JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. AH, but my birds were happy last year, on a day late in the bright December! That dear Little School-ma'am had told the children of the red school-house about some good little German kinder who made dainty sheaves of full wheat, and, tying them to a high pole, set it up as a Christmas feast for the birds, and how the birds from every quarter soon plunged into it with delight, and in their turn chirped a happy Christmas carol for the children. Well, hearing about all this, what did my blessed children of the red school-house do, when Christmas was near, but set up in the very snow a fine affair like a May-pole, excepting that it held out long chains of golden wheat-And that was the secret of the chirping and chattering and flutters of delight, among my birds. And now for this item about LIFE IN A SNOWFLAKE. DEAR JACK: I send you this account from a newspaper which may interest your boys and girls. Yours truly, C. E. "Some imaginative and wonderfully learned German scholars tell us that every snowflake is in habited by happy little beings, who begin their existence, hold their revels, live long lives of happiness and delight, die and are buried, all during the descent of the snowflake from the world of clouds to the solid land. These scholars also tell us that every square foot of air possesses from twelve to fifteen million of more or less perfect little beings, and that at every ordinary breath we destroy a million, more or less, of these happy lives. The sigh of a healthy lover is supposed to swallow up about fourteen million. They insist that the dust, which will, as all know, accumulate in the most secure and secret places, is merely the remains of millions and billions of these little beings who have died of old age. All this, of course, is mere guess-work. But I do know that the snow in some parts of the world is thickly inhabited. I have seen new snow in Idaho black with little insects. People there call them snow-fleas. They are as lively as possible, and will darken your footprints, walk as fast as you may. They are found only on the high mountains, and only in very fresh and very deep snow. They, of course, do not annoy you in any way. They are infinitely smaller than the ordinary flea, but they are not a whit less lively in their locomotion." A DEER AS A WATCH-DOG; BAKED MATCHES; AND OTHER QUEER THINGS. IF you don't believe it, dearly beloved, just read this letter that has come all the way from South America. PARÁ, October 21st, 1885. DEAR JACK: I wonder whether you have ever had a letter from Brazil or the Amazon River. I am a little girl who lives at Pará, near the great river, and in a country house near the town. We sometimes have many strange and pretty birds and animals in our garden-parrots, guaras, large turtles, sloths, and monkeys. Once we had a tame deer that was just like a watch-dog, only instead of barking he would run against people with his horns. So he had to be fastened, like any savage dog. We also had two peacocks that slept at night in the branches of a high tree. The bats pestered them greatly. When the peacocks came down for their meal, very late in the morning, they looked tired and weak. So ever after, a night-lamp was hung in the tree to frighten the bats away. I will tell you a story I once heard of what happened to Mr. Agassiz when he was here, many years ago. He used to put his "specimens," as he called his beetles, insects, and other little scientific findings,- into a barrel of rum in order to preserve them. One day Mr. Agassiz received a present of a very nice little monkey, and told his black servant to take it home. He, supposing it was for the same purpose as were the "specimens," dumped it also into the barrel. Mr. A. was indeed very sorry and vexed about it. You know we have two seasons here the wet and the dry. In the wet season everything gets damp and moldy. We even have to bake the matches in the oven, or else they wont light quickly. Now I must say good-bye. Your little friend and admirer, THE CARJOLE. AMY E. S. LAST month the Little School-ma'am told us about the pastures of Norway and now she sends you another message concerning the carjole peculiar to that cold, queer country. The name carjole sounds like some sort of humorous bird; but the little lady says it is simply the national and peculiar carriage of Norway. The carjole is drawn by one small and always very sober horse, and it is just like a spoon on wheels. You sit in the bowl, and it is a tight fit. Your legs stretch out straight along the handle, as though you were sitting in the bottom of a canoe. The end of the handle is turned up to brace your feet, and there you are, filling the inside full. You either may drive yourself or be driven by a small child, perched somehow on the outside. The harness is made up largely of rope, and the carjole. according to the Little School-ma'am, looks as if it were made of fragments saved from Noah's ark, or picked out of the wreck of Pharaoh's chariots. But the whole affair is strong, and takes you safely to your destination. AN AFRICAN NEW-YEAR'S CARD. DEAR JACK: Of course all your boys and girls know what the cactus is-a green, grotesque-looking plant, almost covered with