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A MOTHER-MOUSE, when her children had nearly reached the age at which it became time for them to seek their own fortunes in the world, cautioned

One time the whole family of younger mice came upon a trap. "This, I suppose," said the eldest and wisest, "is the trap against which our mother so carefully warned us. And yet," continued he, "the cheese looks very tempting. I doubt extremely if there be any real danger in it. And even if there be, I think that, by a proper amount of selfcontrol and wariness, one might avoid all ill consequences. Because some have been caught, it does not necessarily follow that a like fate must overtake all. At least I shall inspect the trap to satisfy myself whether there is really as much danger in it as our mother said. You know, she is apt to be over-cautious very often." And with this remark, in spite of the urgent warnings of his brothers, the over-wise mouse deliberately entered the trap.

"I cannot see," said he, when he was within, "that there is any real danger, and it is very pleasant here. One need not eat of the cheese, you know."

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But even as he spoke the delicious smell of the cheese overcame his caution; he them concluded there could be no danger in taking the partic- smallest nibble. No sooner, however, had he ularly touched the tempting morsel, than the trap fell against the traps and dangers and he was a prisoner. that would lie in their paths. "My children," said she, "the cheese looks very tempting, and is even sometimes toasted, but beware of it; for it will bring misfortune to you."

"Alas!" said he to his weeping mother, who had hastened to the trap upon learning the fate of her son, "I now discover, when it is too late to repent, that the experience of age is safer than the presumptuous wisdom of youth."

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THROUGH THE REGISTER. (A Christmas Story.)

HAT is Christmas without Santa Claus? It looked very much as if Jack and Effie Hillscombe were soon to find out what such a Christmas would be; for it was already Christmas-eve, and the house where the two filled with the usual good bustle of preparing for the

Papa Hillscombe sat in the big arm-chair putting on his slippers, and doing his best to imagine himself before the great log-fire he had known so well as a boy; for there were no grates in the Hillscombe house. Jack and Effie lived in a city where, at the time of my story, very few families had open fire-places in their houses; and little Effie had asked her Papa, as she kissed him good-night: "Why, Papa, how is Santa Claus goin' to det in when there is no fireplace?" This question really puzzled Papa Hillscombe, but he told the children that Santa Claus would find his way in, and that it would be all right in the morning.

But after the children had gone to bed, a queer look came over their papa's good-natured face, and it was plainly to be seen that he was thinking of little Effie's question.

It happened, too, that the children were not satisfied with the answer he had given them; and while Papa was locking up the house for the night, and attending to the furnace, they were still exchanging opinions on this weighty subject from their little cots.

Suddenly Jack sat bolt upright. He had an idea! And in another moment he had toppled out of bed and made his way on tip-toe to Effie's cot.

A whispered consultation followed, and in a few minutes later both little

All the doors were locked, and all the windows closed, and Papa was just shutting the iron door of the great furnace in the cellar, when he was startled by voices which seemed to come from the furnace itself. For a moment he amused himself with the fancy that Santa Claus was really making his way in by the furnace; then he thought he might have left a door unlocked.

The thoughts of Santa Claus or other less welcome visitors were, however, soon forgotten when he heard the sound of children's voices, and found that it was Jack and Effie who were talking.

Papa opened the furnace door again, and listened.

TWO WHITE FIGURES CREPT NOISELESSLY DOWN THE STAIRCASE.

cots were deserted, and two tiny white figures were creeping noiselessly down the staircase.

They were evidently talking near the register, for what they said was plainly heard through the

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furnace pipe by Papa Hillscombe. saying:

Jack was figures in white scampered upstairs and back to their cots.

"O Effie! how can Santa Claus ever bwing my big sled through the wegister?"

"Or my doll's house?" said Effie. There was a pause, then Jack exclaimed triumphantly, "I know! let's take the top off."

"But," said Effie, "we 're not bid enough." "Oh! you 're only a dirl; I can do it." Then followed quite a struggle between Jack and the "wegister," but it was only after the "dirl" had come to his aid that Jack was able to lift the iron plate; and then Papa heard her say, in a solemn tone: "Do you fink, Jack, he could det a doll's house through dat?"

"Oh, Santa Claus can do anything!" was Jack's comforting reply.

The two little people were on their knees, peering intently down the dark opening, when suddenly they were startled by a voice, which seemed to come up through the hole in the floor. The voice said:

"It's time little children were in bed! Santa

The next morning (as bright a Christmas-day as ever dawned) found two little figures, not in white this time, standing over a pile of pretty presents heaped up around the register; among which might be seen a brightly painted sleigh with "Effie and Jack," in big gold letters, on the side, and a wonderful three-story doll's house; and

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Claus can't bring his presents up till everybody is Jack was exclaiming in triumph: "Did n't I tell fast asleep!"

