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    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,

    CLARENCE SNYDER.

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    Trenton, N.J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  I have read a great many letters in your ST. NICHOLAS, and I always like to read them, for they are so funny.  So I thought I would write you a letter and tell you about my poor little cat.  It was given me when two weeks old, and I only had it a month before it died—­and, do you believe, I saw it die!  It was taken sick, and I cried awful.  I don’t know what was the matter with it, but I think it had the colic, for it lay as quiet as a mouse; and then it died.  Oh, how sorry I was!  My friend got a little box and buried it right under my window, so I could often think of it.  So I hope you will all wish me better luck with my cats.  Be sure and give my love to Jack.—­From your little friend,

    JENNIE H.

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    San Francisco, Cal.

    DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  I have often read in the “Letter-Box” some other
    little stories which boys and girls have written.