During the thirty-two years of the Museum's
existence, it wasn't the only thing to change. The nation's attitudes
about children and about their literature changed as well. At the
beginning, children were equated with raw material, to be shaped into good
citizens of the republic through proper educational methods and proper
messages in their literature; by the Civil War, children were seen as
entities in and of themselves, to be kept separate and sheltered from the
adult world and gaining maturity at the cost of their own innocence. This
change in attitudes fueled a change in the literature provided for children.
Always a force of socialization, literature shifted as the overt didacticism
of antebellum children's literature gave way in the 1860s to a more covert
didacticism couched in works emphasizing entertainment. This shift was
prevalent not only in novels intended for children, but in their
periodicals; and the emphasis here moved from religion to more secular
concerns, and then to entertainment. This period saw new competition for
children's books and periodicals in the rise of the dime novel and the
family story paper, and authors, editors, and publishers seem to have
responded in kind.
Put simply, the child who was to become an adult in the
period before the Civil War had become the child who was to redeem the adult
by the period following it (Wishy, 85). Seventeenth-century Americans had
seen children as creatures born in sin and eager to exercise their sinful
free wills; the child's character was already formed, and it was up to the
parent to break this immutable and stubborn
little will and make the child recognize its own natural tendencies toward
evil (Heininger in Century, 2; Calvert in Century, 60; Wishy,
11). As the eighteenth century began to consider sin more in terms of
individual failing than primordial curse, adults began to see children as
beings whose characters could be re-formed and molded into the proper shapes;
this idea was reinforced by John Locke's theory of the child as a tabula rasa
to be shaped as the parent saw fit (Heininger in Century, 2).
The change wasn't universal, however; see, for example, Francis Wayland's
treatment of his rebellious toddler in
"A Case of Conviction," printed in
1833. For the most part, however, by the 1840s, children had begun to be
viewed as beings with a natural tendency toward wickedness who could,
nevertheless, be influenced through proper methods (Wishy, 18, 21). Sinful the
child may be, but the parent -- not just the sin -- influenced the child's
future character, and the parent's job was to "weed out" sin rather than
break the child's will (Wishy, 23). Child-rearing became a rational process,
and parents were encouraged to believe that with the proper methods they
could produce the proper individual: discipline and reason, with love, would
result in an individual of good character (Wishy, 42; Miller and Swanson, 7;
Sunley, 151). Nothing was too insignificant to be essential to the future
character of the child. Thus, parents were encouraged to toilet-train their
children early, for discipline of bodily habits was basic to discipline of
the mind and spirit, and the child was to learn early obedience to its
parents (Miller and Swanson, 7; Sunley, 157). Play, once considered a
manifestation of the child's depraved nature, now was seen as natural, though
it was to be channeled so as to teach the child usefulness and virtue
(Heininger in Century, 6). The central parent in child-rearing was the
mother, not only because it was assumed that she would have the most contact with
the child, but because by this time she already had been "enthroned" in her
role as inspiring angel of the household (Kuhn, 35). Home -- which came to be
viewed as a warm, nurturing retreat from the outside world (Bridges,
"Warm") -- was considered the proper environment for the child's early years.
Though the apprenticeship system of the eighteenth century, which had taken
children outside the home to be educated, did not really decline until the
1880s (Kett, 145-52), from the beginning of the century,
adults were concerned with providing special environments in which children
could be influenced and educated in a protected environment: educators and
reformers sought to "purify the environments of the young, to withdraw them
from debasing community temptations, and to immerse them in networks of good
influence." (Finkelstein, 177) Gradually, the home came to be considered the
appropriate place for children in their early years, a gently nurturing place
where children would be safe in the family circle; when the children were age
6, the schools -- equally protective, equally pure, and equally nurturing --
were to take over (Finkelstein, 118-30).
Training the child properly was essential, for the future
of the republic depended on the character of its citizens. Responsibility in
the republic lay with each individual, so the morality of each was paramount;
Horace Mann warned in 1845 that
... if we do not prepare children to become good citizens; -- if
we do not develop their capacities, if we do not enrich their minds with
knowledge, imbue their hearts with the love of truth and duty, and a
reverence for all things sacred and holy, then our republic must go down to
destruction as others have gone before it; ... (in Heininger in Century,
10)
Growing concern about urbanization and industrialization also made proper
training and education of children important, for adults were fearful that
traditional virtues and values were being swept away in a rapidly-changing
society (Heininger in Century, 3; Wishy, 77-8).
