Paris.
My Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little American girl, but I am in Europe now, with my mother. We were in London the other day, and I went to Madame Tussaud's wax-works. The figures are, perhaps, better than those of the "Eden Musée," but the likenesses are simply miserable, especially Washington's, which resembles "Bunthorne," in "Patience"; and Lincoln, who was a much taller man than the late General Grant, was represented as a much smaller one.
Your very loving Paquerelle.
New York.
Dear Old St. Nicholas: This is the first time I have ever written to you, although I have taken you for thirteen years,—ever since you were published,—and have quite often thought of doing it. I am only a New York girl, and can not write you about lovely scenery and stirring events like the girls and boys who live at a distance, but can only say again and again how dearly I love you, and how eagerly I look for you every month.
I have enjoyed the series "From Bach to Wagner" so much, as I am very fond of music and take violin lessons. I like "Little Lord Fauntleroy" better than any story you have had in a long time,—but Mrs. Burnett is always delightful,—and it makes it so nice to have it illustrated by Mr. Birch, whose drawings I admire greatly. I hope you will not find this letter too long to print or consider me too old to be one of your admirers, as I am not yet seventeen. I do not belong to the A. A., much to my regret. I used to be a member of the "Town and Country Club," but had to give it up for want of time. Good-bye, dear ST. NICK, and believe me,
Affectionately yours, Amethyst.