MRS. PIATT'S charming poem, "In Primrose Time," which appears on page 497 of this number, with its sympathetic glimpses of early spring in Ireland, will be appreciated by all the older readers of ST. NICHOLAS. It will show, moreover, that to all classes in that green island across the sea, as also, we hope, to ST. NICHOLAS readers everywhere, the sweet yellow flower of the British Isles, that is so welcome a spring visitor, means much more than it did to that all too practical Mr. Peter Bell in Wordsworth's well-known poem: "A primrose by the river's brim,

A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more."

Mr. J. J. Piatt sends a letter to the Editor, accompanying Mrs. Piatt's poem, written from Queenstown, the Irish port which all the Atlantic steamers first "speak" on their eastward-bound trips, and the town to which the verses refer: In this he says: "The leaves of the primrose are soft, somewhat flannel-like in texture, and of a

I

pale-green color (they resemble mullen leaves in texture and color); the flower is of a delicate light yellow. The primrose has always, suppose, been a favorite early spring flower here. One day last spring it was used all over Great Britain to commemorate the anniversary of Lord Beaconsfield's death. I saw many ladies and gentlemen wearing it on the streets in Cork upon that day, and it was reported that so great was the demand for the flower in London that many orders for supplies were sent to France and Belgium."

Mrs. Piatt's verses, of course, have no reference to any political sentiment associated with the primrose, but only to the "era of good feeling" it seems to bring in, and the delightful new heaven and earth of spring.

As announced last month, we print in this number the story"Myself, or Another?"- which won the first prize in the recent competition for the best story for girls written by a girl. The story which won the second prize will appear in our next issue.

GREEN COVE SPRING, Florida.

A

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl nine years old. I have rheumatism, and have come to Florida from Nova Scotia for the sulphur baths. The water is quite warm, and rushes into the pool from a natural spring at the rate of three thousand gallons a minute. Green Cove is situated on the west bank of the St. John River, the Indian name for which is Welaka, meaning River of Lakes.' few weeks ago I went up the Ocklawaha River; the name means "crooked waters." The day was not very bright, and we did not see any alligators or snakes, but saw lots of mistletoe, holly, sweet bay trees in bloom, and air plants. In the evening we passed through the cypress gates, where the river is only twenty-three feet wide, just one foot wider than the boat, and the trees meeting overhead form an arch. We reached Silver Spring in the morning; it is seventy feet deep, and you can see down to the bottom, it is so clear. I enjoy reading ST. NICHOLAS very much.

Your faithful little reader,

BEATRICE E. K.

SAN MARCOS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have just begun to take you and just think you are too good for anything: my father and mother gave you to me for a birthday gift. We live near the San Marcos River; the river is a wonderful one; it is formed from springs that gush out of the rocks and form a river; it is a beautiful river; the water is very clear; you can see the fish and turtles in the water. We always start a rabbit when we are out walking; the woods are very pretty; they are full of pretty birds and mosses. I have just caught a pretty red bird. I am a Galveston boy; we came up here on account of my father's poor health.

Yours truly,

LLOYD COLEMAN Y.

HOUSTON, TEX.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been wanting to write to you for a long time, but I was afraid I could not write a nice enough letter. But now I thought I would not wait any longer, for I wanted to tell you something so much. That is, that I have every volume of ST. NICHOLAS nicely bound, from the very first volume up to the present time. Some of them were printed before I was born, as I am only ten years old; but after I began taking it, some kind friends gave me the other books. My little sister loves you, too. I belong to such a nice little club, which I thought I would tell you about, for perhaps some of the little readers would like to hear about it. We call it "The History Club." Every week some girls and boys meet together at a lady's house, and she reads or tells us of some historical characters. Just now she is reading us "Tales of a Grandfather," by Scott. When she gets through we all have a good time playing. MARGUERITE U.

One who loves you dearly,

SYDNEY, NEW SOUTH WALES, January 7, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We were all very much pleased to see our letter in your magazine for last March, and we all thank you very much for the kind notice you put in about it.

It is more than a year since we last wrote to you, and since then we were all obliged to leave Bourke, on account of the drought; for eighteen months there was no rain, and as we lived nearly five miles from the township, we had to cart all the water from the river (Darling), as our own dam had dried up.

