What is it that Carlyle thinks so wonderful? See how quietly my hand rests on this table. Why should it move any more than the table on which it rests? Is not Carlyle right when he calls every movement of my hand a wonder? You never thought of it before? That is as Carlyle says: "We do not look around a little and see what is passing under our very eyes."

It was this great old man whose hand brushed the clinging mud from a crust of bread, and placed it on the curbstone, for some dog or pigeon, saying, "My mother taught me never to waste anything."

Here is a word for those who are always planning what great things they will do—who think so much about doing that no time is left for the doing:

"The end of man is an action, and not a thought, though it were the noblest."

Now, for our final crumb, comes a well-clothed thought that I like better than quarreling Indians or familiar wonders. It is the reason why selfish people are never really happy. Carlyle thinks they have only themselves to blame, for he says:

"Always there is a black spot in our sunshine; it is even, as I said, the shadow of ourselves."



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

Hurrah for June!—bright, rosy June! "Joy rises in me like a summer's morn!" as one of those pleasant people, the poets, has said.

Let everybody be glad! But most of all, you, my youngsters! The month properly belongs to you. Don't I know? Wasn't it set apart by Romulus, ages and ages ago, especially for the young people, or "Juniores," as they then were called? And hasn't their name stuck to it ever since? Yes, indeed! So, be as merry as you can, my chicks; but, with all your fun and frolic, be thankful, and make June weather all about you. June time—any time—is full of joy when hearts, brimming over with thankfulness, carry cheer to other hearts, making

"A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune,"—

like the little stream that bubbles by the foot of our meadow.

Now to business. First comes a letter about

A ROPE OF EGGS.

Brooklyn, N.Y.

My Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I know about a rope of eggs, and I will tell you. It is in Japan. The eggs are plaited and twisted into ropes made from straw, and so it is safe and easy to handle them. Just think how queer it would seem to buy eggs by the yard!

AMY M.

CONVERSATION BY FISTICUFFS.

After being flurried by clouds of paragrams about sphygmographs, and phonographs, and pneumatic telegraphs, and scores of other extraordinary scientific ways of communication, I'm not in the least surprised to learn that ants converse by one tapping another's head.

I'm told that an Englishman named Jesse once put a small caterpillar near an ants' nest, and watched. Soon an ant seized it; but the caterpillar was too heavy to be moved by one ant alone, so away he ran until he met another ant. They stopped for a few moments, during which each tapped the other's head with his feelers in a very lively manner. Then they both hurried off to the caterpillar, and together dragged it home.

A HORSE THAT LOVED TEA.

Roxbury, Mass.

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: This is a true story of Mary's horse. He was just as black as a coal all over, except a pretty white star on his forehead.

Once in two or three weeks Mary had him take tea with her and her little brother and sisters. She went to the stable where he lived with Kate and Nell, two pretty twin ponies, and said to him:

"Come, Jack! Don't you want some, tea?"

At that, he came right up to her, and found out the buttons on her dress, and tried to pull them off, and then untied her apron strings.

"Now, Jack," Mary said, "tea is all ready. Come along!"—and he followed her along the walk to the back door and up the three steps into the house.

What a clatter his iron shoes made along the entry to the dining-room!

Harry and Annie and Fanny rushed out, crying:

"Oh, mamma! Here's Jack coming to tea!"

Then mamma filled a large bowl with tea, put in plenty of milk and three or four pieces of white sugar (for Jack had a sweet tooth), and cut a slice of bread into pieces, and put them on a plate, with a doughnut or piece of gingerbread. And Mary said:

"Now, Jack, come up to the table!"

You see, he was too big to sit in a chair; but he came close up to the table and stood there, and drank his tea without slopping any over, and ate up his bread and cake. And when he had done, what do you think he did? Why, he went up to the piano that stood in a corner of the room and smelled the keys, and looked round at Mary. That was to ask her to play him a tune before he went home.

Then she said, "Oh, you dear Jack! I know what you want!" And she sat down and played some merry tune, while he pricked up his ears and put his nose down close to her fingers, he was so pleased. Then he rubbed her shoulder with his nose, and Mary played another tune for him.

"Now, Jack," mamma said, "you've had a nice time; but you must go back to your stable. Kate and Nell will miss you if you stay longer."

Then Mary opened the dining-room door, and Jack followed her down the long entry and out to the stable, just like a dog.—Yours truly,

B.P.

TONGUES WHICH CARRY TEETH.

You've heard of folks with biting tongues, I dare say, and very disagreeable they are, no doubt, though, of course, they do not actually bite with their tongues. However, there really is an unpleasant fellow whose tongue carries twenty-six thousand eight hundred teeth! A capital one for biting, you'd suppose. He is nothing but a slug, though, and his army of teeth only scrape, not bite, I'm told. Then, too, there is a sort of cousin of his, a periwinkle, who has a long ribbon-like tongue, armed with six hundred crosswise rows of hooks, about seven in a row.

You can make sure of these surprising facts, my dears, with the aid of patience and a microscope.

DIZZY DISTANCES.

The other day, one of the school-children said to a chum, "The Little Schoolma'am told us this morning that some parts of the ocean are more than four miles deep!"

That's easy to say, thought I, but try to think it, my dear! Fix on a place four miles away from you, and then imagine every bit of that distance stretching down under you, instead of straight before you. Perhaps in this way you may gain an idea of the depth of the ocean; but just consider the height of the air—which, I'm told, is a sort of envelope about the earth—more than nine times the depth of the ocean! Yet, what a wee bit of a way toward the moon would those thirty-six miles take us! And from the earth to the moon is only a very little step on the long way to the sun.

Oh dear! Let's stop and take a breath! Why did I begin talking of such dizzy distances?

LAND THAT INCREASES IN HEIGHT.

