* * * * * Salem, Mass. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about my little turtle. I got him up in the country last summer, and have had him about six months. I keep him in a bowl of water, with a shell in it. In summer I feed him with flies, and in winter I give him pieces of cooked meat about the size of a fly. My turtle's shell is nearly round, and he is small enough to be put in a tumbler, and then he can turn round as he likes. I named him "Two-forty" (a funny name), because, when you put him down, he stands still, looks around a minute, and then starts off on a run,--Your friend and reader, JOHNNY P. WILLIS. * * * * * Camp Grant, Arizona. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your coming every month fills us with delight. We cannot wait to read you separately, so mamma reads you aloud after the lamps are lighted, the first evening you are here. Papa lays aside his pen to listen, just like any boy, and so we all enjoy your pages at once. I have one little sister, but no brother. We live in camp, in far-away Arizona; and, although the "buck-board" brings the mail in every other day, it takes a long while for a letter to come from the East. There is a pet deer here. He comes out to "guard mounting" on the parade-ground, and trots after the band when the guard passes in review. Every one is kind to him; even the dogs know they must not chase him.--Your true friend, MOLLIE GORDON. * * * * * New Brunswick, N.J. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you of the nice times that the country children have, although they have no parks. In summer they can go on picnics, and they have a nice garden to play in. And most of the children have little gardens of their own to plant things in,--one for flowers and the other for vegetables. Then, in the winter-time, they can go coasting, sliding and skating; then, last but not least, sleigh-riding on the lovely, pure white snow. I, for one, would not be a city child. If I lived in the city, I could not have my old pet hen. Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS.--From your friend-- MATHILDE WEYER. P.S.--I have a cat by the name of Pussy Hiawatha. * * * * * Covington, Ohio. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Would you like to know how I came to get you? I worked for you. My brother made a bank for me out of a cigar-box, and said if I put ten cents into it every week, I could begin taking you in November. That was in March. Sometimes, I could not get the ten cents, but I made it up the next week, and more, too, if I could; and before July, I had more than enough to pay for you. After that, I saved nearly enough to buy me a suit of clothes. I am working for you for another year. My age is twelve.--From your constant reader, W.H. PERRY. * * * * * The following is sent to us from Josie C.H., aged eleven years, as her own composition: