Chapter IV: A Story about the Beetles (2)

At length one of the strangers was called to the chair, and the shaving operation was soon finished. This done, he turned to his companion, and observed, “We have but a short time, you know, to transact all our business; and now, while you are being shaved, I will step down the street and attend to an errand which has been entrusted to me.”

“Return soon,” said his friend.

“Before you are ready to move,” replied he; and upon this he left the shop, and hastened forward to perform the errand.

After a short absence only, he was again at the door of the barber’s shop; on opening which, he was informed that his friend was already gone.

“Gone!” said the other with some surprise. But as the dog, which belonged to his friend, was still sitting without the door, he ceased to wonder; and, as his friend would probably be back soon, he seated himself, and chatted with the barber, till he should return.

A half hour had passed, and he began to be impatient. At length, he went out, and walked up and down the street; but nothing could he see or learn of his friend. Again he returned to the shop, and again interrogated the barber. “Did my friend leave any message for me?” “No,” said the barber, “all I know is, that when he was shaved he went out.”

“It is strange,” said the man.

“It _is_ singular,” said the barber. “I wish I could help you, my friend. Pray command my services, as you please.”

But the stranger knew not what measures to adopt. At length, the singular movements of the dog, still there, attracted his notice. He appeared restless and watchful; and, at intervals, uttered a low and piteous howl. This startled the stranger, and the suspicion of foul play crossed his mind. He hinted his suspicion, delicately indeed, but the barber took fire and ordered him to quit the shop.

The manner of the barber rather increased than allayed his suspicion. And then the dog――his conduct was inexplicable. Nothing would induce him to quit the place. The poor animal appeared kind to the remaining stranger, but nothing would induce him to stir from the spot.

The distress of the stranger now amounted to agony. At length he ventured to make known his story to some passers-by. They stopped and listened. Others came up and listened also. A crowd was soon collected.

By some it was proposed to send for the officers of the police. Others said, “No, let us search the house.” This latter course was at length agreed upon. Accordingly, a competent number of men entered, and as the people greatly increased without, they barred the door, and began to examine. No discovery, however, was made, and the search was relinquished.

All this time, however, the dog continued at his post. At length, when the search was through, and nothing found, the barber requested the people to leave his shop, which they did. Now, coming to the door, he began to assure the people of his innocence. At this moment the dog descried him. In an instant he sprang and caught him by the throat. Persons flew to his assistance, and, at the hazard of their lives, rescued him from the grasp of the dog, who seemed urged on with indescribable madness and fury.

What could this mean? Was the dog really mad, or had the barber secretly made way with his master? One opinion only prevailed. There had in some way been foul play, and the dog was only acting out the sagacity which the God of nature had given him. It was agreed that the dog should have his liberty and be allowed to pursue the course he pleased.

The crowd fell back, the doors were opened, and the dog let loose. He sprang to the threshold, and entering the shop, smelled his way down a pair of stairs into a dark cellar, which he filled with his howlings.

The noise of the dog was heard without. Several persons entered the shop――lights were procured, and on searching the cellar, a door was found which communicated with the cellar of the adjoining house. Information was immediately given to the people above. They forthwith surrounded the house. That cellar was also searched, and there was found the murdered remains of the unfortunate stranger. On his trial, the barber confessed his guilt.

The World within a Plant.

“The fragrance of a carnation,” says a fine writer, “led me to enjoy it frequently and near.” While inhaling the powerful sweet, I heard an extremely soft, but agreeable murmuring sound. It was easy to know that some animal, within the covert, must be the musician, and that the little noise must come from some little body suited to produce it. I am furnished with apparatus of a thousand kinds for close observation. I instantly distended the lower part of the flower, and placing it in a full light, could discover troops of little insects, frisking and capering with wild jollity among the narrow pedestals that supported its leaves, and the little threads that occupied its centre. I was not cruel enough to pull out any one of them, but adapting a microscope to take in, at one view, the whole base of the flower, I gave myself an opportunity of contemplating what they were about, and this for many days together, without giving them the least disturbance.

Under the microscope, the base of the flower extended itself to a large plain; the slender stems of the leaves became trunks of so many stately cedars; the threads in the middle seemed columns of massy structure, supporting at the top their several ornaments; and the narrow places between were enlarged into walks, parterres and terraces.

