Then came his bad luck.

He was tossing his ball upon the roof of the house, and catching it as it came down; but by and by it did not come down—it bounded into the tin eave-trough and rolled slowly along till it came to the big pipe that led to the cistern, and into this it dropped, and went whirring down, and stopped somewhere with a faint plash.

For once in his life, Johnny felt as if the world had slipped from under him.

For a few minutes he was bewildered; then came the joyful assurance that his Steele would help him out of his trouble, and if Steele couldn't, there was the schoolmaster.

The first thing he did was to lift the cover off the cistern, though he knew well enough the ball was in the pipe, as he well remembered that it ran nearly to the bottom of the cistern and then made a sharp bend upward, "so that the water mightn't wear the cement," the mason told him.

He found the water quite low, but not low enough to show the mouth of the pipe. Of course, there was no ball in sight. He closed the cistern with a groan, and got out his new book on natural philosophy. First he glanced at optics; but that did not help him to see his way; then at hydrostatics and hydraulics.

It was of no use; nothing seemed to hit the case. Then he gave it up, put his book away, and went to consult the school-master. Johnny found him among his books, and told him all about it.

"Have you tried to fish it out with a hook and line?"

Johnny's face brightened. "No, sir, I never thought of that."

"All right; you couldn't do it. Besides, if you could, it wouldn't be scientific," said the school-master. "Now, go home, take a ten-foot pole, and measure the distance from the eaves to the water in the cistern, then find the diameter of the pipe, and on my way to school to-morrow morning I will tell you the three things necessary for recovering your ball."

Johnny fairly flew home, got a pole, measured the distance from eaves to water and found it to be twelve feet; measured the pipe and found it to be two inches and one-half. Then he put away the pole, did his chores, ate a hearty supper, and went to bed.

He was up bright and early next morning, and got quickly through his chores, so that when the school-master stopped, on his way to school, he was ready to see about the ball.

"Good morning, Johnny! Glad to see you on hand. How long's the pipe?"

"Twelve feet, sir."

"Diameter?"

"Two inches and a half, sir."

"Ah! 2-1/2 square multiplied by .0034, and that product by twelve feet, which is—"

"144 inches," Johnny quickly suggested.

"Will give the contents of the pipe in gallons," added the schoolmaster. "You're quick at figures, tell me the answer."

Johnny groped among the odds and ends of his jacket pocket for a minute, and then fished out a stubby lead-pencil, much chewed at one end, and picking up a piece of smooth board, ciphered away swiftly and carefully a few moments.

"3.06 is what I make it, sir."

"Very well; we'll call that right; that would be a little over a pailful—say a pailful and a half. Now get a ladder to go up to the roof with."

Johnny brought one in a jiffy.

"All right. Now, the three things necessary to get back your ball are, a pailful and a half of water, a plug, and pluck."

Johnny looked as if he didn't quite understand.

"What sort of a plug, sir?" he asked.

"Oh, this will do," answered the school-master, picking up a pine stick and beginning to whittle away vigorously. The plug was soon made. The school-master lifted the plank cover from the cistern put the ladder down, and said to Johnny: "Have you any pluck?"

"Lots of it," Johnny told him.

"Well, then, take this plug and stick it into the mouth of the pipe, snug."

Johnny took the plug, went down the ladder into the cistern till he reached the water, and then began feeling around for the pipe. By and by he found it, and, inserting the plug in the opening, pushed it down and screwed it firmly in place.

"All right!" he called out, and presently he came up the ladder.

"Now let's have the water—in two pails," the schoolmaster said, and he saw by Johnny's face that he at last understood how the ball was to be got out. Johnny ran to the barn, and soon came back with two pails of water and a funnel.

"But what's the funnel for?" asked the schoolmaster as he drew the ladder from the cistern and leaned it against the eaves.

"To pour the water into the pipe," answered Johnny, in a tone that showed that he thought he had, for once, caught the school-master napping.

"Ah, indeed! so you always put the funnel in when it rains?"

Johnny blushed, and did not attempt any answer.

"Now mount the ladder, and I'll hand you the water," said the school-master.

Johnny ran up the ladder, and, when the school-master handed him the pails, he said nothing about the funnel, but boldly dashed the water upon the roof. When the flood began pouring into the cave-trough and gurgling down the pipe, Johnny fixed his eyes upon the hole through which his ball had taken its unlucky leap, and stared with anxious expectation. The gurgle in the pipe crept steadily upward, the tone all the while growing higher and clearer, till whish! came a dash of water over the trough, nearly drenching the schoolmaster while the ball bounded airily upon the eaves for an instant, before Johnny caught it and cried out:

"Here she is!"

"Put things in shape, Johnny; I must hurry to the school-house," said the school-master, going.



THE KING AND THE HARD BREAD.

BY J.L.

"When you want a thing done well, do it yourself," is an old saying, and a very good one; but it is not always possible or desirable to carry out this advice. Therefore it is sometimes better to adopt an amendment to this proverb, and make it read thus: "When you want a thing done well, do it yourself, or see it done."

So thought Louis IX. of France, sometimes called St. Louis, because he was considered to be rather better than most people.

Among his good qualities was kindness to the poor. He would go about, very plainly dressed, and attended by two or three courtiers, and visit poor people in their houses. He took an interest in their personal affairs, and when they were very needy, he would order bread and other food to be supplied to them. Of course, this made him a great favorite with the poorer classes of his subjects, and they were glad not only to receive his bounty, but also to talk with him and tell him about their many troubles.

