WILD-DUCKS.
Pretty pair of wild-ducks
Upon the water clear
To and fro softly go,
Whilst heron fishes near.
I wonder if they see two eyes
Peep at them where they pass.
For Humphrey sly, with gun close by,
Is crouching on the grass;
They may not see, but—oh, dear me!
I hope they'll fly away.
With might and main, to come again
Quite safe another day.
[OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
With this number Volume III. of Harper's Young People reaches its conclusion. Next week we shall begin Volume IV.
It has given us very great pleasure to learn from the little people who have written to the Post-office Box how delighted they have been with the beautiful pictures, fascinating serials, droll sketches, and amusing short stories which Harper's Young People has brought them so regularly.
We have tried to forget nobody. The big brothers have found tales of adventure and experiments in science for their special entertainment. The young ladies have been provided with useful hints for the work-table, and suggestions for novel and pretty things in home decoration. The wee tots have had silvery jingles and funny rhymes. The keen-witted little fellows and the clever girls who like to crack such nuts have had plenty to do in making or solving the puzzles which have been given in every number. Occasional pieces of music have tempted the little pianists and vocalists of the future. The Wiggles continue to stimulate the skill of little artists.
Nothing has gratified the publishers more than their success in satisfying careful parents and teachers who desire to furnish their young folks with wholesome, sprightly, and interesting reading. The private letters which they have received from many sources, as well as the unanimous verdict of the press, encourage them to persevere in making Young People better and better, so that the future may be as brilliant as the past has been promising.
The Post-office Box is a very popular department with all our readers. Its columns are open to all, and are lovingly and carefully edited from week to week. It affords the children an opportunity to see and hear how life is conducted in different places. To older eyes it presents captivating pictures of child life, and of the delights of children everywhere—in the city, on the farm, abroad, in school, on the lonely outpost in the far West, and around the mother's knee in the happy home.
The Exchange Department is educational, and while it assists our young readers in adding to their collections, it enables them to learn something practically of geography and history, and puts at their disposal one more resource against idleness and the mischief it bring in its train.
Our next volume will be brighter and more attractive than any which has preceded it. We have many good things in store, and we shall spare neither pains nor expense to make Harper's Young People the leading weekly periodical in the world for English-speaking children.
The price—$1.50 per year—places it within the means of all. We hope our present subscribers will try to obtain new ones. Boys and girls can do this by simply showing the paper to their friends. Our list is a very long one now, but we wish to make it longer, for the larger the number of subscribers, the fuller of entertainment and instruction, of beauty and fun, can we afford to make Young People.
Let everybody, therefore, join hands with us, and help along. The beginning of a new volume is a good time to subscribe.
Scenery Hill, Pennsylvania.
I am a little boy nine years old. I have three little sisters; their names are Margie, Jessie, and Nellie. Margie is six years old, Jessie is five, and Nellie is three. I live at West Alexandria, Penn. My papa is a school-teacher, and I go to school. Now I am on a visit at my auntie's, and have been for the last three months. They have no little boy here, so I have plenty to do and a little time to play. I have made a Noah's Ark out of stiff paper. My auntie is helping me make the animals. We take the paper double, gum the pattern on, leaving the head or back joined, and when done they will stand upright. I have been taking Young People two years, and like it very much. Auntie gave it to me for a present. I did not like the way "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" ended.
W. S. H.
The kind lady who sends us this story of her pet squirrel will always find a corner ready for her in the Post-office Box. We have not forgotten about the motherly hen of which she wrote us once before—the hen who spread her warm wings over a brood of kittens. The Postmistress thinks she never heard of anything prettier than the incident in this letter about the squirrel who tucked her naughty baby in under the maple leaves: