ROBERT MERRY’S

MUSEUM.

EDITED BY

S. G. GOODRICH,

AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.

VOLUME VII.

BOSTON

BRADBURY, SODEN & CO.,

No. 12, School Street.

1844.

Stereotyped by George A. Curtis, New England Type and Stereotype Foundry.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.

JANUARY TO JUNE, 1844.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by S. G. Goodrich, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

Vol. VII 1844. No. 1.

Well—here we are again! The old year has passed away, and the new one has come. How rapidly the months have flown! It seems but a brief space since our last farewell to the old year,—​and since we greeted you all with wishes of a happy new one. And yet, within that space, this great world on which we live has made its annual journey of three hundred millions of miles around the sun—​and we have kept it company. The year 1843 has departed, and carried up to heaven its record of good and of evil!

And we are now at the threshold of another year; we are about to begin a new race—​to perform a new journey. The year 1844 is an untried region—​an unknown country. What may be there in store for us, we cannot say. But let us start with cheerful hearts, with hopeful anticipations, and with a stock of good resolutions.

It is the first day of January,—​that cold and stormy month, which the ancients represented under the image of an old man, with a long beard,—​such as appears at the head of this article. Boys and girls—​I wish you all a happy new year! But what are mere wishes? They are idle breath—​a mockery of words, unless the heart goes with them. And my heart, on the present occasion, does go with my words. I not only wish you a happy new year, my friends, but, so far as in me lies, I intend to make it a happy one for my readers. I have in store for them—​not cake and candy—​not sweetmeats and sugar-plums—​but rhymes and riddles—​fables and allegories—​prose and poetry—​lays and legends—​fact and fancy—​in short, a general assortment of such things as belong to a literary museum for young people. And although I profess to deal in matters that may amuse my friends, I have still a desire that, while they are entertained, they shall be instructed. The only way to be happy—​really and truly happy—​is to be wise; and wisdom comes through teaching—​through education. I think I can make this very plain, if you will listen to me a few moments.

You know there are such people as savages—​those who roam wild in the woods, or dwell in wigwams, sitting upon the ground, and sleeping upon the skins of beasts; those who have no books, nor schools, nor churches; those who have never read the Bible; those who know not Jesus Christ, nor the ten commandments.

Well—​what makes the difference between these wild, savage people, and those who live in good houses, in towns and cities, and have all the comforts and conveniences of life? Knowledge makes the whole difference, and knowledge comes by instruction—​by education. Do my little readers know that without education they would be savages? Yet it is really so. All are born alike—​the child of the savage, and the child of the Christian. One grows up a savage, because its father and mother do not send it to school—​do not furnish it books, do not teach it to read and to write. The other grows up a Christian, because it is instructed—​it is educated. Education, therefore, makes us to differ.

Now, what do you think of this? Do you observe, that all our little friends, who hate books, and school, and instruction, are trying to be like little savages? Bah! I hope none of my readers are so unreasonable. I hope they see that it is best for them to be Christians—​and as far as possible from the savage state. I think one thing is very clear: our good Father in heaven, whom we ought all to love and obey, did not intend us to be savages; and, at the same time, he has provided only one way to avoid it—​and that is by education. He makes it our duty, therefore, as well as our happiness, to seek instruction—​education.

This design of Providence is very apparent, when we compare man with animals. Birds and beasts do not go to school; they are provided with all needful knowledge by that power which we call instinct. A little chicken, only a day old, will run about and pick up seeds, which lie scattered among the stones and dirt. How does the chicken know that seeds are made to eat, and that stones are not made to eat? How does the chicken distinguish the wholesome and nutritious seed, from the dirt and gravel? God has taught it—​God has given it a wonderful instinct, by which it is guided in the choice and discovery of its food.

But the infant has no such instinct; left to itself, it will pick up dirt, stones, pins—​anything that comes in its way—​and put all into its little greedy mouth! The child has to be taught everything by its parents or its nurse. It must be taught what is good and what is evil—​what to seek, and what to shun.

The chicken runs about, as soon as it is hatched; the child must be taught first to creep, then to walk. The chicken, left to itself, though but a day old, will hide from the hawk that would devour it; the child, if left to itself, would as soon go into the fire, or the water, or the bear’s mouth, as anywhere else. The chicken is guided by instinct—​the child by instruction.

Thus it appears, that, while instinct is the guide of the animal world, education is the instrument by which children are to reach their true destiny. God meant us to be educated; and children who hate education, hate God’s will and God’s way; they hate the road that leads to their own happiness. Think of that—​black-eyes and blue-eyes!—​think that when you resist instruction, you resist the will of Providence, and sin against your own peace! The designs of Providence, in respect to animals and mankind, appear very striking from other considerations. Now a beaver is a natural architect, and his instinct not only teaches him the art of house-building, but he has a set of tools ready furnished. He has sharp teeth, with which he cuts down trees, and divides them into proper lengths: thus his teeth answer both as hatchet and saw. His tail is flat, and when he has laid on his mortar, he turns round and spats it with his tail, which operates like a mason’s trowel. So here is a carpenter and mason, both in one, educated by nature and provided with a set of tools, scot free. What a happy fellow!

So it is with the woodpecker; he never learnt a trade, or paid a shilling for tools—​yet he knows how to chisel out his hole in a dry tree—​and his bill answers as both gouge and hammer. The spider has no shuttle or loom; he never had a lesson in the factories of Lowell—​yet he weaves his ingenious web—​and he sets it, too, so as to take his prey.

Surely, Providence has taken care of these creatures in a wonderful way. And perhaps you think that God has been more kind to them than to human beings; for while He teaches the animal world, He leaves children to schoolmasters; and while He teaches the beavers and the birds their trade, and furnishes their tools, gratis—​boys and girls must serve seven years for a trade, and pay for their tools when they have done!

But let us look a little farther. It is true that if children refuse to learn—​refuse to be educated—​they remain ignorant, and like savages. But children can learn, if they will. Education is offered to them—​and, if it is improved, what is the result? Look around, and see what mankind, who have obeyed the will of God, and who have improved their faculties by education,—​see what they are, and what they have done. The instinct of the beaver is very wonderful—​but, after all, it only enables the beaver to build rude mounds of earth, wood and stone, which serve as its abode; and also enables it to provide its simple food of roots and grass and fruits. This is the whole stretch of instinct.

But let us look at the results of education, operating upon the faculties of man. Look at Boston—​what a mighty city! How many houses—​and if we go into them, how beautiful—​how convenient! Look at the paved streets—​the pleasant side-walks! Go into the shops, and see the beautiful merchandises. Go into the Museum, in Tremont street, and see the wonders there, gathered from the four quarters of the globe. Go down to the waters and see the ships, made to plough the mighty ocean, and hold intercourse with the ends of the earth. Go to the Atheneum, and see the stores of knowledge, which man has discovered. Go to the churches, and see the people holding communion with that God who built the earth, and spread out the heavens. Open the Bible, and read the wonders of revelation—​the immortality of the soul—​the mighty plan of man’s salvation. Go to the fireside, and see the comfort—​the peace—​the happiness, which are there. And remember that all these things—​every one of them—​is the product of education. Oh, who then would be content with instinct, merely because it is easy, and costs nothing; and spurn education, because it requires effort?

