CHAPTER IX.

_Rejoicings.--Remorse and contrition.--A pirate’s story.--François restored to his parents._

We left our colonists of Fredonia at the moment that the struggle was over which resulted in the death of Rogere. The scenes which immediately followed are full of interest, but we can only give them a passing notice.

The defeated party sullenly retired to their quarters at the outcast’s cave; and those at the tents were left to rejoice over their deliverance. Their present joy was equal to the anxiety and despair which had brooded over them before. The mothers clasped their children again and again to their bosoms, in the fulness of their hearts; and the little creatures, catching the sympathy of the occasion, returned the caresses with laughter and exultation. The men shook hands in congratulation, and the women mingled tears and smiles and thanksgivings, in the outburst of their rejoicing.

During these displays of feeling, Brusque and Emilie had withdrawn from the bustle, and, walking a part, held discourse together. “Forgive me, Emilie,” said Brusque, “I pray you forgive me for my foolish jealousy respecting the man you were wont to meet by moonlight, at the foot of the rocks. I now know that it was your brother, and I also know that we all owe our deliverance and present safety to you and him. I can easily guess his story. When the ship was blown up, he had departed, and thus saved his life.”

“Yes,” said Emilie; “but do you know that this weighs upon his spirit like a millstone? He says, that he had voluntarily joined the pirates, and for him to be the instrument of blowing up their ship, and sending them into eternity, while he provided for his own safety, was at once treacherous and dastardly.”

“But we must look at the motive,” said Brusque. “He found that his father, his mother, his sister, were in the hands of those desperate men: it was to save them from insult and death that he took the fearful step. It was by this means alone that he could provide escape for those to whom he was bound by the closest of human ties.”

“I have suggested these thoughts to him,” replied Emilie; “and thus far he might be reconciled to himself; but that he saved his own life is what haunts him; he thinks it mean and cowardly. He is so far affected by this consideration, that he has resolved never to indulge in the pleasures of society, but to dwell apart in the cave, where you know I have been accustomed to meet him. Even now he has departed; and I fear that nothing can persuade him to leave his dreary abode, and attach himself to our community.”

“This is sheer madness,” said Brusque. “Let us go to your father, and get his commands for François to come to the tents. He will not refuse to obey his parent; and when we get him here, we can, perhaps, reason, him out of his determination.”

Brusque and Emilie went to the tent of M. Bonfils, and, opening the folds of the canvass, were about to enter, when, seeing the aged man and his wife an their knees, they paused and listened. They were side by side. The wife was bent over a chest, upon which her face rested, clasped in her hands; the husband,--with his hands uplifted, his white and dishevelled hair lying upon his shoulders, his countenance turned to heaven,--was pouring out a fervent thanksgiving for the deliverance of themselves and their friends from the awful peril that had threatened them. It was a thanksgiving, not for themselves alone, but for their children, their friends and companions. The voice of the old man trembled, yet its tones were clear, peaceful, confiding. He spoke as if in the very ear of his God, who yet was his benefactor and his friend. As he alluded to François, his voice faltered, the tears gushed down his cheeks, and the sobs of the mother were audible.

The suppliant paused for a moment for his voice seemed choked; but soon recovering, he went on. Although François was a man, the aged father seemed to think of him as yet a boy--his wayward, erring boy--his only son. He pleaded for him as a parent only could plead for a child. Emilie and Brusque were melted into tears; and sighs, which they could not suppress, broke from their bosoms. At length the prayer was finished, and the young couple, presenting themselves to M. Bonfils, told him their errand. “Go, my children,” said he, “go and tell François to come to me. Tell him that I have much to say to him.” The mother joined her wishes to this request, and the lovers departed for the cave where François had before made his abode.

As they approached the place, they saw the object of their search, sitting upon a projecting rock that hung over the sea. He did not perceive them at first, and they paused a moment to look at him. He was gazing over the water, which was lighted by the full moon, and he seemed to catch something of the holy tranquillity which marked the scene. Not a wave, not a ripple, was visible upon the placid face of the deep. There was a slight undulation, and the tide seemed to play with the image of the moon, yet so smooth and mirror-like was its surface as to leave that image unbroken.

