CHAPTER IV.

_The Indians, continued._

Persia.

The present kingdom of Persia, called Ivan by the natives, covers a space of four hundred and fifty thousand square miles, lying between 25° and 40° N. latitude, and 44° and 62° E. longitude, constituting an elevated table land. On the east and north are extensive plains, and on the south lie the Persian Gulf and the Indian Sea. To the east are the kingdoms of Afghanistan, and Beloochistan. The climate of Persia varies in the different portions. To the north it is cold; in the inland provinces the air is serene and pure; but in the south it is hot, and the wind often proves fatal to health. There are but few rivers, and water is very scarce. In some parts of Persia, the soil is unfruitful, but the luxuriance in other spots is wonderful. The vale of Shiraz is much celebrated for the salubrity of the air, and the richness and variety of its fruits and flowers. Near Ispahan, are cultivated all the beautiful flowers that can be conceived, particularly roses, from which is made the celebrated otto of rose, held by ladies in such high esteem. Here the pomegranate tree grows wild, delighting the eye with its splendid red blossom.

In Persia, there are a great variety of wild animals and birds. In some places, the lion holds his sway; in others, wolves, jackals, and foxes abound. Leopards, lynxes, and bears are very numerous. One of the most remarkable animals is the argali, or mountain sheep. But the most beautiful creature is the gazelle, so justly celebrated for its grace and agility.

There are many tribes in Persia, many of whom live a wandering life. The Persians are distinguished for their politeness and learning. The Turkish is the common language; the Persian being only spoken by the people of science and literature.

The Persians are generally a handsome race. Their dress is peculiar and fitted to their climate. The men wear a long robe, wide trousers, and a silk or calico shirt. Robes of various kinds are worn, tied by a muslin sash. In this is stuck a dagger; and a sword is considered a necessary appendage to the dress of every Persian. All classes wear a cap made of lamb-skin. The head is shaved, except a tuft on the top and behind the ears. The dress of the women is very simple. In winter, a close-bodied robe, reaching to the knees, is worn over a kind of vest. In summer a loose dress of silk or muslin, loose trousers and a vest, form the usual attire. The head is covered with a black turban, over which a cashmere shawl is thrown to serve for a veil.

The food of the Persians is simple; they drink the wine of the country, which is delicious, and use a great deal of coffee. Tobacco is smoked by all classes. The Persians have been called the Parisians of the East, though they bear a nearer resemblance to the Greeks. They are cheerful, cunning, deceitful, and dishonest, but very social, and fond of conversation. This abounds in complimentary phrases, fables and apologues. The manner of salutation is to touch the hands, and then raise them to the forehead. When they salute the king or his officers, they bow thrice to the ground.

The wandering tribes are found in all parts of Persia. They are divided into dwellers of cities, and dwellers in the field. Many of them live in tents, which they place on the plains during the winter, and seek the pasture of the mountains in the summer. They have large flocks of cattle. They breed camels and horses for sale, and have a large trade in butter made of the milk of their asses. They feed principally on their flocks, and eat sour milk, cheese, and buttermilk. They range at liberty, over the mountains and plains, paying a tax to government.

There are a people in Persia called Parsees, who worship fire, which they make their idol. They live an honest and pure life, subsisting upon the fruits and productions of their lands. Many of them, suffering persecution by the Turks, emigrated to India, where there are numerous communities of them. The Arabians, who form part of the population of Persia, gain their livelihood by fishing and going to sea; some of them are merchants, while others are occupied in the planting of date trees.

The common advantages of education may be obtained by all classes in Persia, but the arts and sciences are but little attended to. The popular literature is comprised in poems, fables, and romantic tales. Some of the works of their poets are translated and much admired.

The religion of Persia is Mahometan, with some slight variations in the forms and ceremonies. There are a few Christians. There is also a Catholic mission, but it has made few converts. The Persians are generally willing to discuss the merits of different religions, and are thus open to conviction.

