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Nelson C. Munson Helen M. Bailey

Marion Roper

VERSE, I

Nellie Adams
Phoebe S. Lambe
Doris N. Chew

Lucile B. Beauchamp
Coralie Austin
George M. Enos
Mary F. Williams
Mollie Crandall
Elsie L. Lustig
Hazel K. Sawyer
Lucy A. Mackay
Joan Waterlow
Weare Holbrook
Eleanor Michnun
Vernie Peacock
Delma V. George
Marian Shaler
Clifton J. Furnas
Reneé Geoffrion
Bertha E. Walker
Josephine N. Felts
Mary Smith

Elizabeth Kieffer
Elizabeth Eltinge
Katherine Bull
Laura Hales

Pattie Martin

Eleanor K. Newell
Leigh Hanes
Marion Dale
Margaret Finck
Lois Adams
Jeannette Ridlon
Ellen L. Hoffman
Gladys H. Meldrum
Kathryn Turner
Sarah M. Bradley
Gordon K. Chalmers
Betty Humphreys
Eleanor Johnson

VERSE, 2

Isabelle B. Hill Florence Cannon Alice McElwee Frances Struller Georgene Davis Ethel Litchfield Dorothy H. Mack Ella Loughridge Coxey H. Ford Joseph F. Scott

DRAWINGS, 1

E. Theo. Nelson
Jean McPherson
Alison M. Kingsbury
Jane B. Yeatman
Nellie L. Leach
Lily Madan

Maxine Durant
Edward E. Verdier
Earl A. Garard
Lucy F. Rogers
Harry Sutton, Jr.
Marian W. Vaillant
Dorothy Ward
Lois Myers

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ROLL OF THE CARELESS

A LIST of those whose contributions were not properly prepared, and could not be properly entered for the competition:

NOT INDORSED. Fred Burgey, Helen Yeatman, Mildred Murray, Stephanie Marcinkowski, Hester A. Emmet, Caroline Tyson, Elizabeth Doremus, Rebecca Johnson, Walter J. Freeman, Jr., James Sheean, Sarah Tatum, A. Schweizer, Mary Markey, Doris M. Blamires, Helena Gray, Peyton Richards.

LATE. Wilfred Cresswell, Amelka Czosnowska, Victor Carrara, Mabel P. Brewis, Maureen G. Husband, Ruth Farrington, Thompson Blackburn, Catheleen Trask, Helena Gray, Edna Campbell, Hattie G. Sampson, Fred Mitchell, Robert R. McIlwaine, Serena E. Hand, Alma R. Kehoe.

INSUFFICIENT ADDRESS. Robert McLees, Augustus L. Putnam, Wilhelmina Ruperti, Verona M. Hess, Eleanor Kohn, Margaret Leathes.

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PRIZE COMPETITION No. 156

THE ST. NICHOLAS League awards gold and silver badges each month for the best original poems, stories, drawings, photographs, puzzles, and puzzle answers. Also, occasionally, cash prizes of five dollars each to gold-badge winners who shall, from time to time, again win first place.

Competition No. 156 will close October 10 (for foreign members October 15). Prize announcements will be made and the selected contributions published in ST. NICHOLAS for February.

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. Subject, "The Call of the Wild," or, "My Valentine." Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred words. Subject, "My Favorite Character in Fiction— and Why."

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted; no blue prints or negatives. Subject, "A Flying Start."

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. Subject, Strangers," or a Heading for February.

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Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the answer in full, and must be indorsed.

Puzzle Answers. Best, neatest, and most complete set of answers to puzzles in this issue of ST. NICHOLAS. Must be indorsed and must be addressed as explained on the first page of the "Riddle-box." Wild Creature Photography. To encourage the pursuing of game with a camera instead of with a gun. The prizes in the "Wild Creature Photography" competition shall be in four classes, as follows: Prize, Class A, a gold badge and, three dollars. Prize, Class B, a gold badge and one dollar. Prize, Class C, a gold badge. Prize, Class D, a silver badge. But prize-winners in this competition (as in all the other competitions) will not receive a second gold or silver badge. Photographs must not be of "protected" game, as in zoological gardens or game reservations. Contributors must state in a few words where and under what circumstances the photograph was taken.

Special Notice. No unused contribution can be returned by us unless it is accompanied by a self-addressed and stamped envelop of the proper size to hold the manuscript, drawing, or photograph.

RULES

ANY reader of ST. NICHOLAS, whether a subscriber or not, is entitled to League membership, and a League badge and leaflet, which will be sent free. No League member who has reached the age of eighteen years may compete.