The ideal product of this careful, rational nurturing was
a child who was "at an early age a self-maintaining moral being" (Sunley, 162).
Self-discipline was an important character trait throughout the century, but
now it was linked with an active conscience and an awareness of all the events
of daily life (Heininger in Century, 4). In a world where an
individual's every ideal and impulse was intrinsically either moral or
immoral (Wishy, 111), parents were to form a being with an active conscience
and a certain tendency to introspection, for only by weighing each action
before it was taken could an individual be certain that it was correct
(Heininger in Century, 4; Wishy, 56). Self-disciplined and able to
govern her emotions, the child also was to be naturally obedient to parents,
to other adults, and to God (Finkelstein and Vandell in
Heininger, 77-8; Heininger in Century, 4). The character traits
of the winner of a contemporary board game -- "Mansion of Happiness" -- were
those of the winner in life as well, as were the attributes of the loser:
Whoever possesses PIETY, HONESTY, TEMPERANCE, GRATITUDE,
PRUDENCE, TRUTH, CHASTITY, SINCERITY, HUMILITY, INDUSTRY, CHARITY, HUMANITY
OR GENEROSITY, is entitled to advance ... toward the Mansion of Happiness.
Whoever possesses AUDACITY, CRUELTY, IMMODESTY, OR INGRATITUDE, must return
to his former station and not even think of Happiness, much less
partake of it. (in Heininger in Century, 8)
(That the game is almost impossible to win reinforces a notion that the
correct way to live is difficult, but ultimately rewarding.) Independence
also was prized -- though not at the price of the child's obedience -- as was
"usefulness," and children were encouraged to "[b]e ever ready to deny
yourself in all needful ways that you may make others happy, and that when
you die, you may feel that you have not lived in vain." (in Wishy, 25)
As the century proceeded, attitudes toward children
gradually changed. In works on child-rearing and in periodical literature,
the innocence of childhood began to be emphasized, and adults began to alter
their expectations not only of what the child should be like, but of what
should be expected of him. Concern began to be felt that children should
not be overburdened by responsibility or by overwork, and "precocity" --
whether intellectual, social, or sexual -- became anathema (Finkelstein,
125). (See also Samuel Goodrich's take on the subject in
"Precocious Children."] The author
of what may be
a satirical
piece in 1856 blamed modern luxuries and "school-room steam-press systems"
for the "deterioration" of physical stature among contemporary children: the
acceleration of learning forced mere boys "to accomplish more processes in
the text books of the sciences, than [had] ripe scholars of the past"; and the
result would be that "each succeeding generation will grow 'beautifully less'.
Mountains will become mole-hills; mole-hills, atoms; till the souls of
mankind are completely disembodied." (Talmon) Teachers were urged not to
overburden their pupils with study (Heininger in Century, 16;
Wishy, 70).
By the late 1850s, children were seen as naturally
innocent, enthusiastic, and loving, and adults were encouraged to appreciate
them for what they were rather than for what they would become. Beginning
in the 1830s was an emphasis on the loving aspects of God, and a growing
idea that not only was moral righteousness the most important human
attribute, but that a loving heart could lead one to salvation; and, as a
result, the child began to be valued for its naturally-loving character
(Heininger in Century, 11). Though some authors of periodical
literature still emphasized the child's natural depravity ("Address"), most
writers viewed children as founts of innocence, sweetness, and spiritual
inspiration. Taken by the "summer region of childhood," they wrote in terms
of the child's "pure associations, which for many are the sole light that
ever brings them back from sin and despair to the heaven of their infancy,"
her "reveries of innocent fancy," and her "moments of priceless idleness,
saturated with sunshine, blissful, aimless moments, when every angel is near"
(Higginson, "Murder," 354-5). The "artlessness" of childhood was valued and
was associated with the "artlessness" of nature; paintings of children often
put them into sunshiny rural settings (Heininger in Century, 14;
Fink, 72). Childhood was associated with freedom, especially for
nineteenth-century women, who often equated puberty with the loss of liberty
(MacLeod in Century). Though in earlier centuries the child was viewed as
someone who improved as she got older, now, the maturing process became one
of a loss of innocence (Calvert in Century, 60).