The children could not tell the voice, as it came up through the pipe, and with a cry of "He's tumming! Santa Claus is tumming!" two little

you Santa Claus could do anything!"

So Santa Claus came into the Hillscombe parlor, after all, and it was Effie and Jack who settled for themselves the difficult question of how he was to get in.

FIVE LITTLE BOYS.

By E. V. S.

FIVE little boys went out to sea,
A-sailing in a dory:

At set of sun they all came home,-
Thus ends my thrilling story.

almost entirely of "fjords " and mountains, which is the reason, I suppose, why the pastures are so steep. As I said before, too, it is a very cold country, and so valuable is the pasturage on the mountains rising steeply from the " fjords," that every small patch of grass, no matter how high up on the mountain, is occupied. The peasants will build little farm buildings, and live there two or three thousand feet above the water, all the year through, despite the snows and cold of the long northern winter, just for the sake of having a little patch of green for a part of the year. And these meadows are so slanting that the cattle have to be tethered as they feed, and the little children are fastened by ropes to stakes as they play, lest they slip and fall down the hillside to their certain destruction.

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"CHRISTMAS comes but once a year,' eh?" said the Deacon, the other morning, and he added, "Well, it seems to me the saying would apply as well to any other of the great holidays. Who ever heard of two Fourths of July in one year? Why, all the bright youngsters who have studied fractions would straightway begin to claim that twofourths were equal to one-half, and that therefore one-half of the whole month should be given over to fire-crackers and rockets and torpedoes and general tintinabulation? It would never do, I 'm sure, to have more than one Fourth of July in the year no, indeed!"

Now, you may decide this question for yourselves; but the Deacon's remarks remind me that I am commissioned by the Little School-ma'am to say to you all, that Mr. W. D Howells - a famous teller of good stories, I hear-is to give you, in the very next number of ST. NICHOLAS, the full particulars concerning Christmas every day in the year. The Little School-ma'am wishes me to bid you all to pay special heed to this announcement, and to look out for some very interesting points on this momentous subject.

STEEP PASTURES.

I HAVE heard of some pretty steep pastures myself, but none that begin to equal those that the Little School-ma'am was talking about the other day. There is somewhere, it seems, a very cold country called Norway; and according to her account, it must be a peculiar land in many ways. Among other peculiarities the people there seem unable to get along without a "j" or two in every name, and there are in that country, the Little School-ma'am says, many inlets from the sea, which are there called by the queer title of "fjords." This strange country, it appears, is composed

"LOOK IT UP!"

THE Little School-ma'am wishes me to announce from my pulpit, so to speak, the following piece of good advice written by Mr. Eggleston in a book called "The Big Brother":

"It will not harm you, boys and girls, to learn a little accurate geography, by looking up these places before going on with the story; and if I were your school-master, instead of your story-teller, I should stop here to advise you always to look on the map for every town, river, lake, mountain, or other geographical thing mentioned in any book or paper you read. I should advise you, too, if I were your school-master, to add up all the figures given in books and newspapers, to see if the writers have made any mistakes; and it is a good plan, too, to go at once to the dictionary when you meet a word you do not quite comprehend, or to the encyclopædia or history, or whatever else is handy, whenever you read about anything and would like to know more about it."

SILVER THIMBLES.

DEAR JACK: I was very much interested in the letter from your friend, printed last month, about the vegetable needle and thread. That needle has an advantage over our steel needles, for I suppose it can be used without a thimble. I read somewhere, not long ago, an elaborate eulogy on "the needle," the "wonder-working needle," as it was called; and I could n't help thinking that this same worker of wonders would be a very obstinate, unmanageable thing, were it not for its long-time companion, the thimble.

And speaking of thimbles, I wonder if the ST. NICHOLAS boys and girls have any idea how those useful little articles are made. At all events, I've a mind to tell them a thing or two about it. In the first place, a quantity of brand-new, spick-and-span clean silver is melted down into solid ingots. After being rolled into the desired thickness, they are then cut into circular forms, and a bar moved by machinery bends these round forms into the thimble shape. They are now ready for polishing and decorating, which work is done on a lathe. The indentations on the end and sides of the thimble are made by means of a wheel with sharp points. When everything is complete, the thimbles are boiled in strong soapsuds, which removes all the oil and gives them a peculiar brightness.

So much for the little thumb-bell.

E. M. C.

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