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed as "original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must be convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not copied, but wholly the work and idea of the sender. If prose, the

number of words should also be added. These notes must not be on a separate sheet, but on the contribution itself— if manuscript, on the upper margin; if a picture, on the margin or back. Write or draw on one side of the paper only. A contributor may send but one contribution a month-not one of each kind, but one only. The St. Nicholas League,

Address:

Union Square, New York.

BOOKS AND
AND READING

BY HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE

WILD PLACES OF AMERICA

I'VE Sometimes wondered who it was that first thought of living in cities; especially when I have just got back to one after long weeks in the freedom of the woods and hills, the secret wild places of summer and autumn, to find myself again in the clangor and dust of town. Why, I think, do people take so much trouble to build walls that shut one in, when it is so much nicer without them? In fact, if that inventor of city life were before me, he might hear some uncomplimentary things in regard to his taste, and all it has brought upon us.

Of course he could find plenty to retort, for cities are crowded with a number of useful and admirable objects; with vast numbers of nice persons, of splendid shops, and theaters, and schools, and restaurants, and what not of the handsome, even the indispensable. Nevertheless, I feel as though I could look forward quite calmly to the finish of cities, at least as places in which to live. Nice for visiting and for seeing pictures and friends and hearing music in, but not so good for staying in.

Just now most of you are coming home from vacations in all sorts of spots by sea and lake and river, mountain camp or country farm-house, back to your city and town homes; coming back with quantities of lovely memories, plenty of tan, and stronger muscles, cramful of all the energy and joy of the out-of-doors. And I feel sure that during the long October evenings, after the sun has set red behind the housetops, you will like to snuggle down with a book that will continue your summer memories, will take you out on the long trail of adventure under the open sky, seat you by camp-fires in forest nights, and keep you a while longer in the company of nature.

There are many such books, and some are better than others; and among the very best and most delightful is "Wild Life on the Rockies," by Mr. Enos A. Mills. It would be a great pity for any out-door-loving boy or girl to miss this book. And since I cannot believe that there exists any boy or girl who does n't love outdoors, that amounts to saying that every one of you should read it.

Mr. Mills has spent many years wandering among the Rocky Mountains all alone. Winter after winter, he went tramping the lonely and

splendid heights, traveling on snow-shoes, carrying no arms, just a folding ax, some raisins, no bedding, and a few candles which helped him to make a fire in strong winds and storms, when his hands were numb with cold. Usually he tried to make some hunter's or miner's hut before nightfall, but often he spent nights alone in the snow, sleeping at intervals, feeding his eager fire to keep from freezing, gathering wood by the dim reflected light of the stars. Sometimes the mountain-lion screamed, sometimes a chickadee chirped to its companion. "Even during the worst of nights," says Mr. Mills, "when I thought of my lot at all, I considered it better than that of those who were sick in houses or asleep in the stuffy, deadly air of the slums."

One winter he walked "On the upper slopes of the 'Snowy' range of the Rockies, from the Wyoming line on the north to New Mexico on the south . . a long walk full of amusement and adventure." If you want to find out how long, look at your map; but remember it was "full of ups and downs," sometimes dropping as low as seven thousand feet above sea-level, occasionally climbing to twice that height.

There are fourteen different tales in the book, each one of which is a treat. There is the wonderful account of the Thousand-Year-Old Pine, that stood near the Mesa Verde of the CliffDwellers. There is the extraordinary adventure of a Watcher on the Heights, when an electrical storm played havoc with Mr. Mills-in old times, people would have thought that gnomes and witches were at their sport, and the mountain would ever after have been called haunted. Then, too, there is the delightful story of "Scotch," the dog who was Mr. Mills's devoted comrade for many years, and who merits having a whole book written about him, if this short chapter is a fair sample.

And listen to this about a camp-fire:

I wish every one could have a night by a camp-fire-by Mother Nature's old hearthstone. When one sits in the forest within the camp-fire's magic tent of light, amid the silent sculptured trees, there go thrilling through one's blood all the trials and triumphs of our race. The blazing wood, the ragged and changing flame, the storms and calms, the mingling smoke and blaze, the shadow-figures that dance against the trees, the scenes and figures in the

fire, with these, though all are new and strange, yet you feel at home once more in the woods. A camp-fire in the forest is the most enchanting place on life's highway by which to have a lodging for the night.

Boys, is there one of you whose heart does n't thump a hearty "Yes" to that?

