WITH THE EDITOR
IN the early days of our country the guest was always honored. Friend or stranger, the door was thrown open to him, and the circle around the fireplace parted willingly to receive him. After his comfort had been assured, however, there came inevitably to the mind of the host the natural queries—seldom expressed in words—“What is his name? What his purpose?” Then the wayfarer, his reserve thawing before the friendly greeting, would just as naturally open his heart and speak of himself.
Such was the old-time hospitality which Hawthorne so quaintly pictures in “The Ambitious Guest.”
To-day, the railroad and the comparative luxury of travel have made the wayside visitor a being of tradition, but the primitive impulses of hospitality and curiosity still survive.
You have opened your doors to us and have welcomed us into that most sacred of places—the family circle. You do not ask, yet we cannot but feel, the old question in your kindly gaze. You would know our name?—our purpose?
Until better advised, we shall call ourselves Young Folks Magazine.
Our purpose is to provide good reading for young people. By good reading, we mean that which is interesting enough to catch and hold the attention of the reader, and which, in the end, leaves him better or wiser for having read it. But it must be interesting, or all its other virtues fail. The young person, particularly the boy, looks with distrust upon the story which comes too emphatically recommended as useful. To him, mere utility is closely related to dullness. With this knowledge fresh in our memory, we promise at the outset that our pages shall not be lacking in a keen and healthy human interest.
“But,” we hear our host exclaim, “why another magazine in a time and country already over-run with literature?”
Just think a moment. Count upon your fingers all the juvenile periodicals which you know even by name. Compare this supply with the demand. We are certainly understating the figures when we say that there are twenty million young people in the United States. Even the most widely-circulated of these periodicals does not claim half a million subscribers. We believe it safe to say that of our whole great nation of young people, not one in ten is yet supplied with a monthly or weekly periodical. After all, is there not ample room for us at the American fireside?
Finally, may we not ask of you a little lenience toward our early and inevitable shortcomings? In return, we promise you that our own most constant aim shall be, with each succeeding visit, better to deserve your kindly welcome.
In spite of its traditional violence we always look forward to the first month of spring. All the more do we hail it when, as in the present case, it brings with it the Easter season. The name Easter is supposed to have been derived from Oestre, the heathen deity of Spring, in whose honor the ancient Teutons held their annual festival. Since the Christian era, however, Easter has been in sole commemoration of the Resurrection.
During the centuries following its inauguration many quaint customs have sprung up and passed away. In parts of Ireland there is still a belief that on Easter morning the sun dances in the sky.
The use of eggs for decoration and as playthings for children at this season is of very early origin. Nowhere is this observance now so common as in the capital of our own country. By immemorial custom, on the Easter holiday, the grounds of the White House are thrown open to the sport of children, who come from far and near to roll their Easter eggs across its sloping lawns. It is a pleasant sight to see the home of the nation’s chief executive so completely in the hands of frolicking children.