Mrs. B. [approaching her husband and laying her hand on his shoulder]. John, is not he right?

Mr. B. [who has been lost in thought, starting and abruptly walking aside]. He is right! So are they all. [Turning about.] Dear wife, Lucy, Tommy, May, you shall be happy! We'll have the Remsens! I say, we'll have our dear old friends. Patrick shall harness the horse at once, and—[The Minstrel suddenly strips off his disguise and reveals himself as MR. REMSEN.] What! Remsen! Is that you?

Mr. R. No need to harness up, old friend. Here I am! Ah! I knew how it would be.

Tommy [capering about]. Hi! Hi! Ho! Isn't it great, May? I shall have Harry to play with.

May [clapping]. And I shall have Sadie.

Lucy. Oh, what a delightful surprise! Oh, Mr. Remsen, I am glad, so very glad, that you have come. We will send for the others at once.

Mr. R. Why, they're all here, too. You may be sure we all came together. [Opening the door.] Come! come in! It's all right, as we knew it would be.

[Enter MRS. REMSEN and her children, HARRY and SADIE, who immediately run to TOMMY and MAY.]

Mrs. B. [to Mrs. R.] Welcome, welcome, dear friend! This is kind.

Lucy. Now Christmas Eve is what it ought to be.

Mrs. R. Oh, Mrs. Burton, I am happy again now. I was afraid that Christmas would not bring love and joy for us this year. We could not help coming. Old memories were too strong for us.

Mr. R. to Mr. B. Ah! neighbor, it's a sad thing to interrupt that "peace on earth" of which the angels sung. There's my hand; take it kindly.

Mr. B. And there's mine, with all my heart. We'll not let a bit of land divide old friends.

Mr. R. Aye, aye! We'd better divide the land.

Mr. B. It seems easy to settle now. But no more of that to-night. Come, let us sing our Christmas carol. It will be sweeter than ever. Take your harp, friend, and turn minstrel again for the occasion.



With wond'ring awe, Tho wise men saw The star in Heaven springing, And with delight In peaceful night, They heard the angels singing, Hosanna, Hosanna Hosanna to His name!

By light of star, They traveled far To seek the lowly manger; A humble bed Wherein was laid The wondrous little stranger. Hosanna, hosanna, Hosanna to His name!

And still is found, The world around, The old and hallowed story; And still is sung In every tongue The angels' song of glory: Hosanna, hosanna, Hosanna to His name!

The heavenly star Its ray afar On every land is throwing And shall not cease Till holy peace, In all the earth is glowing. Hosanna, hosanna, Hosanna to His name!



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

A MERRY CHRISTMAS to you, my darlings! It's cold weather—too cold for any but a Scribner Jack-in-the-Pulpit to be out-of-doors—but our hearts are green, and there's a fine bracing air.

Christmas will not be here when you first get the December magazine, I know, but ST. NICHOLAS likes to get a good start. He has Dutch blood in his veins, and he knows well that in Holland St. Nicholas' Day comes on the 6th of December.

So, just think of the dear Dutch youngsters, and what a happy holiday they keep on the 6th,—for that is their season of gift-giving,—and when the 25th comes to you, with its holy, beautiful light, and its home joys, you'll be all the more ready to give it welcome.

Now for

A WINDFALL.

Here is a copy of a printed scrap thrown to me by a high wind the other day. It isn't of very much use to a Jack-in-the-Pulpit; so I hand it over to you, my chicks. It strikes me that it has the gist of some of Deacon Green's remarks, and that somehow it doesn't come under the head of what is called "pernicious reading":

"GOOD ADVICE FOR THE YOUNG.—Avoid all boastings and exaggerations, backbiting, abuse, and evil speaking; slang phrases and oaths in conversation; depreciate no man's qualities, and accept hospitalities of the humblest kind in a hearty and appreciative manner; avoid giving offense, and if you do offend, have the manliness to apologize; infuse as much elegance as possible into your thoughts as well as your actions; and, as you avoid vulgarities, you will increase the enjoyment of life, and grow in the respect of others."

KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES.

Here is a story which I heard a girl tell her little sister the other day, but I don't believe the girl told it altogether right. Can any of my youngsters straighten it out? This is the story:

King Alfred, after his fatal defeat at Marston Moor, having taken refuge in an oak-tree, was so absorbed in watching a spider which had tried to weave its web eleven times and succeeded on the twelfth, that he allowed the cakes to burn; whereupon, the herdsman's wife, rushing in, exclaimed:

"Oh, Diamond! Diamond! what mischief hast thou done?"

To which he meekly replied: "I cannot tell a lie; I did it with my little hatchet."

"Take away," cried she, "that bauble!"

"I have done my duty, thank heaven!" said he, but he never smiled again.

A LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I should like to tell the Little Schoolma'am about our little schoolma'am.

She is a young lady of about twenty-one years, and looks too delicate to govern such a school. But she does it; and though as fond of fun as any of us at the right time, yet in school she insists on attention to business, and will not tolerate idleness or disobedience. She is very kind and gentle, but firm and decided, and we all know that she means what she says, and must be obeyed implicitly. She says she wants us to love and trust her as a friend, and we do. Out of school she seems as young as we do, for she is full of fun and likes us to have a good time. She tries to make school pleasant to us, and a while ago she put a box on her desk, and said, when we had any questions to ask, or complaints to make, we might write them on a slip of paper and put it in that box, which was locked and had a hole in the top. Sometimes she answers the questions publicly, and sometimes she writes them and puts them in the "letter-box." The scholar who has the best record for a month keeps the key the next month, and once a week opens the box and distributes the contents. It is quite an honor to be "postmistress," but no one can have it two months at a time. She lets us make suggestions if we think of any improvements in the school, and sometimes adopts them. Another of her plans is to allow five minutes at the end of each hour when we may whisper, but not talk out loud. If we wish to speak to any one we can leave our seat and walk to them, if they are not near to us. But any one who whispers, or communicates in any way at any other time, forfeits this chance. I forgot to say that we put notes to each other in the letter-box. We do like our little schoolma'am so much!—Yours truly,

ALLIE BERTRAM.

AS IDLE AS A BIRD.

It is not so very long since I heard a little girl say that she "wished she could only be as idle as a bird."

Now, this was not a very lazy sort of wish, if she had but known it. There are very few little girls, or boys,—or grown-ups either, for the matter of that,—who are as industrious as the birds. How many people would be willing to begin their daily labors as early as the birds begin theirs—at half-past three o'clock in the morning—and keep on toiling away until after eight in the evening?

Think of it, my youngsters,—almost eighteen hours of constant work!

And the birds do it willingly, too; for it is a labor of love to bring dainty bits to their hungry little ones and keep the home-nest snug and warm.

One pair of birds that had been patiently watched from the first to the last of their long, long day, made no less than four hundred and seventy-five trips, of about one hundred and fifty yards each, in search of food for their darling chicks!

As idle as a bird, indeed!—with all that hunting, and fetching, and carrying, and feeding to do!

"OWN FIRST COUSINS."