Father was obliged to turn out twenty valuable horses on the common to take their chance, as they could get water at the river, though the grass was all withered up. We think the poor beasts must have died, as we never heard any more about them. There was a perfect plague of flies, which stung our eyes and made them very sore. We thought our little baby brother would have lost his sight altogether, as his eyes were stung by a fly which poisoned the lids. After suffering a great deal of pain he is quite well now.

Perhaps you would like to hear about our journey down. We started on a Monday in February, Father driving us in a large buggy with four horses. We drove all day long, only resting for dinner. All the roads were covered with dead animals, horses, cattle, sheep, kangaroos, and once we saw a dead emeu. From time to time we saw flocks of thin kangaroos and emeus. Men were kept at the dams on purpose to remove the sheep as they died on going down to drink, the poor things were so weak. We saw numbers of the dead and dying on the margins of the dams. One man told us that often they had found as many as twenty sheep in the dam after one night, and they dragged them out of the water and burnt them. On many stations they chopped down trees for the poor animals to It was very hot and dusty driving, and often we drove all day without seeing one house. We drove till Thursday, and about noon reached Nyngan, where the Sydney Railway now extends. At half-past one we started in the train and traveled all night, and got to Sydney at seven o'clock on Friday morning. We were all very glad our journey was over. I must tell you that before we left Bourke our pet white cat (which we mentioned in our last letter) was drowned in the well. Father got him out at last, but he had been in the water too long before we knew of it, and was quite dead. We were all so sorry as we were very fond of him.

eat.

Our kind grandmama still sends us your magazine. The heat in Bourke was very great-120° in the shade, and we were all very glad to get away.

Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS, we must say good-bye, wishing you a happy New Year. We remain, your loving readers,

BUTTERCUP, DAISY, and VIOLET.

WE are glad to hear again from these three young friends, though this second letter shows that even far-off Australia is not out of the reach of misfortune and suffering. Many of our readers will remember with pleasure the interesting letter which " Buttercup, Daisy, and Violet" sent us eighteen months ago, and which was printed in the Letter-Box for March, 1884.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you that we have had orange trees in blossom ever since Christmas day, and now the trees are full-all of them. The perfume from the trees is sickening. There has been ice here but twice this winter. I saw some-a very thin coating-early, two mornings in succession, in my ducktrough, that being the only water that had any ice. No one else has seen any here but myself. Last winter (for you know it was severe North) there was plenty of ice here- the edge of the river was frozen, and thousands of oranges were also lost by the freeze. This winter we have had no such cold, but it has been cool ever since Christmas,-not one warm Florida day a month, and very wet. But while you at the North are snow and ice bound, we have orange trees in blossom, violets, roses, jasmine (the woods are full of them, beautiful yellow flowers, climbing over tree and shrub), and other flowers continually blossoming. Your admiring little friend, F. C. S.

ject of his drawing, and then the titles which the other players have given it. We send you a few of the drawings made by our home folks, which will explain the game to you better than we can. Good-bye, dear ST. NICHOLAS, from your loving friends, GUSSIE, BENNIE and "SKYE."

[Subject which the artist really intended to illustrate: The discovery of gunpowder.]

The title which Uncle John gave to the picture: "Celebration in honor of the boat-race."

Mamma's title: "Frightful explosion of gas."
Big brother Jack's title: "The effect of Gussie's piano playing."

LONDON, 29 WALWORTH ROAD, Jan., 1885. DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old, and my home is near New York. I left America last May, and crossed the big ocean alone to meet my Papa in Liverpool. There was another little girl in the saloon cabin, and we had nice times together. She went to Paris and I went to London. 1 am going home in May. I have been to St. Paul's, seen the Tower of London, Madam Tussaud's Wax-works, and we went to Westminster Abbey. I have been in London six months, and never missed getting ST. NICHOLAS. I would like all the little boys and girls to see all the pretty sights I have seen-the Lord Mayor's show, and the Prince and Princess of Wales and their daughters, and the pleasant days I have spent in the Zoological Gardens. I hope you will print this letter, for I shall look for it when my brother sends ST. NICHOLAS to me from New York. I hope ST. NICHOLAS will last till I am a grown-up woman, for I love it so much.

Your little friend,

CLARA V. J. F.

[Subject which the artist really intended to illustrate: Whittington and his cat.]

The title which Papa gave to the picture: "French cook trying to carry out the first direction in the receipt for making jugged hare; -First catch your hare,' the hare, at the moment of portrayal, having obviously scored a point."

