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:
dat be poetry; but
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
KNIGHTS TEMPLARS.
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.