Education, then, is a great and glorious thing; but remember that you must take advantage of it. The old adage says—​“One man may lead a horse to water, but ten can’t make him drink.” It is so with children in education: it is easy to send them to school—​easy to put books before them—​easy to give them good counsel; but if they will not try to learn, they will not learn. You cannot teach an unwilling mind. When I was a boy, I caught a blue jay, and put him in a cage; but the fellow wouldn’t eat. I got hold of his head, and opened his mouth, and put some cherries down, but he wouldn’t swallow; and as soon as I let him go, he threw it all up; and so he died! Now, this is just the way with some boys and girls—​they will not take knowledge into their minds; they reject good counsel; even if you cram it down, they throw it up. Isn’t that bad? Yes—​very bad indeed.

Now—​ladies and gentlemen—​boys and girls—​walk up,—​here’s Merry’s Museum for 1844! We are going to set matters all right; we are going to show the advantages of education, the pleasures of education, the duty of education. We shall have our sweetmeats and sugar-plums, as we go along; but still—​still—​we mean to know a great deal more at the end of the year, than we do now! We mean to lay up a good stock of knowledge, which may last us through life. Who will go with us?

A London printseller advertises, “A head of Charles I., capitally executed.”

A Test.—“Never,” said the celebrated Lord Burleigh, “trust a man who is unsound in religion, for he that is false to his God can never be true to man.”

Significant.—An old picture represents a king sitting in state with a label, “I govern all;” a bishop, with a legend, “I pray for all;” a farmer, drawing forth, reluctantly, a purse, with the inscription, “I pay for all.”

The Thorn.

There was once a boy, named James, who, with his little brother and sister, was going to take a walk in the fields and woods. It was a beautiful warm day, and James thought he would take off his stockings and shoes, and go barefoot.

I suppose my young friends all know how pleasant it is to take off the covering of the feet, in a warm summer day, and run about on the smooth grass. How light one feels—​how swift one can run with his foot free as that of the mountain deer!

Now it happened that James had been forbidden by his mother to take off his stockings and shoes, for she was afraid that he would take cold. But he was now at a distance from home, and he thought he would do as he liked. So he took off his stockings and shoes.

Oh, how he did scamper about for a time; but, by and by, as he was skipping along, he stepped upon a thorn, which entered the bottom of his foot, and inflicted a severe wound. As it gave him great pain, he sat down and tried to pull out the thorn; but, alas! it had entered quite deep, and had then broken off in such a manner, that he could not get hold of it. There he sat for some time, not knowing what to do—​but at last he was obliged to hobble home as well as he could.

James told his mother what had happened, for how could he help it? “Ah—​ah—​my son!” said she, “this comes of your disobedience. When will children learn that parents know what is best for them?” However, the good woman set to work to try to get out the naughty thorn, but she could not succeed.

By this time James was in great pain; so his mother put on a poultice, hoping that would cure it. But the poor fellow didn’t sleep any all night, he was in such distress, and in the morning his foot was sadly swollen. The doctor was then sent for, and at last he succeeded in getting out the thorn; but poor James had a sad time of it. It was at least three weeks before he got quite well. But the event was a good lesson to him. Whenever, in after life, he was tempted to disobey his mother, he said to himself—​“Mother knows best—​remember the thorn!” Whenever he was tempted to seize upon any forbidden pleasure, he would always say—​“Remember the thorn!”

The Old Man in the Corner; or, the Pedler’s Pack.

Not long since, an old man—​a very old man—​came into the office of Merry’s Museum, and sat down in a corner of the room. He looked a little like old Peter Parley—​but it can’t be that it was he, for some say Peter is dead—​and, at any rate, he is not to be seen about these days.

After the old man had sat for some time,—​saying nothing to anybody, and only looking about with a kind of mournful countenance,—​he got up, and slowly marched away. When he was gone, one of the boys found a little parcel on the bench where the old man sat, addressed to “Mr. Robert Merry; care of Bradbury & Soden, 10 School street, Boston.”

On opening the paper, we found an old greasy book within, written full of tales, fables, sketches, &c.; some of them very good indeed, and some very queer. The title of the little book was the “Pedler’s Pack,” and it had the following motto:

Come, all my youthful friends, come near—

For every one I’ve something here:

Anecdotes for those who choose—

Rhymes for all who love the muse—

Riddles and conundrums—bless ’em—

For little folks who love to guess ’em;

Odd scraps have I from history torn,

Strange tales from other countries borne—

And many a story, true and funny,

Well worth your reading and your money.

So, all my youthful readers, come—

Boys and girls, each shall have some.

Walk up, my friends—Blue Eyes and Black—

And let us ope the Pedler’s Pack.

There was no note or direction, which informed us clearly what the Old Man in the Corner intended we should do with his book; but we suppose that he intended we should publish it in Merry’s Museum. This we have accordingly concluded to do. We shall insert such articles as seem suitable for our columns—​making occasional notes of an explanatory nature. The first article we shall insert, is entitled The Blues; and in order that our readers may understand it, we must premise that when people are sad, or unhappy, on account of troublesome thoughts, they are said to have the blues, or the blue devils. The same thing is meant by the terms, bad spirits, the vapors, low spirits, &c. The Old Man in the Corner seems to think that these troubles may be avoided by a proper course of life.

Here is his queer article about

The Blues.

How it rains! Patter, patter, patter! Well, let it pour! I love the rumble of the drops upon the roof, like the prolonged roll of a distant drum. Let it rain; I am secure. I shall not go out to-day, nor shall any one intrude upon my privacy. This day is mine!

A wet day is often considered a lost day. To me it is otherwise. I can shut the door upon the world—​turn the key upon life’s cares, and give myself up freely to the reins of a vagrant fancy, without reproach of conscience. Providence has stepped in, and, arresting my tasks and my duties, gives me a sort of Sabbath of leisure and mental recreation. To me a wet day brings no blues, or, if it does, they are those which come on the wings of reverie, and are such as I am sometimes willing to entertain. Your reasonable blue is a communicative, suggestive thing, and I always court its society.

And, after all—what are “the Blues?” Everything else has been classified, analyzed, and reduced to scientific system; and why not these beings which figure so largely in the history of the human mind? This is a subject of profound inquiry, and I wonder it has not attracted the attention of the philosophical. Let us look at it.

To get firm hold of the subject, we must suppose a case. I sit in my room alone. Alone, did I say? As nature abhors a vacuum, the mind instinctively shrinks from solitude. If fleshy forms are not present, a host of imps press in from crack and crevice, to gambol around us. The mind is like the room in which the body is held, and these shadowy elves issue forth from the plastering of the walls, or peep out from the dark arras that hangs betwixt the visible and invisible world. Could we break through the plastering, or lift the arras, and see what these seeming imps are—​whether they are things, or only images of things; whether they are substantial spirits, which, like invisible eels in water, are ever playing their pranks behind the curtain of vision; could we do this, our task would easily be done; and for our discovery we should expect to be made a member of some philosophical society. But, alas! there is no bridge that crosses the gulf between life and death—​none, at least, upon which a being of flesh and blood can return. It is therefore impossible to follow “the blues” to their retreats—​to the recesses from which, unbidden, they come, and to which, pursued, they fly.

What, then, are “the Blues?” In natural history, there is nothing like dissection. But, before dissection, we must have a subject. How, then, shall we catch a blue?—​that is the first question. The easiest way is to take one by supposition, and, while we are supposing, we may as well include the whole race. These can be arranged as follows:

Order I. The Blues.

These have no head, no heart, no ears, no breathing organs; body, invisible; food, the human heart.

We might now proceed to give the several kinds into which each class is divided, and then the numerous species of each kind. But this must be reserved for some future work on the subject; and if we should publish such an one, let no person laugh at our labors, nor sneer at our philosophy. “The Blues” constitute a great subject of scientific research, and are by no means unworthy of the moral philosopher. We have only time to make a few observations, to show the force of this latter remark.

