Alfred McC. W.
Indianapolis, Indiana.
Papa says if I want to be pretty sure to have my first letter published in Young People's Post-office Box, I must write something new and interesting. As I have read or had read to me by mamma all the letters since Young People started, and do not remember having heard anything about railroads, I will tell you about them. Papa works in a railroad office, and often takes me with him on trips out on the road, and into the shops and yards, and has taught me the difference between a journal and an axle, a truss-rod or hog-chain and a stay-chain, and other parts of a car. I have seen an engine in the shops all taken apart, the wheels all out from under it, and all the bright Russia iron stripped off the boiler, which left it a dull, rusty-looking piece of hollow iron, for they take out the front end and flue sheets and flues, and you can see clear through back to the fire-box, and all cold; so unlike an engine when fired up and full of steam, coupled to a train, ready to pull it out when the conductor says, "All aboard!" I would like to tell you about a ride I took on an engine at night, but I am afraid I have made my letter too long now. I am eight years old, and mamma helped me to spell the hard words.
Re.
Write again, little bright-eyed Re, and tell us about your ride. We would like to hear from you.
Little Johnny Jump-up,
Under the trees,
Laughing in the sunshine,
Nodding to the breeze.
Little Johnny Jump-up,
Some folks call him Pansy;
Johnny doesn't care a bit—
Follow out your fancy.
Poor little Daisy, with ruffles and tucks,
Has to sit still, lest she spoil her fine dress.
Dear little Rose, in a calico gown,
And a checked gingham pinafore, plaided and brown,
Is the happier girlie, I guess.