Wilmington, North Carolina.
In the summer we go to the sea-shore, about eight miles from where we live. We ride there in carriages, and see many pretty flowers along the road. There is a very curious one among them. It is called Venus's-flytrap. If you put a fly in it, it will kill it and eat it.
I think Young People is the best paper I ever read. I am ten years old, and my name is
Lottie May W.
The Venus's-fly trap does not eat the fly, but at the end of each leaf, which springs from the root, it has a kind of appendage, armed on the edge by glands resembling hairs, which contain a sweet liquid attractive to insects. No sooner does a fly alight upon this sensitive leaf, than, with a sudden spring, it closes, and crushes its victim to death. When the fly is dead, the leaf again unfolds. This singular plant is a native of North Carolina.
Papa and I took a ride early this morning, before six o'clock. We saw three little squirrels, and we passed many chestnut-trees in full bloom (June 28), and saw wild raspberry bushes covered with ripe fruit.
My canaries have hatched, but one egg broke, and one tiny birdling died, but out of five eggs I have three fine young birds. Their names are Ganarra, Goldie, and Downy. They are hopping around on the perches now. The mother bird behaved so badly that I took her out of the cage, and now the father takes care of the little ones. Is such an action common on the father's part, or is my Neddy the sweetest, dearest little bird in the world?
I have tried almost all the recipes sent to the cooking club, and I send one myself, for white cake: Half a cup of butter; one cup of sugar; the whites of three eggs; half a cup of sweet milk; one and a half cups of flour; one tea-spoonful cream of tartar; half a tea-spoonful soda. Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, and froth the whites of the eggs before stirring in.
I think the Tree Album is very nice, and I would like to exchange specimens of our trees for some of other localities as soon as I have enough ready.