Happy 1878! Happy New Year to all Jack's little friends! And now let us begin our year's talk with something about

A GARDEN IN WINTER.

Deacon Green took a ride early last month, my dears, and he tells me of a wonderful garden which he saw from a window as he went whirling by on a railroad.

Can you guess what was growing in a garden in December?

No, it was not in a Southern State; so your guess of oranges isn't right—though they tell me that oranges do grow in winter-time in Florida.

It was a garden of Christmas-trees, set out in even rows, and looking as spruce and gay and happy as if they knew that they were almost old enough to hold a candle in each of their thousand hands, and a bright gift or token of good-will on each of their thousand arms. I fancy that the gardener who has his mind filled with the care of a garden of Christmas-trees must be a very cheery, kind-hearted fellow indeed. Don't you?

OVENS IN THE FIELDS.

In Mecklenburg, Northern Germany, as I'm told, fuel is scarce and dear: and, as the peasants are very poor, they take an odd way to save wood. It is this:

Each village has one or two large ovens in which the baking for a number of people can be done at one time. These ovens look from a little distance as if they were small hillocks, and they are built in the open fields. Why they are placed away from the village I was not told; but I would like to know. They have very much the look of underground dairy-cellars, and are built of great stones covered with turf. One or two men can go into an oven quite comfortably.

In each oven a great fire is made, to heat the stones, and when these are hot enough the fire and ashes are swept out, and the bread is put in to bake. Then a stone door is put over the mouth until it is time to take out the loaves. There is no chimney or opening, and the heat stays in well—even for some time after the bread has been taken out; so that it is no strange thing for a belated traveler to use the shelter or warmth of one of these empty ovens on some cold and stormy night when far from his home.

So much for fire-places out-of-doors. Now for a word about

PERSIAN STOVES.

I've just heard of the queer way the Persians have of keeping themselves warm in their houses during cold weather. They place in the middle of the room a pan of burning charcoal under a sort of table or frame which holds up a large wadded quilt that reaches the floor on all sides, like a tent. This must look almost like keeping the fire warm. Then the family sit around the droll stove, with their legs and arms under the quilt; and when they wish to go to sleep, they put themselves half under the quilt, and so keep nice and warm until the morning. That's easy enough for Persians to do, because, as I'm told, they never undress at night, but just roll themselves in coverings and lie down anywhere.

Perhaps you would not find such arrangements in your homes quite as comfortable as soft beds and cozy blankets in well-warmed rooms. However, the Persian winter is not as cold as ours, I suppose.

LIGHT THROUGH METAL.

Here's an odd thing! My wise old wide-awake friend the owl tells me that a Yale College professor has found out a way to make a layer of metal so thin that it will readily show the color of a light-beam sent through it. That professor will be showing us how to see through a mill-stone next, may be.

GOOD AS AN EXPERIMENT.

EDIBLE NESTS.

Did you ever hear of such an article of food as bird's-nest soup? Well, this soup does not take its name from its looks, as bird's-nest pudding gets its title, but it is actually made from real birds'-nests.

In the island of Java, I'm told, there is a species of sea-swallow which makes a nest much like that of our chimney-swallow, and fastens it to the rocky walls of caves. These nests are made almost entirely of a glue-like substance, mixed with a little grass or hair and a few sticks, and they are carefully gathered and sent to China, where they are sold as food.

The nests are soaked in water until the glue becomes soft, when the sticks and straws are picked out and thrown away. The jelly which remains is then dried and preserved, to be used in making the bird's-nest soup. This is considered a great delicacy, and the nests are sold in the Chinese markets for twenty-five dollars a pound. Of course, at this price, none but rich folks can indulge in them, and they are therefore a very fashionable dish. Although they are usually made into soup, they are sometimes cooked in other ways.

It's my opinion that the nest of the chimney-swallow might be used as food in the same way; for although it has more sticks and hay in it than the edible nest, there is a good deal of glue, too, and each nest might yield quite a large pot of soup. If the time shall ever come when our own country will have as many people in it as there are in China at the present time, many things little thought of now will be turned to use as articles of food. But at present there is no need of robbing the birds; so let them keep cheerful while they may, poor dears!

BIRD RAILROAD-TRAVELERS.

Now that we're talking about birds'-nests, I may as well tell you some news that has come to me all the way from East Cosham, in Hampshire, England.

On a small piece of frame-work under a third-class "smoking" carriage on the London and South-Western Railway, a water-wagtail built her nest and reared a young and thriving family of four. The train traveled regularly about forty miles a day, and the station-master at East Cosham says that, during every absence of it, the male bird kept close to the spot, awaiting with great anxiety the return of his wayfaring family.

Now, in my opinion, that water-wagtail mother made a queer choice for her home-place. But if the little ones get no other advantage from it, they are sure to be well trained. What do you think about it, my chicks?