* * * * *

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  One of your little readers has found the word “mutch” in one of my poems, and inquires its meaning, and I was rather surprised, on looking into the dictionaries, to discover that it was not there.  I have heard it used from childhood,—­applied to anything tied around the head in kerchief fashion.  The word is in use in old legends, and possibly comes from the French mouchoir, “handkerchief;” but some better linguist than myself must say whether this suggestion is correct.  To show, how the word is used, I can refer my questioner to the little story of “Gertrude’s Bird,” or the woodpecker, that is said to “fly about with a red mutch on her head.”  The legend is in Dasent’s “Popular Tales from the Norse.”

And I may say here that I am almost glad I made that mistake about the white-throated sparrow, since receiving a note from a lady who writes from among the Berkshire hills, where the sweet call of this bird is constantly repeated.  It is very pleasant to know that a little girl out in that beautiful region honors me so much as to recite my verse when she hears the fresh note of this charming songster, as this lady tells me her little daughter does.

Surely the songs of our wild birds are far better than any songs that can be made about them; but if these serve to remind us how delightful the winged singers of the deep forests and lonely mountain-sides are, they are perhaps worth while.—­Truly your friend,

    LUCY LARCOM.

* * * * *

    Arlington Hotel, Cobourg, Canada, July 10, 1878.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:  Do you remember the little boy who traveled with you on the train last month from Meadville, Pa., to Jamestown, N.Y., when you were returning from California, and who promised to write you all about his visit to Niagara Falls?  I have not forgotten my promise, but we have only just settled down for the rest of the summer at Cobourg, Canada.  Well, we reached Niagara that night and staid there two or three days, and I enjoyed it so much.  The fall on the American side is much smaller than the Canadian, and I remembered what you told me about part of the rock having fallen away, so that now, instead of being shaped like a horseshoe, it is like a Y. The old table rock has fallen away too.  We drove every day over Goat Island, the new Park, around all the beautiful drives, and across the bridges.  The best view is on the Canadian side, just after you cross the bridge, and then you have a grand view of all the falls at once.  We drove out to Lundy’s Lane, and a man came out and invited us to go up Scott’s Tower and see the battle-field.  Papa and mamma had been up some years ago, so said they did not care to go again, as the stairs were hard to climb.

I said I would go, so the man took me up and showed me the battle-field and the lakes