes. 4. A porter. 5. Small. 6. A point. 7. A letter.

Junebug.

3.—1. A letter. 2. To bite. 3. One of the African race. 4. Penurious. 5. To chatter. 6. Mineral in the crude state. 7. A letter.

Junebug.