We have the pleasure of beginning the Letter-Box this month with five letters from the other side of the world. First of all, comes one sent from Clermont, France, by "Georgine and Sybille," whose letter is very charming and welcome even though they may not "yet write well English."

Clermont, France.

Dear St. Nicholas: If this will reach you but we don't know your addres. We have been having very pleasure to read you. We understant it better than much books in English. We think little Lord Fauntleroy very fine. If we tell you a fine tale you will print it? A fine dog lives in the village named Turc, he had hunger so he went to the chÂlet and pulled the cord with his patte, and when the domestique came she gave him to eat, and Turc goes all the days now and is given to eat. do you not think Turc is very clever? We are very sorry to terminate our letter, but we are fearful it be too long. You will give us very joy to print this. Mamma says we do not yet write well English.

Georgine and Sybille.

---

Boitsfort, Belgium.

Dear St. Nicholas: I receive your paper every month since November, when mother took it for a birthday present to me. I see that many children write to you. Perhaps you will publish my letter because it comes from a little Belgian girl. We live in a pretty place called Boitsfort, quite near Brussels, and quite near the ForÊt de Seignes, where we take pleasant rides, I on my pony, my brother and sister on the two donkeys. My brother Louis is nine, my sister Tata is six, and I am eleven. My cousin Helen, who is nineteen, traveled all over America last year with her father, and likes very much your country and the ways of the people there. She brought several papers for children, and we decided that St. Nicholas was the best; that's why mother gave it me. I hope I too will go once to the United States. Believe me, dear St. Nicholas, yours sincerely,

Alice Solvay.

---

San Remo, Italy.

Dear St. Nicholas: Some of your readers might like to know what an Italian peasant's house is like. On the ground floor the donkey lives, on the second and third floors the people live, and on the roof the chickens live.

If you wish to go and see them, you have to go up some narrow stairs that are very dark, but when you come out on the roof there is the most beautiful view of the quaint old town, with its red roofs, and the sky and sea. We went to walk to-day, and found violets, blue hyacinths, and daisies growing wild under the olive-trees.

I get my St. Nicholas from London, but I am a little American girl from Cleveland, Ohio.

Your loving reader,

Lily May Z.

---

Poland.

Dear St. Nicholas: I live at Warsaw in the winter. I am ten years old. I have nine dolls and a King Charles dog, named Beauty, and she has a great antipathy to music. I am Polish, and have been learning English for two years. Mamma takes you for me, and I like your stories much.

I hope this letter is not too long to print.

Ina Komar.

---

Prinkipo, Sea of Marmora, Turkey.

Dear St. Nicholas: I must tell you something about my life in Turkey. I am an English girl, about thirteen years of age. I have been living in Turkey for twelve years. In the summer we go to the country, to the Island of Prinkipo, in the Sea of Marmora. It is very small and pretty. We have great fun there in the summer. We go out sailing and rowing. There are a great many donkeys at Prinkipo; we often go out for rides on them. We generally go around the island, so you can imagine how small it is. It takes about one hour to ride around it on donkeys, and about one hour and a half to go around it on foot.

The people here are mostly Greeks. Of course there are some Turks and Armenians. At the back of the island there are the ruins of the monastery of the Greek Empress Irene, who lived a long time ago.

I will tell you a little story about the dogs of this place. In Constantinople and the villages near it, there are a great number of dogs. All these dogs have their own quarters, and quarrel very much with those of other quarters. At San Stephano, about two years ago, some wolves came down from the mountains, and then all these dogs united and chased the wolves right back to the mountains. And then they went home to their quarrels again. What I mean is, that although they had their differences amongst themselves, they were ready to join together against the wolves. I hope my letter will be good enough to interest the other little girls who write to you, and who have never lived in Turkey.

Your interested reader,

Muriel P.

---

Brooklyn.

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about our performance of your comedy for children, "Dicky Dot and Dotty Dick." We got it up in our Cozy Club. I was stage manager. I am ten years old. My sister Christine was Dotty. She is six. A little boy named Sidney was Dicky. He is six and a half. They both knew their parts perfectly, and did so well that everybody said it was too cute for anything, and I felt very much pleased. We all love St. Nicholas.

Geraldine.

---

Kansas City, Mo.

Dear St. Nicholas: I was wishing for you before Christmas, because all the girls at school say you are so interesting. I never had a hope of getting you. But what do you think! On Christmas, to my great surprise, among my presents was a St. Nicholas. I jumped around with glee. I sat down, left all my other presents, and commenced reading you. I am eleven years old. I think the covering of you very pretty. The picture in front is "Apollo, the god of the sun." I am very fond of mythology. Mamma is going to have my St. Nicholas bound when this year is out, and I am going to take you next year. Hoping this letter will be printed, I remain, your devoted reader,

Etta K.

---

Palisades.

Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the country, very high up on the Hudson River Palisades. The woods are all about us, and my nurse takes me to the edge of the great cliffs to look down on the shining river, and see the steamers and the lovely white sails far over on Long Island Sound.

We have a baby colt in the pasture with his mamma, whose name is Aniline, because her glossy coat shines in bright tints when the sun strikes it. The colt follows us about like a large dog. Papa has taught him not to be afraid.

At night when it grows dark, and I am undressed for bed, we hear Owen calling the cows, "Here, Dolly! Dolly! Here, Jenny! Jenny! Jenny!"

Then he sits down to milk them, and the three cats all gather around him, watching and waiting for a sip.

The katydids sing a great deal up here, and this is what Mamma has sung to me at bed-time, and you will guess from it, dear St. Nicholas, what my name is:

---

Fulton, Illinois.

Dear St. Nicholas: We have been taking you ever since you first started, and I can never tell you how we all love and admire every feature you possess.

I have two brothers and two sisters. My youngest brother is only seven, so you see we will have to take you several years yet.

Papa and Mamma read you almost as much as they read their grown-up magazines.

I live on a farm in the western part of Whiteside County, Illinois, about four miles from the Mississippi. We think it is a beautiful country here with the bluffs, trees, and farming lands on the bottoms. Our picture gallery is all outdoors. From your faithful reader,

D. E. H.

---

Woodmont, Conn.

Dear St. Nicholas: My Uncle gave you to me for my birthday present, and I like your pages very much; and I have two other friends that like you very much. I like the story named "Oh, Dear!" very much, and my sister liked the story "Davy and the Goblin." We have a very cunning cat, and we call it Blaine. I hope my letter will be printed, as it is the first one I ever wrote, and I am anxious to see it in the magazine.

Your little reader,

Avis N.

---

Hingham, Mass.

Dear St. Nicholas: I have written several letters before, but none of them have been printed; but I hope that this one will be. I have a very nice time here in summer. My home is within forty feet of the water. I have a boat, and can row, swim, dive or fish. I am just learning to ride on horseback. In the winter I live in Boston, and I have a governess to teach me algebra, English history, physiology, and the common branches, and I study French and Latin at Mrs. Newhall's. I have taken you for five years.

Elaina T.

---

Hartford, Conn.

Dear St. Nicholas: In one of your nice magazines last summer, you gave an account of how to make a string house. I thought it would be very nice to make one; so my sister and I tried it. We made it exactly according to the directions; it took us three whole days. We enjoyed reading and playing in it very much. We made a kind of porch in front, so as not to make it look so much like a tent.

We have been taking you ever since 1880, and we like you better than any other book. I think your best stories are, "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and "From Bach to Wagner."

Hoping you will print my letter, for my sister would not write—(she said you would not print it, but I hope to show her that you will) I remain,

Your devoted reader,

N. C.

---

New York.

Dear "St. Nick" (as you are nick-named among us): I have taken you ever since I was a very "small girl," and now, I am sorry to say, I am a very large one of eighteen. I am told that I ought to abandon dear old "S. Nick" for some "grown-up magazine," and I feel that it is indeed sad to grow old if giving up St. Nicholas is one of the penalties, which I shall take care that it shall not be. I have just fallen in love with "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I wish the "small boy" of the present day would copy after him, but I fear that would be too "pretty a state of things." I am afraid to keep on lest I lose the opportunity of seeing myself in print and of boring the readers of the Letter-box; so I shall close to avoid such a calamity.

Faithfully yours,

Yum Yum.

---

New Orleans.

Dear St. Nicholas: I am one of your constant readers, having taken St. Nicholas from the first number, and I do not think that a more interesting magazine for boys and girls can be found. I live in the quaint old Creole City of Nouvelle Orleans, as the Creoles call it. I was born here, and I expect to live here all my life. I do not think that you have any correspondents from New Orleans, at least I have seen none in the Letter-box, so I take the liberty of writing to you. I tell you, dear old St. Nick, it would do you good to come and see our Carnival here in March; many children are dominoed and masked in fearful and fantastic costumes. Rex, King of the Carnival, enters in grand procession the day before Mardi-Gras, usually coming up the river on a steamboat, gayly decked in bunting. All the military turn out to escort him to the Royal Palace. The artillery battalions salute him on the levee, and then he parades through all the principal streets. Generally there are three night processions—those of Momus, Comus, and Proteus—and they are gorgeous beyond description, and there is one day procession—that of Rex—which is also magnificent; there are also a great many Burlesque organizations—I. O. O. M. (Independent Order of the Moon), and the Phunny Phorty Phellows are the principal ones, I hope you will publish this, as I think it will interest the boy and girl readers of St. Nicholas; it is my first letter. I forgot to say that King Rex also parades the day after his arrival.

Your loving reader,

William S. P.

