  Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the 1st of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. Washington, D. C. Dear St. Nicholas: This is the first letter I have ever written you. I like your stories very much; the best one of this year, I think, is "Little Lord Fauntleroy." Only I did not like to have the new Lord Fauntleroy coming in to take his place. I hope Mrs. Burnett will have the Earl buy the new Lord Fauntleroy out. Your interested reader, Mary G—
Dear St. Nicholas: We are an English family with big and little members in it. Whenever St. Nicholas comes there is a great rush for it. We think it much better than any of our English magazines. We live near the Suspension Bridge, which is 254 feet above the river. Our horses eat sugar, apples, and salt out of our hands. One is called Howard, the other, Chester. We hardly ever get any ice here, and very little snow. We think that "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is a real good story; it is very like English life. We enjoy the letters from the little American boys and girls very much. Please print this letter, as it comes a long way—from England. I am a big member writing for the rest of our family. Always your faithful readers, The Sparke Family. B: The story you name is founded on an actual tricycle journey by a group of friends. "Cortlandt," Omaha. Dear St. Nicholas: I have never seen any letters from Omaha, in your delightful pages, so I think I must write, and hope you will print this letter. My mother and I think that "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is the most beautiful story we have ever read, and we have persuaded my father to read it, and he enjoyed it as much as we. My mother thinks Cedric will die before the end, but I hope not. I do not go to school, but I take French lessons of such a jolly little American "Mademoiselle!" Would it not be fun for a certain number of boy and girl readers of St. Nicholas to send a list of five or ten of their favorite books and the authors' names to you, and be printed! I hope this letter is not too long to print. Your loving friend, Menie C. W—
Dear St. Nicholas: I thought you would like to get a letter from New Zealand, as I don't think you have had one from such a long way. We have had your magazine for two years, and we all like you very much and look forward to getting you from the booksellers every month; and I am afraid we sometimes squabble over it, as we are three children and we all want it at once. Margaret, my eldest sister, generally gets it first because she can cut it best. We have a nice pony, and we call him Joe, or Joseph, because he is a piebald and has a coat of many colors. The rabbits are so bad in New Zealand that we have to keep ferrets to kill them. Father has a station, or sheep-run, with 28,000 sheep, and we are afraid of the rabbits overrunning it and eating up the grass, so father says I must bring up all my young kittens to be turned out on the run to kill the rabbits. We went to England when I was four, and I liked it very much, and was so pleased to see Granny and the aunties; but, oh, dear, the voyage made me so sick! Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I hope you will find room to put this in your magazine some day. Good-bye. Your devoted reader, Adine Acton A—
My Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little American girl, but I am in Europe now, with my mother. We were in London the other day, and I went to Madame Tussaud's wax-works. The figures are, perhaps, better than those of the "Eden MusÉe," but the likenesses are simply miserable, especially Washington's, which resembles "Bunthorne," in "Patience"; and Lincoln, who was a much taller man than the late General Grant, was represented as a much smaller one. Your very loving Paquerelle.
Dear Old St. Nicholas: This is the first time I have ever written to you, although I have taken you for thirteen years,—ever since you were published,—and have quite often thought of doing it. I am only a New York girl, and can not write you about lovely scenery and stirring events like the girls and boys who live at a distance, but can only say again and again how dearly I love you, and how eagerly I look for you every month. I have enjoyed the series "From Bach to Wagner" so much, as I am very fond of music and take violin lessons. I like "Little Lord Fauntleroy" better than any story you have had in a long time,—but Mrs. Burnett is always delightful,—and it makes it so nice to have it illustrated by Mr. Birch, whose drawings I admire greatly. I hope you will not find this letter too long to print or consider me too old to be one of your admirers, as I am not yet seventeen. I do not belong to the A. A., much to my regret. I used to be a member of the "Town and Country Club," but had to give it up for want of time. Good-bye, dear ST. NICK, and believe me, Affectionately yours, Amethyst.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have been taking you for nearly three years, and think you are very nice. I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and the "Brownies" are splendid. I like to read the Letter-Box. I am eight years old and have lived in Portland nearly five years; and I go to see my grandpa in the East sometimes. I have crossed the continent five times, and, my Mamma says, have spent about five weeks of my life in a sleeping-car. Yours truly, Louise K. S.
Dear St. Nicholas: We are very fond of you; we jump for joy when you come each month. We have taken you for two years in Buenos Ayres; now we are living in England, but in a little while we are going to Geneva; but wherever we are, we hope to see you. Our favorite stories are: "His One Fault," "Oh, Dear," "The Brownies," "Little Lord Fauntleroy." Mother likes "Personally Conducted." This is the first letter we have written; we should like to see it printed. Your little friends, Bella, Willie, and Midge.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl nine years old. I have a little sister and a baby brother. My little sister Enid thinks the "Brownies" going to the "surtus" is the best. I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is very nice. We have a big mastiff dog named Zippo. He weighs one hundred and forty pounds. He came from England when he was eighteen months old. He was raised by an earl. Perhaps it was Little Lord Fauntleroy's grandfather. I hope you will print this in your Letter-Box. Your Constant Reader, Bessie C.