The usages at funerals in Persia are very peculiar. After the death and burial of a friend, the relatives mourn forty days, during which time, they suppose the grave to be watched by angels. They accordingly keep a large supply of food upon the place of interment, for the support of these ethereal watchers. They must have rather earthly ideas of the wants of angelic beings. They are also, during the forty days of mourning, in the constant habit of asking the deceased person why he died!

The government of Persia is an absolute despotism; the king himself cannot change his own edicts. Sanguinary and barbarous punishments are very common; the eyes being sometimes put out. Theft is punished by making a hole in a wall, putting the offender in, and building it up again, thus suffocating him. The lower classes are punished by the bastinado, or whipping the feet.

――――

HOW TO GET LETTERS FREE.――A shrewd countryman, being informed that there was a letter for him in the post-office, went accordingly for it. On the postmaster’s handing it to him, he frankly confessed that he could not read, and requested the postmaster to open it, and let him know the contents, which he very readily did. After getting all the information he wanted, he knowingly shrugged up his shoulders, thanked him for his politeness, and dryly observed――“When I have some change I’ll call and take it.”

――――

“LOVE ONE ANOTHER.”――A Welsh parson, preaching from this text, told his congregation, that in kind and respectful treatment to our fellow-creatures, we were inferior to the brute creation. As an illustration of the truth of this remark, he quoted an instance of two goats, in his own parish, that once met upon a bridge so very narrow, that they could not pass by without one thrusting the other off into the river. “And,” continued he, “how do you think they acted? Why, I will tell you. One goat lay down, and let the other leap over him. Ah! beloved, let us live like goats.”

Varieties.

AN OLD MAID’S WILL.――A maiden lady, who died in London, in 1786, left the following singular legacies in her will:――

“_Item._ I leave to my dear entertaining Jacko, (a monkey,) £10 per annum, during his natural life, to be expended yearly, for his support.”

“_Item._ To Shock and Tib, (a lapdog and a cat,) £5 each, for their annual subsistence during life; but should it so happen that Shock die before Tib, or Tib before Shock, then and in that case the survivor to have the whole.”

The legacies in remainder were bequeathed to her niece.

――――

FREDERICK THE GREAT.――A Prussian ecclesiastic, of the name of Mylius, found among his father’s papers a promissory note to a considerable amount, which the Prince Royal, afterwards Frederick the Great, had given him. He therefore immediately sent it to the king with the following letter:――

“Sire,――Among my father’s papers I have found the enclosed note. I cannot tell whether it has been through negligence or any other means that it has not been cancelled. I know not, but I leave the matter to the disposal of your majesty.”

The king immediately sent for Mylius, and said that he well remembered receiving the money from his father, and that if there was any error he would be the loser himself. He immediately paid the money, with interest.

――――

SIR LOIN.――The sirloin of beef is said to owe its name to King Charles the Second, who, dining upon a loin of beef, and being particularly pleased with it, asked the name of the joint. On being told, he said, “for its merit, then, I will knight it, and henceforth it shall be called Sir Loin.”

In a ballad of Sir John Barleycorn, this circumstance is thus mentioned,――

“Our second Charles, of fame facête, On loin of beef did dine; He held his sword, pleased, o’er the meat,―― ‘Arise, thou famed Sir Loin.’”

――――

LA FONTAINE.――This famous writer is said to have been the most absent of men. He was once called upon to attend the burial of one of his friends, and sometime afterwards, he called to visit him. At first, he was shocked at the information of his death; but recovering from his surprise, he observed, “It is true enough, for now, I recollect, I went to his burial.”

――――

A DRAGOON, having been carried by a restive horse against Louis XIV. during an action, his majesty became angry, and lifted his cane, as if to strike him. On this, the soldier, rendered desperate by such an affront, immediately tendered one of his pistols to the king, exclaiming, at the same time, “Sire, you have bereaved me of my honor, deprive me also of my life.” The monarch, instead of being displeased at this sensibility, took the first opportunity to promote so brave a man.

Our Correspondence.

