THE LETTER-BOX.
Concord, N. H.
Dear St. Nicholas: Lena and I play dolls very often, but the latest game we play is throwing cards into a hat placed on the floor about six feet away. Lena put in thirty-two out of fifty-two. If you have room enough to print this in your Letter-box, I should like to read it.
Yours truly,
Ruth A. M.
That is a very nice game, Ruth, although six feet seems a long distance for a small girl to toss the cards. We have seen grown folk try the game at four feet, and then several of them could not put one in twenty into the hat; so Lena's score of thirty-two out of fifty-two is a fine one. The game can be played with any kind of cards, and with sides or by individuals. The largest number of cards thrown into the hat, either by one person or by a side, makes the winning score. If played by sides, not more than twenty cards should be used, and each side should play five rounds, thus making one hundred the highest possible score for any player.
Middletown, Conn.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am anxious to have the March number come, so that I can see how Little Lord Fauntleroy's grandfather treats him. That serial story I enjoy very much. I go to a private girls' school in the morning, and study German in the afternoon with my mother.
With much love I am your faithful reader,
Helen W. A.
Providence, R. I.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first time that I have written to you.
I have a funny story to tell about a mouse. My canary bird used to hang up in our nursery-window on a chain. Sometimes in the evening or night, we would hear mice running around, and in the morning we would find that some of the seed was gone. Mamma thought it was a mouse, but we did not think so. Papa had been trying to catch them in a trap, but did not catch many. We then thought that we would try another way. So Papa took the cage down and put a pail of water on the chain, and when the little mouse went up the chain, as he used to do, instead of going in the cage, he went in the pail of water and was drowned. This is a true story. I am eleven years old. Good-bye.
am your constant reader,
B. G. H.
Carrington, Dakota.
Dear St. Nicholas: You do not know me at all, but I know you and love you so much! When you were brought to me this morning I almost kissed your bright face for joy. It was stormy this morning, and I was tired playing with kitty; besides that I had been waiting so long to read some more about Little Lord Fauntleroy! He is such a brave, wise little boy! Will you ask Mrs. Burnett to please not make him unhappy with his grandfather? Ever since we had our Christmas entertainment, I have wanted to tell you about it, but have been too sick to write you. We called it "An Evening with Mother Goose and the Brownies." Yes,—we had all the cute little boys in Carrington dressed up like Brownies. They did mischief very nicely, all quietly in their stocking-feet. While Mother Goose was singing her melodies, they came and stole away her goose, and they pelted Mother Hubbard with paper balls when she sang that song in the St. Nicholas: "I had an Educated Pug." In the tableaux, they tripped up Jack and Jill, upset Blue-beard, stole Jack Horner's plum, overturned the bachelor's wheelbarrow, little wife and all, let the spider down from a tree on little Miss Muffett, and tied Bo-peep's sheep-tails to a tree, and woke her up with their baa's. Then we had "The House that Jack built," just like it is in the St. Nicholas, for Nov. 1883. It was just splendid, and so funny; but when the rat was to come out of "The House that Jack built," the cat had put his foot on the string and it broke, so the cat couldn't come out. Then the maiden all forlorn picked up the rat, threw it at the cat, and everybody just roared!
I am nine years old, and my name is,
Theodora C.
New Hartford, Iowa.
Dear St. Nicholas: I believe the little girls that take the St. Nicholas will like to hear about my numerous paper dolls. I have a whole town of them, and they all have their names written on their backs. I was so interested in "The Firm of Big Brain, Little Brain & Co." After I read it, I kept thinking what my "Big Brain" was telegraphing. Well, my big brain telegraphs to my hand, that if it writes any more, the letter will be too long to print. So good-bye. I am
One of your many friends,
Grace C.
Woodland, Cal.
Dear St. Nicholas: I think you are the nicest magazine in the whole world. I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is a beautiful story. It seems so real. Cedric reminds me of my little cousin Birdie (that is his pet name). One day his aunt (who is an artist) asked him if he did not want her to paint him. He said: "I had rather be as I are." He is nearly four years old. I live on a vineyard of 160 acres.