One day, when he was making one of his customary rounds, an old woman, leaning on a cane, and holding a loaf of bread in her hand, came out of a door in a wall which led into a collection of wretched dwellings.

As this old woman stood awaiting his approach, the king could not help feeling a little surprised. He did not often feel surprised at anything he saw among these poor people. He had just been talking to a group of strong, hearty fellows, who preferred sitting lazily about wherever they could find a shelter from the rain and sun, and trusting in chance charity for food and lodging, to working for an honest living; but he was not surprised at them. Such men have always existed, and probably always will exist.

He had seen all sorts of strange things among his poor people. He had seen some who seemed to prefer to be poor; he had seen others who had been rich, but who appeared to be happier now than when they had plenty of money,—and perhaps plenty of anxiety with it; he had seen others who were poor and did not know it; but this was the first time that he had ever seen any one of them offer him bread or anything else to eat. No wonder he was surprised when this old woman held out to him the loaf of bread!

She did not wait for him to ask her what she meant, but immediately commenced to explain. She told him that she and her sick old husband were among those to whom he had ordered food to be furnished, but that for some time all that his agents had given them was bread such as the loaf in her hand; bread so hard that it was almost impossible for old people to eat it, and yet they must eat it or starve.

The king listened with attention to her story, and then he took the loaf in his hands, and broke off a small piece of it.

"It is rather hard bread," he said, thoughtfully, while his attendants bent over to look at it, as if it were a matter of the greatest interest to them, although it is probable that they did not care a snap of their fingers whether or not the old woman ever had any bread.

"Yes," said the king, "it is hard bread." And then he stood thinking about it. The old woman thought he was thinking of the trouble she and her husband had in eating it, but she was very much mistaken.

He was thinking that he had ordered that these people be well fed; that he had supplied the money to buy them good and nourishing food. Now, if his poor pensioners received nothing but dry bread, and very stale, hard bread at that, while he paid for good food for them, somebody must be making money out of him, to whom he had no idea of being charitable in this way.

Therefore he thought that if he wanted a thing well done, he must do it himself, or see it done. In this case he determined to see it done.

He went into the old woman's house, and he talked to her sick husband and herself, and examined into their condition. The old people thought he was very good to say so much about their hard fare, and so he was; but if they could have heard what he said afterward to his dishonest agents, when he went home to his palace, they might have been surprised to know what an important thing a piece of hard bread may sometimes become.

And they might have thought, too, that it was a good thing for them, as well as for other poor people, that their bread had been so very hard that they were forced to complain of it to the king.



DISCONTENTED POLLY.

Polly ought to have been a very happy little girl, but she was not, because she hadn't a doll. She had everything else: a beautiful kitchen, a stove with everything to use on it, some pretty china dishes, a table to put them on, and a neat little wicker chair to match the table.

Only a little while ago she had three lovely dolls; but there was another D to Polly's name—Destructive Polly; and now there was not a bit of a dolly left, and mamma had determined to let her wait till she wanted one so very much that when it did come she would be sure to take care of it. But Aunt Alice said, one day, "That child shall have a doll to-morrow." And sure enough! the next morning, in the little wicker chair, Polly found the most beautiful doll she had ever seen.

It had fluffy, golden hair, and bright blue eyes, and a dress just like Polly's best one with puffed sleeves. It could say "papa" and "mamma" quite plainly, and could move its eyes.

Of course, the first thing to be done was to find a name for the new treasure, and that made Polly discontented again. She wanted to call it after herself, but she said, "Polly is such an every-day name, it would never do; my doll must have a 'company' name." So she called her doll "Rosalinda."

The next day, mamma said there might be a party in honor of the new doll; so Polly carried Rosalinda into the play-room, put her in the little chair, and began to get ready for the party. Rosalinda looked as though she would like to help; so Polly filled one of her prettiest cups with milk, and put it in the dolly's lap, while she went out for three lumps of sugar.

Just then a dreadful thing happened. Puss, who had been hidden under a chair, came out, jumped to Rosalinda's lap, and began to drink the milk as fast as he could. Before it was half gone he heard Polly coming, so he jumped down again in a hurry, and out of the window. But one hind paw caught the cup by the handle, spilled the milk on dolly's dress, dashed the cup to the floor, and broke it all to bits!

When Polly came in and saw this, what do you think she did? She just looked at Rosalinda a moment, then she took her out of the chair and shook her—shook her so hard, and sat her down again with such a bounce that the pretty blue eyes shut up tight, and wouldn't come open.

Polly didn't mind that at first. She said, "Yes! you'd better shut your eyes, you naughty thing! Don't tell me it was 'a accidence.' You did it yourself, I know, and I don't love you one bit. You don't look fit to be seen, and the party will be here before I'm ready. Oh, dear! just open your eyes, and see what you've done."

But poor Rosalinda's eyes wouldn't open, and the more Polly shook her, the tighter shut they stayed, till she ran, crying, to mamma, to ask for help. Mamma had seen it all; so now she took Polly and Rosalinda both on her lap, and gave what Polly called "a little preach."



It did her good, real good, and at last she said: "Dear mamma, if Rosalinda will only open her eyes once more and look at me, I believe I will never be so naughty again."

So mamma found a way to open the pretty blue eyes, and Polly kissed them both, and then kissed mamma for helping her.

By the time the party came, everything was ready. Polly was very good, and let the girls play with her beautiful Rosalinda the whole time. I do not know how long the good will last. I hope till every one forgets to call her Discontented Polly, and learns to call her Darling Polly instead.