It is said that the Yankees are very much given to _guessing_, and they are generally allowed the privilege of guessing when they please. In the exercise of this birthright, we venture to guess that Robert Merry, with his timber toe, is getting to be almost as much a favorite with the black eyes and the blue, as old Peter Parley was, sometime ago. We have a great many letters from these good little people, and they are full of kind thoughts, and pleasant speeches, and one thing must be set down to their credit, THEY ALWAYS REMEMBER TO PAY THE POSTAGE. Only think of that!

We cannot publish all the pleasant letters we get, though we should be glad to do so. We like to encourage the first efforts of our young friends in letter-writing, and perhaps we may now and then give them a hint that may be useful to them. And beside this, these specimens which we publish may turn the thoughts of our young readers to the writing of letters, and give them some good ideas upon this important art. Here is a letter all the way from Georgia.

_Decatur, Ga., 14th Feb., 1844._

MR. MERRY:

I see that some little girls write to you. I want to say something about my little cousin Julia Ann, who lives in Petersham, Mass. I think she does not take your Museum. I wish she should; and my father says I may send it to her, and as she is a _new_ subscriber, you say she may have the three bound volumes too, for $3.00, and when she sends for them by any of her friends, you will let her have them. Send the numbers for 1844, by mail, to Petersham.

You write a great many stories. I wish you would come to Georgia, and write us a good story about the Stone Mountain, which is in the county of Decatur, in which we live. It is a lone, solitary rock. Father says it is eight hundred feet high, and that there was once a wall near the top of it. Some think the famous Spanish adventurer, De Soto, made it a long, long time ago. Some men built a tower on the top of it, one hundred and sixty feet high, but it was blown down in a storm last year. It is not a good place to stay on the rock, for there is no water, nor any way to get it, but by carrying it up.

Some who have visited the Stone Mountain say it is second to no curiosity except the Falls of Niagara.

Hoping for more stories and plenty of pictures, I am your young friend,

S. M. W.

――――

_Quincy, Feb. 29th, 1844._

MR. MERRY:

DEAR SIR,――I would be greatly obliged to you if you will be so kind as to publish the following enigma in the Museum for April or May, as you choose. And I should be very happy to have some one of your subscribers puzzle it out and put it in the Museum. From a Quincy subscriber. Good bye, Mr. Merry.

FREDERICK H. B.

A GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of twelve letters. My 5, 8, 11, 4, 2 and 9, is a cape on a large island. My 6, 3, 11, 4, 10 and 11, is a large circle. My 5, 12, 3 and 8, is a tribe of Indians which inhabit British America. My 5, 2, 9 and 1, is a cape of S. America. My 7, 12, 9, 7, 2, 3 and 12, is a sea between Europe and Asia. My 1, 8, 10, 7, 10, and 1, is a river of Europe. My 11, 3, 10, 7, 8 and 12, is a small portion of Russia. My 8, 4, 1 and 12, is a burning mountain. My 11, 5, 10, 1 and 12, is a country in Asia. My 5, 8, 3, 12 and 4, is the capital of a country in Asia. My 12, 11, 5, 8, 8 and 1, is a town in a large island. My whole is the name of a large portion of this globe.

――――

We will endeavor to comply with the request so pleasantly made in the following letter, in relation to the stars, but our little friend must give us time. The stars are a great way off, and we do not hear from them by every mail. Beside, Bob Merry “has a good many fish to fry,” and in order to make matters go right, he is obliged to let everything take its turn. Will you be patient, Dick?

_Lexington, January 17th, 1844._

MR. MERRY:

DEAR SIR,――I have been taking your Museum for some time, and I like it very much. I am sorry to have to make the same complaint that some of your other subscribers have made; that is, I do not, sometimes, get my Museum soon enough.

I would be glad if you would give us a simple account of the stars, and other heavenly bodies. I have read the first part of Bill Keeler’s story about poor Tom Trudge and his wife, and I think it is quite laughable.

