She saw the cars move off without her!

No words were called for. My mother carried a glass of elderberry wine to the poor girl, and left her alone to her tears. They would do her good.

We ourselves needed rest, after the troubled scene of hurry and excitement, and we sat down, feeling as if a whirlwind had passed.

"It is beyond my comprehension," said my father, when he came home to dinner. "I can understand tardiness," he continued, categorically, "as the result of indolence. Lazy people dread effort and postpone it. There is a man in my employ who continues to work sometimes after hours. The men tell me that he is actually too lazy to leave off work and put away his tools. But Miss Jeannette seems active and energetic."

"She miscalculates, papa," I said. "She always imagines there is plenty of time until the last minute."

"But herein is the mystery," persisted my father. "Whence this uniformity of dereliction? Why not sometimes too early and sometimes just in the right time, instead of always and everywhere late, and making others late?"

"Poor girl!" said my mother, whose compassion was uppermost. "I pity her with all my heart; yet it is not a case of life and death. This trial may be attended with beneficial results. We will hope so."

I am sorry that this hope was apparently not to be realized. The lesson failed to be read aright. Jeannette recovered her serenity, and resumed her tardy ways. A yet severer lesson was needed, and it came.

The steamer in which, after an absence of ten or twelve weeks, George Allibone was to embark for home, was lost, and not a passenger saved.

My father took me at once to my poor stricken friend, in her distant home. Pale and dumb with grief, yet with tearless eyes, she let us take her almost lifeless hand. From her bloodless lips came only the low, anguished cry, "If only I had said farewell!"

What comfort in words? We offered none. My father's eyes brimmed over, and my heart was breaking for my poor Jeannette.

But relief came speedily. The joyful news was received that George was safe, having made a necessary change in his plans, and would arrive in a fortnight. Jeannette came up from the depths. What should her thank-offering be? She made the resolution to become at once faithful to her appointments, prompt and reliable. It was not that she would try—she would speak the commanding words "I will."

She has kept her resolution. Writing to me, after a lapse of years, she said: "You will hardly know your dilatory friend. I remember and practice your advice of former years, to be first ready for my appointments, and to reserve other work for the interval of waiting after I am ready. It is surprising how often I find not a moment left for waiting. Still, I feel the old tendency to procrastinate, and I am obliged steadfastly to resist it. 'Delays are dangerous,' as our old writing-copies used to run; the sentiment is hackneyed, but oh, how true! George says he owes you ten thousand thanks for your faithful counsel, and we shall speak them when you make us the visit of which we feel so sure, because your promises, as I well know, are faithfully kept."



THE THREE HORSE-SHOES; OR, MARSHAL DE SAXE AND THE DUTCH BLACKSMITH.

BY DAVID KER.

Maurice de Saxe was a son of the King of Saxony, and a fine lad he was—tall and strong and handsome, and as brave as a lion. But the king, like a certain old woman of whom you may have heard, had so many children that he didn't know what to do; and so, as Maurice had such a lot of elder brothers as to have not much chance of inheriting the crown, or anything else that would keep him in bread and butter, his father sent him out to seek his fortune, like many another prince in those days. So he went over to France, and entered the army of King Louis XV.

Now, at that time there was always a war going on somewhere or other, and the French armies were fighting in every part of Europe; and the king cared very little who his officers were, or where they came from, if they were only brave men and clever fighters, and ready to go wherever he liked to send them. So, as you may think, it was not long before our friend Maurice, who was quite as brave as any of them, and a good deal cleverer than most, began to make his way. First, he got to be a lieutenant, then a captain, then a major, then a colonel, and at last, while he was still quite a young man, he came out as Count de Saxe, and Field-Marshal of the Army of Flanders, with fifty thousand men under him! That was pretty good promotion, wasn't it?

But, although he had got on so fast, no one could say that it was more than he deserved; for he was by far the best general that France had had for many a day. He beat the Germans, and he beat the Flemings, and he beat the English, though they fought against him as stoutly as men could; and, at last, his soldiers got to have such faith in him, that whenever he appeared the battle seemed to turn at once, as if the very sight of him brought good fortune along with it. And a gallant sight it was to see him prancing along on his fine black horse in front of the line of battle, with his plumed hat and laced coat glittering in the sunshine, and his sword gleaming in his hand, and his dark handsome face and large black eyes kindling like fire the moment the first gun was heard. Every picture-shop in Paris had his likeness in the window; and King Louis himself had the marshal's portrait hung up in his cabinet, and liked nothing better than to invite him to dinner, and hear him tell of all the battles that he had won. Indeed, such a favorite did he become at court, that at last nothing would serve the king but he must go to the war too, and see how his friend Monsieur de Saxe disposed of the enemy. Saxe gained the victory, as usual; and after all was over, there was a great supper on the battle-field, and the king himself hung the Cross of St. Louis around the marshal's neck, and the marshal sat at his right hand in triumph, and thought himself the finest fellow in the whole world.

But, curiously enough, the one thing that this great general specially prided himself upon was neither his skill in warfare nor his favor at court, but simply his strength. There was nothing he enjoyed so much as showing off the power of his muscles, and astonishing the people about him by bending an iron bar, or felling a horse with one blow of his fist; and he was fond of saying that he would give his purse and all the money in it to any man who was stronger than himself, if he could ever fall in with him.

Now, it happened that, one day, while the French and German armies were lying pretty close to each other, Marshal de Saxe sent a message to the enemy's camp, asking some of the German officers to dine with him; and after the meal he began to boast of his strength, as usual, till at last an old German general, who sat at his left, said that he would like to see a specimen of what his Excellency could do. Saxe made no answer, but took up a large silver dish, which was standing before him, in his strong white fingers (for, big and powerful as his hands were, they were white and smooth as any lady's, and he was very proud of them), and, without more ado, rolled it up like a sheet of paper!

"Can your Honor unroll that dish again?" asked he, handing it to the German; and, although the general was a strong man, and tried his best, he found the task too hard for him, and was forced to own himself beaten.

"Your Excellency's strength is very great," said he, "but, nevertheless, I venture to think that there is one man in Flanders who can match it."

"And who may he be?" asked Saxe, frowning.

"A blacksmith in the village of Scheveningen, Dirk Hogan by name. All the country around knows of his exploits; and when I met with him myself I saw such things as I should have thought impossible, had my own eyes not witnessed them."

When the marshal heard this, he looked blacker than ever; and the first thing he did next morning was to send off messengers in every direction to inquire for a village called Scheveningen, and a man named Dirk Hogan. And, sure enough, some of them came back with news that there was such a village, and that Dirk Hogan, the smith, had been living there till quite lately; but that now he had sold his forge and gone away, and nobody knew what had become of him.

This was a decided disappointment for our friend Saxe, but he had something else to think of just then. The enemy's army had lately received strong re-enforcements, and seemed inclined to attack him; and he was riding out one morning to reconnoiter their position, when suddenly his horse stumbled and cast a shoe.

"There's a village just ahead of us, your Excellency," said one of his officers. "Shall I ride on and see if I can find a blacksmith?"

"Do so," answered Saxe; and the officer came back presently to say that he had found what he wanted. So the horse was led up to the door of the smithy, and the smith himself came out to have a look at it.

The moment he appeared, the marshal fastened his eyes upon him as if he would look him right through. And well he might; for this smith was such a man as one does not see every day—very nearly as tall as Saxe himself, and even broader across the shoulders, while upon his bare arms the huge muscles stood out under the tanned skin like coils of rope. The marshal felt at once that he could never be comfortable till he had had a trial of strength with this sturdy-looking fellow; so he bade him bring out one of his best horse-shoes.

The smith did so; and Saxe, looking at it, said quietly: "This ware of yours is but poor stuff, my friend; it will not stand work. Look here!"

He took it in his strong hands, and with one twist broke the iron like a biscuit.

The smith looked at him for a moment, and then, without seeming at all taken aback, brought out a second horse-shoe, and a third; but Saxe broke them as easily as he had broken the first.

"Come," said he, "I see it's no use picking and choosing among such a trashy lot; give me the first shoe that comes to hand, and we'll cry quits."

The smith produced a fourth shoe, and fitted it on; and Saxe tossed him a French crown—a coin about the size of a silver dollar. The Dutchman held it up to the light, and shook his head.

"This coin of yours is but poor metal, mynheer," said he, saying the words just as the marshal had spoken his. "It wont stand work. Look here!"

He took the coin between his finger and thumb, and with one pinch cracked it in two like a wafer.[B]

It was now the marshal's turn to stare; and the officers exchanged winks behind his back, as much as to say that their champion had met his match at last. Saxe brought out another crown, and then a third; but the smith served them in like manner.

"Come," said he, imitating the marshal's voice to perfection, "I see it's no use picking and choosing among such a trashy lot. Give me the first crown that comes to hand, and we'll cry quits."

The Frenchman looked at the Dutchman—the Dutchman looked at the Frenchman—and then both burst into a roar of laughter, so loud and hearty that the officers who stood by could not help joining in.

"Fairly caught!" cried the marshal, suddenly, and added, "What's your name, my fine fellow?"

"Dirk Hogan, from Scheveningen."

"Dirk Hogan!" cried Saxe. "The very man I've been looking for! But I've found him in a way I didn't expect!"

"So it seems," said the smith, grinning. "I needn't ask who you are—you're the Count de Saxe, who was always wanting to meet with a stronger man than himself. Does it seem to you as if you had met with him now?"

"Well, I rather think it does," quoth Saxe, shrugging his shoulders; "and as I promised to give him my purse whenever I did meet with him, here it is. And now, if you'll come along with me, and serve as farrier to my head-quarters' staff, I promise you that you shall never have cause to repent of having met with Maurice de Saxe."

And the marshal was as good as his word.

[B] ...[missing text]... Hercules" is said to have achieved a similar feat more than once.



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

It is beginning to feel something like spring. However, we mustn't be too certain, for April is the month for little tricks of all kinds. Let us be careful and not be caught by make-believe spring weather.

HAIR-BRAIDS IN THE OLDEN TIME.

I'm told that, eight centuries ago, girls and women wore their hair in braids. Each woman had two braids, which she slipped separately into long, narrow cases of silk, or some other material, and wound with ribbon. They hung like base-ball bats. On the statue of a queen of those times, the braids, cased in this style, reached lower than the knees.

Years ago, every British sailor dressed his hair in a pigtail at the back, so that it hung

"Long and bushy and thick, Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick."

I heard of one sailor whose mates did his hair so tightly that he couldn't shut his eyes, and he nearly got punished for staring at his commanding officer,—a hair-breadth escape, as somebody called it.

KNOTS AND THE NORTH POLE.

My feathered friends tell me of a bird called the knot, something like a snipe in shape, whose color is ashen gray in winter and bright Indian red in summer. They say he is very particular about the weather, and likes best fine bracing days with sunshine and a moderate breeze; so, in winter he flies south, but in summer he goes farther north than man has yet been able to go.

Now, I've been told that the farther north you go, the colder is the climate; but this bird, who likes pleasant weather so much, goes beyond the coldest places known! Perhaps he has found a cheerful and comfortable summer home, bright and bracing, somewhere near the North Pole, on which somebody will find him, may be, one of these days, quietly perched, preening himself, and looking at a distance like a bit of red cloth on a broomstick. If he has found a cozy spot away up there, he's smarter than any Arctic explorer I ever heard of.

THE TRAILING ARBUTUS.

Johnstown, Pa., March, 1878.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Some of your other chicks may like to hear what my uncle has just told me about the mayflower, or trailing arbutus, so as to know where to hunt for it as soon as spring comes. It grows chiefly in New England, New York, and Pennsylvania, and is always to be found among mountains, hills, and high lands. Late in March or early in April, under the brown and withered leaves of last year, you will find it—cool, shiny, fragrant, with clusters of star-like blossoms, the color being of all shades of pink from very deep to a pinkish white. Yet farther under the leaves you will find the trailing stems. I hope many will join in the search for this first sweet flower of spring.—Your true friend, AMANDA S. K.

MIRA IN CYGNUS.

On clear nights, during the first half of this month, my dears, the star called Mira, in the constellation Cygnus (or "The Swan"), can be seen in full luster. This is what the owl tells me; and he adds that it is one of those strange stars which vary in brightness. It shines for about a fortnight very brightly indeed; then by degrees it fades away, until, at the end of three months, it cannot be seen. After remaining five months out of sight, it gradually brightens up again. May be you've heard all about this before; but now is your time to see Mira twinkle her bright eye at you. I'll take a peep at her from my pulpit, myself, if I can manage to catch sight of her.

A RARE SPECIMEN.

Brookline, Mass.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Did you ever hear this story about Agassiz? If not, please show it to the other boys and girls.—Yours truly, NELLIE CHASE.

One day, a man put together parts of various insects and submitted them to Agassiz as a rare specimen. He also pretended not to know to what species it belonged, and asked the professor to tell him. It was April Fools' Day. Agassiz gave a single glance at the object and, looking up, said "Hum-bug."

A SARDONIC GRIN.

Here's a bit of advice which Deacon Green once gave to the boys of the red school-house. It came back to me all at once the other day as I was watching a plump little darkey eating a sour pickle, and making very wry faces.

The Deacon said: "Whenever you come across a word that you don't understand thoroughly, don't rest until you have found out all you can about it."

Sometimes words grow out of queer things and in very odd ways. There's "sardonic," for instance. As applied to a grin, it means one that a man makes if he is forced to laugh when he doesn't want to, or tries to smile when he really is ready to cry out with pain.

Now, the birds tell me that in the island called Sardinia there used to grow a plant with a very disagreeable taste; and whenever a piece of it was put into anybody's mouth, it made his face pucker up into a broad, unwilling smile—made him "laugh the wrong side of his mouth," as I've heard boys say. Well, in course of time, the name of the island was given to the plant, and then, with a slight change, it was used to describe the wry face the taster made.

So you see, my dears, some words are like puzzles. By the way, I'd like to know what you yourselves can find out about this same word "sardonic," for it may be that those chattering little friends of mine, the birds, have been trying to make an April fool of your Jack,—perhaps, just to see if I can smile a "sardonic" smile when I find out what they've done.

A POSER FROM THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.

This letter, and the picture I give you with it, have just come to me. Now let's see what your wits are worth, my dears.

The Red School-house.

MY DEAR JACK: I have a favor to ask of you. Will you please show to your chicks a copy of the picture which I now send to you, and ask them to give you the one word which will express the meaning of it. You can tell them, as a clue, if you like, that by means of what the picture means they can find out what it means.—Truly your friend, THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.



GREENLAND.

Letters have come from Andrew A. Bateman, Frank Polley, M. E. Andrews, Edward Liddon Patterson, Bessie B. Roelafson, and Horatio Warren, all telling much the same story—that a man named Eric sailed from Iceland in the year 983, and, reaching the west coast of Greenland, saw there large herds of reindeer browsing on the meadows. This pleased him, and he called the country "Greenland."

The Little Schoolma'am says that this is correct, and adds that in some parts Greenland is much colder than it used to be. She wants to know if you can give any reason why.

THE FEAST OF KITES.

In Japan, the 23d of April is a splendid day for boys, I should think. I'm told that the Feast of Kites is held on that day, with kite-fights and kite-dances, and all sorts of good fun. Who knows anything more about this?

ANSWERS to the "Tobacco" and "Cares" riddles were sent by W. P., N. E., W. L. and F. H. Amerman, Nellie J. Towle, A. B. Easton, "Ned," L. C. L., E. E. B., Nessie E. Stevens, "Mione," Mary H. Barnett, "Bessie," "Lucy and Annie," A. R. S., and Wm. V. F. Several sent amended versions of both riddles, but no one has given a satisfactory answer to Archbishop Whately's rhymed puzzle. "Lucy and Annie" send this verse as the solution:

"To him who cons the matter o'er, A little thought reveals,— He heard it first who went before Two pair of soles and 'eels."

I'm afraid it is not the right answer, and I'm beginning to think that the archbishop made the riddle on the First of April!



TABBY'S RIDE.

Tabby was a great traveler. She knew every spot about the house—from attic to cellar—and just where everything that she liked was kept. There was hardly a rat or a mouse on the place that could hide from her. She crawled into every dark corner of the barn; could tell the number of eggs in each hen's nest; and often she took long walks through the fields, creeping through every hole in the fence that was as big as her body.

Besides all this, she rode about the farm-yard a great many times. She had merry rides with little Harry in his baby-carriage, with Johnny and Fred as horses; she had lain curled up on the great load of hay when Mr. Dorr and the men drove in from the fields; and she had traveled ever so many miles in the empty wagon, when the boys played it was a train of cars. She liked this railroad journey best; but Fred always waked her up at every station by his loud Too-oo-oo-t! At other times, she did not know that they were moving, even when Fred said they were dashing along at a terrible rate!

But such a ride as the one I shall tell about, she never had had before in all her life! Indeed, she would never have taken it—but she could not help it. Ponto made her go. You see, Ponto and Tabby were good friends. They lived and ate together; they ran races and played all sorts of nice games; and they liked each other very much. Sometimes they had little quarrels; but they soon forgot their anger and were friends again.

Every evening, when Ponto came into the yard, the two friends would run down one little hill from the house and up another little hill to the barn where Mary was milking. Ponto would keep the pigs out of the yard, and Tabby would watch every hole in the barn floor for a rat or a mouse. Then, when Mary was done milking, she would pour some fresh milk into a pan for Tabby to drink.

But, after a while, there came a long rain-storm. Ponto had to stay in the yard for two or three days. Tabby did nothing but doze! It seemed as if it never would stop raining! But it did at last; and when Ponto and Tabby ran down the hill again, they saw at the bottom—a pond deep enough to drown them both!

Tabby did not know what to do. In all her travels she had never crossed a pond of water. She was frightened, and would have gone back to the house, but she looked toward the barn, and saw Mary and the pan of milk waiting for her beside the door.

Ponto did not care for the water, for he could swim. So when they came to the edge of the pond, he plunged in and was soon across. Then he looked back to see what had become of Tabby. He thought she would be at his heels.

