write has
iron in it. Last, but not least, we have iron in our blood, enough
to make a ten-penny nail.

I will tell you of a trip we took to the lead mines. We were
spending the summer of 1877 in Wythville, Virginia, and there became
acquainted with a family boarding in the same hotel as ourselves.
One day they invited us to go with them to see the mines; we had a
very long but pleasant ride, and ate our lunch on the grass in the
woods, then went on, and at last arrived at the mines. The man who
was outside told us that he was "going to harness the ladies'
sleeping car;" the mouth of the cave was so low that a man of
ordinary height could hardly stand upright in it: when we started
they hitched two carts which were used to carry the ore out of the
mine, and put a little donkey to it; the man called the donkey
Jenny; we had two or three tallow candles which would not stay
lighted; as we advanced further, the water began to leak from the
rocks, and the car ran off track; but when we were inside the mine,
we were more than rewarded for what we had suffered. The men were
working in groups, each group having a lantern, and the lead itself
shined; a few men went up a pair of stairs to nearly the top of the
mine; but all these beauties could not induce me stay a minute
longer than I was obliged, and I can assure you we were all very
thankful when we arrived at the hotel, to find a nice supper and
warm beds waiting for us.--Your little friend,

JOYCE.

* * * * *

Junction City, Kansas.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like to read you very much, especially "Under
the Lilacs" and "Dab Kinzer." I live in Junction City, and have a
very pleasant home. We have a great many wild flowers growing on the
prairies. One of them is called the soap plant. Our teacher says its
name is "Yucca." It has long slim leaves with sharp edges, and the
flower grows on all sides of the stalk, which sometimes is four feet
high: the flowers are white. Then we have a sensitive rose. The rose
looks like a round purple silk tassel. We have lots more of odd
flowers, which I will tell you about some other time.--Yours truly,

MARY KEYS.

* * * * *

Bunker Hill.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read an article lately against nicknames and
spelling names with