JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

JUNE is the boys' and girls' own month-fresh, rosy, busy, and full of plans for the season to come. This is the time when young feet twitch restlessly under school-desks and benches, and young eyes wander from school-books in hand to happy birds in the bush just outside the school-house door, and when the weary teacher has the same longings that make the children restless, though she may not think it best to confess it.

Some of you have outdoor work in the summer, and some of you have outdoor play; but whether it's one or the other, or both, June is eager for you to be at it; and the way she whispers and pulls and beckons is something wonderful. Now, you shall hear about

A CATARACT THAT RUSHES UP THE RIVER.

IN most rivers, as I 've heard, the cataracts and rapids flow down-stream, but one of my Canadian friends sends word that the St. John River, New Brunswick, has a cataract which has a queer habit of sometimes rushing up-stream.

A little above where the river flows into the ocean, there is a wide and deep basin that empties itself into the harbor through a narrow passage between two walls of rock. When the tide is going down, the water runs out of the harbor into the ocean far more quickly than the river can flow through the narrow channel above, and so the stream pours itself seaward through the harbor end of the passage in a roaring water-fall. But when the tide is rising, the ocean fills the harbor and passage so rapidly that the sea-water plunges down into the basin from the river end of the narrow channel, in a foaming cataract that falls up-stream! Twice in every tide, however, there is a space of about twenty minutes when the waters are at one height in the harbor, passage, and basin, and then

the ships that are to go up or down must be hurried through before the river "gets its back up," as the boys say.

CHRISTMAS AT MIDSUMMER.

MY DEAR MR. JACK: In your Christmas remarks you mentioned a "curious winter-tree that lasts only a few hours." Well, now, please let me remind you that out here, in Australia, the winter weather does not come until June, and that it is full midsummer when Christmas comes. So, you see, our Christmas-trees can not be really "winter-trees," but they are "midsummer-trees." We enjoy them quite as well, though, and those of us who know you feel that we are just as much your youngsters as are the English and American boys and girls who are lucky enough to have their Christmastrees in true Christmas weather.-Your little friend, W. T. V.

WHERE "CAT" AND "PUSS" CAME FROM. A LADY who likes cats-and who also must be as fond of hunting up the origin of words as a cat is of hunting mice-sends the Little School-ma'am a nice long letter all about "puss" and "cat." As many of you may like to know where these familiar titles come from, you shall have an extract from the letter:

"Cat" is from the Latin " catus," which came into use in place of the older Latin "felis." The Romans brought the cats from Syria, where the name is "kato"-Arabic "kitt," from which we have "kitten," as I think. In Persian, the word is "chat," and the Persian language is allied to that most ancient tongue, the Sanscrit; so, perhaps, "chat" is the earliest form of our word "cat."

In Persian, also, a cat wild or tame is "puschak," from a word in Sanscrit meaning "tail"; and, to this day, Persian cats are noted for their handsome tails. This word "puschak" is pronounced "pischik" by the Afghans, and "puije" by the Lithuanians, and all these words are very like our word "pussy." Some derive "puss" from a Latin word "pusus," "pusa," meaning "little boy," "little girl." But where did this Latin word come from? Sanscrit is older than Latin. Since the Sanscrit word means "tail," and Herodotus, the ancient historian, in describing the Egyptian cat, calls it by a word that means "the creature with waving tail," I, for one, shall supposed Latin origin. believe in the Sanscrit origin of our word "puss," and not in the J. H. K.

JACK ASKS SOME QUESTIONS.

DEACON GREEN tells me that the Editors of ST. NICHOLAS will give you, this month, a nice long talk about the ostrich, its ways and habits, and also some human ways of dealing with that nimblefooted bird. In this case, the sooner I show you my prize-bird, the better; for it's the most ostrich-ylooking bird for one that is not an ostrich, that you have ever seen.

Now, the question is, what is he? And where does he live? What is his Latin name? And what is his every-day name? Can he run like an ostrich, or is he one of your slow-goers?

And what of the little fellows down foot? They are striped, and the big bird is speckled. Why is this thus? And what means that queer house in the background? That may give my shrewd ones a clue as to the home of this no-ostrich bird.

There are encyclopedias and dictionaries and picture-books and works of travel, the dear Little School-ma'am tells me, that are even cleverer than my youngsters. I can hardly believe it; but if the dear little lady is right, as she always is, why not consult these cleverer things?

Let me hear from you soon, my hearties!

CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that between the 1st of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not be conveniently examined in the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who wish to favor the magazine will please postpone sending their articles until after the last-named date.