After a little time, the two companions approached their moody friend, who instantly rose and began to descend the rocks toward his retreat; but Brusque called to him, and, climbing up the cliff, he soon joined them. They then stated their errand, and begged François to return with them. “Come,” said Brusque, “your father wishes, nay, commands you to return!”

“His wish is more than his command,” said François. “I know not how it is, but it seems to me that my nature is changed: I fear not, I regard not power--nay, I have a feeling within which spurns it; but my heart is like a woman’s if a wish is uttered. I will go with you, though it may be to hear my father’s curse. I have briefly told him my story. I have told him that I have been a pirate, and that I have basely betrayed my companions: but I will go with you, as my father wishes it.”

“Nay, dear François!” said Emilie, throwing her arms around his neck, “do not feel thus. Could you have heard what we have just heard, you would not speak or feel as you do.”

“And what have you heard?” was the reply. Emilie then told him of the scene they had witnessed in the tent, and the fervent prayer which had been uttered in his behalf. “Dear, dear sister!” said François, throwing his powerful arm around her waist, and clasping her light form to his rugged bosom,--“you are indeed an angel of light! Did my father pray for me? Will he forgive me? Will he forgive such a wretch as I am? Will my mother forgive me? Shalt I, can I, be once more the object of their regard, their affection, their confidence?”

“Oh, my brother!” said Emilie, “doubt it not--doubt it not. They will forgive you indeed; and Heaven will forgive you. We shall all be happy in your restoration to us; and however much you may have erred, we shall feel that your present repentance, and the good deeds you have done this night, in saving this little community, your father, your mother, your sister, from insult and butchery, is at once atonement and compensation.”

“Oh, speak not, Emilie, of compensation--speak not of what I have done as atonement. I cannot think of myself but as an object of reproach; I have no account of good deeds to offer as an offset to my crimes. One thing only can I plead as excuse or apology, and that is, that I was misled by evil company, and enlisted in the expedition of that horrid ship while I was in a state of intoxication. This, I know, is a poor plea--to offer one crime as an excuse for another; yet it is all I can give in extenuation of my guilt.”

“How was it, brother? Tell us the story,” said Emilie.

“Well,” said François. “You know that I sailed from Havre, for the West Indies. Our vessel lay for some time at St. Domingo, and I was often ashore. Here I fell in with the captain of the pirate vessel. He was a man of talents, and of various accomplishments. We used often to meet at a tavern, and he took particular pains to insinuate himself into my confidence. We at last became friends, and then he hinted to me his design of fitting out a vessel to cruise for plunder upon the high seas. I rejected the proposal with indignation. My companion sneered at my scruples, and attempted to reason me into his views. ‘Look at the state of the world,’ said he, ‘and you will remark that all are doing what I propose to do. At Paris they are cutting each other’s throats, just to see which shall have the largest share of the spoils of society--wealth, pleasure, and power. England is sending her ships forth on every ocean: and what are they better than pirates? They have, indeed, the commission of the king--but still it is a commission to burn, slay, and plunder all who do not bow to the mistress of the seas. And why shall not we play our part in the great game of life, as well as these potentates and powers? Why should we not be men--instead of women?

“‘Look at the state of this island--St. Domingo. Already is it heaving and swelling with the tempest of coming revolution. I know secrets worth knowing. Ere a month has rolled away, this place will be deluged in blood. The vast wealth of Port au Prince is now secretly being carried on board the ships, to take flight, with its owners, for places of safety from the coming storm. Let us be on the sea, with a light craft, and we will cut and carve, among them, as we please!’

“Such were the inducements held out to me by the arch-pirate: but it was all in vain, while my mind was clear. I shrunk from the proposal with horror. But now a new scheme was played off. I was led, on one occasion, to drink more deeply than my wont; and being already nearly intoxicated, I was plied with more liquor. My reason was soon lost--but my passions were inflamed. It is the nature of drunkenness to kill all that is good in a man, and leave in full force all that is evil. Under this seduction, I yielded my assent, and was hastened on board the pirate ship, which lay at a little distance from the harbor. Care was taken that my intoxication should be continued; and when I was again sober, our canvass was spread, and our vessel dancing over the waves. There was no retreat; and, finding myself in the gulf, I sought to support my relenting and revolting bosom by drink. At last I partially drowned my remorse; and but for meeting with Brusque on the island, I had been a pirate still.”

By the time this story was done, the party had reached the hut. They entered, and being kindly received by the aged parents, they sat down. After sitting in silence for a few moments, François arose, went to his father, and kneeling before him, asked for his forgiveness. He was yet a young man--but his stature was almost gigantic. His hair was black as jet, and hung in long-neglected ringlets over his shoulders. His countenance was pale as death; but still his thick, black eyebrows, his bushy beard, and his manly features, gave him an aspect at once commanding and striking. When erect and animated, he was an object to arrest the attention and fix the gaze of every beholder. In general, his aspect was stern, but now it was so marked with humiliation and contrition, as to be exceedingly touching. The aged parent laid his hand upon his head, and looking to heaven, said, in a tone of deep pathos, “Father, forgive him!” He could say no more--his heart was too full.

We need not dwell upon the scene. It is sufficient to say, that from that day, François lived with his parents. His character was thoroughly changed: the haughty and passionate bearing, which had characterized him before, had given place to humility and gentleness; and the features that once befitted the pirate, might now have been chosen to set forth the image of a saint. Such is the influence of the soul, in giving character and expression to the features.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration: _Solon writing laws for Athens._]

Solon, the Grecian Lawgiver.

Of all the nations of antiquity, the Greeks were, in some respects, the most interesting. Though they inhabited one country, they were divided into different states, somewhat as the United States are. Among the principal states, were Athens and Sparta. The people, government, and laws of these were very different. The Athenians cultivated literature, such as poetry and history; but the Spartans despised these things. The Athenians were devoted to science and philosophy; the Spartans had no relish for them. The Athenians encouraged the arts--as music, sculpture, painting, and architecture; the Spartans held such things in contempt. The Athenians were gay, fickle, and fond of pleasure; the Spartans were severe, determined, and devoted to war.

It is not easy to account for such differences of character in the people of two states, living but a few miles apart. Probably it was owing in part to original differences in the people who settled the two countries, and in part to the difference of the laws.

Sparta had a famous lawgiver, named Lycurgus. He drew up a system, or code of laws, and then called the people together. He told them he was going away, and asked them if they would keep his laws till he should return. This they solemnly promised to do: so Lycurgus went away, and starved himself to death. His object was to make the Spartans keep his laws forever. His body was burned, by his direction, and his ashes thrown into the sea, so that the Spartans could not bring his body back, and thus have an excuse for setting aside his laws. He died about 2700 years ago.

Solon was the greatest lawgiver of Athens. Many of his laws were wise and good, and some of them have even descended to our day, and are incorporated in our own codes. But the people of Athens were changeable; and, soon after Solon’s death, the supreme power was usurped by an ambitious citizen, named Pisistratus, and the government thus became, for a time, a sort of despotism. Solon died about 2400 years ago.

How to settle a Dispute without Pistols.

“_The first thing_,” says the philosophic wag, in his recipe for cooking a turbot, “_is to catch a turbot_.” Before you enter upon a discussion, settle it clearly in your mind, what it is you propose to discuss. How many vain disputes, how many angry controversies would be prevented, if the parties would start with a definition,--if, before beginning to cook a turbot, they would catch a turbot.

Some few years since, an American gentleman, who did not understand the French language, being in Paris, wished to go to Bourdeaux. Accordingly he went down to the diligence office, and making such inquiries as he was able, paid his fare, entered the diligence, and set off, as he supposed, for Bourdeaux. Four days and four nights he travelled very patiently, not dreaming that he was in the wrong coach.

At last he reached the termination of his journey, and having taken a long night’s repose, he dressed himself carefully, selected his letters of introduction, and, calling the waiter, showed him the inscriptions of these letters, and intimated that he wished to go to the persons to whom they were addressed. The man stared in the traveller’s face, and uttered a good deal of incomprehensible French. The American talked English, but all to no purpose. At last the waiter left the traveller in despair, and called his master. _He_ was as much puzzled as the servant, and finally, as the only resort, sent out for an Englishman living in the town, to come and see an American gentleman, who was out of his head.

The Englishman came, and the American stated his grievance. “Here,” said he, showing his letters, “are some letters of introduction to several gentlemen in this city, and I want these stupid people to take me to them: but they only gaze in my face, shrug their shoulders, and cry ‘sacre-r-r-r,’ like a watchman’s rattle.”

The Englishman stared at the American, as if he, too, thought him out of his head. At last he said to him, “Sir, these letters are addressed to a gentleman in Bourdeaux: where do you suppose you are?”

“In Bourdeaux, to be sure,” said the American.

“Not so,” said the Englishman: “you are in the city of Lyons, 700 miles from Bourdeaux.” The simple explanation of the whole scene was, that the traveller had entered the wrong coach, and instead of proceeding to Bourdeaux, had gone 400 miles in the opposite direction. This story shows the importance of looking well to the outset of a journey--or, if you please, to the commencement of, a discourse, or a dispute. In the one case, be sure to enter the right coach--in the other, start with a definition.

If, unluckily, you should by any chance get into a dispute, the best way is to stop short, and ask your antagonist to enter into a consideration of what the point of debate is. This is apt to have a cooling effect upon both parties, and to result in a clear understanding of the real question.

A few years since, I happened to be travelling in a stage coach, where, among half a dozen passengers, there were a Frenchman and an Englishman. There seemed to be a sort of cat-and-dog feeling between them; for if one opened his lips to speak, the other was sure to fly at the observation with the teeth and claws of dispute. As we were driving along, the Englishman spoke of a sheep he had seen in some foreign land, with a tail so long as to drag upon the ground. Thereupon, the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, curled up his lip, lifted his eyebrows, and took a pinch of snuff.

“What do you mean by that?” said the Englishman, not a little nettled at the contemptuous air of his rival.

“Vat do I mean?” said the latter; “I means dat a sheap has not got von tail at all.”

“A sheep hasn’t got a tail, ha?” said the Englishman.

“No, not von bit,” said the Frenchman.

“Well, this comes of eating frogs,” said the John Bull. “What can you expect of a man who eats frogs? You say a sheep hasn’t got a tail. I tell you, mounseer, a sheep _has_ got a tail.”

“Pardon, monsieur,” said the other, with a polite bow, yet with a very sneering expression; “you say de sheap has von tail: I say de sheap has no tail, not von bit.”

By this time the parties were greatly excited, and I cannot say what might have happened, had not one of the passengers asked the Frenchman what he meant by a “_sheap_?”

“Vat I mean by _sheap_? vy I means von big larsh ting, with sails and ruddair, that go upon de sea.”

“Oh ho!” said the Englishman, “you mean a _ship_.”

“Oui, monsieur,” was the reply; “I mean von _sheap_, that has de captain and de sailors, and goes on de vater.”

“Very well,” said the Englishman: “I meant a _sheep_, a creature with four legs, and covered with wool.”

“Ah, you mean von _sheap_ vit de vool!” said the other. “Oh, oui, monsieur; de sheap vit de vool has de tail. Oui, oui.”

This incident taught me a lesson, and I give it gratis to my readers;--_if they ever get into a controversy, let them consider whether one of the parties does not mean a ship, and the other a sheep_.

The Painter and his Master.

A young painter had just finished an excellent picture, the best that he had made. His master himself found no fault with it. But the young artist was so charmed, that he looked at this specimen of his art incessantly, and neglected his studies; for he now thought himself perfect.

One morning, as he went to rejoice anew over his picture, he discovered that his master had completely defaced it. Angry and weeping, he ran to him and inquired the reason of this cruel act.

The master answered, “It is the work of serious deliberation. The picture was good, as a proof of your advancement, but it was at the same time your ruin.”

“How so?” inquired the young artist.

“Beloved,” answered the master, “you loved no longer the art in your painting, but merely yourself. Believe me, it was not a finished production, even if it appeared so to us; it was only a first effort. Take the pencil then, and see what you can do again. Let not the sacrifice grieve you. The great must be in you, before you can bring it on canvass.”