sharp spines and bearing a most gorgeous flower; but I am sure they do not know all of the uses to which the cactus can be put, nor do I believe that the most ingenious guesses could come near to the truth. Take the prickly pear, for example. From one species is obtained a beverage called colinche, a liquid used in water-color painting, and a coloring matter to make candy look attractive. Then it is used for feeding certain tiny insects which are afterward converted into a brilliant dye called cochi neal. It is used for mak ing hedges-hedges so dreadful that General Fremont and his brave soldiers nev er dared to try to go through them. It is a native of America, but it has been taken to Europe and Africa, and grows in the latter country in great profusion. It grows so well in dry, sandy soil that it has proved a great thick leaves covered with spines as sharp as needles! But, wait a moment. The leaves of the particular kind of cactus so used are not very prickly, and, moreover, they are not carried about, but are left growing on the plant, which stands at the foot of the front steps. When a lady calls she has only to draw out one of those ever ready hat pins, with which ladies are always provided, and with the sharp point scratch her name on the glossy, green surface of a leaf. A gentleman generally uses the point of his pen the Kaffirs, who often, in seasons of drought, almost live on the prickly fruit, while hungry cattle will greedily eat the leaves. As for the ostrich, it simply revels in dainty morsels of cactus-leaf bristling with sharp spines. But, after all, the oddest use of the cactus prevails in Cape Town, South Africa, where its leaves are made to serve the purpose of visiting-cards. Fancy carrying about in your coat-pocket a lot of The lines turn silvery white and remain on the leaf, clear and distinct, for years and years. On New Year's Day, these vegetable cards are especially convenient, and ladies who wish to keep the calls of that day apart from those of other days, appropriate a branch of the cactus to that purpose. One gentleman in Cape Town has a cactus plant which is nearly fifteen feet high. Its great thick leaves are almost all in use as visiting-cards, so that he has a complete and lasting record of his visitors. It cannot be said that this practice adds to the beauty of the plant, but then it is oddity and not beauty that is desired in such cases. There is one cactus, not so plentiful as that just described, which is of a very accommodating character. It not only has smooth leaves, but the spines it has are so large and stiff that they can be used as pens for writing on the leaves. J. R. C. Yours truly, EDITORIAL NOTE. THE GORDON BOYS' HOME IN LONDON. in England Aminal мадазни, сим To the Boy & Girl Readers of It Nechelen Tagazine OUR older readers are no doubt familiar, through the newspapers, with the leading incidents in the carcer of that brave and philanthropic English General, Charles George Gordon, whose adventurous and helpful life came to a close in the Soudan, last winter. Lord Tennyson has sent to the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, with the above personal greeting in his own handwriting, an announcement of a proposed charitable institution in London, which is to be established as a memorial of General Gordon. Among the many philanthropic thoughts that animated the British hero was a desire to help, in some practical way, the poor boys of overcrowded London. And the committee having the memorial in charge wisely concluded that in no better manner could they honor his memory and perpetuate his unselfish devotion than in founding an institution that should rescue English boys of the poorer classes from the criminal influences amid which so many grow to manhood in that vast metropolis. Lord Tennyson, to whom General Gordon had often expressed his benevolent wish, Archdeacon Farrar, and other distinguished Englishmen whose names are familiar on both sides of the sea, have interested themselves in the project, and a committee has been appointed to perfect and execute the plan which has grown out of General Gordon's own desire. It is designed that the Gordon Boys' Home should accommodate about 500 boys, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and give them a training that shall prepare them for a self-supporting and helpful career. It is at this period of life that growing boys really need help. Too old to continue in the institutions designed for the care of children, and too young to engage in the real struggle of existence, they are more exposed to temptation and more readily led into the downward path than at any other time of life. Desiring to extend to such lads a helping hand, the Gordon Boys' Home appeals for aid from all those who, in various parts of the world, have learned to regard with admiration the life of General Gordon, and who wish to bring his example home to those he worked so hard to benefit. The Committee's circular states that subscriptions may be sent to the Lord Mayor of London at the Mansion House, or to Mr. George C. Russell, Secretary of the Gordon Boys' Home, 20 Cockspur street, London, S. W., from whom all desired information may be obtained. This announcement is of special interest to our