A Visit to Merry's Museum; or, Social Values in a Nineteenth-Century American Periodical for Children, by Pat Pflieger (1987-2006)

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In February, 1841, magazine readers were introduced to Robert Merry. He had made his debut a year earlier: in 1840, Samuel Colman published two little gift annuals with his name on them. Robert Merry's Annual was a standard overdecorated collection of stories and poems, introduced by a nonentity. Robert Merry's Miscellany, however, included material written by Samuel Goodrich, by then a major force in American children's books. The Miscellany may have been planned as the first of a series: Merry's autobiography -- based on Goodrich's own childhood -- is "to be continued." It appears not to have been.

In 1841, Robert Merry began his long career in a periodical. Pictured at the top of the cream-colored cover of Robert Merry's Museum, he sat surrounded by children, a genial man whose "Address to the Reader" was modest and forthright:

Merry promised nothing which would lay "upon the marble table of the parlor, by the side of songs, and souvenirs, gaudy with steel engravings and gilt edges"; instead he would offer a plainer publication with "anecdotes, adventures, tales, travels, rhymes, riddles, songs, &c. -- some glad and some sad, some to make you laugh and some to make you weep." ["Address to the Reader," 1 (Jan 1841): 1] The thirty-two pages of the first issue included articles about birds, a poem on Napoleon, an explanation of the Hebrew antecedent of "The House that Jack Built," a fable, the first four chapters of Robert Merry's autobiography, anecdotes, the start of a serial about government, an essay on truth, and "Jack Frost, A Song." In its variety, it was a fitting introduction to a periodical which would run continuously for thirty-two years.

The magazine's founder was Samuel G. Goodrich, already famous as the author of a number of popular children's books. Goodrich owned the Museum only until 1854, but his influence lingered in the periodical until the end of 1856. In the variety that was the Museum during these years, its readers found entertainment, but also education; its stories and poems and songs promulgated a set of rules and social values calculated to help their readers to become model citizens in a great republic. Didactic, as mainstream antebellum children's literature was didactic, the Museum emphasized intellectual and moral education; even in tales of adventure, the main character always seemed to find time to lecture on geography, government, society, or morality. In the view of the Museum -- and in the view of the society it served -- the young readers were expected to want to learn to act as adults as quickly as possible, and the periodical was intended to aid in this process. In its pages, its readers were assured that they lived in a glowing land of promise in a world of unlimited opportunities, where each person was responsible not only for his own destiny, but for the destiny of the nation. In a theme familiar to readers of antebellum children's literature, self-control and self-introspection were emphasized; the successful individual concerned herself with the morality and effects of her own actions and was conscious of the need to control them. The Museum also emphasized moderation: not only in individual action and thought, but in the governing of nations. If the moderate individual was the successful individual, so was a government neither tyrannical nor anarchical. Espousing a moral code directly based on Christianity, the magazine nevertheless asserted the importance of the individual will. The Museum's readers were expected to learn in its pages the values of humility and submission to the will of God, but also the importance of persistence and strength of will in a world with much to offer and to explore.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Robert Merry's creator, was already famous as the creator of another fictional American: Peter Parley, an old man lamed by gout, who first appeared in Tales of Peter Parley About America, in 1827. Rarely dull and always informative, Parley's tales about distant lands and time and about the homely and familiar were popular almost immediately and educated and entertained a whole generation, as did Parley's Magazine (1833-1844) "Parley" wrote not only what can only be called "fictional geographies" -- in which he describes his adventures in other lands, with much attention to geographical description -- but also textbooks, straight geographies, and works on natural history. Parley's popularity was both a boon and a bane to Goodrich; both British and American publishers quickly brought out their own "Parleys" -- none by Goodrich. Goodrich's discomfort seems to have increased, until, in 1840, he published Peter Parley's Farewell, a discussion of Christian theology which signaled both the end of the Parley books and the end of Parley himself; Parley, Goodrich revealed in the December, 1841, issue of the Museum "is no more," his life shortened by people who were "palming off trumpery works of their own as Peter Parley's." ["To the Black-ey'd and Blue-ey'd Friends of Robert Merry," 2 (Dec 1841): 184] Parley survived in Parley's Magazine -- by this time published by others than Goodrich. But, Goodrich's aim from the beginning had been to "improve" books for children by offering readers "truth," "in place of fairies and giants, and mere monsters of the imagination" (Recollections, vol. 2, 168); Robert Merry seems to have offered him a way to start afresh.

