"Never mention a rope in the family
of a man who has been hanged."

If your own home is in any way better and handsomer than your friends',
do not say anything which may seem like making invidious comparisons, or
allow them to see that you miss any of the conveniences to which you
have been accustomed.

Be careful about making any unnecessary work for others, and do not ask
even the servants to do for you anything which you ought to do for
yourself. The family had their time filled up before you came, and, do
what you will, you are an extra one, and will make some difference.

Provide yourself, before you leave home, with whatever small supplies
you are likely to need, so that you need not be borrowing ink, pens,
paper, envelopes, postage-stamps, etc.

It may seem unnecessary to speak of the need of taking due care of the
property of others, but having just seen a young lady leaning forward
with both elbows upon the open pages of a handsome volume which was
resting upon her knees, I venture to suggest that you do not leave any
marred wall, or defaced book, or ink-stains, or mark of a wet tumbler,
to remind your friends of your visit long after it has ended.

Do not forget, when you go away, to express your appreciation of the
kindness which has been shown you, and when you reach home inform your
friends by letter of your safe arrival.

If you follow faithfully these few suggestions, you will probably be
invited to go again; and if you do not thank ST. NICHOLAS for telling
you these plain truths, perhaps the friends whom you visit will be duly
grateful.

NEW-YEAR CARD.

(Drawn by Miss L. GREENAWAY.)

[Illustration: I send my serving-maiden With New-Year letter laden.]

HOW KITTY GOT HER NEW HAT.

BY E. P. W.

It was all because of Polly, and this was the way of it.

Ma had gone 'cross lots to Aunt Mari's, to stay till milking-time, to
see the new things Aunt Mari had brought from Boston, and Polly and I
were alone at home. Polly is our hired help, and she is Irish, and has
got red hair, but she's as good as gold; and I am Kitty, my Pa's little
chatterbox.

Polly was in the buttery, washing the dinner-dishes, and I was on the
kitchen floor, playing with Queen Victoria, our old yellow cat, trying
to teach her to stand on her hind-legs and beg, like Johnny Dane's dog.
But Vic was cross, and wouldn't learn; and when I boxed her ears, she
scratched me on my chin, and bounced over my shoulder, a