Courageously, and full of confidence in himself and his master, he seized the pencil and finished his magnificent work, the _offering of Iphigenia_!--for the name of the artist was _Timanthes_.

“WHERE are you driving the pig, Paddy?” “To Limerick, your honor.” “Limerick! this is the Cork road.” “Hush, speak low, I’m only pretending; if it knew I was wanting it to go to Cork, it would take the Limerick road.”

The Turkey and Rattlesnake:

A FABLE.

On a fine day in summer, a wild turkey was walking along over one of the prairies of the far West. As the sun shone upon his glossy neck, he cast his eye downward, and seemed lost in admiration of his own beauty.

While engaged in this way, he heard something hissing in the grass; and soon a rattlesnake issued from the spot, and, coiling himself up, placed himself before the turkey. The latter grew very red in the face, spread his tail and wings to their utmost extent, and, having strutted back and forth several times, approached the snake, and spoke as follows:

“You impudent serpent! Was it you that I heard laughing at me in the bushes? How dare you laugh at me, the handsomest cock-turkey of the whole prairie? Have I not the reddest wattles, and the largest comb, the blackest wing, and the glossiest neck of any bird that is seen on the plain? Did not my grandfather swallow an alligator alive, and could I not take down such a little, insignificant thing as you, without winking?”

“Don’t put yourself in a passion,” said the serpent in reply, at the same time swelling up, his flesh writhing, and the colors of his skin growing very bright. “Don’t put yourself in a passion; I know you’re a coward, like the whole of your race, and you are as vain as you are timid.”

Upon this, the turkey seemed bursting with rage; his throat was so choked, that he could not speak distinctly, but he gobbled the louder. He also strutted round in a circle, grating the ends of his wings upon the ground. At length he came bristling up toward the serpent, who, being mortally offended, coiled himself into a ball, and springing toward the turkey, struck him in the neck with his fangs, and inflicted a fatal wound. The latter in return gave the serpent a deep scratch in his side, and both fell dead upon the ground.

A wise ant, that dwelt in a little hillock near by, and saw the whole affray, crawled to the spot, and made the following sage observations: “It would seem that this vast prairie were wide enough for the creatures that dwell upon it to live together in peace; but, alas! their angry passions lead to strife, and strife ends in death. Nor is this all. As the poison of the serpent taints these carcasses, so an evil name always follows those who ‘die as the fool dieth.’”

Flowers.

“Sweet flowers, sweet flowers, baptized with dew, By the rosy-hand of morn; Daisies red and violets blue, In the spring-time newly born. Beautiful flowers, each ruddy lip Inviteth the humming bee, And I, like them, would nectar sip,-- Then, prithee, come talk to me.

“Tell me, oh, tell me, lovely flowers, Why do ye bloom so fair?” “To lighten, my love, the dreary hours, And sweeten the cup of care.” “But why do ye fade, oh, gentle flowers?” “By cold winds cruelly slain, That we may spring up in brighter hours, And blossom and smile again.

“So thou, in thy youth, my little child, Will spring up in golden bloom, But soon will the storm or the tempest wild, Smite thee down to the dreary tomb; But thou shalt arise in beauty fair,-- To a happier clime make wing, And blossom in heaven’s eternal air, Like flowers in a brighter SPRING!”

[Illustration: _Dividing the cake on twelfth-night._]

Christmas.

Christmas is an interesting festival, held in commemoration of Christ’s birth, which is supposed to have taken place on the 25th of December, the day on which Christmas is celebrated.

Those who belong to the Romish or English church, pay great attention to Christmas: on that day they hold religious meetings, and have their most interesting services. On the occasion, the churches are decorated with evergreens, and have a handsome appearance.

In this country the people, generally, do not pay great attention to Christmas; but in all European countries it is noticed by a variety of customs, some of which are pleasing and interesting. In England, though the Christmas customs have many of them ceased, there are others which are kept up and observed with much interest. It is there a time for making presents, particularly to friends, and it seldom happens that any boy or girl does not receive some gratifying mark of regard in this way.

