ting a block of wood, or some other object, under and durable; and has been used for fishing, shooteach end, to keep it off the ground. ing, and ordinary boating, being equally service The approximate cost of the materials used in able in either case. Perhaps the best evidence in the construction of the canoe was as follows: its favor is the fact that there are at present, in the village where it was made, some eight or ten boats, in most respects like the one described, all of which, with the exception of one or two which were carelessly constructed, have been entirely satisfactory, and no accidents have happened. The builders were all boys, most of them quite young, and some of the best boats were made by the younger boys. The most popular model seems to be a shallow, sharp-pointed canoe, propelled with a double-bladed paddle; the principal objection already mentioned — that of shipping water in a heavy sea-being effectually obviated by a light decking fore and aft. Like all light boats they must, of course, be carefully managed; but I consider them quite as safe as a round-bottomed, wooden boat of the same size. "I had a dozen or so," said a boot, looking lated to the gem which Cleopatra dissolved for rather down at the heel. "And I have a hundred or more," yawned the easy-chair," but they don't button anything; they don't belong to the working class." Antony. They were mother-of-pearl, grown in the shell of the pearl oyster, for which divers risk their lives." "That's something of a fish story," thought "Here's a bachelor's button," remarked a vase Jimmy's jacket. "My buttons are only glass; but of flowers on the bureau. "There's a button-wood tree in the garden," said the button-hooker. "I suppose you all grew there." "I know better than that," pouted the closetdoor. "Mine grew in the veins of the earth, where all the precious metals are found. It's a poor relation of theirs." glass is sometimes made of sand, and who knows but their atoms may have been swept down to the sea-shore from 'farthest India?'” “And I,” whispered the bachelor's button, “I sprang from a tiny seed, with all my splendor of blue and purple wings, like the Afrite from the jar which the fisherman found on the beach. It is a miracle how I was packed away there!" even know that he was a prisoner, and that all the other birds were free! It is a foolish notion of mine, perhaps, but, do you know, I think we children are somewhat like that little canary-bird. We all reason from our cages. Now, if any one of my youngsters knows exactly what I mean, or even guesses at it, let him rise and explain. THAT CLOUDY SATURDAY! OH, yes! April is here again, and it is a year since your Jack first mentioned that cloudy Saturday" theory. Well, it was rather a pretty theory, but the weather of this spring season has evidently been too much for it. Here are two letters out of many of the same sort. We may as well admit that, in several portions of this country, the clouds insist on having the sky entirely to themselves throughout more than one Saturday in the year. NEW YORK, Feb. 6, 1883. DEAR JACK: In the April number you told us that some one had said that there is only one Saturday in the whole year in which the JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. sun does not shine at some time during the day. I have watched the "THIS, of a truth, I always note, And shape my course thereby : That Nature has never an overcoat To keep her furrows dry. "And how should the hills be clothed with grain, The vales with flowers be crowned, But for the chain of the silver rain "There 's time for the night as well as the morn, MOTHS AND FALLING WATER. You all have seen the poor moths flutter about the candle or lamp, blinded and yet hopelessly attracted by the light, until at last they fall into the flame and perish. Well, I'm told that in Iceland the gleam of waterfalls attracts the moths in just the same way, and that moth after moth flies deliberately into the cataract. I've heard say, too, that one reason why Iceland offered advantages for observing such things is because there is no night there in summer! But that, I suppose, is too ridiculous to be believed. What say you, young philosophers? JACK'S LITTLE PARABLE. A DEAR little escaped canary-bird once told your Jack-in-the-Pulpit that the reason he fled from his wire home near the window was because he wanted to go up and see other cages hanging from