THE LETTER-BOX.
Girls and Boys: You will all be very sorry, we know, to learn that the beginning of Miss Alcott's serial story, "Under the Lilacs," has been postponed to the December number; but in place of it, we print this month the capital short story of "Mollie's Boyhood," which, we feel sure, will go far toward repaying you for the disappointment. We must ask you to wait a month longer for the opening chapters of the serial, and we mean to give you then a much longer installment of it than could have been printed in the present issue.
Meanwhile, you will find that the splendid article on Christmas Gifts, which occupies twenty-two pages of this number, contains novelties, hints, plates, and directions enough to keep your minds so busy planning, and your hands so busily at work, during the next few weeks, that the December St. Nicholas will come before you think of expecting it, and perhaps before you have half finished your pretty gifts.
Dear Little Schoolma'am: Please will you tell me if it is warm or cold, and if it is dark or light, in the places between the stars?—Yours affectionately,
Constance Durivage.
The Little Schoolma'am respectfully hands over this question to other little schoolma'ams.
Dear St. Nicholas: I make so many of the "Thistle-Puffs" spoken of in the September number that I thought I would let you know how I fix mine. After I get the thistles I cut off all the green excepting a little at the bottom; then I pull out all the purple, and leave them out in the sun till they are perfectly round white balls. They are very pretty in hats. Please put me down as a Bird-defender.—Your constant reader,
Alice Gertrude Benedict.
Exmouth, England, August 27th.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read the story of the "Blue-Coat Boy," and like it. I am in England, and almost every day see a Blue-Coat boy pass our house. I think he looks like the picture in the St. Nicholas. I should not like to wear the long coat, because I couldn't run in it; and I should think he would get a sunstroke, without a hat, if he ever goes to the beach. Aunt Fanny is like my mamma; she never asks for the right thing at the shops. I like the St. Nicholas, and wish another one would come. My aunty gave it to me for a Christmas present for a whole year.—Your friend,
benedict Crowell.
We are very glad to see the interest which our readers have taken in the subject of "School-luncheons." Many boys and girls have sent in letters, thanking us for the article in our September number, and filled with sage bits of experience. We should like to acknowledge these separately, and print some of them, but can do no more here than express our thanks to our young correspondents, one and all, for their kind and hearty words.
It will interest them all to know, however, that the article has attracted attention, and aroused enthusiasm among the older people too,—their fathers and mothers, and teachers, and even their favorite writers. For here, among the many letters it has brought us, is one that is peculiarly welcome. Our readers will have little difficulty in guessing who the writer is:
August 26th.
Dear Little Schoolma'am: Being much interested, as well as amused, by the luncheon article in ST. NICHOLAS for September, I should like to add one more to the list of odd luncheons.
A pretty little dish of boiled rice, with a cake of molasses, or preserve of some sort, in the middle. This, fitted into a basket, and covered with a plate, goes safely, and, with the addition of a napkin and two spoons, makes a simple meal for hungry children.
It may find favor in the eyes, or rather mouths, of the young readers of St. Nicholas, not only because it is good, but because it was the favorite lunch once upon a time of two little girls who are now pretty well known as "Meg and Jo March." It may be well to add that these young persons never had dyspepsia in their lives,—pie and pickles, cake and candy being unknown "goodies" to them.
With best wishes for the success of this much-needed reform in school-children's diet, I am, yours truly,
L. M. A.
The Moons of Mars.
Since Professor Proctor wrote the paper entitled "Mars, the Planet of War," published in this number, there has been made, in relation to its subject, a discovery that the scientists say will rank among the most brilliant achievements of astronomy.
A great difference once thought to exist between Mars and the other planets was that he had no moons; but during the night of the 16th of August, Professor Hall, of the U.S. Naval Observatory at Washington, D.C., actually saw through his telescope that Mars has a moon. On the 18th of August another was seen, smaller than the first and nearer to the planet. The larger satellite is believed to be not more than ten miles in diameter: it is less than 12,000 miles distant from its primary, and its period of revolution about it is[page 70] 30 hours 14 minutes. The distance of the smaller moon is 3,300 miles, and its period 7 hours 38 minutes. There is no doubt that these newly found celestial bodies are the smallest known.
From measurements made by Professor Hall, it is found, with a near approach to certainty, that the mass of Mars is equal to 1-3,090,000th part of the mass of the sun. This result was arrived at after only ten minutes of calculation, and is believed to be more nearly accurate than that obtained by M. Le Verrier, the great French astronomer, from observations continued through a century and after several years of laborious calculation by a corps of computers. This wonderful difference in the expenditure of time and labor is due to the vigilance of Professor Hall and to the admirable qualities of his instrument, the great twenty-six inch refracting telescope made by Alvan Clark & Sons.
Oakland, Cal.
Dear St. Nicholas: I do not wish to make you any trouble, but I would like it very much if you could find room in some number to give a good explanation of the great war in Europe. I can't understand it in the newspaper, but I am pretty sure you can make it plain and simple enough for all of your young readers.—Yours truly,
Neb.