Christmas is a time when hospitality and kind feelings are cherished and displayed. The rich then remember the poor, and there are few indeed, on that day, that have not the means of making a feast, though in many cases it may be a humble one.

Among the superstitious notions of the olden time, was this: they used to believe that St. Nicholas, familiarly called _Santaclaus_, used to come down chimney on Christmas eve, the night before Christmas, and put nuts, cakes, sugarplums, and pieces of money, into the stockings of such people as would hang them up for the purpose. Now it really did often happen, that when the stocking was hung up, in the morning it was found stuffed with such things as children take delight in! I have seen this actually done: and in New York, where Santaclaus is supposed to be at home, it is still practised. But the secret of the matter is this: the parents and friends, when children are snug in bed, and fast asleep, slip into the room, and fill their stockings with such things as please the young sleepers. In the morning, when they get up, they find their treasures, and give old Santaclaus all the credit of the pleasant trick.

There are other very agreeable customs connected with Christmas, but I suppose my readers know as much about them as I do. I will, however, say a few words about twelfth-day, which occurs on the twelfth day after Christmas; being the last of the Christmas holidays, it is kept up with great glee in England.

In certain parts of Devonshire, the farmer, attended by his workmen, with a large pitcher of cider, goes to the apple orchard on the eve of twelfth-day, and there, standing round one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three times:--

“Here’s to thee, old apple-tree, Hence thou may’st bud, and whence thou may’st blow, And whence thou may’st bear apples enow! Hats full! caps full! Bushel--bushel--sacks full, And my pockets full too! huzza!”

This done, they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure to find bolted by the women. Be the weather what it may, these are inexorable to all entreaties to open them, till some one has named what is on the spit--which is generally some nice little thing, difficult to be guessed. This is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are then thrown open, and the fortunate guesser receives the tit-bit. Some are so superstitious as to believe that if they neglect this custom, the trees will bear no apples the coming year.

Another custom among these people, is to go after supper into the orchard, with a milk-pan full of cider, which has roasted apples pressed into it. Out of this each person in the company takes an earthen cup full, and standing under each of the more fruitful apple-trees, he addresses it thus:--

“Health to thee, good apple-tree, Well to bear pockets full, hats full, Pecks full, bushel bags full,”--

and then, drinking up part of the contents, he throws the rest, with the fragments of the roasted apples, at the tree. At each cup the company set up a shout.

[Illustration: _Parley pinned to the woman._]

On twelfth-day, in London, from morning till night, every pastry-cook in the city is busy, dressing out his windows with cakes of every size and description. These are ornamented with figures of castles, kings, trees, churches, milk-maids, and a countless variety of figures of snow-white confectionary, painted with brilliant colors. At evening the windows are brilliantly illuminated with rows of lamps and wax candles inside; while the outside is crowded with admiring spectators. Among these, are numbers of boys, who take great delight in pinning people together by their coat-tails, and nailing them to the window frames. Sometimes eight or ten persons find themselves united together in this way; and such is the dexterity of the trick, that a piece of the garment is always sacrificed in the struggle for freedom.

Perhaps you have heard that old Peter Parley, when he was once in London, as he was gazing into a shop-window, seeing the twelfth-night cakes, got his coat-tail pinned to the gown of a woman, which made no small degree of fun.

Within doors there is also a frolic going on at this time. A large cake is cut up among a party of young people, who draw for the slices, and are chosen king and queen of the evening. They then draw for characters, thus making a great deal of sport.

Puzzles.

My first and last are man’s beginning; My ninth, ’leventh, twelfth, a school-boy’s task; My fifth, tenth, sixth, a welcome winning, If maids consent when lovers ask. My second, third and fourth, to do, Is but the lot of human creatures; Seven, eight, nine, ten--if books are true-- Bore once a goddess’ form and features; My first half--save a single letter-- Denotes a jolly, one-legged fellow; My other half--perchance the better-- Doth mean a thing with covers yellow.

Such is my riddle--can you guess it? If so, pray write us, and confess it. And if you think you’d like to try it, Why, send a dollar--and you’ll buy it.

A friend has sent us the following. Will any of our readers tell us the secret?