the sky -and he knew there must be thousands hanging there, because thousands of birds were flying down from it every day. Poor little thing! He did n't Saturdays this year, and it is not so; for the sun did not shine at all here on either the first or the third Saturday of January. Your friend, ARLINGTON, N. Y., Feb. 7, 1883. DEAR JACK: I have been watching the weather closely on Saturdays, and on January 20th was rewarded by seeing a Saturday come and go without giving us a glimpse of "Old Sol." For January 27th we had planned a skating party; but, at night, I had to record the fact that, on two successive Saturdays, the sun had failed to shine. As our skating for that day had to be given up, we decided to go the next week. But February 3d came and went, without one ray of sunlight. Whether we have a chance to air our skates on February 10th, remains to be seen. We may not see another sunless Saturday in a year, but I am rather skeptical about the truth of the statement that "there is only one Saturday in the year on which the sun does not shine." Yours truly, B. V. A GIRL WHO NEVER SAW A SNOW-BALL! BEFORE we say good-bye to this Saturday subject, here is a letter that may interest you: SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA, Jan. 20, 1883. DEAR JACK: I am one of your constant readers. I see some of the boys have been watching for the one Saturday in the year on which the sun does not shine. I am sure it would be useless to watch for it in San Diego, or on any other day of the week, either. got my papa to ask the signal service man here, and he says he can not remember any day, during the years he has been here, on I which the sun did not shine. I am twelve years old, and have never been in any town but this, and have never seen a snow-ball; but some winters we can see the snow lying on the mountains 40 or 50 miles from here, and on Christmas morning, three years ago, I saw a cake of ice a quarter of an inch thick, which formed on a bucket of water that had stood out-of-doors during the night. We have a machine here now for making ice, which they go around selling in December; but I would like to go where they have the snowy winters, and see the skating and sleigh-riding that we read about. I suppose Mr. Santa Claus takes off his fur clothing when he comes here. At any rate, I am sure he can not use his sleigh; but he fills our stockings all the same. My brother and I get all our pieces that we speak at school, on recitation day, out of our old ST. NICHOLASES. Your friend, ANNIE KEILLER. THE DEACON'S LETTER. I DON'T know why, but there was something not quite natural about the Deacon's manner as he handed your Jack this letter. There seemed (between ourselves) to be a little more pride than PHILADELPHIA, Jan. 30, 1883. DEAR DEACON GREEN: A short time ago we came across an explanation of the word bombast, and seeing your question in the ST. NICHOLAS, I thought I would write and tell you what I know about it. The old meaning of the verb bombast was to inflate, and the noun meant cotton used to stuff out clothes. An old writer, in a book about plants, calls the cotton plant the bombast tree; and another queer old book, called "Anatomie of Abuses," tells of doublets "stuffed with four, or five, or six pounds of bombast, at least." It gradually became applied to a certain kind of writing, and an old English writer says: Now, dear Deacon Green, we all like you so much, and have made a great many speculations as to what you look like! I imagine you are just a little like what Prince Hal called Falstaff,-"A sweet creature of bombast," but not in the present meaning of the word. Oh, no! My brother Ned says he likes to think of you as being fat and jolly. But, whether thick or thin, I hope you will long continue to write for the ST. NICHOLAS. A REMARKABLE LILY. THE Little School-ma'am has heard of a remarkable lily, and has handed your Jack this extract from a letter written by a gentleman who seems to know all about the wonderful flower: There is a remarkable lily, popularly known as the 'Easter Lily of Bermuda,' which is supposed to have been brought many years ago to Bermuda from 'the Cape,' by Gov. Lefroy, one of Bermuda's earlier governors, and which is now grown in great quantities upon those lovely islands. It is much sought after for the decoration of their parish churches at Easter, and at this, THE WASP'S GYMNASTICS. WOULD ever you think, You