I hear that almost all the great men of the country have been invited to this place or that, and I heartily wish that you would come and pay your little western subscribers a visit. You will not find yourself as much a stranger to us, as even your neighbor Hon. John Quincy Adams.

My dear Mr. Merry――won’t you come to the west? Of all the countries you’ve been in, you’ll like it the best. Here you’ll find many little ones, black-eyed and blue, And a good many grown ones, I rather guess, too, Who will give you a welcome, and plenty to eat; For if you do not like favors, you surely like meat. O, there’d be such a racket and waving of caps, Such forgetting of rulers, of masters and maps! All over the country there’d be a turn-out, And all would join in a general shout. “For your great men I’ll give not a fig nor a cherry―― O, here is our good friend, the kind Mr. Merry.” For there’s not a log cabin in all the broad west, That has not of your stories, the rarest and best.

Your affectionate friend and subscriber,

RICHARD P. H.

――――

_Portsmouth, February 20th, 1841._

MR. MERRY:

I am a new subscriber to your Museum, and so far I like it very much. I take pleasure in studying out your _puzzles_, and as you have had but one this year, I thought I would make one, and if you think it worth insertion, you can insert it.

I am composed of eighteen letters. My 3, 14, 2 and 11, is often seen in rivers. My 3, 14, 6, 6, 16 and 10, is very useful. My 10, 11 and 16, is a town in New Hampshire. My 6, 2 and 18, is a nick name. My 3, 4 and 8, is an insect. My 7, 14, 15, 4, 17 and 13, is something in Boston. My 3, 16, 8 and 6, is a vegetable. My 3, 1, 2, 2 and 7, is a useful thing. My 11, 8 and 12, is an answer often given to a question. My 12, 6, 9, 16, 8 and 6 belongs to a town. My 13, 16, 7, 3, 8 and 5, is a limb. My 3, 8, 16, and 1, is much in use. My 3 and 16, is a verb. My 10, 17 and 13, is a medicine now in use. My 8, 11 and 16, spells the organ of sight. My whole is a distinguished periodical publication.

A SUBSCRIBER.

――――

The letter which we copy below, was written in a very neat hand, showing that the little writer has good taste and good sense. The dollar spoken of, must have been a sly fellow, for when the letter came to the publishers, behold, it was missing! We have nothing to do with the money matters of the Museum――that is the affair of Bradbury & Soden. But we are curious to know something of the history of this rogue of a dollar. Will our friend Edway let us know whether it was a paper dollar or a real shiner? If we can catch the fellow, we’ll write his memoirs, and we think it will be a pleasant story. We think the life and adventures of a dollar that crept out of a letter one day, would be equal to Bill Keeler’s story of the eel in the aqueduct. If, after all, our little friend forgot to put the dollar into the letter, he may send it to the publishers of the Museum. This will be satisfactory to all parties, though it may spoil a good story of a runaway dollar.

_Middlebury, Vermont, Jan., 1844._

MR. MERRY:

I have been thinking this good while, that I would write to you. You wound up your stories of Jumping Rabbit and Inquisitive Jack rather too short, I think. I should like to have you tell a little more about Jumping Rabbit――some of his hunting expeditions, &c. If you would put a little more Natural History into the Museum, I think I should like it better. You had a very handsome picture in the December Museum. I like to see chickens; and I have got six hens, one rooster, and two white turkeys.

I am going to send you one dollar in this letter. I have taken the Museum ever since it has been printed. One of the volumes is bound, and the other two volumes are up to the bookbinder’s shop to be bound.

EDWAY B. P――――.

P. S.――We are just informed by Messrs. Bradbury & Soden, that the stray dollar is found. It appears that it was in the letter, but crept on to the floor; it was caught, however, and is safely put in crib.

――――

The following epistle, from a romantic, descriptive, warm-hearted friend, was very welcome to us, and will be so to our readers. Alas! for those bright days when everything gives pleasure, and even the flowers seem like things of life! They are gone from Robert Merry forever; but he loves to see them reflected in the eyes of his youthful friends. We have been at Springfield, and can testify to the accuracy of the following description of that beautiful town. One thing our fair correspondent has failed to notice, and that is the cemetery, which is scarcely inferior to Mount Auburn. Cannot “Constant Reader” tell us something about it? Instead of sending us the flower she promises, she may send us her miniature. We have an eye for things of that sort yet.