---

Newport, R. I.

Dear St. Nicholas: I have often wanted to write to you before, to tell you how much I like your stories. In the July number of 1885, there was a story in which the training-ship "New Hampshire" was mentioned. I liked the story very much, because I can see the "New Hampshire" from my window.

I am deeply interested in "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I liked Miss Alcott's Spinning-wheel Stories very much. I hope to see my letter in print.

Your constant reader,

Mamie S. W

---

Colorado.

Dear St. Nicholas: I live on a ranch in Colorado and I look forward every month with great pleasure for the St. Nicholas. I am going to tell you about a donkey we had once; we hitched him in a sled and tried to make him go, but he would not stir from home; after a little while we succeeded, and when we turned around he went like the wind, so that we could hardly hold him. The same afternoon he ran into a post and broke the sled to pieces.

We have coyotes here, and they kill our sheep. One day I saw the herd running as fast as they could, and what do you think was after them? A horrid coyote, which was so thin that it looked as if it was going to die from hunger. The coyote is not a brave animal; it will sneak around and kill sheep, but it will never fight dogs. This is the first letter I have ever written to a magazine. Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas. I am, ever your friend,

Ida R. F.

P. S.—I am eleven years old, and live eleven miles from a school. I have gained my education from reading St. Nicholas, and studying at home.

---

Buffalo, N. Y.

Dear St. Nicholas: In your February issue, there was a communication concerning "curve-pitching," and a diagram was used to explain why a ball curves in a certain direction.

I beg leave to call attention to what I believe to be a mistake in the explanation. The writer says that the curve must be "toward the retarded side." I think it must be from the retarded side; for, the ball while advancing is also revolving in a horizontal plane,—we will say from right to left.

In its rapid flight, the ball condenses the air in front and tends to form a vacuum behind, and the condensed air in front attempts to flow around the sides of the ball to fill the vacuum behind.

Now, in the diagram mentioned, the side B, the rotation of which conspires with the motion of translation, resists, by friction, the attempt of the air to flow back; while the side D, in which the motion of rotation is opposite to the motion of translation, offers no resistance to the air in flowing around its side. For that reason the ball meets with most resistance in front of B, and least in front of D. Hence, taking the direction of least resistance, it curves toward D or from the side of most resistance.

Very respectfully,

Elmer Storr.

---

"The Franklin," Washington, D. C.

My Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write and tell you how happy you have made me this winter. I am a little Washington girl, only ten years old, and have been spending the winter in Virginia for my health. It was very lonely there; and nothing interested me so much as your stories. The "Brownies" are so funny!

I am writing this from my home in Washington; but I must tell you what a hard time I had to get here. The steamer I was on was caught in a blinding snow-storm, and had to anchor in the Chesapeake Bay a whole day and night. Then, when we got nearly to Baltimore, a tug came to tell us that we could not get into Baltimore for the ice; so the steamer turned around and went back to Annapolis. From there I took the cars to Washington.

Good-bye. Your constant reader,

Julia Rock.

---

Sewickley, Pa.

Dear St. Nicholas: The following verbatim copy of a composition by an eleven-year-old boy will interest some of your readers by its originality. It is without suggestion or correction. W.

Dear Lunch Basket,
Do you like to carry lunch? I like to eat the lunches that you carry; sometimes you have better lunch than other times. I like it the best when you have chicken sallad in. I hope you do not ever take anything out of any other basket. I don't know very much to say to-day. Do you like a dog to carry you? I hope you will all ways have good lunches from this time on. Do you like the jam to run out of the bread on to you. I would not think you would, but I don't know what you would like. Would you rather be a boy?

H. B.

---

We heartily thank the young friends whose names here follow, for pleasant letters received from them: Bessie C. Ketchum, "Yum-Yum" and "Ko-Ko," A. M. L., Susie M., Winnie Jackson, Eddie D. Sherlock, Henry W. Armstrong, Jessie Overlin, Herman Nelson Steele, Estelle K. D., Mark Waterman, Bijou J. McKinnon, George A. Root, Catherine H. L'Engle, Bessie M. Rhodes, Rita C. Smith, Fullerton L. Waldo, Emmett Murray, Mabel H. Chase, Elizabeth B. Kelsey, "Bee," Meg R. M., Myra E. Smith, Dorothy E. B., Nattie, Beth and Cherrie, Florence Ames, Maurice S. Sherman, Maud R., Al. Robinson and Stuart Tatum, Mary A. Evans, P. B. Jennings, Herbert Cutting, Katie B. Baird, Georgie King, Clara, Florence and Ada, Constance P. G., Mabel Thompson, Alice Bussing, James G. R. Flemming, Nellie Montgomery, Blanche E. B., Leigh Hodges, "Isabel Conway," Annie R. F., Bertie Byers, Edith I.

Benedict, J. A. Bonsteel.

---