I am a name of 28 letters. My 1st, 15th, 28th, 23d, 11th, 9th, and 5th, is a town in the East Indies. My 3d, 2d, 6th, 25th, 13th, 26th, 9th, and 9th, is what some persons hate to see. My 4th, 24th, and 13th is a vehicle much in use. My 22d, 5th, and 7th, is a domestic animal. My 14th, 17th, and 10th, is a kind of grain. My 13th, 12th, 9th, and 11th, is a nickname. My 16th, 18th, 8th, and 6th, is a great blessing. My 19th, 21st, and 7th, is much to be pitied. My 14th, 27th, 20th, and 2d, is a beautiful flower. My 4th, 21st, 25th, 7th, 27th, and 6th, is a great article of commerce. C. B. F.

Varieties.

ONCE on a time, a Dutchman and a Frenchman were travelling in Pennsylvania, when their horse lost a shoe. They drove up to a blacksmith’s shop, and no one being in, they proceeded to the house to inquire. The Frenchman rapped and called out, “Is de smitty wittin?” “Shtand pack,” says Hans; “let me shpeak. Ish der plack-smit’s shop in der house?”

* * * * *

WHY are lovers’ sighs like long stockings? Because they are _heigh ho’s_.

* * * * *

WHY is a child seated down to perform a long sum, like a thermometer at zero? Give it up?--Because it is down to cipher.

HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM; THE LATTER BY GEO. J. WEBB.

[Illustration: music]

Another year is past and gone, Bearing its wishes, hopes and fears, As winds, the leaves,--away, away-- To rest with-in this vale of tears.

Another year upon us breaks, Bringing its budding cares and joys-- And, like a flowery lawn, invites Us on to pluck its blooming toys.

Yet as the circling seasons pass, Chasing each other in their flight-- Oh let us not forget that each Doth on the heart its record write!

And let us all remember well, That record we must bear above; Oh may it in the judgment hour Shine with the heavenly lines of love!

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME III.--No. 2.

[Illustration]

Anecdote of a Traveller.

The following amusing anecdote is told of Buckhardt, a famous traveller in Africa:--

Buckhardt sailed from England early in 1809, and arrived at Malta in safety. Here he equipped himself in the style of an Oriental, assuming the character of an Indian Mahommedan merchant, and sailed for Acre, whence he hoped to be able to reach Tripoli, in Syria, or Latakia. After being twice duped by the captains of the little trading vessels with whom he engaged a passage, by their telling him, when he was fairly embarked, that they were not going to the place which they had represented, he reached the coast of Syria, at Suedieh. Having bargained with the muleteers for the transport of himself and his baggage to Aleppo, he was beginning to load the mules, when he received a message from the aga, or Turkish governor of the place, requesting to see him. Our traveller found this dignitary smoking his pipe in a miserable room, and pulling off his slipper, he sat down before him. After having partaken of a cup of coffee, Buckhardt asked his highness what he wanted. The aga answered by making a sign with his thumb and fore-finger, like a person counting money; at the same time inquiring particularly what was contained in the chest of which our traveller’s baggage was composed. Buckhardt, who had among them several packets for the British consul at Aleppo, told him that he did not know, but that he thought there was a sort of Frank or European drink (beer) and some eatables, which he had brought from Malta for the consul. Not to be thus eluded, the aga sent one of his people to examine the contents. The messenger tasted the beer and found it abominably bitter, and as a sample of the eatables, he carried a potato, which he took out of one of the barrels, to his master. The aga tasted the raw potato, and, instantly spitting it out again, exclaimed loudly against the Franks’ stomach, which could bear such food. After this sample he did not care to investigate farther, and exacting a fine of ten piastres he allowed Buckhardt to proceed.

Dr. Cotton and the Sheep.