Here is a letter in answer to the Little School-ma'am's question which I passed over to you in April, and it raises such startling ideas, that, may be, you'd do well to look farther into the matter:

DEAR JACK: We suppose that the Little Schoolma'am and her writers on Greenland will concede its accidental discovery by Gunnbjorn, as narrated by Cyrus Martin, Jr., in his "Vikings in America" [ST. NICHOLAS, Vol. III., page 586]. We have always thought Iceland appropriately named, and Greenland the reverse.

And now about that question of temperature. If portions of Greenland are colder than formerly, may it not be because less heat comes through its crust from subterranean fires, as well as because the surface is constantly gaining in height, as some report?—Very truly yours,

NED AND WILL WHITFORD.

THE ANGERED GOOSE.

The picture of which you here have an engraving formed at first a kind of panel of a wall, and occupied a space beneath one of the cartoons of Raphael, the great Italian painter, whose grand picture of "The Transfiguration" is thought to be his chief work. This panel-picture, also, was painted by Raphael, as some say, though others think it may be the work of one of his pupils.



A curious thing about the picture is this: the goose is so excited, and scolding its tortoise so angrily for going slowly, that it has forgotten its own wings, when, if it would only use them, it could fly to its journey's end long before the tortoise could crawl there. Now, there are other two-legged geese who let themselves get angered and excited easily, and so lose many chances of serving others and helping themselves. Perhaps you may know some of them.

That is what the Deacon says; but, for my part, I never knew a goose that hadn't two legs.

A CITY UNDER THE WATER.

In past ages, as the Deacon once told some of his older boys in my hearing, the people of some parts of Europe used to live above the surfaces of lakes, in huts built on spiles driven into the water.

Well, now I hear that some one has found, under the water of Lake Geneva, a whole town, with about two hundred stone houses, a large public square, and a high tower; and, from the looks of the town, the shape of the houses, and the way the stones are cut, some say that the place must have been built more than two thousand years ago!

Now, I can understand how men were able to live in the way the Deacon described, but it strikes me that this other story has something in it that's harder to swallow than water.

Who ever heard of men living in cities under the water, as if they were fishes?

REFLECTION.

The Red School-house.

My Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: Many thanks for putting into your April sermon the picture and letter which I sent to you. Now, I must let you know about the explanations that some of your bright chicks have given.

Arnold Guyot Cameron, S.E.S., O.C. Turner, Louise G. Hinsdale, and the partners E.K.S. and M.G.V. guessed the right word, which is "Reflection"; and, of course, it needed some "reflection" to find it out. The lady in the picture is absorbed in "reflection" upon something she has been reading in her book; but, besides this, the water is represented as sending back a "reflection" of nearly every other object in the picture.

Several others of your youngsters wrote, but they were not so fortunate in their attempts. "Mignon" suggests the word "Heads," for the reason that the guessing has given employment to many heads. John F. Wyatt thinks that "Beautiful" is the word. Alfred Whitman, C.H. Payne, and Nellie Emerson, though writing from three places far apart, agree in giving the word "Reverie" as their notion of the right one. George A. Mitchell thinks it is "Study"; Arthur W. James guesses "Meditation"; and Hallie quietly hints "Calm." "P.," however, believes that the word is "Misrepresented," which he inclines to write, "Miss represented." But Nathalie B. Conkling puts forward the exclamation "Alas!" as the proper solution, spelling it "A lass."

Now, puns are not always good wit, and these two are not puns of the best kind; but they, as well as the other guesses, show that your chicks have lively minds, able to see a thing from more than one point of view, even although their conjectures do not hit the very center of the mark in every instance. I am much obliged to them all for their letters, and to you, dear Jack, for your kindness.—Sincerely your friend,

THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.



"FIDDLE-DIDDLE-DEE!"

Little Davie ran through the garden,—a great slice of bread and butter in one hand, and his spelling-book in the other. He was going to study his lesson for to-morrow.

You could not imagine a prettier spot than Davie's "study," as he called it. It was under a great oak-tree, that stood at the edge of a small wood. The little boy sat down on one of the roots and opened his book.



"But first," thought he, "I'll finish my bread and butter."

So he let his book drop, and, as he ate, he began to sing a little song with which his mother sometimes put the baby to sleep. This is the way the song began:

"I bought a bird, and my bird pleased me; I tied my bird behind a tree; Bird said——"

"Fiddle-diddle-dee!" sang something, or somebody, behind the oak. Davie looked a little frightened, for that was just what he was about to sing in his song. But he jumped up and ran around to the other side of the tree. And there was a little brown wren, and it had a little golden thread around its neck, and the thread was tied to a root of the big tree.

"Hello!" said Davie, "was that you?"

Now, of course Davie had not expected the wren to answer him. But the bird turned her head on one side, and, looking up at Davie, said:



"Yes, of course it was me! Who else did you suppose it could be?"

"Oh yes!" said Davie, very much astonished. "Oh yes, of course! But I thought you only did it in the song!"

"Well," said the wren, "were not you singing the song, and am not I in the song, and what else could I do?"

"Yes, I suppose so," said Davie.

"Well, go, then," said the wren, "and don't bother me."

Davie felt very queer. He stopped a moment, but soon thought that he must do as he was bid, and he began to sing again:

"I bought a hen, and my hen pleased me; I tied my hen behind a tree; Hen said——"

"Shinny-shack! shinny-shack!" interrupted another voice, so loudly that Davie's heart gave a great thump, as he turned around. There, behind the wren, stood a little Bantam hen, and around her neck was a little golden cord that fastened her to the wren's leg.



"I suppose that was you?" said Davie.

"Yes, indeed," replied the hen. "I know when my time comes in, in a song. But it was provoking for you to call me away from my chicks."

"I?" cried Davie. "I didn't call you!"

"Oh, indeed!" said the Bantam. "It wasn't you, then, who were singing 'Tied my hen,' just now! Oh no, not you!"