But no! There she was on the bank where he had left her. Her back was curled up till it looked as if it were broken, and her tail was waving over it! What in the world was the matter? She never looked so except when she was angry.



Now, Ponto thought Tabby was a wonderful cat. He had seen her catch rats, and he knew that she could do some things that even he could not. "Surely she can cross that pond," thought he. He did not know what to make of it.

He called to her, with a bark, to "Jump in and swim across." But she only replied with a cross "Meouw," which he did not hear. Then he said again, "It's easy to swim across—come on!"

"As easy as for you to climb a tree," said Tabby, in an angry way.

This was too much for Ponto! He could not climb a tree, and Tabby knew it. When he was too rough in his play, she would run up into the apple-tree, and there she was safe. So this reply made him angry. Tabby should not have said it—but then, she wanted the milk!

"It is so easy that I can swim across and carry you, too," thought Ponto, and then he plunged into the water again. When he reached the shore, he seized Tabby by the back of the neck with his teeth, and rushed back into the water. Poor Tabby! She thought she certainly would be drowned.

But Ponto knew better. He held his head so high that the water hardly touched her pretty little paws. So she kept quiet and did not struggle. It was not so bad after all! And besides, there was the milk!

When they landed, Tabby had a stiff neck for a while, and Ponto had to shake his great shaggy sides until they were dry. Then they ran up the hill as fast as they could go, and into the barn,—and almost into the milk-pail before they could stop.

Tabby was very thankful to Ponto for this ride. She said to herself that she would help him to climb a tree the next time that he tried. But as she drank her milk, she was glad that they both could follow Mary home by the long path through the orchard.

Tabby did not forget her strange ride. But she has never taught Ponto how to climb a tree! She has not even helped him up to the lowest limb. Do you think she ever will?



LULLABY.

Little boy John is sleepy, Little boy John can rest, Now that the sun all its labor has done, And gone to its bed in the west.

Rattle goes into the closet, Letter-blocks go there too; Wait till the morn for the cow in the corn, And the horn of the Little Boy Blue.

Into the crib with Johnny, As soon as his prayers are said; Tuck him all in from the toes to the chin, Alone in his soft, downy bed.

Then in the morning early, Soon as the sun shall rise, Little boy John, with the coming of dawn, Will open his pretty blue eyes.

Butterflies in the garden, Roses, and lilies fair, Birds in the trees, and the big bumble-bees, Shall welcome our little one there.

Yet if the day be rainy, Dreary and dark the sky, Still there is fun for our own little one, In the nursery cozy and dry.

Beat a big drum all morning, Build a card-house till noon, Play after that with the dog and the cat, Will keep little Johnny in tune.

Little boy John is sleepy, Winks with his two little eyes, Nods with his head—so we put him to bed, And under the cover he lies.



THE LETTER-BOX.

The readers of ST. NICHOLAS are so familiar, by this time, with the new cover of the magazine, that they can understand, better perhaps than at first, how much this cover, which Mr. Walter Crane has so carefully and thoughtfully drawn, is meant to express. The girl or boy who will take the trouble to study the meaning of the many distinct parts of which the design is composed, will see that pretty much every subject that ST. NICHOLAS thinks it well to talk about, is, in some way, symbolized in the smaller pictures.

The department "For Very Little Folks" is represented by a baby in a cradle, with a youthful nurse reading to it. Below this scene, "Jack-in-the-Pulpit" holding forth to his hearers; and, in the next picture, the poetry of the magazine is personified by a boy mounted on Pegasus, the fabled winged horse that poets ride. A young hunter, who shakes hands with a friendly gorilla, indicates that stories of travel, in strange and distant countries, are to be found within.

In the upper picture, on the other side, two youngsters with telescope and globe show that scientific subjects may be treated of in such a way as to interest boys and girls; and a young artist, hard at work, illustrates how industriously and earnestly our artists work to make good pictures for the magazine. Sports and games are represented by the little fellow playing cricket, which, as well as base-ball, is an excellent game, and often played in this country, though not to so great an extent as in England, where Walter Crane lives. The young sailor in his canoe, starting out on the wide ocean in search of adventure, gives a good idea of how the readers of ST. NICHOLAS go all over the world and see strange sights, in company with the writers of our stories of fun and adventure.

There are still other things to be noticed on this cover. At the very top, you will see a figure of young Time, probably the son of old Tempus, who holds out a tablet to let us know what month the number is for; and, at the bottom, are two round faces, like young worlds, which show that children, in both the eastern and western hemispheres, are always on the lookout for the coming of ST. NICHOLAS.

At the top are the muses of Literature and Art, who see to it that we have plenty of good articles and pictures; while at the bottom are the two griffins, who keep out everything that is bad.

In the center is St. Nicholas himself, the good old patron of girls and boys.

Down at the bottom of this central picture, in the left-hand corner, just behind the girl's foot, there is a curious little design. That is the artist's distinctive mark, which he often puts on his pictures. INV. stands for invented, or designed, and under this are two V's. In Old-English, V is the same letter as U, and these two V's stand for double-u, or W—for Walter. Then there is a little picture of a crane. And so we can easily see that the meaning of the sign is, "Designed by Walter Crane."

Thus we have shown that this cover tells quite a story, and, if we study it longer, we may see more in it than is mentioned here.

* * *

Roxbury, Mass.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have formed a club for playing battledoor and shuttlecock. Our highest scores are 5084, 4556, 3545, and 3496. Will you ask your subscribers, through the "Letter-Box," if they know of any higher scores?—Yours truly, THE BROTHERS OF THE BATTLEDOOR.

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Cincinnati, Ohio.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very busy now putting pictures on Easter eggs, the insides of which have been blown out and replaced by very fine caraway-seed candy, put in through a little hole at one end and then covered by a picture. The money I get for these eggs is for my Easter offering. Duck-eggs are the prettiest to use, because they are of such a lovely greenish-blue tint. May be some of your other readers may like to make some of these Easter eggs. Mamma says she could scarcely keep house without the ST. NICHOLAS now, and I think so too.—Your friend, GEORGE M. A.