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

Well, my dears, spring is here at last, and it is very pleasant to see the buds and flowers again. I begin to hear the voices of the children more often, too; and now and then I catch a glimpse of bright faces and new dresses.

By the way, talking of dresses puts me in mind of a paragram that came the other day, about

TRIMMINGS FOR COWS.

Something quite new to you, I dare say, for which of you ever heard of trimming cows with their own horns and ears? How should you like to see a cow with her ears—poor thing!—cut to the shape of a leaf with notched edges, and horns trained in some queer shape, twisted into curls, or divided into four, with two meeting overhead, and two turned down toward the ground? It would be a dreadful sight to me, I am sure; but the Africans admire such things. They consider this trimming of cows a sort of fine art. You don't see how they manage the horns? Well, they begin when the horns are young; divide each into two, or more, and gradually train them, while growing, in any way they choose. Of course it must hurt the poor cows, and take a great deal of time; but the people who train cows' horns have not very tender feelings, and they are richer in spare time than in anything else. Besides, they do not have to trim their own clothes much—they're savages.

FEET AND WINGS.

I have been told that flies have suckers on their feet, and climb up window-panes by using them, much as boys lift smooth stones with a piece of soaked leather and a string. Is this so, little folks?

By the way, while you are thinking of flies, I once heard some schoolma'ams (I'm sure our little one was not among them) disputing about the number of wings that a house-fly ought to have. And they said, though it's hard to believe, that over the door of the Masonic Temple at Boston there are bees, cut in the stone, each with only wings enough for a fly!

Perhaps the sculptor had been reading Virgil before carving those bees, for, as I've heard, that ancient poet in one of his writings made a mistake as to the number of a bee's wings.

CETUS, NOT CYGNUS.

One of my sharp eyed chicks, S.E.S., of Canandaigua, sends word that the star Mira, of which I told you last month, is in the star-group Cetus (the Whale), not in Cygnus (the Swan). S.E.S. is right, I find, and I'm much obliged to her.

PRSVRYPRFCTMN VRKPTHSPRCPTSTN.

Deacon Green says that these letters were found on a wall in a church in Wales, painted, like a text, above an inscription of the ten commandments.

Some of you may have seen it before, he thinks; but, if not, it will be good fun for you to find out what it means. He adds that there is but one letter of the alphabet wanting, to make sense; this is used over and over, and, if you put it into the right places, the text will turn into a rhymed couplet.

A REMEDY FOR HARD TIMES.

I have a message from a bird on the Sea Islands off the coast of South Carolina.

"Here," says my friend, "I lately found a remedy for hard times. Looking for food one day, I came close to the home of a silk-spider who was about to make a new web. Now, what do you think I saw him doing? Why, he was eating up the old web, so as to turn it into thread again, and use it a second time! Another curious thing that I found out about this economical old fellow is that, although he has a great many eyes, he can see only just well enough to tell light from darkness."

Now, what in the world can be the use of that spider's eyes, I'd like to know, if he can't see the things around him?

A QUEER CHURN.

New Haven, Conn.

Dear Jack: Last year in April you gave us a picture of a very small doll-churn that a little girl had made, and I thought it was very 'cute. But I read the other day of another churn quite as odd. It is simply the skin of a goat, hung by a rope from the roof. It is used in Persia, and, when they want to churn, they fill the goat-skin with milk, and swing it forward and backward until the butter comes. The children do the swinging, and I think it must be better fun than turning a crank or working a plunger.—Yours affectionately, O.T.

CATS IN SPAIN.

Cats have a nice time in Spain, I hear. No dismal moonlight prowlings over fences and back sheds for them! They have the roofs of the whole country for their walks, and need never touch the ground unless they choose. I'll tell you why. Grain is stored in the attics of Spain, because they are too hot for anything else. But rats and mice delight in attics, as well as in grain. So each owner cuts a small door from the roof, big enough for puss, and any homeless cat is welcome to her warm home, in return for which she keeps away rats. In a sudden rain it must be funny to see dozens of cats scampering over the roofs to their homes among the grain-bags.

"SINCERE" STATUES.

Cambridge, Mass.

DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: In ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1877, Jack-in-the-Pulpit says that "sincere" is made of the words sine-cera, meaning "honey without wax." I have been told that it refers also to the Greeks, who, when they found a crack in a statue, would sometimes fill the flaw with wax; and that hence a "sincere" statue, one "without wax," would have no flaw, but be a true and honest statue.

I have not been able to find any authority for this, otherwise I should have written sooner.—Yours sincerely, F.B.J.



FOOLS'-CAPS FOR CROWS.

My acquaintances the crows are very fond of corn, and have a way of picking it out of the ground with their bills just after it has been planted. So the farmers try all sorts of plans to keep them away. One of these plans is shown in the picture.

Paper cones are set point downward in the ground, and baited with a few corn kernels; then some bird-lime is smeared around the insides. When a crow reaches down for the corn, the paper cone sticks to him, looking rather like a fool's-cap, and he does not get rid of it in a hurry. I'm told that it takes only a few of these cones to keep off a whole flock of crows. They are afraid of making themselves ridiculous, I suppose.

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

Now then, my dears, here's a capital chance to show your knowledge of history. Who can answer this question?

Boston, Mass.

DEAR JACK: Will you please ask some of your chicks to tell me when the ancients left off, and the moderns began?—and you will greatly oblige. F.

LUMBER AND TIMBER, AGAIN.

The Little Schoolma'am says that "timber" generally means "felled trees," but is used sometimes to describe trees that are yet standing and growing; "lumber" means timber that has been made ready for use, by sawing, splitting, and so forth.