"I'm sorry," said Davie. "I didn't mean to."

"Well, go on, then," said the little hen, "and don't bother."

Davie was so full of wonder that he did not know what to think of it all. He went back to his seat, and sang again:

"I had a guinea, and my guinea pleased me; I tied my guinea behind a tree——"



But here he stopped, with his mouth wide open; for up a tiny brown path that led into the wood, came a little red man about a foot high, dressed in green, and leading by a long yellow string a plump, speckled guinea-hen! The little old man came whistling along until he reached the Bantam, when he fastened the yellow string to her leg, and went back again down the path, and disappeared among the trees.

Davie looked and wondered. Presently, the guinea stretched out her neck and called to him in a funny voice:

"Why in the world don't you go on? Do you think I want to wait all day for my turn to come?"

Davie began to sing again: "Guinea said——"

"Pot-rack! pot-rack!" instantly squeaked the speckled guinea-hen.

Davie jumped up. He was fairly frightened now. But his courage soon came back. "I'm not afraid," he said to himself; "I'll see what the end of this song will be!"—and he began to sing again:

"I bought a duck, and my duck pleased me; I tied my duck behind a tree; Duck said——"

"Quack! quack!" came from around the oak. But Davie went on:



"I bought a dog, and the dog pleased me; I tied my dog behind a tree; Dog said——"

"Bow-wow!" said a little curly dog, as Davie came around the spreading roots of the tree. There stood a little short-legged duck tied to the guinea's leg, and to the duck's leg was fastened the wisest-looking Scotch terrier, with spectacles on his nose and a walking-cane in his paw.

The whole group looked up at Davie, who now felt perfectly confident He sat down on a stone close by, and continued his song:

"I had a horse, and my horse pleased me; I tied my horse behind a tree."

Davie stopped and looked down the little brown path. Then he clapped his hands in great delight; for there came the little old man leading by a golden bridle a snow-white pony, no bigger than Davie's Newfoundland dog.

"Sure enough, it is a boy!" said the pony, as the old man tied his bridle to the dog's hind leg, and then hurried away. "I thought so! Boys are always bothering people."



"Who are you, and where did you all come from?" asked delighted Davie.

"Why," said the pony, "we belong to the court of Her Majesty the Queen of the Fairies. But, of course, when the song in which any of the court voices are wanted, is sung, they all have to go."

"I'm sure I'm very sorry," said Davie. "But why haven't I ever seen you all before?"

"Because," said the pony, "you have never sung the song down here before." And then he added: "Don't you think, now that we are all here, you'd better sing the song right end first, and be done with it?"

"Oh, certainly!" cried Davie, "certainly!" beginning to sing.

If you could but have heard that song! As Davie sang, each fowl or animal took up its part, and sang it, with its own peculiar tone and manner, until they all joined in.

"I had a horse, and my horse pleased me; I tied my horse behind a tree. Horse said, 'Neigh! neigh!' Dog said, 'Bow-wow!' Duck said, 'Quack! quack!' Guinea said, 'Pot-rack! pot-rack!' Hen said, 'Shinny-shack! shinny-shack!' Bird said, 'Fiddle-diddle-dee!'"

Davie was overjoyed. He thought he would sing it all over again. But just then he was sure that his mother called him.



"Wait a minute!" he said to his companions. "Wait a minute! I'm coming back! Oh, it's just like a fairy-tale!" he cried to himself, as he bounded up the garden-walk. "I wonder what mother'll think?"

But his mother said she had not called him, and so he ran back as fast as his legs would carry him.

But they were all gone. His speller lay on the ground, open at the page of his lesson; a crumb or two of bread was scattered about; but not a sign of the white pony and the rest of the singers.

"Well," said Davie, as he picked up his book, "I guess I wont sing it again, for I bothered them so. But I wish they had stayed a little longer."



THE LETTER-BOX.

A BRAVE GIRL.

One summer day, in Union square, New York City, a beautiful deed was done, which our frontispiece tells so well as almost to leave no need of words. A poor blind man started to cross the street just as a car was rapidly approaching. He heard it coming, and, growing confused, stood still—his poor, blind face turned helplessly, pathetically up, as if imploring aid. Men looked on heedlessly, regardless of his danger, or the voiceless appeal in his sightless eyes.

Suddenly, from among the passers-by, a young girl sprang to his side, between him and the great horses which were so near they almost touched her, laid her dainty hand on his, and led him safely over the street, and with gentle words that brought a smile to his withered old face, set him safely on his way.

It was a brave, kindly act, and one may be sure it was neither the first nor the last, of the brave girl who did it.

* * * * *

If Charles Dudley Warner had never been a boy, it would have been impossible for him to write the very interesting little volume he calls "Being a Boy," for it is evident that he knows well, from experience, all that he writes about. It may be that many of our young readers have seen this book, for it has already reached several editions; but if there are any of them who have not read it, and who take an interest in the life of boys who are born, and brought up, and have fun, and drive oxen, and go fishing, and turn grindstones, and eat pumpkin-pie, and catch wood-chucks, all on a New England farm, they would do well to get the book and read it.

If any of those who read it are boys on a farm in New England, they will see themselves, as if they looked in a mirror; and if any of them are city boys or girls, or live in the South or West, or anywhere in the world but in New England, they will see what sort of times some of the smartest and brightest men in our country had, before they grew up to be governors, book-writers, and other folks of importance.

There is a particular reason why readers of ST. NICHOLAS should see this book, for in it they will meet with some old friends.

* * * * *

Williamsburgh, L.I.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read in the May "Letter-Box" your answer to Stella G. about long and short words. It reminded me of what I read once about Count Von Moltke, the great German general. The writer described him as "the wonderful silent man who knows how to hold his tongue in eight different languages."—Yours truly,

Willie, M.D.

