Robert Merry's Museum, Vol VIII, July to December, 1844

In 1764, Commodore Byron landed in Patagonia, and had an interview with the natives. They have always been said to be _giants_, and he found them to be so. They seemed to him to be generally six feet and a half high, and some of them quite seven feet. The tallest Americans are seldom over six feet; generally not more than five feet, and seven and ten inches.

He found them not only thus tall, but very robust. Only their hands and feet are small. They are a warlike tribe, yet courteous and humane. In their complexion, they are copper-colored. They have straight, black, and coarse hair, usually tied behind with a string. They paint themselves with circles round the eyes, and with various colors. Their teeth are exceedingly white, and remarkably even and well set.

Their dress is made of the skin of the guanaco, sewed together into pieces about six feet long and five broad, which are wrapped as a cloak round their body. The upper part, however, falls back, and thus exposes the neck and shoulders to the weather, and makes them look almost naked. They appear to eat raw flesh of animals. They are excellent horsemen, and will pursue their game on horseback, in places of danger, where an American would be afraid to go.

In 1766, Captain Welles visited Patagonia, and while there, he took several of the people on board his ship; but he was surprised to find that they had no curiosity about anything, excepting a looking-glass, before which they danced and played a thousand tricks.

TERRA DEL FUEGO.

Of Terra del Fuego and its inhabitants, we know still less than of Patagonia, and the people of that country. It is an island, separated from Cape Horn by a strait, called the straits of Magellan, after the navigator who first discovered it. The same navigator gave the name of Terra del Fuego to the island. It signifies “_the land of fire_,” and was given to the island because he and his men discovered on it numerous fires, which proceeded from volcanoes.

The island is a dreary region; bleak, barren, and mountainous. Winter reigns here nearly the whole year round. The inhabitants are of a middle stature, with broad faces, flat noses, and high cheekbones. They paint their bodies, which are naturally fair, and what clothes they wear are made of seals’ skins. Shell fish is their principal food. Their huts are miserable shelters, built in a conical form, or much like a tunnel.

The inhabitants of the north seem to be quite different from those of the south. The former are said to be cruel and treacherous; the latter harmless and simple. They are alike destitute of curiosity, however, and although the climate is extremely cold, they go almost naked.

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SMALL MATTERS.--The nerve of a tooth, not as large as the finest cambric needle, will sometimes drive a strong man to distraction. A musqueto can make an elephant absolutely mad. The coral rock, causing a navy to founder, is the work of worms. The warrior that withstood death in a thousand forms may be killed by an insect. The deepest wretchedness results from a perpetual continuance of petty trials. A chance look from those we love, often produces exquisite pain or unalloyed pleasure.

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“Take your _time_,” as the man said, when he returned a borrowed watch.

[Illustration: bat]

The Bat Family.

The family of bats is very numerous, and some of its members are queer characters, as we shall presently show. They have puzzled the naturalists not a little; for while they have the structure of quadrupeds, they have the motion of birds. They are the only creatures that unite these two qualities. There are such things, indeed, as flying squirrels, and flying opossums, but these do not raise themselves by wings; they only support their bodies by spreading out skinny membranes on either side, in descending from an elevation, and are thus able to make a long, sloping leap.

The bat, on the contrary, raises himself into the air by his wings, and glances about hither and thither, with all the ease and vivacity of a bird. Yet this creature has no feathers. He is covered with hair, and when his skinny wings are folded up, he looks very much like a mouse or a mole. He even squeaks like a mouse, and thus an appearance of veracity is given to the fable of La Fontaine. In this, the bat is represented as having, on a certain occasion, got into the nest of a weasel, the sworn enemy of birds. When the weasel was about to destroy him as one of the feathered tribe, the little fellow escaped by representing himself to be a mouse. Afterwards, coming in the way of the cat, he was upon the point of being devoured as a mouse; but he now showed his wings, and was let off, on the plea of being a bird.