On the polished bottom of these, brighter than Parian marble, walked in pairs, alone or in large companies, the winged inhabitants; these, from little dusky flies, for such only the naked eye would have shown them, were raised to glorious glittering animals, stained with living purple and with a glossy gold, that would have made all the labors of the loom contemptible in the comparison.

I could, at leisure, as they walked together, admire their elegant limbs, their velvet shoulders, and their silken wings; their backs vying with the empyrean in its hue; and their eyes, each formed of a thousand others, out-glittering the little planes on a brilliant. I could observe them here singling out their favorite females, courting them with the music of their buzzing wings, with little songs formed for their little organs, leading them from walk to walk among the perfumed shades, and pointing out to their taste the drop of liquid nectar, just bursting from some vein within the living trunk. Here were the perfumed groves, the more than myrtle shades, of the poet’s fancy realized; here the happy lovers spent their days in joyful dalliance; in the triumph of their little hearts, skipped after one another from stem to stem among the painted trees; or winged their short flight to the shadow of some broader leaf, to revel in the heights of all felicity.

Nature, the God of nature, has proportioned the period of existence of every creature to the means of its support. Duration, perhaps, is as much a comparative quality as magnitude; and these atoms of being as they appear to us, may have organs that lengthen minutes, to their perception, into years. In a flower, destined to remain but a few days, length of life, according to our ideas, could not be given to its inhabitants; but it may be, according to theirs. I saw, in the course of observation of this new world, several succeeding generations of the creatures it was peopled with; they passed under my eye, through the several successive states of the egg and the reptile form, in a few hours. After these, they burst forth, at an instant, into full growth and perfection in their wing form. In this, they enjoyed their span of being as much as we do years; feasted, sported, revelled in delights; fed on the living fragrance that poured itself out at a thousand openings at once before them; enjoyed their loves; laid the foundation for their succeeding progeny, and, after a life thus happily filled up, sunk in an easy dissolution. With what joy in their pleasures did I attend the first and the succeeding broods through the full period of their joyful lives! With what enthusiastic transport did I address to each of these yet happy creatures, Anacreon’s gratulations to the cicada:

Blissful insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning’s sweetest wine,
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy fragrant cup does fill;
All the fields that thou dost see,
All the plants, belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with ripening juice.
Man for thee does sow and plough,
Farmer he, and landlord thou.
Thee the hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year;
To thee alone, of all the earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy creature! happy thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But when thou’st drank, and danced, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
Sated with the glorious feast,
Thou retir’st to endless rest.

While the pure contemplative mind thus almost envies what the rude observer would treat unfeelingly, it naturally shrinks into itself, on the thought that there may be, in the immense chain of beings, many, though as invisible to us as we to the inhabitants of this little flower whose organs are not made for comprehending objects larger than a mite, or more distant than a straw’s breadth, to whom we may appear as much below regard as these to us.

With what derision should we treat those little reasoners, could we hear them arguing for the unlimited duration of the carnation, destined for the extent of their knowledge, as well as their action. And yet, among ourselves there are reasoners who argue, on no better foundation, that the earth which we inhabit is eternal.

The Kildeer Plover.

This bird is so called from its cry, resembling the word _kildeer_, and is well known in all parts of the United States. It builds its nest in level pastures which afford pools of water, or on sandy downs near the sea. Its nest is a mere hollow, lined with straw or weeds; the eggs are four, cream-colored, and spotted with black. The bird is about ten inches long, is of an olive-gray color, and has long legs, which enable it to wade in the water, of which it is very fond.

While rearing its young, the kildeer makes an incessant noise, and if any one approaches its nest, it flies around and over him, calling _kildeer_, _kildeer_, _te dit_, _te dit_, _te dit_, seeming to evince the utmost anxiety. If this clamor does not frighten away the intruder, it will run along the ground, with hanging wings, pretending to be lame, in order to draw off attention from the nest. It seems to be a sleepless bird, for it may be heard very late at night, in the spring and fall.

The kildeer feeds on grasshoppers and insects which it finds in fields and in pools of water, wading in search of them. It is very erect, runs with great swiftness, and flies very high in the air. Toward autumn, large flocks descend to the seashore, where they are more silent and circumspect.