* * * * *

Santa Fe, N.M.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The donkeys here are called "burros." They are very tame, and do not get frightened at anything. A few days ago, the boys in our school tied a bunch of fire crackers to the tail of one, and fired them off. We all thought he would be very frightened at the noise, but he just walked off and began eating grass. My brother Barry had one of these little burros, when we were in Texas, and every evening he would go to a lady's house for something to eat, although he had more than he could eat at home; and if she did not come to the window soon, he would bray as loudly as he could, and she would have to come out and give him something, even if it was only a lump of sugur. Good-bye,—From, your affectionate friend,

Bessie Hatch.

* * * * *

Coldwater, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Having read in the March number an account of the "Great Eastern," I thought perhaps your readers would like to hear something of the history of her captain, which I read a short time ago.

When he was a little boy, he went to sea. As he left home, his mother said: "Wherever you are, Jamie, whether on sea or land, remember to acknowledge your God. Promise me that you will kneel down every morning and night and say your prayers, no matter whether the sailors laugh at you or not."

Jamie gave his promise, and soon he was on shipboard, bound for India. They had a good captain; and, as several of the sailors were religious men, no one laughed at the boy when he knelt down to pray.

On the return voyage, however, some of the former sailors having run away, their places were filled by others, and one of these proved to be a very bad fellow. When he saw little Jamie kneeling down, this wicked sailor went up to him, and, giving him a sound box on the ear, said, "None of that here, sir!"

Another seaman, who saw this, although he himself swore sometimes, was indignant that the child should be so cruelly treated. He told the man to come up on deck and he would give him a thrashing. The challenge was accepted, and the well-deserved beating was duly bestowed. Both then returned to the cabin, and the swearing man said, "Now, Jamie, say your prayers, and if he dares to touch you, I will give him another dressing."

The next night, Jamie was tempted to say his prayers in his hammock. The moment that the friendly sailor saw Jamie get into his hammock without first saying his prayers, he hurried to the spot and, dragging him out, said, "Kneel down at once, sir! Do you think I am going to fight for you, and you not say your prayers, you young rascal?" During the whole voyage back to London this same sailor watched over the boy as if he were his father, and every night saw that he said his prayers.

Jamie soon began to be industrious, and during his spare hours studied his books; he learned all about ropes and rigging, and became familiar with latitude and longitude. Some years after, he became captain of the "Great Eastern." On returning to England after a successful voyage, Queen Victoria bestowed upon him the honor of knighthood, and the world now knows him as Sir James Anderson.

MABEL R.

* * * * *

B.P.R.—Perhaps the little book called "Album Leaves," by Mr. George Houghton, published by Estes & Lauriat, will help you to some verses suitable to be writen (sic) in autograph albums.

* * * * *

Mobile, Ala.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The "that" question in your recent numbers brings to mind some "thats" I had when I went to school long years ago, and which some of your young grammarians may never have seen. I would like to have them, especially C.P.S., of Chicago, parse them.

E.S.F.

Now that is a word which may often be joined, For that that may be doubled is clear to the mind, And that that that is right, is as plain to the view As that that that that we use is rightly used too; And that that that that that line has in it, is right, And accords with good grammar, is plain in our sight.

* * * * *

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about my aunt Hattie. She is only nine years older than I am, being twenty-one, and seems more like a sister than an aunt. When she was about fifteen she was thrown from her pony and hurt her spine, so that she hasn't taken a step since.

But in spite of her great suffering she is the brightest, happiest one in the house, brimful and running over with fun and spirits. Papa calls her our sunbeam, and no one can grumble when they see how patiently and cheerfully she bears her pain. Her bright face and merry laugh will cure the worst case of "blues." She wants me to tell you how much she enjoys ST. NICHOLAS. It is a great comfort to her, and helps to pass away many an hour of pain and loneliness when I am at school and mamma is busy. She says she doesn't know what she could do without it.

Auntie says you must make allowance for what I say of her as I am a partial judge; but she is the dearest, best auntie in the world, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. Everybody loves her, and I shall be satisfied if I ever learn to be half as good and patient and unselfish as she is. I don't see how she can be so good and patient and happy when she has to lie still year after year and suffer so much, I should get cross and fret about it, for I can't bear to be sick a day. But she never thinks of her own troubles, but is so afraid she will make us care or trouble. When the pain is very bad she likes to hear music or poetry. It soothes her better than anything else. Whittier's poem on "Patience," is a favorite with her, and so is Mrs. Browning's "Sleep."—Ever your true friend,

ALLIE BERTRAM.

* * * * *

Salem, Mass.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about my little turtle. I got him up in the country last summer, and have had him about six months. I keep him in a bowl of water, with a shell in it. In summer I feed him with flies, and in winter I give him pieces of cooked meat about the size of a fly. My turtle's shell is nearly round, and he is small enough to be put in a tumbler, and then he can turn round as he likes. I named him "Two-forty" (a funny name), because, when you put him down, he stands still, looks around a minute, and then starts off on a run,—Your friend and reader,

JOHNNY P. WILLIS.

* * * * *

Camp Grant, Arizona.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your coming every month fills us with delight. We cannot wait to read you separately, so mamma reads you aloud after the lamps are lighted, the first evening you are here. Papa lays aside his pen to listen, just like any boy, and so we all enjoy your pages at once. I have one little sister, but no brother. We live in camp, in far-away Arizona; and, although the "buck-board" brings the mail in every other day, it takes a long while for a letter to come from the East.

There is a pet deer here. He comes out to "guard mounting" on the parade-ground, and trots after the band when the guard passes in review. Every one is kind to him; even the dogs know they must not chase him.—Your true friend,

MOLLIE GORDON.

