New York City.
I have been reading all the letters from little girls and boys about their pets, and I must tell them about mine. I have a little kitten named "Buttercup," and she is just as sweet and pretty as any buttercup that ever grew, and so good and so cunning. She will jump upon the bureau and watch the canary, and he will peck at her with his little bill, and she does not even look cross at him, and we know she would not ruffle a feather for all the world. I wonder if any other little girl can leave her kitten with her birds, and know she will not hurt them? And you should see her go to the mirror and look at herself—just like any lady—and she seems to think herself so pretty, I am really afraid she is vain. There are so many other things I could tell about her, but mamma says you will not print my letter if I write any more.
Ella Selwyn.
Bradley, Michigan, February 18.
I found a willow bush covered with "pussies" yesterday. The rabbits never run up to me when I whistle, like the one Laura B. wrote about. They stop and turn around and look at me, and then they just snap their eyes and scoot.
Frank C. Nourse.
I am only seven years old, and I live way out in Fort Klamath, Oregon, and I can't write a very good letter, but I like the stories in Young People, and the letters in the Post-office from little children so much. It is nice to be out here where there is so much snow to have fun with. I have a pair of snow-shoes, a little brother, and a pet dog to play with, besides lots of other things. I don't go to school, because there is no school here, but I say my lessons to mamma every day.