CHAPTER XXI.
_Holy week at Rome.--A Roman tavern.--Strange crowds at St. Peter’s.--Description of the church.--The Pope.--The Coliseum.--A fox among the ruins.--The Vatican--its splendor and immense extent.-- General description of the city.--Cheapness of living.--Oddities of the tradesmen.--The malaria.--Climate and salubrity of Rome._
This was Holy Week, the season of the most pompous and showy display of religious ceremonies and festivities at Rome: on which account the city was full of strangers. People flock to Rome to see these sights, far and near. English travellers and Roman country people crowded the streets. All the hotels appeared full to overflowing, and I thought myself lucky to find at last a snug little tavern on the banks of the Tiber, with the sign of the _Albergo del Orso_, or the “Bear’s Hotel.” This was a very good name, for it was not much better than a bear’s den. The entry was a stable; and the kitchen stood where there should have been a parlor. I had no choice; so, depositing my trunk in this same den of the bears till better quarters could be found, I set off for a ramble through the city.
To a traveller who enters Rome as I did, at the waste end of the city, where he sees nothing but mouldering walls and heaps of grass-grown ruins, it is quite a matter of wonder to find, at the other extremity, such a collection of populous streets and splendid structures. My first steps were directed to St. Peter’s church, that ornament and wonder of modern Rome, the most magnificent edifice that the world ever saw. Vast crowds of people were moving in the same direction, so that I had no difficulty in going straight to the spot. The near approach to it is most imposing. An immense circular piazza is in front, surrounded with rows of columns and adorned with two beautiful fountains, which are constantly in play, throwing the water up to an immense height. This grand area, and all the other avenues to the church, were thronged with a motley population, which seemed to have flowed thither from the four quarters of the earth. Priests, soldiers, pilgrims and beggars, in variegated costume and manner, were mingled up together in picturesque confusion. Cardinals, in red dresses, rolled along in their gilt coaches, drawn by such fat, sleek, black horses as we never see on this side of the Atlantic. Capuchin friars, in dingy brown woollen gowns, tied with bits of bedcord, bare legs and sandaled feet; friars, of other denominations, in black, white and gray--shaven crowns, Quaker broad-brims and three-cornered scrapers; Swiss guardsmen in steel armor; Roman militia in red baize regimentals and coffee-pot hats; little hump-backed _gobboes_ like the black dwarf; ragged Roman peasants in straw and oakum spatter-dashes; country girls in square flat caps and tawdry finery; strapping fellows in red breeches and cocked hats, who look like major-generals, but are only livery servants,--all these, and a hundred other varieties impossible to describe, gave such a diversity and animation to the scene as to constitute it one of the most striking spectacles in the world.
But all description must fall short of the reality when I attempt to offer my impressions of the interior of St. Peter’s. The first view, on entering, overpowers the spectator with magnificence and beauty: but many days are requisite to see the whole building. It is a mountain of architecture, and the eye can take in, at once, nothing but a small fragment. All that human labor and human genius can expend upon a work of art--painting, sculpture and every other species of ornament--are here lavished with a richness and profusion characteristic of an edifice constructed at the expense of the whole Christian world. The walls glitter with mosaics, costly marbles, gems and gold. The great dome rises like heaven above your head. The long nave, or central aisle, stretches out before you an eighth of a mile in length. Immense arches open on every side, and lead the eye off into recesses of unknown extent. Everything adds to the general impression of overpowering grandeur and sublimity. The world will never see another structure like this!
In the midst of an immense crowd the Pope was brought into church on a litter, supported on men’s shoulders. A lofty canopy was held over his head, and on each side of him was carried an enormous fan of ostrich feathers. He was a little decrepit-looking old man, with a benevolent expression of countenance. After going through various ceremonies, he was carried into the balcony in the front of the church, where he pronounced a blessing on the multitude below, who all fell upon their knees. At night the church was illuminated, the great dome being covered with lamps, and looking like a mountain of fire.
On ascending to the roof of the church I almost imagined myself among the streets below. Long rows of domes extended right and left, which cannot be seen from below; such is the enormous extent of the building. Workshops and dwelling-houses were built there for the masons and carpenters, who find constant employment in repairing damages and keeping the roof in order. There is even a fountain of water constantly running here. It is quite a town up in the air. Formerly the dome suffered much by lightning, but since the erection of lightning-rods it has never been struck.