* * * * *

New Brunswick, N.J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you of the nice times that the country children have, although they have no parks. In summer they can go on picnics, and they have a nice garden to play in. And most of the children have little gardens of their own to plant things in,—one for flowers and the other for vegetables. Then, in the winter-time, they can go coasting, sliding and skating; then, last but not least, sleigh-riding on the lovely, pure white snow.

I, for one, would not be a city child. If I lived in the city, I could not have my old pet hen. Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS.—From your friend—

MATHILDE WEYER.

P.S.—I have a cat by the name of Pussy Hiawatha.

* * * * *

Covington, Ohio.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Would you like to know how I came to get you? I worked for you. My brother made a bank for me out of a cigar-box, and said if I put ten cents into it every week, I could begin taking you in November. That was in March. Sometimes, I could not get the ten cents, but I made it up the next week, and more, too, if I could; and before July, I had more than enough to pay for you. After that, I saved nearly enough to buy me a suit of clothes. I am working for you for another year. My age is twelve.—From your constant reader,

W.H. PERRY.

* * * * *

The following is sent to us from Josie C.H., aged eleven years, as her own composition:

SOME THINGS WHICH WE EXPECT IN YEARS TO COME.

Some boys, when they go to school, expect to learn. When they are a little older, they expect to go to college; and then, to learn trades and professions, and to become men. The farmer, when he plants his seed in the spring, expects a harvest. The merchant, when he buys his goods, expects to sell them at a profit. The student expects to become a lawyer, minister, etc. All boys expect to become men. We often expect things that never happen, but what we expect we cannot always get; yet we can try for them, which is a good rule to go by.

* * * * *

THE TRUE STORY OF "MARY'S LITTLE LAMB."

Saratoga Springs, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you what I read lately in a newspaper about Mary and her lamb. Mary herself is now a delightful old lady of threescore and ten, and this is her story:

"I was nine years old, and we lived on a farm. I used to go out to the barn every morning with father, to see the cows and sheep. One cold day, we found that during the night twin lambs had been born. You know that sheep will often disown one of twins, and this morning one poor little lamb was pushed out of the pen into the yard. It was almost starved, and almost frozen, and father told me I might have it if I could keep it alive. So I took it into the house, wrapped it in a blanket, and fed it on peppermint and milk all day. When night came, I could not bear to leave it, for fear it would die. So mother made me up a little bed on the settle, and I nursed the poor little thing all night, feeding it with a spoon, and by morning it could stand. After this, we brought it up by hand, until it learned to love me very much, and would stay with me wherever I went, unless it was tied. I used, before going to school in the morning, to see that the lamb was all right, and securely fastened for the day.

"Well, one morning, when my brother Nat and I were all ready, the lamb could not be found, and, supposing that it had gone out to pasture with the cows, we started on. I used to be very fond of singing, and the lamb would follow the sound of my voice. This morning, after we had gone some distance, I began to sing, and the lamb hearing me, followed, and overtook us before we got to school. As it happened, we were early; so I went in very quietly, and took the lamb into my seat, where it went to sleep, and I covered it up with my shawl. When the teacher and the rest of the scholars came, they did not notice anything amiss, and all was quiet until my spelling-class was called. Hardly had I taken my place when the patter of little hoofs was heard coming down the aisle, and the lamb stood beside me ready for its word. Of course, the children all laughed, and the teacher laughed too, and the poor creature had to be turned out-of-doors. But it kept coming back, and at last had to be tied in the wood-shed until school was out. Now, that day, there was a young man in the school, John Roulston by name, who had come as a spectator. He was a Boston boy and son of a riding-school master, and was fitting for Harvard College. He was very much pleased over what he saw in our school, and a few days after gave us the first three verses of the song. How or when it got into print, I don't know.

"I took great care of my pet, and would curl its long wool over a stick, Finally, it was killed by an angry cow. I have a pair of little stockings, knitted of yarn spun from the lamb's wool, the heels of which have been raveled out and given away piecemeal as mementoes."—Yours truly,

J.M.D.

* * * * *

Bolinas, Cal.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Were the "Arabian Nights" written by an Englishman or translated from the Arabic? In either case can you tell us the name of the author?—Yours sincerely,

ESTHER R. DE PERSE AND JIMMIE MOORE.

The "Arabian Nights" were collected and translated into English by Edward William Lane, an Englishman; but no one ever has found out where or by whom the tales were first told. On page 42 of ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1874 (the first number), is an article on the subject by Mr. Donald G. Mitchell, which you would do well to read.

* * * * *

Geneva, Switzerland.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps some of your American readers have visited this far-away city, and even attended school here. Pupils come here for schooling from all parts of the world,—from America, Cuba, England, Germany, Russia, Greece, and even from Egypt. But many of the ST. NICHOLAS children never have been here; so I will tell them about the country and the people.

In the first place, Switzerland is a republic, with president and vice-president, as in the United States, but chosen every year. Switzerland is made up of twenty-two cantons, or states, each of which has two representatives; and, besides these, there are 128 members of the National Assembly, and seven members of the Federal Council, each of which last is chosen once in three years. The country is only one-third as large as the State of New York, being 200 miles long and 156 broad; and two-thirds of it is composed of lofty mountains or deep ravines. The people are apparently such lovers of law and order as to need no rulers at all. I think there must be propriety in the air they breathe. They have honest faces, and honesty beams out of their clear blue eyes. The school-boy even, instead of stopping to throw stones or climb fences or wrestle with another boy, walks along to school, at eight o'clock in the morning, with his square hair-covered satchel on his back, as orderly as if he were the teacher setting an example to his pupils. The laborers, in blouse-frocks of blue or gray homespun, make no noise, no confusion. All is done quietly, orderly and correctly; each one knows his duty and does it.

Although Berne is the capital, Geneva is the largest city; and I think if you could see it as it is, with grand snow-capped mountains at both sides, the clear blue lake,—not always blue, for sometimes it is green, and then the blue Rhone can be distinctly seen flowing through it,—the pretty green parks and gardens, clean streets, and oddly dressed people, you would think, as I do, that it is a very nice place to be in.