In the first place, it may be noted that those persons who live temperately, rise early, and go to bed early; those who fulfil their duties toward God and man; those who have good digestion, and a good conscience—​are never visited by any other blues than Order I., Class I. If any others ever do come to such persons, they usually depart as speedily as a rattlesnake from an ash stick. Of course, these people are not supposed to be particularly interested in our subject.

But that numerous class, who are in the habit of neglecting some daily duty, or violating some moral or physical law; those who eat too much; those who take strong drinks; those who follow pleasure rather than peace; those, in short, who keep the mind like an ill-swept garret, decorated with dust, cobwebs and confusion—​those persons are doubtless particularly interested in our subject. For these, the little blues of the pestiferous classes have a strong affinity. Around the hearts of these persons they are ever to be found. Upon their lifeblood these elves live.

Of all classes of blues, the Rum Blue is, perhaps, the worst. Whether the insect called “blue bottle” took its name from it, or not, is a question for the learned. The class is pretty numerous, and includes a variety of genera, among which are the following.

This class of blues is particularly pestiferous. There is no great difference between them, and none but a nice observer can distinguish them: they are, however, a most destructive race. They often assemble in crowds around the mind, and are then called “low spirits,” or “the horrors,” terms which are descriptive of their character. They not unfrequently sting the soul and body with such agony, as to bring on what is called the delirium tremens—​the most frightful of mortal maladies. Under the agony of the rum blue, a man will sometimes murder his wife and children. This subject is almost too frightful to dwell upon; but there is one source of consolation, and that is, that no one ever need be afflicted with the rum blue. If a person will only abstain from alcoholic liquors, he will never be infested with any species of this kind of vermin.

The class of blues belonging to bad conscience, as well as that of indigestion, is numerous, and includes a variety of genera. We will not now enter into a detail of them, as our present observations are intended to be rather practical than scientific. We may therefore close this article with the observation, that whoever is afflicted with the blues, has it in his own power to get rid of them.

And now, gentle reader, the moral of all this is as follows. Many people are subject to pain of mind—​which they express by the terms, blue devils, the horrors, low spirits, &c. &c. Now, this pain of mind almost always proceeds from some misconduct; from the neglect of duty; from improper eating or drinking; from wrong doing of some kind or other. Therefore, if you would avoid pain of mind—​if you would keep away the blues—​adopt good habits, and stick to them.

Chinese notion of Dancing.—When Commodore Anson was at Canton, the officers of the ship Centurion had a ball upon some holiday. While they were dancing, a Chinese, who very quietly surveyed the operation, said softly, to one of the party, “Why don’t you let your servants do this for you?”

“Don’t give up the Ship.”

During the last war with England, a bloody battle was fought between the British vessel of war Shannon and the American vessel Chesapeake. This took place in the waters off Boston harbor.

In a short time, the Chesapeake was terribly cut to pieces, and many of the men were killed and wounded. The commander, Captain Lawrence, was himself mortally wounded, but, while he was dying, he exclaimed, “Don’t give up the ship!” These striking words have passed into a proverb, and nothing is more common than to hear people say, when they wish to inspire those who are in difficulty with a new stock of courage and energy, “don’t give up the ship!” Now such little sentences, take the whole world together, produce an immense deal of effect,—​for very often a person about to despair has taken new courage from saying to himself,—​or having it said to him,—​“don’t give up the ship!” I am going to tell you a story which may show an instance of this.

Richard Dribble,—​familiarly called Dick Dribble,—​was a poor boy, about eleven years old, who was put out to a farmer, to go to school, and do chores at odd hours. I need not describe his appearance particularly, for his portrait is at the head of this article; but I must tell you that Dick was rather disposed to be lazy and idle. He was a good-natured fellow, but he hated exertion, and was even too indolent to keep himself tidy. He therefore had always a kind of neglected, shabby and shiftless look.

Well, it was winter, and one day Dick was sent of an errand. The distance he had to go was two or three miles, and his way led through some deep woods. Dick had a great coat, but he was too lazy to put it on, and, though the weather was bitter cold, he set off without it. He had not gone far before he began to shiver like a pot of jelly, but still he kept on. After a while it began to snow, and pretty soon Dick’s neck and bosom were almost filled with it, though some of it melted and went trickling down his back and breast.

The boy took it very quietly for a time; instead of beating off the snow, he let it rest, until at last he was almost crusted over with it. His fingers now began to ache, his nose tingled, his toes grumbled, his teeth chattered, and his whole frame shivered like an aspen leaf. At last the poor fellow began to snivel, and, stopping plump in the path, he exclaimed “It’s too bad! it’s too bad!” Saying this, he gathered himself all into a kind of heap, and stood stock still.

How long he would have remained here, if he had been left to himself, I can’t say; it is probable that he would have remained inactive till he had become benumbed and unable to move, and that he had then lain down and been frozen to death. Indeed, he was already chilled through, and his limbs were getting stiff, and almost incapable of motion, when a gay young fellow came driving by in a sleigh. As he passed, he saw Dick, and exclaimed, “Don’t give up the ship!” He was driving very swiftly, and was out of sight in an instant.

Dick had sense enough left to appreciate the force of the counsel thus hastily given; it forced him to see, that, if he did not make an effort, he would die; at the same time, it put into his bosom a feeling that he could overcome the cold and extricate himself from his trouble. “At any rate,” said he to himself, “I will try!” No sooner had he adopted this view of the case, than he began to march forward. He rubbed and beat his fingers; he knocked off the snow from around his neck; in short, he laid out his whole strength, and before he had gone half a mile, he was in a fine glow, and though his fingers and toes tingled a little from the hot-ache, he was very comfortable.

So Master Dick trudged on; he performed his errand, and returned in safety. Nor was the adventure wholly without its use to him. He often thought of the advice of the gay sleigh-driver, and the effect it had upon him. “Don’t give up the ship,” said he, amid the piercing and trying circumstances of after life; and often that brief but pointed counsel enabled him to triumph over difficulties which, perchance, had otherwise overbalanced him.

And now, gentle reader, if you find it hard to get your lesson, hard to perform your task, hard to do your duty, think of Dick Dribble in the snow-storm, and say to yourself, “Don’t give up the ship,” and go ahead!

Cure for the Tooth-ache.—Fill your mouth with cream, and bump your head against a post till it turns to butter.

Either way will do.—“Wilt thou have me, Sarah?” said a modest young man to a girl whom he loved. “No, John,” was the reply of Sarah—​“but you may have me, if you will!”

“The rolling stone gathers no moss.” Unstable people seldom prosper.

The Stormy Petrel.

My course is o’er the sea, the sea,

Where the wind roams free,—

Where the tempest flies

On a wing of might,

And the billow rolls

In a robe of white!

My course is o’er the tide, the tide,

Where the fearless ride,

Where the bloody deed

In battle is done,

And the gory wreath

Of victory won!

My course is o’er the deep, the deep,

Where the lost ones sleep,—

Down, down in the hush

Of a coral bed,

Where the mermaid sighs

O’er the lonely dead!

My course is east—my course is west—

Where, where shall the petrel rest?—

In the cleft of a rock,

Where the surges sweep,

And lulled by the shock,

Shall the petrel sleep.

Bill and the Boys.

I have been often requested by my young readers to tell them something more about Bill Keeler. I have, therefore, been rumaging over my memory, to see if I could pick up something about him, worth relating. Now Bill was a great story teller, and he with myself and several other boys, used often to get together, and amuse one another by relating such narratives as we could invent or recollect. Bill was always foremost on these occasions, and not only told the best, but the most stories. It is my purpose to present my readers with such of these tales as I can recollect. I shall not try to put them down in the exact language in which they were originally spoken,—​but I shall give their substance and point. The first of these tales, I shall call

THE LOTTERY TICKET.

There was once a poor, but worthy man, whose name was Trudge. He was a pedler, and though he dealt only in pins, needles, thread, combs and such little articles, he succeeded in getting a comfortable living. Nay, more—​he laid up a trifle every year, and finally he had enough to buy him a small house. He had a wife and two or three children, and to this humble cottage they speedily removed.

Trudge thought himself very happy when he was snugly established at his new house. He kissed Mrs. Trudge, and all the little Trudges; danced “hey Betty Martin!” and thought himself one of the luckiest fellows in the world. And so he was, if he could have been content; but, alas! he was beset with certain very troublesome visiters; they were Ambition, Envy and Idleness. I must tell you all about it.

As Trudge travelled about the country selling his wares, he noticed some fine houses, around which he always saw nice carriages, gay horses, and well-dressed people, who seemed to have nothing to do but to amuse themselves. This made Trudge feel uneasy, and he said to himself—​“Why wasn’t I rich, and why can’t I live in a fine house, and be a gentleman? Here I am—​only a pedler—​poor Tom Trudge—​and it’s all trudge, trudge, from morning to night; winter and summer, fair or foul, hot or cold, I must trudge, trudge! If I was rich, and lived in a fine house, I should be Thomas Trudge, Esq., and then I should be as good as anybody. I should have easy carriages and fat, slick horses, and Mrs. Trudge would be a fine lady!”

Thus it was that poor Tom indulged his fancy, and all the time Envy and Ambition and Idleness were at work within, making him very unhappy. Envy made him feel a sort of hatred toward people who were richer than himself. Ambition urged him to make every effort to be rich; and, at the same time, Idleness told him that the greatest comfort in life was to have nothing to do. Thus it was that Tom, who had a neat pretty home, and every necessary comfort and convenience, was really miserable, because of these uneasy and uncomfortable thoughts.

Tom at last opened his mind to his wife, and it seems that she had been feeling pretty much like himself. “I don’t see,” said she, “why we ain’t as good as the best; and I think it mean of you, Mr. Trudge, not to let me have as good a gown as Mrs. Million, up there on the hill. Last Sunday she came out with a bran-new yaller silk gown, and there was I, in the next pew, in my old caliker; and I thought to myself, ’tan’t right! And then, you must know, when the minister said any pleasant and comforting scriptures, he looked very kind at Mrs. Million and her new silk gown, and when he said anything about the wicked, he looked at me and my caliker. Now, Tom, I say ’tan’t fair.” And here Mrs. Trudge buried her face in her apron.

Poor Trudge did all he could to comfort his spouse; but, alas! the peace of the cottage was gone. Tom and his wife had cast out Content and let in Envy, and Envy is a troublesome companion. He is never happy himself, and will let nobody else be happy. Envy is like a chestnut burr—​all covered with prickles—​and the closer you clasp it, the more it torments you. Yet this was now the inmate of Trudge’s cottage.

Well, time went on, and things grew worse rather than better. It is true that Tom and his wife were thrifty people; they had now got to be pretty well off in the world, but still they were by no means as happy as they once were; envy and ambition still goaded them on; they yearned to be rich; and, strange to say, they hated the people who were in the station they themselves desired. They envied and hated Mrs. Million; yet they wanted very much to be like Mrs. Million.

And—​who would have thought it?—​the time came when they had an opportunity to gratify their desires. Tom was one day in New York, whither he had gone to buy his stock of pins, thread, and needles—​when he chanced to pass by a lottery office. Here, in the window, was a picture of a gay, lightly-dressed lady, pouring out gold and silver from a long thing, shaped like a horn, but as big as a corn basket. Plash went the money upon the ground, as free as water from the town pump. A bright thought struck Tom: “it’s of no use to plod,” said he to himself; “here I’ve got fifty dollars; if I lay it out in goods, I must go and peddle them out, and that’s hard work. Besides, what’s the use of it? Though I am a little richer by means of my labors, still, compared with the Millions and the Goldboys, I shall be poor. Now, I’ve a good mind to step in and buy a ticket in the New York State Lottery, ☞ HIGHEST PRIZE FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS! ☜ Perhaps I shall draw it.”

While these thoughts passed in his mind, Tom entered the lottery office, and in a kind of frenzy, bought a ticket and paid his fifty dollars for it. He then rolled it carefully up in his pocket and set off for home—​a distance of some forty miles. On his arrival here, he communicated what he had done, to his wife; and though she secretly approved of what he had done, she took him to task for it roundly; for it was dear Mrs. Trudge’s way to find fault with everything her husband did. Besides, in the present case, she wished, if the ticket should draw a blank, and the money be thus lost, to have it in her power to say to her spouse, ☞ “I told you so, Mr. Trudge!”—​thereby proving her own sagacity and her husband’s want of sense. It is a pleasure to some wives, to prove that they ought to have been men, and their husbands women, and Mrs. Thomas Trudge was one of this amiable species. But, let us not be misunderstood. Mrs. Trudge wished only to degrade her husband in her own house, so as to keep the upper hand of him. Out of it, she always praised him to the skies, and she passed—​except with those who knew better—​as a most obedient, devoted, respectful wife.

The lottery was to draw in about two months. Tom whiled away the time as well as he could. It is strange that creatures who have got only a few years to live, should still, at least half the time, be wishing to annihilate that very time which is so short. Yet so it is. Tom had given up peddling, for he was determined to be a rich man, and toil no more; besides, he had spent his money in the lottery ticket, and he had no cash to buy pins and needles with. He went to the tavern, drank gin sling, loafed with the idle fellows of the town, talked politics and scandal, and thus killed the time; but all did not make him content. Many times did he say to himself, “This idleness is a great curse; I wish I was at work; I’d rather peddle than play;” and yet, all the time, he was hoping and yearning for the day when he could be rich, and live without work.

At last the time came when the lottery was to be drawn, and Tom was preparing to set off for New York, to be present at the important crisis. “Now, Tom,” said his wife, “mind! If you draw the highest prize, I want you to buy me a yaller silk gown, jest like Mrs. Million’s, only a great deal smarter. And do you buy me a red satin bonnet, like Mrs. Goldboy’s, only redder. And then do you buy me a new fan, with a pikter of a Wenus on one side, and a Cowpig on the other. And then if I don’t go to meetin’, and see who’ll hold their heads highest, and who’ll get the comfortin’ scripters—​I’m not Bridget Trudge!”

“Well, well,” said Tom, in reply, “and suppose I don’t draw the prize?”

“Suppose you don’t draw the prize!” said the spouse, “why then you have thrown away your money like a fool, and remember what I say; if you don’t draw the prize, remember that I told you so; and if you do draw the prize, get the silk gown and the silk bonnet, and the fan.”

After a little further conversation, Tom departed on his errand. The result will be told in another chapter.

Pictures of Various Nations.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

About the different colors of the human race.

The globe upon which we dwell is a small body compared with the sun, or with Jupiter, or Saturn; yet it contains many millions of inhabitants. The exact number can never be ascertained. The best estimates make the number between eight and nine hundred millions. This number is too great for a young mind to grasp. A better idea may be formed of it, by supposing the whole population of the globe to pass by you, one by one. How long would it take you to count them, at the rate of twenty thousand a day? More than one hundred and twenty years.