OUR thanks are due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for their courtesy in allowing us to reprint in our "Treasure-box of English Literature" an extract from one of Mr. Lowell's poems; and to Hon. F. M. Finch, for kind permission to use his poem, "The Blue and the Gray."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: What is the proper way to spell the name of the poet Shakspear? In this town, which is only a few months old, I can not find out from any body. Uncle Robert knows, I think; but he is a tease, and all that I can get from him about it is such ridiculous things as, "Shakspear himself did n't seem to know how his own name ought to be written," and "once he even went so far as to say what's in a name," and "he never could have learned properly how to spell, for he wrote his words all crooked," and so on. But if you can help me, please do, and oblige your true admirer, FANNY G., 12 years.

For an answer to Fanny G.'s letter, we can not do better than reprint a part of a communication relating to the subject, and which came to us lately from Mrs. Mary Cowden-Clarke, who, with her husband, has written many works concerning Shakespeare and his writings. She says:

The mode of spelling "Shakspere" was used when printing my concordance to the great poet's plays, in deference to the wish of Mr. Charles Knight, its original publisher; otherwise I should have used the form "Shakespeare," which I have always adopted, because it was the one given in the First Folio Edition of his dramatic works by its superintendents and his brother-actors Heminge and Condell. The name is also given thus in the First Edition of his Sonnets; and it seems to have been the orthography used in print, where his name was given during his life-time. That as many as sixteen different. modes of spelling the name have been found to have been used at the epoch when he wrote, and that he himself did not adhere to any particular one when signing his name, appears to be merely in accordance with a fashion of the time, which allowed of the utmost irregularity in the orthography of men's names.

CHESTER WHITMORE.-Your questions about a fresh-water aquarium will be answered by Mr. Daniel C. Beard in an article to be published probably in our next number.

ALL our readers who enjoy Mr. Rossiter Johnson's admirable story of "Phaeton Rogers" will appreciate the accompanying letter concerning the scene of Phaeton's exploits, and giving some interesting facts about the author of the story.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are very much interested in the story of "Phacton Rogers," because the scene of it is laid in our native town. All the adventures recounted took place in that part of the city where I was born, and have lived fifteen years, and where my parents have lived nearly forty years; so it is all very familiar to me.

We have many times been over the railway crossing where that most interesting character, Jack-in-the-Box, lived in his delightful little flag-house. That flag-house is no longer standing, but mamma remembers having seen it, years ago, with its pointed roof, and one side covered with morning-glory vines. I wish she had looked inside, and seen the shelf full of books, and all the other things described. I am curious to know whether the story of Jack-in-the-Box will be spoiled by ending in a romance, or whether he was a veritable character, for I think he is made very interesting.

We know the very spot where the author of the story used to live when all his adventures with Phaeton and Ned took place. The other day we walked out on the street where the boys rode when they took Uncle Jacob's horse to pasture, on purpose to see if we could recognize any of the places mentioned in that famous ride. But the city has changed very much since those days. Then, that street was a country road,

with barns and hay-fields on either side, but now it is one line of stores and houses, with a street-car track in the center. The only things we recognized were, the stone brewery, now transformed into a flour-mill, and the building that used to be the Quaker meetinghouse, in front of which the boys sat when they were listening to Jimmy the Rhymer's ballad.

Deep Hollow, mentioned several times in the story, is a beautiful ravine. We have often explored parts of it in summer. My brother well remembers the strife between the Dublin boys and the boys on our side of the river, and it is said to continue, even now.

My older sisters once went to a school in this district, where they remember Mr. Rossiter Johnson as one of the scholars, and that he was considered the smartest boy in the school. So, children in reading "Phaeton Rogers," may know that the most unimportant character in the story, who rarely says anything, and then only "ventures to suggest," is really an uncommon boy.

The name "Rochester" is certainly buried very plainly in the little couplet, where readers are given a chance to find out the name of the town in which the boys lived, but if I had not already recognized Rochester in the familiar scenes of the story, I don't think I should have discovered it. No author could find a more delightful place for the scene of a story than Rochester, especially that part of the city which includes Deep Hollow and the river. Mr. Johnson is now well known to fame. His wife also is literary, and my sisters went to school with her at one time, when they attended Miss Dolittle's seminary on Fitzhugh street. She is the daughter of a Greek professor in the University of Rochester, who has a wide reputation.

I never read a story before where the scene was laid in Rochester, and it greatly adds to its interest to have it such a charming story as "Phaeton Rogers," and to know that its author is a native of our city.

The coming of the ST. NICHOLAS is always anticipated in our family, but now I hail its appearance with peculiar pleasure. --Very sincerely, M. F.

