One of our little friends seems to be suspicious that the letters we insert are invented and written by Robert Merry himself, and not by the young persons from whom they seem to come. This being the first of April, we might be excused for putting off a pleasant joke upon our readers, but it would be dishonest in us to take the credit due to others. The letters inserted are the genuine productions of the various correspondents whose signatures they bear. Every mail brings us some of these epistles, and at the end of the month, we have quite a flock of them――welcome as blue-birds in March. Good bye, till the first of May. ―――― We have a sad story to tell, at the close of this month’s Museum. Mr. Samuel S. Soden, one of the original publishers of this magazine, and one who was largely instrumental in establishing it, died at his native place――Saxonville, in this State――on the 20th of the present month, aged 25 years. He was a man of very pleasant manners, active habits, and zealous devotion to any cause which he espoused. He took hold of Merry’s Museum with great ardor, and much of its success is to be credited to his efforts at the outset of the undertaking. His disease was a lingering consumption, which he bore with great patience and even cheerfulness. We hope our young readers will bestow upon his memory a kind thought, as one who has contributed to their pleasure――and, may we not add, to their profit? MERRY’S MUSEUM. Vol. VII. MAY, 1844. No. 5. [Illustration: MAY.] May has ever been the favorite month of the poets; yet in New England it usually disappoints our expectations. In more southern climes, it unites the soft beauties of spring with the radiance of summer. At the same time that it has warmth enough to cheer and invigorate, it does not overpower with its melting influence. The following lines describe the southern May, rather than our own:―― May, sweet May, again is come, May, that frees the world from gloom; Children, children! up and see All her stores of jollity. On the laughing hedge-row’s side, She hath spread her treasures wide; She is in the greenwood shade, Where the mocking-bird bath made Every branch and every tree Ring with her sweet melody; Hill and dale are May’s own treasures. Youths, rejoice! In sportive measures Sing ye! join the chorus gay! Hail this merry, merry May!