Talking of birds, would you ever have thought it? The lovely and brilliant Bird of Paradise, I'm told, is "own first cousin" to the—Crows. And the Crows are not one bit ashamed to own the relationship! Very condescending of them, isn't it?

ORANGE GROVES ON ST. JOHN'S RIVER.

Ocala, Marion County, Fla., 1877.

DEAR JACK: I was on the St. John's River at work with my father about three years ago. There were real wild-orange groves there, and the trees bore sour and bitter-sweet fruit. I will now tell you what I was doing on that river. I was pressing out the juice of the sour oranges and boiling it, for making citric acid. We used a cider press for pressing out the juice, and a copper cauldron for boiling it. We shipped the acid to Philadelphia, and I do not know what was done with it next.

These groves were inhabited by wild beasts, such as opossums, wild cats, raccoons, deer, and, occasionally, bears and panthers.

The groves were situated on high mounds, made ages and ages ago, by people of an ancient race known as "mound-builders." There were always shells on the mounds, which in some instances appeared to be made entirely of shells. Some mounds were fifty feet, or more, above the surrounding country, and from two hundred to four hundred yards in length.

Now, I dare say, you would like me to say of what kind these shells were; but, as I never could find out for myself, I cannot tell you what kind they were. They are unlike any that I have seen elsewhere, and I think they do not belong to any living species of to-day. Farewell, dear Jack!—Yours truly,

TROPIC.

THE BLIND CLERK.

DEAR JACK: Ever so many millions of letters are dropped into the London Post-Office every year, but some are so badly addressed that they never get out again. When a direction is so ill-written that the sorters can't make it out, the letter is taken to a man they call the "Blind Clerk," and he generally deciphers it. Why they call him "blind" I don't know, for few addresses are beyond the power of his sharp eyes to make out. Here is one that did not give him much trouble; but can any of your young folks tell what it means?

Sarvingle Num for te Quins prade Lunon.

I'll send you the "blind" man's solution next month. Meantime, here is a puzzle for your merry crowd. You shall have an answer in that same postscript; but I should like to have the Little Schoolma'am and the rest work it out for themselves:

"I am constrained to plant a grove To satisfy the girl I love; And in this grove I must compose Just nineteen trees in nine straight rows, And in each row five trees must place, Or never more behold her face.

Ye sons of art, lend me your aid To please this most exacting maid."

This puzzle is so old that it probably will be new to thousands of your young folks.—Yours truly,

M. B. T.

BIRDS CAUGHT BY SALT.

Yes. It's so; though I must say I felt inclined to laugh the first time I heard one boy tell another to put salt on a bird's tail by way of catching it. Now, however, word comes, all the way from California, that there is a lake there, called "Deep Spring Lake," whose waters are very salt; and that during certain conditions of the weather the water-fowl of the lake become so encrusted with salt that they cannot fly, and the Indians wade into the water and simply catch the birds with their hands. The coating taken from one duck weighed six pounds,—enough to have drowned it, even if its eyes and bill had not been so covered as to blind and choke it. When the weather is favorable for the formation of this crust upon the birds, the Indians do their best with fires and noise to keep them away from the few fresh-water streams where the poor things would be safe from the salt. Besides this, the savages imitate the cries and calls of the birds, so as to entice them to the dangerous part of the lake.

It seems to me that men must be very mean as well as very hungry to take advantage of the birds in that way. However, "circumstances alter cases," as the school-boy said when he had been "punished for his good" by mistake.

A SPELL UPON KEROSENE.

Bridgeport, Conn.

Dear Little Schoolma'am: One would think that the word "kerosene" could not be a very difficult one for the average inhabitant to write correctly; but it is. From the New York Independent I learn that the following versions of the word have actually been received by the Portland Kerosene Oil Company in its correspondence:

Caracine, carecane, caroziene, carocine, cursene, carozyne, coriseen, carosyne, caricien, carsine, caresene, carozine, carocene, carosean, carycene, caresien, caraseen, caroscene, crosen, carecene, carizoein, keriscene, karosin, kerocine, keressean, keriseene, kerasene, kerosen, kereseen, kerison, kerriseen, kerricene, keroseen, kerosine, karosina, keresene, kerrsein, keroscene, kerose, kerasseen, kereson kerocene, kerozene, kerrisene, kerryseen, kerissien, kersien, kerossein, keriscene.

Now isn't that astonishing?—Yours sincerely,

MARY N.G.

THE EYEBROW WORD.

What do you think this is? It is neither more nor less than the word "supercilious," which is derived from supercilium, the Latin for "eyebrow," as I heard the Little Schoolma'am tell the children not long ago.

When she had said this, one of the little girls, in a rather scornful, superior way, said, "I don't see any sense in that." Whereat the Little Schoolma'am and two or three of the bigger girls laughed, for the little girl had raised her eyebrow in a most "supercilious" expression, giving the best possible proof of the appropriateness of the word. For, certainly, it is hard for one's face to express a supercilious feeling without raising the eyebrow, or at least changing that part of the countenance which is over the eyelid.

SINCERE.

Here's one more derivation, while we are about it. I heard the other day that the bees, with the aid of Latin, have given us a beautiful word: "Sincere"—which is made of the words sine-cera, meaning "honey without wax."

Remember this, my chicks, and let your kind words and good actions be truly sincere,—pure honey, sine cera.

THE AUTHOR OF "HOME, SWEET HOME."

Dear Jack: My grandfather knew a gentleman who was a very intimate friend of the author of "Home, Sweet Home"—John Howard Payne. Mr. Payne told this gentleman, Mr. C., how he came to write the song. He said that a play or operetta called "The Maid of Milan," that he had adapted from the French, was about to be played in London. In this play was a very pretty scene for which he had an air in his mind. He had to conjure up some words to suit the tune, and so he wrote the verses of "Home, Sweet Home." He also said that the very next day after the song had been brought out at the theater it was all over London. Everybody was singing it. Grandfather says that Mr. Payne got really very tired of hearing about this song, and at length said he supposed he would hereafter be known only as the author of "Home, Sweet Home." Mr. Robert S. Chilton wrote this beautiful verse about Mr. Payne's death:

Sure, when thy gentle spirit fled To realms beyond the azure dome, With arms outstretched God's angels said: "Welcome to heaven's 'Home, Sweet Home!'"

I believe this verse was inscribed on Mr. Payne's tomb-stone in Tunis, Africa; but I am not sure. Can any one tell me?—Yours truly,

KATIE T.M.



BABY-BO.



How many toes has the tootsy foot? One, two, three, four, five! Shut them all up in the little red sock, Snugger than bees in a hive.

How many fingers has little wee hand? Four, and a little wee thumb! Shut them up under the bed-clothes tight, For fear Jack Frost should come.

How many eyes has the Baby Bo? Two, so shining and bright! Shut them up under the little white lids, And kiss them a loving good-night.



ARTHUR AND HIS PONY.

About the middle of the summer, little Arthur, who lived in the country, went to see his grandmother, whose house was three or four miles away from Arthur's home. He staid there a week, and when he came home and had been welcomed by all the family, his father took him out on the front piazza and said to him:

"Now, Arthur, if you are not tired, how would you like to take a ride?"