Especially popular after the Civil War was the image in
child-rearing manuals of the child as a "tender bud" to be gently nurtured
rather than forced (Bloom, 192), and parents were urged to develop the child's
natural propensities for goodness. The parent was to take into account the
special nature of the child in decisions regarding him: "No longer were
children blank slates awaiting parental and societal chalk. Rather, embedded
in the nature of childhood were special needs for parents to discover and act
upon." (Heininger in Century, 16) Manuals encouraged parents not to
expect too much from their children and to take into account their lack of
maturity and experience; children were to be regarded as individuals with
behavior peculiar to them because they were children, and their faults were
to be blamed not on a natural tendency toward wickedness, but on immaturity.
Though obedience to parents -- along with the rest of the traditional code
of conduct -- was still of primary importance, parents were urged to be more
lenient in their use of authority (Wishy, 96-8; Miller and Swanson, 5). Play
was to be encouraged, for it was a natural activity for children and would
lead them to become "wiser & better": "instead of grafting the child's
pleasures onto the greater good of moral and academic instruction, the
youngster's innate propensity for play came first; learning was secondary and
would follow naturally in time." (Heininger in Century, 16) Crawling,
viewed as "animalistic" by eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century adults,
was in the 1870s finally accepted as a natural, and even endearing, activity
(Calvert in Century, 35, 44).
As the period proceeded, there was a growing separation
between children and adults, in their lives and their concerns. Regarded as
individuals unspoiled by the world and in need of special environments to
keep them that way, children and their world gradually came to be seen as
separate from the rest of humanity. Representations of children in art
emphasized a sense of timelessness and isolation, outside "the real world of
causal events" (Fink, 71); and a stylized formula emerged which emphasized
the child's cherubic physical qualities (Heininger in Century, 23-4).
Special furniture designed especially for children not only served to restrict
their movements but to isolate them further from adults; a child safe in a
special crib or high chair, or using specially-sized eating utensils, did not
require as much direct supervision by parents (Calvert in Century, 43-4;
Heininger in Century, 19). Children began to be referred to in
nonhuman terms, as "pet," "kitten," "bunny," "lamb," and a host of other
small and innocent creatures (Heininger in Century, 15). A widening
split gradually developed between the duties children could perform and the
duties considered important in adult life (Heininger in Century, 21),
and parents were urged not to push their children into adult decisions and
adult roles by "consulting" with them about dress or other matters (E., 366-7).
By the 1870s, children were seen as completely separate from the rest of
humanity, powerless, decorative, unspoiled beings who did not mix with the
rest of the world, characterized as "gems and treasures, pets and plants --
anything but people." (Heininger in Century, 26) At the beginning
of the century cherished for what they would become, by the end of the century,
children were so valued for what they were that they were isolated from adult
life as much as possible.
The change in attitudes toward children triggered a
change in their literature as well. Throughout the century, children's
books and periodicals were considered a force for socializing the child, but
the early emphasis on didacticism slowly shifted in favor of entertainment.
Tales of adventure became popular for boys -- though never without moral
content -- and equally-moral domestic novels for girls became prevalent. A
flurry of story papers and dime novels -- deplored by most adults --
threatened to bury "respectable" literature for children, and fantasy novels
-- though not as popular in America as in England -- began to appear.
Before the 1860s, didacticism reigned supreme in
children's literature. In calm, reasonable, and measured tones, authors
presented to their young readers calm, reasonable, and measured works which
taught the joys of self-control and submission, and the evils of ambition
and discontent. There was a certain soberness about these works, for
"[r]eading was considered a serious matter, and children's books were
expected to be above reproach." (Kelly, Mother, 92) So influential
was literature considered to be that "[o]nly books that imparted 'useful
knowledge' and 'strengthened character' were considered appropriate for young
minds." (Boles, 514) No distracting fantasy or high adventure was allowed, and works
were grounded in reality so that the reader could more easily apply the
lessons therein to real life (MacLeod, 41), and so the child's intellect would
be tied to truth instead of to distracting and impractical fantasy (Wishy,
52). Often bluntly stated, the lessons each work was supposed to teach were
readily apparent to their readers and so important that even the
irreproachable Jacob Abbott -- whose young creation, Rollo, has become
symbolic of his age -- felt the need to defend himself to adults perusing
Rollo's Travels because the
moral code wasn't baldly stated:
The parent, who may ... take up this volume, will find, that
in this ... there are many pages in which there is no direct effort made to
convey moral instruction. It does not follow from this ... that the perusal
of the pages may not exert a considerable influence, of a salutary
character, upon the mind of the child. (Abbott, n. p.)
