Harper's Young People, December 9, 1879

TRAVELLING BAG FOR PETS.

We do not print all letters received, as some are too long, and others simply ask a question, to which we give an answer. Here is a pretty letter which needs no comments:

I am a little boy eleven years old, and have been living in South Carolina, but last summer I got hurt while playing with the boys, and have been sick ever since. I have not walked for five months. My parents have brought me to Salem, Massachusetts, where I could have good doctor's care. My cousin, who lives in New York, very kindly sends me Harper's Young People, and I want to tell you how much I enjoy it. I am very lonely lying still all the time, but the boys come to see me, and one of them has two rabbits for me when I am able to take care of them. I wish all the little boys and girls could have your paper, it is so nice.

    Horace F. Hutchinson.

"Fred," of Montclair, New Jersey, writes:

I have a handsome yellow cat named Goldy. My cousins Howard and Charlie have a cat named Blacky, and a dog named Jack. Papa reads us Harper's Young People every Sunday, and I like it very much.

Here are some very pleasant words from J. E. Woodbridge, Duluth, Minnesota:

I wish to tell you how I like your paper. I do really like it. I wish you would put boys' pieces in the paper for speaking in school. I live in Duluth, on the shore of a very big lake—the biggest in the world, I think. I am seven years old. I have a little yellow dog, and he grins when he is pleased.

James Long.—The examinations for admission to the school-ship St. Mary's are easily passed by any school-boy of moderate ability, but it is indispensable that the applicant be physically sound, and of good moral character. Neither money nor influence is needed to gain admission, and the expense on entering is confined to the cost of outfit and uniform. You can make fuller inquiries of David R. Wetmore, Esq., chairman of the Committee on Nautical School, of the New York City Board of Education, or on board the St. Mary's, which is now in winter-quarters at the foot of East Twenty-third Street, New York city.

C. D. F.—The measurement of glasses for "Boy's Telescope" refers to the focus, not to the size of glass. Any reliable optician will supply you with the lenses.

Agnes P.—Your answers to puzzles are correct. We do not know the address of Lulu W., but will print it if she will send it to us.

"Louise," Dubuque.—Your account of Sir Rowland Hill is correct, and very neatly written, but as it is almost the same as those we have already printed, we do not give it.

"Max."—Your numerical charade is very good, but contains too many repetitions of the same letter to be perfect; therefore we do not print it.

Answers sent by R. Dunlop Foster, Chicago, to mathematical puzzles are correct, with the exception of No. 2, which is not carried back to the original amount possessed by the poor old man when the water-spirit made his first offer.

M. A. C., Rochester, writes: I have commenced taking your little paper, and I write now to tell you that I am delighted with it. I read it to my brothers and sisters, who are very much interested in the story of "The Brave Swiss Boy."

J. E. B., another bright little girl, gives us a scolding, which we hope she will retract before long.

H. A. T.—We can not give any puzzles not accompanied by full name and address of the sender, as well as the answers.

The following communication from a youthful reader in Washington, D. C., will be of interest to young bicyclists in other cities:

Here in the City of Magnificent Distances, where many of the streets are 100 feet wide and the avenues 160, the speed of the bicycle surpasses even that of the horse.

Many of the streets are "concrete," and a run over them is sure to be attended with boundless pleasure, and often a race.

There are about thirty bicyclists in the city, twenty of whom have formed a club. To see them, with their blue caps and leather leggings, six abreast, coming down the Avenue with their arms folded, causes many an equestrian to spur up his horse in vain.

Through the surrounding villages it is a common occurrence to see eight or ten bicyclists pass, especially on public holidays.

Many riders have a small bell attached to the handle, which is rung as an alarm to pedestrians, for the approach of the bicycle is as devoid of noise as that of the tiger. In the evening a lantern also is hung on the axle of the driving-wheel between the spokes, and the noiseless and rapid approach of such a red light might suggest to a stranger thoughts of the infernal regions.

In conclusion, I will say that bicycling is the most exhilarating and invigorating pastime for boys ever yet discovered.

    N. L. C.

THE CAT SHOW

A THANKSGIVING EPISODE

By MRS. W. J. HAYS,

Author of "The Princess Idleways."

"Yes, next month comes that old, everlasting Thanksgiving-day. I wonder why we have to spend more than half of it at the dinner table!"

"Suppose we don't? Let us strike out on a new lead."

"What can we do? Grandmother's pumpkin pies must be eaten, and grandfather's great turkey must be carved."

"Well, Charlie, I like originality."

"What is that, Sue?—anything in the candy shop?"

"You dreadful boy! You are just too—"

"Sweet for anything," put in Charlie.

Sue jumped up and tried to box his ears; but she chased him out into the hall, and tripped over the mats, and away he went up the stairs, and stood laughing at her as she gathered up her worsted-work.

"If I were a gentleman," said Sue, in her haughtiest manner, "I would assist my friends when misfortune overtook them."

"Hear! hear!" cried Charlie.

"I had the nicest little plan to propose," she went on.

"What was it, Sue?" said Charlie, whose curiosity was aroused.

"Not a word more to one so ungallant, so very rude."

"Ah, Sue dear," coaxed Charlie, coming down and putting his arm around her, "you are the nicest little sister in the world, if you did want to box my ears. Now tell us the plan, that's a darling."

"Well, it isn't much, after all; it is only that I want to make Thanksgiving a little more of a reality, and I thought—now, Charlie, don't laugh at me—that if we could do something for somebody, which would make him thankful, wouldn't it be nicer."

"And who did you think of?"

"I thought of old black Betsey and her husband, they both are so old and so poor. Suppose we give them a dinner?"

"All by ourselves? Where would we get the money?"

"We will have an exhibition of cats. I will borrow Aunt May's old tabby, and John's big Tom, and Lulie Bell's five white kittens, and we have our own, and you can get others, and we will rig up a room in the barn, and put placards up, and I will tie bright ribbons on all their necks, and we'll charge ten cents for grown people and five cents for children, and—oh, I don't know what else."

"Splendid!"

The idea suited Charlie, and no time must be lost. Every day was valuable. Mother was consulted, and had no objections. Father gave permission to use the harness-room. The cats were borrowed: big cats and little cats, sleepy old pussies and lively young kits, gray cats, white cats, and "cherry-colored cats," as the placard read. "For one day only," was also on the placard. Charlie was door-keeper, and a busy time had Sue in keeping peace among the pussies. They screamed and scratched, and kept up a perfect Pinafore chorus, until the child wished she was deaf, or could give them all opium; but the day wore on, and all the children of their acquaintance enjoyed the sport, and not a few of the elders looked in upon them. By evening Charlie was rejoicing in the possession of a full money-box, but his face grew long as he counted the pennies. In reply to Sue's eager query of "How much?"