THE responses to our request to hear from performers of "The Land of Nod," the operetta published in the number for December, 1880, have been very gratifying, and we are glad to know that the little piece has been successful in so many places. Among the most profitable performances that have been reported to us were those in Boston Highlands, at the Church of the Unity; Chatham, Mass.: Brooklyn, N. Y., at All Souls' Church; Jefferson, Ohio; and Santa Fé, New Mexico. And the following letter from Little Falls we are sure will interest everybody everywhere who has had anything to do with bringing out the operetta:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I don't usually read the letters in the "Letter-box," but going to the piano to try the piece of music entitled "Romance Without Words," I discovered the letter from Mrs. Flagg, which led me to think you would be pleased to know we have had the "Land of Nod" here in Little Falls. The ladies of our parish held a three-days' festival, and for one evening's entertainment, my mamma and Mrs. Ransom prepared the children of our Sunday-school, in "The Land of Nod. It was "too cunning for anything" to see the little "sleepy-heads" of three and five years of age act their parts so nicely. The red light thrown on the last scene brought great cheering from the audience. To finish the evening entertainment, mamma had drilled twelve little girls in the "Fan Brigade," after the description given in your January num. Mamma wishes me to say it will repay any one for the trouble and time spent in drilling them, when properly costumed, and successfully presented.

ber.

I meant to mention that I took part as one of the dream-sprites in "The Land of Nod" (as I am twelve years old), and I was also in the Fan Brigade. We repeated the operetta another evening, and after our expenses of $120.00 were paid, we had over $200.00 left. I hope you will publish some more pieces as nice.-Your subscriber, JESSIE H. B.

arrangements. Moreover, several other readers have sent accounts very different from C. M. H.'s. Here is one:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: On Saturday, March 12th, I had a few little girls come to visit me. I wanted something nice to amuse them with, so I tried the magic dance spoken of in the March ST, NICHOLAS. Mamma bought me a pane of glass and I traced some of the figures in Miss Kate Greenaway's little book, "Under the Window," and put the glass between two bound volumes of ST. NICHOLAS. The figures danced beautifully. With much love to you, dear ST. NICHOLAS,

A. S. K.

THE question was asked in June, 1879, by Jack-in-the-Pulpit, how the strawberry got its name. Answers came, of course, but none of them appeared to be satisfactory. Here, however, are two letters that seem to settle the question:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Years ago, when strawberries grew wild about London, England, the children used to gather them, string them on the long, straw-like grasses, and sell them for a penny a "straw of berries," which soon was shortened into "strawberry.' Yours sincerely, HELEN M. LAMB.

IN connection with Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's article upon "OstrichFarming," in the present number, we print the following cutting from the London "Times" of May 14, 1880:

An ostrich, long on exhibition at Rome, having been suffocated by thrusting its neck between the bars, there were found in its stomach four large stones, eleven smaller ones, seven nails, a necktie pin, an envelope, thirteen copper coins, fourteen beads, one French franc, two small keys, a piece of a handkerchief, a silver medal of the Pope, and the cross of an Italian order.

And here is a slip from the New York "Tribune" of January, 1881: A mania for ostrich farming possesses the settlers in South Africa, and vast tracts of sheep-pasture are being converted into ranges for the more profitable bípeds. As a result, the price of mutton has advanced two cents per pound.

KITTIE HANAFORD.-Any reader-whether a subscriber or notwho sends solutions of ST. NICHOLAS puzzles, will be named in the list printed at the end of the "Riddle-box."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Roller-skates are very nice-on other people. Gertie or Edie sweeps by on a "set of wheels," and you say: "Dear me! How nice it is! I'll ask Mamma to get me a pair;" and, on being assured that "it is the easiest thing in the world to learn," you go to your mother or father and say: "Please, please get me a pair of roller skates! I'll be so good! I saw Gertie on a pair to-day, and she went like everything. She says it is awful easy to learn. Ah, do now, please. I want 'em so!" And in the end your father goes and buys a pair.

Ah, how proud you are of the bright metal heels, the rattling buckles and straps, and the clicking wheels! And how impatiently you await the first fine day, that you may "go skating." It has come. Gertie or Edie is willing to give you a lesson, and you enviously watch the graceful ease with which she flies up and down the sidewalk. She takes your hand-you "strike out' -What is it? -Is the world waltzing?-Are you flying through air? Only a tenth of a second do you think this. Then,-Oh, the anguish of that moment! Gertie laughs. You think, "Oh, how heartless that girl is!"

Then she helps you up. You try to smile, and when she asks: "Are you hurt?" you say "A l-i-t-t-l-e."

Then you try again, only to repeat the same experience. Finally you learn to go the width of a flag-stone without falling, and slowly you learn to go, perhaps, a block alone. But this is only after about, "to dra' it mild," fifty falls.

If you think it worth while, "go ahead." If you think it easy, take warning, and stop while there is yet time. HELEN N. STEARNS, 12 years.

Helen evidently has not had patience to master the art of rollerskating. But there are hundreds and hundreds of boys and girls who will not agree with her concerning it. For the city parks of New York of late have been almost transformed into rinks for the boys and girls on roller-skates. During the months of March and April, the whirl of the skates was heard on all the pavements there, and even the crowds upon Broadway were startled by the swift young skaters shooting by on their way to school. We give below a scene on a bright April day in Madison Square, New York, which shows the enjoyment the young people of this city have taken in this style of skating.