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only two years of age, was rode at the battle of Preston Pans, by a
young gentleman, who afterwards sold it to a farmer near Dunbar.
This pony, at forty-seven years of age, looked remarkably fresh;
trotted eight miles an hour for several miles together; had a very
good set of teeth; eat corn and hay well; was able to go a long
journey; and had not, to appearance, undergone the least alteration,
either in galloping, trotting, or walking, for twenty years preceding.

Curious.—In a book of accounts, belonging to a small dealer,

who had become bankrupt, in the west of England, were found the
following names of customers to whom credit had been given:
“Woman on the Key; Jew Woman; Coal Woman; Old Coal Woman;
Fat Coal Woman; Market Woman; Pale Woman; A Man; Old
Woman; Little Milk Girl; Candle Man; Stable Man; Coachman; Big
Woman; Lame Woman; Quiet Woman; Egg Man; Littel Black Girl;
Old Watchman; Shoemaker; Littel Shoemaker; Short Shoemaker;
Old Shoemaker; Littel Girl; Jew Man; Jew Woman; Mrs. in the Cart;
Old Irish Woman; Woman in Cow street; A Lad; Man in the country;
Long Sal; Woman with Long Sal; Mrs. Irish Woman; Mrs. Feather
Bonnet; Blue Bonnet; Green Bonnet; Green Coat; Blue Britches; Big
Britches; The woman that was married; The woman that told me of
the man.”

“I hope I don’t intrude,” as the knife said to the oyster.

 Instinct.

As M. Moreau de Johnes was riding through a wood in Martinique

some years since, his horse reared and exhibited the greatest
degree of alarm, trembling in every limb with fear. On looking around
to discover the cause of the animal’s terror, he observed a serpent,
called fer de lance, standing erect in a bush of bamboo, and he
heard it hiss several times.
He would have fired at it with his pistol, but his horse became
quite unmanageable, and drew back as quickly as possible, keeping
his eyes fixed on the snake. M. de Johnes, on looking around for
some person to hold his horse so that he might destroy the viper,
beheld a negro, streaming with blood, cutting with a blunt knife the
flesh from a wound which the serpent had just inflicted.
The negro entreated M. de Johnes not to destroy it, as he wished
to take the animal alive, to effect a cure on himself, according to a
superstitious belief; and this M. de Johnes allowed him to do.
 Varieties.

Little Chimney-Sweeper.—About three o’clock, one cold, dark,

damp day, at the end of December, I met a little chimney-sweeper in
England, who had come with his father that morning from a town
eight miles off, to sweep the various chimneys about. He was nearly
ten years old.
“Do you go home to-night, my little fellow? Where is your father?”
“He went forward to the village of D——, and I am to follow.” “Are
you afraid to go?” “No, I don’t feel afraid.” “I hope you are a good boy
and don’t swear—do you say your prayers?” “Yes, always, every
night and morning.” “Do you like sweeping chimneys?” “As to that, I
don’t think any one could like it much; but there are nine children of
us, and we two eldest boys must help father; and mother is good,
and gets us breakfast early; and father is good to us, and we do
pretty well.” “Do you go to Sunday school?” “Some of us always go.”
Here ended our conversation.
About four o’clock a message came, “May the chimney-sweeper’s
boy sleep here?—he cries, and says it is so wet and dark.” After a
minute’s thought, we replied, “Yes, if he is willing to be locked up in
the stable till morning.” With this he was well content; and after a
clean bed of straw was made, he seemed delighted with his new
quarters.
After the key had been turned a few minutes, an old servant
coming by heard a voice—a steady, pleading voice; and on listening,
she heard the child distinctly repeating collect after collect, and
various church prayers. She went round, and looking in, saw our
poor boy, kneeling by his bed of straw, with his hands clasped, and
praying very earnestly. She said, “The tears came in my eyes as I
watched the little fellow, and to see him rise from his knees, and so
happily lay himself down to sleep.”
In the morning, they watched the child, when he repeated just the
same before he left the stable. Upon coming out, the servants asked
him, “Who taught you to say your prayers as you do?” “Mother,” he
replied. “Then your mother’s a good scholar?” “No, she can’t read a
word—none in our house can read.” “How then did she learn all
these prayers?”
“Mother goes to church every Sunday, and says them after the
parson, and so she learns them; and every night we all kneel round
her that are old enough to speak, before she puts us to bed, and she
says them first, bit by bit, and we all say them after her; and
sometimes she learns a new one, and then she teaches us that. She
tells us always to say our prayers when we are away from her, and
so I do.”

