New York City.
I am nothing but a little white mouse, and I am almost two years old. I was born in a market, and my mate and I were bought by a little girl. I have had over twenty babies, and have only one left. My mistress lets us run around the room once a day to exercise ourselves. One evening she let us run out as usual, and my son that I have now and his little sister were about two weeks old. My grandmistress had company, and my mate ran right under the rockers, and was killed instantly. My troubles seemed to come right in a bunch, for a few days after, my little daughter was carried down stairs by the old cat. My mistress weighed me and my little son this morning, and I heard her say I weighed one-sixteenth of an ounce, and my son one-fourth of an ounce. My mistress takes Young People, and I often hear her say it is the nicest little paper she ever read. I have travelled about a great deal, and my name is
Little Mother Mouse.
Ever so many thanks to Maud for helping her pretty white mouse to write this tragic tale.
Clanton, Alabama.
I live in a little town of about three hundred inhabitants. It is only eleven years old, though, and builds up tolerably fast; don't you think so? About half a mile from this place there is an old field in which we think there must have once been an Indian battle fought, because the ground is almost covered with broken arrow and spear heads. My brother and I found some that were perfect. He found one that was stained with blood.
John Nat T.