"Oh! I'm not tired," said Arthur. "I'd like a ride ever so much. Will you take me?"

"No," said his father. "I meant for you to take a ride by yourself."

"But I can't drive," said little Arthur.

"I know that," his father said, with a smile, "but I think we can manage it. Here, Joseph!" he called out to the hired man, "hurry and bring Arthur's horse."

"Oh, papa!" cried Arthur, "I don't want my horse. I can't take a real ride on him. He's wooden, and I was tired of him long ago. I thought you meant for me to take a real ride," and the little fellow's eyes filled with tears.

"So I do, my son," said his father, "and here comes the horse on which you are to take it. Is that animal real enough for you, sir?"

Around the corner came Joseph, leading a plump little black pony, with a long tail and mane, and a saddle, and bridle, and stirrups.

Arthur was so astonished and delighted that at first he could not speak.

"Well, what do you think of him?" said his father.

"Is that my horse?" said Arthur.

"Yes, all your own."

Arthur did not go to look at his pony. He turned and ran into the house, screaming at the top of his voice:

"Mother! mother! I've got a pony! Come quick! I've got a pony—a real pony! Aunt Rachel! I've got a pony, Laura! Laura! come, I've got a pony!"

When he came out again, his father said: "Come now, get on and try your new horse. He has been waiting here long enough."

But Arthur was so excited and delighted, and wanted so much to run around his pony and look at him on all sides, and kept on telling his father how glad he was to get it, and how ever so much obliged he was to him for it, and what a good man he was, and what a lovely pony the pony was, that his father could hardly get him still enough to sit in the saddle.

However, he quieted down after a while, and his father put him on the pony's back, and shortened the stirrups so that they should be the right length for him, and put the reins in his hands. Now he was all ready for a ride, and Arthur wanted to gallop away.

"No, no!" said his father, "you cannot do that. You do not know how to ride yet. At first your pony must walk."

So Arthur's father took hold of the pony's bridle and led him along the carriage-way in front of the house, and as the little boy rode off, sitting up straight in the saddle, and holding proudly to the reins, his mother and his aunt and his sister Laura clapped their hands, and cheered him; and this made Arthur feel prouder than ever.

He had a good long ride, up and down, and up and down, and the next day his father took him out again, and taught him how to sit and how to guide his pony.

In a week or two Arthur could ride by himself, even when the pony was trotting gently; and before long he rode all over the grounds, trotting or cantering or walking, just as he pleased.

The pony was a very gentle, quiet creature, and Arthur's father felt quite willing to trust his little boy to ride about on him, provided he did not go far from home.

Only once was there any trouble on the pony's account. As Arthur was riding in a field, one afternoon, there came along a party of gentlemen, who were hunting a fox. When they galloped away, over the smooth grass, Arthur whipped up his pony, and went after them as fast as he could go.

He went on and on, trying to keep up with the hunters, but he was soon left behind, for his pony could not gallop half as fast as the large, strong horses of the hunters.

Then he turned to come back, but he got into the wrong field, and soon found that he did not know the way home.

Arthur began to be very much frightened, for the sun was setting, and he could see no one of whom he could ask his way home. He first turned his pony this way and then that way, but the little horse was now hungry and tired, and he would not turn as Arthur wanted him to.

Then the pony resolutely started off and trotted along, paying no attention to Arthur's pulls and tugs, and did not stop until he had trotted right up to the door of Arthur's home.

You see, he knew the way well enough. Horses and dogs seldom lose their way, unless they are very far from home.

Arthur's parents were frightened at their little boy's long absence, and he was not allowed to ride again for three days, for he had been told not to go out of the field in which he was when he saw the hunters.



Arthur rode that pony until he became quite a big boy, and his feet nearly touched the ground as he sat in the saddle. Then he gave the good little animal to a young cousin.

But he never liked any horse so much as this pony, which was his own, real horse, when he was such a little boy.



YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.



"TOO-LOO!"

The Blue Jay courted the Yellow Cuckoo; 'Neath its nest he would stay all day long, Smoothing his feathers of silver and blue, Telling his love in a song: "Too-loo! too-loo! Oh, fly with me, My sweet Cuckoo, Across the sea!"

The Cuckoo came gayly forth from her nest; But just then an arrow flew by, Piercing the bird's soft yellow breast, Who died with a single sigh. "Too-loo! too-loo!" The Blue Jay said; "What shall I do? My love is dead!"

The Cuckoo lay cold and still on the ground— Dead, past all help to save; And by a Bird-defender was found, Who dug her a little grave. "Too-loo! too-loo!" Was the sorrowful lay, For the gentle Cuckoo Sung by the Jay.

AMY R.

"MARY AND HER LAMB."

(A Critique.)

"Mary had a little lamb."

In this poem each stanza, we may say each line, is unalloyed gold. Let us examine the first line.

"Mary." The name strikes us at once as belonging to one pure as the inside of an apple-bloom; and the rest of the poem assures us, that by making Mary's name an index to Mary's character, we have not been misled. A master's hand is visible from the first word.

"A little lamb." The poet does not take for granted, as one of less genius would, that because a lamb is mentioned the reader necessarily sees in his mind's eye one of the frolicsome, gentle, confiding creatures commonly accepted as an emblem of meekness. Not at all. The lamb is not only a lamb—it is a little lamb. Thus never in the whole course of the poem can we by any oversight look upon Mary's treasure as a sheep; it retains its infantile sweetness and grace through the entire narration. The poet thus draws our attention to the youth of the animal, in order to palliate the little creature's after-guilt. This is done with such grace and delicacy, that it is scarcely perceptible.

The line, as a whole, shows a touch of high art seldom seen in so short a poem. The writer knows human nature—that, we see at a glance. Else, would he not have entered into a detailed account of Mary's parentage, her appearance, place of residence, or, at least, the manner in which she became possessed of the lamb. But no; all is left to the imagination. Mary may be as blonde as the "Fair one with golden locks," as dark as "Black Agnes." Each reader has a heroine after his own heart, and each is satisfied.

"Its fleece was white as snow."

No black sheep (or lamb) could we in any way imagine as a companion of Mary—gentle, affectionate, pure little Mary. All her associates must be pure as herself.

"And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go."

Does not this suit the character given to Mary by her name? We can image to ourselves the lost lamb, the mournful bleating for its mother, its hunger and cold. In the depth of its misery we see Mary's sweet face bending pityingly over it; she raises it, takes it home, it revives, and loves her; she loves it in return. Can we wonder that it follows in her footsteps wherever she goes? Those two lines tell more than many a volume; but they must be read feelingly, or all is lost.

Now follows a tale of wrong-doing and of subsequent punishment. This is, indeed, a master-stroke; for this climax we were not prepared.

"It followed her to school one day, Which was against the rule."

