DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  I thought I would write to you to tell you about our little town of Clayton.  It is a beautiful little place, of about three hundred and eighty inhabitants, situated on the Mississippi River.  There are two large flouring-mills, two saw-mills, and a large hoop factory here, where all kinds of straps and hoops are manufactured by machinery.  First, the poles are sawed into certain lengths; then they are taken to the splitters, to be split.  They are then taken to the planers.  After going through this process, they are bunched into bunches of fifty each.  Then they are ready for shipment.  They are made of hickory, white oak, and birch.

It is very pleasant to take a boat-ride on a summer eve, with the banks on either side of you covered with long green grass, and flowers of nearly all descriptions bending down into the water, while in the woods all kinds of birds are cluttering and chattering, and the ducks are quacking around you, all of which makes it very pleasant.—­Your constant reader,

    H.R.

* * * * *

    Baltimore, Md.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  I would like to know why it is that the wife of General George Washington is called Lady Washington?  I do not think that we have ever had any lords or ladies in our country; so if you know the reason why, I would like to know.

    E.M.

Can any of our boys and girls answer this question?

* * * * *

    Somerville, N.J.

    DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  As I wish to contribute a little to the
    “Letter-Box,” I will send you a little poem written by my sister
    Allie when she was nine years old.

    OUR BABY.

    Little Bertha is my sister,
      And she is two years old,—­
    A cunning little darling,
      Whom I love to hold.

    You ask her whom she loves best,
      And she’ll say “Papa Lou.” 
    You ask her whom she loves next,
      And p’r’aps she will say “You.”

    You ask her what her name is,
      And she’ll say “Bertie Lou.” 
    But then, she’s sometimes naughty,
      And sometimes so are you.

    Little Bertha is my sister,
      And she’s as cunning as she can be;
    With a dimple in each cheek,
      And a dimple in each knee.

    And I guess most people love her,
      For she’s as cunning as she can be;
    But then, sometimes she is naughty,
      And that’s the way with you and me.

    My darling little sister
      Always sleeps at night with me;
    And, as I said before,
      She’s as cunning as she can be.

    A.C.H.

* * * * *

    Roseville, N.J.