In a former number, we have spoken of the vampire, which is found in Guiana, and have made mention, also, of certain other species of this curious tribe.

We now proceed to speak of the general habits of the whole race. They frequent caverns, dark ravines, and crevices of rocks. Here they sleep by day, but, as evening approaches, they sally forth, pursuing such insects as have not gone to their repose. They are active and busy during the warm season, but when the cold evenings of autumn set in, they retire to their dim retreats, where they often cluster together by hundreds. Here they remain in a dormant state during the winter. In this condition they show the greatest sensibility to the touch, and their bodies even shrink from the approach of the hand, before it comes in contact with the body. Yet nothing can rouse them from their profound sleep.

There are nearly one hundred and fifty different kinds of bats. In this country they are small in size, and comparatively few in number. In tropical regions they are more numerous, and in some places, they fill the air so thickly, as to increase the gloom of twilight. In India there is a species, called flying foxes, whose outstretched wings measure six feet from tip to tip.

[Illustration: Joshua commanding sun and moon]

Joshua commanding the Sun and Moon to stand still.

One of the most remarkable events mentioned in Scripture, is that to which the preceding picture relates. It has often been the subject of the painter’s pencil, and gives ample scope for the exercise of his highest talent. The story, as related in the tenth chapter of Joshua, presents a scene of the utmost sublimity. The Israelites having fled out of Egypt, after forty years’ wandering, had been conducted by Moses to the borders of Canaan. This great leader having died in the land of Moab, Joshua became the chief of the nation. Under his guidance they entered the promised land. In the course of their march they were met by the kings of the Amorites, who attacked them in the mountains. Encouraged by divine assurance of success, Joshua withstood the host, and a terrible conflict ensued. The Israelites prevailed, and a miracle, or what seemed a miracle, was wrought in behalf of Joshua and his army. The Amorites were defeated, and Joshua, obeying the divine command, stretched forth his hand, and said, “Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon, and thou moon in the valley of Ajalon!” Obedient to this injunction, the sun and the moon paused in their course; the day was prolonged, and the Israelites continued to pursue and cut down their enemies.

There is something in the idea of a great battle, where thousands of men are engaged in the deadly conflict, and of which the Creator is a spectator, and at whose command even the mighty orbs which give light and heat to the universe are stayed in their path, which excites the imagination, and lifts the mind to the loftiest pitch of excitement. The subject is, indeed, almost too grand for human conception, and not even the creative pencil of the painter can fully master it.

Our Correspondence.

The following letter is a _sweet_ one, as our readers will see, before they get through. The writers may rest assured that they will be forgiven, if they put their threat in execution respecting the barrel of sugar. We should like the description of the process of making the article, very much; and it is very likely, when we get it, that we shall hitch a first-rate story upon it.

_Baton Rouge, La., April, 1844._

MR. ROBERT MERRY: SIR,--We take pleasure in declaring to you that your name and the fame of your periodical have at length reached us here in the far south-west. And from the spirit of kind good-nature which seems to mark all your communications with your young friends, we are ready to think that you will not spurn the salutations of your new acquaintances in Louisiana. Though this may be the first voice from the “Creole State,” we hope it will not be the last. We would have you and all your readers down east, and north, and all other parts of our great country, understand that we are not exactly in a barbarous state--nor approaching it--as we mean to show by patronizing the Museum.

That good old gentleman, Peter Parley, has long since become a favorite among us; and it was only necessary to be informed that you were his near kinsman or intimate friend, that you enjoyed his confidence, and are even intrusted with all the precious relics left by him,--to secure you the most ready reception and all that generous hospitality in which the people of our state abound. We have often heard of that place “away down east,” called Boston; and especially how many fine schools, and books, and all such useful things, our young friends there enjoy; and since we found out the characters of Peter Parley and Robert Merry among others of your distinguished citizens, our curiosity is more excited, and, no doubt, many of us will be led to come and see that part of the land if we live to grow up. But if we do, we wish very much not to appear behind others of your black-eyed and blue-eyed friends in intelligence. Therefore we mean to have your interesting and instructive publication, which, with other improvements that are being made in our means of instruction, we think, will help us to keep up with the age, and prepare to act our part as well as the Yankee boys and girls.

