Chapter IV: The Indians, continued

et us now proceed with our promised account of some of the most remarkable manners and customs of the great tribes of Indians, which occupy the western portion of the United States. Among the chief tribes, are the Osages, Pawnees, Choctaws, Creeks, Cherokees, Sacs and Foxes, Assineboins, and Winnebagoes. To the north, are the Blackfeet and the Chippewas. There are also several smaller tribes. These occupy the great tract of country which lies immediately west of the Rocky Mountains; on the other side of that range are a multitude of other tribes. All these Indians are supposed to amount to between two and three hundred thousand.

The people of these different tribes speak different languages, though these have some resemblance. In their personal appearance, there is little to distinguish them. They are all copper-colored, with small black eyes, and high cheek bones. The hair is invariably black in youth, turning gray in age. It is coarse and lank, resembling horse hair. It is very glossy――a quality which is increased by the use of grease.

The men are tall and well shaped; their arms are small, but their legs are very stout. They can endure long abstinence from food, and run for a great distance with speed. They have not, however, the strength and endurance of the white man. In a personal conflict, where strength and energy of purpose are required, the white man will generally overcome the Indian.

The women are much shorter than the men, and are capable of performing a great deal of labor. All the drudgery of the household falls to their lot. The warrior and the hunter cannot stoop to the cultivation of the soil, or any of the ordinary business of life. In travelling from one part of the country to another, the women carry heavy burdens, take the entire charge of the furniture, pitch the tents, gather the fuel, and kindle the fires; cut up and dress the meat, besides taking care of the children.

Some of the tribes are stationary and live in villages, their houses being made of stone and mortar covered with coarse thatch. These tribes carry on some agriculture, and produce corn, pumpkins, and beans. They frequently send out hunting parties, who furnish a supply of meat from the buffaloes, deer, bear, and other quadrupeds.

Other tribes have permanent villages, built like the preceding, which however are occupied only in winter. In spring, they plant their grounds, and then, taking their tents, set forward, and spend their summer in roaming from place to place, chiefly for the purpose of obtaining game. The men spend their time in war and the chase, and the women in performing household duties. During these excursions, they seem for the most part to live a happy, careless life, though they sometimes suffer from the attacks of their enemies. About the middle of autumn, they return and take up their abode at their winter residence. Here they gather their harvest, which is now ripened.

Besides the great business of war and the chase, the Indian men carry on a considerable traffic in the hides of the animals they kill. White traders frequently visit their settlements, and, in exchange for their furs, give them various trinkets, blankets, knives, hatchets, powder, ball and fire-arms, together with rum and whiskey, the great bane of the Indian. The amusements of these savages are chiefly found in the serious pursuits of life, war, and the chase. Their councils, also, in which the leading men make great speeches, excite a deep and lively interest. Besides these sources of pleasure, the Indian men are very much addicted to various kinds of dances; in these they represent their feats in battle and the chase. The women take no part in such sports, except as spectators.

A great source of amusement with the Indian men is found in personal decorations. They pluck out their beards with the utmost care, probably that they may paint themselves with the more facility. They now use tweezers made of wire, but they formerly used muscle-shells, the edges of which were ground smooth. The operation is performed with a jerk, like that commonly used in plucking a goose.

They paint their bodies in various colors, with various devices. They decorate themselves with necklaces of bear’s-claws, head-pieces consisting of the pate and horns of the buffalo, and ornamented robes of buffalo skins. They also wear feathers in their hair; the chief idea in these decorations seems to be to present a fierce and startling appearance.

The chief amusement of the women, aside from their laborious duties, seems to be found in gossiping. They never mingle in the sports of the men, but seem to take great pleasure in witnessing them. They are little addicted to finery, and dandyism is almost wholly given up to the sterner sex. Notwithstanding that they are the mere slaves of the men, they are talkative, lively and cheerful, and seem to possess a good deal of that sympathy and kindness of heart common to women in all conditions of society.