E.M. Ferguson, J. Harry Townsend, Lillie Stone, J. Dutton Steele, Jr., and N.Y.Z. all sent correct answers; but Virginia Waldo, G.V.D.F., and "Max" were only almost right in their replies.



THE LETTER-BOX.

The answers to Mr. Cranch's poetical charades, published on page 406 of the April number, are as follows: I., Carpet, car-pet. II., Bargain, bar-gain. III., Pic-nic, pick-Nick. IV., Nightmare, night-mare.

* * * * *

A large number of correspondents kindly point out that the poem entitled "The Nightingale's Mistake," printed in the March "Letter-Box," is also called "The Singing-Lesson," and was written by Jean Ingelow.

* * * * *

Clayton, Iowa.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write to you to tell you about our little town of Clayton. It is a beautiful little place, of about three hundred and eighty inhabitants, situated on the Mississippi River. There are two large flouring-mills, two saw-mills, and a large hoop factory here, where all kinds of straps and hoops are manufactured by machinery. First, the poles are sawed into certain lengths; then they are taken to the splitters, to be split. They are then taken to the planers. After going through this process, they are bunched into bunches of fifty each. Then they are ready for shipment. They are made of hickory, white oak, and birch.

It is very pleasant to take a boat-ride on a summer eve, with the banks on either side of you covered with long green grass, and flowers of nearly all descriptions bending down into the water, while in the woods all kinds of birds are cluttering and chattering, and the ducks are quacking around you, all of which makes it very pleasant.—Your constant reader,

H.R.

* * * * *

Baltimore, Md.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to know why it is that the wife of General George Washington is called Lady Washington? I do not think that we have ever had any lords or ladies in our country; so if you know the reason why, I would like to know.

E.M.

Can any of our boys and girls answer this question?

* * * * *

Somerville, N.J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I wish to contribute a little to the "Letter-Box," I will send you a little poem written by my sister Allie when she was nine years old.

OUR BABY.

Little Bertha is my sister, And she is two years old,— A cunning little darling, Whom I love to hold.

You ask her whom she loves best, And she'll say "Papa Lou." You ask her whom she loves next, And p'r'aps she will say "You."

You ask her what her name is, And she'll say "Bertie Lou." But then, she's sometimes naughty, And sometimes so are you.

Little Bertha is my sister, And she's as cunning as she can be; With a dimple in each cheek, And a dimple in each knee.

And I guess most people love her, For she's as cunning as she can be; But then, sometimes she is naughty, And that's the way with you and me.

My darling little sister Always sleeps at night with me; And, as I said before, She's as cunning as she can be.

A.C.H.

* * * * *

Roseville, N.J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We thought perhaps you would like to hear about our pet sparrow "Bob." We have had him since last July, and he is just as cunning as he can be. He was so young at first, he could not fly, and slept in a little box, with a piece of flannel over him; but now he roosts on a nail in the sitting-room bay-window. We do not keep him in a cage, but he goes all over the house, and does just as he pleases. He has had plenty of chances to fly out, but seems to be happy and contented, and makes himself perfectly at home. When we are eating, he helps himself to anything he wants, and is not a bit bashful. He loves honey, and will eat all he wants, and then wipe his bill on any one's dress or on the table-cloth. He will jump on papa's whiskers, and pull mamma's hair-pins out of her hair, steal her needle, and do many other mischievous things. He has chosen one of the gas-globes for a nesting-place, and carries bits of cloth, strings, or any such thing that he can find, and puts them there. He tries to sing, and has learned several of the canary's notes. We catch him sometimes, and put him under a hat, to tease him. He then gets angry, pecks the hat, and scolds at the top of his voice. We have a rabbit and a guinea-pig, too; but if they come into the room where Bob is, he will fly at them and peck them till they run out. Every one who sees him thinks he is a wonderful bird, and we should feel very sorry if anything should happen to him.—Yours truly,

ELLA AND EDWIN H.

* * * * *

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a little sister named Pet, because we love her so. A few days ago our papa had a narrow escape from being burned, and Pet asked me if I thanked God for taking care of him. I said, "Yes." "And did God say, 'You're welcome'?" asked Pet.

Now, don't you think that was a funny idea?—Your affectionate reader,

R.L.P.

* * * * *

GULLIVER'S TRAVELS AND THE MOONS OF MARS.—A correspondent writes that in Gulliver's "Voyage to Laputa," an imaginary flying island, Dean Swift, the author, describes some over-wise philosophers, and, among other things, says:

"They have likewise discovered two lesser stars, or satellites, which revolve about Mars; whereof the innermost is distant from the center of the primary planet exactly three of his diameters, and the outer-most, five; the former revolves in the space of ten hours, and the latter in twenty-one and a half; so that the squares of their periodical times are very nearly in proportion with the cubes of their distance from the center of Mars."

Now, these two satellites were not discovered really until August 16th, 1877, but Dean Swift's book appeared it 1726, more than one hundred and fifty years before! But, although the Dean's guesswork is not exactly correct, he comes very near the truth when he states the time taken by each moon in going around the primary. This you will see by comparing his words with the following letter, which we have received from Professor Asaph Hall, the actual discoverer of the moons:

Naval Observatory, Washington, D.C., March 4th, 1878.

EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS: The periods (of revolution) of the satellites of Mars are as follows,—Deimus being the outer satellite, and Phobus the inner one:

Period of Deimus, 30 hours, 18 minutes, 0 seconds. " " Phobus, 7 " 39 " 16 "

These values are very nearly correct, and will be changed in the final calculation only a few seconds, if at all.—Yours truly,

A. HALL.

* * * * *

The following are extracts from the letters of a young girl now traveling in Europe:

Berlin, 1877.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We were in the Auer Cathedral, Munich, looking down the long nave, when troops of little children, boys and girls, each with a little knapsack strapped between the shoulders, leaving the hands and arms free for play, came hastening in by twos and threes, till the whole church seemed full. They all knelt down, whispered a few words of prayer, and remained for a brief space, silent and motionless, bowed down in devotion; then they quietly arose and went out. I shall not soon forget Auer Cathedral with its little worshipers.

We have been settled at Berlin for a month. Being the residence of the Emperor and Court, it is very gay with balls, theaters, etc., and the streets are bright and lively with fine uniforms, prancing horses, and carriages full of richly dressed ladies, their escorts riding on horseback at the side. It presents a lively contrast with Munich in these respects, but, as to sunlight, it is a gloomy place. Thus far we have had only four pleasant days, and on those the sun set between three and four in the afternoon. Some days we thought it did not rise at all! We realize now, for the first time, how far north Germany is.

We improved one of our pleasant days by a trip to Potsdam, where is the summer palace of the kings of Prussia. Here are the rooms of Frederick the Great, just as he arranged them. His library is chiefly of French books, and fills the shelves, which are everywhere, from floor to ceiling—upon the doors, even, so that, when they are shut, one feels imprisoned in books!

At the opposite end of the palace are the rooms once occupied by Voltaire. The walls are covered with painted wood carvings of cats, dogs, parrots, and peacocks, which Frederick caused to be placed there after his quarrel with Voltaire, to express his opinion of the Frenchman's traits of character.

Directly under the walls of the palace stands an idle windmill, now owned by the Emperor. The noise of this windmill used to annoy the queen, so Frederick sent for the miller and said to him:

"We two cannot live so near each other. One of us must buy the property of the other. Now, will you buy my palace?"

"But my leige, I have not the money," replied the miller.

"Then I must buy your mill," said the king.

"You also have not money enough; I will not sell," was the miller's reply.

When the king hinted his power to take possession by force, the sturdy miller said he could and would sue the king.

"Well," said the monarch, "since you have so high an opinion of the justice to be found in my courts of law, I will not molest you."

So the windmill continued to creak and whirr in the ears of the royal family for a long time.

ADA.

* * * * *

HERBERT J.—In answer to your request, we give a copy of the poem entitled "The Little Boy who Went Out to Swim," published first in ST. NICHOLAS for September, 1874. Several of our readers have asked to see the poem printed, without its pictures, in the "Letter-Box," as the interweaving of the illustrations with the text, as they first appeared, hindered the meaning and beauty of the verses from being fully understood.

THE LITTLE BOY WHO WENT OUT TO SWIM.

BY HENRY HOWLAND.

A little boy went out to swim, One pleasant day in June, And the fish all came to talk to him, That summer afternoon.

"Come down, dear little boy," they said, "And let us show to you The homes of fish, merman and maid. Under the waters blue.

"We'll show you where the naiads sleep, And where the tritons dwell; The treasures of the unknown deep, The coral and the shell.

"The siren's song shall charm your ears, And lull you into rest; No monster shall arouse your fears, Or agitate your breast."

The little boy was glad to go; And all the company Of fish escorted him below,— A pageant brave to see!

The pilot-fish swam on ahead, The shark was at his heels; The dolphin a procession led Of porpoise, whale, and eels.

The trout, all brave in red and gold, Many a caper cut; And after them came crowds untold Of cod and halibut.

The blue-fish with the black-fish swam; Who knows the joy each felt? The perch was escort to the clam, The oyster to the smelt.

The muscalonge, from northern lake, That leaps the harbor bar, Swam closely in the sturgeon's wake, Famous for caviar!

The haddock floated side by side With carp from foreign shore, And with them, through the seething tide, Went scollops by the score.

The sword-fish, like a soldier brave, His saber flashing bare, Went o'er the swelling ocean wave, With bold and martial air.

The jelly-fish went trembling down; The star-fish mildly beamed; And through the waves, like diamonds thrown, The sun-fish glanced and gleamed.

The sea-bass, black-bass, pike and dace Went dashing on like mad; The sheep's-head, with his lamb-like face, Swam by the graceful shad.

The pickerel leaped and danced along; The frog-fish puffed and blew; The herring in a countless throng Swam by, a merry crew.

The turtles sailed a Dutch-built fleet, On port and starboard tack, While through their ranks, with caution meet, Darted the stickleback.

The shrimp and lobster clawed along With others of their kin, And in their company a throng Of lively terrapin.

The bull-pouts, dressed in black and drab, With horns and visage grim, Preceded the meandering crab; The mackerel followed him.

Sea-spiders, in their coats of mail; Shiners, with silver vest; White-fish and weak-fish at their tail, Swam on with all the rest.

The royal turbot, true and tried, Subject of England's queen, Sailed on in regal pump and pride, With whitebait and sardine.

The knightly salmon, king of fish, Without reproach or fear, The noblest fish a man could wish, Came bringing up the rear.

And thus they reached the mermaid's cave. Who, with a heart-felt joy, To her bright home beneath the wave, Welcomed the little boy!

* * * * *

Here is a letter which we print just as it was written by the little one who sent it to us:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS I send you a little story to put in the letter Box.

