The editor's heart aches every week over the heaps of letters from the dear little folks who are doomed to disappointment. It is not one bit pleasant to think that the bright little eyes will watch in vain for the carefully written letter which was intended to "surprise mamma," or "please grandpa, who gives me my paper," but there is no help for it. There are so many of you that to let you all speak in print would keep an army of printers busy day and night.
Perhaps if you could peep for a moment at the editor's Post-office Department, you would be comforted to find yourselves in such a crowd of other little folks. There is no big waste-basket, such as you all appear to dread so much, but there are some very big pigeon-holes, and a great many of them; and there you all are, packed snugly away, thousands and thousands of you, talking of your pretty living pets, shedding quiet tears over the "kitties that died," playing with your baby brother or sister, "the dearest pet in the world," or offering unlimited sympathy to Toby Tyler. Here are fifty or sixty boys every one of whom wishes Toby Tyler would come and live with him, "and my mamma will be so good to him, and always give him enough to eat!" There are plenty of homes offered to Mr. Stubbs too, but the poor old monkey does not need them now. We do not believe any monkey was ever honored by such a large circle of mourners. His name has been bestowed upon great numbers of pet dogs and cats, and it will be many years before he will be forgotten.
Now when you feel badly because you can not find your letter or even your name in the Post-office Box, just remember that your pretty message to Young People is not thrown away or neglected, but that it is all safe, and in the company of a whole crowd of little companions from all parts of the world.
Pleasant Grove, New Jersey.
I am nine years old, and I enjoy reading Young People, as we all do, even papa and mamma. When the paper comes, all make a rush for it, to see how poor Toby Tyler is getting along. He attracts as much attention among the big folks as with us children. Mamma says his story teaches us all a good lesson.
All of us are obliged to stay from school now on account of scarlet fever. I feel very sorry, for I love to go to school, and I was trying very hard for a prize. I can not get it now. This is my first attempt at writing a letter.
Laura A. I.
Indianapolis, Indiana.
I am seven years old, and I feel awful sorry for Toby Tyler. If Uncle Daniel won't have Toby, he can come and live with us. My mamma says so. Grandma says we can't have Mr. Stubbs; but she likes to have a good time herself, and I know she will laugh at his tricks when she gets used to him. Toby and Mr. Stubbs can sleep with me, for I have no brother or sister. And Toby can have half of my marbles, and play on my drum, and he shall have all he wants to eat. Tell him to come, and not go back to the circus.