Next to St. Peter’s, in interest, is the great ruin of the Coliseum, that enormous edifice, which could contain 80,000 spectators, besides the area in the centre where wild beasts were hunted, and where gladiators killed each other, for the amusement of the Roman populace. These walls are now overgrown with weeds and flowers, lonely and desolate. During the day they resound only with the notes of the birds who nestle among the stones, and in the night you may hear the owls hooting out of their dark recesses. Travellers visit it by moonlight, when the spectacle is very solemn and striking. For a great distance around this building are scattered the ruins of the palaces of the Roman emperors, triumphal arches, baths, theatres and gigantic structures, that fill us with amazement in the contemplation of the ancient splendors of the city. While I sat on a broken column, among the ruins of Nero’s golden palace, a fox peeped out from a crumbling arch, and, fixing his sharp eyes on me for a minute, gave a whisk with his tail and bounded off across a bed of artichokes which a gardener was cultivating on the Palatine Hill. The poor man complained that he had lost all his chickens by the depredations of these marauders.
Everybody has heard of the Vatican. This is an immense palace adjoining St. Peter’s, formerly the residence of the Pope, and now famous for its pictures and statues. I hardly knew which of the two struck me with the greater astonishment--St. Peter’s, with its stupendous architecture and gorgeous embellishments, or the Vatican, with its endless treasures of art. Gallery, hall and saloon open upon you, one after another, till there seems literally to be no end of statues, vases and columns of precious marble and porphyry. Beautiful fountains of water are playing in the pavilions, and long vistas of sculpture carry the eye a quarter of a mile in length. The apartments amount to many thousands: the wonder is that any man ever undertook to count them. All description of this place seems an utterly vain attempt. It is realizing the dreams of fairy splendor to wander over it.
After the ceremonies of the Holy Week are over, strangers generally leave the city, and Rome becomes a quiet place. There is little traffic or industry here, although the population is nearly double that of Boston. No rattling of carts over the pavements, no throng of busy passengers in the streets, give tokens of active business. The shopkeepers sit idly at their counters, and look as if a customer would astonish them. Two or three little feluccas lie at a landing-place in the Tiber, unloading coffee and sugar from Marseilles, and this is all that looks like commerce. Rome has nothing to export but rags and _pozzolana_, or volcanic sand, which, mixed with lime, forms the composition known as Roman cement. At sunset the genteel classes ride out in their carriages to the gardens in the neighborhood of the city, and this gives some appearance of life to the place at that time. But far the greater part of the day the streets are lonely and still. The shopkeepers close their doors after dinner and go to sleep.
Rome is full of splendid palaces and churches, profusely and magnificently adorned with pictures, sculptures, precious stones, gilding, and every other sort of embellishment. The shrines of the saints are very curious. They are covered all over with votive offerings from persons who have been sick or have escaped from accidents. If a man is in danger of drowning, or is run over by a horse, or gets a bang on the shin, or has a sore finger, he makes a vow to his favorite saint, and, after his escape or recovery, gives him a present of a little silver ship, or leg, or finger, which is stuck up in the church as a memento of the saint’s intercession and the man’s gratitude. In this manner you may see the walls of a church covered, for many yards square with silver legs, toes, arms, hands, fingers, hearts, ears, noses, and nobody knows what else. A traveller unacquainted with the fact might take them for hieroglyphics. All sorts of rich offerings are made to these shrines. I have seen the figure of a saint in a glass case completely covered with gold watches, rings, bracelets, necklaces, &c. When the saint finds himself so overloaded with ornaments as to leave no room for any more, he allows himself to be stripped. The watches and jewels are sold, and the shrine is open for new presents. It is easy to see how, in a long course of years, this practice, and others similar, have brought into the treasury of the church that abundance of wealth which has been lavished upon the magnificent edifices of this country. The votive offerings above described are so numerous and constant that the silversmiths have always for sale, heads, legs, hearts, arms, &c., of all sizes, to suit the customer as to wealth or devotion. Sometimes the offering is accompanied with a painting descriptive of the event commemorated; and you see a portion of the church walls covered with the oddest pictures in the world. A man is tumbling down a ladder; another is run over by a carriage; another is knocked on the head with a club; another is kicked by a horse; another is running for life, with a mad bull at his heels; another is sick abed, with a most alarming array of doctors and apothecaries around him, &c.
Fountains are abundant throughout the city: and it is most agreeable, in the hot weather which prevails here for the greater part of the year, to hear the murmur and bubbling of the rills and jets of water which adorn every street. When we consider the enormous sums of money which the ancient Romans expended upon their aqueducts, and behold the immense lines of arches that stretch across the country, we cannot be surprised that the modern city is better supplied with water than any other place in the world. It is brought from a great distance, as the water in the neighborhood is very bad. In one of my rambles, a few miles from the city, I passed a stream running into the Tiber, which appeared almost as white as milk, and had a strong smell of sulphur. All the country round here is of volcanic origin; yet there has been no eruption or appearance of subterranean fire within the memory of man.