Although the lamb follows its mistress everywhere, school is a tabooed place. Yet the little creature cannot live without Mary, who has departed fair and fresh as Overbury's "Happy Milkmaid." Long are the hours that must elapse ere Mary's return, and the lamb tires of the waiting. "It followed her to school one day." How innocent an act that seems!—how natural! Then we read the next line,—"Which was against the rule," and the lamb's action is turned from innocence to guilt. Mary's favorite, that we have seen heretofore in only a good light, violates deliberately a rule of the school which Mary attends. The short sight of the animal's spiritual eyes prevents it from knowing the extent of the disgrace to which it is to be subjected. At present the end justifies the means in its little heart, and it leaves its pleasant home to wander schoolward, and we are left to imagine its thoughts on the way.

A scene in the school-house bursts upon us, and

"It makes the children laugh and play To see a lamb at school."

This is another instance in which we are shown the poet's knowledge of human nature. At anything less than the sight of a lamb the little scholars are too well trained to laugh. This has no precedent. They have been told how to behave should a dog enter the room, or should a ludicrous error in lessons occur; but when a lamb trots soberly in,—not gamboling now; conscience already whispers; remorse eats at the little creature's peace of mind,—it is not to be expected that order can be longer maintained, and the school, with the exception of Mary, runs riot. Mary is perhaps, meanwhile, reproaching her pet with a look "more in sorrow than in anger;" she is too gentle to scold, but that glance completely fills the lamb's cup of sorrow; it is yet to overrun, and the drop is soon poured in—the deep beneath "the lowest deep" is soon reached.

"For this the teacher turned him out."

It was his duty, reader; judge him not harshly.

"But still he lingered near."

This, at least, was not forbidden,—to wait for his little mistress.

"And waited patiently about Till Mary did appear."

How fraught with significance is that one word, "patiently!" All too eager before, that was the lamb's fault, "and grievously hath [he] answered it." He has turned over a new leaf, and wandering aimlessly about, now nibbling a cowslip, now rolling in the young grass to still the remorse gnawing at his heart, we can imagine him resolving to be a better lamb in the future,—to grow more worthy Mary's love.

"'What makes the lamb love Mary so?' The eager children cry."

All have noticed this devotion—all wonder at it. The teacher answers in words that prove how well we read Mary's affectionate nature:

"'Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,' The teacher did reply."

What could be a more worthy ending to so fine a poem than that the loves of the two, human and brute, should be recognized by all Mary's little world, her school-mates and her teacher. More poems like this, sentiments so pure clad in plain Saxon words, would make our world—wonderful and beautiful, as it now is—a fitter place of dwelling for "men and the children of men." We regret but one point about this gem,—that its author is "A Great Unknown."

C. McK.

THE DEATH OF PRINCE WILLIAM.

There was a prince named William, And he had a sister, too; He was sailing o'er the English Channel, Over the Channel so blue.

His father had gone ahead; And he made the boat go fast, But soon it struck upon a rock; There was a shock to the very mast!

And everybody did wail, And everybody did cry, Because everybody thought That everybody must die!

Prince William rushed into a boat,— Several lords and he,— And he was steering for the land, Across the dark blue sea.

In the midst of the general weeping, He heard his sister's cry, And he made the boat go back, For he would not let her die!

When he got near the ship, When he was touching her side, Down the side of the big ship Everybody did glide.

Down went the little boat, Too frail for such a load; Down went the people in it, And the people that rowed.

Down went the big ship, Her topmast in the air, And, if a person were near enough, He might see a man clinging there.

The name of this man was Berold, And he was a butcher by trade, And by the help of a buff garment On the top of the water he stayed.

In the morning some fishermen came And delivered him from the mast; And after he was recovered, His tale he told at last.

When the king heard of the death of his children, He fainted away for a while, And from that day he was never, Never was seen to smile!

H.W.

ALLIE'S SUNSHINE.

"A snowy, windy day. Oh, how dismal!" sighed Allie. "I wish it would clear off, so that I could go out-doors and play."

With this, Allie, who had been standing by the window gazing out at the gray sky, sat down and commenced to read that beautiful book, "May Stanhope." After reading quietly for more than an hour, she laid down the book, exclaiming: "I can and will try to be of some use in the world. I do nothing but mope when it rains, or when anything goes wrong. I will try to help others who need my help. I will ask mamma if I can carry something to Miss Davies. I am sure she needs some help."

"Oh, the sun is shining!" Allie jumped up, and ran out of the room to ask her mother if she would let her go to Miss Davies's. While she is gone I will tell you briefly who she is. Her name is Allie Harris, and she is a bright little girl, only apt to be dull on dark days.

Her mother gave the desired permission, and after wrapping herself up warmly, she took the well-filled basket that her mother had prepared, and set out on her errand of mercy. She soon reached Miss Davies's tiny cottage. She knocked, and a cheery voice bade her enter. She walked into a neat room, barely but cleanly furnished. At one end of it, beside a window, around which an ivy was growing, sat a bright-faced little woman sewing. She looked up and greeted Allie pleasantly. Allie shyly made known her errand, and stayed with Miss Davies all the afternoon, singing and reading aloud while Miss Davies sewed.

When it began to grow dark she bade Miss Davies a cheerful good-by, and went merrily home. She said to her mother, "I have learned the true secret of happiness at last." By doing good to others you will forget your own unhappiness, and be made happy in return; while, if you mope and try to be disagreeable, you will be miserable.

F.H.



THE LETTER BOX

Our beautiful new cover was designed and drawn by Walter Crane, of London, who made all those lovely pictures in "The Baby's Opera." Our readers will remember what we said of him last month, and that, though a great artist in other ways also, he has done his best and most famous work in drawing for the little folks. It would have been impossible, therefore, to find a hand more skillful in the kind of art desired, or better fitted to put upon the cover of ST. NICHOLAS just the things to suit the best tastes and fancies; and of Mr. Crane's success we think that no one who really studies the new cover can have a doubt. It seems to us fully worthy both of the artist and the magazine; and, believing that our young readers will all agree with us, we leave them the delight of discovering and enjoying for themselves its special beauties.

* * * * *

There is a beautiful custom in England—which is to be hoped will yet become general in America—of sending around Christmas cards, dainty things with lovely pictures and hearty verses upon them. Friends and lovers send them to one another, children send them to their parents, parents to their children, and the postman, as he flies from house to house, fairly glows with loving messages.

And now ST. NICHOLAS presents to one and all the sweet little card on page 91, which was drawn by Miss L. Greenaway, a London artist, who has drawn many beautiful pictures of child-life. A companion card will be given next month.

* * * * *

We are sure all our readers will appreciate the very comical pictures on pages 144 and 145, which illustrate the funny story of "The Magician and His Bee." But some of our older boys and girls may be able to put them to another use,—which, also, would cause much fun and merriment,—for these pictures would form an admirable series of magic-lantern slides. And all that is needed to make them is a little skill with the brush and—patience.

Take an outline tracing of each figure; arrange all the tracings for each slide on the glass strip, according to their positions in the picture; then, by a slight touch of mucilage, or by holding each one with the forefinger, secure them in their places until the outlines can be traced on the glass. Fill up all the space outside the tracings with black paint, and, this done, put in the shadings of the figures (lines of features, costumes, etc.) with touches of the brush, according to the lines in the printed pictures, until the reproductions upon the slide are true and complete.

