loaves. There is no chimney or opening, and the heat stays
in well--even for some time after the bread has been taken out; so that
it is no strange thing for a belated traveler to use the shelter or
warmth of one of these empty ovens on some cold and stormy night when
far from his home.

So much for fire-places out-of-doors. Now for a word about

PERSIAN STOVES.

I've just heard of the queer way the Persians have of keeping themselves
warm in their houses during cold weather. They place in the middle of
the room a pan of burning charcoal under a sort of table or frame which
holds up a large wadded quilt that reaches the floor on all sides, like
a tent. This must look almost like keeping the fire warm. Then the
family sit around the droll stove, with their legs and arms under the
quilt; and when they wish to go to sleep, they put themselves half under
the quilt, and so keep nice and warm until the morning. That's easy
enough for Persians to do, because, as I'm told, they never undress at
night, but just roll themselves in coverings and lie down anywhere.

Perhaps you would not find such arrangements in your homes quite as
comfortable as soft beds and cozy blankets in well-warmed rooms.
However, the Persian winter is not as cold as ours, I suppose.

LIGHT THROUGH METAL.

Here's an odd thing! My wise old wide-awake friend the owl tells me that
a Yale College professor has found out a way to make a layer of metal so
thin that it will readily show the color of a light-beam sent through
it. That professor will be showing us how to see through a mill-stone
next, may be.

GOOD AS AN EXPERIMENT.

Dear Jack: I have a little friend, called Jack, too, who is
generally the most sweet-tempered boy I know. But one day he came
to play in my rooms, as usual, for I always keep his toys there, in
repair and order. He soon grew tired of them, and came to me for a
story. I was busy with reading, and refused, telling him to wait
until I had leisure. Then he grew impatient, and put my book down
with a coaxing "_Please_, Fred." I could not humor him then, and
gently told him to stop. Then--I am sorry to say it--he became very
angry, and gave me a blow in my face. Now, Jack, don't pass your
sentence yet--remember, it was the first and _only_ act of that
kind. But guess what I did.

I stooped over him and kissed him, saying: "Is this my little boy?"
He looked at m