Uncle John's title: "The Land League defying the British Lion." Mamma's title: "Wonderful discovery of a new member of the cat family."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been taking you as long as I can remember. I believe Mamma took it before I was born; and ever since I could read you, I have been devoted to you. Some friends and I have a club in which we read aloud Dickens' works, and we meet every Saturday. We have no badge, but we call ourselves, "The Dickens Club. I have been reading Dickens all this winter; also two of Sir Walter Scott's novels. From yours truly,

L. D. D.

NEW HAVEN, CONN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our folks have been amusing themselves this winter by a funny little game; and we think that perhaps some of your other readers might enjoy it too, if they knew it. Each player draws a little picture representing a certain subject and then passes his picture to the next player without letting him or her know what the subject was that he meant to represent. The player receiving the picture writes below it his idea of its meaning, then he folds over the edge to cover what he has written, and passes it to the next player, who does the same, and so on, until the paper containing the drawing and the titles written beneath it returns to the player who made the drawing. Then the artist reads first the real title or sub

down hill

[Subject which the artist really intended to illustrate: The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold.]

The title which Mamma gave to the picture: "A scene on the Nile.
A native watching a crocodile trap from the banks of the river."
Big brother Jack's title: "Pharaoh, having occasion to cross the
Nile, makes a short détour to avoid crocodiles."
Uncle John's title: "Egyptian keeper going to the Nile to feed his
pet crocodile, and baby hippopotami.'

NEW-YORK CITY, January, 1885. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy, seven years old. I have a robin, whom we caught a year ago last spring. He was very young, and had fallen out of a tree. We had to feed him on bread and milk with a stick, and he has traveled with us to different places. He plays marbles and tag with me, and scolds me if I rub my fingers on his cage. Yesterday I took all the perches out of his cage to wash them, and he scolded so and made such a noise

JUNCTION CITY, Kan.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Ogden's monument is the center of the United States, just above Fort Riley, and I live within three miles of it, at Junction City. Fort Riley is a six-company post, but it only has three companies of colored soldiers now. It is arranged very nicely. Some nights when we look over the reservation, the grass is on fire and looks very pretty. In the summer we drive over to the fort and see the dress-parade and hear the band play. I like the story about Kansas, in the January number, very much. One of my uncles lives within three miles of Fort Harker. I have seen the sunflowers so high and thick that you cannot see through, nor over them. Junction City is a pretty large town of about 3500 people. We have a nice opera house, which is lighted with gas and warmed with a furnace. We all had a merry Christmas and a happy New Year and hope you had the same. BERTHA R.

Yours, truly,

MADISON, MISS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live far out in the country, and our nearest neighbor lives a quarter of a mile away. I live on a large Southern plantation. Our house is called Annandale, and is very large; it has galleries all around it, both up stairs and down.

I wonder what some of your readers will say when I tell you that we gathered from our flower garden a beautiful bouquet of roses on the 17th of December, and among them were some lovely Marshal Niel buds.

My brother and I have taken ST. NICHOLAS ever since the first number was published. I was a tiny girl then, too small to enjoy it, but since I have grown larger I have read all the back numbers. We have them all bound. I have a good many pets, one of which is a little colt named "Rob Roy," who is very gentle, and when I hold the baby on his back he will trot all around the yard. We live seven miles from the post-office, and of course my brother and I are always very anxious to read the ST. NICHOLAS as soon as it comes; little Maimie is also very fond of having the pictures shown to her.

Hoping that I have not tired the readers with this letter,
I am ever your devoted reader, HELEN J. HARRIS.

SAN FRANCISCO, 1885.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read your interesting pages again and again, and as I am going to get another bound volume of you this year, I thought I would like to tell you about a little pet I have. I am eleven years old, and live in San Francisco. I have been in the country for over six months, and am afraid I shall fall behind in my studies when I go to school after the holidays, but I am going to try to keep up. I have a pretty little Italian hound, named Gyp, a little bigger than a large cat. I am very fond of him, and he returns my affection, following me wherever I go, if I will allow him. One Sunday he followed me to church (the little country church not far from our hotel), and just as the clergyman was going to give out the text for the sermon, I saw the little black form of my pet marching up the aisle. You can imagine how mortiñed I was when he deliberately walked up in the chancel and stood beside the preacher, looking all over the church. Suddenly he espied Mamma and myself, and instantly rushed down to us. Oh! I wished the floor would open and let me down under it when I was obliged to take the culprit down, with a hundred eyes upon me. I took him home, and then came back to the church; and though Gypie tried many times after to follow me to church, he was always successfully stopped before he reached the church door. Perhaps this seems an almost incredible story, but "naughty little Gypie" is sitting now in the yard, and his little mistress is really writing you this letter, and we will both thank you very much if you will publish this in your "Letter-box." Your devoted little reader, GRACE.

