Will you publish a letter from a little girl who lives away off on the Pacific coast, where no one is ever advised to "go West"? I am six years old. Papa subscribed for the Young People last winter, and it was so long coming that we began to fear that the money had been lost, when at last four numbers came all at once, and on my birthday at that. We live at the mouth of Rogue River. There is a large salmon cannery here, and a great many men are employed during the fishing season. A long time ago this place was called Gold Beach, on account of the very rich mines here. Sometimes we walk on the beach and gather moss and shells. From the front door we can see steamers passing up and down the coast, and can watch the fishing-boats. Last summer papa took me to San Francisco, and I enjoyed the trip very much. I have two brothers, Bertie and Harry, and a sister Pearl, and I am the oldest of them all. I have a number of dolls, and a kitten named Jessie. Bertie's kitten is named Daisy. We all think ever so much of Young People. I have a little friend named Clarence, who is going to subscribe. I can not read much myself, but mamma reads to us. Mamma is writing at my dictation, but she says we must "boil it down," or you will not even read my letter. I think that of all the subscribers in the United States, none live so far West as your little Oregonian friend,
May W.
The next time I cross the East River and see the busy steamboats going to and fro, I shall think of May watching the ships and steamers from her front door. How nice it was to have your first numbers of Young People arrive on your birthday, almost as though it had been planned to give you them for a birthday present.
We think the following letter from a lad of twelve will interest many other wide-awake boys who have never had the pleasure of seeing what goes on in a navy-yard. We will be pleased to hear from our young correspondent again:
I live in the Boston Navy-Yard. I thought it would be interesting to the readers of Harper's Young People to hear something in regard to navy-yards in general. I have lived in two yards, and have visited several others. I think the Boston Navy-Yard by far the most interesting. In it is a rope factory which is 1300 feet long. All kinds of rope are made here. It is not only interesting but instructive to watch the process. First the hemp is combed and twisted into strands, then these strands are twisted into sections of rope, then three or four sections are twisted together to form a complete rope. Wire rope is also made here, which is used for stationary rigging. A manila rope was on exhibition at the Centennial which was made in this yard, the circumference of which was 28 inches; this was the largest rope ever made. The dry-dock is another very interesting feature of this yard. It is a place where ships float in for repairs. After they are in, gates are closed, and the water pumped out by a powerful steam-pump, leaving the ship high and dry, so that even her bottom can be repaired without the aid of divers. The dimensions of this dry-dock are 403 feet long, 99 feet wide, and 32 feet deep. It was begun July 10, 1827, and opened June 24, 1833, and cost $677,000.
Porter.
Round Mountain, Alabama.
I want to tell you about our nurse's wedding, and I want you to put my letter in your dear little paper; but before I begin I must tell you that we live away out in the country in Alabama. We moved here from Augusta two years ago. Papa has an iron furnace here. There are about two hundred cabins all around the furnace. Our house is called the "Big House"; it stands off by itself.
Well, when Cinda (that is nurse's name) told mamma she was going to be married, mamma gave her lots of nice things for a wedding supper, and told Cinda she could be married on our big piazza. Cinda was so happy, and was not cross a bit that day, and when she bathed us did not get a bit of soap in our eyes.
Cinda is nearly forty years old, and mamma says her name is most appropriate (for she is as black as a cinder). Her husband "to be" was ten years younger than she, but he did not seem to mind that, for he had been begging Cinda a long time to marry him. When the hour came, mamma and some lady visitors went to the piazza. The friends of the bride and groom were there too. Then Cinda and Albert came on the piazza.
Cinda wore a black cashmere dress and white gloves, and flowers in her hair and at her neck. We children thought she looked so nicely. When Mr. W—— asked Albert if he took Cinda to be his wife, and would protect and support her, Albert just hollered out, "You bet I will, boss"; and then Mr. W—— said they were "man and wife." Then they went to one of the cabins, and had their supper and a nice time.