JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. THIS is February, the second month of the year. At least, so the almanacs have it; though I have heard that some ancient Roman king or other once actually made it come at the very end of the year. Well, the almanacs, or the Roman kings, or whoever arranges the months, may put February wherever they have a mind to, as long as they let alone the season and the weather, so that my boys and girls can have plenty of snow for coasting, and merry snow-ball battles. Why, it warms your Jack's heart, this nipping weather, to hear the shouts and laughter from the Red School-house youngsters, especially when the dear Little Schoolma'am's voice rings out above them, as it does sometimes. And the other day I actually saw quiet Deacon Green come full tilt down the white meadow, his umbrella open and held behind, and half a dozen tiny young rogues pelting him with snow-balls just as hard as they could! The good Deacon was laughing so, that he could n't have run at all if he had n't been going down hill. But now for my budget! than these which make the blue of the sky; andwell, the fact is, I'm not at all certain yet what to believe concerning these things. A THICK COVERING. WHILE we are talking about snow, let me tell you of a snow-fall that was a snow-fall. Your Jack has word about it through "J. A.," who says: "From October, 1877, to May, 1878, the snow fell in Cashmere, Northern India, with scarcely a stop, until it covered the ground to a depth of thirty to forty feet, crushing houses and even whole villages under its weight." That was a Cashmere wrap with a vengeance! Snow is good and beautiful and so forth; and it makes a clean, warm bed-quilt for some parts of the earth in winter; but there can be too much of a good thing, for all that. THE REAL AMERICAN EYE. DEAR JACK: I want to tell you what they say about us Americans here in France. The other day, Madame Claire and I were talking about a little girl who is cross-eyed. "Oh, yes," said Madame Claire," she has the real American eye!" Now, what do you think of that? I did n't think it was very polite, and I said: "Why, Madame Claire, it is not all Americans who look crookedly, like that." Then Madame Claire laughed. "Of course not," she said; "I did n't mean that, at all; but you Americans are just like this poor little girl, for when you come into a room, or go into a store, or when you are walking along the street, you look all around and see everyeyed people have the real American eye. thing when we don't know it. And that's why we say that crossAnd it is quite a compliment, I assure you." Well, perhaps it is; but I think it must be a real French compliment.-Truly yours, TAKING CARE OF THE RATS. A. C. D. YOUR Jack can't say he sets much store by rats himself, and he does n't know of any one else who feels very affectionate toward them, though, no doubt, they are splendid fellows as far as they go,"the farther the better," the timid Little Schoolma'am says! So, it's a real comfort to hear that in Japan at least they are well thought of and properly cared for. At any rate, it seems they are; for I'm told that the builders of houses in that country always make plenty of neat square holes in the walls of the rooms, for the convenience of the pampered creatures, and to save their teeth. MULES THAT "COAST." DEAR MR. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Did you know that there are mules that coast? Well, there are, in Ecuador, South America; but they do not coast on snow, only on slippery hill-sides made ready for the purpose. The mules are trained to slide down-hill, and the better they can slide the more valuable they become for traveling among the mountains. When a mule reaches a good sliding-place, he puts his front feet in a slanting position, and his hind feet close together, the legs bent as if he meant to lie down. Then, off he slides, swaying his body to suit the curves in the road, and keeping his balance just right,-if only the rider does not check him. But if the rider should try to guide or interfere with his mule, there would most likely be a turn over, with more bruises than fun. -Your friend, A DEADLY RING. W. HERE is a true elephant story for you from an American missionary, who once lived among the Dutch Boers of Natal, for seven years. He saw the ivory, and believes the story: One afternoon, about four o'clock, three Dutchmen were out hunting, and came upon a large herd of elephants. They fired at the leader, and instantly the entire herd fled. The leader rushed on and on, thinking he was on the right track to escape; but the elephants were in a valley and only ran round and round it, in a circle perhaps three hundred yards in diameter, and were shot down from four o'clock in the afternoon until eight in the evening, when darkness prevented the Dutchmen from taking aim any longer. But the three men rose at break of day, and found the poor elephants still going round and round. It