Rome is a fine residence for a person with a small income, no business to do, and the wish to get as much as possible for his money. House-rent is as low as one can reasonably desire. You may lodge in a palace with galleries paved with marble and the walls covered with the finest paintings; for the Roman nobles are poor and proud; they will not sell their palaces or pictures, even though threatened with starvation; but they let their best rooms to lodgers, and live in the garrets. In all Rome I saw but one new house:--a sure sign of the low value of real estate. The markets are cheap; clothing costs about half what it does in America. The people have some queer ways in buying and selling. Many things sell by the pound, which we never think of putting into scales: apples, cherries, green peas, firewood, charcoal, &c. I inquired as to a pair of woollen stockings at a shop, and the goods were weighed before I could be told the price. I bespoke a pair of boots, and calling one day to see if they were done, I found the shoemaker at work upon them, but the leather had never been colored. “Body of Bacchus!” said I--for that is the current Roman exclamation--“I don’t want yellow boots, Signior Lapstonaccia!” I was surprised, however, to be told that the Roman cobblers always made the shoes first and colored the leather afterwards.
The greater part of the _campagna_ or open country about the city is kept waste by the _malaria_ or unwholesome air of summer. What is the cause or nature of this noxious vapor, no one has yet been able to discover. The soil is perfectly dry, and there is no marshy land or stagnant water in the neighborhood which can impart unhealthy moisture to the atmosphere. The sky is beautifully clear in almost every season, and each breeze that blows seems to savor of nothing but balmy purity. Nevertheless, the country for miles is uninhabitable, and shows a desolate plain, with a field of wheat here and there, or a few scattered willow trees and thickets of bramble. Shepherds feed their flocks among the ruins during the healthy season; but there are no villages till you come to the hills of Albano, Frascati and Tivoli, in which neighborhood the Romans have their country seats.
The malaria also infests the city, particularly the ruinous portion. Strangers seldom pass the summer in Rome on this account, although I was told there is no danger of sickness for any one who does not go out at night, and takes care to sleep with the windows shut. The unhealthy season is from June to September. During the remaining months Rome is thought to be as healthy as any spot in the world. The winter is delightful, being mostly like the finest October weather in New England.
I could fill a book with stories about this wonderful place; but the brief space allotted to me makes it necessary to pass on in my story.
[Illustration]
The Deluge.
This event, described in the sixth and seventh chapters of Genesis, is one of the most wonderful that is recorded in the history of the world. It was a judgment sent upon the earth by the Almighty, in consequence of the great wickedness of mankind. His purpose was to destroy not man only, but the animal tribes, except a pair of each species, so as to repeople the earth, after having thus set before the world, for all future time, a fearful warning against disobedience of his commands.
This great catastrophe occurred 1656 years after the creation, and more than 4000 years ago. We have not only the testimony of the Bible to assure us that this event actually occurred, but most nations, particularly those of high antiquity, have either historical records or traditions of such an occurrence. The account given of it in Genesis is one of the finest pieces of description that has ever been penned; but it is very general, and gives us few details, or minute incidents. Yet the imagination can easily portray many affecting scenes that must have been witnessed in the fearful overthrow of the great human family.
Noah, who was a good and wise man, was forewarned of the coming destruction, and, by the command of God, he built an ark, of vast dimensions, and which cost him the labor of a hundred years. It was a sort of bark, being shaped somewhat like a chest or trunk. It was larger than the largest vessels of modern times. It is a large ship that measures a thousand tons, yet Noah’s ark measured forty-two thousand tons!
Into this ark Noah collected his family, and a pair of each kind of bird, each kind of quadruped, and each kind of reptile. Under the guidance of the Almighty, this vessel and its numerous inhabitants floated safely on the water for a whole year. Here they were fed, and here the lion was made to lie down with the kid. When, at last, the waters had subsided, and the ark rested upon the land, then they all came forth.
This story of Noah and his family is not only interesting as a wonderful piece of history, but it conveys to us an important lesson. It teaches us that wisdom is imparted to the children of God, which is not enjoyed by the wicked; that there is an ark of safety provided for the true believer, while the scoffer is left to work out his own destruction.