Your faithful reader,
Lillian H.
Fort Assinaboine, Mon.
Dear St. Nicholas: I commenced taking your paper five months ago, and I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is the best story I ever read.
We have plenty of skating here, and fifty ponies to ride.
Another boy is writing a letter to you too. We live 200 miles from Helena and we have to go in a stage or wait till the river opens.
We only have to go to school in the morning, and we play all the rest of the day.
Yours truly,
S. F. P.
Brooklyn, N. Y., 1886.
Dear St. Nicholas: I thought that I would send you a letter at last. I will tell you about our washwoman and me. I have something the matter with my knee, and so I have to stay in the house. Well, our washwoman and I were having some fun. I was at the back parlor window, and the washwoman was down in the back yard hanging up the clothes, and I got a snow-ball and threw it at her, and you ought to have seen her! She looked up and down and could not see anybody, and after a while she saw me, and then, the way she looked! She said: "I will give it to you!"
Yours truly,
Frank T.
Everett, Mass.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for a year and I could not do without you. Every month you gladden our home with your beautiful pictures, interesting stories, and pretty bits of poetry.
I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is a splendid story. I must not forget to mention the "Brownies." What busy little workers they are! I have one pet, a beautiful linnet. Her name is Daisy. She is a very sweet singer.
I remain, your constant reader,
May F.
Kingston, Indiana.
Dear St. Nicholas: I do not see many letters from Indiana in your Letter-box. I would not do without you for ten dollars a year.
I like your Natural History. I have several books on Natural History.
Last year I wanted you so badly that Papa said I must earn the money myself. I had enough, lacking fifty cents. We had an oyster supper here, and papa gave me fifty cents to spend; so I did without oysters and took you. I am thirteen years old.
Yours sincerely,
Art. R.
Mt. Auburn, Cincinnati, O.
Dear St. Nicholas: I like your stories very much. I am a boy seven years old. I do not go to school, but Mamma teaches me with two little girls. I had a lovely Christmas. I got a locomotive, a sword, a scarf, a marble game, a rolling-pin, a box to keep my pens and pencils in, and some cards and books for Christmas. I think you are the best book I ever read. This is the first year I began to take you. I like the "Brownies" best. Tell Mr. Palmer Cox to put "Brownies" in every St. Nicholas. Please don't forget to print my letter, for I have written it all myself, and spelled it without any help.
I had two kittys, and their names were Mitten and Topsy. We gave away Mitten and kept Topsy, but after a while we lost Topsy, and then we found another kitty, but she ran away. I am sorry they went away, for I love kittys. Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas, I am so glad it is most time for you to come again. Please don't forget to print my letter, for I love you so much!
Your loving friend,
Ralph B. R.
Lewisburg, W. Va.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have just finished reading the February number, and I think that "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and "George Washington" are splendid! I am a little girl ten years old. Have taken you for four years.
I have ever so many uncles and aunts. One of my aunts sends you to me.
Your loving reader,
Dottie M.
Wyoming, Del.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have never written to you before, but I love to read the letters others have sent you. You have been coming to our house nearly three years, and we all look anxiously for the 26th of the month, when you are due. You are my own book. I pay for you with money I have earned myself. My little sister wonders whenever she sees St. Nicholas what the Brownies are doing in it. Mamma is much interested in "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and we like it too, and all the rest of your stories, but especially "The Gilded Boy of Florence," because we know the man who wrote it and have heard him preach. He says all he wrote in that story is true. Good-bye.
Ever your faithful reader,
C. Lizzie B.
London, England.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am an American girl who left New York four years ago, during which time I have been a constant reader of St. Nicholas. My school friends who read English all want it also. You have been forwarded to me from London as far as Turkey and Egypt. And so, if you can only spare a few minutes, I would like to tell you about the pyramids and the sphinx.