A Shower of Ashes.—A late number of Silliman’s Journal

contains the following memorandum, handed in by Rev. Peter
Parker, M. D., who was a passenger in the ship Niantic, from Canton
for New York:
“Ship Niantic, L. F. Doty, master, April 5th, 1840, being in lat. 7
deg. 5 min. north, lon. 121 deg. 10 min. east, at 2 h. A. M., sixty
miles west from Mindanuo, one of the Philippine islands, came up a
fine breeze from the northeast, which was attended with a shower of
dust, resembling that of ashes. It came so thick that it obscured the
moon and stars, which were all out very clear before. It filled the
sailors’ eyes so full that they were obliged to retreat from the deck
below. It lasted about one hour, and cleared away. At daylight the
Niantic looked like an old furnace, completely covered, from the
royal-masthead down to the water’s edge. The decks I should judge
were one quarter of an inch thick with the ashes. We took up one
half bushel, and might have saved three or four. It fell in small
quantities, at different times, for two or three days after. On the 14th
of April, spoke the English barque Margaret, whaler; reported
likewise on the 5th of April had a similar shower of ashes, being at
the time three hundred miles north-northeast of us. He informed me
that on the 12th of April he visited several villages on the island of
Madura, entirely deserted by the people, from one of which he had
taken two brass cannon and several other articles. This led us to
think that some volcanic eruption had lately happened in that
neighborhood. After the 9th, perceived no more ashes in proceeding
northward.”

Circumstances alter Cases.—“Is Mr. Bluster within?” “No; he is

out of town,” remarked the servant. “When can I see him?” “I don’t
know;—have you any especial business with him?” “Yes, there is a
small bill which I wish to settle.” “Well,” said the servant, “I don’t
know whether he will return this week or not.” “But I wish to pay the
bill, as I am to leave the town immediately.” “Oh! you wish to pay him
some money—he is up stairs, I’m thinking; I will call him. Take a
seat, sir; Mr. Bluster will be with you in a moment!”

Fatal Attack of a Serpent.—A letter from Martinique, in the

Journal of Guadaloupe, states, that M. De Pickery, merchant, was
met while on a hunting excursion by an enormous serpent, which
attacked him, and inflicted several severe wounds in his legs. He
defended himself with great courage; but, although timely succor
was administered to him, he died four hours after. The serpent was
nearly seven feet in length, and when opened there were found in it
one hundred and sixty-two little ones. (1840.)
 TEARS.
the words and music composed for
merry’s museum.
Slow & Pathetic.

Tears, tears may speak of grief,

More deep than words e’er spake,
And yet tears bring relief,
When else the heart would break.

Tears, tears may tell of pleasure,

Too sweet for words to show;
For the heart is like a measure—
Too full, ’twill overflow.

Then give, oh give me tears!—

For sorrow’s load they lighten—
And rainbow joy appears,
Amid their showers to brighten.
 ROBERT MERRY’S

MUSEUM.

edited by

S. G. GOODRICH,

AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.

VOLUME II.

BOSTON:
BRADBURY & SODEN,
10 School Street.
1841.
 CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.

AUGUST TO DECEMBER, 1841.