These inhabitants are scattered over every part of the earth, and are to be found in almost every island of the sea. They have penetrated into the frozen regions, where scarcely anything grows but moss; where fish, bears and reindeer are their only food; and where they are obliged to live in cabins under ground.

Vast as the number of the earth’s inhabitants is, and widely scattered as they are, yet they all sprung from one pair. This the scriptures tell us. About six thousand years ago, God created Adam and Eve in Asia, and from them all mankind have descended.

Do you ask how this can be? Do you say, that the inhabitants of different countries and climates differ much? They do indeed differ. They differ in respect to laws, and government, and manners, and dress, and language, and color. In this last respect, color, they differ almost more than in anything else.

Well, because they differ thus much, you think they could not all have descended from Adam and Eve? If they did not, then the Bible, so far, cannot be true. This would be a sad conclusion.

But, is such a conclusion necessary? Cannot we account for the differences which exist among different nations, upon the supposition that they all did descend from Adam and Eve?

Take the difference in color, which exists among different nations. This, perhaps, is the most difficult to be accounted for. A great variety of color may be noticed; but the various colors may, perhaps, be reduced to three—​white, black and red. All the others may be supposed to be different shades of these.

Now, were Adam and Eve white, black or red? This we cannot ascertain. The late Dr. Dwight, I believe, supposed that they were red; but allow that they were white; by what process could their descendants have become some brown, some yellow, others red, and others still quite black?

Suppose that a white person in the United States should constantly go abroad without any covering upon his head. What would be the consequence of his exposure to the wind and sun? He would “tan,” as we say, or grow dark colored; and the longer he was exposed the darker he would become.

Exposure, then, to the heat of the sun, and to changes in the weather, causes a change of complexion. Suppose this same person visits the torrid zone. Here, as the heat of the sun is much greater, and the winds are more scorching, we should naturally expect that his complexion would darken faster, and, in time, become of a deeper cast.

This is precisely as we find the fact. All the inhabitants of the torrid zone incline more or less to a black color. Under the equator, where the heat is greater than in any other part of the world, they are quite black. In other parts of the world, where the heat is less intense, as in the temperate climates, they are generally white, or only brown. Still farther north, in the frigid zones, where the air is very dry, and the cold very severe, the inhabitants are tawny.

Thus it appears that difference of climate produces a great difference in the complexion of people. But do not nations living in the same climate, differ in color? They do. This is remarkably exemplified in the Tartars and Chinese. The latter are fairer than the former, though they resemble the Tartars in features; but, then, they are more polished, and adopt every means to protect themselves from the weather. On the other hand, the Tartars, are a roving people, without any fixed dwellings; and hence, are continually exposed to the sun and air.

We might mention many other causes of a variety of color. Perhaps few things injure the complexion more than want of cleanliness. This recalls to my recollection a set of people, who were called Yonkers, and who lived a few miles from the city of Schenectady, in the state of New York. When I saw them, some years since, they consisted of about one hundred souls. Their ancestor’s name was Johnson. He and his wife were white persons.

Being poor and shiftless, they removed into the woods a few miles from Schenectady, where they erected a miserable hut, without a floor, and without a chimney. Some loose straw served them for a bed; and in dirt and in filth they lived. They had several children, who followed their examples. Other huts were erected—​they intermarried, and in smoke, and in grease, and in filth, they and their descendants have lived. In the hottest season of the year the children are accustomed to roll in the dirt with the pigs around the door; and in the winter season they play with the ashes and live in the smoke. They seldom, if ever, wash; and it is doubtful whether a child’s hair is combed half a dozen times, till it is grown up. When I visited them, which was for the purpose of distributing bibles among them, it was stated that only five of the whole clan were able to read.

The consequence of this filthy mode of living may be easily guessed. They appeared like a different race of beings. Their features were greatly changed; but much more their complexion. In this latter respect they were nearly as dark as the North American Indians. From this story my readers may learn something of the influence which manner of living exerts, not only on complexion, but even upon features.

From the foregoing facts it is easy to perceive how white people may, in process of time, become dark-colored, and even black. Hence, admitting that Adam and Eve were created white, their descendants might, through the influence of climate and other causes, become red and even black.

But, you say, perhaps they were not white—​perhaps they were red, perhaps black. Yes, they might have been red, or they might have been black. Well, if they were either of these, you ask how any of their descendants became white.

This is a nice question. But, perhaps, something may in truth be said by way of a satisfactory answer. We have seen how a white man might become very dark-colored, and how his descendants might become, in process of time, even black, by removing to the torrid zone, and there continuing to dwell for several hundred years.

Now, might not the very reverse of this prove true? Do not the blacks from Africa grow lighter colored, when brought to the northern parts of the United States? Listen to what President Dwight says on this subject:

“The change of the blacks,” says he, “whose ancestors were introduced into New England, is already very great, as to their shape, features, hair and complexion. Within the last thirty years, I have not seen a single person, of African descent, who was not many shades whiter than the blacks formerly imported directly from Guinea.”

Now, it is possible that the black people in the United States might become white, in process of time. I do not say that they ever will, because their manner of living is far different from that of the whites. They are not as cleanly; most of them are much exposed to the weather. And this is true of the Indians, or “red men.”

But, you ask, can any instances be produced of either “red men” or black men becoming white? I answer, yes, instances of both. I will give an account of an instance of each kind; and I can assure my readers that the account is true, and they may find it in an enlarged form, in Dr. Dwight’s travels. And first, I shall tell them the story of the Indian, or “red man.”

Or, rather I might say, that my story relates to four Indians. They belonged to the tribe called Brothertown Indians, who lived at a place called Brothertown, in the state of New York. It was in the year 1791, that Mr. Hart, formerly minister at Stonington, in Connecticut, saw four Indians, whose skin, in different parts of their body, was turning white.

One, whose name was Samuel Adams, had become almost entirely white. This Indian told Mr. Hart, that his skin had been gradually changing its color for fourteen years. He was a very healthy man; nor was he sensible of any pain or disease which occasioned the change. “His skin appeared perfectly smooth and fresh, and delicately white.” His hair, also, had become in part gray, like that of aged white people.

The instance of a black man, who became white, is also related by Dr. Dwight, who himself saw the man, and examined him. His name was Henry Moss. He was a native of Virginia. He came to New Haven in the year 1796, where Dr. Dwight saw him. He was originally black, and woolly headed, like other negroes; but, at this time, he was almost entirely white, and of a “clear, fresh, and delicate complexion.” His hair, also, was in part changed, and was exactly that of fair white people; of a flaxen hue, and perfectly free from curling.

From these examples my readers may learn that no one color is essential to the nature of the body; and that, as white men have become black, and red and black men white, all mankind, how different soever they may now appear, may have descended from Adam and Eve, whatever their complexion might have been.

I might say much more in relation to the differences which exist among different nations; and might, perhaps, explain how they came to differ so greatly in respect to language, and dress, and laws, and government, and other things; but I must not be tedious.

It would be pleasant, no doubt, to my readers, could they travel in safety round the world, and visit the different nations and tribes of men, and mark the differences which exist, for themselves. This pleasure some have enjoyed to a certain extent; and many are the vessels which yearly sail from the United States to various parts of the globe.

A few men have visited almost every country on the globe; but it would take a long life to become even superficially acquainted with the different tribes of men, had one the means which would be necessary. But it is not essential to travel much, to become tolerably acquainted with the people of different countries. Different men have travelled the world over, and have given faithful accounts of the people whom they saw. It is desirable to know what has been thus related. Many of my readers, I suppose, cannot obtain the books which have been written on this subject. I shall, therefore, proceed to tell them something about it.