was several hours before a new leader, breaking out of the beaten track, led off the remainder of the herd in safety. The Dutchmen, whose names were Botha, and This time, I knew that no one but myself could have been near the lace. How then could it have disappeared? I put away my sewing, and for five minutes steadily gazed at the pieces left. Somebody in the house called out, and I glanced around. As I turned my eyes forward again, what should I see sailing away in the air, a few yards from me, but a picce of the precious lace, trailing from the beak of a robin! I soon found that it was the same saucy fellow who had taken all the pieces, and that he had tried to make his little home beautiful with them. The lace was spoiled when we found it, for Robin had torn it Potgeiter, two being brothers, counted the slain. Ninety elephants lay dead in the valley; and as their valuable tusks of ivory were divided equally among the three Dutchmen, you can believe that each man's share was considerable. ANOTHER "HOUSE BEAUTIFUL." EVERYBODY has heard about the rage for making houses beautiful, but who would have thought it had gone so far as the following bit of true news would seem to show? DEAR JACK: One day, not long ago, I washed a number of pieces of very fine lace, and left them spread out on the lawn. Presently, I went to look at them, so as to be sure they were all right, for they were valuable. One, two, three pieces were gone! Yet there were no fresh tracks on the lawn and paths, and, when ANIMALS THAT NEVER DRINK WATER. only animal known which does not drink water. DEAR JACK: Some years ago, I read that the prairie dog is the Yesterday, I saw in Cumming's "South African Life," that the gemsbok or oryx never by any chance tastes water; and this morning, I find, in the same work, that the eland, too, and the druiker can do without this fluid. All these species of antelope thrive and come to high condition in barren regions, the parched karroos and arid desert,-where the climate is burning and the distances between watering-places are very great; but will not somebody tell us for sure whether or not these animals really do without any water at all? S. W. K. THE LETTER-BOX. OUR FRONTISPIECE.-Very few boys and girls either in England or America need to be told even the title of the superb frontispiece given this month, for the sad story of the Princes in the Tower is one of the most familiar in English history. In fact, writers and artists of other nations have made it their theme, and children in many parts of the world have shaken their heads sorrowfully over the fate of these two English boys. Delaroche, a Frenchman, painted a very fine picture, an engraving of which, from our first volume, is here reprinted, so that you may compare it with the picture by the English painter, Millais, which opens this present number of ST. NICHOLAS. Delaroche evidently had the sad story in his heart. He may or may not have loved England; but he certainly loved these two English cavalcade, and thought it a fine thing to be a prince. Their mother called the boys Edward and Richard; but Edward being the elder, -though only thirteen years of age,-was His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, rightful heir to the English throne; and Richard, his brother, a boy of eleven, was known as the Duke of York. "Yes, many a boy and girl looked almost with envy that day upon the two royal children, and wondered how it felt to be the son of a king and lord of a nation. "But the men and women who looked on thought of something very different. They shook their heads and whispered their misgivings to one another. "It was dreadful, they said; such brave, beautiful, noble lads, too; and their father hardly cold in his grave-poor, dear things! Now lads, else how could he have so painted them, that stout men feel like sobbing when they look at the wonderful picture? It hangs to-day in the gallery of the Louxembourg, in Paris; and every day groups of pitying children stand before it, feeling not at all as the children did who saw the princes ride by in state, nearly four hundred years ago. Four hundred years ago! We already have told the story briefly in these pages-how the two noble boys traveled with royal pomp from Ludlow Castle to London. "An escort of two thousand horsemen rode with them; and although the boys, having just lost their father, King Edward IV., were dressed in sober black, hundreds of happy children who saw them pass looked with delight at the grand the princes would be in the power of their uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, the wickedest, cruelest and most powerful nobleman in all England. But for these boys, in all their pride of youth, his grace of Gloucester might be king himself! "Ah, who could say what might happen! "English history tells us what happened: how the wicked Duke of Gloucester pretended at first to be all loyalty and kindness; how he wrote a letter of condolence to the queen