Rollo, as perfect companion to his readers, was to be contagious, and
children were to emulate him by "catching the spirit of docility and
gentleness which exhibits itself in his conduct and character."
(Abbott, n. p.) Works such as
Samuel Goodrich's Peter Parley books led
his young readers through foreign lands and the history of the world via
works like The Tales of Peter Parley about Africa, The Tales of
Peter Parley about Asia, Parley's Tales about Ancient Rome. with some
Account of Modern Italy, Parley's Tales about Ancient and Modern
Greece, and Peter Parley's Tales about the World. Parley also
taught his readers about botany, wild animals, astronomy, and the Bible.
However, for the most part, moral education took central importance,
possibly because moral education seemed more necessary in a society with few
certainties either in morality or in daily life (MacLeod, 26-8; Rodgers,
124). Moral education also was more important than was intellectual
education in a republic, where the moral character of the citizens had
serious repercussions in the governing of the nation. (MacLeod, 25-7, 39-40).
In fact, moral education imbued all of children's fiction before the 1860s,
for "the chief target of fictional instruction was the moral character of the
young" (MacLeod, 24). As he traveled the world, Peter Parley laced his
geography lessons with comments on moral conduct; Jacob Abbott's Rollo, as he
grew up, wrestled with the problems of obeying, being polite, and controlling
his emotions, as he provided the reader with an example of good behavior from
which to learn. The few fairy tales, like those collected in Mrs. E. Oakes
Smith's The Moss Cup, were presented more for the morals they
taught than for the entertainment they provided.
The moral code presented in literature for children was
immutable and absolute; presenting in textbooks and fiction a moral universe
where all had meaning, the authors provided their readers with moral
certainties (Elson, Guardians, 338; Wishy, 61; MacLeod, 137).
In works for children, all in life was to be judged in moral terms, for in
God's universe people and their actions were inherently moral or immoral
(Elson, Guardians, 338; Wishy, 61), and all ethics and morals came
from God (Elson, Guardians, 339). As a result, literature before the
war was fairly uniform not only in purpose, but in moral structure
(Kelly, Mother, 92; Wishy, 66). Of central importance in children's
books was individual character, for life was a trial, and youth a time to
prepare for adulthood (Wishy, 58). Works of literature presented to its
readers a world that was threatening and impermanent; even in the circle of
family and home, the world was imperfect and life was unreliable: death could
alter everything, and one's happiness and fortune were impermanent; charity
and social institutions were poor and uncertain refuges from the horrors of
poverty (MacLeod, 55-67). Thus, it was up to the individual to be
self-reliant so as to be independent of events (MacLeod, 67-8, 91-2).
Moderation and self-control were primary, for the first sin was the
beginning of a downward path (Wishy, 57). The ideal was a child who
controlled her emotions, intent on living up to her parents' standards, on
developing a conscience sensitive to all she said or did, and on internalizing
a rigid set of moral standards (MacLeod, 76-81; Wishy, 56). Impulse became
anathema: "Child readers drawn into such stories found idleness locked in
war with industry, desire set against patience, grandiose daydreams in contest
with sober, everyday duties -- all the temptations of impulse pitted against
a code of habitual self- control." (Rodgers, 123) Rollo discussed with his
father all temptations to excess or improper emotions and was encouraged to
reflect rationally on all that befell him. Sober, obedient, selfless, and
submissive, the child in the storybooks was grateful to his parents and aware
that his goal in life was to be "useful" to others (MacLeod, 71-5, 86). He
also was to avoid such sins as selfishness, ambition, and discontent with
where God had placed him economically and geographically (MacLeod, 84-5).
Children's books concerned themselves with duty rather than excitement
(MacLeod, 41), and the child was to do the same.