If you want an idea of what a walk in winter among the Rockies can be, read the bit that tells of the round trip from Estes Park to Grand Lake. There was n't anything from lions and bears to avalanches and tumbles over precipices left out of that jaunt, which Mr. Mills described as the most adventurous and entertaining short tramp he ever took.

Another book that will take you far into the wilderness is "The Lure of the Labrador Wild," by Dillon Wallace. It is an account of a disastrous but glorious expedition made by the author under the leadership of Leonidas Hubbard, with a half-blood Cree Indian for guide, called George Sheldon. A splendid man he proved to be, without whose faithful help the writer would have died in the wilderness, as was the fate of poor Hubbard.

It is a different book from the other, for it is full of hardships, desperate, lonely wanderings in rags and starvation, with the icy Labrador winter for bitter company. But how brave a tale it is, and how one learns to love the three men who fought so fine a losing battle!

In his preface, Mr. Wallace says:

The writing of the story was a work of love. I wished not only to fulfil my last promise to my friend to write the narrative of this expedition, but I wished also to create a sort of memorial to him. I wanted the world to know Hubbard as he was, his noble character, his devotion to duty, and his faith, so strong that not even the severe hardships he endured in the desolate North, ending with his death, could make him for a moment forget the simple

truths that he learned from his mother on the farm in old Michigan. I wanted the young men to know these things, for they could not fail to be the better for having learned them; and I wanted the mothers to know what men mothers can make of their sons.

It is a true story, for the ill-fated Hubbard expedition is a part of history. And it is as dramatic and touching a story as ever man wrote down. What is it that draws men to undertake such perils, that sends them far from friends and home into the grim wilderness? You can guess, in reading this book, and come to understand how Mr. Wallace has returned alone since, and finished what Hubbard began.

But by no means is all the book sad. On the contrary, most of it is full of fun and high spirits, full of adventurous youth and of the generous ardor of men bound together for noble achievement. There are many wonderful and beautiful things told of the great, desolate country, and of the people, white, and Indian, and half-blood, who live in it. It is only at the end,

when the three friends are forced to separate, that the tragedy comes.

Certainly these two books show you men it is worth while to meet, if only in the pages of a book. They both tell of a simple endurance of hardship, a steadfast courage, cheer in difficulties, heroic physical effort, and a manly joy in danger; tell, too, many secrets of the wilder-. ness, give you lovely pictures of natural things, reveal the habits of animals-and are stories that thrill you from cover to cover.

There is a good deal to America, as you know, and fortunately most of it is very far, indeed, from any cities. Another magnificent stretch of country is the Yosemite, and if you get J. S. Chase's book, "Yosemite Trails," you will learn a great deal about this wonderful valley in a most delightful way, for Mr. Chase writes with the charm and interest of the true enthusiast. He tells about the lesser known portions, the wilder forests and hidden lakes. But he does not neglect the age-old trees, the famous falls, and domed heights. What days and nights of jolly travel and adventure and splendid sights! What camps, what moons and suns! It will make you all anxious to get there for yourselves, and I hope that is just what you will do; I certainly. intend doing it, some fortunate summer.

Now for one more book, and that, too, about the Rockies. This one is by an Englishman who came here to see what we could do in the way of wild ways and wild scenes, after he had been pretty much over the rest of the world. The book is called "Camps in the Rockies," and the author's name is William A. Baillie-Grohman. The book is as fresh as a mountain wind, full of ranchers, cow-boys, and Indians, of good stories and anecdotes, of a clean delight in the life, and a thorough appreciation of the people who lived it. The author went around a good bit, and saw the West very completely. He tells about the different aspects of the country, and the way the Indians live, and how the cow-boys make things hum.

These four books will do for the present. They have a whole winter's enjoyment in them, for you want to read them slowly, and get thoroughly acquainted with the men who wrote them, as well as with the stories themselves. Men who have little use for cities, to be sure, but who can find their way across mountain and desert by the stars, follow the trail of bear and lion, camp alone and comfortable where most of us would die of fright and exposure, and who know many things it is good and wise to know.

MEDINA, OAXACA, MEX. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You were a birthday present to me, and a mighty good one, too.

I am away down in the jungles of Mexico, where there is not much to do; so my mother thought you would be a nice present for me.

We live in a colony with about seventy-five Americans. There is a little school, of which my mother is the teacher, a hotel, three Mexican stores, and a little depot.