There is an anecdote told of Mr. Cotton, the old minister of Boylston, which may perhaps amuse some of our young readers. This gentleman’s house stood upon an eminence, with a garden sloping down in front, filled with fruit-trees. At the foot of the garden was a fence, and, in a straight line with the fence, an old well-curb. Mr. Cotton kept a great number of sheep, as most of our farmers did in olden times; and one day these uneasy creatures took it into their heads to get a taste of their master’s fruit. But the minister had another mind about the matter, and sallied out to give the marauders better instructions. The sheep were somewhat alarmed at being detected, and, according to their usual habit, all followed their leader to escape. The well-curb being the lowest part of the barrier which presented itself to the retreating general, over he leaped, and down he went to the very bottom of the well; and after him came several of his followers, till the well was in danger of being choked up with the silly sheep. There was but one way for the good pastor to save his flock; and, like a gallant chieftain, over the curb he also leaped, and boldly faced the flying insurgents, who were rushing on to destruction. We need not add that the _coup-de-main_ was effectual, and that the remainder of the herd was in this manner preserved. As for the precipitated general and his comrades, they humbly lifted themselves upon their hind feet, and stretching their paws toward their master, bleated a faint petition for release. “Don’t be in haste,” quietly replied the good pastor; “wait patiently till I go to the house for a rope--then I will try to save you.” He was as good as his word. Descending the well, he fastened the rope around their bodies, and drew them safely out; and I dare say the silly creatures did not soon forget the lesson they had learned at so fearful a risk.

The Robin.

A robin came, in the severity of winter, to the window of an honest farmer, and appeared as though he wished to enter. Then the farmer opened the window and kindly took the confiding little animal into his dwelling. He picked up the crumbs that fell from the table. The children loved and valued the bird. But when spring again appeared and the trees were covered with leaves, the farmer opened his window, and the little stranger flew into a neighboring grove, and built his nest and sang his cheerful song.

And behold, when winter returned, the robin came again to the dwelling of the farmer, and brought his mate with him. And the farmer, together with his children, rejoiced greatly, when they saw the two little animals, as they looked with their clear, small eyes, confidently round. And the children said, “The birds regard us as though they had something to say.”

Then the father answered, “If they could speak they would say, Friendly confidence awakens confidence, and love produces reciprocal affection.”

Echo: a Dialogue.

The following dialogue between Echo and a glutton was written in 1609:--

_Glut._ Who curbs his appetite’s a fool.

_Echo._ Ah, fool!

_Glut._ I do not like this abstinence.

_Echo._ Hence!

_Glut._ My joy’s a feast, my wish is wine.

_Echo._ Swine!

_Glut._ Will it hurt me if I eat too much?

_Echo._ Much!

_Glut._ Thou mockest me, nymph, I’ll not believe it.

_Echo._ Believe it!

_Glut._ Dost thou condemn, then, what I do?

_Echo._ I do.

_Glut._ Is it that which brings infirmities?

_Echo._ It is!

_Glut._ Then, sweetest temperance, I’ll love thee!

_Echo._ I love thee!

_Glut._ If all be true which thou dost tell, to gluttony I bid farewell.

_Echo._ Farewell.

The Lion and the Ass.

An ass was one day travelling with a lion, who wanted the assistance of his bray in frightening the animals he was hunting. The ass felt very proud of his company, and did not like to speak to his old acquaintances.

As they were travelling along in this manner, the ass met an old friend, of his own race, who very civilly bade him a good morning. The ass started back with a stare, and said, “really, you are very impudent--I don’t know you!”

“Why not?” replied his friend: “because you are in company with a lion, are you any better than I am--anything more than an ass?”

Those narrow-minded people, who, in prosperity, forget the friends of their humbler days, are about as wise as the ass in the fable.

National Characteristics.

England is said, by a French paper, to be a vast manufactory, a great laboratory, a universal country-house. France is a rich farm, tending to turn itself into a manufactory. Germany is an uncultivated field, because they are philosophers and not peasants who till it. Southern Italy is a villa in ruins. Northern Italy is an artificial prairie. Belgium is a forge. Holland is a canal. Sweden and Denmark are carpenter’s yards. Poland is a sandy heath. Russia is an ice-house. Switzerland is an _avalanche_. Greece is a field in a state of nature. Turkey is a field, fallow. India is a gold mine. Egypt is a workshop for apprentices. Africa is a furnace. Algiers is a nursery-ground. Asia is a grove. The Antilles are sugar-refineries. South America is a store. North America is a till, full. Spain is a till, empty.

Merry’s Adventures.