Once there was a little Boy His Name was Harry He lived with His Mother in a humble little Cottage) His Mothers Name was Mrs Jones she was a Widow) she and Harry lived all alone) one day Harry came Home from school and faced the Doctor at the Door young man said the Dr to the Boy your Mother is very sick) she was doing what you ought to of done for her) what is that sir said Harry choping Wood Bringing in Coal and all such work as that) she straned her self and is very ill) poor Harry hung down His head for His Mother had asked Him to chop the wood this Morning when He was mending his Ball) He said I will be there in a moment Mother) and like all Boy He forgot) oh how poor Harry felt When He thought of this) but Harry took good care of His Mother ever after) a Friend of Harries got Him a good Situation and Made a man of Him and He allways did what His Mother asked Him) ever after Harry said to the Dr one day) Dr I can take care of Mother now and I allways will

So we hope Harry will take care of His Widow Mother, all the) rest of His days)

M.J.W.

* * * * *

Here is a nice letter that a little girl wrote to her mother nearly thirty-three years ago. The little girl was away from her town home on a visit to the country for the sake of her health; and all that she wrote in the letter was true.

Mr. McDonald's, October 1st, 1845.

MY DEAR MOTHER: I wish my arms were long enough to reach two miles, I want to give you a good hug, I am so glad you let me come out here. I was a little bit afraid last night, the horse was so high, and it was so dark. I never rode on a horse in the dark before, you know. It was so dark in the woods I could not see anything, but my eyes would stay so wide open they hurt me. I held as tight to Mr. George as I could; I felt as though some big thing was just going to snatch me off the horse, all the time; my fingers felt like they were full of pins when I let go. Everything does taste so good out here, and the air is so clean. I stretched out my arms to it this morning, it felt so good. We have a play-house on the rocks; it has two fire-places. They are made out of flat stones, and inside of the big stones we set up two smaller stones, and lay a flat one across, and there we do our cooking. We are going to have a party to-night, and have been busy all day getting ready. All the good things are cooked, waiting till night, when Mac will be home. We have three splendid baked apples, and three eggs roasted in the ashes, but we have only two pies. We could only find two blacking-box lids, and as these are our pie-pans, we have only two pies. We washed and scoured the black all off, and they looked as nice as Sophia's tins, which she will never let us touch at home. Our biscuits are not as nice quite as hers, it was so hard to make them round, and our range don't bake on both sides, so we had to turn them over to get both sides cooked. Our things all look very good, and I am real hungry for them, but you know it would not do to eat the party before Mac comes. We have made wreaths of maple-leaves, to wear on our heads to-night, one for Mac, too. We thought it would do for a boy to wear a wreath as long as there are so few of us, and the leaves are so pretty; and as it is my birthday, I have some leaves basted all around my blue dress, and it looks lovely.

I must stop now. Give my love to all. Take good care of Fideli, and kiss all around for your loving daughter,

JULIA.

* * * * *

Clifton, Iroquois County, Ill.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We want to tell the little boys and girls that read ST. NICHOLAS, how a greedy rooster got caught in a trap. We set the trap to catch rabbits, but didn't get any; so the corn was left, and the chickens were all walking around, and saw it, and tried to get in to eat it; but the selfish old rooster drove them all away, and crowded in himself, and began to eat the corn, when down came the trap, and he was fast, but all the others were free.—Yours truly,

ARTHUR AND BROWNIE S.

* * * * *

South Boston, Mass.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read the "Letter-Box" every month with much interest, and have often seen puzzles and "such things" in it, so I send you one, and hope that somebody will find it out:

There was somebody born in England, on the 16th of July, 1723. He was the son of a clergyman, and his father was rather strict with him. He made a drawing of his father's school with so much accuracy of outline, and in such correct perspective, that the grave clergyman could no longer maintain his severity. He saw that his son would be a painter, and resolved to aid him. An anecdote related of the artist runs thus: One day, a man called to see some of his pictures, and asked him what he mixed his colors with. The painter answered, "With brains, sir—with brains!"—Yours,

FRANK R.M.

* * * * *

Columbia, S.C.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our schoolma'am told us the other day that it is generally best to use short words instead of long words in writing or speaking, and she gave us a verse to copy as a specimen. She said that it was written by a man who was perfect master of seven languages, knew six others very well, was at home with another eight, and read with a lexicon four more,—in all twenty-five different languages; and although he could use tremendously long words when he chose, yet he made a point of using short ones, even though they were old and odd and not in common use. I send you a copy of the verse, and I think he might have done much better if he had used longer and more forcible words.—Yours truly,

STELLA G.

"Think not that strength lies in the big round word, Or that the brief and plain must needs be weak. To whom can this be true that once has heard The cry for help, the tongue that all men speak When want or woe or fear is in the throat, So that each word gasped forth is like a shriek Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange wild note Sung by some foe or fiend. There is a strength Which dies if stretched too far or spun too fine, Which has more height than depth, more breadth than length. Let but this force of thought and speech be mine, And he that will may take the sleek fat phrase, Which glows and burns not, though it gleam and shine— Light but not heat—a flash, but not a blaze!"

Long words are not always the most "forcible," Stella,—nor, on the other hand, are they always to be avoided. Sometimes the best word for expressing our meaning may be long to spell, but easy to understand; and, again, a word may be short and yet fail to tell exactly what we wish to say. The verse you copy is not a convincing example of the power of short words, although it shows that much may be done with them. Frequently a word is chosen for its rhythmic quality—the pleasantness and ease with which its sound fits in with the context—rather than because it is long or short. Mr. Longfellow's poem, "The Three Kings" published in the last Christmas number of ST. NICHOLAS, is an example of a fine poem in simple and rhythmical language, the study of which will improve your style of writing more than any number of rules that we might give you.



