I am a boy eleven years old, and my home is in Indiana, a mile from the State line of Ohio. My papa owns a farm here, and we are farmers, so that I have plenty to do in the summer-time working in the garden and around, and evenings and mornings I help to milk the cows. In the winter I go to school. I like to go first rate, especially when Miss Y. is our teacher. When we do not go to school, my brother Elmar and I and some more boys and girls who live near by go over to my grandpa's an evening or two in every week, and grandma teaches us. I like to study geography especially. My brother Elmar is older than I, and we take Harper's Young People together. When we meet at grandpa's, Elmar and I take our Young People along, so that the rest of the children who go can hear the nice stories in it, and after lessons are recited, grandma reads to us all. I liked "A Battle of Icebergs" in No. 124; we all did. And I like the letters in Our Post-office Box, especially where they write from Europe. I should like to sail on the large steamers to Europe. I would want to visit Switzerland, where William Tell and his brave little Albert lived. And I would like to see Lake Geneva, and the tall white peaks of the Alps reflected in the clear water. And I think it would be gay fun to go to Berne in their holidays, and see the people marching around in the streets wrapped in bear-skins, "playing" they are bears. But we have some good times here. My grandma wrote a story, and read it to us last week after lessons. The story was concerning a lady who made a party to please a lot of young people. When the names were announced at the door, they were all our own first names. The surnames were changed. I will ask grandma for the story to send with this letter, and hope the Postmistress will please print both. If they should be printed week after next, I would read them for my piece at our exhibition.
Irving P.
The Postmistress is sorry that she has not room for your grandmamma's story in Our Post-office Box with your letter. She has put it safely away in a drawer of her desk, and perhaps one of these days she will be able to find a niche for it. You were very kind to copy it so plainly. Although you have not visited Europe, your letter shows that you have read and studied about its peoples and places, so if you ever do go there, you will be prepared to enjoy the new scenes intelligently.
We are pleased to hear again from our correspondent Alberto, who has written to us from several places which he has visited in Europe. We are glad that his bright eyes see so well what the little ones at home will find pleasure in reading about:
Verona, Italy.
Perhaps some of the young people would like to hear about the Carnival of Rome. Mamma hired a window in the Corso twice, and also a carriage, so that when we got tired of our balcony we could see all the fun and frolic of the crowd. From the balcony we could see how gay the whole Corso looked, with flags and banners flying, and bright-colored strips of cloth hanging out of all the windows, and over the balconies, which were full of people. The street was filled with carriages going up and down, and a merry crowd on foot darted in and out among them, dressed up in comical costumes.
Then commenced the throwing of the coriandoli, which were little lumps of clay covered with chalk. People seemed to take great pleasure in throwing these at each other. This they followed by showering every one with small bouquets of flowers. I think the flowers were better than the coriandoli, as they did not hurt so much.
The fun every day closed with a horse-race. The horses had no riders, but attached to their flanks were leaden balls with sharp points, which urged them on like spurs. When the signal was given they dashed through the crowd, which just opened a moment to let them pass, and tore along until they were stopped at the other end of the Corso, where the judge sat to proclaim the winner. But the last night was very gay, for then every one had little candles, and the fun was to keep one's own light burning and blow out one's neighbor's. Some held a taper in one hand, and a fan made of feathers in the other for blowing out the candles. When the tapers were blown out all would cry "Senza moccolo," which means without light. The Carnival finished with a grand procession; maskers carried colored lanterns, which represented fruit, flowers, animals, moon, and stars; finally, a huge car came, in which was the King of the Carnival in a dying state, and a crowd of people behind weeping over him. It was a grand sight, and I wish that some of the readers of Young People could have seen it also.
Alberto dal Molin.
Monticello, Illinois.