[To be continued.]

Fresh Water.—The basin of the St. Lawrence, including the great lakes, contains, in mass, more than half the fresh water on the globe.

Candle-flies.

Light.

Before the creation of light, the world must have been involved in darkness. A state of darkness is the natural condition of the universe without light. We are very apt to think of everything as a matter of course, and we are not apt to reflect that everything has been made, created—​by God. Now, let us bear in mind the fact, that darkness was the original state of the universe; then let us reflect upon the stupendous, beautiful and benignant creation of light. How wonderful must have been the first rising of the sun upon this world of ours, before involved in the shades of midnight! How wonderful must have been the first appearance of the thousand stars in the sky—​and how wonderful that of the pale, but lovely moon, hung like a bow in the heavens, or bursting in its full splendor upon our world below.

And let us consider a moment what a wonderful element light is. We do not understand all its properties, but we know that it proceeds in a straight direction from its source. Now the sun produces light, and it comes to us with an inconceivable velocity. The distance of the sun is ninety-five millions of miles from us—​yet the rays of light reach us in seven minutes and a half; thus showing that the rays fly at the rate of two hundred thousand miles in a second!

Let us consider, for one instant, what a stupendous work it was to make and sustain the sun, which is every instant pouring off a flood of light on all sides, reaching ninety-five millions of miles, and flowing constantly at the rate of two hundred thousand miles a second; and consider, also, that this process has been in operation for at least six thousand years! This is indeed enough to overwhelm us with wonder and admiration; and yet we are only considering one source of light—​the sun—​while every fixed star in the firmament is another, and presents the same topic of admiration.

We might now pass from this view of the subject, to the uses of light—​and remark upon the fact, that by means of it we see things. Color and form—​all that constitutes the beauty of the world of vision—​is revealed to us by light. The production of light—​its manufacture and supply—​is a stupendous thing—​but yet its conception, its invention, was still more wonderful. There was a time when all was darkness. It was then that God said, “Let there be light, and there was light!” But he had an object in producing light. He intended that his creatures should see by it. How great, then, were his wisdom and goodness in designing it—​how wonderful his power in producing it!

I intend, hereafter, to say something more about the philosophy of light; but my intention, at present, is to speak only of some curious particulars in relation to it. In the first place, let me tell you that there are some plants which throw out light. A gentleman observed, in the shady recesses of some of the rocks of Derbyshire, England, a brilliant gold and green light, which appeared to proceed from a fine net-work of moss, growing upon the rocks. In the coal mines near Dresden, in Germany, there are certain mosses, which are said to be abundant and luminous. They are described by a visitor as appearing in “wonderful beauty,” and he says, “The impression produced by the spectacle, I can never forget. The abundance of these plants was so great, that the roof, and the walls, and the pillars, were entirely covered with them. The beautiful light they cast around, was almost dazzling; it resembled faint moonshine, so that two persons, near each other, could readily distinguish their bodies.”

The phosphorescence of the sea presents a most remarkable spectacle. Sometimes the vessel, while ploughing her way through the billows, appears to mark out a furrow of fire. Each stroke of an oar gives rise to sparks of light, sometimes tranquil and pearly, at others brilliant and dazzling. These movable lights, too, are grouped in endless varieties; their thousand luminous points, like little stars, appearing to float on the surface; and their matter forming one vast sheet of light. At such times, the bright waves heave, roll, and break in shining foam; or large sparkling bodies, resembling the forms of fishes, pursue each other, disappearing and bursting forth anew.

Beautiful illuminations of the same kind are frequently seen at a great depth in the clear water, which in the night time becomes jet black. Often, through this dark, yet limpid medium, have voyagers amused themselves, by tracking the routes of large fishes, such as porpoises or sharks, gleaming along in lines of light beneath the abyss, itself invisible with gloom.

As Captain Tuckey passed in his voyage towards Prince’s Island, the ship seemed to be sailing on a sea of milk. In order to discover the cause of such an appearance, a bag, having its mouth distended by a hoop, was kept overboard, and, by means of it, vast numbers of small animals were collected. Among them, were a great many small sea animals, with innumerable little creatures attached to them, to which Captain Tuckey principally attributed the whitish color of the water.

Luminous marine animals, magnified.

Thirteen species of cancer were observed, not above one fourth of an inch long; eight having the shape of crabs, and five that of shrimps. Among these, some luminous creatures were discernible. When one species was examined by the microscope, in candle-light, the luminous property was observed to reside in the brain, which, when the animal was at rest, resembled a most brilliant amethyst, about the size of a large pin’s head; and from this there darted, when the animal moved, flashes of a brilliant and silvery light.

Of the number of these little creatures, of some of which a magnified representation is here annexed, some interesting statements are furnished by Captain Scoresby. “During a run of fifty leagues,” he says, “the sea was constantly of an olive-green color, remarkably tinted; but, on the afternoon of the 17th of April, it changed to transparent blue. This green appearance of the sea in these latitudes, was occasioned by myriads of small marine animals. A calculation of the number of these animals, in the space of two miles square, and two hundred and fifty fathoms deep, gave an amount of 23,888,000,000,000!

“On September 1st, the sea was colored in veins or patches, of a brown color, or sometimes with a yellowish green; and this water, on being examined by the microscope, appeared swarming with minute marine animals. A drop of this water contained twenty-six thousand five hundred animalculæ. Hence, reckoning sixty drops to a drachm, there would be a number in a gallon of water exceeding by one half the amount of the whole population of the globe. It affords an interesting conception of the minuteness of some tribes of animals, when we think of more than twenty-six thousand individuals, living, obtaining subsistence, and moving perfectly at their ease, in a single drop of water!”

A sea is required for a whale to spout in; but a common tumbler affords abundant space for a hundred and fifty millions of these little creatures! The phosphorescent appearances presented by them are not, however, without an important design. It is probable that God, whose knowledge is unbounded, foreseeing that man would learn to traverse the mighty deep, and explore the most distant regions of the globe, has given this brightness to the ocean to lessen his dangers, and to render his nights less gloomy.

Especially will this seem likely, when it is remembered that it is seen only in the night season, and is vivid in proportion to the darkness. It disappears even before the feeble light of the moon, and increases with the agitation of the sea; so that, during the prevalence of a storm, it generally diminishes the dense gloom, which at such times even the moon and stars cannot penetrate. It casts such a light on the ship and rigging, that the sailors may execute their allotted tasks with certainty, and at all times it points out to the cautious mariner the lurking danger of sunken rocks, shoals and unknown coasts.

It is well known that sea animals, larger than those minute creatures of which we have been speaking, have also the power of emitting light. Pliny tells us, that some of the old Romans, in his time, used to sup in darkened apartments upon the pholas, a kind of shellfish, which gave out sparks of light, and amused the people, while they gratified their appetites. A traveller in a remote land, speaks of fishes that played around the boats, each being encircled by a halo of light.

But the land has its luminous animals, as well as the sea. The glow-worm is common in Europe: this is a female beetle, without wings. It emits a light of a sulphur color, so strong that if placed at night on a page of small print, it may be easily read. In Africa there is an insect that emits light from two globes, like lamps, upon its horns.

The fire-fly of South America is very common, and its light is so brilliant as that several put together will enable a person to see to write. The fire-fly of our country, which seems to make the landscape at night sparkle as with a thousand gems, is smaller than that of South America.

In the East Indies, thousands of lantern-flies, sending forth a beautiful illumination, are seen dancing at night amid the banyan trees; and candle-flies, of which we give a cut at the head of this article, have a similar power.