As I have said, the Indians have no books, no schools, and no churches. Their knowledge is almost wholly confined to the tract of country in which they live and the few arts they practise. They believe in the existence of a great and good Spirit, and also an evil Spirit. They believe that they shall exist in a future state; if they perform their part well in this life, they hope to enjoy a paradise in the next, fashioned after their notions of happiness. The Indian, about to die, addresses his mind to the Great Spirit, setting forth his feats in battle and the chase, and expresses the hope that in the future state, he shall be surrounded by obedient squaws, roam over rich prairies, feed on fat buffaloes, and find no prickly pear to wound his feet. The Indians are superstitious, and believe in the efficacy of various charms. They have sorcerers, who pretend to cure diseases by their incantations.

Mankind in all countries are formed by the circumstances in which they live. The savages of the western wilds have those faculties sharpened, which are called into frequent exercise. Those who have horses become very expert riders. The hunter and the warrior have a keenness of sight, and a nicety of observation, which are truly wonderful. It is related that a hunter belonging to one of the western tribes, on his return home one day to his hut, discovered that his venison, which he had hung up to dry, had been stolen. After taking observations upon the spot, he set off in pursuit of the thief, whom he tracked through the woods. Having gone a little distance, he met some persons, of whom he inquired if they had seen a _little old white man_, with a _short gun_, accompanied by a _small dog_ with a _short tail_? They replied in the affirmative; and upon the Indian assuring them that the man thus described had stolen his venison, they desired to be informed how he was able to give so minute a description of a person he had not seen.

The Indian replied thus,――“The thief I know is a _little_ man, by his having made a pile of stones to stand upon in order to reach the venison from the height I hung it, standing on the ground; that he is an old man, I know by his short steps which I have traced over the dead leaves in the woods; and that he is a white man, I know by his turning _out_ his toes when he walks, which an Indian never does. His gun I know to be _short_, by the mark the muzzle made in rubbing the tree on which it leaned; that his dog is small, I know by his tracks; and that he has a _short tail_, I discovered by the mark it made in the dust where he was sitting at the time his master was taking down the meat.”

This story shows that savages are very sharp in little matters to which their circumstances have directed their attention. But how great is their ignorance of many important subjects! They have no idea of geography, beyond their own travels! They do not know the shape of the world――its vast magnitude, its mighty rivers, its boundless oceans, or the nations and kingdoms with which it is covered. They know nothing of Europe, or Asia, or Africa. They know nothing of astronomy except from what they see, and the highest conception they have of the stars is that they are fires with which the Great Spirit lights his pipe. They know nothing of the great truths of the Bible, and they conceive the Deity to be a being possessing nearly the same qualities as themselves. How fearful is the darkness which rests upon uncivilized, unchristianized man, and how thankful should we be for the advantages bestowed upon us by the light of knowledge and truth of revelation!

The Old Man in the Corner.

NO. IV.

REMINISCENCES OF A RAG.

(_Concluded._)

eldom has there been a gayer party than the one assembled to celebrate Phillipina’s wedding. The bride herself was in excellent spirits, and her husband, Bob, danced, frisked, and flourished as if he were mad with delight. The whole company, indeed, seemed like a parcel of happy children, heedless of the past, careless of the future, and only intent upon enjoying the passing moment. They were all slaves, bought and sold like merchandize, but they seemed not to think of that. The banjo struck up its liveliest measure, and the bride and groom opened the ceremonies with a waltz. How Phillipina did swim round the room, turning, twisting and twirling about, like a crazy peg-top! Mounted upon her head, I performed my part, and having been nicely starched, and extending to the height of half a yard, you may believe I made rather a conspicuous figure. The pure white of my complexion set off Phillipina’s glistening skin to great advantage. As we went waltzing round the room, I heard some compliments upon the loveliness of the bride, but many more as to the beauty of the turban.

“Well, it was a happy night. We danced ‘Coal black Rose,’ ‘Possum up a gum-tree,’ and many other favorite measures of the kind; but as this was some years ago, ‘Jim Crow’ and the ‘Cachucha’ had not got into vogue. At a late hour, the party broke up, and on the morrow, I was laid upon the shelf. For several weeks, I was occasionally called into service to attend at parties made for the bride and groom, after which, I had a long repose in a box, with a bunch of artificial flowers, some tousled ribbons, and other old finery.

