Exercise Makes Perfect
True ease in writing
Comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest
Who have learned to dance.
Pope
Hurrah for the Postman
Hurrah for the postman
Who brings us the news!
What a lot it must take
To pay for his shoes.
For he walks many miles
Each day of the week,
And though he would like to,
Must not stay to speak.
Red stripes round his blue cap,
With clothing to match it;
If he lost any letters,
Oh, wouldn't he catch it!
Two Letters
FIRST
Dear Grandmamma—I write to say
(And you'll be glad, I know,)
That I am coming, Saturday,
To spend a week or so.
I'm coming, too, without mamma,
You know I'm eight years old!
And you shall see how good I'll be,
To do as I am told.
I'll help you lots about your word—
There's so much I can do—
I'll weed the garden, hunt for eggs,
And feed the chickens, too.
And maybe I will be so good
You'll keep me there till fall;
Or, better still, perhaps you'll say
I can't go home at all!
Now grandmamma, please don't forget
To meet me at the train,
For I'll be sure to come—unless
It should cloud up and rain!
SECOND
Dear Mamma—Please put on your things,
And take the next express;
I want to go back home again—
I'm very sick, I guess!
My grandma's very good to me,
But grandma isn't you;
And I forgot, when I came here,
I'd got to sleep here, too!
Last night I cried myself to sleep,
I wanted you so bad!
To day, I cannot play or eat,
I feel so very sad.
Please, mamma, come, for I don't see
How I can bear to wait!
You'll find me, with my hat and sack
Out by the garden gate.
And grandma will not care a bit
If you should come, I know;
Because I am your own little girl,
And I do love you so.
Nell's Letter
Dear Grandmamma, I will try to write
A very little letter;
If I don't spell the words all right,
Why next time I'll do better.
My little rabbit is alive,
And likes his milk and clover,
He likes to se me very much,
But is afraid of Rover.
I have a dove as white as snow,
I hall her "Polly Feather";
She flies and hops about the yard,
In every kind of weather.
The hens are picking off the grass,
And singing very loudly;
While our old peacock struts about,
And shows his feathers proudly.
I think I'll close my letter now,
I've nothing more to tell;
Please answer soon, and come to see
Your loving, little Nell.
Baby's Letter to Uncle
Dear Old Uncle—I dot oor letter;
My dear mamma, she ditten better;
She every day a little bit stronger,
Don't mean to be sick very much longer.
Dear little baby had a bad colic;
Had to take three drops of nassy palagolic.
Toot a dose of tatnip—felt worse as ever;
Shan't tate no mors tytnip, never!
Wind on tomit, felt pooty bad;
Worse fit of sickness ever I had!
Ever had stomit ate, ole uncle Bill?
Ain't no fun, now, say what oo will.
I used to sleep all day, and cry all night;
Don't do it now, 'cause it ain't yite.
Got a head of hair jess as black as night
And big boo eyes, yat look very bright.
My mamma say, never did see
Any ozzer baby half as sweet as me.
Grandma come often, aunt Sarah, too;
Baby loves zem, baby loves oo.
Baby sends a pooty kiss to his uncles all,
Aunties and cousins, big folks and small.
Can't say any more, so dood by—
Bully old uncle wiz a glass eye!
The First Letter
"Did you ever get a letter?
I did the other day.
It was in a real envelope,
And it came a long, long way.
A stamp was in the corner
And some printing when it came,
And the one that wrote the letter
Had put 'Miss' before my name.
Then there came a lot more written,
I forget now what it read,
But it told the office people
Where I lived, mamma said.
Don't you s'pose those letter-persons,
If they hadn't just been told,
Would have thought 'twas for a lady
Who was awful, awful old?
For it looked real big and heavy,
The outside was stuck with glue,
So they couldn't know I'm little,
I don't think they could. Do you?"
Youth's Companion

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Page 93—Writing Land

I'm Going to Write to Papa
I'm going to write to papa,
I guess he'd like to hear
What his little girl is doing,
The same as when he is near;
I'll tell him how I miss him,
And how I'd wish he'd come,
And never, never, leave us,
But always stay at home.
I'll tell him 'bout my dolly,
She's sleeping on the floor,
I fear that noise will wake her,
Oh! please don't slam the door.
For I must not be bothered,
That's just what ma would say,
When she begins a letter,
And sends me off to play.
I'll send him lots of kisses,
And one bright shining curl,
I'll ask him to remember
His lonely little girl;
I want so much to see him,
But I won't cry a wink,
Cause when I write my letter,
The tears would blot my ink.
I'm going to write to papa,
And oh! how glad he'll be.
To get a little letter
That was written all by me.
Old Letters
I gaze upon ye, once again,
Old records of the past,
And o'er the dim and faded lines
My tears are falling fast;
I deem'd not there was a power yet,
In these few simple words,
To stir within my quiet heart
Such old familiar chords.
Ye bring me back mine early dreams—
Oh, but to dream them now,
With childhood's fresh, unwearied heart,
And pure unsadden'd brow!
The loved—the lost—the changed—
The dead—all these we conjure up,
And mingled in the draught
That lies in memory's magic cup.
Old letters—sad mementoes ye,
Of friendship's shatter'd chain,
Oh! that the hand these pages traced,
My own might clasp again.
They tell me yet of early love,
Of feelings glad and gay,
Of childhood's April hopes and fears—
The writers, where are they?
Time's changes are for deeper things
Than folly's vain pursuit,
Spring blossoms fade, to leave a place
For autumn's ripen'd fruit.
Look back upon the buried past,
But not with vain regret,
Be grateful for the many joys
That bloom around thee yet.
Bend heavenward thine onward course,
That years of coming age
May leave an impress in life's book,
Pure as its opening page!