* * * * *

FORCE OF TRUTH.――Some years ago, a motion was made in the house of commons, in England, for raising and embodying the militia, and for the purpose of saving time, to exercise them on the Sabbath. When the resolution was about to pass, an old gentleman stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, I have one objection to make to this, which you will find in an old book called the Bible.” The members looked at one another, and the motion was dropped.

Early Impressions.

A STORY FOR PARENTS.
FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

A gentleman and lady, the parents of an only daughter about three years old, residing in one of our southern cities, proposed, a few months since, a visit to the lady’s friends at the north. She was particularly anxious once more to see an aged mother, who, during her absence, had experienced a long and distressing sickness, and whom, considering the distance which separated their residences, she could not hope to see many times more. One day, she told Augusta, her little daughter, of the journey, and inquired how she should like it. Of course, the child was delighted with the project, and from that time it occupied many of her thoughts and much of her conversation. She should see her friends, of whom her mother had made frequent mention, and especially her grandmother, who, of all the rest, was of course an object of the greatest interest. Augusta’s inquiries, about her in particular, were often repeated, and almost daily the question was renewed when her father would be ready to start.

After her usual round of inquiries about the journey and her mother’s friends, Augusta, one day, concluded by saying, “My grandmother will be glad to see me――don’t you think she will, mother?” “Certainly,” replied the mother. “Don’t you think she will be very glad to see me?” “Yes,” said the mother, “she will almost eat you up.”

The reply was inconsiderate, but who has not heard it a hundred times? Nothing more common――but it sunk deep into the heart of the child, and from that time, though she continued daily to talk of the contemplated journey, it was with diminished joy, and sometimes with positive reluctance. The idea of being devoured, and by one with whom she had associated so many ideas of tenderness and love, preyed, as it was afterwards discovered, upon her imagination, and nearly annihilated her hitherto happy anticipations. She frequently spoke of her grandmother’s devouring her, and on one occasion gave her father a pretty serious practical idea of the manner in which she expected her aged relative would proceed. She began by telling him what her mother had said――that her grandmother loved her so well that she would eat her up. “When she sees me, she will do _so_,” said Augusta――applying her sharp little teeth to his cheek, which brought the blood to the surface, and at the same time sent a pang to the extremities of his frame――“she will do _so_!”

The time set for their departure at length arrived, and Augusta and her parents, in a few weeks, reached the place of their destination. From motives of convenience, the grandmother had, some months before, left her own residence, and was at lodgings in the village of W――――. Consequently, the parents of Augusta sought quarters at a friend’s in the immediate neighborhood.

After a few hours’ rest, a call upon the grandmother was proposed, and Augusta was to accompany her parents. But she did not wish to go. “Why, my daughter,” inquired the mother――“do you not wish to see your dear grandmother?” Augusta was silent. “You were delighted,” continued the mother, “with the idea before you left home――what has changed your mind?” Augusta made no reply――but she did not wish to go. Thinking that her reluctance was the offspring of a childish whim, or at most the effect of timidity at meeting one who, notwithstanding her relationship, was indeed a stranger, but which would be removed in a single half hour’s acquaintance, she insisted upon her going.

A walk of a few minutes brought them to the residence of this object of love and tenderness to the mother, but of distrust and terror to the daughter. They were ushered into her presence. The meeting of the younger and of her more aged mother was tender and mutually affecting. They embraced each other after the lapse of years, and each imparted and each received a kiss of friendship and affection. Tears flowed in copious streams, if not along the cheeks of her aged mother, down those of her daughter.

Augusta, young as she was, was an intent and interested spectator of the scene. She watched every look――marked every action――weighed every word. Her own time of being welcomed soon came, when the caresses of the grandmother were transferred from the daughter to the grand-daughter. She shuddered in the embrace――and her eyes, generally large and brilliant, rolled more widely and wildly; but she escaped the anticipated mastication, and at length breathed more at her ease!

Augusta was delighted, as she bounded forth from the gate into the path that led back to her lodgings, and was as much inclined to expedite her return, as she had been slow and reluctant in going.

Up to this time the intensity of her feelings was unknown, and even the nature of them was scarcely if at all suspected. But the secret was gradually developed, and at length the parents were able to explain many a circumstance and many a declaration in regard to Augusta’s change of feelings towards her grandmother, which, perhaps, with more consideration, they might have explained before, but which had been set down rather to the whim of the child than the unguarded expression of the mother.