The vegetation is queer down here. We hardly ever see a tree without parasitic plants all over the limbs, and the roots hanging down look like vines. The jungle is as thick as that of Africa. I have never seen the jungles of Africa, but I think this is about as thick.

We have many fruits down here, and I like most of them. We have oranges, lemons, limes, bananas, papaya, mango, figs, cumquats, and pineapples. The papaya is rich in pepsin. Our pineapples weigh as much as sixteen pounds.

I am your faithful reader,

HELEN COSTIGAN (age 12).

HAVELOCK NORTH, N. Z. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a New Zealand girl, and live in a little country town called Hastings. I did not know you were in the world till I came to school. I saw a volume as far back as 1894. We also have a farm where there are lots of wild horses, sheep, cattle, and lots of rabbits. We often go out shooting them. I can shoot and ride, and everybody at school nicknamed me "Indian." A river runs right through the farm, and it is eating into the land. Father had to get the men to back up the bank with willows. I guess you don't get many letters from New Zealand. I hope I will some day visit America.

I am twelve years old, and have got a brother eight years and a sister three years.

Much love from your little colonial friend, SHEILA MCLEOD. GRINNELL, Ia. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I don't know what I should do without you. You have so many nice and interesting stories. You were a Christmas present to me from my papa. I have just been reading the letters in the January number. It seems so nice that the little children over in Italy and Holland can enjoy you as well as the children in America. I was much interested in the story, "The Lady of the Lane," and all of the other nice stories which have appeared in the ST. NICHOLAS. Your new and faithful reader,

HELEN E. JOHNSON (age 11).

NEWPORT, VT.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Vermont, and I love it more than anything else I know of. Newport is on Lake Memphremagog, which is about thirty miles long, but only about six miles of it are in Vermont. The rest is in Canada. It is a very beautiful lake, and it is well named, for Memphremagog is the Indian name for beautiful water.

Owl's Head, I think, is the prettiest mountain in sight. It is about ten miles down the lake, and looks like the head of an Indian with his face turned to the sky. This is how it came to be called Owl's Head: a tribe of St. Francis Indians used to come to this lake for fish every summer, and they camped at the foot of

the mountain. The chief of this tribe was called the "Old Owl." One day a part of the tribe fished down at this end of the lake. Toward night, when they were going home, one of the Indians said, as he looked up at the mountain, "See the Old Owl. He has turned his face to the sky." This meant that the chief was dead, and when they reached the camping-place, they found that he had been killed; so, in memory of him, it has always been called the Owl's Head. This is the legend as I remember it.

I am very fond of ST. NICHOLAS, and the stories I think I like best are the continued ones. I look forward very eagerly to reading you every month. Your loving reader,

DORIS E. EMERY (age 14).

SOUTH ORANGE, N. J. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought it might interest you to hear about a door-panel we made for the closet door in my room. We cut the pictures from the ST. NICHOLAS covers, and mounted them on dark blue cambric, arranging them according to the months and the sports appropriate to them. It makes a very attractive panel, and I always keep my closet door shut now, which I used to forget sometimes. My sisters and I have taken you for eight years. Yours sincerely,

ISABEL W. BEUGLER (age 12).

BOLTON, N. Y. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In a recent issue of your magazine, I read an article on the giant tortoise of the Bronx Zoo. I should like to tell you of my experience with that same tortoise.

A few years ago, Mr. Loring, my brothers' tutor, who was at one time a Head of Department at the Bronx, took me "behind the scenes" at the reptile house. He there introduced me to the tortoise's keeper, who let me go right into the cage where the tortoises are kept in winter, when they are not on view. Then Mr. Loring asked the keeper if I might ride on the tortoise's back, and the keeper said he thought the "old man" would n't mind. So I was lifted onto the high, sloping back, of the "old man," who, very slowly and with much dignity, walked around the cage to the bars, where he proceeded to rub me off. I guess he did n't like to have anything tickle his back. Of course I jumped off, upon which he slowly rejoined his comrade. That was my experience with the Bronx tortoise.

Your loving reader,

FRANCESCA U. MOFFAT. PUNGANUR, INDIA.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like your magazine very much. I am the daughter of a missionary in India, and a pupil in Highclerc School for missionaries' children. This school is on the Pulney hills.

We live in a place where we are the first and only white people. We are sixteen miles from any other white people, and twenty-four miles from a railway station. I have n't any companions except my younger brother and sister when I am here on the plains. But still I would rather live here than any other place in India.