From Shepherd's Hotel, Cairo, it is a beautiful drive of seven miles through an archway of large trees by the side of the Nile. There are several pyramids. The chief one is said to be 463 feet high, and one would think the top would be very small; but you will no doubt be surprised to hear that the Khedive gave a dinner to twenty-four guests upon the top of a pyramid. The dinner was served in the usual manner by Arab waiters; the gentlemen walked up, while the ladies were carried up in chairs. The pyramids are built like stairs,—one stone on top the other, with only an edge for a foothold.
Many tourists try to climb the structure, which is very fatiguing work. We gave an expert Arab fifty cents to do it in ten minutes; he went up in six minutes and down in four minutes. From the pyramid to the sphinx is quite a little walk through thick sand; and the Sphinx is so big you can hardly see it all at once. The English soldiers knocked off some of its right hand and all its nose. It is cut from a solid rock and looks as black as iron. The Egyptian postage stamps have pictures of both the pyramid and the sphinx. The temple dedicated to the sphinx lies in ruins here, but the remains are very beautiful, being nearly all of alabaster; and in the cellar they have just discovered an image, which is so immense they can't get it out from the place where it has lain so many hundred years. Some time I will write a letter about the Holy Land, as I lived there two months. I hope you will print my letter; it is my first attempt, and I am fourteen years old. Your March number will find me at Alexandria, for I take the Beyrouth steamer next week. I hope, dear ST. NICHOLAS, your Egyptian friend has not tired you, and I also hope this may find a place in your Letter-box.
Your loving Egyptian friend,
Maud Stanley F.
Mohegan Lake, N. Y.
Dear St. Nicholas: I send you this letter, a true story about a fish-hawk.
It was in the middle of April, 1883. A man who was rowing on one of those lakes east of the Highlands, in the northern part of Westchester County, espied a large fish-hawk sitting on a dead limb near the water. The man, having his gun with him, rowed over toward the hawk, and when in range fired at him flying. The wounded bird fell, hit on the outer joint of the left wing. With the help of his companion the man managed to bring him home. In less than a week, the boy of the house fed him with fish out of his own hands, and the hawk did not attempt to claw him. One day the boy wanted to see how many pounds of fish the hawk would eat. He caught seven suckers weighing a pound and a half each. The hawk ate six, one after another, and took the seventh, but refused to eat it until half an hour afterward. What an enormous appetite he had! Later on in the summer, the boy would take him to the water to wash. He did it just as a canary does in his china bath. The boy would take him and put him on the side of the boat and row him around, and the hawk would sit there, taking in everything, as well as the summer visitors, who were taking him in. The hawk was so tame that his keeper could smooth his head and chuck him under his beak and the hawk would only flop his wings and whistle when the boy turned, as though delighted with what the boy did. This creature measured five feet eleven inches from tip to tip of the wings, and came to his death in October of the same year, by getting caught in the string by which he was fastened, greatly to the sorrow of his keeper who cared for him. The bird is now stuffed and in a friend's room in New York City.
Yours truly,
S. F. K. E. G.
Cincinnati, O.
Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write to you to say what so many of the other girls and boys who take you have already said: "That I love every one of your stories and can hardly wait until the 25th of the month comes, to read you." I have taken you two years and would not be without you one single month. I live in the dirty city of Cincinnati, but I have a great deal of fun any way.
We have had two snowstorms this winter, but by the time the snow has lain on the ground three or four days it is so black that I actually believe that people who come from the country would not know it was snow unless they were told.
I will now close, hoping to have the pleasure of seeing this letter printed.
I remain, your constant reader,
Grace S. C.
P. S. I forgot to say I was thirteen years old and have a brother nine years old, who thinks the St. Nicholas "a dandy," as he expresses it.
More About Curve-pitching.
Lincoln Co., Neb.
Dear St. Nicholas: The two letters in the February number on "curve-pitching," I was very glad to see. It was during my college-days that the "curve" made its appearance, and it was for some time a matter of much interesting discussion among us. I was not much of a base-ball man, but I saw a good deal of curve-pitching, and occasionally threw some rather wild "curves" myself in an amateurish way. We budding physicists discussed the why and wherefore of the problem, but never arrived at any satisfactory solution. The same explanation which is given in the second letter of your February number suggested itself to me at the time, and I was quite satisfied with it until I discovered that it did not accord with the facts of the case. It is a beautiful theory, but, like some other theories, it doesn't work.