From the beginning, the Museum reflected Goodrich's concerns about childhood education and about children's literature. In Fireside Education, published in 1838, he warned parents about the influence of works of fiction, which "imparts, to those who commune with it, either good or evil .... [F]or there is a magic in print which gives it a great authority over the mind of the reader." (Fireside, 361-2) Because fiction was "usually fascinating" to children, parents were to restrict their reading of it; "[t]hose works which deal in facts, as geographies, histories, biographies, travels, &c., are the safest for young minds." (Fireside, 363-4) Fairy tales -- which had shocked Goodrich in childhood with their violence (Recollections, vol. 1, 166-71) -- were the most subversive, for many rewarded lying, cheating, and stealing, while introducing children to horror, violence, and monstrosities. As a child, he had simply thought Mother Goose silly, and his opinion of the rhymes didn't change as he grew up (Recollections, vol. 1, 166-7; vol. 2, 311-18); they also might tend to give children "a low idea of the purpose and meaning of books, and to beget a taste for mere jingles." (Recollections, vol. 2, 318) Peter Parley's fictionalized geographies seemed, to Goodrich, to strike the right balance between indulging the child's taste for amusement and educating her mind and soul. Pure nonfiction, too, could be made entertaining and educational. And, all literature for children -- especially if it were to educate -- must show the child what was being discussed, for children learned through their senses; thus, the introduction of Peter Parley was accompanied by his picture, and a discussion of a lion opened with a woodcut of the beast, "to have the child start with a distinct image of what I was about to give an account of." (Recollections, vol. 2, 311)

All these concerns were carried over to the magazine. There is some conjecture about who actually began the magazine; Goodrich listed it among his other publications in his Recollections (vol. 2, 543), but, in 1843, the Museum's publishers also tried to take credit, implying that they had hired Goodrich for the job:

It may have been a joint endeavor from the beginning (Dechert, 135). Goodrich certainly served as the Museum's first editor, from its beginning to 1854 (Recollections, vol. 2, 545). Travels abroad because of his health and because he was appointed United States Consul at Paris necessitated Goodrich's sharing the responsibility, first with Samuel Kettell -- from September, 1847, to March, 1848 -- and, later, with the magazine's new owner, S. T. Allen, who acted as a sort of "home editor" from 1851 until the periodical came under the control of the Stearns brothers in 1856. However, until the end of 1856, when the serials Goodrich had written ended, the Museum reflected Goodrich's philosophies about children's literature.

As a result, the Museum was more richly illustrated than other children's periodicals of the day. It included poems and songs on nearly every subject imaginable, anecdotes and fillers, philosophical and moral essays, short stories, long serialized tales, and articles on the sciences, on natural history, on geography, and on world culture. There was some emphasis in the Museum on keeping the reader informed on important events of the day. The "new" custom-house in Boston and the "new" patent office in Washington, D. C. were described and pictured in 1841; when the Smithsonian Institute was finished, it, too, was described. The presidential elections were discussed in the November issues every four years, and the results of those elections were always announced. The visit of Hungarian patriot Louis Kossuth in late 1851 and early 1852 prompted an article on him and his struggle in January, 1852. The careful reader of the Museum would not only learn about the past but would better understand the present. Yielding to pleas from the younger readers, the editor printed "Little Leaves for Little Readers" -- a section of simple little pieces in simple language -- in 1843.