mother, and set off from Scotland, where he was commanding an army, to be present, he said, at his dear nephew's coronation; and how, with fair words and treachery, he placed the Prince in the Tower of London, where 'he would be safer than anywhere else, until the grand ceremony should take place;' how he afterward took the little Duke of York from his sobbing mother and put him, too, in the dreary Tower; and how "But you see them in Delaroche's picture. They are together; that is some comfort. Their chamber is grandly furnished, but it is in a prison. Not the Prince of Wales, nor the Duke of York, now, but two heart-sick, terrified boys, who every moment dread-they hardly know what. If they only could feel their mother's arm around them once again! They have prayed and prayed, and they have cried until they can cry no more, and, with breaking hearts, they have straightened themselves proudly with the thought that they are the sons of a king, when suddenly they hear a footstep outside- !" It seems to us that Mr. Millais has painted them as they stood at this moment,-erect, heroic, but with suspense and terror in their beautiful faces. It is dreadful to look at them, dreadful to think of what is so soon to happen-. To-day, visitors at the Tower of London halt on the gloomy stone stair-way, and look at each other with a shudder, for at the foot of the stair-way the murdered Princes were buried. It is not only to the painters Delaroche and Millais that we are indebted for the present pictures. The art of engraving was needed to transfer the spirit of their work to these pages. And wonderfully have the engravers done their part. Our frontispiece, the Princes in the Tower, was engraved on wood by Mr. Kruell after a very fine mezzotint print copied from Mr. Millais' original painting; so, you see, two kinds of engraving have been called into service. The large print has a history in itself which is worth telling, not only in justice to the London Fine Art Society, who kindly have allowed us to copy it for your pleasure, but because to hear it will give you an idea of the importance and mercantile value of a good engraving. In the first place, the picture itself was painted by Mr. Millais especially for the society, for £3,000 or $15,000; then, at Mr. Millais' request, Mr. Samuel Cousins of London undertook to engrave it Our boys undoubtedly will take an interest in the following extracts which we have been allowed to make from a private letter. There are a few allusions in it which may puzzle our young readers; but it at least will give them some idea of the recent and future work of the famous explorer and of his present whereabouts. I Banana Point, Congo River, S. W. Coast of Africa, Sept. 15, 1879. MY DEAR .: I write another letter to you,-one of farewell before turning my face for the interior of the Dark Continent once again. In February I wrote and informed you that I was bound to Zanzibar. A few days after, I was en-route in the character-unofficially-of what you might call an ambassador. was charged with an Autograph letter, a Portrait of the King of the Belgians in diamonds, and a mitrailleuse with its equipments, to deliver them to Barghash, Prince of Zanzibar, Pemba, and the Eastern Main, as gifts from King Leopold. A steamer was chartered to take me. I had a good deal of other work to do, -to initiate some Belgian officers in the art of Exploration, who were about setting out to explore some new fields personally, and to examine several ports on the Eastern Coast. was received everywhere with much kindness. When these various matters had been attended with success, I took my steamer and came round by the Mediterranean in July, and down by the West Coast of Africa, to this Africa, to begin a special mission of great importance here. The steamer" Albion," having attended me eight months, is now being discharged, and I take this opportunity of sending my letter to you, just to satisfy you that I still think of my friends. My Expedition is encamped some ninety miles up the river on the south side, and consists of fifteen Europeans and some two hundred natives. We are not up to our full strength yet, but I hope before long I shall have a couple of hundred more. I shall be absent from civilization probably three years, if not more. -I remain, most faithfully yours, HENRY M. STANLEY. J. S. I., and Others.