The Turco-Russian war is partly a conflict of religions and partly one of politics. The Turks came into Europe as the religious emissaries of the Mohammedan religion. In all the provinces of Turkey in Europe which they conquered, the Christians of the Greek, Armenian and Catholic churches were the victims of a bitter persecution. The Czar of Russia is the head of the Greek church. He has made repeated wars in defense of the children of his faith. There have been many wars and long sieges which, like the present, were said to be only in defense of the faith of the Greek church—a crusade and a holy war,
But if "Neb" will only look at the map of Russia, he will see, if he will study climate a little, that the vast empire of Russia has one thing lacking. It has no good outlet to the Atlantic Ocean, no power upon the seas. The Baltic Sea is closed half the year by ice. The great wheat trade of Russia concentrates at Odessa, on the Black Sea, and to get her grain to market she must pass through the Turkish lanes of the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles. Russia is a prisoner as to access to the Mediterranean, and so to the Atlantic, and so to the world at large. If she is at war, she cannot float her fleets. If she is at peace, she cannot sell her grain without going roundabout through her neighbors' lots. Turkey stands the tollman at the turnpike-gate, controlling and usurping the highway of all nations.
Maps are fascinating reading. "Neb" must not think that religious faith ever occasioned a war. Russia sincerely desires the protection of Greek Christians in Roumania and Bulgaria in Europe, and Armenia in Asia, but she wants also to send her ships free to the winds through from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean. Look at the map once more, "Neb," and see how much of a great country, fertile, strong, and industrious, is closed and shut against the outer world by the absolute Turkish control of the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles.
Indianapolis, 1877.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken every number of your splendid magazine, and I will now try to do my share to entertain the others.
My papa was a soldier in the great civil war, and I was born in camp just after the close of the war, and am now nearly twelve years old.
General Sherman, who made the great "march to the sea," wrote me a letter, which is very much too good for one boy alone, so I send it to you to publish, so that other children may have the benefit of it too.—Your reader,
Bernie M.
"Head-quarters Army of the United States,
"Washington, D. C., April 21, 1877."Master Bernie M.
"Indianapolis:
"I have received the handsome photograph sent me, and recognize the features of a fine young lad, who has before him every opportunity to grow up a man of fine physique, with a mind cultivated to meet whatever vicissitudes and opportunities the future may present. Many boys in reading history have a feeling of regret that their lives had not fallen in some former period, replete with events of stirring interest, such as our Revolutionary War, or that in Mexico, or even the Civil War, wherein they feel that they might have played a conspicuous part.
"Don't you make this mistake. The next hundred years will present more opportunities for distinction than the past, for our country now contains only forty millions of people, which will probably double every thirty-three years, so that if you live to three score years and ten you will be a citizen of a republic of two hundred millions of people. Now, all changes are attended by conflict of mind or of arms, and you may rest easy that there will be plenty for you to do, and plenty of honor and fame if you want them. The true rule of life is to prepare in advance, so as to be ready for the opportunity when it presents itself.
"I surely hope you will grow in strength and knowledge, and do a full man's share in building up the future of this country, which your fathers have prepared for you.
"Truly your friend,
"W.T. Sherman, General."
No doubt many of our readers have read some of the poems of Charles and Mary Lamb, and all who have will be interested in the following news concerning one of their books. In 1809 they published a little volume of "Poetry for Children," but only a few copies were printed, and these were soon out of print, so that the book has long been considered lost to the world. It was recently discovered, however, that the little book had been reprinted in Boston in 1812, and the only two copies of this edition known to exist in this country have lately come into possession of Messrs. Scribner, Armstrong & Co., who intend to republish the volume this fall. The book contains many delightful little poems for boys and girls, prettily rhymed, and full of the quaint humor and conceits which mark the other writings of the authors. We should like to print several of them, but have only room for these:
The Young Letter-Writer.
Dear Sir, Dear Madam, or Dear Friend,
With ease are written at the top;
When these two happy words are penn'd,
A youthful writer oft will stop,
And bite his pen, and lift his eyes,
As if he thinks to find in air
The wish'd-for following words, or tries
To fix his thoughts by fixed stare.
But haply all in vain—the next
Two words may be so long before
They'll come, the writer, sore perplext,
Gives in despair the matter o'er;
And when maturer age he sees
With ready pen so swift inditing,
With envy he beholds the ease
Of long-accustom'd letter-writing.
Courage, young friend, the time may be,
When you attain maturer age,
Some young as you are now may see
You with like ease glide down a page.
Ev'n then, when you, to years a debtor,
In varied phrase your meanings wrap,
The welcom'st words in all your letter
May be those two kind words at top.
Crumbs to the Birds.
A bird appears a thoughtless thing,
He's ever living on the wing,
And keeps up such a carolling,
That little else to do but sing
A man would guess had he.
No doubt he has his little cares,
And very hard he often fares;
The which so patiently he bears,
That, listening to those cheerful airs,
Who knows but he may be
In want of his next meal of seeds?
I think for that his sweet song pleads;
If so, his pretty art succeeds.
I'll scatter there among the weeds
All the small crumbs I see.
We very seldom take up a book only to break the tenth commandment; but Bayard Taylor's recent volume, "The Boys of Other Countries," published by the Putnams, always has that effect upon us, for we wish that every one of the stories in it had been written for ST. NICHOLAS. The best thing we can say to our boys and girls, of a book so well described by its title, is that it contains "Jon of Iceland," which originally appeared in this magazine, and that each of the stories is as good in its way as "Jon" itself.
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