“What length of time now passed, I cannot say, but after a long space, there was a rummaging in the box, and on looking up, I perceived that Phillipina had come to take me out. The poor creature had a very sad aspect, and tears as bright as those that fall from any eyes, coursed down her cheeks. I soon learned the cause of this. Her husband had been sold to a planter, who lived in the interior, and had left her forever. Thus, what the church had joined together, man had put asunder, agreeably to the laws and customs of that Christian land. Nor was this all. Phillipina had been purchased by a Portuguese nobleman, to attend his lady; and the whole party were immediately to proceed to Portugal!

“My mistress, who had a heart, notwithstanding her complexion, took leave of her friends, shed many tears, and we went on board the ship. During the voyage, I was packed away with my old companions, the faded flowers, and tousled ribbons. We reached Lisbon, and after a few months, we proceeded toward the country seat of Phillipina’s master――a fine castle upon the mountains, on the borders of Spain. As we were passing through a deep and dark ravine, our party was attacked by robbers; a desperate scuffle ensued between our company and that of the banditti, but the latter at last prevailed, and taking our entire baggage, hurried it away into the recesses of the mountains. I was taken with the rest, and thus was forever separated from Phillipina.

“When I next saw the light, it was in a splendid castle. The robbers had selected the choicest articles from their booty, and one of them, assuming the disguise of a pedlar, took these to the castle. I was purchased by the lady, a stately dame, with beautiful black eyes, black hair, and a soft, but melancholy expression of countenance. She paid for me an enormous price, and after the pedlar was gone, she sat down and gazed at me with a delighted look. I may say it without vanity, those fair eyes had never before looked upon a piece of muslin, so sheer, even and dazzling. Phillipina――thanks to the kind-hearted creature!――had put me in the best condition; and behold, the slave’s turban now the favorite of a duchess!

“Nothing could exceed the gloomy magnificence of the castle in which I now dwelt. It stood upon the brow of a lofty rock, from the battlements of which, you looked down upon a valley threaded by a silver stream, and dotted over with vineyards and groves of olive, lemon, and orange trees. The air was filled with the most delicious fragrance, and far as the eye could reach, the lovely valley seemed to stretch out, presenting a scene of luxuriance and peace. On the other side of the castle, was a succession of rugged mountains, covered with gloomy forests of cork trees, with occasional groups of oak and chestnut. The view resembled a sea of waving leaves covered by a thin atmospheric veil of a purple hue. Nothing could exceed the grandeur and richness of the spectacle.

“The castle was itself a kind of village, where there were at least a hundred people. Its master was a duke, of an ancient family, and bearing at least a dozen titles attached to his name. He was a dark, sallow and gloomy man, yet very handsome. He bore a military title, and had served in the wars. There was about him a stern, stately demeanor, befitting the soldier, yet, when he addressed the fair duchess, his manner was gentle and winning.

“The dame, however, for some cause, was unhappy. Still youthful, she spent her time in seclusion, and seemed to devote almost all her thoughts to religious duties and ceremonies. I learned that she had been married contrary to her inclination, and that in the midst of the luxuries that surrounded her, she was far less happy than the menials about the castle. In vain were all the attentions of her lord to soothe her melancholy. The heart was given to another, and her happiness had gone with it.

“The lady had no books, save a few old Spanish ballads, and these she had learned by heart. She took an occasional drive; sometimes sauntered through the magnificent gardens attached to the castle, but more frequently buried herself amid the dark labyrinths of the park, where she sometimes met a cavalier, who kissed her hand, and departed, leaving her in tears. With these exceptions, the lady spent the greater part of her time in the little chapel of the castle, on her knees, before the image of the Virgin, and in her boudoir engaged in needle work.

“A new thought now occurred to her, which was to work me into a handkerchief for the Virgin in the chapel. This design was immediately entered upon, and industriously pursued for more than a year. Some tears fell upon me during that period, but they were too bright to leave any stain behind. At last I was finished, and after a meeting between the lady and the strange cavalier in the wood, I was one evening placed around the neck of the holy mother’s image, and fastened with a diamond of inestimable value.