ANECDOTE.--On Saturday last, says the Philadelphia North American, Lord Morpeth visited the Philadelphia Alms-House, Blockley. Considerable anxiety was manifested among the inmates to obtain a sight of the distinguished stranger. After he had departed, a little boy, the son of Mr. S----, who was present, remarked to his mother that “he did not know that there were two Lords--he thought there was but one, who lived up in the sky.”
A Page for Little Readers.
One of my young black-eyed friends, who has just learned to read, has asked me to give some simple stories, in the fashion of Peter Parley. I have promised to comply with this, and therefore give two pieces from “PARLEY’S PICTURE BOOK,” a little volume full of pictures and stories, which may be found in the bookstores.
[Illustration]
BOYS AT PLAY.
Here are three boys at play. Each boy has a hoop, which he strikes with a stick, and it rolls along. It is very pleasant to roll a hoop. If you strike it hard, it flies along very fast, and you must run with all your might to catch it.
You must take care not to drive your hoop among horses. I once knew a little boy playing with his hoop in a street. A horse was coming along, but the boy was looking at his hoop, and he did not see the horse. His hoop rolled close to the horse’s fore feet, and the boy ran after it.
The horse was going fast, and he struck the boy with his foot. The boy fell dawn, and the horse stepped on his leg. The poor boy’s leg was broken, and it was many weeks before he got well.
[Illustration]
THE GIRL AND KITTEN.
“Come, pretty Kit, come, learn to read; Here with me sit; you must indeed. Not know your letters! fie, fie! for shame! The book I’ll hold; come! spell your name! Now try to say K I T, Kit; For you may play where you think fit, Upon the bed, or on the tree, When you have said your A B C.” ’T was snug and warm in Mary’s lap, So pussy thought she’d take a nap. She went to sleep,--the lazy elf! And Mary read the book herself. She learned to read, she learned to spell, And said her lesson very well. And now, my little reader, say, If you from books will turn away, And be like Kit, an idle thing,-- Now catch a mouse, now twirl a string; Or will you learn to read and spell, And say your lessons very well?
Varieties.
MUSICAL DIALOGUE.--“_Major_,” said a _minor_ to an elderly gentleman, “I must say your speech to-day was very _flat_.” “That,” said the major, “is very _sharp for a minor_.”
* * * * *
SINGULAR, NOT PLURAL.--The mayor of a small town in England, thinking that the word _clause_ was in the plural number, always talked of the last _claw_ of parliament.
* * * * *
A DUTCHMAN.--A Dutchman was seen one day bidding an extraordinary price for an alarm clock, and gave as a reason, “Dat ash he loffd to rise early, he had nothing to do but bull the string, and he could wake himself.”
* * * * *
LONG BILLS.--Gentlemen of the medical profession in London are said to be called _snipes_, from the unconscionable length of their bills.
* * * * *
POETRY AND PROSE.--“I say, Pomp, wat be de diffrence ’ween _poetry_ and de wat you call _plank verse_?”
“Why, I gib you something, Sip, I think will be lustratious of de subject:
‘Go down to mill-dam And fall down slam’--
dat be _poetry_; but
‘Go down to mill-dam, And fall down whapp’--
dat be _blank verse_.”
* * * * *
GOOD.--“Bill, lend us your knife.” “Can’t; haven’t got any; besides, want to use it myself.”
* * * * *
WIT.--Three gentlemen meeting to sup at a hotel, one of them wished for partridges. A brace was accordingly brought, and set upon the table, which he accordingly began to carve. He deliberately took one of them upon his own plate, leaving the other one for his two friends. “Hold!” cried one of them; “that is not fair!” “Perfectly fair, I think,” said the gentleman; “there is one for _you_ two, and here is one for _me_ too.”
To my Correspondents.
Almost every person has some trouble, real or imaginary. I have seen a story of a philosopher who travelled over the world in search of a person who was perfectly happy. He visited the halls of the rich and the hovels of the poor, and everywhere found each individual afflicted with some rooted sorrow, care, or vexation. At last, as he was about giving up the search in despair, he fell in with a shepherd who seemed perfectly free from every evil. He had a pleasing wife, lovely children, a competent support, and good health. What could he desire beside?
“Nothing--nothing,” said the philosopher; but when he asked the shepherd if he was happy--“Alas! alas!” said the man; “I am far from it. There is a black sheep in my flock that is forever running off and leading the rest astray. While I am awake, that black sheep is the torment of my life; and when asleep, it disturbs my dreams!”
It is said that Sir Walter Scott was talking on this subject, one day, with some gentlemen--he contending that no one was perfectly happy, and they maintaining the reverse--when a half-witted fellow, whom they knew, came up. It was agreed to settle the question by appealing to him.