* * *

Chicago, Ill.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you be so kind as to tell a little Scottish girl where to find the date when England claimed Scotland, as Mrs. Weiss says, in her story about the "Arms of Great Britain," in the January number of your magazine? I cannot find any such date. King Edward I., I know, claimed it, but Robert the Bruce disputed it so successfully that none have ever claimed it since—Yours respectfully, AGGIE NICOL.

William the Conqueror, in A. D. 1072, subdued Malcolm III. of Scotland, and received his homage. This was the first time England claimed, and exercised, sovereignty over Scotland.

* * *

STELLA C.—Homer is the "Blind Man of Smyrna."

* * *

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please print this poem? It was written for my brother Bertie, by a well-known authoress, within five minutes, by my father's watch, and with the alteration of but one word. I must tell you we gave her the subject. Hoping you will print this poem, I remain yours truly, CHARLES H. M.

BERT'S FUTURE WIFE.

Do you wish to see her— Bertie's future wife, The maid who'll share his fortune, Brighten all his life?

This is how I see her, In my fancy's eye: Tall and fair and slender, Cheerful, good and spry;

Eyes as deep as pansies, Lips like cherries red, And a wealth of sunshine Growing on her head.

Kind her voice, and gentle, Sweet her merry laugh,— There, I've told you wonders, Yet not told you half.

Nothing could be better Than this lovely maid, Now let's see him get her:— Hard work, I'm afraid.

* * *

Monroeville, O.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have for some time been anxious to take the ST. NICHOLAS, but did not have the money. I was told that if I would gather hickory-nuts enough to amount to the sum, I might take it. I gathered three bushels, sold them, sent for the magazine, and, last evening, received two numbers, with which I was very much pleased.—Your faithful reader, CLARA LINDSLEY.

* * *

Danbury, Ct.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A party of us boys read about "Hare and Hounds" in the October number, and we tried the game the Saturday after. We all spent the day at my cousin's; he lives on a farm where there is plenty of room for us to run. Our "hare" got a good start, and though we ran hard and followed up the "scent" well, we did not catch him. We caught our next "hare" though. We treat to apples instead of candy. We think the game is great fun.

I have taken ST. NICHOLAS for two years and I think it is splendid. I liked the "Bass Cove Sketches," and mamma laughed heartily when I read them to her. I am ten years old, and I hope to take you till I am twenty.—Your constant reader, WILLIE H. ALLEN.

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A CORRESPONDENT sends us the following account of some incidents of the great flood in Virginia last November:

After several days of rain, the James and other rivers rose very suddenly, and caused great destruction of life and property, carrying away houses, bridges, crops, and cattle, and covering large sections of the country with water.

There were no lives lost where the flood came during daylight, though many families lost food, clothing, and their homes; but where the sudden rage of the waters burst forth at night, many people were swept away and drowned.

Some one saw among the poor animals struggling with the waters, a poor, frightened little rabbit, on a plank, running from side to side, as it tossed and pitched up and down on the waves.

A queer instance of characteristic nature in an animal is worth recording, although the creature could scarcely be considered a sufferer from the flood. One man, whose house was swept away and lodged on an embankment lower down, had a pet hog, whose dwelling had been under the house. Of course the man imagined him drowned, as no one had thought of him in the haste of the flight. The day after, when the fury of the waters was somewhat spent, the man and his son paddled out to the house to see if anything had escaped. On going in through the upstairs window, they found that the hog had coolly walked in and up the stairs, and, selecting a feather-bed, was now reclining very comfortably in the very middle of it, entirely unhurt!

But only this gentleman of ease and the wreckers profited by the great flood. To others it came like a cruel and stealthy foe, sweeping all before its merciless rush. One little girl, two years old, snatched from her bed and barely saved, said the next day, with a little face still sunshiny, as she pointed to their roof, just seen, with the upper windows above the waters: "Dess see! The flood came, and it dess took everysing—dollies and all!" M.

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SEVERAL correspondents write kindly correcting an error in the February "Letter-Box," page 301, in the item about "King Alfred and the Cakes." It was "Prince William, son of Henry I.," not "of Henry II.," who was drowned.

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Athens, Ohio.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Reading what Jack said in February about the little birds being killed by flying against the telegraph wires, I thought I would write and say that we often pick them up. They look soft and pretty, as if they were asleep, as they are not cut and their feathers are not rumpled. I also want to tell you about my canary-birds. My little Toppie hatched three little singers, which I named Tom, Dick, and Harry. I sold Harry to pay for my ST. NICHOLAS. We sent Dick to a little girl who had been praying for a bird. She was so glad to get it that she said she must be a good little girl. We still have the other one, who is singing nearly all the time. I was twelve on Washington's birthday. I have one sister and three brothers, and we all love the ST. NICHOLAS.—Your affectionate reader, HATTIE F. NOURSE.

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DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a dolly twenty-five years old. I am going to take her to Saratoga this summer. I think it will do her good. I am seven years old. I like ST. NICHOLAS ever so much. MATTIE WYCKOFF.

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Providence, R. I.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the December number of ST. NICHOLAS, in "A Chat About Pottery," I find on page 105 the question, "Who ever saw a blue dog?" and the answer, "In life, no one, my dear." During the past month I have seen, several times, a dog as blue as the sky on a summer's day. He is of the "Spitz" breed, and, as his master keeps a dye-house, we think he is used as an advertisement.

He attracts a good deal of attention when on the street.—Yours truly, EDWIN S. T.

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Shawangunk, N. Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My uncles have taken the ST. NICHOLAS for me for three years, and I like it very much.

I see in your "Letter-Box" a letter from Alma Aylesworth asking how apples were made to grow sweet on one side and sour on the other.

They take a sprout of the sweet and another of sour, just as near the same size as possible, split each in two at the middle, press one-half of each to a half of the other, put grafting-wax up the cracks, and set it in like any other graft.

For a few years, this limb will bear apples sweet on one side and sour on the other; but when the tree gets old, the apples will be of one flavor throughout.—I remain your faithful reader, MAMIE C. COCKS.