_Springfield, Feb. 29, 1844._

A long time ago, I addressed a letter to the little readers of the Museum, and I have had it in my mind for some time to write them another. I told them how old Peter Parley learned me to make pens, and how much good Robert Merry was like him, and how very glad I was that Peter Parley gave him all his writings before he died. It is not probable that all of your little friends will recollect this, but perhaps some of them may. I was just on the point of writing to them again, and was about to say, “Little readers of the Museum,” when it occurred to me that I had never written to you. So this time I will speak to you, Mr. Merry, and tell you something about this old town, that has been settled for more than two hundred years; for you tell such good stories, and talk so much like our old _benefactor_, that I love you now almost as much as I did him.

Springfield is my native town, so perhaps you will not think it strange if I praise it up pretty well. I think it the pleasantest place I have ever seen. It lies upon the eastern side of the beautiful, broad, majestic Connecticut river, that comes winding down through this extensive valley. It contains about eight thousand inhabitants, not including Cabotville and Chickopee Falls――two large manufacturing villages within the limits of Springfield. The most thickly settled part of the town lies low upon the river’s bank, but the handsomest portion is built upon what is usually termed “the hill.” This elevation commands a fine view of the lower part of the town, and also gives a delightful view of the river. Oh, how beautiful it looks in summer from the brow of “the hill,” wending slowly and sweetly its way to the sea. Upon “the hill” is located the United States Armory, for manufacturing muskets. The public buildings consist of three arsenals, where many of the guns are deposited; three long buildings, each two stories high, where the labor is principally performed, and another in the centre where the officers and clerks have their offices. There are several other smaller buildings connected with the establishment, where various branches of the work are perfected. Also, at what is called “_the watershops_,” are a number of fine buildings belonging to the government, where the pretty Mill river affords a charming water privilege.

I once had a fine sail of two or three miles up this stream. It had been a pleasant but sultry day, and a small company of us――merry girls and boys――when the sun had sunk down behind the blue hills, filled three small boats, and while the soft, mild moon looked into the deep, clear water to see her face, the music of some thirty voices blended with the still murmur of the stream, and was echoed in the distance. Many were the yellow water lilies we pulled into our boats with their long stems, and many did we leave floating gracefully with the current, their modest heads turned gently on one side, looking down upon the bosom of that pretty Mill river. On that sultry summer’s evening did I almost wish to be one of those water lilies; for Oh, thought I, how delightful it must be, to wave so gracefully one way and the other, constantly laved by the cool waters――the stars and the moon looking down upon me in love. After enjoying for some time the luxury which this scene afforded, we went on shore, where was a cool spring of water, which seemed the best I ever drank; and close by it I found a rare flower. If ever I should find such another, I would send it to you, Mr. Merry, that Mr. Billings might take a drawing of it, so that the _little readers of the Museum_ might see it too; for I think it was the most splendid flower I have ever seen. We had a fine sail home, and sung as we went, the “Canadian Boat Song,” which many of the little girls and boys who read the Museum are familiar with.

But now, to tell about the armory. The largest arsenal, where the guns are deposited, is a long brick building, three stories in height, one hundred and twenty feet long, by forty wide. It is a noble structure, and contains ninety-four thousand muskets, elegantly arranged in racks, each rack containing two thousand and forty muskets. From the upper story of this building, we have a line view of the Connecticut, and in the summer we often see from this place many boats gaily passing up and down the river.

Does it not seem a pity, Mr. Merry, that so peaceful a spot as that on which this armory is located, should be devoted to these implements of death? Is it not time that they were changed into “ploughshares and pruning-hooks,” as the Bible tells us all these war instruments will be, some time or other?

