McKeesfort, Pennsylvania.
I am six years old, and have a little brother John sixteen months old. He came Sunday night, July 4, and he bothers me a heap—wants all my playthings, and when he gets them, breaks them all up. At night, when I want papa to read me the stories in Young People, he screams and screams to see the pictures, and I have to wait for the stories till he goes to bed. I am going to start to school this week, and I will study hard and learn to read, so I can read the stories myself. My grandpa lives on a farm, and I go to see him nearly every day to get rides on the horses, and drive the cows, and to see the men working at the water-works basin which the town is building to get water from the Youghiogheny River. The only pet I have is an Alderney heifer named Bessie, which my grandma gave me. She is so quiet I can put my arms round her neck, and hold her by the horns.
Tommy E.
West New Brighton, New York.
I am eight years old. I have a white cat with one blue and one green eye. We have a dog called Grip, a bull-terrier. He is very gentle and playful. I lost my dog called Pickles. My father is going to get me another. I go to school at New Brighton, and take French lessons, spelling, reading, and geography. I have a little brother nearly a month old, and two others. Perhaps I have said enough.
Davy B.
It is quite proper for little correspondents who have not yet learned to write to do so by proxy; by which we mean to get their fathers or mothers to write for them while they dictate the letters. Such letters are always welcome. Master Davy B. signed his name very boldly to the letter his father wrote for him, and probably Tommy E. will soon be able to do the same.