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Franklin, Pa.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to have you tell me what Cleopatra's needle is. I read about its voyage in the papers.—Yours truly, B. L. F.

The obelisk known as Cleopatra's needle, presented by the Khedive to England, is a great stone that was cut out in one piece from the quarries of Syene, Egypt, it is supposed in the time of Thothmes III. (about 1600 years B. C.), when, also, it was set up in the temple of Karnak, at Thebes. It is a tall, rectangular pillar, tapering from the base to near the top, where it is pointed like a flattened pyramid; its sides are inscribed with hieroglyphics. The obelisk was taken to Alexandria by Queen Cleopatra, and was named after her. Some think that Cleopatra's Needle was another stone, quarried by order of Ramesis II., and set up in Heliopolis, the City of the Sun; but several obelisks have borne the name, and this may have caused uncertainty about them. The former account is believed to be correct.

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Ashland, Wis.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw, in your January number, two ways pictured for carrying the mails. Here, where I live, on the shore of Lake Superior, we see both ways at the present time. The mail from Bayfield comes on the backs of packers, and on the railroad the mails come from Milwaukie and other points south of us.

We have a jolly fire-place. It is large enough for Santa Claus to come right down without any trouble; and he filled our stockings full last year.—From your constant reader, ESTELLE WILMARTH.

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We have received the following letters in answer to Alice Clinton's question, in the February "Letter-Box," asking for a list of books pleasant to read:

Ogdensburg, N. Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell Alice Clinton, if she wants some interesting and instructive books, to read Dickens's "Child's History of England" and Higginson's "History of the United States."—Truly yours, LULIE JAMES.

Brooklyn.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you ever since you were born, and I like you better all the while.

I think Alice Clinton would enjoy "About Old Story-tellers," by Ik Marvel; "America Illustrated," edited by J. David Williams: and Parley's "Universal History," as they are all very nice.—Your friend, CORA EUGENIA ALWYN.

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DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Inclosed you will find a short story which my little brother wrote, as he said he wanted to write something for good ST. NICHOLAS.—Yours truly, J. S. H.

THE FISHER.

Once there was a boy who did not obey his mother and went fishing and fell into the water how frighten was the mother when she found out that her boy was drowned and the father and mother began to cry and one day a man came to comfort them. But he could not and they never found that boy.

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WE have received the following lines as an answer to the geographical puzzle in the February number:

Queen Charlotte the fair To a ball did repair In the city of Aire, And met all the Adams carousing there, Sweet Alexandria, Sydney the swell, And noble young Ellsworth, who pleased her right well. They praised her fine Cashmere, with Brussels to trim it, But found it Toulon(g) and Toulouse the next minute. Her shoulders were Chili, she thought she should freeze, But a warm Paisley shawl put her quite at her ease. Her rich Diamond jewelry sparkled and shone; Her shoes were Morocco, of smallness unknown; And her kerchief diffused a sweet smell of Cologne. A Superior dancer, she floated around, With Washington great or Columbus was found. With Madison flirting or dancing a jig, Montgomery, Raleigh, she cared not a fig For them, or for Jackson, who stared in surprise When she said she was Hungary, coolly did rise, And was borne off by Quincy from under his eyes. At Table, Elk, Sandwich, and Orange she ate, Sat drinking Moselle and Madeira till late; Then, after an evening quite Pleasant, she said Farewell to her hostess, and went home, they said, With gallant Prince Edward, a gentleman bred. LIZZIE E. T.

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DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw in the January number a recipe for "chocolate creams." I have a very good recipe for chocolate caramels. It is: Half a pint of rich milk, a square and a half (or an ounce and a half) of Baker's unsweetened chocolate, softened on the fire. Let the milk boil; then stir in the chocolate very hard; add half a pint of best white sugar, and three table-spoonfuls of molasses. Boil until very thick, taking care not to burn it. Pour on buttered tins, and, when nearly cold, cut in squares.

If you think this is a good recipe (which I am sure you will, as I have tried it many times, and have never known it to fail), please put it in the "Letter-Box," and oblige, your interested reader, MARY WHARTON WADSWORTH.

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Butte Creek, Cal.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am ten years old, and live in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and my papa belongs to a mining company—mining for gold. I have a hydraulic mine of my own, but I don't get any gold out of it. I have a dog whose name is Flora, and a wooden sword and dagger, and I play soldier with her and get cleaned out sometimes.

We have no school here, but I study my lessons every day, and papa hears me recite at night. I study arithmetic, geography, spelling, U. S. history, and writing. I may write to you again some time.—Yours truly, SCOTTIE HANKINS.

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Philadelphia, Pa.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a girl we had. She was a German girl, and she asked my father, who is a druggist, for a label. She wanted to send it to Germany, so her friends could direct the letters. On the label was printed, "Dr. Siddall, Mantua Drug-store, Tinct. of Myrrh, No. 3526 Haverford St., W. Phila." She sent this label, and when the answer came, the direction read, "Care Dr. Siddall, Mantua Drug-store, Tinct. of Myrrh, No. 3526 Haverford St., W. Phila."

We had a good laugh over it, to think that anybody would put "Tinct. of Myrrh" on the direction of a letter.

I thought I would send you this to put in the ST. NICHOLAS, so that everybody who reads this could have a laugh over it.—Very respectfully, J. R. SIDDALL.

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DORA'S HOUSEKEEPING, by the author of "Six Little Cooks," is a handy little book that tells about the troubles and triumphs of a girl fifteen years old, who is left unexpectedly to take charge of a house and provide daily meals for its six inmates. The story itself is pleasant, and it introduces useful hints about household duties—such as bed-making, sweeping, care of lamps, etc. The book is adapted to beginners, for its recipes contain fuller detailed directions than cook-books usually give. Solids and sweets are treated of in common-sense proportion, and waste is guarded against with tasty dishes prepared from remnants. The book is illustrated, and is published by Messrs. Jansen, McClurg & Co., Chicago.

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CHILD MARIAN ABROAD, by William M. F. Round, is a little book with eight full-page pictures. It gives a lively and interesting account of a bright little girl's adventures during a tour in Europe with her uncle and aunt. She sees many great people and grand sights, plays with a princess, gets into comical scrapes,—some with the help of a little American boy named Harry,—and, altogether, has a delightful trip, very pleasant to read about.