There are several little steamers which ply on the lake, and numberless little sail and row boats, and beautiful white swans, with tiny olive-colored cygnets, swimming and diving for food. On the banks of the rapid river, which leaves the lake at the city, are the wash-houses—a great curiosity. But my letter is getting too long, so I must stop.—Yours truly,

S.H. REDFIELD.

* * * * *

Easton, Pa.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you an acrostic which I have made, and I hope you will print it.—Yours truly,

B.

ACROSTIC.

My first has a heart that has ne'er throbbed with pity; My next has strong arms, but ne'er strikes for the right; My third has a head, but is not wise or witty; My fourth, a neat foot, but in country or city Is never seen walking, by day or by night; My fifth, with a mouth that is surely capacious Enough for a lion, is never voracious. Guess from these five initials my whole, if you can; 'Tis a path ever used, yet untrodden by man.

Ans. Orbit. Oak, Reel, Barrel, Iambic, Tunnel.

* * * * *

CITY CHILDREN'S COUNTRY REST.

Brooklyn, E.D.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here is news to do your heart good. Last summer, a Brooklyn lady, who herself has been bed-ridden and in pain for many years, felt very sorry for the children of the tenement houses, who are unable to get relief or a chance to enjoy the fresh air and bright sunlight of the country. She longed to help them, and said so to Mr. P., a clergyman in northern Pennsylvania. He spoke of it to his congregation, and asked them if they would invite some of the poor city children to visit their farm-houses and cottages for a week or so; and they gladly said they would, and told him he might bring along as many as he could get to come. This generous reply he told to the lady, and she let others know, and the result was that, although late in the season, more than sixty children from the poorest neighborhoods of Brooklyn—pale, deformed, city-worn, and ill-fed—spent a happy fortnight in the country.

The children were ferreted out, and their parents persuaded. They were then taken to the railroad depot, and there given in charge of Mr. P., who went with them, and sorted them among his people; and, when the time was up, brought them back, and turned them over to us at the depot. Then we took them to their homes. The total expense of carrying all the children there and back in three lots was about $180, and more money could have been had if it had been wanted. In fact, the minute the subject was broached every hearer wanted to help. The railroad company charged only half fares, and the employes got to know Mr. P. and his batches of children, and did all they could to make things easy and cheerful for them.

I can fancy how glad you would have been, dear old ST. NICHOLAS, to see the happy, hearty, bright-eyed boys and girls that came home in place of the pale-faced, dead-and-alive children that left two weeks before! They talked of nothing but the good times they had had. One little fellow, thinking to surprise us, said, "I seen a cow!" All of them fared well, and particularly enjoyed the "good country milk." When they came back, many wore better clothes than they had gone in, and all were laden with good things for the home folks. One boy carried under each arm a "live" chicken,—special gifts for his mother!

Now, if some of your readers in the country follow the example of these Pennsylvania people, they will know what it is to be downright happy; for every person who has had anything to do with this enterprise feels happy about it, and longs to do it again, and more besides.—Yours truly,

C.B.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO MR. CRANCH'S POETICAL CHARADES, published on page 406 of the April number, were received, before April 18, from Neils E. Hansen, C.W.W., Arnold Guyot Cameron, Helen and Frank Diller, "Sadie," "Marshall," Emma Lathers, Arthur W. James, Louise G. Hinsdale, Ada C. Okell, E.K.S. and M.G.V., "Sunnyside Seminary," "Persephone," M.W.C., Genevieve Allis and Kittie Brewster, Florence Stryker, "Cosey Club," Mary and Willie Johnson, and Jeanie A. Christie.

ERRATUM.—The answer to No. 23 in "Presidential Discoveries" is "More" (Sir Thomas), not "William Henry," as given in the May number.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES in the April number were received, before April 18, from R.H. Marr, Grace Sumner, "Prebo," Marion Abbot, Maxwell W. Turner, Willie W. Cooper, "Cosey Club," Samuel J. Holmes, "Three Sisters," Charles G. Todd, W.M., M.E. Adams, Mamie G.A., W. Thomas, Jeanie A. Christie, T. Bowdoin, Robert M. Webb, Allie Bertram, Willie Wilkins, Maggie Simon, Kitty P. Norton, M.W. Collet, Jay Benton, "Kaween," Morris M. Turk, Leonie Giraud, Catherine Cook, Willie B. Dess, Willie Cline, Frances M. Griffitts, Nellie J. Towle, "Isola," Mary C. Warren, Florence I. Turrill, Charles Fritts, "Angeline," Sam Cruse, John V.L. Pierson, "Ollie;" Tillie Powles and May Roys; Tyler Redfield, Grace A. Jarvis, Bennie Swift; Sarah Duffield and "No Name" and Constance F. Grand-Pierre; "Romeo and Juliet," "Jupiter," O.C. Turner, Jessie D. Worstell, Melly Woodward, R. Townsend McKeever, Eleanor N. Hughes, Ben Merrill; Annie and Lucy Wollaston; William Eichelberger and John Cress; "Clover-leaf and Pussy-willow," Alice Getty, Herbert D. Utley; Bertha and Carl Heferstein and Estella Lohmeyer; C. Speiden and M.F. Speiden; Angeline O., May Filton, "Winnie," Maggie J. Gemmill, Jennie McClure, "X.Y.Z.," Neils E. Hansen, Clara B. Dunster, Bessie L. Barnes, Willie B. McLean, Bessie T., Lauretta V. Whyte, Hattie M. Heath; Charles W. Hutchins and Abbie F. Hutchins; Belle Murray, Harry A. Garfield; Helen and Frank Diller; Gertrude A. Pocock, Helena W. Chamberlain, "Al Kihall," Wm. F. Tort, "Lizzie and Anna," Kittie Tuers, Taylor Goshorn, Emma Lathers, "Marshall," Arthur W. James, Otto A. Dreier, "O.K.," Ada B. Raymond, "Seymour-Ct.," "Three Cousins," "Hallie," Alice Lanigan, Alfred Whitman, "Golden Eagle;" E.K.S. and M.G.V.; H.B. Ayers, Fred Chittenden; William McKinley Cobb and Howell Cobb, Jr.; Katie Hackett and Helen Titus; "35 E. 38th St.," W.D. Utley, Mary Lewis Darlington, Louisa L. Richards, James Barton Longacre, Nellie Emerson, Chas. B. Ebert, Jennie A. Carr, W.H. Wetmore, Mattie Olmsted; Arthur W. Hodgman, E.H. Hoeber, A.H. Peirce; Kittie Brewster and Genevieve Allis; Fannie B. Bates, Louise Egleston, Florence Stryker, Hattie H. Doyle, Mattie Doyle, Mabel Chester, Alice N. Dunn. A.R., Mary F. Johnson, M. Alice Chase, Alice Anderson, Bessie T. Hosmer, "Heath Hill Club," Anna E, Mathewson, I. Sturges, Addie B. Tiemann, Harriet A. Clark, Clarence H. Young, B.P. Emery, Victor C. Sanborn, "Persephone," Eddie Vultee; "M.," Staten Island; Fred M. Pease, Cyrus C. Clarke, Geo. J. Fiske; and George H. Nisbett, of London, England.

Correct solutions of all the puzzles were received from Arnold Guyot Cameron, "Bessie and her Cousin," Louise G. Hinsdale, Lucy C. Johnson; and L.M. and Eddie Waldo.



THE RIDDLE-BOX.

EASY BEHEADINGS.

The whole, most animals possess; behead it, and transpose, and there will appear an emblem of grief; behead again, and see what all men have; behead and curtail, and find an article. J.F.S.

ACCIDENTAL HIDINGS.

Find concealed in the following quotations three names for

METRICAL COMPOSITIONS.

"As hope and fear alternate chase Our course through life's uncertain race."—Scott.

"Trained to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy."—Scott.

"Well-dressed, well-bred, Well-equipaged, is ticket good enough."—Cowper.

Find concealed in the following quotations three names for

PORTIONS OF TIME.

"From better habitations spurned, Reluctant dost thou rove."—Goldsmith.

"As ever ye heard the greenwood dell On morn of June one warbled swell."—Queen's Wake.

"Each spire, each tower and cliff sublime, Was hooded in the wreathy rime."—Hogg.

MELANGE.

1. Behead a plant, and leave a friend. 2. Curtail the plant, and give a pungent spice. 3. Syncopate the plant, and find an envelope. 4. Behead the spice, and leave affection. 5. Syncopate and transpose the friend, and find learning. 6. Behead the envelope, and leave above. 7. Syncopate and transpose the envelope, and give the inner part. 8. Transpose above, and find to ramble. 9. Syncopate to ramble, and leave a wild animal. ISOLA.

EASY CLASSICAL ACROSTIC.

My first is in deaf, but not in hear; My second in doe, and also in deer; My third is in May, but not in June; My fourth is in song, but not in tune; My fifth is in house, and also in shed; My sixth is in cot, but not in bed; My seventh is in chair, but not in stool; My eighth is in lake, but not in pool; My ninth is in pencil, and also in ink; My tenth is in blue, but not in pink; My eleventh is in dish, but not in pan; My whole was a Greek and a well-spoken man. ANNAN.

ENIGMA.

I am a common adage frequently used by good housewives, and am composed of twenty-two letters.

My 9 15 3 8 16 22 is pertaining to the place of birth. My 10 20 19 14 are things used to cook with. My 6 1 5 is a domestic animal. My 11 21 is a preposition. My 18 17 13 12 is to appear. My 7 4 2 is a pronoun. BESSIE.

ANAGRAMS.

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

1. A dry shop; rambling composition. 2. I clean rum; belonging to number. 3. Poet in dread; the act of making inroads. 4. Oxen are set; clears from blame. 5. Gin danger; displacing.

CYRIL DEANE.

PICTORIAL PUZZLE.



EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.

1, A vowel. 2. A fairy. 3. Change. 4. Not many. 5. A consonant.

WILLIE F.

CHARADE.

I.

My first, a god once worshiped, now fills a lowly place, Though sometimes raised to favor by the wayward human race.

II.

My second, a bold captain, leads a goodly company, Whose numbers march in columns, like knights of chivalry. They serve us at our bidding, yet we are in their power, And the weapons that they carry may wound us in an hour. It grandly leads the ages, as their cycles onward roll, But stoops to lend its presence to my shadowy, fearful whole. It lives in ancient romance, it floats upon the air, And flower-deck'd May without it would not be half so fair.

III.

My third holds humble office, a servant at your will, But an instrument of torture if 'tis not used with skill. Beauty before her mirror studies its use with care, And deigns, perchance, to choose it an ornament to wear.

IV.

Consider, all ye people, what my strange whole may be; 'Tis gloomy, dark and awful, and full of mystery. Ponder the tales of ages, of human sin and woe, Turn to historic pages, if you its name would know. E'en kings their heads have rested, a-weary of the crown, Upon its curious couches, though not of silk or down. The stately seven-hilled city may boast her ancient birth, But this was old and hoary ere she had place on earth. Some tremble when they see it; some its secrets would explore, And, peering through its shadows, they seek its mystic lore.

A.M.W.

NUMERICAL PUZZLE.

A boy named 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 thought it singular he should become such a monster as a 1 2 3 4 6 7 8 9 10 by dropping the first letter of his surname.

C.D.

FOUR-LETTER SQUARE-WORD.