Once done, the pictures, enlarged and thrown upon a screen, would be very funny indeed; and if, when they are exhibited, some one will read the story aloud, so as to describe the slides as they succeed each other, you may count upon having a jolly time.

* * * * *

Kiukiang, China, August 18, 1877.

Dear St. Nicholas: I am not so far out of the world but that I can receive and read your excellent magazine. I look forward to mail day with much pleasure, especially the mail which brings the ST. NICHOLAS. I read every number through. I enjoy reading the letters from the little boys and girls, I suppose, because I am a little boy myself. There are no American boys here except my three little brothers. We would like to have a play with some of the boys who write for your magazine. The little boys of China have no such magazine as yours. I wish they had; it would make better boys of them. The children of the better class of Chinese go to school. There they learn to commit to memory the Chinese characters. In repeating the characters, they sway back and forth; it's real comical to see them. They repeat in a sing-song tone. They go to school at six in the morning. They have a rest at noon, after which they remain in the evening until eight o'clock. They have no idea of what we have in America; they are even stupid enough to ask if we have a sun and moon, and all such questions. My home is on the banks of the great river Yang-tse; nine miles back from the river are the Lu-Say Mountains, five thousand feet high. The foreign people find it very cool up in the mountains. There are several large pools of water where they bathe. I have written more than I expected to.

—Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS, from your reader,

EVANSTON HART.

* * * * *

Readers who were interested in Professor Proctor's letter about the Sea-Serpent in ST. NICHOLAS for August last, may like to read also these little extracts on the same subject:

From the New York "Independent."

A sea-monster was seen by the officers of H.M.S. "Osborne," on June 2, off the coast of Sicily, which is sketched by Lieut. Haynes and figured in the London Graphic. The first sketch is merely of a long row of fins just appearing above the water, of irregular height, and extending, says Lieutenant Osborne, from thirty to forty feet in length. The other sketch is of the creature as seen "end on," and shows only the head, which was "bullet-shaped and quite six feet thick," and a couple of flappers, one on each side. The creature was, says Lieutenant Osborne, at least fifteen or twenty feet wide across the back, and "from the top of the head to the part of the back where it became immersed I should consider about fifty feet, and that seemed about a third of its whole length." Thus it is certainly much longer than any fish hitherto known to the zooelogists, and is, at least, as remarkable a creature as most of the old wonder-makers ever alleged.

From the "National Teachers' Monthly," September.

Mr. John Kieller Webster says he has seen the sea-serpent in the Straits of Malacca. Its body was fifty feet in length, the head twelve feet, and the tail one hundred and fifty. It seemed to be a huge salamander. The Chinese on board the ship were so frightened, they set up a howl,—a circumstance very remarkable.

* * * * *

THE GAME OF FAGOT-GATHERING.

There is a jolly in-door game, for the winter, called "Fagot-Gathering," which has been described in print before, but it makes so much fun that many who have never heard of it will be glad if we tell about it here.

First you take some slips of paper,—as many as there are players,—and on one of them you write "Fagot-Gatherer;" on each of the rest you write either "good wood" or "snapper," making three times as many "good woods" as "snappers." Of course, anybody who knows about wood-fires will see that this is because some sticks will burn quietly and brightly while others will crack and snap and fly without the least warning. You put the papers into a hat, and each player takes one, telling nobody what is written on it. Every one then sits as near to the wall as possible, leaving a clear space in the middle of the room, and the player who has chosen the "Fagot-Gatherer" slip proceeds in a serious, business-like way to bundle the fagots. He, or she, chooses four or five girls and boys, standing them together to represent a fagot, and then makes similar groups of the rest in other parts of the room. This done, he begins to "bind the fagots" by walking slowly around each group, making with his arms such motions as a real fagot-binder would make. The "sticks" are quiet until the binder lets his arms fall, but then comes a sudden change; the "good woods" run to their seats, but the "snappers" chase the "binder" and try to touch him before he can begin to bind another "fagot;" failing in this, they have to go and mourn among the "good woods." Then the binding of the second "fagot" goes on, like that of the first. But when a "fagot-gatherer" is touched, the "snapper" takes the place of the "gatherer," who goes and rests himself. The game ends when all the "fagots" have been used up in this way, and is then begun again by another selection of papers from the hat. The fun is in the frights and surprises of the "fagot-gatherer," who, of course, does not know who is a "good wood" and who a "snapper;" and all do their best to avoid betraying themselves. If you have a good big room and lots of players you will find this game as full of fun as you can wish.

* * * * *

Philadelphia, September 16, 1877.

Dear ST. NICHOLAS: I was looking over your September number, and happened to read a letter addressed to the "Little Schoolma'am," and signed "Father of two school-girls;" it was about school lunches, and told of a visit to the new Normal school of Philadelphia; he said that in the lunch hall there is a long table on which there was nothing but cakes of all sorts. Now, being a member of the school, I was a little hurt at the injustice done to our school. I know there is something else but cake,—fruit, milk, soup, sandwiches, etc., being among the other things that are spread on the lunch-table, provided by the janitor, and sold to the girls at very low rates. So you see I had reason to be a little indignant at the discredit done to our school, and set about repairing it as far as possible; and you, too, can help repair the harm done to this fine public school by kindly printing this note. But I must close, for my letter is getting too long.

—Your true friend,

A MEMBER OF THE MODEL CLASSES PRIMARY DEPARTMENT. (Aged eleven years.)

* * * * *

SCIENCE AT HOME.

Brooklyn.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an old boy, but not too old to be one of your most delighted readers; and I am glad of the present chance to send you my good wishes, and say my say. Here it is:

Be sure and tell your youngsters to bear in mind that opportunities for home study on their own accounts are multiplying around them day by day, and that in taking advantage of them they will not only find great enjoyment and add to their stock of knowledge, but also will come upon hundreds of ways in which to amuse their friends, both old and young.

Here, for instance, come Professor Mayer, and your frequent contributor, Mr. Charles Barnard, with a little book about "Light." They are not content with merely telling the dry facts about their subject, but, with pictures and plain speech, they explain how almost any boy or girl may, at small cost, make his or her own apparatus, and with it verify by actual trial what the book says. Some of the experiments are positively beautiful, and the hardest is not very difficult.

Then, too, Professor Tyndall has written out his lectures to young people, given before the Royal Institution at London during 1875-76, in a little work called "Lessons in Electricity,"—most interesting and beautiful of scientific studies,—in which he tells how to make the instruments and conduct the experiments yourself. And, as if that were not enough, Mr. Curt W. Meyer, of the Bible House, New York, has arranged to supply a complete set of instruments, to suit this book of Professor Tyndall's, at a total cost of $55, packing-case and all; the various articles being obtainable separately at proportionate prices.

I only wish we had had such chances fifty years ago; for, if our older friends had not made presents of such things to us,—as no doubt many oldsters will to your young folks this coming Christmas,—we'd have saved up our pocket money and gone ahead alone. I know that I made all my own electrical apparatus; but there was good fun in doing it, and it worked well, and made splendid times for our circle of young folks on cozy winter evenings.

I hope you will read this letter through, although it is as long as most old men's memories.—Yours still affectionately,

GRAN'THER HORTON.

