I must tell you about my poor pet kitty. She was black and white, and I thought her splendid, but she was run over by a train, and there were some very sober faces here that day, you may be sure. I have a dog now. His name is Prince, and as he does not like kittens, we have to get along without any. He is eight years old. We have had him about a year.
My brother George is six years old, and I am nine, and we both take great comfort in reading Young People.
Mary W. H.
We are very sorry so dreadful a fate befell your little kitty. If Prince were younger, you might teach him to be friendly with Madam Puss and her kits; but as he is eight years old, which is a quite dignified and "settled" age for a dog, you will have to let him keep his opinions. A kind, intelligent dog is, we think, as satisfactory a pet as a cat.
Edna, Minnesota.
I have been meaning for a long time to write to Young People, and thank the young friend who sends me the paper. I enjoy reading it very much, as I do all other good reading matter. I am driving three horses on a sulky plough. I have broken thirty acres of prairie this summer. I have to strap myself to the seat, as I have no legs to steady me. I like this work, and am very sorry the season is so nearly over.
Elmer P. Blancherd.
The tragic fate of a family of bantams is touchingly told in these rhymes by a little correspondent: