Summary

Various Merry's Museum, Volumes V-VI (1843… (1842)

I must tell you that, when a bee sets off from a flower, to return to the hive, it always flies home in a straight line. It is one of the amazing instincts of this little creature, that, wherever it may be, it has the power of going to its home without deviation from a direct course. It may wander in the woods, it may sport amid the mazes of the flowery meadow, yet still the little creature never gets its head turned, never gets lost. The moment that its honey-bags are filled, it mounts upward on the breeze, and, without hesitation, speeds like an arrow to its mark.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Merry's Museum, Volumes V-VI (1843… (1842)

Occasionally, the black clouds are driven back, and gleams of sunshine creep over the land. A southerly wind, too, occasionally breathes upon us, and it seems as if the genial warmth of autumn would triumph in the great contest of nature. But, as the days advance, the strength of winter increases, and we slide into December, when its dominion becomes complete. Like an unrelenting despot, it then binds the river and the lake in icy chains; it sweeps away the last vestige of summer, and marks the boundaries of its realm with a dazzling mantle of snow.
Such is November in New England.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Merry's Museum, Volumes V-VI (1843… (1842)

So Lissa loved him, and he was happy.
Thus, Limping Tom grew up. And now he was a cat. It was his duty to guard the house, to chase away the rats, and keep the mice in order. He looked grave, and seemed to feel the responsibility of his station. But still, he did not altogether lose his love of fun. Most cats, when they grow old, grow dull and uninteresting. They lay aside their gambols and frolics, and amusements, and accomplishments; they prowl about at night with melancholy cries; doze away life in the chimney corner, and if you chance to tread on their tails, woe be to you!
Source: Gutenberg

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