A year or two since, two old barracks were standing on the ground belonging to the United States, that some thirty-five or forty years ago, sheltered several hundred soldiers. They are now torn down, but often, as I used to pass them, I thought how happy Peter Parley would be to sit down in one of these old buildings, and tell us children long stories about the war and the Indians. I often thought how glad I should be to run and bring a chair for him, on which to rest his gouty toe. From the spot where stood these old buildings, may be seen Mount Tom, some eighteen miles distant, holding up his tall blue head. I love to look at him, for there is always something very pleasing to me in the sight of a noble mountain; it makes one’s heart _feel large_, and seems silently to teach the eye to look upward to Him who created all things. I have sometimes imagined Mount Tom to be the highest peak of the Alps, and when a dense fog has covered its top, I have fancied it to be all clothed with perpetual snow; for I sometimes enjoy very much a flight of the imagination. I think I must have learned this of old Peter Parley. Oh, how many pretty stories has he told us about Mount Tom, and Mount Holyoke, and the Connecticut, as it passes through these mountains, and about Bellows Falls and the Indians catching fish with long spears.

The western rail-road passes through this town. A bridge has been built across the Connecticut, which passenger trains cross four times during the day, and freight trains twice. This bridge is firmly supported by six granite piers, of uncommon beauty and almost invincible strength, which have hitherto, and probably ever will, bid defiance to the large fields of ice that come floating down the river in the spring; and when passing it the cars may be heard for miles. This noble specimen of architecture was designed and executed by the enterprising and ingenious William Howe; and, taking it as a whole, is a very perfect work of art, and the admiration of all who see it.

We have seven churches in town, the largest of which is the first Congregational Church. It stands near the Court House, in front of which is a fine square in which stands a fountain built of marble, and many beautiful trees, and among them a number of majestic elms that are an ornament to the whole town. A tree standing near the fountain now presents a most magnificent appearance. The water flowing from the fountain has congealed upon it until it now looks like a huge monument of marble, chiseled out by some master hand. The branches of this tree, and the monument itself, are hung with large, transparent icicles of the most exquisite beauty. I hope, Mr. Merry, you will sometime give your little friends a view of this square, for I think they would be delighted to see it. Under the shade of these tall trees, gathers the _Cold Water Army_, on the 4th of July, to receive the spray from the fountain, and to drink of the cool water that comes gushing up and gracefully falls into its marble basin; after which they march in long procession, with gay banners, smiling faces, and happy hearts, to a most interesting place called Worthington Grove, where long tables are spread with all kinds of refreshments, and decorated with flowers and evergreens. Here, sheltered by stately oaks and canopied by heaven, we listen to interesting speeches; fill the large, tall grove with merry songs; send upward wild shouts of “Hurrah for cold water!!” and then, gathering about the tables, satisfy our appetites, and quench our thirst by water from the spring; and if now and then a dash of _rain_ comes down upon us, we only sing and laugh the louder, and give still heartier cheers for _cold water_!!

There are two banks here in town; notwithstanding money is rather scarce. However, I think we do pretty well by you, Mr. Merry, if we do not abound in _cash_; for of late many have subscribed for your nice Museum. But I cannot write any more just now, though there is still enough to tell about this good town of Springfield. Let me say, before I am quite done, that we should be very happy, exceedingly happy, to see you here, Mr. Merry; and though the cannons might not fire a salute, most sure I am that you would meet a _happy_ greeting.

Your affectionate young friend, CONSTANT READER.

――――

_New York, Feb. 12, 1844._

MR. MERRY:

Dear Sir,――In the last number of the Museum, you say that in England, February has nearly the same character as our March, and is regarded as the opening of spring. Will you please tell me, in the next number, why England or London should have an earlier spring than New York――being ten degrees north of New York?――and oblige your subscriber,

WILLIAM.

_Answer._

In reply to the preceding inquiry, we must first remark, that the curious fact mentioned by William, has been variously explained. Our theory upon the subject is this. Greenland, a vast island at the northern point of our continent, is a mighty ice-house, perhaps as extensive as the whole United States. Here the ice and snow are piled up from century to century, imparting to all the regions around something of its own chilly atmosphere. The northerly winds that come even to us have something of old Greenland’s breath in them.

For this reason, as we think, all the northern portions of North America are much colder than they would otherwise be.

If our correspondent, William, will look at a map of the eastern continent, he will see that the Arctic Ocean occupies the whole space to the north of about seventy-two degrees of latitude. There is no Greenland there――no great mass of land to hoard up the ice and snow from age to age, and furnish an everlasting ice-house to scatter abroad its freezing influences. To the north of the eastern continent, there is ever an open, unfrozen sea, tending rather to abate than increase the cold.

These simple facts will show one great reason why our continent should be colder than the eastern continent, and will serve in part to answer William’s inquiry. There are other curious facts in relation to this subject, which have their bearing upon the question, but we have hardly time to state them now. We will only add, that the western coast of the American continent has a much milder climate than the eastern. At Astoria, which is in latitude about forty-seven degrees, it is as mild as at Philadelphia, which is at about forty degrees. The same is the fact in relation to the eastern continent; at the southern point of Kamschatka, which is about the latitude of London, it is almost as cold and tempestuous as at Greenland. Various causes have been assigned for these remarkable facts, but we cannot notice them now.

――――

One of our little friends seems to be suspicious that the letters we insert are invented and written by Robert Merry himself, and not by the young persons from whom they seem to come. This being the first of April, we might be excused for putting off a pleasant joke upon our readers, but it would be dishonest in us to take the credit due to others. The letters inserted are the genuine productions of the various correspondents whose signatures they bear. Every mail brings us some of these epistles, and at the end of the month, we have quite a flock of them――welcome as blue-birds in March. Good bye, till the first of May.

――――

We have a sad story to tell, at the close of this month’s Museum. Mr. Samuel S. Soden, one of the original publishers of this magazine, and one who was largely instrumental in establishing it, died at his native place――Saxonville, in this State――on the 20th of the present month, aged 25 years. He was a man of very pleasant manners, active habits, and zealous devotion to any cause which he espoused. He took hold of Merry’s Museum with great ardor, and much of its success is to be credited to his efforts at the outset of the undertaking. His disease was a lingering consumption, which he bore with great patience and even cheerfulness. We hope our young readers will bestow upon his memory a kind thought, as one who has contributed to their pleasure――and, may we not add, to their profit?

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

Vol. VII. MAY, 1844. No. 5.

May has ever been the favorite month of the poets; yet in New England it usually disappoints our expectations. In more southern climes, it unites the soft beauties of spring with the radiance of summer. At the same time that it has warmth enough to cheer and invigorate, it does not overpower with its melting influence. The following lines describe the southern May, rather than our own:――

May, sweet May, again is come, May, that frees the world from gloom; Children, children! up and see All her stores of jollity. On the laughing hedge-row’s side, She hath spread her treasures wide; She is in the greenwood shade, Where the mocking-bird bath made Every branch and every tree Ring with her sweet melody; Hill and dale are May’s own treasures. Youths, rejoice! In sportive measures Sing ye! join the chorus gay! Hail this merry, merry May!

Up then, children! we will go Where the blooming roses grow; In a joyful company, We the bursting flowers will see; Up, your festal dress prepare! Where gay breasts are meeting, there May hath pleasures most inviting, Heart, and sight, and ear delighting. Listen to the bird’s sweet song, Hark! how soft it floats along. Pleasant dames! our pleasures share; Never saw I dames so fair; Therefore dancing we will go. Youths rejoice! the flow’rets blow! Sing ye! join the chorus gay! Hail this merry May!

The old rhyme tells us that

April showers Bring May flowers;

and how often have we been tempted, on May morning, to go forth, expecting to find blossoms, as we are told they do in other countries――and how have we always been disappointed! Still, May is a delightful month, even in New England, and none of us would be willing to let it slip from the circle of the seasons.

Inquisitive Jack.