Literature for children reflected, too, a world where
America represented all that was good, a nation under God's special care
(Elson, Guardians, 341-2; Boles, 521; England, 196). Though poverty
existed, it wasn't the fault of the economic or social system, but of the
poverty-stricken individual (Crandall, 5-6). The best anyone could do for the
poor was to give them charity, for which they were to be properly grateful,
and through which lay their only chance to help themselves; for those with
means, charity was a duty (MacLeod, 99-100). In a nation where all --
farmers, laborers, or merchants -- were moral and good if they worked hard
(MacLeod, 94-5), one was to be content with one's station in life and not
desire to be above where God put him: "Know thy place" was more important
than "Know thyself" (Lindberg, 74). Few social issues made their way
into these works, for few were uncontroversial enough to be safe; the
temperance issue and anti-war sentiments were always deemed safe enough to
argue in children's books (MacLeod, 104-8). However, slavery wasn't. Few
works for children dealt with the subject (MacLeod, 116); Jacob Abbott,
though anti-slavery, dealt, not with the institution, but with race relations
(Quinlivan). Attacks on slavery -- few as they were -- ceased in the early
1850s when tension in the nation began to get grim; writers switched to pleas
against sectionalism, urging their readers to consider compromise
(Crandall, 17).
In the 1850s, there were the beginnings of a loosening in
children's books; moral advice was more deeply buried in stories that were
more exciting than before (MacLeod, 188). Characters became more emotional --
from the parents, who had been models of
reason and calm, to the children; and sentiment and emotional attachment
were emphasized in family relationships (MacLeod, 127-9). The works
themselves were more sentimental and emotional (MacLeod, 132). Such moral but
sensational popular literature as weekly story papers began to find their way
into the hands of children -- who were not the original audience, but who were
recognized as part of it; and it wasn't long before they had story papers
of their own (Noel, Villains, 217-19).
The 1860s saw a veritable explosion in children's books,
and for the first time entertainment surged to the fore, though moral
lessons still provided the structure. Authors were cognizant that children --
though to be envied their innocence and enthusiasm -- were still
adults-in-training and needed to be taught about the duties of life and
about correct social behavior (MacLeod in Century). However, stories
with amusement and adventure as their primary features began to gain
acceptance and were published by the score. Beadle's dime novels apparently
led the way in 1860 with the popular Malaeska, by Anne Stephens (which
was reprinted from a much earlier gift annual), and Seth Jones, by
Edward Ellis. While not originally intended for children, these little works
in salmon-colored covers
soon found a
place in the pockets of boys who eagerly devoured the adventures --
especially of Seth Jones, the quintessential Indian-slaying frontiersman. At
about this time, a split began between works aimed primarily at boys and works
aimed primarily at girls, with tales of action and adventure on the one side
and family stories of domestic life on the other. "Oliver Optic" [William
Taylor Adams], whose "optical delusions" Louisa May Alcott deplored in
Eight Cousins, began issuing his boys' adventure novels in 1858, and
it wasn't many years before adventures by John Townsend Trowbridge and
Horatio Alger were published and found almost immediate success. In 1863
was published the first of the amazingly-popular Little Prudy series, by
Sophie May [Rebecca Clarke], which was aimed primarily at an audience of
girls. Four years later, Elsie Dinsmore began her soggy saga in the first
of 28 volumes by Martha Finley; and, of course, in 1868 was published the
first half of the classic work for girls: Little Women, by Louisa
May Alcott.
This period saw the publication of other works, too,
which appealed to both boys and girls. Fanny
Fern began to write for children in 1857; and Hans Brinker; or. The
Silver Skates was published in 1865 by Mary Mapes Dodge, whose stories
already had delighted the readers of the Museum. Fantasies and fairy
tales, such as Jane Andrews' The Seven Little Sisters Who Live on the
Round Ball that Floats in the Air (1861), Una Savin's The Little
Gentleman in Green (1865), and Mary Mann's The Flower People
(1865) also began to appear; the American publication of Charles Dodgson's
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in 1865 spurred the publication of a
few works of fantastic fiction, though the genre did not gain much
acceptance in America until the twentieth century. Such groups as the
Ladies' Commission on Sunday-School Books deplored the exciting, sensational
literature many children read, blaming even "thrilling" Sunday-school novels
for children running away from home (Literature/ Sunday-Schools," 458) and
bemoaning the "plethora" of literature available, calling "promiscuous"
reading "unwholesome" ("Ladies,'" 710). However, other reviewers celebrated
the change: "We have ceased to think it the part of wisdom ... to insist
upon making of [children] little moralists, metaphysicians, and
philosophers," wrote one (Osgood, 725); "It is not very long since that all
the juvenile books seemed conducted in the principle of definition of duty,
'doing what you don't want to,"' wrote another, "for the books that were
interesting were not considered good, and the 'good' ones were certainly not
interesting" (in Kelly, Mother, 7); and a reviewer of the
children's
books of 1866 sighed with nostalgia, remembering earlier works, but
emphasized that children really needed a mixture of fancy with their fact and
implied the importance of adventure novels by giving "the first place" in the
review to works of this sort (Higginson, "Children's").