Though there was much straight nonfiction in the periodical, such as articles on animals, the weather, foreign countries, and historical persons, and serials such as "Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and History of the Indians of America" and "Peeps at Architecture," many of the longer pieces were fiction. Most serials were fiction, usually in the vein of Peter Parley's tales: fictionalized geographies in which the main character -- always a young male seeking his fortune -- travels through well-described foreign lands. "The Siberian Sable-hunter" (1841-1842) follows its hero through Russia; Thomas Trotter explored Europe (1841-1842) and the Middle East (1845-1846). "The Adventures of Dick Boldhero" (1844) took its hero to South America, while the travels of "Thorwald, the Norwegian Rover" (1850) were along the east coast of North America at the time of the Vikings. The hero of the "Story of Chicama" (1846-1847) was one of Pizarro's fighting men in the jungles of South America. Though Michael Kastoff's adventures were limited to Japan (1846-1847), the hero of the "Adventures of Gilbert Go-Ahead" (1851-1856) galloped through Singapore, Sumatra, Java, Borneo, Cambodia, Siam, southern China, Tibet, Iran, and Persia. Through all these works, episodes of danger and humor alternate with detailed descriptions of geography and culture of other lands. In other fiction serials, the educational emphasis is on the hero's internal journey toward morality. In "My Own Life and Adventures" (1841-1842), Robert Merry's harum-scarum youth leads to a quiet, respectable old age. "Take Care of Number One!" (1845-1847) is the story of a youth who learns not to be selfish; during Billy Bump's adventures in Boston and California (1848-1850), this country bumpkin grows in learning and sophistication. This does not mean that a hero's adventures could not both teach the reader about the world and teach the hero about himself: in "The Story of Philip Brusque" (1841-1842), the hero clarifies the basic tenets of government after he himself learns them; Chicama, fighting with Pizzas, eventually turns his back on the "false" religion he has been taught from his youth and lives the "true" religion of a secluded Indian tribe. Though occasionally a story with no obvious educational value slipped in -- such as "Limpy Lumpy," which details the hilarious slapstick that results when an over-indulged child asks to "ride" the saddle of mutton on the family dinner table [4 (July 1842): 9-11] -- the stories and serials, songs and poems usually are morally or intellectually educational. No nursery rhymes ever appeared; in the August, 1846, issue, Goodrich demonstrates his suspicions about the effect of nursery rhymes, as a young boy exposed to them can think of -- or say -- nothing else ("Nursery Rhymes," 12 (Aug 1846: 52-4]. As a rule, fairy tales were not printed, either: in 1846, the author of "Fairy Stories" found that, if such tales were a source of "interest and innocent pleasure," they could be a good moral influence [11 (May 1846): 142-5]; and, in 1847 appeared an original -- very moral -- fairy tale and two tales by Hans Christian Andersen which had recently been translated into English (Meigs, 190). Dechert credits the publication of such stories to Samuel Kettell, but the tales were printed in the numbers just preceding his editorship; on the other hand, no fairy tales appeared after Kettell left off editing in 1848.