On reaching her quarters, a young lady, to whom the casual mention had been made that Augusta expected her grandmother would eat her up, said to her――

“Well, Miss Augusta, your grandmother, it seems, didn’t eat you up.”

“No, she didn’t eat _me_,” said she, “but she tried to eat _mother_.”

Some circumstance at the moment intervening, the conversation was interrupted, but on the following day, it was renewed by Augusta herself, who, approaching her mother, said:

“Mother, what did grandma’ do to you yesterday?”

“She kissed me, my dear.”

“She didn’t kiss you mother――she _bit_ you.”

“No, my daughter, you mistake, she did not bite me, but she kissed me affectionately.”

“She _did_ bite you, mother――I’m sure, I saw her, and she made you cry.”

“My daughter――why!”

“You said, mother, one day when we were at home, that grandmother would eat _me_ up, but she tried to eat _you_.”

The grandmother, as already intimated, had kissed her daughter fondly――with a mother’s ardor. Augusta saw her lips impressed on the mother’s cheek, and the tears starting fast, and rolling down; and she mistook the kiss for a bite, and thought those tears of joy were tears of pain. The whole mystery now vanished. “She will love you so much as to eat you up,” misconstrued, had been for weeks and months a sort of death-note sounding in the child’s imagination. This story, however improbable it may seem, is literally true, and may show how careful of early impressions, a parent should be. C. G.

About the Chicadees,

FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

A good many years ago, a man named Alexander Wilson, a Scotchman by birth, wrote a large book, called “American Ornithology,” in which he described almost all the birds belonging to this country, and gave an account of their nests and eggs, their food and habits, and migrations, or removing from one part of the country to another, &c. He also made pictures of all the birds described in his book, which were beautifully colored with the natural colors of the birds themselves. Since then, another celebrated naturalist, (as those men are called, who study the works of nature,) Mr. John J. Audubon, has made a still larger book, with pictures, of the size of life, of all the birds described by Mr. Wilson and many others, and colored also in the same beautiful manner, and sometimes having several pictures of the same bird, in different attitudes, and showing its different habits, such as procuring its food, building or sitting on its nest, defending its young, &c. One copy of these books, (which consists of five very large volumes, as large as a small table, besides the volumes which contain the descriptions and accounts of the habits or biography of the birds,) costs the very great sum of one thousand dollars. It is very beautiful indeed, and I hope all Robert Merry’s black and blue-eyed friends will one day have an opportunity to look at either this or Mr. Wilson’s book, and see such beautiful pictures as they contain.

As almost all good boys and girls are fond of seeing birds, and hearing about them, I think they will like to read something more about them in Merry’s Museum; and this is the reason why I propose to write about some of them. I hope, too, that none of those children who read the Museum, will be guilty of wantonly killing the little birds, or robbing their nests of the eggs and young, as some cruel boys do, but will learn to love them and treat them kindly. I will here copy a short story from Mr. Audubon’s book, that I have been telling about.

“On the 4th of January, we stopped at Bonnet Carré, where I entered a house to ask some questions about birds. I was received by a venerable French gentleman, whom I found in charge of about a dozen children of both sexes, and who was delighted to hear that I was a student of nature. He was well acquainted with my old friend Charles Carré, and must, I thought, be a good man, for he said he never suffered any of his pupils to rob a bird of her eggs or young, although, said he with a smile, ‘they are welcome to peep at them and love them.’ The boys at once surrounded me, and from them I received satisfactory answers to most of my inquiries respecting birds.”

This shows what feelings good children should have towards birds.

I will now say something about the Chicadee, or Black-capped Titmouse, as the naturalists name him. He is a beautiful bird, although his colors are very plain and simple. His head is covered with a black spot, that looks like a cap; from which he takes the designation of _Black-capped_. Why he is called _Titmouse_, I cannot tell. The sides of his head and neck are of a very pure white, but he has another black spot on his throat, which ends in a point on each side of his neck. The contrast of the deep black spots on his head and neck with the pure white around them, gives him a beautiful appearance. His back and wings are brownish ash-color, or bluish-brown, the wings rather darker, and underneath he is a brownish white. I presume almost all my little readers, in the country especially, know him and call him the Chicadee; for he is so called from his note or song, which sounds very much like Chicadee-dee-dee, Chicadee-dee-dee-dee, and which you may hear almost continually while he is hopping about from tree to tree, and from limb to limb, and exhibiting himself in almost every imaginable position, gathering his food.