* * * * *

Jamaica, L.I.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read Jack-in-the-Pulpit's inquiry in the August number about the "Fiery Tears of St. Lawrence." Yesterday I was reading a book, and in it there was an article headed "Showers of Stars." I read it, and at the end of it was a piece which seemed to be an answer to Jack's question. I copied word for word from the book. Here it is:

"Another writer suggests the theory that a stream or group of innumerable bodies, comparatively small, but of various dimensions, is sweeping around the solar focus in an orbit, which periodically cuts the orbit of the earth, thus explaining the actual cause of shooting stars, aerolites, and meteoric showers."

This is all I have been able to find out, and I hope it is correct.—Believe me to be yours very truly,

C.A.R.

C.A.R., and others who wish to know more of this subject, will find all the latest information in "Appleton's Cyclopaedia," under the items "Aerolite" and "Meteor," where admirably clear and condensed accounts are given of all that is known about these bodies. C.A.R.'s extract states the theory most generally held.

* * * * *

TABLEAUX FROM ST. NICHOLAS PICTURES.

Brooklyn, November, 1877.

DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: My little sisters and my brother love you, and so do I, for your monthly visits make our house brighter and pleasanter to us all. I am fifteen, not yet too old to be one of your children, you see.

What I want to tell you is how easily some of your pictures can be turned into tableaux-vivants, or even acted. There was "Pattikin's House;" I am sure we had the greatest fun with those pictures, we being so many girls: and "The man all tattered and torn that married the maiden all forlorn;" that was on p. 652 of the volume for 1876: "The Minuet," in January, 1877: "Hagar in the Desert," in June, 1877; my aunty did that, and it was lovely: the little girl in "The Owl That Stared," in November, 1876; and "Leap-Year," in the same number. All these we had at our own home, but there are lots of others that might suit some folks better than they would suit us.

This winter some of your pictures will be used in a series of grand tableaux for our Sunday-school entertainments. A number of people belonging to the school can paint scenes, get up costumes, and all that. It is going to be splendid.

I thought that your other children, you dear old ST. NICHOLAS, would surely like to know about this, and I hope I have not made my letter too long. From yours lovingly,

MINA B.H.

* * * * *

MARY C. WARREN answered correctly all the puzzles in the October "Riddle-Box," but her answers came too late for acknowledgment in the November number.

* * * * *

Black Oak Ridge, Passaic County, N.J.

MRS. EDITOR: Excuse me writing to you, but I want to ask you if you think it is right to be killing cats all the time, for my brother Eddie has killed fifteen this year, and whenever I scold him about it, he begins to sing pilly willy winkum bang dow diddle ee ing ding poo poo fordy, pilly willy winkum bang. There, there he stands now behind the barn with his hands full of lumps of coal watching for one that killed his chicken a month ago. O dear, if he would only stop killing cats what a good boy he would be! He always gives me half of his candy, and he raises such nice melons in his garden. O, O, as true as I live there he goes now after the poor cat. Good, good, good—neither piece of coal hit her. What can I do to stop his bad habit. I think it is too bad even if they do kill his chicks once in a while. I have only got two cats left, Dick and Mizy, and he watches them awful close.—Your friend,

KATIE BAKER.

* * * * *

New York.

DEAR ST NICHOLAS: I want to send this story to The letter box that I wrote when I was 6 years old this is it

LITTLE MAY

Once upon a time there lived a little girl whose father and mother were very rich, so the little girl had lovely dresses, but she had a very bad temper and was very proud so nobody loved her. One day this little girl I might as well tell you her name it was May was sitting in her mothers lap Mama said she what makes everybody act so to me? Dear said her mother it is because you are so proud and get angry so easily then said May if I should try to be good would they like me Yes said her mother so after that May was a better child and every body liked her even her mother loved her better than before and so did her father and after that the little girl was no more saying Oh dear nobody loves me but lived happy and contented.

ELISE L. LATHROP.

* * * * *

Geneva, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I notice in a chapter of "His Own Master" for September a mistake which I can correct. In describing the Cincinnati suspension bridge, it says that trains go across on it. This is a mistake, as that bridge is only used for carriages, horse-cars and pedestrians, the steam-cars going across on another bridge above. There is now building a new railroad bridge below for the new Southern Railroad.—Yours respectfully,

W.S.N.

* * * * *

San Leandro, Cal., Sept. 3, 1877.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I tried the Little Schoolma'am's way of pressing flowers, and I think it is ever so nice. I pressed a wall-flower; it retained all its brightness and looked just like a fresh flower. Last spring we discovered a humming-bird's nest in one of the trees in our orchard. It was very pretty, being no larger than half of a hen's egg. The first time I saw it the little mother was on it; she sat as still as a stone, and looked as if she would not budge an inch for me or anybody else. I am always very glad when the ST. NICHOLAS comes.—Your affectionate little reader,

SUSIE R. IRWIN.

* * * * *

Princeton, N.J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you of the interesting expedition I made last August to the college observatory here for the purpose of seeing the three planets, Jupiter, Mars and Saturn. Through the telescope we were shown Mars burning with a ruddy glow, and having on the rim of one side a bright white spot, which the professor told us was the ice piled up around the north pole; Saturn with its rings, seen with wonderful clearness, and shining pale and far off in comparison with Mars; Jupiter with its two dark bands around the center, and three of its satellites plainly visible; and, last, the moon with its curiously indented surface and ragged edge. The telescope was small, so we could not, of course, see the newly discovered satellites of Mars, the professor saying that there were only two instruments in this country that would show them. Hoping that you may have as good an opportunity to see these splendid heavenly bodies as I have had, I remain, your friend,

B.H.S.



NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.

BABY DAYS, a selection of Songs, Stories and Pictures for Very Little Folks, with an introduction by the Editor of ST. NICHOLAS, and 300 illustrations. Scribner & Co.—This large and very handsome book has been made up from ST. NICHOLAS, and nearly all from the pages devoted to the "Very Little Folks," and although the readers of this magazine know that there have been many good things in that department, they can have no idea, until they see it gathered together in this book, what a wealth of pictures, stories, funny little poems and jingles have been offered the little ones in ST. NICHOLAS. To children who have never read ST. NICHOLAS, this book, with its three hundred pictures,—to say nothing of its other contents,—will be a revelation; to children who take the magazine, it will bring up many pleasant recollections of good things they have enjoyed.

ABOUT OLD STORY-TELLERS—of How and When they Lived, and what Stories they Told. By Donald G. Mitchell. Published by Scribner, Armstrong & Co.—When any one comes late to dinner nothing can be kinder than to bring back for him some of the good things which may have been removed before his arrival,—and something very like this has here been done by Mr. Mitchell for the boys and girls who came into this world too late to hear in their original freshness all the good stories that were the delight of their fathers and mothers when they were children. And these fine old stories are all so nicely warmed up (if we may so express it) by the author of the book, and so daintily and attractively presented to our boys and girls, that some older folks may be in doubt whether or not they would have lost anything in this respect if they, too, had happened to come a little late to the feast furnished by Defoe, Dean Swift, Miss Edgeworth, Oliver Goldsmith, the man who wrote the "Arabian Nights," and other good old story-tellers.