These are a few of the facts connected with the luminous qualities of plants and animals. We do not fully understand the uses of these powers, but we can see that the subject of light is very extensive, and that the study of it leads to a great many curious and wonderful realities.

Herons and Rooks.

At Dallam Tower, in Westmoreland, England, there were, some years ago, two groves adjoining the park, one of which, for many years, had been resorted to by a number of herons; the other was one of the largest rookeries in the country. The two tribes lived together for a long time without any disputes. At length, the trees occupied by the herons, consisting of some very fine old oaks, were cut down in the spring of 1775, and the young birds had perished by the fall of the timber. The parent birds immediately set about preparing new habitations to breed again; but as the trees in the neighborhood of their old nests were only of a late growth, and not high enough to secure them from the depredations of the boys, they determined to effect a settlement in the rookery. The rooks made an obstinate resistance, but, after a very violent contest, in the course of which some on both sides lost their lives, the herons at last succeeded in their attempt—​built their nests, and brought up their young.

The next season, the same contests took place, which terminated, like the former, by the victory of the herons. From that time, peace seemed to have been agreed upon between them; the rooks relinquished possession of that part of the grove which the herons occupied; the herons confined themselves to those trees they first seized upon, and the two species lived together in as much harmony as they did before their quarrel.

When Mr. West, grandson of Sir Benjamin, was in this country, exhibiting the great picture of “Christ rejected,” he employed a man to hang it up in the exhibition-room. Accordingly, the latter brought in a bill “for hanging Christ rejected by your grandfather.”

Dr. Vince seeing the images of a ship in the air.

Spectral Illusions.

The atmosphere has the power of bending the rays of light, so that we see the sun before it actually rises above the horizon, and after it has actually sunk below it.

This bending of the rays, produces some curious appearances, and which were formerly viewed with superstition. Dr. Vince, an English philosopher, was once looking through a telescope at a ship, which was so far off, that he could only see the upper parts of the masts. The hulk was entirely hidden by the bending of the water, but between himself and the ship, he saw two perfect images of it in the air. These were of the same form and color as the real ship; but one of them was turned upside down.

When Captain Scoresby was in the Polar Sea with his ship, he was separated by the ice from that of his father for some time, and looked out for her every day with great anxiety. At length, one evening, to his utter astonishment, he saw her suspended in the air, in an inverted position, traced on the horizon in the clearest colors, and with the most distinct and perfect representation. He sailed in the direction in which he saw this visionary phenomenon, and actually found his father’s vessel by its indication. He was separated from the ship by immense masses of icebergs, and at such a distance that it was impossible to have seen her in her actual situation, or to have seen her at all, if her spectrum had not been thus raised several degrees above the horizon in the air by this most extraordinary refraction.

It is by this bending of the rays of light that the images of people are often seen at a distance, and sometimes magnified to a gigantic size. We have given an account of such an appearance in the Hartz mountains, in Germany, in the Museum, Vol. i. p. 79.

Rousette Bat.

Bats.

Bats are of various sizes and many kinds. In this country there are various species, but none of them very large. They are generally innocent creatures, living in dark caverns and hidden places during the day, and sallying forth to feast upon insects by night. The little bats that we see flying about of a summer evening, are very amusing creatures in one respect; if you throw anything up near them, they will dive at it immediately,—​no doubt supposing it to be something to eat. A boy may throw up his cap, and the bat flies at it instantly, as if he would make a supper of it.

But in other parts of the world, especially in hot countries, some of the bats are very large. The rousette bat is found in the great island of Madagascar, near the southeast shore of Africa. Its wings are sometimes two feet from tip to tip. But the most frightful kind of bat is the vampire, which is found in Guiana, on the northeast coast of South America. The length of its body is about six inches, and the extent of its outstretched wings two feet.

This creature sucks the blood from men and cattle, while they are fast asleep, even sometimes till they die; and as the manner in which they proceed is truly wonderful, I shall endeavor to give a distinct account of it. Knowing by instinct that the person they intend to attack is in a sound slumber, they generally alight near the feet, and, while the creature continues fanning with his enormous wings, which keeps one cool, he bites a piece out of the tip of the great toe, so very small indeed, that the head of a pin could scarcely be received into the wound, which is consequently not painful, yet, through this orifice, he sucks a great quantity of blood. Cattle they generally bite in the ear, but always in places where the blood flows spontaneously.

“Some years ago,” says Mr. Waterton, in his Wanderings in South America, “I went to the river Panmaron with a Scotch gentleman, by the name of Turbet. We hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter’s house. Next morning, I heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock, and now and then letting fall an exclamation or two. ‘What is the matter, sir?’ said I; ‘is there anything amiss?’ ‘What’s the matter?’ said he, surlily, ‘why, the vampires have been sucking me to death.’ As soon as there was light enough, I went to his hammock, and saw it much stained with blood. ‘There,’ said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock, ‘see how these imps have been drawing my life’s blood.’

“On examining his foot, I found that the vampire had tapped his great toe. There was a wound somewhat less than that made by a leech. The blood was still oozing from it. I conjectured that he might have lost from ten to twelve ounces of blood. While examining it, I think I put him into a worse humor, by remarking that an European surgeon would not have been so generous as to have bled him without making a charge. He looked up in my face, but did not say a word. I saw he was of the opinion that I had better have spared this ill-timed piece of levity.”

Yankee Wit.—A “notion seller” was offering Yankee clocks, finely varnished and colored, with a looking-glass in front, to a lady not remarkable for personal beauty. “Why, it’s beautiful!” said the vender. “Beautiful, indeed! why, a look at it almost frightens me!” said the lady. “Then, marm,” replied Jonathan, “I guess you’d better buy one that ha’n’t got no looking-glass.”

A musician, in giving notice of an intended concert at Cleveland, Ohio, says: “A variety of other songs may be expected, too tedious to mention.”

Kin Shan; or, the Golden Isle.

There is no country more full of wonders than China, yet we know comparatively little of it. We know, indeed, something about Canton, near which foreign merchants are permitted to reside; about Nankin, which is famous for its beautiful pagoda; and about Pekin, which is a city almost as populous as London, and where the emperor resides. We know, also, that there are many other large cities in China; we know that the empire is the most populous in the world, containing three hundred and forty millions of people.

We know, too, that the Chinese produce tea, and silks, and porcelain, and many other curious manufactures; that they worship idols, and sometimes eat worms, birds’ nests, rats and puppies; but still, it has been the system of the government to exclude foreigners from the country, and accordingly few travellers have penetrated into its interior, and given us an account of what is there to be seen. It is probable that we shall soon know more about China, for the British have sent soldiers and ships out there, who have made the emperor agree to be more sociable, and let foreigners come into his domains a little more. Our government has sent out Mr. Caleb Cushing, of Newburyport, in Massachusetts, to see the emperor, and make arrangements for a free trade between the people of China and the Americans. Mr. Cushing is a very learned man, and it is pretty likely he and the emperor will come to a good understanding. You must know that the emperor is fond of fine dress, and expects everybody who comes to see him, to make a dashing appearance. Accordingly, Mr. Cushing has carried out a gay military dress, in which he is to present himself to the emperor. The old man is named Taou-Kwang, and is over seventy years of age. I should like to see the meeting between him and Mr. Cushing—​shouldn’t you?

