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Robert Merry's Museum, Vol. VII, No. 1-6

Name: Robert Merry's Museum, Vol. VII, No. 1-6
Author: Various

by Various

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Children's literature -- Periodicals

In: Children & Young Adult Reading

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #70557.

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SIGNIFICANT.――An old picture represents a king sitting in state with a label, “I govern all;” a bishop, with a legend, “I pray for all;” a farmer, drawing forth, reluctantly, a purse, with the inscription, “I pay for all.”

The Thorn.

There was once a boy, named James, who, with his little brother and sister, was going to take a walk in the fields and woods. It was a beautiful warm day, and James thought he would take off his stockings and shoes, and go barefoot.

I suppose my young friends all know how pleasant it is to take off the covering of the feet, in a warm summer day, and run about on the smooth grass. How light one feels――how swift one can run with his foot free as that of the mountain deer!

Now it happened that James had been forbidden by his mother to take off his stockings and shoes, for she was afraid that he would take cold. But he was now at a distance from home, and he thought he would do as he liked. So he took off his stockings and shoes.

Oh, how he did scamper about for a time; but, by and by, as he was skipping along, he stepped upon a thorn, which entered the bottom of his foot, and inflicted a severe wound. As it gave him great pain, he sat down and tried to pull out the thorn; but, alas! it had entered quite deep, and had then broken off in such a manner, that he could not get hold of it. There he sat for some time, not knowing what to do――but at last he was obliged to hobble home as well as he could.

James told his mother what had happened, for how could he help it? “Ah――ah――my son!” said she, “this comes of your disobedience. When will children learn that parents know what is best for them?” However, the good woman set to work to try to get out the naughty thorn, but she could not succeed.

By this time James was in great pain; so his mother put on a poultice, hoping that would cure it. But the poor fellow didn’t sleep any all night, he was in such distress, and in the morning his foot was sadly swollen. The doctor was then sent for, and at last he succeeded in getting out the thorn; but poor James had a sad time of it. It was at least three weeks before he got quite well. But the event was a good lesson to him. Whenever, in after life, he was tempted to disobey his mother, he said to himself――“Mother knows best――remember the thorn!” Whenever he was tempted to seize upon any forbidden pleasure, he would always say――“Remember the thorn!”

The Old Man in the Corner; or, the Pedler’s Pack.

Not long since, an old man――a very old man――came into the office of Merry’s Museum, and sat down in a corner of the room. He looked a little like old Peter Parley――but it can’t be that it was he, for some say Peter is dead――and, at any rate, he is not to be seen about these days.

After the old man had sat for some time,――saying nothing to anybody, and only looking about with a kind of mournful countenance,――he got up, and slowly marched away. When he was gone, one of the boys found a little parcel on the bench where the old man sat, addressed to “Mr. Robert Merry; care of Bradbury & Soden, 10 School street, Boston.”

On opening the paper, we found an old greasy book within, written full of tales, fables, sketches, &c.; some of them very good indeed, and some very queer. The title of the little book was the “Pedler’s Pack,” and it had the following motto:

Come, all my youthful friends, come near―― For every one I’ve something here: Anecdotes for those who choose―― Rhymes for all who love the muse―― Riddles and conundrums――bless ’em―― For little folks who love to guess ’em; Odd scraps have I from history torn, Strange tales from other countries borne―― And many a story, true and funny, Well worth your reading and your money. So, all my youthful readers, come―― Boys and girls, each shall have some. Walk up, my friends――Blue Eyes and Black―― And let us ope the Pedler’s Pack.

There was no note or direction, which informed us clearly what the Old Man in the Corner intended we should do with his book; but we suppose that he intended we should publish it in Merry’s Museum. This we have accordingly concluded to do. We shall insert such articles as seem suitable for our columns――making occasional notes of an explanatory nature. The first article we shall insert, is entitled The Blues; and in order that our readers may understand it, we must premise that when people are sad, or unhappy, on account of troublesome thoughts, they are said to have the blues, or the blue devils. The same thing is meant by the terms, bad spirits, the vapors, low spirits, &c. The Old Man in the Corner seems to think that these troubles may be avoided by a proper course of life.

How it rains! Patter, patter, patter! Well, let it pour! I love the rumble of the drops upon the roof, like the prolonged roll of a distant drum. Let it rain; I am secure. I shall not go out to-day, nor shall any one intrude upon my privacy. This day is mine!

A wet day is often considered a lost day. To me it is otherwise. I can shut the door upon the world――turn the key upon life’s cares, and give myself up freely to the reins of a vagrant fancy, without reproach of conscience. Providence has stepped in, and, arresting my tasks and my duties, gives me a sort of Sabbath of leisure and mental recreation. To me a wet day brings no blues, or, if it does, they are those which come on the wings of reverie, and are such as I am sometimes willing to entertain. Your reasonable blue is a communicative, suggestive thing, and I always court its society.