Our little housekeepers, especially those who have put into practice Marion Harland's admirable recipes which we gave in our third and fourth volumes, will be delighted with a little book published by Jansen, McClurg & Co., of Chicago. It is called SIX LITTLE COOKS; or, Aunt Jane's Cooking-Class,—and, while it is really an interesting narrative in itself, it delightfully teaches girls just how to follow practically its many recipes. The only fault we have to find with it is the great preponderance of cakes and pastry and sweets over healthful dishes and the more solid kinds of cookery.

A very pleasant little book is THE WINGS OF COURAGE, adapted from the French for American boys and girls by Marie E. Field, and published by the Putnams. The three stories which make up the book will delight fairy-loving boys and girls. They are illustrated by Mrs. Lucy G. Morse, the author of "The Ash-Girl," well known to ST. NICHOLAS readers. The pictures all are pretty, but to our mind the best of all is "Margot and Neva," illustrating "Queen Coax."

BETTY AND HER COUSIN HARRY. By Miss Sarah E. Chester. American Tract Society, N.Y. Price, $1; postage, 7 cents.—This book tells in a bright and lively way about the pranks of a merry little girl and her boy-cousin. There is plenty of good fun and goodwill throughout, especially in the parts that tell of the doings of the two young madcaps on April Fools' Day and the Fourth of July, and of the queer way in which Toby, the pet crow, becomes peace-maker between them.

THE BODLEYS TELLING STORIES. Hurd & Houghton.—None of our young friends who have read "The Doings of the Bodley Family" will need to be told that this new volume is filled with stories bright, interesting, and helpful; and the Bodley folks have already gained so many friends and admirers that the book will be sure to make its way. We said of the former volume that it was charming, but the new one is even more exquisitely printed, and has a cover even more quaint and beautiful. So we cordially commend it to our young friends as a book which will both satisfy their interest and benefit their tastes.

THE CHRISTMAS STORY-TELLER, published by Scribner, Welford & Armstrong, is a well-illustrated collection of excellent Christmas stories by English writers. It is meant for papas and mammas rather than little folks, but some of our older boys and girls may enjoy the Christmas tales by such authors as Mark Lemon, Edmund Yates, Tom Hood, Shirley Brooks, and that very funny man, F.C. Burnand.



THE RIDDLE-BOX

A CHESS PUZZLE.

Our readers will here find a "knight's move" problem, similar to the one published in the "Riddle-Box" of ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1874. By beginning at the right word and going from square to square as a knight moves, you will find an eight-line quotation from an old poet. The verse is quoted in one of "Elia's Essays." M.

+ + + + + + + + + And you, ding close your bond- me cir- + + + + + + + + + gad- me oh age chain your I en + + + + + + + + + O vines; Do through so silk- cles too, + + + + + + + + + nail ye lest bles, break, Ere me That + + + + + + + + + your bram- ars, in Bind knee, And, weak, + + + + + + + + + bout, But, me ver prove bines, I ye + + + + + + + + + Curl fet- this bri- your ne- too cour- + + + + + + + + + place; a- twines; ters leave teous wood- may + + + + + + + + +

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

The whole, composed of six letters, is a New England city. The 1 is a numeral. The 1 2 is a word signifying "Behold!" The 1 2 3 is cheap. The 2 3 4 is to be indebted. The 3 4 is a pronoun. The 3 4 5 6 is a cistern. The 4 5 6 is a measure.

C.D.

A PLEA FOR SANTA CLAUS.

By taking one letter from each line of this verse, you will find an acrostic which spells a holiday greeting. The letters, too, are in a straight line with one another—but what letters shall be taken?

Coming with merry feet to young and old, Where snow and ice would block his onward way; Strive they in vain his eager step to stay, For Santa Claus is curious as bold. Why should he not know what the ovens hold? Such odors tempt him, and he must obey! School-boys and matrons, grandsires, maidens gay, Forgive him if he warm his fingers cold While waiting: Arrows from his mystic pack— Wise fellow! see him choose! "These (from my bows), With shaft of silver, tipped with jewel rare, Aimed with the skill which Love can well impart, Shall strike the center of the coyest heart! Lest Santa Claus be slighted, then, beware!"

B.

BROKEN WORDS.

In each sentence, fill the first two blanks with two words which, joined together, will form a word to fill the remaining blank.

1. "Do you buy paper —— —— or reams?" —— one school-girl of another. 2. —— —— Puritans do not regard it as you free —— men might. 3. He built —— —— when in ——, and lived like the natives themselves.

B.

PICTORIAL QUADRUPLE-ACROSTIC.

The initials and finals of the words represented by the small pictures name two objects to be seen in the central picture. Two other words relating to the central picture may also be found in succession, by taking one letter from each of the words represented by the small pictures.

L.J.



CHRISTMAS ENIGMA.

The answer is a proverb relating to Christmas. Forty-four letters. My 2 30 9 8 24 38 15 22 32 27, and also 25 20 11 38 31 25, and 6 13 17 35 25 9 18 29 2 are used in Christmas decorations. 36 1 26 42 9 16 are rung, 44 41 7 38 39 31 16 are told, 24 4 6 2 12 are played, 10 11 33 26 21 2 5 12 is laid aside, 19 9 43 38 35 37 16 are brightened by yule logs, 34 23 14 11 20 25 salutations are exchanged, 28 22 4 8 35 44 gladdened, and 3 7 11 38 27 winged, all at the good old Christmas-time.

B.

AUTHORS' NAMES.

The answers will give respectively the names of sixteen authors.

1. A cat's cry and a Scotch lake. 2. The value of the rim 3. A rough or clumsy cut between a sunbeam and the old ladies' beverage. 4. A man's name and an island. 5. A teacher commanding one of his male scholars to perform his task. 6. A bun and a hotel. 7. A light, and a "k," and a measure of length. 8. Strong and well.

9. Two-thirds of an eye; a Scotch title prefixed; With a shoe-maker's tool nicely put in betwixt: If you look at it closely, I think you will find An essayist, poet, historian, combined.

10. Conqueror, embrace O. 11. Indispensable to printers, and a little bed. 12. A bit, and a horse's cry. 13. A small nail and a Spanish title. 14. A boy's nickname and an humble dwelling. 15. The patriarch Jacob between "D" and myself.

16. If two pretty girl-names together you tie (Some E's you must lose, for "I can't tell a lie"), The name of two poets at once you'll descry.

M.M.

A RIMLESS WHEEL.

The wheel is made of four words of seven letters each, with a common central letter. The first word is written vertically, the second horizontally, the third diagonally from left to right, and the fourth diagonally from right to left. The half of each word, from the outside to the central letter (but not including that letter), forms a smaller word. The whole line of dots from 1a to 1b including the central letter, indicates the first of the four principal words, while 1a indicates the first of the small words belonging to it, and 1b indicates its second small word. This numbering and lettering applies also to the other words. The central letter is given, and all the words are defined below.

1a

3a. . .4a

. . .

. . .

2a . . . A . . . 2b

. . .

. . .

