Chapter I: Front Matter

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.

January, 1
London Printseller, 4
A Test, “
Significant, “
The Thorn, 5
Old Man in the Corner, 6, 43, 82, 116, 145, 176
Don’t give up the Ship, 10
Cure for the Tooth-ache, 12
Either way will do, “
The Stormy Petrel, “
Bill and the Boys, 13, 69, 109, 139, 185
Pictures of Various Nations, 16, 56, 86, 113, 146, 170
Fresh Water, 19
Light, 20
Herons and Rooks, 24
Spectral Illusions, 25
Bats, 26
Yankee Wit, 27
Musician in Ohio, “
Kin Than, 28
Our Correspondence, 30, 94, 124, 190
Music, 32
February, 33
The Three Sovereigns, 34
Written on a Boy’s Marble, “
Inquisitive Jack, 35, 75, 106, 130, 163
Dick Boldhero, 38, 66, 98, 135, 173
The Indian and his Dog, 40
Husking the Corn, 42
The Sea, 45
Snow-balling, 46
Anecdote of Washington, 47
Question on Mathematics, “
The use of Telescopes, 48
The Lotus, 50
The Miller and the Fool, “
The Indian Dandy, 51
The Locust, 52
St. Patrick and Father Mathew, 53
The real Culprit, 54
Combat between a Falcon and Serpent, 55
The Papyrus, “
Pigeon Coves, 56
Bonaparte and the Leg of Mutton, 58
Names of Countries and Places, 59
Snuff-taking, “
Squirrels, 60
Consolation in Sea-Sickness, 61
The Blue Jay, 62
Lines placed over a Chimney-piece, “
A German, “
Shoe Black and his Dog, 63
Advertisement Extra, “
Pat-riotism, “
To our Readers, 63
The Snow-Flakes. _A Song_, 64
March, 65
The Old Mansion, 72
The Desman, 74
City of Ancient Babylon, 79
The Leopard, 81
The Pyramids of Egypt, 84
A Monster of the Deep, 88
The Sperm Whale, 89
The Cottager to her Infant, 91
Squirrels, 92
A Winter Evening in the Country, 94
The Little Soldier, 95, 159
Evening. _A Song_, 96
April, 97
William Ellery Channing, 101
Chinese Ingenuity, 104
Effect of Climate, “
The Morse, 105
Promotion from the Ranks, 108
Family Men, 111
Nine of Diamonds, “
Sharp Retort, “
The Leming, 112
Persia, 120
How to get Letters Free, 122
Love One Another, “
Varieties, 123
May, 129
Deserts of Africa and Asia, 133
The Merry Knight, 134
Anecdote of a Tiger, 143
Miss Pappoo, 144
I don’t want to go, 149
A Chinese Dandy, “
A thrilling Narrative, 151
Demosthenes, 153
Walking on Stilts, 158
The Goldfinch. _A Song_, 160
June, 161
Sketches in Egypt, 165
What’s in a Name, 178
The Five-Dollar Bill, 179
The Lark, 182
Origin of the names of the U.S., 183
Battle between a Rat and Crab, 184
Blue Beard and his Castle, 188
A Horse stung to death, “
The Flowers of Spring, “
Boisterous Preaching, “
Letter to Peter Parley, 189
Peter Parley’s answer, “
The Lily. _A Song_, 191

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.

{CLASS I. Blues of reverie:
{ pleasing, but not to be too
{ much indulged.
{
_Order I._ {CLASS II. Rum blues: pestiferous.
_The Blues._ {
{CLASS III. Blues of indigestion:
{ horrible.
{
{CLASS IV. Blues of bad
{ conscience: frightful.

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.

{GENUS 1. The gin blue.
{
{GENUS 2. The whiskey
{ blue. (In London called
{ “blue ruin.”)
_Class II._ {
_Rum Blues;_ {GENUS 3. The wine blue.
_or,_ {
_The Horrors._ {GENUS 4. The toddy blue.
{
{GENUS 5. The brandy
{ blue.
{
{GENUS 6. The Santa
{ Croix blue.

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.