And, after all――what are “the Blues?” Everything else has been classified, analyzed, and reduced to scientific system; and why not these beings which figure so largely in the history of the human mind? This is a subject of profound inquiry, and I wonder it has not attracted the attention of the philosophical. Let us look at it.

To get firm hold of the subject, we must suppose a case. I sit in my room alone. Alone, did I say? As nature abhors a vacuum, the mind instinctively shrinks from solitude. If fleshy forms are not present, a host of imps press in from crack and crevice, to gambol around us. The mind is like the room in which the body is held, and these shadowy elves issue forth from the plastering of the walls, or peep out from the dark arras that hangs betwixt the visible and invisible world. Could we break through the plastering, or lift the arras, and see what these seeming imps are――whether they are things, or only images of things; whether they are substantial spirits, which, like invisible eels in water, are ever playing their pranks behind the curtain of vision; could we do this, our task would easily be done; and for our discovery we should expect to be made a member of some philosophical society. But, alas! there is no bridge that crosses the gulf between life and death――none, at least, upon which a being of flesh and blood can return. It is therefore impossible to follow “the blues” to their retreats――to the recesses from which, unbidden, they come, and to which, pursued, they fly.

What, then, are “the Blues?” In natural history, there is nothing like dissection. But, before dissection, we must have a subject. How, then, shall we catch a blue?――that is the first question. The easiest way is to take one by supposition, and, while we are supposing, we may as well include the whole race. These can be arranged as follows:

ORDER I. THE BLUES.

These have no head, no heart, no ears, no breathing organs; body, invisible; food, the human heart.

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

We might now proceed to give the several kinds into which each class is divided, and then the numerous species of each kind. But this must be reserved for some future work on the subject; and if we should publish such an one, let no person laugh at our labors, nor sneer at our philosophy. “The Blues” constitute a great subject of scientific research, and are by no means unworthy of the moral philosopher. We have only time to make a few observations, to show the force of this latter remark.

In the first place, it may be noted that those persons who live temperately, rise early, and go to bed early; those who fulfil their duties toward God and man; those who have good digestion, and a good conscience――are never visited by any other blues than Order I., Class I. If any others ever do come to such persons, they usually depart as speedily as a rattlesnake from an ash stick. Of course, these people are not supposed to be particularly interested in our subject.

But that numerous class, who are in the habit of neglecting some daily duty, or violating some moral or physical law; those who eat too much; those who take strong drinks; those who follow pleasure rather than peace; those, in short, who keep the mind like an ill-swept garret, decorated with dust, cobwebs and confusion――those persons are doubtless particularly interested in our subject. For these, the little blues of the pestiferous classes have a strong affinity. Around the hearts of these persons they are ever to be found. Upon their lifeblood these elves live.

Of all classes of blues, the Rum Blue is, perhaps, the worst. Whether the insect called “_blue bottle_” took its name from it, or not, is a question for the learned. The class is pretty numerous, and includes a variety of genera, among which are the following.

{GENUS 1. The gin blue. { {GENUS 2. The whiskey { blue. (In London called { “blue ruin.”) Class II. { Rum Blues; {GENUS 3. The wine blue. or, { The Horrors. {GENUS 4. The toddy blue. { {GENUS 5. The brandy { blue. { {GENUS 6. The Santa { Croix blue.

This class of blues is particularly pestiferous. There is no great difference between them, and none but a nice observer can distinguish them: they are, however, a most destructive race. They often assemble in crowds around the mind, and are then called “_low spirits_,” or “the horrors,” terms which are descriptive of their character. They not unfrequently sting the soul and body with such agony, as to bring on what is called the _delirium tremens_――the most frightful of mortal maladies. Under the agony of the rum blue, a man will sometimes murder his wife and children. This subject is almost too frightful to dwell upon; but there is one source of consolation, and that is, that no one ever need be afflicted with the rum blue. If a person will only abstain from alcoholic liquors, he will never be infested with any species of this kind of vermin.

The class of blues belonging to bad conscience, as well as that of indigestion, is numerous, and includes a variety of genera. We will not now enter into a detail of them, as our present observations are intended to be rather practical than scientific. We may therefore close this article with the observation, that whoever is afflicted with the blues, has it in his own power to get rid of them.

And now, gentle reader, the moral of all this is as follows. Many people are subject to pain of mind――which they express by the terms, blue devils, the horrors, low spirits, &c. &c. Now, this pain of mind almost always proceeds from some misconduct; from the neglect of duty; from improper eating or drinking; from wrong doing of some kind or other. Therefore, if you would avoid pain of mind――if you would keep away the blues――adopt good habits, and stick to them.

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