According to the theory, as shown by your correspondent, the ball rotating (as indicated by his diagram which he gives), against the hands of the watch should curve to the right, producing the in curve. But the fact is, that a ball so rotating will curve to the left—the out curve. And a ball rotating in a contrary direction, i. e., so that points on its forward side are moving to the right, will curve to the right—the in curve. In both cases the axis of rotation is vertical, so that the motions of the ball may be well illustrated by a spinning-top, as is shown in the first letter by A. D. S. But the case of a rifle-ball in motion does not seem to me to be parallel with that of a base-ball under normal conditions. A rifle-ball is given a rotation about an axis parallel to and coincident with its line of flight, just as an arrow rotates on its shaft. Now, none of the curves of a base-ball are produced with the axis of rotation in this position. In the in and out curves, as already said, the axis of rotation is vertical; while the rise and drop are produced by rotating the ball about a horizontal axis perpendicular to the line of flight. In all cases the axis of rotation must be at right angles to the line of flight, and the more accurately this condition is complied with, the more marked the effect. My knowledge of the subject is too slight to warrant me in asserting that the curving of the rifle-ball and that of the base-ball do not depend on the same principle, but it does not seem to me that the two are identical, for the above reasons.
I have no theory to offer, but trust that among the readers of St. Nicholas some may be found who have penetrated to the "true inwardness" of this interesting problem, and will give us a complete and scientific explanation of it.
Yours truly,
H. H. H.
Beverly, Ohio.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read with considerable interest the letters in St. Nicholas for February concerning curve-pitching. I am a boy who takes great interest in base-ball, and have many times pitched curves. I have seen persons, and see them yet, who firmly maintain that a ball cannot be curved, even when they have ocular demonstration of the fact. But that has nothing to do with what I have to say. I have studied the diagram of my anonymous friend, and am convinced that he is exactly wrong. With the following diagrams I shall show which way a ball curves with a given rotation, and give my theory of the curve:
Suppose, as in the letter published, the ball moves one hundred feet per second, and revolves so that the equator moves around at the same rate. Then, in the first diagram, the friction at B is greatest, and at D is 0. But instead of curving as my anonymous friend demonstrates, it will curve in exactly the opposite direction; namely, in the same direction in which it rotates.
I have appended diagram 2, simply to show the curve where the friction is 0 at B and greatest at D. Then it will curve as indicated.
I have a short theory, namely: In the first diagram, the more rapid movement of B compresses the air on that side, while at D it is in its normal state. Hence the pressure at B more than counterbalances that at D, and, as it were, shoves the ball in the direction of the side D, thus producing the curve. In the 2d diagram, the letters B and D interchange in the theory. I would like to hear more about this subject.
Very respectfully yours,
F. C. J.
Birmingham, Mich.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read with great interest the articles in the October, December, and February numbers, about curve-pitching. I have had quite a good deal of experience in the "one,-two,-three,-and-out" line myself, and have also, for the last two or three years, been able to make others have the same experience, by putting them out, in the same way. Therefore, I venture a reply to the explanation in the February number, backing my statement by the experience of many eminent curve-pitchers, and also by the story in the October number of "How Science Won the Game."
The above diagram is the same as your correspondent uses, and he asserts that the point B is moving faster than D; consequently, there is more friction at B, whence B is retarded more than D, and so the ball will curve toward W in the path of the dotted line. Now, if he will look in the story of "How Science Won the Game," where the base-ball editor shows the boys how to hold and how to throw the ball to make the different curves, he will find that when he throws the ball so that it whirls as shown in diagram, it will curve toward P, a direction entirely opposite from the one he designates. And any curve-pitcher will tell him the same. When I first read his explanation, I thought it was all right, for it looks quite reasonable, but upon second thoughts, I saw it was wrong, and to make sure, I took a ball and tried it. The only way I can get around his explanation (aside from actual fact) is this: The point B, as he clearly shows, is moving faster than D, and so the ball, if the friction of the air is taken away, will naturally curve toward the side D or point P. Now, the question is, Will the friction of the air be enough greater on the side B to overcome the difference in the motions of the two sides? If it is, the ball must move in a straight line, but as it curves toward the side D, we must conclude that it is not, and that the friction of the air tends more to hinder than to help the ball to curve. I really believe that if it could be tried, a person could make a ball curve in a vacuum more easily than we can make it curve in the air. Trusting to hear more upon this subject, I remain, sincerely yours,
"A Curver."