In all these works, the moral code traditional in
antebellum works still operated, though with some exceptions. The
importance of religion, of hard work, of generosity, and of selflessness
were still stressed; but there was a decreased emphasis on introspection and
self-control. Anger and emotional outbursts were considered inappropriate;
and characters such as Alcott's Jo March and Alger's Ragged Dick learned to
curb their impulses to anger and extravagance. However, though the
protagonists in works of this period learned a certain amount of moderation
in action and emotion, the deep, detailed introspection of earlier works
like Abbott's Rollo books was missing. The tone of these works was
different, too. There was a new lightness, and humor was as emphasized as
more serious concerns. The children in these works were portrayed more
realistically than were children in works of earlier years. The hero of
Thomas Bailey Aldrich's Story of a Bad Boy revelled in his mischief;
the protagonists of Hans Brinker and of Little Women were
sometimes petulant and quick of temper; Alger's Ragged Dick was
rough-talking but good-hearted. Though the child-protagonist of earlier
years was valued for her restraint, the heroes of the later period were more
impulsive -- and more successful because of it (Rodgers, 125, 127).
Realistically portrayed, the children in these works made mistakes but --
unlike the protagonists of earlier years -- they could recover from them:
while in earlier works wickedness often led the protagonist to ruin, now
mistakes simply paved the way to a clearer understanding of herself and to a
strengthened character. Important themes in these works included the loveable,
but erring child, the pure child misunderstood by those around her, and the
pure child whose example redeemed those around her (Wishy, 93). Probably
because the moral certainties in works of the past had not proved to be the
key to the utopian future adults had envisioned, they were muted, and social
problems were now blamed less on faulty individual morality than on the
society which caused them (MacLeod, 138). This lack of moral certainty and
the emphasis on entertainment, however, seem to have bred a new tension in
children's books: one between the demands of instruction and of entertainment.
Children were to play, but they also were to build character. They were to
be self-reliant, but were urged to look to the home for what they needed in
life. Above all, they were not to upset the traditional social order by
trying to imitate the heroes of sensational literature (Kelly, Mother,
103-6). Such works did not "refine" the senses as did "good" literature
(Kelly, Mother, 95), but "threatened to upset the balance and
self-discipline that formed the psychological core of the gentlemanly ideal" --
that ideal of restraint, morality, honor, fortitude, temperance, and courtesy
promoted by the authors and editors of children's periodicals. Sensational
literature "excited" the reader into activities "threatening to the gentry
definition of social order." (Kelly, Mother, 93) Literature could
teach the child independence, but it wasn't to make him "precocious" and
eager to get on with life.
These changes in children's books were true for
children's periodicals as well. Periodicals for children have a long -- if
somewhat uneven -- history in the United States, beginning in 1789 with the
Children's Magazine. Though this offering lasted only four issues,
other periodicals soon followed -- and succeeded, or, more often, failed --
in large numbers. (See the bibliography of
periodicals begun before 1873 at this site.) For the most part,
periodicals published before 1841 echoed children's books in a devotion to
soberness and to an emphasis on religion. Education, narrowly defined, was of
great importance, and, beginning with the Children's Magazine, almost
every periodical devoted itself in some way to the "instruction and amusement
of youth." (Lyon, 21-2) Anonymous articles on natural history,
biography, astronomy, geography, and history abounded;
Parley's Magazine even
provided lessons in drawing and exercise (Lyon, 22-3). But, most instruction
was devoted to religion; the
Youth's Companion,
founded in 1827, was much different from what it was when it folded in 1929,
for its emphasis at the beginning was mainly religious, as its prospectus
shows:
The contents of the proposed work will be miscellaneous,
though articles of a religious character will be most numerous....Its
several departments will comprize [sic] religion, morals, manners, habits,
filial duties, books, amusements, schools, and whatever may be thought truly
useful, either in this life or the life to come. It will, of course, be a
constant advocate, and we hope an efficient helper, of Sabbath Schools,
Bible Classes, and the various means which are in operation for forming the
characters of the rising generation on the standard of the Bible.