“Good day to ye, Sawney!” said Sir Walter. “Good day,” said Sawney, in reply. “Well now, Sawney,” said Sir Walter, “how does the world use you?”
“Well--well, your honor.”
“Have ye plenty to eat?”
“Yes.”
“And to drink?”
“Yes.”
“Good clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have nothing to trouble you?”
“No--nothing but the bubly Jock,” (a cock-turkey.)
“Ah, what of the bubly Jock?”
“Oh, he is always running after me; night or day, asleep or awake, I can always see him--gobble, gobble!”
“There!” said Sir Walter to the gentlemen; “the decision is in my favor. This poor simpleton, though he is provided with every comfort, is still beset by a tormentor. It matters not that it is invisible--that it exists only in his fancy--it is to him a real bubly Jock, and as truly disturbs his peace as if it were a thing of flesh, and strutted forth in feathers.”
And now I must tell of my troubles. Perhaps you will laugh--but one thing that frequently makes me very fidgety, is an itching in the great toe of my wooden leg! If you think this nonsense, just ask any old soldier who has lost a limb, and he will tell you, if it is a foot or a hand, that he has all the sensations of heat or cold in the fingers or toes of the absent member, just as distinctly as if it was in its place and as sound as ever. This is no joke--it is a reality that you can easily verify.
Well, now, it seems to me that my lost foot is really where it used to be; and the worst of it is this, that, when it itches, I can’t scratch it! It does no good to apply my fingers to the wooden stick, you know; this only reminds me of my misfortune, and brings on a fit of the blues. But there is one thing to be considered--there is medicine, if a person will seek it, for almost all diseases, whether real or fanciful; and, thanks to my young friends who write me letters, I find these very letters a pretty certain cure for the fidgets which I spoke of. When I sit down to read them, and find them full of kind and pleasant feelings, I readily forget the cares, the vexations--the dark weather of life, that beset even such a humble career as mine.
So much for the introduction--and now to business.
The following letter is very welcome. Can Harriet venture to tell us who the author of this capital riddle really is?
_Newport, March 28, 1842._ FRIEND MERRY:
In looking over, a few days since, some old papers belonging to my father, I found the following riddle. My father informs me that it was written many years ago, by a school-boy of his, then about fifteen years old, and who now occupies a prominent place in the literary and scientific world. If you think it will serve to amuse your many black-eyed and blue-eyed readers, you will, by giving it a place in the Museum, much oblige a blue-eyed subscriber to, and a constant reader of, your valuable and interesting Magazine. HARRIET.
RIDDLE.
Take a word that’s much used,--’tis a masculine name, That backward or forward doth spell just the same; Then a verb used for dodging--a right it will claim That backward or forward it spells just the same; The form of an adjective, none can exclaim That backward or forward it spells not the same; Then a chief Turkish officer’s title or name, That backward or forward doth spell just the same; The name of a liquor, its friends all will claim That backward or forward is still just the same; Then a word used for jest, or doth triumph proclaim,
That backward or forward still spells just the same; Then a verb in the imperfect, which also doth claim That backward or forward it spells just the same; The name of a place which geographers fame, That backward or forward doth still spell the same; Then a very queer word, ’t is a Spanish ship’s name, That backward or forward doth spell just the same; Then a verb that’s well known, I refer to the same, That, backward or forward spelt, makes but one name; Then a name that is given to many a dame That backward or forward still spells just the same.
A Set of initials the above will afford-- R-Ove through them in order, they form a droll word. I L-eave you to solve it--’t will cure a disease; De-Velop the riddle--’t will set you at ease. D-Espair not, but hope; ’t is easily guessed: L-Ike etching on copper in gay colors dressed, E-Tch it down on your hearts, and there let it rest.
_Elizabeth Town, N. J., April 9, 1842._ DEAR SIR:
Though perhaps not so young as the generality of your admiring readers, I am confident that there can be none who are more delighted than myself with your works, and particularly your Museum, which is now being published. Of course, I was the more pleased when I noticed the addition of a “puzzle column,” of which I am decidedly fond. I have solved with correctness all the puzzles that have appeared in your Museum, with the exception of Puzzle No. 5 in the April number, which so far passes my comprehension, that, after repeated endeavors after its solution, I have flattered myself that it is a hoax; but if it is not, I must confess it is the hardest puzzle I have seen for some time. Are not the following correct answers to the April puzzles?--No. 1, “Mother.” No. 2, “Charles Dickens.” No. 3, “Boston and Worcester Railroad.” No. 4, “Prince de Joinville;” and Master Bare-Head’s, “Massachusetts.” I forward you an original puzzle, for which I do not profess any very extraordinary difficulty.
