Agnes R. L.
Booneville, California.
I am eleven years old, and live in the mountains in California, among the big redwood trees. I have a doll that shuts her eyes and opens them again. We have twenty-six geese and a lot of sheep—but they are dying now—and a pet lamb. To-morrow father and brother Simon go out in the mountains to get two wild hogs that Bob Bawles killed for us to-day. I have five sisters and three brothers.
Sarah A. R.
San Antonio, Texas.
Dear "Young People,"—Mamma gave us a year's subscription to your dear self for a birthday present, and when that expired, renewed it for a Christmas present. There are four of us boys, and our great favorite of all the papers we read, or get mamma to read to us, is Young People. We love Mr. Otis, and feel well acquainted with him and the dear Postmistress, and our little friends' letters are such pleasure to us! We copy them very often. We send you a small bouquet of violets in a box, and hope you will get them; they will be mailed with this letter. We have violets, pinks, roses, and tuberoses almost all winter. We would have sent some long ago, but mamma was too ill for us to think of anything pleasant. Our climate is so very mild that flowers, even geraniums, begonias, ice-plant, etc., grow out of doors all winter. Sometimes a frost comes and kills a few, but not often. Dear Young People, we all love you so! and when we go to New York we will call to see you. Grandpapa has been a subscriber to Harper's Monthly ever since it was first published. Mr. Nic Tengg, the bookseller here, ordered Young People for mamma, as we get all our papers through him. We will soon send something for Young People's Cot.
We can all swim, even four-year-old Edward, and ride our pony, and three of us can drive mamma's buggy all over town. We take lessons on the piano, and can sing several songs.
Your loving little admirers,
George C. F.
Joseph F. F.
Sterling I. F.
Edward F.
"What can be in this little box, so soft, yet so bulky, and oh! so sweet?" we said, when, the other day, a box came to our office. Opening it, dear boys, there were your violets, wrapped so nicely in the wet cotton that they, were still blue and beautiful. It took us quite a little while to discover who were the kind donors, for your letter was one of a great many which came to our Post-office Box that day. But when we did find out, we stopped writing and reading long enough to waft a kiss all the way to San Antonio. How nice it is for you to be able to ride, drive, and swim, as well as to sing and play! Each of these accomplishments will have its use, and give you pleasure all your lives. We are glad your dear mother is better, and if you come to New York, we will be much pleased to see you.