young readers in England. But General Gordon's memory belongs to all the English-speaking race, and there are many Americans who share the British admiration of the heroic soldier - among them, our own poet, Whittier, who expressed a desire that the Laureate should write a poem on Gordon. This wish came to the knowledge of Lord Tennyson, and he sent to Mr. Whittier the following note containing lines which the English poet had written for the Gordon monument in Westminster Abbey: DEAR MR. WHITTIER: Your request has been forwarded to me, and I herein send you an epitaph for Gordon in our Westminster Abbey - that is, for his cenotaph: "Warrior of God, man's friend, not here below, THE LETTER-BOX. QUEBEC, November 7, 1885. gen MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your interesting and useful magazine pleases me very much. I have been reading over the letters from the little girls and boys in your Letter-Box, and I thought I might contribute one also. I notice that most of them are written by little American children, but I am a little Canadian girl, ten years of age, and live in the old-fashioned city of Quebec, which I know all your people think a very funny place; some call it the "old Curiosity Shop.' I don't see anything so very queer about it, but I suppose that is because I have lived here all my life. I know we have some very jolly times in it, especially in the winter. We erally have snow about this time of year, but this season we had snow on the 31st of October; it was about three inches deep, but did not remain, and it has been raining now for a week. I suppose you have heard of our winter sports, tobogganing, snow-shoeing, skating, etc. The one I enjoy most is sliding, and we have some grand hills here. Our winters are almost too long, though; and they are so cold! The snow also is so deep that I have great trouble in getting to school, and sometimes have to put on my snow-shoes to help me along. Last year the snow in some of our narrow streets reached such a height, that in walking along we looked into the second-story windows of the houses, and indeed with some of the small ones we could almost have seen down the chimney, which would have been very convenient for you, St. Nicholas. I have a great deal more to say, but in case you should think my letter worth putting in your magazine, I would not like to take up too much of your valuable space, so I will bid you good-bye for the BELLE. present. Yours very truly, ALEXANDRIA, VA., November 10, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You were given to me last Christmas, as a present, and though I received many nice presents, you give me more pleasure than all. I am always so glad when you come, for I love to read your grand stories, and I think the little "Brownies are the cutest little creatures, and especially the industrious Irishman and the lazy "Dude." I was so sorry when "Driven Back to Eden was finished. I was reading in the History of New York that when the Dutch first settled that place, some sailed over in a ship called the "Goede Vrouw," on the prow of which was carved an image of St. Nicholas; so that was the first time St. Nicholas ever visited America, and I know he has, from that time to this, given many little girls and boys very much pleasure, and although he used to come only at Christmas, we are glad that he still has his headquarters at New York, and comes once a month instead of once a year. I live in the quaint old city of Alexandria, Virginia, in sight of the church in which General Washington worshiped, and I have frequently sat in his pew, and have visited "Mt. Vernon," his home. LUCIA. Your devoted reader, PIERRE, D. T. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years old, and live out on a claim in Dakota. I look forward very eagerly for the coming of your bright pretty face every month, and enjoy everything there is to read, from the first to the last page. I lived in the Black Hills" two years. I keep wondering all the time how Mr. Palmer Cox ever thought of anything so funny as the pictures of those "Brownies," all so different and so many of them. We have a hearty laugh over every picture. I have a pony to ride. Papa caught me two "jack-rabbits"; they grow to be immense fellows; their ears are almost as long as mules'. They are white in the winter and gray in summer. This is my first letter to a paper of any kind. I hope it will not prove tiresome. With the best wishes, from your loving reader, SIBYL M. SAMMIS. BROOKLYN, N. Y. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My papa has a friend who is an artist, and he came to see us the other evening and told us that he had been "studying up old costumes," and then he made a funny drawing for us children. He said it showed how "children used to dress three hundred years ago, when good Queen Bess was on the throne of England." We were all delighted with the drawing, and he gave BROOKLYN, October. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for five years, and enjoy reading your stories very much. I have been away thirteen weeks this summer, and I have had a delightful time. Just before I came home we went nutting, and gathered twenty-eight quarts of hickory-nuts and about six quarts of butternuts. I enjoyed gathering the nuts very much, as I never had been nutting before. I am very fond of drawing, and one day, as I was taking a walk in the woods, I found a turtle and I drew him. I have also drawn five or six pictures of my brother's dog. LOUISIANA W. " Sincerely yours, LAWRENCEVILLE, TIOGA Co., PA., November, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy about six years old. I take the ST. NICHOLAS, and have taken it a long time. I can read the most of it, and was very much delighted with the two stories, "His One Fault and Driven Back to Eden.' I read the "Patient Cat to many visitors. "The Coast-Guard I have learned to recite, as well as many others. In cold weather, I have the most dangerous kind of croup, and am very much confined to the house. So dear "ST. NICK" is a most welcome visitor. I have a papa and mamma, and Cousin Julie lives with me. I can LONDON, October 26, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It was asked by William S. Torrance, in the October number of ST. NICHOLAS, which legs the tadpole has first. The fore-legs come first. I had one that I caught and kept in a pickle-jar. I watched the tail gradually disappear. The change took from three weeks to a month. I had a friend who tried to keep some in a tin pail, but they always died. Since the August number was issued, I have traveled from my home in San Francisco to London, but I still take ST. NICHOLAS with the same interest. remain, your constant reader, MAMIE MACD. I not write well enough, so Grandmamma writes for me. I live in a pretty old town in the hills of northern Pennsylvania, and am very happy here, where I remain, your constant reader and loving friend, JAMIE P. WASHINGTON, D. C., October 25, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I take you every month and always enjoy reading your interesting stories. Your November number came the other day, and I was surprised to see such a different cover on you, but I like it much better than the old one. Then, too, it will be very nice to look for the sign of the Zodiac every month. I have read your first chapter of "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I think it is very interesting indeed. It does not take me long to read you, and then when I finish I wish it was time for your next number to come. I must not write any more, for fear of making my letter too long for your valuable space. Your affectionate reader, MARY R. C. SOUTH ORANGE, November, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two girls, twelve and thirteen years old. We shall not tell you which is twelve or which is thirteen, but shall leave you to guess. We like the ST. NICHOLAS very much, and think it is the nicest magazine we have ever read. We are very glad Miss Alcott has begun to write again, as we like her stories very much. Last month's number was very interesting; and we are anxiously expecting the Christmas number. NELLIE N. and BESSIE F. Yours truly, BALTIMORE, August. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you of a little trick that your readers may like to know. It is to tell how many spots are on dice without looking at them. A pair of dice being thrown, tell the thrower to count the spots on one of them, and add five to the sum, then to multiply the result by five, and to add to the product the number of spots on the remaining die. This being done, request the thrower to name the amount, and after subtracting twenty-five from it, the remaining number will consist of two figures, which will be the same as those on the dice. Yours truly, "OSCEOLA." TOLEDO, OHIO. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are three cousins, and we are visiting our Grandma- at least two of us are. One of us lives here, and he is the one who takes you. We saw a letter in your August number where three wrote in one letter, and we are going to do the same. I I am George; I am going to do the writing because I take you. I would write with ink, only Grandma wont let me. I like "His One Fault" better than any other story; I always read it first. began to take you last year, and I think you are just splendid. I have one pet, it is a parrot; he says lots of things; his name is Jock. I am Amos; I like you so well that Mamma is going to take for my brother Art and me. I have no pets, but I have a bicycle; I am just learning to ride it, so I get a great many falls. you I am Art; I don't read any stories at all; I am too young, but Grandma reads all the letters, poetry, and Brownies to me. I have found the dude and policeman in all the pictures. I live in Detroit, so does Amos. We hope you will print this; it has taken us two hours to write it. GEORGE (9), AMOS (8), ART (4). TOLEDO, OHIO. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother George, and my cousins, Amos and Art, wrote to you about two weeks ago, and are waiting impatiently for the next ST. NICHOLAS. I live 'way out in the country, and as no little girls live near us, and the boys will not play with a girl, I have a pretty lonesome time of it; but I should be still more lonesome if my dear St. NICHOLAS did not come the twenty-sixth of every month. It is the only thing I have to read, as it is the only child's book in the house. Now, what do the children think of that, who have lots and lots of books of their own? We began to take you last September: you were my birthday present, and this year you are to be George's. My favorite stories are "Little Britomartis" and "Driven Back to Eden." I am glad school has commenced, but the boys are not; boys are not the least bit like girls, are they? Yesterday was my birthday; I received a cover for my ST. NICHOLASES, a ring, some note-paper, and a handkerchief. I remain your friend, URANIA. PEMBROKE, November 3, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not think any of your little readers look forward to the coming of ST. NICHOLAS with more pleasure than I do. I am eleven years old, and go to school every day. I have a great number of dolls, with which I amuse myself. I am counting the days till the snow comes, for I am anxious to go out sliding. I have two sleighs, one called "Go Ahead," and the other, Lucy Long"; the former is the best, and can beat any sleigh in town. Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I think I have written enough, so I will close my letter with best wishes for the coming season. HORTIE O'M. MILWAUKEE, November 5, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My Uncle Jim sends you to me every year. I am seven years old, and I have a bank; and if Uncle Jim does not send you to me this Christmas, I am going to take three dollars out of my bank and send it to you myself, because I love you so much. HARRY H. BRISTOL, October 4, 1885. MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old, with one brother, papa, and mamma. In summer we go to our cottage at the seaside. I want to tell you about a spider I saw down there. One day my cousin and friend and I went out on the rocks, and we saw a spider with a lot of fuzzy things all over his back. I stepped on him, and what do you think the fuzzy things were? They were little bits of spiders about as big as a pin-head. If I had known that they were baby spiders taking a ride on their mother's back, I don't think I should have put my foot on them. 1 We have taken ST. NICHOLAS for seven years and have them all bound, and we read them more than any of our other books. Hoping that I shall always have ST. NICHOLAS, I am, Your constant reader, ANTOINETTE N ASH CAÑON, HUACHUCA MTS., ARIZONA. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two friends who have come out here to live. Our winter home is in Tombstone, a town about thirty miles from here. There are live-oaks all over the place, and we think it ought to be called Oak Cañon instead of Ash. We had quite an excitement, last spring, about the Indians (the Apache tribe), who came out of their reservation and were killing people all through New Mexico and Arizona; but there were twelve men here, so we were not much afraid, and most of the danger is past now. The only things we are much afraid of now are rattlesnakes, tarantulas, centipedes, and scorpions; some of each of them have been found here since we came. All the girls on the ranch have been poisoned by the poison oak vine. The poison comes out on the face and hands; they swell up and a sort of rash spreads over them; it is anything but pleasant. We have a great many pets,- six dogs, four cats, five pigeons, a canary-bird, a burro (donkey), and ever so many cows and horses and chickens. We must now say good-bye, as we are afraid this letter will be too long, and we want it to be published, as it is the first we have ever written to a magazine. PENELOPE AND DOROTHY. TARRYTOWN, N. Y. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a cat that we know. Her name is Daisy, and she is a Maltese. Her master has taught her to stand on a table, about two and a half yards off from him, while in one hand he holds a hoop covered with tissue paper, through which she jumps, and lands on his shoulder. Jumping through two rings - one inside the other-and through a very small one just large enough to let her body go through, are some of her tricks. Daisy can also swing, jump over her master's hands, turn somersaults and walk the tight rope. Of course, after cach trick her master gives her a piece of meat. Your constant reader, E. F. G. Aunt Anna says the poetry is trash, but we like it immensely! We found a very funny flower that grows in Montana, and we do not know the name. Perhaps you or some of your readers can tell us, as we have often seen questions answered in your dear Letterbox. It had six long, dark-red petals, with a bright yellow center; the stamens were rather short with large heads; and the stem was long and thin. We think the ST. NICHOLAS is the very best book there is, and "His One Fault" perfectly fine. Please thank Mr. Trowbridge for us, and do print our letter in the Letter-Box, as it is the first one we 've sent you. Your sincere readers, CORNELIUS N ALFRED SIMPSON N ST. PETERSBURG, Sept. 29, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: America is my native country, but just now I am traveling in Europe with my parents, brother, and two friends; and I thought you might like to hear from one of your little readers in the far-off city of St. Petersburg. One day we all took a drosky ride, and as a drosky accommodates but one passenger, we each had a separate one except brother |