Dear St. Nicholas: We have neither of us ever written to you before, but now we want to tell you something. We were seated at our desks in school, when the door opened and the principal entered, followed by four great Indians. None but the interpreter could speak English. They were dressed in citizens' clothes, so were not so interesting as they might have been. The next day several of us sent our albums to them, and the interpreter wrote the names of each, and then he whose name was signed, made his own cross underneath. Three of their names are: "Young Prophet." Your devoted readers, Ed. and Kittie.
Dear St. Nicholas: My age is twelve years, and I am so fond of my mother; so I must tell you how much we are all pleased with "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and his "Dearest" mother. My father is an Englishman, but we live in this country; we all love the Queen, and we have a very high regard for the President and this Government. My father has been a great fisherman, and has fished in many waters in this country; one time he caught a large pickerel, and the boy that was rowing the boat had no shoes on, so when the large fish was drawn in the boat it had its mouth wide open, and it slid to the boy's foot and came near decapitating his big toe. Another time he hooked a large rock fish, and it pulled him in the river, out of the boat, and he came near drowning. We all love the St. Nicholas, for the many, many pretty stories you give us. Now, "Dearest" No. 2, I will say good-bye. James Lardner H.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am reading the story of "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I like it very much. I do not like the grandpa very much; yet I think when the grandpa sees Lord Fauntleroy's mother, he will like her, and have her come up and live with them. From your friend, L. C. B.
Dear St. Nicholas: I often thought I would like to send you some of my poetry, and will inclose a piece that I composed last September, while sailing my boat at Barnegat. I am eleven years old, and have been writing poetry and stories for several years. I would be so much pleased to see this letter and poem printed in St. Nicholas, and if you do not like this poetry I could send you other pieces called "The Frisky Calf," "Blacksmith's Song," "Rivuletta," etc. Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas. Yours truly, Ellen N. L. The Fathomless Deep. Barnegat City, N. J., Sept. 11, 1885. "A Jewel":—Your little story is very clever, as the work of a girl of your age, and we should gladly print it in the Letter-Box if there were space for it. But we are sorry to say that we can not possibly make room for the story in our already over-crowded columns.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am an American boy, living in Paris; I do not like it much here. I have been to the Louvre several times since I have been here, and the delightful "Stories of Art and Artists" have a double interest, for when I go to the Louvre I can look for the works of artists mentioned in those stories. I have seen the picture of Mme. le Brun and her daughter there, and it is beautiful. I have seen also a good many of David's. I am eleven years old, and have two sisters and one brother, all younger than myself, and we all wait for you with impatience. I have taken you now for three years, and to part with you would be like parting with an old friend. "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is the nicest next to "Art and Artists," I think. I go to a school with over eleven hundred boys. I leave the house at ten minutes of eight, in the morning, and I do not get home until six at night. I hope you will print this, as it is my first letter. Now, with much love to you and the Little School-ma'am, I remain, Your constant reader, J. H. T. In the article in our last number, entitled "A Royal Fish," the author stated that in this country a salmon weighing fifty pounds was considered a very large one. But a correspondent now sends us the following item describing a salmon which weighed seventy-two pounds. No salmon of this weight, however, has ever been caught with a rod on the American side of the ocean. Here is the item: "Crowds of well-dressed people, men and women, went to Fulton Market yesterday and looked at an enormous salmon which was on exhibition. Mr. Blackford, to whom it belonged, had put a row of big strawberries along its back and stuffed green moss into its capacious mouth. The fish came from the Dalles, a noted fishing place on the Columbia River, Oregon. It measured fifty-two inches from its nose to the tip of its tail, was twelve inches broad, and weighed seventy-two pounds. It was caught in a net."
Dear St. Nicholas: I like you very much and most of all Sophie Swett and Frank Stockton and Miss Alcott and Mary Mapes Dodge. I am a little English girl, and I live in Hungary. We are going away in the spring, and father has gone already. Your loving reader, Kathleen Young.
Dear St. Nicholas: I feel I must add a few lines to my little daughter's note, to tell you that, as she is suffering from spinal complaint, she is obliged always to lie on her back; so to her—cut off from so many of the pleasures of stronger children—you are doubly welcome. Indeed, we all are very partial to you; your magazine has the distinction of being the most shabby book on our book-shelves. In our home, as no doubt in hundreds of others, you are a household word. Kathleen begs you, if you have room, to print her letter. With every good wish, very truly yours, Maria Young.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am eleven years old, and have been taking you for several years. I like you better than any other magazine. I have a brother twenty-one months younger than I am, and we look very much alike, and wear the same kind of clothes. He said he had a dream the other night, which he thought was very funny. He dreamed we were playing near the State Department, and a man told him not to get on the grass or he would whip him. After a while he dreamed that I came along and got on the grass, when the man caught me and whipped me by mistake, thinking I was my brother. He thought the dream was very funny, but I did not see the fun in it. Yours affectionately, Charles C.