dear little chicks, In what way a wasp To the window sticks? I'll tell you just how: He opens his mouth, And, what do you think? He puts out his tongue, And, quick as a wink, He lifts up his leg And gives it a lick; And then, dears, he can To the window stick! L. E. D. This may be correct enough as poetry,— your Jack does n't pretend to be a judge on that point, but, when it comes to facts, he has the birds and the Deacon and the Little School-ma'am to back him when he says that wasps generally hold on to glass as flies do- that is, by the aid of the little disks with which their feet are supplied. Some say that these disks act as suckers; others, that they secrete a sticky fluid; but, in either case, it is to these disks that wasps and flies owe their power of climbing window-panes and walking on the ceiling with backs downward. The Deacon says he knows that wasps are very neat, and that, like many other respectable insects, they keep their bodies and their nests as clean as possible; and he suggests that what L. E. D. saw was the performance of the wasp's toilet, as other insects are known to cleanse their legs and antennæ after the manner described in the last of these verses. their season of bloom, the air is heavily laden with their delightful perfume. This lily is noted for the freedom with which it blooms, often producing twenty or thirty flowers on a single stalk, which seems to us, accustomed to seeing only three or four, a very large number; but not long ago a remarkable specimen was sent on here from Bermuda, having one hundred and forty-five perfect buds and blossoms, nearly all of which were in full bloom at one time. The stalk, which was about one inch wide and two broad, was thickly clothed with narrow, dark-green leaves for its entire length (about four feet). Surmounting this were grouped thickly the snow-white, trumpet-shaped blossoms, a mass of snowy white." SIDE AND TOP OF SINGLE BLOSSOM. TURKEY-COCK. YOUNG Mr. Tur-key-Cock came out of the barn one fine morn-ing. He shook out his feath-ers and stretched his neck, and then, see-ing some ti-ny lit-tle chick-ens close by, he ran to-ward them with his tail set up proud-ly like a fan, and mak-ing a sort of drum-ming noise with his wings. The lit-tle things, who had left their egg-shells on-ly the day before, were fright-ened, and ran a-way as fast as they could to the old hen, who spread her wings o-ver them. This as-ton-ished the young tur-keycock, who had nev-er be-fore sup-posed that a-ny one could be a-fraid of him. "I won-der if I could make a-ny-thing else run a-way," thought he. He looked a-round the barn-yard, and saw a lit-tle calf; so he walked qui-et-ly o-ver to it, with his feath-ers ly-ing smooth. The calf looked up, and then turned a-way and rubbed a fly off its side with its nose. Then Mr. Tur-key swelled up his feath-ers, and gave a long "gob-ble," and rushed drum-ming up to the calf. Boss-y gave one quick look, then jumped side-wise, and took an-oth-er look, and then shook its head, kicked up its heels, cut two or three fun-ny cap-ers, and ran a-way. crop-ping the grass. Now the tur-key was proud in-deed, for he had fright-ened the calf, which was big-ger than he. So he looked a-bout to find some oth-er creat-ure to try his trick up-on. At last he saw a horse So he flew down and walked qui-et-ly to-ward it. When quite close, he ran at it, gob-bling and drum-ming, and the horse, which had not seen him com-ing, gal-loped a-way in a fright. "Ah!" thought Mr. Tur-key, "I can scare ev-ery-thing! What fun it is!" Just then a long, shrill whis-tle was heard, and an en-gine came a-long on the oth-er side of the mead-ow, draw-ing a train of cars. Mr. Tur-key knew noth-ing a-bout trains or rail-roads, and he looked hard at the en-gine. "That can be noth-ing but a very big, black sort of a horse," thought he. "I will go o-ver there and wait for it to come back a-gain." So he strut-ted a-cross the field, think-ing all the time what a splen-did bird he was, since ev-ery-body was a-fraid of him. He walked a-long the rail-road track, all read-y to run at the black i-ron horse when it should come. He had not long to wait. The whis-tle was heard, and he puffed himself up and ran at the great black thing as it came whizzing a-long. Did the en-gine run a-way 7? Yes, but it car-ried Mr. Tur-key with it, which was more than he had bar-gained for. A great wind seemed to sweep him up on a big |