The Siberian Sable-hunter, 1, 33, 69, 103, 156

The Wolf that pretended to be robbed, 7
Beware of Impatience, 8
Travels, Adventures, and Experiences of
Thomas Trotter, 8, 44, 74, 144
Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and
History of the Indians of America, 14, 54, 121, 135, 161
Lion Hunting, 16
Merry’s Life and Adventures, 17, 39, 65, 97, 149,
178
Toucan, 19
The Newfoundland Dog, 21
The Mysterious Artist, 24, 51
Peter Pilgrim’s Account of his Schoolmates,
Nos. 2 & 3, 27, 140
Egyptian Schools, 30
Varieties, 31
The Boy and the Lark,—a Song, 32
Origin of Words and Phrases, 43
Hymn, 50
Anecdote, 50
The Sparrow and Robin, 51
The Alligator, 60
Braham’s Parrot, 61
Mungo Park and the Frogs, 62
A Child lost in the Woods, 63
The Sun, 63
Autumn,—a Song, 64
Habit, 73
The Oak and the Reed, 80
Sincerity, 81
The Hyena, 84
Jewish Women, 84
Story of Philip Brusque, 85, 100, 130
An Incident from Ancient History, 89
Effects of Prohibition, 89
Saturday Night, 90
Oliver Cromwell, 92
Musings, 93
Anecdote of an Atheist, 94
Who made this? 94
Wisdom of the Creator, 94
Yankee Energy, 95
Who made Man? 95
Power of God, 95
The Bird’s Adieu,—a Song, 96
Wisdom of the Creator, 106
Washington, a Teacher to the Young, 107
The Poet and the Child, 111
The Ostrich, 112
What do we mean by Nature? 112
A Vision, 114
The Sun and Wind, 116
The Kamskatka Lily, 116
Habits which concern Ourselves, 117
Anecdotes of Haydn, 118
The Fox and Raven,—a Fable, 119
I don’t see why, 120
Charles and his Mother, 124
John Doree, 127
Letter to the Publishers, 127
Bees, 128
Up in the Morning early,—a Song, 128
London, 133
Aurelian and the Spider, 133
Exotic Fruit and Flowers in England, 134
Benevolence of the Deity, 134
The Rhinoceros, 137
Briers and Berries, 138
The Crows’ Court of Law, 138
The Story of the Supposed Miser, 139
The Mouth, 139
The Pilot, 148
A Little Child’s Joy, 151
The Mammoth, 152
Geordie and the Sick Dog, 152
The Tongue, 158
What is Selfishness? 159
A Thought, 159
Winter,—a Song, 160
A Long Nap, 171
Lord Bacon, 172
Habits which concern Others, 173
The Black Skimmer of the Seas, 175
The Squirrel, 176
Gothic Architecture, 177
The Apple,—a German Fable, 181
The Pretender and his Sister, 182
Winter, 183
The Hand, 184
Nuts to Crack, 185
To the Black-eyed and Blue-eyed Friends of 186
 Robert Merry,
Winter,—a Song, 188

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by S. G. Goodrich, in the Clerk’s
Office of the
District Court of Massachusetts.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
VOLUME II.
 The Siberian Sable-Hunter.

CHAPTER I.

In the northern part of Asia, there is a vast country called Siberia.