I am a name of 23 letters.
My 5th, 21st, 7th, 10th, 22d, is a Russian noble. My 17th, 18th, 20th, 20th, 12th, 2d, is a valuable metal. My 1st, 10th, 15th, 16th, is a legal writing. My 4th, 14th, 13th, 17th, 12th, is a pleasant amusement. My 11th, 3d, 8th, is seen whenever it is not invisible. My 2d, 12th, 21st, 4th, 12th, 2d, is what if all men were, the world would be happier. My 19th, 12th, 7th, 7th, 23d, 9th, 19th, 6th, 9th, 12th, 6th, 19th, is the title of a justly celebrated periodical. My 22d, 3d, 9th, 9th, 14th, 6th, is a street where my whole is found.
If you think the above worthy a place, you can publish it. You may hear from me again soon. My sheet is full, so I have but to subscribe myself,
Very respectfully, W. F. W.
_Saturday, April 8, 1842._ DEAR SIR:
I have taken the liberty to send you this puzzle, which I suppose almost any of your readers can unravel.
I am a name of 13 letters.
My 1st, 5th, 6th, 4th, and 2d, is a girl’s name. My 3d, 5th, 10th, and 11th, is what every bird has. My 9th, 6th, 4th, 10th, 11th, 12th, and 13th, is what physicians often use. My 3d, 4th, 3d, and 5th, is a number. My 11th, 5th, and 3d, is also a number. My 13th, 8th, and 1st, is a color. My whole is the name of a distinguished orator and statesman.
From a constant reader, who signs himself,
Respectfully yours, ALEXIS.
DEAR MR. MERRY:
I have been trying my hand at puzzles since the reception of the April number of the Museum. I have guessed out No. 4, as you will see below. SARAH.
ANSWER TO PUZZLE NO. 4, IN THE APRIL NUMBER OF THE MUSEUM.
The first, the “_mechanic_,” I doubt not a bit, Is the _joiner_, well known by rustic and cit; The second, a word highly prized by us all, For all would be _loved_, whether great, whether small; The third, Mr. Puzzler, a _pin_, I should _guess_, For fastening a plank, or a fair lady’s dress;
The fourth--let me see; I’ll think in a trice-- I have it at last! it is very fine _rice_; The fifth, it is said, “_is French for a city_,”-- Now that must be _ville_--how exceedingly pretty! The sixth, and the last, it seems very clear, Will never spell _Yankee_, but p-e-e-r. Prince de Joinville.
_Gloucester, April, 1842._ MR. MERRY:
I have found out the answers to the puzzles in the April number, as follows: 1st puzzle, the answer is, Mother; 2d, Charles Dickens; 3d, Boston and Worcester Railroad; 4th, Prince de Joinville; 5th, ----; 6th, Massachusetts. And now, Mr. Merry, I take the liberty to send you one, which, if you think worthy, I should like to have you publish in your Magazine, and oblige
YOUR BLUE-EYED FRIEND, F. W. C.
I am a sentence of 11 letters.
My 6th, 4th, 7th, and 8th, is a fruit. My 1st, 10th, 7th, and 3d, is used for fuel. My 11th, 2d, 9th, and 9th, is a loud screech. My 2d, 7th, and 3d, is what every one does. My 9th, 4th, 7th, and 1st, is a long stride. My 1st and 7th is an abbreviation for father. My 3d, 7th, 6th, 10th, and 8th, is a small light. My 4th, 7th, 5th, and 9th, is a person of rank. My whole has written many interesting books.
DEAR SIR:
My little daughter has handed me the following puzzle to send to you for your next number, which please insert, and oblige A SUBSCRIBER.
My 8th, 2d, 9th, 19th, 24th, 4th, was a celebrated English poet. My 3d, 26th, 14th, 16th, 27th, is one of the elements. My 21st, 11th, 6th, 7th, 26th, 8th, exists only in imagination. My 14th, 9th, 10th, 5th, 19th, is a gaudy flower. My 4th, 11th, 20th, 13th, 17th, 16th, 26th, 9th, was a Swiss philosopher. My 19th, 1st, 5th, 22d, is various in form and expression. My 9th, 15th, 28th, 26th, 14th, is an article of extensive commerce. My 12th, 13th, 9th, 4th, 19th, 24th, 27th, was strikingly exemplified in My 4th, 7th, 8th, 1st, 26th, 4th, 6th, 14th, 1st, 16th, 14th, 15th, 5th, 4th, 6th. My 19th, 26th, 19th, 26th, 3d, is a foreign production. My 14th, 16th, 23d, 10th, was a famous archer. My 13th, 14th, 26th, 14th, 9th, 16th, is pale and motionless. My 24th, 26th, 25th, 18th, 23d, is much used in one of the polite arts. My 6th, 2d, 13th, 14th, 14th, 1st, 2d, 9th, 26th, 8th, 8th, 2d, 22d, 6th, asks your opinion of my whole.