Dear Old Saint: Although my brothers and I have taken you for nearly ten years, this is the first letter I have written you. I want to thank you for Mr. Stockton's valuable "Personally Conducted" series, and also for Mr. Scudder's "George Washington." Mr. Stockton's "Personally Conducted" makes me feel as if I had visited the places he describes. I am, and always shall be, an interested reader. Fred. J. S.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have been your constant reader since I was a very little girl, and you are still my favorite magazine, although I read many others. Last summer I tried a string house, but not as you described, for it is impossible to make morning-glories grow under a tree, as they need a great deal of sun. My house was shaped like a tent, with sloping sides, and outside of the morning-glories I planted a border of nasturtiums, but although I began it early, planted the seeds very thick, and took the greatest pains with it, it did not succeed, and I don't think I shall try it again, as the season here is probably too short. But I should advise any one who intends making a string house not to make it under a tree, but on a frame in the open ground. I think it is a great pity you don't come more than once a month (and I am sure all the rest of your readers will agree with me), I am so much interested in Mrs. Burnett's "Little Lord Fauntleroy." I hope you will have another paper on "Historic Girls" soon. I have no pets, as a great many of your readers seem to have, except a very small aquarium, but have in place of them three collections, which I have collected almost entirely myself, and am much interested in. The first, and most interesting to me, is one of birds' eggs, the second, moths, insects, and butterflies, and, last but not least, a small collection of minerals. I hope you will find room to print this, but I suppose it is hard to choose among all the letters that must be sent to you. Your constant reader, Amy R.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have never written you a letter before, but when I was looking over the letters in the St. Nicholas (for which I have lately become a subscriber) I didn't see any letter from Honolulu, so I thought I would write you one about the volcano in Hawaii, which you know is one of the Hawaiian Islands. Well, about three weeks ago we heard that the bottom of the volcano had fallen in. We were afraid that we would have some severe earthquakes or, perhaps, a tidal wave; some thought the Islands might all sink, but nothing of the kind has occurred. Mr. S——, a photographer, was the first to see it; he had been let down by ropes, and was standing on a ledge taking photographs of the crater. The volcano was unusually active. He took the photographs, and just as he was taking one he saw the whole thing caving in. First the bottom fell out and then the sides fell in, and down it all went, leaving nothing but a bottomless hole. No sooner was he hauled up than the ledge on which he had been standing fell in. Yours truly, Henry W.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for ten years. We stopped for one year, and we could not do without you, so we have commenced again. I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is a beautiful story. I have never seen a letter from this province before. I hope to see my letter in print. Your constant reader, Bessie G. T.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little boy from the South, and have only gone to school a few months; but as my mamma says I must some day be a Governor, and my grandma expects me to be a President, I will commence with St. Nicholas. I will be satisfied if I am ever as wise and good as was Mr. Paul Hayne, our poet, who died last summer. He had a splendid horse named Dick. Often, when he would ride out in the woods to compose a poem, he would take me with him if I would promise not to speak a word, and I know it was harder for me not to speak than for him to write the poem. Albert A. We acknowledge with many thanks the receipt of pleasant letters from the young friends whose names here follow: Raynor Brothers, Eva Campbell, Emma C. Tate, Cara Sanford, Bessie Bradenbaugh, L. C., May, "Harry's Mother," Bessie L. Lake, Ernst C. Bernbaum, Mary P. F., John Kelso, Annie Howard, Fawn Evans, Willie C. Hardy, Millicent R., Alice D. Leigh, George B. Stratton, Frank M. Crispin, Alfred B. Cushing, Flossie, Emily Innes, Reno Blackstone, Mollie Orr, Lottie E. W., Violet A., Maudie Brown, Florence H., Kitty Russell, M. S. R., Emma T., Eloise L. Derby, A. J. S., Grace F. Schoff, Maude Jackson, Fanny H. Murdock, Rosa R. A. & Rudie E. B., GeneviÈve D., Ettie Coombs, Roy Strong, Bertha Parsons, Maud T., Olive S. Stewart, Pansy O'Donnell, "Katisha," Cora Hoyt, Elizabeth K. Stewart, First Ward School, Charlotte Dennison, Dollie M. Brooks, Bessie Roberts, Anna D. W., Charles P. Clark, M. E. R., Matty J., Florence A., Florence V. Thorpe, Roland Wilber, Gertie Doud, Nellie & Ninita, Josie M. Merghau, A. B. Baylis, Jr., Audley & Ronald, Ella H. W., W. le bas T., Emma Willcutt, Dot, Evan, & Brooks, S., Lucy Hathaway, Lucy P. K., Kathleen, T. C., Constant Reader, Geraldine, Maud Elaine Caldwell, E. Parks, Amy H. Silvester, Winnie Galloway, Henry J. Parsons, Tryphosa, Theodosia, Tryphena Van——, E. C. N., Harry Armstrong, Charlie P. G., Beth M., Walter Bassett, W. L. Briscoe, Constance R., Nellie B. R., Emilie K., Wennie B. Dorrance, O. W. G., Dodey Smart, Mary & May, Duncan Kilborn, Annie Russell Anthony, and Minnie R. |
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