We must heartily thank the young friends whose names appear in the following list, for their kind letters, which we have not room to print: Lizzie D. L., Lula Brown, Susie and Beckie Cadwallader, A. P. Thomson, Fannie Mason, Grace Gaffney, Frances Bartow, M. L. Nolan, Margaret McNamara, Mädel Burnett, Maud M. M., Lauric, Claudine Bishop, Venice James, Jenny R. K., Beatrice M., Arthur N. Starin, E. and J., Gertie C. R., Lucy Warren, Arthur L. Samuels, Eva Brantly, Melville F., Mary P. B., A. W. R., A. B. Linch, Blanche Owen, Bel M. P., Angelica G., May F. T., Harold Smith, Eddie Billheimer, Nina and May, J. N. D., Margaret M., Altie and Neva Foster, Charlie Hodel, Walter S. H., Fannie Shumway, Alice Threy, L., X. Y. Z., "Three Girls of Sunny Kansas," Alex. Douglas, Mabel Connor, Mabel Claire, Jessie C. Russell, Nellie M. H., Sallie N. Cleghorn, Carl G., Bessie B. R., George A. Acken, Godfrey Pretz, K. A. W., Bettie Moremen, Annie Louise Denison, Ella Maude F., Mamie and Renate Ruehrmund, Edith L. Fawcett, Lily Wells, Bessie and Nellie, Daisy Poey.

"PAPA," said a little three-year-old a few days since, "let baby smell the yellow daffodil. Now let him listen to it with his ear." "Does the daffodil say anything to you, darling?" the father asked.

"Yes, Papa, it says 'The Spring is coming!'

And now, not the yellow daffodil alone, but the coltsfoot shining in its sunny corner by the brook, the arbutus peeping from the edge of each lichen-covered rock, the furry-stemmed hepaticus, and the glorious company of apple-blossoms, all are singing to us, "The Spring has come."

Each year we listen more eagerly for the first song of the bluebird, and we even share the woodman's pleasure in noting the first comfortable voyage of the noisy crow, as he floats through the hazy air croaking in hoarse good nature his early prophecy of spring.

Now all the Agassiz Association is out-of-doors. Field-meetings and excursions are the order of the month, and on April 28, when the birthday of Louis Agassiz shall come again, nearly every Chapter will observe that Tuesday in the wood or by the shore.

FOR OUR CHEMISTS.

THE Successful study of Botany and Mineralogy requires some familiarity with the elements and their compounds, and is greatly facilitated by an acquaintance with Chemistry, so that the assist

ance of the gentlemen whose addresses were given last month will doubtless be sought not only by those who are exclusively devoted to Chemistry, but also by those who feel the need of some chemical knowledge to aid them in their work with minerals and plants. We are glad, therefore, to add to the list then given the name of another friend, who writes as follows:

H. H. BALLARD:

PINE KNOLL, March 2, 1885.

MY DEAR SIR: I have been watching the work of the Agassiz Association with a great deal of interest. In the Forty-sixth report, I see that a chemist is asked for. Although chemistry is not my special study, I will gladly render any assistance needed to those who are studying that branch. I am pleased to see there is an interest manifested in that science, and will endeavor to answer all puzzling questions, and also give advice as to the best methods of studying its mysteries to those who will send their letters to me, with stamps for reply. I will also exchange specimens of birds, rocks, shells, plants, etc., etc., from this section of Massachusetts for curiosities from other parts of the country, and give any other aid I can to those who are making a study of Natural History. Yours truly, ANDREW NICHOLS, JR.

P. O. Address: Asylum Station, Essex Co., Mass.

IN looking over the files of ST. NICHOLAS, we notice, what from the nature of the case has been unavoidable, that there are still very many Chapters reports of which have never been quoted in the Maga