4b. . .3b

1b

1. A wall of defense. 2. A brilliant bird of South America. 3. An enthusiast. 4. The noise of a drum.

1a. Equal value. 1b. A fondling. 2a. The human race. 2b. A relative. 3a. An article of summer use. 3b. Involuntary muscular motion. 4a. To chafe. 4b. To entitle.

B.

MAGIC DOMINO-SQUARE.

Eight dominoes placed together form a square composed of sixteen half-dominoes, as shown in the diagram below. But, in the diagram, each row of four half-dominoes contains a different number of spots from any of the other rows. Thus the topmost row, counting horizontally, contains eighteen spots; the one below it only four; the first row to the left, counting vertically, ten; the diagonal row, downward from left to right, eight, etc. It is required to make a square of eight dominoes of the same set, in which each vertical, horizontal, and diagonal row of half dominoes shall contain exactly sixteen spots. Who can do it?

M.D.

+ -+ -+ -+ -+ * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * + -+ -+ -+ -+ * * * * + -+ -+ -+ -+ * * * * * * * * * * * + -+ -+ -+ -+ * * * * * * * * * * * * + -+ -+ -+ -+

DIAGONAL PUZZLE.

The puzzle contains ten words of ten letters each. Fill the blanks with words suited to the sense, and arrange these one above another in the order in which they occur in the sentences. They will then form a square, and the diagonal letters, read downward from left to right, will name a friend we all like.

—— (the same person as the diagonal, with another name) boys, and the children may well put —— in a friend who can —— so much to their happiness. No ordinary person is —— to him; and the legend —— us to the belief that he is well-nigh —— that tells of the —— exercise of his power in a —— —— manner, and on account of which he deserves to be called the "——" patron.

B.

PROVERB PUZZLE.

Supply the blanks with words to complete the sense, and transpose them into an appropriate proverb, with no letter repeated.

When Santa Claus, laughing at Christmas cold, Leaps gayly out from his —— of gold, No clattering —— disturb the house, But down the —— as still as a —— He glides to lighten his burdened back, By tossing treasures from out his pack; Then up and off, with no —— behind But the "Merry Christmas" you all shall find.

SEXTUPLE ACROSTIC.

Initials, read downward, a man; read upward, a biblical locality. Centrals, read downward, a portion; read upward, a snare. Finals, read downward, something seen at night; read upward, small animals.

1. Stupid persons. 2. Toward the stern of a ship. 3. An insect in a caterpillar state. 4. To come in.

N.T.M.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.

In work, but not in play; a domestic animal; a singing bird; a light carriage; in night, but not in day.

ISOLA.

NUMERICAL ENIGMAS.

1. She is such a sweet, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 child, I feel sure that I can soon 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 of her love.

2. "Will you 1 2 3 4 5 6 row?" said the 1 2 3 4 5 6.

3. If you do 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 about the stem of, the vase, choose the delicate 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11.

4. Shall you 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 for robbing the poor little 12 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12's nest?

5. My 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 a house to the 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 of ten children.

6. Shall it be a sail, 1 2 3, 4 5 6 7 8,—1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8? Whichever it is to be, we must prepare for it to-day, Tom.

7. 1 2 3 4! 5 6 7 8 1 2 3 4, I shall always be interested in your 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8.

O.B.



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NOVEMBER NUMBER.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.—Franklin, Herschel.

F —-rit—— H R ——os—— E A —-lde—— R N —autilu— S K —ennebe— C L —-arc—— H I ——sl—— E N —-icke—- L

BROKEN WORDS.—1. Forgotten—forgot ten. 2. Offences—of fences. 3. Significant—sign if I can't. 4. Firmament—firm ament.

PICTORIAL NUMERICAL REBUS.—

4,002,063 83,080,010 76,094 89,000,000,011 ——————— 89,087,158,178

HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.—

P E R P E T U A L T R I V I A L A B O D E O L D U A T E T H I N K A R M O R E R F L O U N D E R S

NUMERICAL ENIGMA—Cleopatra—ale, top, car.

BEHEADINGS AND CURTAILINGS.—1. Shame, Sham, Ham, Ha, A. 2. White, Whit, Hit, It, I. 3. Coral, Cora, Ora, Or, R. 4. Spine, Pine, Pin, In, I. 5. Honey, Hone, One, On, O.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.—D, Cid, Clara, Diamond, Droit, Ant, D.

CHARADE.—Stratagem.

PUZZLE BOUQUET.—1. Foxglove. 2. Hawkweed. 3. Tuberose. 4. Candytuft. 5. Snapdragon. 6. Wall-flower. 7. Sweet-pea. 8. Balsam (Ball Sam). 9. Snowdrop. 10. Marigold (Marry Gold).

TRANSPOSITIONS.—1. Earth, heart. 2. Oder, rode. 3. Wells, swell. 4. Evil, Levi. 5. Edges, sedge.

LETTER ANAGRAMS.—1. L over P—Plover. 2. R after S—Rafters. 3. S and T—Stand. 4. P under L—Plunder. 5. Et upon Ic—Unpoetic.

HIDDEN DRESS GOODS.—1. Calico. 2. Gingham. 3. Cotton. 4. Linen. 5. Serge. 6. Merino. 7. Silk. 8. Satin. 9. Muslin.

PICTORIAL PROVERB-ACROSTIC.—"The longest day must have an end."

1. T ——e Deu—— M 2. H —-yosciam—- U 3. E ——-ye——— S 4. L ——-as——— T 5. O ——————- H 6. N —ux Vomic—- A 7. G —love(—e—) V 8. E ——-y———- E 9. S ——-e———- A 10. T ——uree——- N 11. D ——rup——— E 12. A —-ndiro——- N 13. Y ——-ar——— D



THE ANSWERS TO THE PICTORIAL PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER "RIDDLE-BOX" were accidentally omitted from the November number, and are given here. REBUS: "Liars are not to be believed or respected." PICTORIAL PROVERB-ANAGRAM: "Listeners never hear any good of themselves."

ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER have been received from Harry H Neill, George J. Fiske, Eddie Vultee, John W. Riddle, Marion Abbott, Harriet M. Hall, Grant Squires, George Herbert White, William Kiersted, Maxwell W. Turner, Emma Elliott, H.V. Wurdemann, Alice B. Moore, "Clarinet," Sophie Owen Smith, Julia Abbott, Alice M. King, Mary W. Ovington, "Maudie," Edith Merriam, Eddie H. Eckel, "Bessie and her Cousin," Alice Bertram, M.W. Collet, and "A.B.C."

ANSWERS TO SPECIAL PUZZLES were also received, previous to October 18th, from Georgietta N. Congdon, Bessie Dorsey, Fred M. Pease, T.M. Ware, A.G. Cameron, "May," Rosie S. Palmer, Julia Lathers, Florence Wilcox, Edwin R. Garsia, Lizzie M. Knapp, Alice B. McNary, May Danforth, Katie Earl, W. Creighton Spencer, W. Irving Spencer, Carrie M. Hart, Edna A. Hart, Olive E. Hart, B.P. Emery, Gertrude Eager, and Alice T. Booth.

THE END