It is nearly destitute of mountains, and consists of a great plain,
stretching out to an immense extent, and being in many parts almost
as level as the sea. In some places it is barren and bare, but in
others it is covered with forests. Sometimes these are of pine, cedar,
hemlock, and other evergreens, and grow so thickly as to make it
difficult to pass between the trees.
Several great rivers cross this country, the chief of which are the
Irtish and Obi, the Yenisei, and the Lena. These are almost as large
as our great rivers of America. They flow from south to north, and
empty themselves into a wide sea called the Arctic Ocean.
Siberia is a cold and desolate region, where the summer is short,
and where winter reigns about two thirds of the year. There are few
towns or cities, especially in the north, and thus large portions of the
country are both uncultivated and uninhabited. There are vast tracts
given up to solitude, or visited only by wolves, bears, and other
savage animals, or are occasionally crossed by wandering parties of
Tartars, who are the chief inhabitants of the country, and who are
almost as wild as our American Indians.
This great country, which is more extensive than the whole of
Europe, and about three times as large as the entire territory of the
United States, belongs to Russia. It is under the government of the
emperor of that country, who, you know, reigns over a larger portion
of the earth than any other ruler.
It would seem that it could be no great advantage to hold
possession of such a cold and dreary land as Siberia; but yet it
produces a good deal of gold, silver, and copper, and the southern
portions, having a rich soil, yield vast quantities of grain. The Tartars
are fond of rearing horses and cattle, and so abundant are these
creatures in some places, that a horse sells for two dollars and a
half, and an ox for a dollar and a quarter! Oatmeal is sold for five
cents a bushel, and a man may live for ten dollars a year! But though
articles seem so very cheap, it must be remembered that a man
must labor for about four cents a day; so that, after all, he has to
work pretty hard for a good living.
But what I have been saying relates to the southern part of
Siberia, where the climate is milder and the soil rich; as you go
northward, the cold increases, and vegetation diminishes. At last you
come to a country where there are few people, and where, as I have
said before, the whole region seems to be given up to savage
animals. In the loneliness of the forests here, the wolf and bear roam
at their pleasure, being the sovereigns of the country. Yet it is in
these very regions that a great source of wealth is found—for here
are various animals which yield fine and beautiful furs. The most
celebrated and valuable are produced by a species of weasel, called
the sable—one skin of which sometimes sells for a hundred and fifty
dollars. Beside the sable, the black fox, whose skin sells for twenty
to seventy-five dollars, martens of two or three kinds, and other
animals, are found, which produce valuable furs; and it is to be
considered that it is the very coldness of the country which renders
the furs so excellent. Creatures living here have need of very warm
shirts and jackets, and nature, like a kind mother, takes good care of
her children. Considering that the animals of the north of Siberia live
among regions of snow and frost, where summer comes only for a
few weeks in the year, and winter holds almost perpetual sway, she
gives the sable, and the marten, and the fox, and even the wolf and
bear, such nice warm clothes, that kings and queens envy them, and
hunters are sent two thousand miles to procure these luxuries.
Thus it is that Siberia, after all, yields a great deal of wealth, and
the emperor of Russia therefore holds on to it with a greedy grasp.
But it is not for its productions alone that he holds it; for the emperor
has a large family—about fifty millions in Europe and Asia—and as
he is a hard master, some of them are pretty often rebellious; and to
punish them, he sends them to Siberia. This is a kind of prison,—
though a large one,—where those are banished who have incurred
the displeasure or dislike of his majesty. So numerous are these
exiles, that Tobolsk, one of the largest towns, and lying in the
western part of the country, is to a great extent peopled by them and
their descendants. It is about some of these exiles that I am going to
tell you a story.
A few years since, a Polish officer, by the name of Ludovicus
Pultova, was banished to Siberia, by Nicholas, the present emperor
of Russia. His offence was, that he had engaged in the struggle of
1830 to liberate Poland, his native country, from the tyranny
exercised over it by its Russian masters. The Poles had hoped for
aid in their efforts from other nations; but in this they were
disappointed, and they were overwhelmed by the power of the
emperor. Thousands of them fled to other lands, to escape the fate
that awaited them at home; others were shot, or shut up in
dungeons; and others, amounting to many hundreds, were sent to
Siberia.
The wife of Pultova was dead, but he had a son and daughter, the
first about eighteen years of age, and the other sixteen, at the time of
his banishment. It was no small part of his misery that they were not
permitted to accompany him in his exile. After a year, however, they
contrived to leave Warsaw, where they had lived, and, passing
through many dangers and trials, they at last reached their father at
Tobolsk.
This city is about as large as Salem in Massachusetts, and
consists of a fort and citadel, with numerous dwellings around them,
on a hill, and another portion on the low ground, bordering on the
river Obi. The people, as I have said before, are chiefly exiles, or
their descendants; and as it has been said that tyranny never
banishes fools, so the society embraces many persons of talent and
merit. Some of them, indeed, were celebrated for their genius, and
numbers of them were of high rank and character. But what must a
city of exiles be?—composed of people who have been separated
from their native land—from their homes, their relatives—from all
they held most dear; and that, too, with little hope of return or
restoration to their former enjoyments? Most of them, also, are
stripped of their property, and if they possessed wealth and
independence before, they come here to drag out a life of poverty,
perhaps of destitution.
Such was in fact the condition of Pultova. He was, in Warsaw, a
merchant of great wealth and respectability. When his countrymen
rose in their resistance, he received a military commission, and
distinguished himself alike by his wisdom and bravery. In the fierce
battles that raged around the walls of the city before its fall, he
seemed almost too reckless of life, and in several instances hewed
his way, at the head of his followers, into the very bosom of the
Russian camp. He became an object of admiration to his
countrymen, and of equal hatred to the Russians. When Warsaw fell,
his punishment was proportioned to the magnitude of his offence. He
was entirely stripped of his estates, and perpetual banishment was
his sentence.
It is not easy to conceive of a situation more deplorable than his,
at Tobolsk. The friends that he had there, like himself, were generally
oppressed with poverty. Some shunned him, for fear of drawing
down the vengeance of the government; for the chief officer of the
citadel was of course a spy, who kept a vigilant watch over the
people: and there are few persons, reduced to servitude and poverty,
who do not learn to cower beneath the suspicious eye of authority.
What could Pultova do? Here was no scope for his mercantile
talents, even if he had the means of giving them exercise. His
principles would not allow him to join the bands of men, who, driven
to desperation by their hard fate, took to the highway, and plundered
those whom they could master. Nor could he, like too many of his
fellow-sufferers, drown his senses in drunkenness. Could he go to
the mines, and in deep pits, away from the light of heaven, work for
three or four cents a day, and that too in companionship with
convicts and criminals of the lowest and most debased character?
Could he go forth to the fields and labor for his subsistence, where
the wages of a man trained to toil, were hardly sufficient for
subsistence?