(Youth's, 1124)
The most important protagonist in the pages of these periodicals seems to
have been "children lisping hymns as they expired at the tender age of six"
(Lyon, 28); even
Parley's Magazine
couldn't resist printing a macabre little poem in which a young boy hears
angels as he dies in the cold grip of his dead sister, not far from the cot
where lie his dead mother and her dead newborn
(Mrs. Larned, "The Dying Boy," 7 (Jan
1839): 12-13).
The Museum represents the different emphasis in
periodicals published from 1841 to 1865. Though the stress on didacticism
remained, there was a decrease in "religious morbidity," and the dying,
virtuous child was replaced by the child preparing for a successful life:
"Emphasis was not so much on preparing children for an early death, as on
teaching them how to live successfully." (Lyon, 157) More important was
emphasizing the importance of education, hard work, honesty, and obedience
(Kelly, Mother, 6). Articles in the periodicals were more polished
than before, for there was an emerging "appreciation of the importance of a
literature designed for children" and of the labor involved in producing it
(Lyon, 155-7). Articles were more likely to be signed, for editors
understood the value of a famous name in the periodical's pages; and "writers
hard pressed to make a living were provided with an additional market for
their work." (Kelly, Mother, 7) The reader, too, gained new importance,
as letters columns sprouted in such periodicals as the Museum and
Woodworth's Youth's Cabinet.
Such columns allowed readers personal communication with the editors and
allowed them to scold -- and to be scolded (Lyon, 160-1).
After the Civil War, the emphasis in periodicals shifted
-- as it did in children's books -- to entertainment. Improvement of the
printing process made more, and cheaper, periodicals possible, and the
number of periodicals made available to children increased dramatically.
Secular concerns -- which had become more important before the War -- now
predominated, though there were many religious magazines; one,
The Juvenile Instructor,
founded in 1866, is still being published, albeit with a changed name.
(The Sunday School Journal and
Advocate of Christian Education has the next-longest history, having
run from 1830 to 1967.) There were many specialized magazines, for farmers'
children and for the very young, as well as a multitude of amateur
publications (Lyon, 252-8). Dozens of dime novels and cheap pulp periodicals
earned not only the children's allowances but the approbation of adults
(Lyon, 258-68). Though didacticism was buried in tales of excitement and
adventure, a moral code was still in force, and "high standards of conduct
were inculcated indirectly in the better magazines, while even the pulp
magazine stories always had the villain receive his just deserts."
(Lyon, 269) Though many periodicals -- such as
Our Young Folks
and
Riverside Magazine for Young People,
-- were associated with publishing houses, most of their editors were
associated with a sort of well-educated, gentry elite which saw in these
periodicals an opportunity to mold the next generation according to a "code
of the gentleman" which emphasized "maintaining social order under
democratic conditions" and stimulating "a sturdy self-reliance without
threatening the stability of the community." (Kelly, Mother, 11, 31,
51-2) Despite its outward emphasis on amusement, action, and entertainment,
the periodical for children still sought to control its readers and teach
them what adults felt they needed to know about the world.
Throughout its lifetime, the Museum reflected the
attitudes in the world around it and changed its emphasis to reflect the new
patterns in childhood and in children's literature and periodicals.
Everything from the anti-Catholic tenor of the times to the nation's pride
in its progress and itself found voice in its pages. As America was the
symbol and the bastion of freedom and of democratic perfection in the
textbooks and works of fiction aimed at children, so it was a beacon of hope
for the oppressed in the Museum. Temperance is a recurring theme not
only in the children's books of the time but in the Museum as well.
Slavery, rarely mentioned in children's books before the 1850s and dropped
in favor of pleas against sectionalism thereafter, is mentioned only once or
twice in the pages of the Museum, and only during the 1840s; even
during the Civil War, slavery is noted only as an evil which was distant in
place and time. The War itself is treated in the Museum much as it
was in other magazine fiction of the same time. At the beginning of the
conflict, stories for adults which dealt with the war used it mainly as a
device to create tension and featured the "absorption of pseudo-war
materials into the pervasive form and tone of the sentimental romance."
(Cohn, 362, 356) In much the same way, the War provides background tension
in "Philip Snow's War," serialized in the Museum during 1863; as the
War, its battles unrealistically described, mostly served as plot device in
adult stories, so here, too, it serves mostly as a way in which the
protagonist can prove his superior virtue and find the father who abandoned
him, in suitably dramatic surroundings.