Fremont, Neb.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have never written to you before, but I think perhaps you will publish this one letter. I hope you will publish it, as I have never yet had anything of mine published.
I like the story entitled, "How Science Won the Game." Although I am but thirteen years old I think I can pitch a curve. I go to the Fremont Normal School and like it very much.
I am going to have the 1884 and 1885 St. Nicholas bound next week. I think you have a very entertaining magazine, and I think the pictures are very nice. I have the magazine for a Christmas present every year. I have taken St. Nicholas three years and I hope I may always take it.
Papa says he doesn't think you will publish this, but I think you will.
Yours truly,
Eddie H. B.
Ayer, Mass.
Dear St. Nicholas: As so many of your readers have written to you, I thought I would write too, that I might have the pleasure of seeing my letter in print.
I have taken you a year and have fallen greatly in love with your delightful pages.
I think "How Science Won the Game" is a lovely story; I felt much interested in it, for last summer the girls of my age who lived here got up a base-ball nine. In time, we played very nicely and enjoyed the fun. The readers of the Letter-box may think this a funny game for girls to play, but we liked it and found it very good exercise.
I am fifteen years old; I have a little dog, his name is Teddie; he is a very good little dog, but I pity the cat that gets in his way.
I like to read "From Bach to Wagner," as I enjoy reading of different composers.
Your true reader,
Ruth F.
We heartily thank the young friends whose names here follow, for pleasant letters received from them: Kate Ethel C., John Myers, Sadie B. Crane, G. M. F., Jamie H., Walter J. Cohen, Stuart L. Martin, George Williams, Eddie L. Goodman, Violette T. Haines, Lillie M. Grubbs, Freda Nicolai, Eva Wilkins, Miriam Ferry, Hortie O'Meara, Anna Ross, Clara Louise Whitney, Constance and Richard Bigelow, E. R. B., J. H. B., Mary and Gussie, Jessie Hiltner, Alberta Stout, Willis Dunning, Nellie E. Stebbins, Marion R. Brown, A. W. Smith, Josie and May, Kate G., Hallie H. Haines, Johnny B. S., Daisy, Gertie Beidler, Mary M. C., Charles L. Baldwin, Kitty Clover, Alice Olney, Emil Harrington, Katie M. Cathcart, Arthur F. B., Agnes Hanks, Elizabeth K. Stewart, Wade W. Thayer, Brooks Upham, Rosalie, Mamie Eells, Florence Lanty, Frank Dearstyne, Vera Wheeler, Nellie McN. Suydam, Elizabeth B. Grumball, Ida Cameron, Ethel Marion Walker, Fawn Evans, Alfa P. Tyrrell, H. and A. V. P., G. P. S., Clara Moore, F. W. S., Portia, Nellie T., Eva R., Norine, Anna M. Lister, Blanche E. Ives, Mary Hicks, "Dolly Varden," Nora T. C., Natie P. Thompson, Daniel McPhail, Mary E. Seavey, Storrs E. E., H. C. J., Edith B., Kittie E. Fogarty, Frank Carman, Ruth A., C. H. M., Richard D. Bennett, Anne Grey Millett, Addie Rockwell, Laura Smith, Paula Goetz, Katie S. Denholm, Carl M. Ruhlen, Thomas McKeone, W. C. T., Marion Loomis, Alice E. Bogert, Gertrude E. S., Julian Granbery, B. M. S., Edward P. Irwin, "The Five Friends," T. L., Kate B. Tilley, Irene S. Duer, Violet Scath, Florence M. Wickes, E. W. B., May Delany, and Bertha Sweet.