Most of the pieces printed in the Museum during the 1840s were unsigned. Contributors included, of course, Goodrich, who wrote over 30 serials of various lengths, as well as poems and shorter pieces. Samuel Kettell also contributed to the periodical; S. T. Allen credited him with some short pieces, with "Adventures in Japan, by Michael Kastoff," and with the "Adventures of Thomas Trotter" -- either "The Travels, Adventures, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter" or "Travels and Adventures in Circassia, by Thomas Trotter" -- it is unclear (Goodrich, Recollections, vol. 2, 545). (The first Thomas Trotter serial appeared in 1841 and 1842; the second appeared from 1845-1846 and ends in the issue before Michael Kastoff begins his adventures in Japan. Goodrich may have written the former Trotter adventure and Kettell the latter, or Kettell may have written both.) These were probably plotted by Goodrich himself and then rewritten by him; for at least some works, he apparently planned them out and then hired others to do the writing, possibly due to his damaged eyesight: "In my larger publications, I employed persons to block out work for me; this was read to me, and then I put it into style, generally writing by dictation, my wife being my amanuensis." (Recollections, vol. 2, 281) Thus, it is impossible to attribute authorship exactly, but almost all of what was published first in the Museum and then in book form under Goodrich's name -- whether actually written by him or reworked by him -- may be attributed to him. Even Goodrich's work for the Museum generally was unsigned; though, in 1848, a few pieces were signed "P. P." -- Peter Parley -- no other Goodrich pieces were signed until 1851, when poems by "S. G. G." began to appear; in 1852, the serials "The Adventures of Gilbert Go-Ahead" and "Robert Merry's Balloon Travels," which had been running since 1850 and 1851, respectively, began to be signed "S. G. G.," though not consistently. This was about the time Goodrich was a consul in Paris; they may have been the only pieces by him to appear in the Museum at this time. Most of the signed works appearing in the periodical until the mid 1850s probably were reprinted from other sources. These included poems and very short pieces by such popular authors as Mrs. Hemans, Jane Taylor, and Hannah F. Gould. Other pieces were reprinted from such sources as Knickerbocker, The Juvenile Miscellany, various newspapers, and books by Goodrich; much of Robert Merry's Miscellany, for example, was reprinted in the first issues of the Museum. Such printing and reprinting was common practice at this time. In turn, many of Goodrich's works which first appeared in the Museum were reprinted in book form: several of the biographies in Lives of Celebrated Women (1843) earlier appeared in the Museum, as did many of the sketches in Right is Might (1846) and in A Tale of the Revolution and Other Sketches (1845). The fiction serials in the Museum later were published in book form; if The Adventures of Gilbert Go-Ahead (1856; serialized, 1851-1856) is a good example, few changes were made -- either to clear up inconsistencies or to smooth out any rough spots in the prose. (For example, in the course of his adventures, Gilbert shrinks from six feet, four inches, to six feet, two inches -- a wearing trip, indeed!)

After 1845, Merry didn't edit the Museum alone; he had the help of an old friend, Peter Parley, whose magazine had just merged with Merry's. Parley is a literary revenant: a character who dies and is then resurrected to suit the author's purpose. Having announced Parley's "decease" in the Museum in 1841, Goodrich printed some stories found among the old man's "effects"; several readers mourned Parley's passing in letters printed in 1842. Then, in 1845, Parley sprang to life again, hale and hearty and ready to help Merry edit the Museum, now that Parley's Magazine had merged with it. No editorial comments mentioned or explained his sudden resurrection, and only a handful of readers seem to have noticed it. Probably the turnover of subscribers was so great that few who read the magazine in 1841 were still reading it in 1845; most of the few who noted Parley's sudden life were older children whose comments were passed along to Merry by younger-sibling letter-writers. There may have been some literary feuding between Goodrich and the editors of Parley's Magazine over their handling of Parley (Dechert, 146-49); Goodrich may have been glad to get back the old gent, though no Parley books were published after Parley's Farewell. When Goodrich left the Museum in the early 1850s, so did Peter Parley.

Merry and friends

Parley

In a sense, in Robert Merry -- the supposed editor of this panoply -- Goodrich had recreated Peter Parley. Both were old men who loved children and loved to tell them stories about their world travels; both were eminently practical men who emphasized a practical education -- both intellectual and moral. Both old men were physically disabled in some way, which, perhaps, "explained" why they could devote their time and energies to entertaining children instead of working at other jobs. Just as readers loved and believed absolutely in Peter Parley, so they loved and believed in Robert Merry.

Merry is a fairly three-dimensional character, a man with crotchets and gripes and weaknesses: whose wooden leg sometimes itches ["Chat," 3 (June 1842): 189]; who -- because he has been in prison -- pleads with his readers not to capture and cage birds ["Chat," 23 (March 1852): 95]; who complains that his rheumatism prevents him from romping with children as he would like ["Chat," 20 (July 1850): 29]; who gets grumpy with Parley's incessant moralizing ["Chat," 19 (Feb 1850): 60-1]; who becomes irritated with the chattering, clattering children who accompany him during his "Balloon Travels"; but who is unfailingly kind to the children who write to him, and never fails to thank them for their presents and for cheering him with their letters. When "portraits" of Merry were distributed during 1850, he was dubious about this honor, remembering his reaction as a boy when he was presented with the portrait of another author ["Chat," 19 (March 1850): 96]. Merry's complaints about rheumatism, the blues, and weariness allowed the editors to present little sermons on being cheerful under painful circumstances, looking on the bright side, and the importance of hard work; but they also made him seem more real to his readers. Merry's direct addresses to the readers on matters of subscriptions and the contents of their letters, as well as the printing of his autobiography in the Museum also added to a sense that Merry was a real person speaking through the magazine. And, readers responded, addressing letters directly to "Mr. Merry," signing them "Your friend," and praising some efforts, while sometimes taking Merry to task about others.