-Letters from our young correspondents, on strictly personal subjects, cannot be answered in the "Letter-Box.' The matter in this department is intended to be interesting to our readers in general. THE author of the dog story in the present number writes about it as follows: The sketch entitled "A Faithful Friend" is a genuine though inadequate tribute of sincere affection and gratitude to the memory of But the engraver was destined to receive what by an English subject might be considered a still greater compliment. Soon came a letter to the Society from Marlborough House, the residence of the Prince of Wales, telling how much His Royal Highness liked the engraving. To the present Prince of Wales, this beautiful engraving showing the Prince of Wales of those troubled times must have a peculiar interest, apart from its merits as a work of art, when he recalls his own happy childhood in the noble English home which has so endeared Queen Victoria to her people. Of course, the first and finest impressions, known as "Artist's Proofs," were all bought up almost before the engraving was published, and then came sales so large that they surprised even the Society that had been willing to pay more than $8,000 for the engraving alone. The people have been all the more anxious to buy these engravings from the fact that Mr. Cousins, who is now in his eightieth year, has refused to engrave the companion-picture of "The Princess Elizabeth" writing the account of her last interview with her father Charles I. (which has just been completed for the Society by Mr. Millais) at any price, as he is rapidly losing his eyesight. It is very bad news that so fine an engraver as Mr. Cousins is in danger of blindness, but, on the other hand, it is a happy thing that a man seventy-nine years of age should have powers so keen and a hand so steady as to be able to do a piece of work like the "Princes in the Tower." the best dog I ever knew or heard of, who lived, died, and lies buried at our place on the Highlands of the Navesink. I have not done justice to his intelligence, courage and devotion, especially as shown at the time of the fire. In trying to tame down the narrative, I've made it weak, when it should be strong, intense and dramatic. The story is true, and ten times more. J. V. SEARS. 66 DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been puzzling for a long time over the pronunciation of Sol. Eytinge, jr.'s, name. One of us calls it Eye-tinge," and the other "E-tinge." We have no doubt that they both are wrong, but in the casual mention of his name we should like to be correct; and if you will please be so kind as to answer through the "Letter-Box" and give us the correct pronunciation, we shall be very much obliged.-Your constant readers, MARGARET SEABURY and H. M. HOWELL. The surname of the artist, Sol. Eytinge, jr., is pronounced as if spelled Et-ting. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you a story which I lately told to my three little ones. They often ask for it, and seem to like it so much that I thought some of your young readers might like to read it. My children call it "Papa's Sheep Story," and here it is: "When I was twelve years of age, my parents lived on a large farm in Ohio, near Cleveland, and in the winter my father used to haul a load of hay or wood or apples into the city nearly every day, when the weather was fine. One day, he started long after the usual time, and told me that, as he could not return until a late hour at night, I must do all the chores, and be very particular to feed and count the sheep in the south brush-lot.' "During the day, a heavy snow-storm set in, and it began to grow dark soon after I got home from school. While I was doing the chores, the driving storm and gathering darkness tempted me to think it would n't matter much if the sheep went without their supper for once, and that father would never know I had n't counted them. Well, just as I was starting to go to the house, my father unexpectedly drove into the great barn, and at once asked me, 'Did you feed the sheep, Edward' ? "It was no time to falter: so, fearing to be sent to the south brushlot, which was nearly half a mile distant and bounded on three sides by a dense forest, which we boys thought was filled with bears as large as elephants,-I promptly replied Yes, sir.'" At this point, I see knowing looks exchanged among my children. "Where did you find them'? was the next question. I felt I had done wrong in telling this story, but thought it would not do to back out then, so I answered, 'In the little grove, just beyond the hollow.' "Did you count them? he asked, after a pause. "Yes, sir, there were thirty-six. I counted them over three or four times, and I'm sure they 're all right,' said I. "As my father said no more for a few moments, I felt sure that my straightforward answers had convinced him. "Presently he said, Edward, go and open the cow-shed door and then come and tell me what you see there.' I did as he said, andwhat do you think I saw ? "My father had forgotten to turn the sheep out in the morning, and they had been in that cow-shed all day!" "Oh! oh! oh!" cry the three little ones, perched on my knee. "Come here to me,' said my father; and I will teach you to be more truthful in future.' I went to him, and he taught me. "Now, children, do you really think that Papa deserved to be punished?' Triumphal chorus from all three, "Yes! yes! yes!" E. A. P. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read about the colony of musk rats, and how fierce they are. Last summer, when I was on the sea-shore, I saw one chase a young man along a wooden pier extending 128 feet out into the water, and only the width of a single plank. It was pretty difficult for the young man to run over this narrow pier. At the end of the pier the young man jumped into a boat, which was there, and sprang up on the mast, and the rat tried to spring upon him; but he kicked it off with his feet, and, reaching down, got his father's shot-gun and shot it. EDDIE GWYNNE (9%1⁄2 years). THIS little verse comes from an eight-year old: WINTER. A SNOW FLAKE FALLS ANOTHER TILL THE BOYS MAKE SNOW BALLS. AND WHEN THE SUN COMES OUT IN SPRING THE BOYS WILL SAY SHAW, BECAUSE THE SNOW AND ICE WILL THAW F. H. nest was spoiled; so we put a box in one corner of the piazza, and, as soon as it was put up, they went in. Soon the little ones were hatched, and we could hear them call for food when their Mamma went away. The Papa was very tame, and sat on the hanging baskets and sang lovely. We have two dogs, called Shep and Flora, who pick blackberries all alone. Is n't that funny?-From your loving readers, P. S.-Our dogs eat caramels, too. FLORRIE AND TEENIE VAN FRAUDEN. In the present number (pages 320 and 321) is an article on some "Snow-Sports" which quiet girls and boys may find more to their taste than boisterous "Snow-ball Warfare," as described and illustrated in the January number by Mr. Daniel C. Beard. He originated also the methods of building the snow-hut and forming the statues described this month, besides making the pictures of them. Richmond, Mass. DEAR ST NICHOLAS: I must tell you about our Mary; she is the youngest of four, and very small. When your magazine comes, Grandma gives it to her; she very seriously receives it, marches into the parlor, closes the door, looks over all the pictures,-she cannot read one word,-and, when she has finished, walks into the nursery, saying: "Now, children, you can take the book; I've done with it!" One day, a relative asked her: "May, do I look like Grandma, or like Auntie?" She inspected the lady very gravely, and then said: "Why, 'oo look like 'ooself."-Cordially your friend, HELEN L. B. J. C. AMBROSE sends us the following copy of a boy's garden account. It is very frank, and the boy must have been honest, although his success was not great. MY GARDEN'S ACCOUNT. Dr.-Debtor. M. H.'s question in the August "Letter-Box" is answered by several young correspondents to the effect that, as there were fewer people in ancient times, they could be distinguished well enough by one name apiece; but, in the course of time, when there got to be many persons bearing the same name, their neighbors distinguished them by adding to their original names some words telling of the place they came from, their father, their color, or personal appearance, their occupation, and so on; as. John of York, which soon was shortened to John York; Robert Richard's Son, contracted to Robert Richardson; and so, too, we have William Little, Benjamin Long, John Brown, Alfred Carpenter, James Baker. This process, and the changes that happened to the names in passing from mouth to mouth for generations, account for the origin of most of our surnames. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here are two drawings of a puzzle. You have to try to draw a figure like the first picture, without once taking your pencil off the paper. The second picture shows how you can do it; by beginning at a point of the large triangle and drawing first two A A of its lines; the rest follow easily, when you look at the picture, but my little sister tried a long while and had a deal of fun before she found out the way. Please ask your other readers to try it on their little brothers and sisters.-Yours truly, R. H. W. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We tried Fiddie B. Belcher's receipt for caramels in the March number for 1877, and it was splendid, only we did n't put in so much butter. We are two little girls, and we are big for our ages. We lived at Lake Mahopac for the summer. It is a pretty place. Our house was near the water. When we went there, two little wrens tried to build their nest in one of the awnings. But, every time the awning was put down, the Spade, hoe and rake (paid by Pa).. Repairs after that bonfire (paid by Pa) Loss to other Pas.. Spading (about 2 days of Pa's time) Cost of seeds (paid by Pa) $2.00 7.00 3.50 0.50 1.50 Time spent in planting (that's me, 5 days, after school hours). 2.50 Time spent looking after garden (that 's me, too,) 5 minutes every day for 4 months at 5 cts. a time Fun missed by garden work (that's me) Wear and tear of mind in worrying about rain and such. Big sister's time picking lettuce and shooing off neighbors' Radishes and lettuce (being half scratched up and the rest not coming to much, and mother being real good, I threw them in for love).... $0.00 Peas in the pod (waited, of course, till they got ripe; carried Ma Melons (counted big on them, and when they got ripe, asked |