And let me tell you, my black-ey’d and blue-ey’d friends, that this old walnut-tree was like many an old person you may meet with. You will remark that, in this case, it was when winter had come, or was near at hand, that the fruit was ripe, and ready for those who would climb up for it and gather it. And let me tell you, that old people, like this tree, have many a good nut to crack, many a good story to tell, to those who will climb up in the lap and ask for it.
This is my view of the matter; and I hope that young people, instead of running away from me, as a crusty, crabbed, one-legged old chap, will treat me as I did the old walnut-tree—give it a shake, and see if the nuts don’t rattle down!
I am not fond of making great promises; but, as I am anxious to have my readers, who have set out on a journey with me, still keep me company—at least for one year more—I am ready to engage to do my best to please them. I shall, if I live, tell the rest of my own story, and bring the history of Brusque to a close. The tale of the Sable-Hunters, the travels of Thomas Trotter, the stories of the Indians, will be continued and completed; and a variety of other things are in store.
I can promise one thing more—and that is, some tales from the pen of Peter Parley. That pleasant, kind-hearted old man is no more; but I knew him better than anybody else, and all his papers are in my hands. Among them are several tales, and I intend to publish them in my magazine. My young readers, perhaps, do not know how shabbily poor old Peter was treated. The fact was, that several people in this country, as well as in others, wrote stories, and put his name to them; thus pretending that they were actually his! Some of these were very silly, and some were very improper. This cut Peter to the heart, and it served greatly to shorten his days. I am sorry that, even now, people are palming off trumpery works of their own as Peter Parley’s.
But the tales that I propose to give, are genuine; there is no mistake. They are by the same hand that wrote the tales about Europe, Asia, Africa, and America; and I hope they may be as acceptable as those were.
I return a thousand thanks to my many young friends, who have written me letters, whether of criticism, advice, or commendation. I am glad to know that so many of them like Bill Keeler: let them be assured his whole story will come out in due time. I shall be very glad to get the bear story, which L. S., of Vermont, offers to tell. The Indiana legend of the Wolf and the Wild-cat, is received, and will appear soon. Jane R—— will accept my thanks for—she knows what! If she were not so many hundred miles off, I should ask her to let me see whether she is a blue-eyed or black-eyed friend. The basket of chestnuts were duly received from Alice D——, and were very welcome. Ralph H—— will see that I have done as he requested; I have given a portrait of the fine gray squirrel he sent me, in this number. He is well, and as lively as ever.
Robert Merry.
WINTER—A SONG.
THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.
