Are you sorry, little folks, that your vacation weeks are flying away so rapidly? They fairly race, says Lottie C., when the second week of August has come. So they do; but I am sure Lottie would not like a whole year without school or studies. Fred H. is making a collection of butterflies, and finds the occupation very interesting. Etta R. has never until this summer seen the ocean; she likes to hear the roar of the breakers, and to watch the great waves rolling in upon the shore. Tom P., whose mother has been ill, has been taking care of her, there being no girls at home. Well done, Tom. The boy who is kind and thoughtful in his manner to mother is manly, and on the way to make a gentleman. That is what a gentleman is, boys—just a gentle man. Think of it. Pauline C. has been reading Mrs. Browning's poems in her vacation. She has spent her time very wisely. And you, Edward and Priscy, Charles and Kate, Theodore and Isabel, Lulu and Minnie, and all the dear girls and boys who come clustering around me even in my dreams, I am glad when I think how busy and bright you are, and when I hear how you are trying every day to do right and be good. Our Post-office Box has been crowded lately with your sparkling letters, but it is very elastic; so, little Sunbeams, keep on shining.
Orion, Illinois.
I am a little boy seven years old. I have a canary-bird named Dicky, who sings the day long. I had two pet rabbits, named Bunny and Snowflake. On the Fourth of July a dog caught Snowflake and killed him. I felt very bad about it. Papa buried it in the yard, and I am going to put a head-stone at its grave. Papa says a neat board, with "Snowflake" on it, will do. I have two little chickens named Specky and Blackie; and mamma got another rabbit, and his name is Darling. He is as white as snow, and his eyes are red as fire. I feed them on clover, bread, cabbage, and some nice tender grass. I can read in the Second Reader. I am going to school this winter. I can print on my slate. Do you like to get letters from little boys? If you do, I guess I will write another some time. Good-by. I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" ever so much.
S. P. D.
Poor little Snowflake! If I were you, dear, I would plant a rose-bush beside his grave. What dreadful things have happened to some of our pets! Of course I like to hear from little boys, and you must write again when you are in the Third Reader.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I want to tell you about a smart little girl named Hebe at our school. She is only six years old. One day Miss S. said, "What does c-a-n-e spell, Hebe?" Hebe said she didn't know. Then Miss S. said, "What do gentlemen walk with?" and Hebe said, "Ladies." Another time one of the teachers was hearing her spell, and she couldn't spell one word right; but at last she did. The teacher asked why she didn't spell it that way at first, and she said, "Oh, I knew it all the time, only I was just hugbugging."