_Philadelphia, April 6, 1842._ MR. MERRY:
You will pardon the liberty that one of your juvenile admirers has taken, by sending you a puzzle for your invaluable Museum. The subject is one that you are very familiar with, and as I have but just made it my subject, perhaps full justice may not have been done to its character. I have at least tried to make the best of it.
ELIZABETH.
I am composed of 9 letters.
My 4th, 8th, 6th, is the retreat of a wild beast. My 9th, 2d, 4th, is the name of the Creator. My 4th, 2d, 5th, is a female deer. My 6th, 8th, 4th, is a nickname for a boy. My 3d, 2d, 8th, is what cloth is made from. My 1st, 3d, 5th, is a scripture denunciation. My 7th, 5th, 9th, is a part of the human frame. My 9th, 2d, 9th, is a record kept by seamen. My 2d, 4th, 8th, is a piece of poetry. My 4th, 3d, 6th, is a Spanish title. My 4th, 2d, 9th, is a sagacious animal. My 9th, 8th, 7th, 6th, is a romantic spot. My 6th, 3d, 4th, is where Adam’s first son went and dwelt. My 7th, 8th, 6th, 4th, is an act of friendship. My 4th, 3d, 1st, 6th, is an article of commerce. My 9th, 3d, 1st, 6th, is a female dress. My 9th, 2d, 1st, 8th, 6th, is a Scottish name for a small flower. My 8th, 4th, 5th, 6th, is the first spot inhabited by human beings. My 9th, 3d, 2d, 4th, is what all people should be. My whole is what my friend Robert Merry has found very useful to himself in moving through the world.
_Utica, April 9, 1842._ MR. MERRY:
I am a subscriber to your Museum and have been very much pleased with it. I write to let you know that I wish very much to have you continue the story of Philip Brusque. I wish to know whether the people lived contented under the government of M. Bonfils, and if they ever got away from the island. I live at Utica, and was much pleased with the account of your visit to this place thirty-five years ago.
FROM A BLUE-EYED FRIEND, SAMUEL L********.
DEAR MR. MERRY:
If it is not too much trouble, I should like to know what became of Brusque, and if Mr. Bonfils made a good king. With some assistance, I have found out the answers to three of those puzzles which were in the last Magazine. The first is MOTHER, the second CHARLES DICKENS, and the fourth PRINCE DE JOINVILLE.
If the following be worthy a place in your Magazine, by inserting it you will oblige A NEW HAMPSHIRE BOY.
I am a name of 11 letters.
My 10th, 11th, 8th, is a useful grain. My 3d, 4th, 8th, is an industrious insect. My 1st, 2d, 7th, 4th, is an ancient city. My 6th, 2d, 5th, 11th, is a name often given to a royalist in the Revolution. My 9th, 2d, 3d, 3d, 4th, 5th, is a bad man. My whole, Mr. Merry, you know better than I do.
* * * * *
I offer my best thanks for the letters from the following friends: “One of your blue-eyed readers in New York;” “A little subscriber in Canandaigua,” whom I shall always be happy to hear from; E. D. H----s, of Saugus; C. W., of Millbury; C. A. S. and L. B. S., of Sandwich; L. W----e, and W. B. W----e; and “A Subscriber.”
S. L.’s letter about the postage, dated Utica, April 22, was duly received.
H. E. M. thinks that Puzzle No. 5, in the April number, is either a hoax, or that the solution is NANTUCKET. We think it is a little of both: that is, that our friend who sent it to us intended it for Nantucket; but about that time it was “all fools day,” and the unlucky types of the printer seem to have made a very good puzzle, as sent to us, into “an April fool.”
ROBERT MERRY’S
MUSEUM.
EDITED BY S. G. GOODRICH, AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.
VOLUME IV.
BOSTON: BRADBURY, SODEN, & CO., NO. 10 SCHOOL STREET, AND 127 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 1842.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV.