Now we don’t like to make promises, any more than yourself; but just to encourage you we will give you a _hint_ at _least_. You know we raise _sugar cane_ in this state; and we are told that you and your northern readers know nothing about _making_ sugar, but only _eating_ it. Now, if you have a sweet tooth, (for we hope you havn’t become toothless yet,) you wouldn’t despise a barrel of the finest sugar or the best _sirop_ from some plantation in this vicinity--if you should happen to find one on some of your Boston ships, _especially_, should it be accompanied by a description of the process of making it, for the benefit of all your little _sweet-loving_ readers. Hoping, then, that you will punctually furnish _us_, as well as your older and nearer admirers, with all the good things you are wont to distribute, we make our bow as

YOUR NEW READERS OF BATON ROUGE.

We thank Pierce L. H. of Brooklyn, N. York, and our friend P., for their communications.

Sarah C. F. is satisfied with our reasons why the eastern coast of America has a colder climate than the western coast of Europe, but wonders that Kamskatka is so much colder than Alaska--both being in the same latitude. She will find an explanation in the fact that the latter is a mere island, and the surrounding ocean moderates and equalizes the temperature. Kamskatka, it is true, is near the sea, but it is contiguous to Siberia, which is an extensive mass of unbroken land, which is always colder than the sea.

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We thank H. L. P----, Jane S----r, M. A. K., and John P----e, for their several communications. We hope S---- will comply with his promise, and tell us about the salt works of Syracuse.

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We are obliged to omit, this month, a wild story of Bill Keeler’s, called Dirk Heldriver; a tale by the Old Man in the Corner, and something about Inquisitive Jack. They shall come next time.

Happiness.

MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM, BY GEO. J. WEBB.

[Illustration: Music]

1. There is a spell in every flow’r, A sweetness in each spray, And every simple bird has pow’r To please me with his lay.

And there is music on each breeze That sports along the glade; The crystal dew-drops on the trees Are gems, by Fancy made.

There’s gladness too in everything, And beauty over all For everywhere comes on with spring A charm which cannot pall!

And I!--my heart is full of joy, And gratitude is there, That He, who might my life destroy, Has yet vouchsafed to spare.

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

Vol. VIII. AUGUST, 1844. No. 2.

[Illustration: August]

August.

This is the eighth month of the year, and derived its name from Augustus, emperor of Rome. In England it is the month of harvest, and the old Saxons used to call it arm-month, arm being the word for harvest. It is everywhere a busy season, and is thus noticed by an old poet:

The ears are filled, the fields are white, The constant harvest-moon is bright; To grasp the bounty of the year, The reapers to the scene repair, With hook in hand and bottles slung, And dowlas scups beside them hung,-- The sickles stubble all the ground, And filful hasty laps go round; The meals are done, as soon as tasted, And neither time nor viands wasted.

The fifth day of August is noticed in England for two reasons: it is the birthday of Saint James, and oysters on this day come into use. They are not allowed to be eaten, by order of parliament, till this time, as they are deemed unwholesome during the summer. The event is thus celebrated by the rhymester:

Green groves rise at dawn of sun, August fifth! come, haste away! To Billingsgate the thousands run; ’Tis oyster day!--’tis oyster day!

Now, at the corner of the street, With oysters fine the tent is filled; The cockney stops to have a treat, Prepared by one in opening skilled.

Shake off the beard--as quick as thought The pointed knife divides the flesh;-- What plates are laden, loads are brought, And eaten raw, and cold, and fresh!

The tenth of August is the festival of St. Lawrence. He suffered martyrdom at Rome, being roasted to death on a red-hot grate of iron. The church of St. Lawrence in London is dedicated to him, and has a gridiron on the steeple for a vane.