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A CORRESPONDENT, having read in the November number the poem "My Girl," by Mr. Adams, sends us this clever imitation:

MY BOY.

A little crib in "mother's room," A little face with baby bloom, A little head with curly hair, A little woolly dog, a chair.

A little while for bumps and cries, A little while to make "mud pies," A little doubting wonder when A little pair of hands is clean.

A little ball, a top to spin, A little "Ulster" belted in, A little pair of pants, some string, A little bit of everything.

A little blustering, boisterous air, A little spirit of "don't care," A little tramping off to school, A little shrug at woman's rule.

A little odor of cigar, A little twilight talk with Ma, A little earnest study then— A little council grave again.

A little talk about "my girl," A little soft mustache to twirl, A little time of jealous fear, A little hope the way to clear.

A little knowledge of the world, A little self-conceit down hurled, A little manly purpose new, A little woman, waiting, true.

A little wedding gay at eve, A little pang the home to leave, A little mother lone at dawn, A little sigh—my boy was gone! L. R. I.

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E. I. S.—We believe that some consider it not quite certain whether "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" was the sign of mercy. But Appleton's "American Cyclopaedia" says that, when, in a Roman amphitheater, a gladiator was overcome in fight, he was allowed to appeal to the spectators; and, if they pointed downward with their thumbs, his life was spared,—but if upward, his opponent dispatched him on the spot.



THE RIDDLE-BOX.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of thirteen letters in two words that form the name of a king lately dead.

My 6 5 8 7 is the capital of his realm. My 4 11 6 2 10 is the city of his birth. My 1 7 10 2 3 12 is a noted port in his kingdom. My 8 2 13 9 10 is a cathedral city in his dominions. L. H., V. H., +

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.

1. A consonant. 2. A wager. 3. A city in Italy. 4. A part of the body. 5. A vowel. N. B. S.

WORD SYNCOPATIONS.

Remove one word from another, and leave a complete word.

1. Take a crime from a clergyman's house, and leave an attendant. 2. Take a summer luxury from worthy of observation, and leave remarkable. 3. Take savage from to puzzle, and leave a drink. 4. Take suffrage from a bigot, and leave a river in Great Britain. 5. Take to lean from a glass vessel, and leave an animal. CYRIL DEANE.

ANAGRAMS.

Each anagram is formed from a single word, and a clue to the meaning of that word is given, between brackets, after its anagram.

1. Any one can (trouble). 2. I anoint combs (joinings). 3. Cover no sin (change). 4. A rude song (perilous). 5. I'm no cereal (rite). 6. A mad girl (song). 7. Real blue ant (fixed). 8. An egg dies (liberate). W.

DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.

Every other letter is omitted.

H- D-T- M-C- W-O -O-H -E-L -H-T -E -A-H -O -O. C. D.

EASY RHOMBOID PUZZLE.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ACROSS: 1. Oversight. 2. Clean. 3. To fall. 4. To jump. DOWN: 1. One hundred. 2. An article. 3. A color. 4. A title. 5. A part of the body. 6. A pet name for a parent. 7. A vegetable. H. H. D.

PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PUZZLE.



SEXTUPLE WORD-CROSS.

. . . . . . . O . . . . . . .

The central letter, O, is given in the diagram, and is used for both the Full Perpendicular and the Full Horizontal; but the central letter forms no part of the words that make the limbs and arms of the cross.

FULL PERPENDICULAR, eight letters: An American singing-bird. FULL HORIZONTAL, seven letters: An instrument of war. TOP LIMB, three letters: A short, jerking action. BOTTOM LIMB, four letters: Part of a chain. LEFT ARM, three letters: A small gulf. RIGHT ARM, three letters: An instrument for catching fish. B.

PRESIDENTIAL DISCOVERIES.

In the full names of the nineteen presidents of the United States, find the following hidden words, each of which is selected entire from the name of some single president, although in one or two cases the spelling merely gives the sound of the word that is to be found:

1. An insect. 2. A household task. 3. Two birds. 4. A faithful woman. 5. A forest tree, familiar to school-boys. 6. Two Old Testament men. 7. Four New Testament men. 8. A product of the mine. 9. Two products of the pig. 10. The thousandth part of a dollar. 11. A heavy weight. 12. An inhabitant of the western part of Europe. 13. A famous spy, executed during the Revolutionary war. 14. A line of soldiers. 15. One of the supports of a bridge. 16. Dexterity. 17. A river crossing and river obstructions. 18. Fish eggs. 19. Affirmative votes. 20. A noted Philadelphia philosopher and statesman. 21. An old-time Grecian hero. 22. A useful timber. 23. An English statesman whose head was cut off. 24. A title-deed to lands or estates. 25. Three musical syllables. 26. A title of the Deity, mentioned in the Bible. 27. A delicious sweetmeat. 28. A domestic fowl. 29. A girl's name. 30. Something added. 31. One of the members of a family. C. MARVIN.

EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. Pleasing. 2. The ocean. 3. "A little house full of meat, with no door to go in and eat." 4. A bar of wood. 5. A thought. 6. A tribe. 7. Pleased.

The initials and finals, read downward, spell the names of two powerful countries. DEL.

NUMERICAL PUZZLE.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

My 3 4 5 is to obstruct. My 1 4 7 is to bend under weight. My 2 4 6 is a carriage.

Place the letters in the positions indicated by the figures of the diagram, and read therefrom my whole, which is the name of a large island. H. H. D.

A PROVERB AMONG PROVERBS.

ONE word taken from each sentence in succession will form the answer.

1. "Likeness begets love, yet proud men hate one another." 2. "They that hide can find." 3. "Trade knows neither friends nor kindred." 4. "It is better to be happy than wise." 5. "Gold may be bought too dear." 6. "If you would have a good servant, take neither a kinsman nor a friend." 7. "A gift long waited for is sold, not given." 8. "It's time to sit when the oven comes to dough." 9. "Only that which is honestly got is gain." 10. "Prudent people always ask the price ere they purchase." 11. "Good advice is never out of place." 12. "Friendship is the perfection of love." CYRIL DEANE.