JULY TO DECEMBER, 1842.
The Sense of Taste, 1
The Siberian Sable-Hunter, 2, 50, 88, 109, 146, 166
Hay-Making, 8
Limby Lumpy, 9
Lime, 11
The Voyages, Travels and Experiences of Thomas Trotter, 12, 58, 92, 136, 170
Similes, 16
Proverbs and Sayings of the Chinese, 16
Indians of America, 17, 38, 72, 141
Ruins of Babylon, 24
Adam and Eve, 25
Merry’s Adventures, 26, 34, 66, 104, 132, 161
Gaza, 29
Knights Templars and other orders of Knighthood, 30
A Page for Little Readers, 30
Bob O’Linkum’s Song to the Mower, 32
The Sense of Touch, 33
That thing I cannot do, 45
Skeleton of a Bird, 47
A Tragedy in the Woods, 48
Frogs, 49
Walled Cities, 55
Bells, 55
A Mother’s Affection, 56
To Correspondents, 63, 128
Puzzles, 64, 128
Seeing, 65
The Stock-Dove, &c., 79
Story of Philip Brusque, 80, 151, 181
Ingenious Contrivances of Nature, 84
Don’t be too Positive, 86
A Melancholy Event, 96
Sketches of Bible Scenes, 97 Bethesda, 97 Jerusalem, 98 Valley of Jehoshaphat, 102 Joppa or Jaffa, 103 Mount Carmel, 104 Ruins of Jericho as they now appear, 129 Askelon, 130 Bethlehem, 131
The Hippopotamus, 107
The Flying Dragon, 108
The Snail, 108
Varieties, 126, 160, 187
Rivers, 135
Boy and Bird, 135
Gall Insects, 140
Anecdote of the Natives of Porto Rico, 143
Winter Sport, 144
Clouds, 144
The Orang-Outang, 145
Field Teachers, 154
Life and Character of Alexander the Great, 157
Discovery of the Mines of Potosi, 165
Wild Geese, 169
The Two Friends, 175
The Selfish Boy, 177
Story of Little Dick and the Giant, 178
The Flowers, 179
Christmas, 180
Winter is coming, 182
Liberty, 183
Dress and other matters in France, in the time of Henry IV., 185
The Last Leaf of Autumn, 186
Reflections, 188
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, by S. G. GOODRICH, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
[Illustration: KNIGHTS TEMPLARS.]
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
VOLUME IV.--No. 1.
[Illustration]
The Sense of Taste.
The tongue, which has so much to do with talking, has a good deal to do with tasting. It is indeed one of the chief instruments by which the sensation of taste is experienced. The palate is also another organ of importance in the perception of taste.
The tongue is always moistened with saliva, which instantly dissolves the surface of anything that is put into the mouth. Some portion of the particles being taken upon the tongue, this latter is pressed against the roof of the mouth, thus bringing them in contact with the nerves which coat the surface of the mouth and palate. It is by means of these nerves that the qualities of substances are perceived and the sensation which we call taste is excited.
It will be perceived that the saliva of the mouth is one great cause of all taste. When the tongue is rendered dry by disease, or any other circumstance, the sense of taste is either imperfect or lost. The pressure of the tongue against the surface of the mouth seems also to be important in producing the sense of taste; for if you put anything into your mouth, and hold it open, the sensation is hardly produced. It is from the effect of this pressure that the act of chewing and swallowing gives us so much pleasure.
There is a great difference in people, as to the degree of perfection in which they possess this sense; for in some, it is very blunt, while in others, it is very acute. There is a difference also as to the things that people like. Some are fond of cheese, and others cannot endure it. The Esquimaux are delighted with the flavor of blubber oil; the Indians of Guiana feast upon monkeys; the negroes of south-western Africa are fond of baked dogs; the Chinese eat rats, lizards and puppies; the French rank snails and frogs among their nicest tit-bits; yet all these things are revolting to us.
This diversity arises chiefly from custom and habit; for originally our perceptions are, no doubt, nearly the same. It is certainly so with animals; for every horse and every ox, in a natural state, eats or rejects the same species of food.
The word taste is frequently used in what is called a metaphorical sense, for the purpose of expressing the feelings of the mind. A person who loves poetry is said to have a taste for poetry; by which is meant that he has a mind which feels and appreciates the qualities of poetry, just as the tongue feels or appreciates the qualities of food.
It is in the same sense that we say, a person has a taste for painting, or music, or any other art. When we say a person has fine taste, we mean that his mental perceptions are very acute.
The Siberian Sable-Hunter.