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Page 65
The nightingale shyly took
Her head from under her wing,
And, giving the dove a look,
Straightway began to sing.
There was never a bird could pass;
The night was divinely calm;
And the people stood on the grass
To hear that wonderful psalm!
The nightingale did not care,
She only sang to the skies;
Her song ascended there,
And there she fixed her eyes.
The people that stood below
She knew but little about;
And this story's a moral, I know,
If you'll try to find it out!
* * * * *
Northern Vermont.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: "Little Joanna" is only three years and a half
old, but her father and mother take the ST. NICHOLAS for her; and
although she is so very young, she enjoys it as much as the older
ones. She liked the little poem called "Cricket on the Hearth," and
has learned to repeat some of it. In the December number she liked
the poem about the tea-kettle; she cries every time she hears
about poor "Little Tweet," and laughs at the "Magician and his
Bee," and at Polly's stopping the horses with the big green
umbrella. But she laughs the hardest at the picture of the little
girl who was so afraid of the turtle, and Edna, the kitchen-girl,
told her if the turtle should get hold of the little girl's toe, he
wouldn't let go till it thundered. After "Little Joanna" has seen
the pictures and heard the stories she can understand, her mamma
sends the ST. NICHOLAS to some little cousins in Massachusetts, who
in their turn forward it to some more cousins in far away Iowa. So
we all feel the ST. NICHOLAS merits the heartiest welcome of any
magazine.--Yours,
"LITTLE JOANNA'S" AUNTIE.
* * * * *
Dayton, O.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like your "Letter-Box" so much, and I always
read it first. My brother and I fight which shall read ST. NICHOLAS
first. He always speaks for it the month before. Then sister reads
it out loud to keep us quiet. I wish we had had more of the
Pattikins. I liked them real well.
The biggest thing in Dayton is the Soldiers' Home, three miles from
town. It is the largest of all the Homes, though they have a small
one at Milwaukee, Wis., and several others. They have three
thousand disabled soldiers here, and a big hospital, a church built
of stone, barracks, stores, dining-room, library, and everything
just like a little town. Then lovely lawns, gardens, lakes,
fountains, rustic bridges, etc. Lots of people say it is much
prettier than Central Park, and I think so, too. The soldiers have
most all of them lost their legs or arms, and some both. Lots of
blind ones lost their sight in battle, from the powder. They get
tipsy, too,--I guess because they get tired and feel sick. Nobody
cares, only they get locked up and fined. Papa says he don't
believe blue ribbon will keep them sober. Everybody wears blue
ribbon here, but I don't, because I don't want to get tipsy anyhow.
General Butler is the big boss of the Home. He comes every fall,
and walks around. They always have an arch for him. Colonel Brown
is Governor. He only has one arm, and was in Libby Prison. I wish
the boys and girls could all come and spend the day here. They have
a big deer-park, and lots of animals of all kinds, as good as a
show, and a splendid band that gives concerts, and they have dress
parades by the Brown Guards. I asked Papa how much it cost to run
it a year, and he wrote down for me, so I would not forget,
$360,740.81, last year. Hope you will find room to publish this.
Harry says you wont. Harry is my brother.--Your friend,
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