A MEDLEY.

A word that means to cleanse, behead, And leave of cloth a kind; Behead again, and leave a seed Canaries love to find; Behead again, and it will leave An animal behind.

Transpose my first, and it becomes A set of antics gay; Then curtail twice, and leave what oft Projects into a bay; Curtail again, and leave what boys Will put in mother's way.

Transpose again, and find a word To horses may apply; Curtail it twice, and leave a step That one can measure by; Behead it, and you have a card That often counts for high.

Transpose again, and bring to light A well-known proper name; And in the very center find A serpent known to fame, That caused the death of one,—a queen,— Who laid to beauty claim. H. H. D.

HALF WORD-SQUARE.

A member of a legislative body; a plant; new; periods of time; to allow, reversed; a preposition; a consonant. A. C. CRETT.



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN MARCH NUMBER.

A COMMON ADAGE.—"Well begun is half done."

LITERARY ENIGMA.— "Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose." Goldsmith's "Deserted Village."

1. Euripides. 2. Tasso. 3. Southey. 4. Hume. 5. Irving. 6. Carlyle. 7. Wordsworth. 8. Hawthorne. 9. Lyell. 10. Davy. 11. Emerson. 12. Mann.

TRANSPOSITIONS.—1. I pass no, passion. 2. Glare, large. 3. Let this, thistle. 4. United, untied. 5. One cadet, anecdote. 6. Towels, lowest. 7. Not impart, important. 8. Lambs cringe, clamberings.

EASY REVERSALS.—1. Drab, bard. 2. Reed, deer. 3. Door, rood. 4. Yard, dray. 5. Keel, leek. 6. Loop, pool. 7. Tram, mart. 8. Doom, mood. 9. Part, trap. 10. Room, moor.

DOUBLE DIAMOND.—Perpendicular: Ponderous. Horizontal: Gathering. P P O D V I N E S G A R D E N S G A T H E R I N G C A R R I E D S T O V E S U E S

CURTAILMENTS AND BEHEADINGS.—Poe, poet. Raven, rave. Bells, ells.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.—Robinson Crusoe. Robin, cross, ounce.

PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PROVERB-PUZZLE.—"A new broom sweeps clean."

EASY UNIONS.—1. Rest-o-ring, restoring. 2. Sweet-e-ned, sweetened. 3. Inter-e-sting, interesting.

AN OLD MAXIM.—"Light cares speak; great ones are dumb."

RHOMBOID PUZZLE.— E P O D E O P E R A E A R L Y N O T E D R O S E S

DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ACROSTIC.—Steam, Smoke. 1. ScissorS. 2. TeaM. 3. EchO. 4. ArK. 5. MandrakE.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.—1. T. 2. Era. 3. Trout. 4. Auk. 5. T.

MALTESE-CROSS PUZZLE.— F R E S H B A S A I E I S A D I N T E N S E N N N H A G A C T L C L E A R

POETICAL REBUS.—"Oh, what a tangled web we weave When first we practice to deceive." Scott's "Marmion."

NUMBERICAL ENIGMA.—Nightingale. Nigh, tin, gale.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.—Louisa M. Alcott, Ralph W. Emerson, 1. LumbeR. 2. OpheliA. 3. UsuaL. 4. ImP. 5. SumacH. 6. AndreW. 7. MoosE. 8. AsyluM. 9. LakE. 10. CondoR. 11. OlympuS. 12. TO. 13. TeN.

WORD SYNCOPATIONS.—1. La-wren-ce; wren, lace. 2. K-now-ing; now, king. 3. De-fin-ed; fin, deed. 4. Re-fine-d; fine, reed. 5. W-ant-ed; ant, wed. 6. F-urn-ish; urn, fish.

CHARADE—Wedgwood.

ABBREVIATIONS.—1. Beryl, bey. 2. Crown, cow. 3. Fairy, fir. 4. Grape, gap. 5. Steam, sea. 6. White, wit. 7. Halts, hat. 8. Honey, hoe. 9. Bevel, bee. 10. Pence, pen.

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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES in the February number were received, before February 18, from Lucian J., G.L., N.E., G.A.R.C., Mattie E. Doyle, Josie Brown, B.P. Emery, Rene L. Milhau, Willie C. Du Bois, "Dominie," M.H.F., "Ben Zeen," M. Alice Chase, W.L. and F.H. Amerman, Louie C.O. Haughton, Frank Haughton, Alice Stedman, Kittie Perry, Annie L. Zieber, Georgine C. Schnitzspahn, Anna M. Richardson, H.A. Warren, Constance Grand-Pierre and Sarah Duffield, W. Eichelberger, "Adelaide and Reggie," Mason Romeyn Strong, Robert M. Webb, "L.," "Yankee Girl," Grace B. Latimer, Eugene L. Lockwood, "Bob White," "Medea," Robert Howard, Nellie J. Towle, Eddie H. Gay, Ray T. French, Gertrude C. Eager, Abbie G. Weed, Arthur C. Smith, Addie Campbell, "Bessie and her Cousin," Lucy V. MacRill, M.W. Collet, L.C.L., Hattie M. Heath, "Little Eagle," Edith Wilkinson, Grace Van Wagenen, Nessie E. Stevens, A.H. Babcock, Anna E. Mathewson, Clara B. Dunster, Ben Merrill, C.E. Sands, John Taylor, Jennie Taylor, Harry Durand, Nellie A. Hudson, Leonice B. Barnes, "Winnie, Brookline," Bessie L. Barnes, Louise G. Hinsdale, Lizzie B. Clark, Lizzie M. Dow, Mabel Barrows, Miller Bowdoin & Co., R.T. McKeever, "Three Cousins," "St. Nicholas Club," Lizzie E.T." Anna F. Robinson, Florence E. Turrill, Ida N. Carson, Camille and Leonie Giraud, "New Friend," George J. Fiske, Florence Wilcox, Fred M. Pease; No name, Cambridgeport; Eddie Vultee, Milly E. Adams, Perry Adams, Maude Adams, and Anna R. Stratton.

THE END