The base is a title. Fill the blanks in the following sentence with words which can be arranged in order, as they come, to form a word-square:

The (1)—— made an (2)—— of his minstrel, and yet he himself could not tell one (3)—— from another, or distinguish a dirge from a (4)——.

B.

EASY CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.

1. In road, but not in street; 2. In hunger, not in eat; 3. In inn, but not in tavern; 4. In grot, but not in cavern.

The whole is the name of one of the United States.

R.L. M'D.

METAGRAM.

Whole, (1) I am to beat; change my head, and I become, in succession, (2) stouter, (3) final, (4) substance, (5) to sprinkle, (6) to rend, and (7) a terrier of a much prized kind.

A.C. CRETT.

EASY ACROSTIC.

My first is in can, but not in may; My second in opera, not in play; My third is in shine, but not in bright; My fourth is in string, but not in kite; My fifth is in tea, but not in coffee; My sixth in candy, also in taffy; My seventh is in rain, but not in hail; My eighth is in bucket, but not in pail; My ninth is in ice, but not in snow; My tenth is in run, but not in go; My eleventh is in hop, but not in run; My twelfth in powder, but not in gun; My thirteenth is in bell, but not in ring; My fourteenth is in scream, but not in sing. My whole is a noted city of Europe.

GOLD ELSIE.

BLANK WORD-SYNCOPATIONS.

Fill the first blank, in each sentence, with a certain word; the second, with a word taken out of the word chosen for the first blank; and the third with the letters of that word which remain after filling the second blank.

1. On the —— we first played ——, and then we all began to ——. 2. While —— on the wharf, we saw a vessel come into ——, which made us —— again. 3. The game of —— I will —— you play, if you will show me the —— to the fair.

CYRIL DEANE.

CHARADE.

My first embodies all despair; My second fain my first would flee, Yet, flying to my whole, full oft Flies but to life-long misery. Still Holy Writ doth plainly show; My whole, though causing, cureth woe.

M. O'B D.

TRANSPOSITIONS OF PROPER NAMES.

1. At ——, Fla., may be obtained —— —— for washing purposes. 2. Are not the public —— small in the State of ——? 3. In —— you may not see —— —— ——, though you certainly will see many in Pennsylvania. 4. Amid the mountains of —— there is doubtless many a —— ——. 5. Having occasion to visit the city of ——, to my surprise I —— —— except a few worn-out —— ——. 6. If you wish to find or to —— —— -trees, you need not go to——. 7. When in —— City I saw an old —— ——, which was quite a relic. 8. In the city of —— the cooks surely know how to —— ——. 9. ——, my brother, —— the falsehood by giving it a flat ——. 10. My aunt —— planted a rose-bush —— —— —— allotted to fruit trees.

W.

SQUARE-WORD.

1. Sour fruit. 2. Imaginary. 3. To immerse. 4. A large bird. 5. Unconscious rest.

B.

ADDITIONS.

1. Add some liquor to a spirit, and make to fix on a stake. 2. Add something belonging to animals to the animals themselves, and make a lantern. 3. Add sharp to a girl's name, and make a kind of cloth. 4. Add an era to a vegetable, and make a boy-servant. 5. Add a boy's name to a cave, and make a foreign country. 6. Add anger to a serpent, and make to long after.

CYRIL DEANE.

LABYRINTH.



* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN MAY NUMBER.

* * * * *

HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.—Centrals: Greyhound. Across: Alligator. 2. Adoring. 3. Enemy. 4. Dye. 5. H. 6. Pop. 7. Elude. 8. Evangel. 9. Amendable.

BLANK APOCOPES.—1. Rafters, raft. 2. Rushlight, rush. 3. Larder, lard. 4. Scarlet, scar.

FRAME PUZZLE.—

F G R R H E A D B A N D

G D

R U

C H A P L A I N N T T E

EASY BEHEADINGS.—1. Beat, eat. 2. Candy, Andy. 3. She, he; your, our. 4. Table, able. 5. Pink, ink. 6. Scent, cent. 7. Brain, rain. 8. Orange, range. 9. Skate, Kate. 10. Helm, elm. 11. Crow, row. 12. Hash, ash. 13. Bowl, owl. 14. Scare, care. 15. Brush, rush.

EASY TRIPLE ACROSTIC.—Primals, Crow; centrals, Bear; finals, Gnat, 1. ComBinG. 2. ReverbEratioN. 3. OmAhA. 4. WoRsT.

HIDDEN FRENCH SENTENCE.—Ma ville de pierre,—"My city of stone," or "My city of Peter;" i.e.. St. "Peter's-burg." ["Pierre" means "Peter" as well as "stone."]

PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PROVERB .—"It is good to be merry and wise."

THREE EASY SQUARE-WORDS.—

I.—P O E II.—F I R III.—L A W O R E I R E A G E E E L R E D W E D

EASY ENIGMA.—Diamond.

REVERSIBLE DOUBLE DIAMOND AND CONCEALED WORD-SQUARE. Perpendiculars, Revel; horizontals, Lever. Word-square: 1. Ten. 2. Eve. 3. Net.

EASY SYNCOPATIONS.—1. Brass, bass. 2. Bread, bead. 3. Chart, cart. 4. Clove, cove. 5. Crane, cane. 6. Farce, face. 7. Heart, hart. 8. Horse, hose. 9. Mouse, muse. 10. Peony, pony.

PICTORIAL TRANSPOSTION PUZZLES.—1. Entitles (ten tiles). Raja (ajar). 3. Palm (lamp). 4. Satyr (trays). 5. Causer (saucer).

EASY SQUARE-WORD.—1. Balm. 2. Aloe. 3. Lore. 4. Meek.

EASY DIAMOND.—1. W. 2. Nag. 3. Water. 4. Gem. 5. R.

[For the names of those who sent answers to puzzles in the April number, see the "Letter-Box," page 574.]

THE END