Mr. Wilson has a beautiful picture of one hanging on the under side of a twig and bending his black-capped head over it to pick something from it, as you may frequently see them do. Mr. Wilson says in his book, “They also frequently visit the orchards, particularly to fall, the sides of the barn and barn-yard in the same pursuit,――trees in such situations being generally much infested with insects. We, therefore, with pleasure, rank this little bird among the farmer’s friends, and hope our rural citizens will always recognise him as such.” In the same account he tells us how they make their nests, &c., as follows: “About the middle of April they begin to build, choosing the deserted hole of a squirrel, or woodpecker, and sometimes, with incredible labor, digging out one for themselves. The female lays six white eggs, marked with minute specks of red; the first brood appear about the beginning of June, and the second towards the end of July; the whole of the family continue to associate together during winter.

“They always go in little flocks, or companies, probably, in general, of more than one brood, and frequently are accompanied with the white-breasted nuthatch, or tomtit, as he is sometimes called in the country, and also with the small woodpecker, and sometimes, in spring and fall, with the golden-crested wren,――a beautiful and very small bird, with a bright flame-colored spot on the crown of his head,――and sometimes by the brown creeper. Their food consists, in a great part, of insects, though at some times in the year, partly of seeds and of various kinds of oily substances. They frequently in the winter come around our houses and woodsheds, to pick among whatever offal is thrown out from the kitchen, and often become very familiar. I sometimes hang up bones and little bits of meat by my woodshed, to which many of them continue to resort and pick at them, day after day. Sometimes they venture into my wash-room; and one day this winter, they were so bold that I clapped my hand on one as he was feeding, and caught him and took him into my kitchen, where, after a few minutes, he began to feed upon a bone that I hung up there. He also sung his chicadee-dee-dee several times while I kept him in the house.

“He has another note or song, which, although not so merry and cheerful as his common one of chicadee, is much softer and sweeter, but is not so often heard. On fine pleasant days of summer, and especially on a delightful spring morning, you may hear him, perched on the top of a tree, utter at short intervals a note of two syllables, sounding like the word Phe-be,――the sound rising on the first syllable, and falling on the last, and sounding delightfully sweet.”

The Two Travellers.

A FABLE.
FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM, FROM THE FRENCH.

A cunning fellow named Thomas, and his friend Lubin, were going to a neighboring city, on foot. Thomas found upon the road-side a well-filled purse. Lubin, with a contentful face, exclaimed, “What a windfall for US!” “For US is not quite right: say rather for ME,” replied Thomas. Lubin said no more, but in leaving the plain, they discovered some robbers hid in the adjacent wood. Thomas trembled, but not without cause, and turning to Lubin, said, “We are lost.” “WE is not the true word, but YOU,” replied Lubin, and then scampered away. Thomas, almost petrified with fear, stood still, and was soon caught and gave up the purse.

MORAL.――He who only thinks of himself in his happy days, will have very few friends in his unhappy ones. G. V. K.

To our Correspondents.

We are under many obligations to our little friends, who write us letters, and pay the postage. If they do not pay the postage, they do not often come to us; and when they do, they receive no notice.

We insert the letter of our Providence admirers, and will comply with their request in part; they shall see a piece of music in the next number.

We have many letters on hand, not seeming to require a particular reply; we hope this acknowledgment will be sufficient for all our unanswered correspondents.

* * * * *

_Providence, April 7, 1843._
MR. ROBERT MERRY:

SIR――You will oblige a large number of yearly subscribers,
if you will put some music in your Museum. We have seen
only one piece of music in all the numbers that you have
issued for the year 1843. If you will put a piece of flute
music in your next number, you will oblige a number of your
Providence friends. They set a great deal by your work
here, and if you would put a piece of music in it, you
would have a great many more subscribers. We shall do all
in our power to get you some, and we presume many others
will. Mr. J. E. Risley is your agent here; he says he is
doing very well.