When Mr. Cushing comes back, he will write a book, and tell us all about China. In the mean time, we shall say something about a very beautiful place, called the Kin Shan, or the Golden Island. This is not far from the city of Nankin, and near the flourishing city of Quatchou. It is situated in the river Yangtse-Kiang, and is famous all over China, for its beauty. It is about three hundred feet high, and fifteen hundred in circuit. It is rocky and precipitous, but it is shaded with the loveliest trees. It is also decorated with temples, devoted to Confucius, Lockien and Fo—​the divinities of Chinese superstition. Here, also, is a palace, erected by the emperor Kienlong—​the grandfather of Taou-Kwang. In this he used to spend a great deal of time, to get away from the cares of governing such an empire, and to consider how happy he should be, if he was only a private individual, and not an emperor!

The Golden Isle.

The river, from the top of the Golden Island, is exceedingly beautiful; and when Mr. Cushing comes back, we must get him to tell us all about it. Mr. Fletcher Webster has gone with Mr. Cushing, and, as he is a very pleasant, sociable gentleman, I think he will bring us some pretty good stories, too. Perhaps he and Mr. Cushing will dine with the emperor, who doesn’t use knives and forks, but takes up his food with two sticks, put between the thumb and fingers of the right hand. These are called chop-sticks. I hope Mr. Cushing and Mr. Webster will practise the chop-sticks before they dine with the emperor; for if they do not, I am afraid they will get a poor dinner, and make the emperor think that the Yankees are rather awkward! If, indeed, the dinner should consist of salted angle-worms, bird-nest soup, Japan leather, balls made of sharks’ fins, and figured pigeons’ eggs—​all of which are esteemed great delicacies in China—​perhaps the less they can take up with the chop-sticks, the better they will like it.

Our Correspondence.

A subscriber sends us the following pretty solution of the enigma in the November number of the Museum:—

When walking by the water’s edge,

We often find the modest sedge;

The lamp that guides our weary feet,

Without a wick, is incomplete:

But these, united, form the name

Of Sedgwick, worthy of her fame.

Several of our little friends have also sent us a correct solution of the same.

The following will speak for itself:—

Mr. Robert Merry,

I like your riddles and charades very much. My mother says it sharpens the mind to guess them. So, I guess that the answer to the first riddle, in the November number of the Museum, is the letter R, and that the answer to the second is the letter A. He says that he “is also with a party of five.” Does this mean that he is one of the five vowels?

I think your Twenty Geographical Questions were very interesting, but I did not know enough of geography to answer them.

I am your true friend,

John L——n.

The following letter is interesting in itself, and it derives additional value from the fact that it has travelled about a thousand miles to find us. It was accompanied by correct answers to our Twenty Geographical Questions; thus showing that our little friends in Illinois know as much as our Yankee girls and boys. We shall be happy to be made acquainted with more of them.

Mr. Merry:

In this month’s Museum, we find an invitation to answer twenty questions which you have proposed, and our indulgent father has consented to pay the postage if we will find correct answers and send to you. But how can you expect children, who live on Rock River, Illinois, to know a great deal? So, Mr. Merry, if the answers are not all correct, you must not laugh at us, but please to tell us, in the next Museum, what the right answers are; and, when it is convenient, will you tell us a little something about the two New Holland animals?

We have been threatening you with a letter for a month past; for you must know that, the 23d of October, the numbers for September and October arrived, and we verily thought you had forgotten us, and we should never see the Museum again. Now, Mr. Merry, you know we cannot get as many books to read as the children who live east, so we depend upon the Museum, for both pleasure and profit, more than many of your black-eyed and blue-eyed readers; so, if you please, we would like the Museum every month, certainly by the tenth of the month.

We like the story of Inquisitive Jack very much, and hope he will not forget, very soon, how to ask questions; we also are very much interested in Jumping Rabbit’s story.

Blue-eyed Edward E. P——.

Black-eyed S. Adaline P——.

Nov. 1st, 1843.

Holliston, Nov. 23.

Mr. Merry:

I take this opportunity to write a few lines. I have taken your Museum for the year, and I like it very much. I think if you put in a piece of music it would be much more interesting. I have always taken an interest in your Puzzles; and, as you have had none in your last numbers, I thought I would make one, and if you think it deserves insertion, you can insert it.

I am composed of fourteen letters.
My 1, 6, 10, 5, 2, 7, is a town in Massachusetts.
My 11, 5, 9, 4, is a place in Boston.
My 5, 9, 7, is a metal.
My 3, 6, 12, 13, 14, 4, is a city in Europe.
My 6, 10, 5, is an insect.
My 4, 6, 1, 11, is a river in New England.
My 12, 9, 7, 14, is a kind of wood.
My 2, 7, 9, 11, 10, is a vegetable.
My 10, 6, 9, 13, is a very useful article.
My 6, 1, 8, 11, 3, is a town in Massachusetts.
My 14, 5, 10, 6, is a burning mountain.
My 13, 14, 6, 4, 8, is an adjective.
My 14, 6, 4, 8, is a point of the compass.
My 9, 13, 13, 9, 3, 11, 9, 4, is one of the States.
My whole is a city on the eastern continent.

From a black-eyed friend,

H. P——.

The following letter from Washington is very acceptable, and we hope our little friend will continue his interesting correspondence:—

Mr. Merry:

I have come on to Washington with my father, to spend the winter here, and I thought I would write, and tell you something about Washington. It is a pretty large place, but it is scattered about, and looks like a great city broken into a great many pieces. The capitol is situated on the brow of a hill, and is a very fine building, of white freestone. It is the handsomest building I ever saw. The grounds around it are so neat, and have such fine walks! And then there are so many pretty trees scattered about in groups! And then there are beautiful fountains, out of which the water is spouting as bright as flowing silver!

The capitol is twice as large as the Boston state-house, and has a vast number of rooms, and passages, and staircases. I got quite lost and bewildered in it several times, but I can find my way pretty well now. There is a large circular room in the middle of the building, called the Rotunda. It is lighted at the top, by the dome or cupola.

Around the sides of the rotunda are several carvings and pictures. One of the latter represents the marriage of Pocahontas to Rolfe, the Englishman. It is a very large picture indeed, the figures being as large as life. It is very interesting.

The House of Representatives and the Senate, being called Congress, meet in two different rooms in the capitol. The United States Court also meet every winter in a room in the capitol.

I have only been to the House of Representatives yet. The room is a half circle, very lofty, and supported by beautiful pillars of many-colored marble. There are about two hundred and thirty members; and what strikes me as very odd is, that they sit with their hats on. If they were boys, they would have to take their hats off; for boys are expected to observe good manners, but men and members of Congress, I suppose, may do as they please.

The Speaker is Mr. Jones, of Virginia; a man of dark complexion, and plain appearance. He is also a little lame. Yet he seems to be a mild and good man. But there is one thing that he ought to pay attention to. He being chairman, the members must address their speeches to him. When they begin, they say Mr. Chairman; and sometimes they speak of addressing the chair. Now, what I notice as wrong is this, that many of the members say cheer and cheerman! Would you believe, Mr. Merry, that such things would be tolerated in the Congress of the United States? Why, any school-boy would get a striped jacket for talking through his nose, and murdering the English tongue in this fashion; but I suppose members of Congress may do as they please.

I had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Adams, of Massachusetts, make a speech. He is very old, and his hand trembles, and his voice breaks. I was sorry to see that he got very angry—​very angry indeed. It seems to me that such an old man should not get angry; but perhaps I am wrong, for I am only a boy. I should have loved him, if he had been mild, and calm, and dignified.

I must now close my letter: perhaps I shall write you again. Good bye.

Yours, truly,

James Norton.

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The Two Leaves.
MUSIC COMPOSED BY GEO. J. WEBB.