“I had scarcely remained a month in this condition, when, one night, a person, whose features I could not discover, entered the chapel, took the diamond pin, and crossing himself repeatedly before the Virgin, telling his beads, and saying a number of ‘ave marias,’ he went away. The theft was not discovered, for a paste pin was put in the place of the stolen jewel. Not long after this, an attack was made upon the castle by a party of French soldiers. It was bravely defended by the duke and his attendants, but without avail. He escaped with his fair dame through some of the winding passages; and their further story I am unable to tell. My own fate was melancholy indeed. One of the cannon pierced the chapel, and striking the breast of the holy Virgin, scattered the image in a thousand fragments. Torn and blackened, I was thrown upon the floor, by the side of a bleeding soldier. He took me up, to staunch his wound, and when he was carried away by his comrades, I was taken with him.

“His wound was not serious; and after a short space, I was thrust into his pocket, stained with blood. For several weeks, I performed the office of wiping the fellow’s nose. Thus I was reduced to the most miserable and degraded condition. At last I was thrust into the soldier’s knapsack, and for a long period, travelled about with him. My companions consisted of a wad of lint, an old cigar, the handle of a jack-knife, a little black cross, an old seal-skin purse, besides sundry damaged articles of dress.

“After a great variety of marches and countermarches, the soldier was finally wounded in battle, and carried to some barracks. Here he was stretched out upon a bed of straw, with several other miserable wretches. They were visited once a day by the surgeon, and every morning the man with the dead-cart came round to carry away those who had expired. The dead-cart-men had become so hardened as to perform their office with as much indifference as if they were dealing with so many sacks of salt. If they could perceive no motion in the bodies, they would seize upon them and carry them away, hardly pausing to consider whether they were yet dead. So long as life and consciousness remained, the poor soldiers were accustomed to give a kick as these hearsemen performed their rounds, in order to save themselves from being borne away to the charnel-house. One morning no motion was perceived in my poor soldier. He had given his last kick, and he was borne to his grave. His knapsack was left behind, and I became the plunder of one of the attendants of the hospital.

“For a time, I remained with a heap of rubbish, where I found myself with a parcel of old rags, each of which could have told a tale, perhaps, as curious as my own. There was an old shirt, which had belonged to a man who had died of the plague; a pocket handkerchief, spun by the silk-worms of India, and manufactured by Hindoo artizans, and after being borne to Europe, had ministered to the conveniences of at least three different persons; an old frill which had flourished upon the bosom of a beau, and sundry other fragments equally curious. After a long space, we were bundled together, taken to the city of Cadiz, packed in an enormous bale, and shipped to Boston.

“Thus, I made my fourth voyage across the Atlantic, and found myself restored to the country of my birth. I had passed through various adventures, but alas, what was my present condition! How sadly did it contrast with the brighter days of my existence. Once the favorite of a duchess; once the ornament of the holy Virgin, and fit to be decorated with a priceless gem; now an old rag tumbled in, cheek by jowl, with a thousand vulgar fragments of shirts, sheets, and nose-wipers.

“I did not remain in this condition long. I was soon purchased by Messrs. Tileston & Hollingsworth, and transported to their mill at Dorchester; and here I am awaiting my fate. And what is that to be? Am I to be manufactured into a pure sheet, upon which Mr. Longfellow shall write one of his beautiful sonnets; or make an immortal leaf in a new edition of Prescott’s Cortez; or shall I go gilt-edged, to some fair lady, and receive her confession to her lover; or shall I be impressed with the magic figures of a bank, and bear a value a hundred times my weight in gold; or shall I go to the office of a penny paper, and be cried about the streets by the boys,――‘Here’s the second edition of the Mail, Bee, and Times, with a full account of the last horrible murder!’”

Thus I read, or seemed to read, from the scroll, which the haggish old rag in the bin had put into my hands. As I finished the last sentence recorded above, the paper shrunk from my grasp. At the same instant, I saw the grisly image rise again from the rag-bin, but with a look so portentous, that I trembled in every limb. In the agony of the moment, I uttered a shriek, which awoke me, and behold, “The Reminiscences of a Rag” were but a dream!

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.