Warm Weather.—Why, of course, dears. But we need the sunshine to ripen the corn, and make the apples round and red, and paint the yellow pears, and kiss the green grapes until they grow large and purple. Let me tell you a secret. It isn't worth while to fan, and fan, and keep saying "Oh, dear! I wish a breeze would come! When will this heat be over?" Neither is it a good plan to drink a great deal of ice-water. The more you drink, the more you will want. Try to forget the heat, and get some pleasant thing to do, sitting in the coolest place you can find. Paint a picture, draw some Wiggles, make a puzzle for Harper's Young People, or write a letter to Our Post-office Box; help auntie dust the parlor, gather flowers to fill the vases, read an interesting book, arrange your specimens or stamps, or tell a story to please your little sister. If you do something that you like to do, or that will make others happy, the warm day will be gone before you know it.
Fort Bayard, New Mexico.
I am a little boy eight years old. I have taken Young People for over a year. I like New Mexico very much. I have a little burro (that is Mexican for donkey) that I ride or drive. My father has three deer-hounds and one stag-hound. One of the deer-hounds is mine; I call him Thor. The names of the rest of the hounds are Hilda, Maida, and Jarl; Jarl is the stag-hound. Day before yesterday Hilda was hooked by a cow, Thor had a cut in his foot, and Jarl had a sliver in his leg two inches long. When Jarl was a puppy, he had a bad fall from a railroad trestle. Papa was going to shoot him, but one of the soldiers said, "Don't shoot, sir; he is all right." We have a pointer called Roy. I have been to the Santa Rita copper mines, and have seen the stamps that they crush the ore with. I take German lessons from the librarian of the Twenty-third Infantry. My mother has twelve hens—two sitting, and two with little chickens. I have nothing more to tell about now, but I will write again. I liked "Toby Tyler" and "Tim and Tip," and I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" very much; and oh, I liked "Scrap" so much! and "The Boys' Tea Party" was splendid. I would like to send my love to the Postmistress.
W. Swift M.
The Postmistress sends you hers in return.
Glassborough.
I have begun to make a collection of curiosities, and have three butterflies, one moth, a hornets' nest, and two birds' nests; in them are three eggs. My only pet is a kitten named Bunthorne, but I am lamenting the loss of a horned toad from Mexico. It refused to eat, and after three months of captivity it quietly died. They are called by the Mexicans el taurusita del Vergita, meaning the little bull of the little Virgin.
P.S.—Will you tell me the difference between a maiden and a spinster?