Most importantly, however, the Museum reflected
the changes in children's literature and in attitudes toward children.
During its history, the magazine passed through three distinct stages:
under the influence of Samuel Goodrich, from 1841 to 1856, the Museum
emphasized education appropriate for the young citizen who would inherit a
great republic and concentrated on presenting to its readers the broad range
of the entire world from which they were to learn; under the editorship of
John N. Stearns, from 1857 to 1867, the magazine emphasized education for
the young soul intent on heaven, and the scope of the Museum's
world-view narrowed to the concerns of home and the family; and, under the
influence of Horace Fuller and Louisa May Alcott, the Museum shifted
its emphasis to entertainment, with lessons well concealed by excitement and
humor. To some extent, these stages represent the interests and concerns of
the changing editors of the magazine; but, just as much, they represent a
shift in children's literature itself, and in what adults thought a child
should concern herself with. In its early years, the magazine placed great
emphasis on moderation in all things from emotions to actions to religious
thought, as did children's books; the ideal character in both children's
books and the Museum was introspective and self-controlled, able to
recognize and restrain inappropriate actions and emotions. As did other
children's periodicals of the 1840s and 1850s, the magazine emphasized
secular virtues more than religious ones, though the code of moral conduct
was tied to an emphasis on God and Christianity. The shift in children's
literature toward entertainment did not really penetrate the Museum
until Fuller -- perhaps more commercially-oriented than Stearns -- purchased
the magazine. Exciting tales like "Mink Curtiss," humorous stories like "How
a Good Dinner was Lost," and fantastic fiction like "Jedidiah's Noah's Ark"
still taught their readers a code by which to live, but the morals of the
pieces were de-emphasized in favor of their entertaining qualities. By this
time, religion was no longer the panacea it had been in earlier years -- in
either children's books or the Museum. Religion was still the source
of morals and virtue, but loyalty to God no longer guarantees peace of
spirit: Elsie Dinsmore, in the novel of the same name, suffers for her
spirituality, and the good do not necessarily prosper in Horatio Alger's
Bound to Rise (Wishy, 87- 90, 86-7); in the Museum, an author
apologizes for presenting a praying hero in "Knocking About," and the power
of religion is down played in favor of the power of journalism in the first
of a series of articles entitled "Our Great Powers."
The image of children in the Museum changed as
attitudes toward them changed in society. While children were regarded as
beings to be urged into adulthood as soon as was plausible, the heroes
presented in the Museum were white males older than the readers,
living enviable, active lives in the broad world. As perceptions changed,
and the child was valued more for itself than for what it would become, the
heroes of the pieces were, for the most part children themselves, struggling
with the duties and responsibilities of life and providing inspiration for
those around them. The child's innocence and sweetness was emphasized; the
epistolary lectures of Robert Merry, traveling through Venice, are upstaged
by a precious letter written by his six-year-old niece ["Uncle Robert's
Letters," 55 (March 1868): 108-111]. Children inspire adults to spiritual
purity in works like "Mike Smiley" and "Little Jamie". The child's circle
of influence and action were narrower now than formerly -- not just in life,
but in the Museum as well. "Precocity" in social matters and matters
of fashion were frowned upon in the real child and in the fictional child of
Alcott's "An Old-Fashioned Girl," serialized in 1869. It was, perhaps, with
an eye to squelching "precocity" that the editorial decision was made in
1868 to stop printing letters and pieces sent in by the Museum's
readers; but, this decision also points up the widening split between what
children could do and what was considered important in adult society that
prevailed at the time (Heininger in Century, 21). Safe and protected
at home, real-life children were to be content to stay there, according to
adults: Robert Merry's last essay in the "Chat" urges boys not to emulate the
adventures of Dr. Livingstone
[62 (Nov 1872): 240]; and the perils of
running away are detailed -- and subtly mocked -- in Charles Barnard's
"The Voyage of the Salt Mackerel," in 1872.
Goodrich could not have known that his creation would
outlive him when he invented Robert Merry in 1841; and he might not have
recognized the magazine he founded when it was absorbed by the
Companion in 1872. But, in change, perhaps, lay the key to the
Museum's success. Outlasting most of the other antebellum
periodicals, the Museum reached what -- for a children's periodical
-- is a ripe, old age not just because it inspired fierce loyalties from its
readers, but because it was able to incorporate new attitudes and ideas into
its pages. Its history is not just the history of a periodical, but the
history of its times.
