I will tell you a little story about the dogs of this place. In Constantinople and the villages near it, there are a great number of dogs. All these dogs have their own quarters, and quarrel very much with those of other quarters. At San Stephano, about two years ago, some wolves came down from the mountains, and then all these dogs united and chased the wolves right back to the mountains. And then they went home to their quarrels again. What I mean is, that although they had their differences amongst themselves, they were ready to join together against the wolves. I hope my letter will be good enough to interest the other little girls who write to you, and who have never lived in Turkey. Your interested reader, MURIEL P. BROOKLYN. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about our performance of your comedy for children, "Dicky Dot and Dotty Dick." We got it up in our Cozy Club. I was stage manager. I am ten years old. My sister Christine was Dotty. She is six. A little boy named Sidney was Dicky. He is six and a half. They both knew their parts perfectly, and did so well that everybody said it was too cute for anything, and I felt very much pleased. We all love ST. NICHOLAS. GERALDINE. KANSAS CITY, MO. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was wishing for you before Christmas, because all the girls at school say you are so interesting. I never had a hope of getting you. But what do you think! On Christmas, to my great surprise, among my presents was a ST. NICHOLAS. I jumped around with glee. I sat down, left all my other presents, and commenced reading you. I am eleven years old. I think the covering of you very pretty. The picture in front is "Apollo, the god of the sun." I am very fond of mythology. Mamma is going to have my ST. NICHOLAS bound when this year is out, and I am going to take you next year. Hoping this letter will be printed, I remain, your devoted reader, ETTA K. PALISADES. DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in the country, very high up on the Hudson River Palisades. The woods are all about us, and my nurse takes me to the edge of the great cliffs to look down on the shining river, and see the steamers and the lovely white sails far over on Long Island Sound. We have a baby colt in the pasture with his mamma, whose name is Aniline, because her glossy coat shines in bright tints when the sun strikes it. The colt follows us about like a large dog. Papa has taught him not to be afraid. At night when it grows dark, and I am undressed for bed, we hear Owen calling the cows, "Here, Dolly! Dolly! Here, Jenny! Jenny! Jenny!" Then he sits down to milk them, and the three cats all gather around him, watching and waiting for a sip. The katydids sing a great deal up here, and this is what Mamma has sung to me at bed-time, and you will guess from it, dear ST. NICHOLAS, what my name is: