"I'll never touch another nest in my life," she said; and holding one arm tight around Almy's neck, she beckoned to Will with the other. Putting it around him, she drew his head close down to Almy's, and whispered: "I don't think you're a bundlefuss, Will. I think you and Almy know just as well how to take care of little birds when their papas and mammas can't find them, as you do of little girls when their mammas is—is—is lost. And I'm going to tell all the children in the world that when they lose their mammas, the best thing they can do is to find my cousin Will and my cousin Almy."
"I'S LEARNING TO SWIM, MAMMA."
We wish to express to our young correspondents our sincere regret that our limited space compels us to simply acknowledge so large a number of the pretty letters which reach us daily from every part of the United States. Do not think, because your letters are not printed, that we do not consider them as well written or as interesting as those that are. We are very sorry not to print all your little histories of your pet dogs, and kittens, and birds, and other little domestic creatures, or the excellent descriptions many of you write of the beautiful natural scenery surrounding your homes; but if there is no more room in Our Post-office Box, your letters can not be printed. We thank you heartily for the pleasure you express in "Across the Ocean," "The Moral Pirates," "Miss Van Winkle's Nap," and other stories and poems; and the eagerness with which you "run to meet papa when he brings home Young People" is very gratifying. We trust you will continue your pretty favors to us, and we, in return, will print all of your letters that we can possibly make room for, and will promise to give you more and more pleasure with every new number of Young People.