THE RIDDLE-BOX.

HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.

The central letters, read downward, name a fashionable and beautiful pet.

1. A large reptile. 2. Idolizing. 3. A foe. 4. To stain. 5. A consonant. 6. A dandy. 7. To baffle. 8. Good news. 9. Capable of being made better.

G.H.W.

BLANK APOCOPES.

In each of the following sentences, the second blank is to be filled with the first syllable of the word used in the first blank.

1. From some —— we made a portion of our ——. 2. The —— was extinguished when we made a —— for the door. 3. On the second shelf of the —— you will find some ——. 4. It was of a bright —— color, the —— that he had.

C.D.

EASY BEHEADINGS.

1. Behead to strike, and leave what all must do. 2. Behead what children like, and leave a man's nickname. 3. Behead two pronouns, and leave two other pronouns. 4. Behead an article of furniture, and leave capable. 5. Behead a color, and leave a writing material. 6. Behead something belonging to flowers, and leave a coin. 7. Behead a part of the head, and leave what comes from the clouds. 8. Behead another color, and leave a kind of stove. 9. Behead a sport, and leave a girl's name. 10. Behead a part of a ship, and leave a tree. 11. Behead a kind of bird, and leave disturbance. 12. Behead an article of food, and leave a kind of tree. 13. Behead a table utensil, and leave a bird. 14. Behead to frighten, and leave anxiety. 15. Behead a toilet article, and leave to crowd.

A.D.L. AND S.W.

EASY TRIPLE ACROSTIC.

The primals, read downward, name a bird; the centrals, an animal; the finals, an insect.

1. Disentangling. 2. Echo. 3. A city in a Western State. 4. Can't be worse.

ESOR.

FRAME PUZZLE.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Make the frame of four words of eight letters each, so that the letter A shall come at each of the four corners where the words intersect. The words mean: Sweet-smelling, to make a scale, a fillet, an ecclesiastic.

BESSIE AND HER COUSIN.

HIDDEN FRENCH SENTENCE.

Find in the following sentence the French words with which the Emperor Alexander of Russia once described St. Petersburg:

Give him a good anvil, let him deal sound blows on the irons for the pier, repeated and strong, and the work will last.

B.

PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PROVERB PUZZLE.



The answer is a proverb of eight words. Each numeral beneath the pictures represents a letter in that word of the proverb which is indicated by that numeral—5 showing that the letter it designates belongs to the fifth word of the proverb, 3 to the third word, and so on.

Find a word that describes each picture and contains as many letters as there are numerals beneath the picture itself. This is the first process. Then put down, some distance apart, the figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, to correspond with the words of the proverb. Group beneath figure 6 all the letters designated by the numeral 6 in the numbering beneath the pictures. You will thus have in a group all the letters contained by the sixth word of the proverb, and you will then have only to transpose those letters in order to form the word itself. Follow the same process of grouping and transposition in forming each of the remaining words of the proverb. Of course, the transposition need not be begun until all the letters have been set apart in their proper groups.

S.R.

THREE EASY SQUARE-WORDS.

I.—1. A bard of fame. 2. From mines I came. 3. A fish's name.

II.—1. The mountain's fringe. 2. I make slaves cringe. 3. A ruddy tinge.

III.—1. What bad men hate. 2. I blanch the pate. 3. To join or mate.

N. AND VIOLET.

EASY ENIGMA.

My first is in dark, but not in light; My second in girl, but not in boy; My third is in peace, but not in fight; My fourth in mourning, not in joy; My fifth is in flowers, but not in weeds; My sixth in kind, but not in cruel; My seventh is in drives, and also in leads; And my whole is a beautiful jewel.

N.K.K.

REVERSIBLE DOUBLE DIAMOND AND CONCEALED WORD-SQUARE.

- - E - - E - E - - E - -

Fill the vacant places with letters to form a reversible double diamond which shall inclose a reversible word-square.—Centrals: Perpendicular, to make merry; horizontal, a mechanical power. Word-square: 1, a number; 2, part of the day; 3, to knit.

H.H.D.

EASY SYNCOPATIONS.

1. Syncopate a composite metal, and leave a fish. 2. Syncopate an article of food, and leave an ornament. 3. Syncopate a map, and leave a vehicle. 4. Syncopate a pungent spice, and leave a small bay. 5. Syncopate a wading bird, and leave a reed. 6. Syncopate a short, ludicrous play, and leave a part of the body. 7. Syncopate another part of the body, and leave a wild animal. 8. Syncopate a domestic animal, and leave articles of clothing. 9. Syncopate a small animal, and leave to ponder. 10. Syncopate a flower, and leave a domestic animal.

ISOLA.

PICTORIAL TRANSPOSITION PUZZLES.

To solve these five puzzles: Find for each picture a word, or words, that will correctly describe it, and then transpose the letters of the descriptive word or words so as to form another word, which will answer to the definition given below the picture.

B.



EASY SQUARE-WORD.

1. Soothing ointment. 2. A bitter-tasting plant. 3. Knowledge gained from reading or study. 4. Mild of temper.

K.

EASY DIAMOND.

1. A consonant. 2. A lively animal. 3. To moisten or irrigate. 4. A jewel. 5. A consonant.

ISOLA.



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN APRIL NUMBER.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.—Victor Emanuel. 1. Rome; 2. Turin; 3. Venice; 4. Milan.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.—G, bEt, GeNoa, tOe, A.