We remain your interested and obligated friends,

GEORGE J――――s. | JACOB P――――n.
CHARLES J――――s. | JOSEPH W――――d.
JOHN BROWN F――――s. | J. H――――s.

* * * * *

_Sandwich, April 10, 1843._
MY DEAR FRIEND MERRY.

I am very much pleased with your Museum, and I hope your
stories may do me good. I am going to Boston soon, and I
hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. I like the
story of the Siberian Sable-Hunter, and Thomas Trotter,
very much. I go to school all the time now, and my time is
so taken up with my studies that I hope you will pardon
me when I say that I have not yet read quite the whole of
Philip Brusque. I feel sorry for this, but I am not yet ten
years old. I hope you will allow me to say, and take it
kindly, that I am often much disappointed in not getting my
number in season. Many little girls get theirs sooner than
I get mine; and I wish you would say to those who have the
care of sending the Magazine to the various subscribers,
that I should like to have mine sent sooner, and directed
to _me_ instead of my father. I have tried to get
subscribers for you, but have not succeeded; but I will try
again during this volume,――for I think you offer a handsome
reward. I have been much pleased with your allegories, and
particularly with the Garden of Peace, and I hope they will
make a good impression on my mind, and I have no doubt it
was your design they should. I am sorry we do not have
painted pictures in the Museum now, for it made the Natural
History more interesting. I must tell you, when they bound
my numbers, they kept all my painted pictures, and did not
put them into the volume which they bound. This grieves me
much, and I thought I would tell it to you. I have a little
sister, almost three years younger than myself, and she
likes to read your _Little Leaves_ very much, and thinks
you are very kind to remember such little ones. Please
excuse all mistakes.

From a blue-eyed friend, EMILY C. C――――s.

* * * * *

PUZZLE.

Blue-eyed Mary, of N. Y., sends us this. Can any one guess it?

I am a word of twelve letters.

My 7, 8, 4, 5 is a kind of feeling often manifested.
8, 6, 7 is a kind of wood.
1, 8, 6, 6 is a kind of fish.
6, 8, 7, 8, 12, 11 is a deserted tract of country.
1, 12, 11, 6, 6 is a common metal.
7, 5, 8, 12, 4 is a part of the body.
6, 7, 2, 3, 3 is a covering to an article of food.
8, 12, 4, 6 has done much to enlighten the world.
1, 5, 3, 4 is a part of a dress.
12, 8, 4 is a troublesome animal.
1, 5, 4, 6 have ruined thousands.
1, 5, 3, 3 is used to give warning.
2, 11, 6, 4 is a point of the compass.
8, 6, 6 is a useful animal.
1, 5, 6, 4 is the superlative degree.
9, 5, 1, 12, 8 is a beautiful animal.
6, 11, 3, 4 is an article used in cookery.
3, 8, 4, 7 is used in buildings.
4, 11, 1, 3, 2 is an article of furniture.
7, 5, 3, 3 is what all men should shun.
3, 8, 6, 4 is an article used by shoemakers.
6, 11, 12, 8, 7 is a common name among females.
5, 8, 6, 4, 2, 12 is a day much celebrated by the church.
3, 11, 4, 7, 5 is an instrument used by turners.
6, 7, 11, 8, 12, 6 is used by tailors.
4, 5, 3, 3 is the name of a hero.
7, 11, 4 is a covering for the head.
11, 1, 5, 3 is a celebrated antediluvian.
7, 8, 12, 5 is the name of an animal.
My whole is the name of a good man.

LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.

Good morning, my little friends, Black-eyes, Blue-eyes, and Gray-eyes! It is now June. What a beautiful month it is! How lively and happy are the birds! How pleasantly the grasshoppers sing! How sweet is the air, how many thousand flowers are blossoming around! How green is the meadow, the hill-side, and the forest! How blue is the distant mountain! Indeed, June is a beautiful month.

Do you see the picture at the head of this page? Do you notice the boys and the girls in the garden? Do you see the flowers around, and observe how happy these children seem to be?

I am afraid Bob Merry will hardly be welcome, when everything out of doors is so lovely. Well, be it so; let the Museum lie on the shelf till a wet day, and then, my little friends may take it up, and read about Inquisitive Jack, and the spiders, and such other matters as please them.

Inquisitive Jack.