O dear delightful island, how glad we were to chance upon you right here in gay, care-free Paris! And what an enchanted day we spent amid your thousand delights and thronging memories!
HERE are two welcome little letters received some time ago from a boy and girl in Europe:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am in Europe now, in Nice. I have seen a great deal already. Nice is a nice place. And it is the only city in the world that one may call "Nice" always. I can talk French now a little, enough to be understood. I go to the "Promenade des Anglais" by the sea every morning, and I like it very much. Nice is situated in the south-eastern part of France, very near Italy. It once did belong to Italy. It was given to Napoleon III. as a reward for helping the late king of Italy, Victor Emanuel II., to the throne of Sardinia. I get the ST. NICHOLAS sent from home, and like the stories very much.--Your loving subscriber,
DARLING ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl seven years old, and I live in Nice. I enjoy myself very much here, and have a great deal of fun. I have nothing to do. I like it here very much. There are a great many mountains here, but now I do not know any more to write.--Your loving reader,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, but I have thought about it several times. I live in the east end of the city. I like your magazine very much, and always read it through. I had a dispute to-day with a boy friend of mine. It was about the gypsies, who camp near our place every year. He said that not all people who lived that way were gypsies; but that only those who were descended from the Egyptians were so named. I did not agree with him, because, in the first place, I do not think that they are descended from the Egyptians, and, in the second place, I think that all people who live in that way are called gypsies, no matter what country they come from. I must now close.--Your constant reader,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Did you know that we once had musical watchmen in this country? Less than fifty years ago, it was quite usual in Pennsylvania for the watchmen to sing the passing hours during the night. I suppose the custom was brought over by the Germans, who settled in the Keystone State. I fancy it must have been sleepy work for the poor watchman, calling the quiet hours, and adding, as he always did, his little weather report; at least, he invented a very drowsy, sing-song sort of tune for it.