WORD SYNCOPATIONS.—1. Parsonage—arson, page. 2. Noticeable—ice, notable. 3. Bewilder—wild, beer. 4. Devotee—vote, Dee. 5. Decanter—cant, deer.

ANAGRAMS.—1. Annoyance. 2. Combinations. 3. Conversion. 4. Dangerous. 5. Ceremonial. 6. Madrigal. 7. Unalterable. 8. Disengage.

DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.—"He doth much who doth well what he hath to do."

EASY RHOMBOID PUZZLE.—C A R E N E A T D R O P L E A P

PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PUZZLE.—Frigates. Feast, stag, gate, seat, rats, air, fist, tars, safe, stage.

SEXTUPLE WORD-CROSS.—Full perpendicular: Bobolink. Full horizontal: Bayonet. Top limb: Bob. Bottom limb: Link. Left arm: Bay. Right arm: Net.

PRESIDENTIAL DISCOVERIES.—1. Ant. 2. Washing. 3. Martin, tailor (Taylor). 4. Ruth. 5. Birch (Barchard). 6. Abraham, Zachary. 7. John, James, Andrew, Thomas. 8. Tin. 9. Lard, ham. 10. Mil. 11. Ton. 12. Frank. 13. Andre. 14. Rank. 15. Pier. 16. Aft. 17. Ford, dams. 18. Roe. 19. Ayes. 20. Franklin. 21. Ulysses. 22. Ash. 23. William Henry. 24. Grant. 25. Mi, la, re. 26. I Am. 27. Jam. 28. Hen. 29. Ada. 30. More. 31. Son.

EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.—America, England. 1. AgreeablE. 2. Main. 3. EgG. 4. RaiL. 5. IdeA. 6, ClaN. 7. AmuseD.

NUMERICAL PUZZLE—Madagascar. Dam, sag, car.

S C D A M R G

A PROVERB AMONG PROVERBS.—"Love can neither be bought nor sold; its only price is love."

A MEDLEY.—-Scrape, crape, rape, ape. Capers, cape, cap. Pacers, pace, ace. Casper, asp.

HALF WORD-SQUARE.—S E N A T O R E X O G E N N O V E L A G E S T E L O R R

Answers to puzzles in the March number were received, before March 18, from R.T. McKeever, Eddie Vultee, Charles M. Jones, George J. Fiske, Esther L. Fiske, "Guesser," Milly and Maude Adams, Jay B. Benton, Chas. G. Todd, M.A. Newlands, "Mione and White Fawn," Leonie Giraud; Unsigned, Philadelphia; Fred M. Pease, Katie Burnett, Mary C. Warren, Jennie Dillingham and Frances V. Lord, M.W. Collet, Catherine Cowl, Allie Bertram, Julia F. Allen, T.J. De la Hunt, G.L., Carrie Speiden and Mary F. Speiden, "Bessie and her Cousin," Nettie I.G., Xerxes J. Booren, "Nettie 722," "Queen Bess," E.C. Moss, Nellie Baker, A.L.S. and L.R.P., Otto Dreier, "Prebo," "Prebo's Ma," Mary Belle Giddings, Nellie Kellogg, Lillie Stone, Grace C. Raymond, J. Harty Townsend, C. Lothrop, Robin Nelson, Ben Merrill, Bessie Cary, Edith Claypole Ewing, Nellie Wooster, Rufus Clark, Nellie C. Graham, Harriet H. Doyle, Bertie E. Bailey, May Odell, "Thorndale," Louie G. Hinsdale and Arnold Guyot Cameron, Robert P. Christian, Belle W. Brown, Dellie Wilmarth, Emily Morison, Frank Bowman, Fred Worthington, Walter Stockdale, Carroll B. Carr, Eddie F. Worcester, Charley W. Sprague, Nellie Emerson; "Winnie," Brookline; Josie Morris Brown, Mary W. Ovington, Allie Armstrong, Sidney S. Conger, Nellie J. Hutchings, S.N. Knapp, F. Armington, Austin D. Mabie, Carrie and Sharlie King, Willie B. Deas, Bessie B. Whiting, Nettie A. Ives, Richard Emmins, A. Gunther, H.B. Ayers, Frances Hunter, Alice B. Moore, Percy Crenshaw, "Robin Redbreast," John V.L. Pierson, Mattie S.J. Swallow, Gertrude V. Sharp, Harriet Etting, Mary H. Stickney, Maggie J. Gemmill, Georgie B., B. McVay Allison, Jennie Beach; Nellie T. Dozier and Julia T. Gardiner; Everett B. Clark, R.H. Marr, Jr., Jennie O. Smith, Lillie Singich, Georgine C. Schnitzspahn, F.D., Anna E. Mathewson, Edward C. Niles, R.W. Abert, Mollie W. Morris, Sam V. Gilbert, Mary H. Bradley, William H. Atkinson, Alice N. Dunn, Philip Cary, Fred Whittlesey, Bessie L. Barnes, "Nightingale," Grant Squires, E.C., L.C.L.; Unsigned, Seymour, Conn.; Lafla Whitaker, Edna C. Lewis, Jennie R. McClure, "Eagle;" Sadie Duffield and Constance Grand-Pierre; Barton Longacre, Eva Doeblin, Belle M. Grier, "Minnehaha," Emmie O. Johnson, "Sister Lizzie," Harry Haskell, Addison F. Hunis; Kittie Hamilton Chapman and Carrie R. Heller; and Elmer Dwiggins. Gladys H. Wilkinson and John P. Brewin, both of England, also sent answers.

Correct answers to all puzzles were received From "King Wompster."

THE END