The fifteenth of this month is what is called _Assumpsion day_ by the Catholics. It is a great festival with them, and is designed to commemorate the assumption, or taking up of the Virgin Mary into heaven. It is one of the most famous of the Romish festivals, and is celebrated in France, Italy, and other Catholic countries, with processions, songs, ceremonies, and every variety of religious pageantry.

If we may be permitted to say a word to the farmers, we would advise them to declare a war of extermination on the thistles in and about their premises. It is said by some correct cultivators, that if the Canada thistle is cut in August, before its seed is ripe, it will die in an accommodating manner; because the stalk, which is hollow, will fill with water and destroy the root.

It is also said, if you cut bushes in the old of the moon in August, you will destroy them root and branch. We doubt if the moon will interfere in the matter; but August is the best time for cutting bushes, because vegetation having come to a close for the season, the bushes will not so readily sprout again from the roots.

Bill and the Boys.

DIRK HELDRIVER.

I recollect, one winter evening, when Bill and myself, with three or four young companions, were assembled around the fire of the “Cock and Bull,” it chanced to be Bill’s turn to tell a story. It was a wild night, for the wind blew, and the sleet rattled against the windows, as the heavy gusts swept round the corner of the old tavern. When Bill was about to begin his story, I could see that his cheek was a little pale, and his eye glistened as if there were something extraordinary in his mind. At length, he began, and related the following story, as nearly as I can recollect it.

About sixty miles north of the city of New York, a range of lofty highlands crosses the Hudson, nearly from west to east, which passes under the name of the Fishkill mountains. The river has cut away this mighty barrier for the space of two or three miles, but it rises on either side and lifts its blue summits almost to the clouds. At the foot of the eastern portion of this range is now the pretty village of Fishkill, and scattered along the banks of the river are the luxurious country-seats of the De Wints, Verplancks, and other old Dutch families.

But our story goes back for nearly a century, to a period when there were only a few scattered settlements along the banks of this noble river, and while yet the savage, the bear, and the panther were found in the forest. At this time, a man, who bore the semblance of a gentleman, purchased a large tract of land along the bank of the river, and at the distance of two or three miles from the eastern branch of the mountains we have described. Here he caused a large mansion to be constructed in the Dutch fashion, and having laid out his grounds with considerable care, he removed hither with his wife, and a large retinue of servants. He bore the name of Hielder, and supported the style and figure of a man of fortune.

After a few years he had a child, a daughter, which became the special object of the care and attention of both parents. Hielder himself was a somewhat stern and gloomy man, and he seemed to impress his character upon everything around him. The mansion was deeply imbedded in the tall trees, and the apartments, wainscotted with oak and feebly lighted, had a peculiarly sombre aspect. The servants gradually assumed a dark and mysterious look, and the lady herself, though very beautiful, was always dressed in black, and was distinguished by a complexion of almost deathlike paleness.

Several years passed, and the little girl, who was named Katrina, might now be seen walking with her mother amid the long, straight, shady avenues that were cut in the forest. Excepting the persons connected with the establishment, few persons visited the spot; it was therefore marked with peculiar loneliness, which seemed to increase the gloomy and mysterious aspect of the place. The proprietor of the mansion had no intercourse whatever with the people of the vicinity, and never, except once a year, when he made a short visit to the city of New York, did he leave his residence. He spent much of his time in reading, and devoted several hours each day to the instruction of his child, who now seemed to be the only object of his affections. It appeared indeed that there was some deep-rooted bitterness at his heart, which he attempted to alleviate by the education of his daughter.

The child was indeed worthy of all his care, yet she seemed the very opposite of everything around her. She had light, flaxen hair, blue eyes, snowy complexion, and an ever-laughing expression of countenance. Seated in the gloomy library with her father, she seemed like a spot of playful sunshine, lighting the recesses of a cavern.