I am going back to school soon. I have read nearly all your serial stories, and I like them very much. Your loving reader,

HELEN THEODORA SCUDDER (age 10).

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words: 1. Bean. 2. Urge. 3. Flaw. 4. Flay. 5. Also. 6. Lair.

7. Omsk.

NOVEL ACROSTIC. Primals, Handel; third row, Mozart. CrossTO OUR PUZZLERS: Answers to be acknowledged in the magazine must be received not later than the 10th of each month, and should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box, care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth Street, New York City.

ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received before July 10 from Judith Ames Marsland-Mary A. O'ConnorThankful Bickmore.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received before July 10 from Dorothy B. Goldsmith, 8-Gladys S. Conrad, 8-Henry Seligsohn, 8-Richard Wagner, Jr., 8-Philip Franklin, 8-Harmon B., James O., and Glen T. Vedder, 8-R. Kenneth Everson, 8-Theodore H. and Wyllys P. Ames, 8-Clara Parks, 8-Margery E. Merrick, 8-Dixie Slope, 8-Dorothy Berrall, 6-Gertrude M. Van Horne, 6-Dorothy Dorsett, 6-Marshall Best, 4-Dorothy Covil, 3-Ellen Ewing, 3-Gerald H. Loomis, 2-Dorothea A. Codman, 2-Douglass Robinson, 2Helen Miller, 2-Eleanor Johnson, 2.

ANSWERS TO ONE PUZZLE were received from E. B. H.-A. B., Jr.-D. A. H.-C. H.-D. W.-M. L. C.-M. C. H.-M. A. M.-J. B. R. -A. G. B.-C. O.-M. McL.-P. P.-H. W.-D. D.-E. R.-D. P.-G. H. P.-L. A.-C. K.-H. H. P.-F. L.-J. T. B.-A. B.-D. K.M. S. H.-W. R. B.-J. Q.-R. E.

GEOGRAPHICAL PRIMAL ACROSTIC

My primals spell the name of a President of the United
States.

CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): 1. One of the New England States. 2. A South Carolina town near Augusta. 3. A river in Germany. 4. A country of northern Africa. 5. A river in India. 6. A region in Africa. 7. A river in Russia. 8. Mountains in South America. 9. A colony of southern Africa. 10. A village of Al11. A town in central New York. 12. A river in 13. A county of England. 14. A river of South

berta. France. America.

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TRIPLE BEHEADINGS AND CURTAILINGS (Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) EXAMPLE: Triply behead and curtail stubborn, and leave a metal. Answer, obs-tin-ate.

In the same way behead and curtail: 1. Pertaining to the south pole, and leave part of a circle. 2. State of being uncivilized, and leave an obstruction. 3. To make acquainted, and leave a slender stick. 4. A benefit, and leave an insect. 5. A planner of buildings, and leave to strike. 6. Unprejudiced, and leave skill. 7. Pertaining to a branch of mathematics, and leave encountered. 8. Finally doing away with, and leave

illuminated. 9. A discharge of firearms, and leave sick. 10. Mesmerism, and leave a negative. 11. Trickery, and leave a small receptacle. 12. Sucking up, and leave a celestial sphere. 13. An associate, and leave a grassy plain. 14. To attract, and leave a snare.

The primals of the remaining words will spell the name of a President of the United States.

ELSA A. SYNNESTVEDT (age 15).

NUMERICAL ENIGMA

I AM composed of fifty-three letters and form a quotation from "King Lear."

My 5-13-37-34-49 is destruction. My 42-14-40-4643-21-39 is part of an insect. My 8-50-36-10-15-26-41 was an Egyptian ruler. My 44-29-48-32 is a token of affection. My 16-35-6-53-9 is shelter from the sun. My 11-25-2-27-12 is a part of the body. My 3-28-3147-22-52-20-18 is one who makes a kind of musical sound with his lips. My 4-1-51-7-30 is an article of apparel. My 19-17-23-33 is a plague. My 45-38-24 is to permit.

ALICE NICOLL (age 11), League Member.

ZIGZAG

ALL the words described contain the same number of letters. When rightly guessed, and written one below another, the zigzag, beginning with the upper, left-hand letter, will spell the name of an English poet.

CROSS-WORDS: 1. To intertwine confusedly. 2. A carpenter's tool. 3. A kind of three-leaved plant. 4. First. 5. To become visible. 6. Celebrated. 7. A pillar. 8. To select. 9. A small storage room. 10. A place of confinement. II. To issue.

JESSICA B. NOBLE (age 12), League Member.

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