Not much of what went into the Museum was of what we would call real literary quality, but most of it sufficed for Merry's readers. Most enjoyed the serials best, especially those which were the fictionalized travels of one character: of the 217 titles mentioned in letters over the years, over 160 were serialized adventures. The longest running -- the adventures of Gilbert Go-Ahead -- was the most popular, with 47 readers mentioning that they enjoyed the work; Billy Bump's adventures were mentioned by 33 readers; next came Merry's balloon travels, mentioned by 22 readers, and the adventures of Thorwald, the Norwegian explorer, mentioned by 12. Readers, however, had their doubts about Gilbert Go-Ahead and Billy Bump; two readers took Merry to task for publishing Billy's letters, which contained a good many grammatical errors and little that was obviously uplifting. So many readers cast doubts on the veracity of some of Gilbert's tall-tale adventures that Merry defended him several times in the Chat -- insisting that such things really could happen -- and Gilbert, himself, was forced to defend himself at great length in the text of the adventure. Robert Merry's readers were not going to allow themselves to be taken in by anybody -- even Merry himself.

What Merry's readers got -- besides adventure, humor, introductions to odd people and creatures, and descriptions of far-off lands -- was a set of rules and social values calculated to help them become valuable members of a shining republic. Pieces in the Museum provided the means for injunctions against the private sins of the individual -- such as lying, cheating, stealing, drinking, and sabbath-breaking -- and put them into a larger context; in the periodical, a person's faults are anything but small matters, for they affect not just the individual but society as a whole. Individual injunctions fit into a larger pattern of social values, one which stresses moderation and individual control, in which each person is in charge of his own destiny and own misfortunes, and in which humility, submission, and hard work lead to the greatest good.

The Museum constantly stresses the importance of individual will, for each person is responsible not only for her own education, but her own destiny and soul. God put variety into the world to stimulate our curiosity; therefore, curiosity which is directed to a "useful object" is good and should be indulged ["Thomas Trotter," 1 (March 1841): 44-5]. By observing and by asking questions, even the uneducated can learn, as Robert Merry proves in his autobiography, and Alexis, the Siberian sable-hunter, does when he is forced into a world he has not been educated for ["Sable-hunter," 4 (Aug 1842): 50-4). And, "keeping your eyes open" is advice that can lead not just to enrichment of the self, but of others, for "the whole world may be indebted to [an individual] for digging from the rubbish of obscurity a gem to enrich mankind." ["Keep Your Eyes Open," 31 (Feb 1856): 41] The individual will is just as important where the individual soul is concerned. The main argument against phrenology is not only that it is an inexact science, but that it degrades "our notions of the human soul," for it "seems to make the mind the slave of the organs, and overcomes that free choice, that power of willing freely, and without influence, of which every one is conscious." ["Phrenology," 11 (April 1846): 127] As Merry explains during his imaginary balloon travels, we are each responsible for the content of our own soul. It is not religion that makes us good, but individual conscience, to which we must listen in order to perfect ourselves ["Balloon Travels," 29 (March 1855): 83-4). Each person's soul is like a garden which should be kept free of weeds:

As a result, each person is responsible for her own fortunes and misfortunes. Reputation -- which can be controlled by the individual -- is crucial, for, like the wolf in a fable, if one has a bad reputation, he may be punished for another's crime and is, therefore, still to blame ["The Wolf that Pretended to be Robbed," 2 (July 1841): 7]. Robert Merry learns this when he is jailed by mistake; his bad reputation has grown from the willfulness that kept him from a formal education -- and on which he blames his subsequent bad luck ["My Own Life," 4 (S 1842): 68]. Disobedience also can make us cause our own misfortune: a left-handed boy too stubborn, "careless," and disobedient to use his right hand does everything backward as a result and comes to grief ["Left-Handed Billy," 20 (Dec 1850): 174-5]; Cornelia's disobedience leads to her being lost in the forest during a snowstorm, in which she almost dies ["The Snow Storm," 19 (Feb 1850): 37]. Giving in to one's own natural inclinations also leads to misfortune. Jacob Karl, imprisoned for fighting, realizes that his lack of self-control has led to this result ["Take Care of Number One!," 14 (July 1847): 5]. "Gilbert Go-Ahead, having gone to the Orient to seek his fortune, constantly rebukes himself for his love of adventure, on which he blames the difficulties he has endured; because he is "a crooked stick" that "can't lie still" ["Gilbert Go-Ahead," 22 (Sept 1851): 67], a "careless, headlong, break-neck fellow," he tells himself,

Misfortune not only grows from our own actions, it is also used by God to make us see ourselves as we really are and to become as we should be; as Robert Merry learns, poverty and sickness teach us and are therefore good ["My Own Life," 4 (Sept 1842): 71-2; 4 (Dec 1842): 165). All the devil-may-care adventurers who appear in the serials -- Billy Bump, Gilbert Go-Ahead, Robert Merry, Chicama, and Jacob Karl -- realize the error of their adventurous ways after being physically humbled by illness or abuse; though each goes on afterward, he begins to realize the importance of home and being settled, and he travels more cautiously. Self-centered Jacob Karl, marooned on a bleak island symbolic of his own social isolation, watches the seabirds struggle against each other and realizes the limitations of his philosophy of selfishness; he has been led here by God ["Take Care of Number One!," 13 (April 1847): 100]. Even nations may bring their own troubles down upon themselves, as is pointed out in "The War in Florida"; the oppression of the "poor" Seminoles by white settlers has brought about its own punishment: "We shall soon possess their lands, but they have cost our country many millions of dollars, and far more than they are worth ... [E]ven an Indian tribe, small though it be, if it bears hatred in its bosom, founded upon acts of oppression, may become the instrument by which that oppression is punished." [3 (Feb 1842): 58]

In everything from individual desires to the ruling of nations, the Museum demonstrates the importance of control and of moderation. If each person shapes her own destiny, then whatever influences the individual is of prime importance, as are discipline and self-control.

One can't be too careful, according to the magazine, for anything from books to thoughts can influence us for good or evil. Habits are crucial, for they not only demonstrate character, they help form it. Once we do a thing, it is easier to do it again, and something done once is likely to stay with us for life: "... it is more easy to adopt habits than young people are apt to imagine. I have seen a boy become permanently cross-eyed, by imitating another cross-eyed boy a few times -- a child that has been used to tell fibs is very likely to go on from one step to another, till he becomes a habitual liar." ["Look to Your Habits," 19 (May 1850): 157] One of the men whom Robert Merry meets in prison has become a hardened criminal because he ignored "the dangers that lie in the first fault" and committed a petty theft ["My Own Life," 4 (Sept 1842): 69-71]. And, the "correct" habits lead us to happiness ["Habit," 2 (S 1841): 73] and prove character, for "a person with a good set of habits is of course good: a person with a bad set of habits is of course bad." ["Look to Your Habits," 19 (May 1850): 157] Both actions and thoughts can become habit and therefore must be winnowed and controlled. Each person is in constant danger of not acting virtuously, so all actions must be scrutinized for that fatal misstep:

No failing is too small to be unimportant, for, as a stone thrown into a pond sends ripples over the entire surface of the water, so do "every thought, every word we utter, every action" affect the soul ["The Stone in the Pond," 28 (Nov 1854): 325]. Outside influences are just as important to the individual. Companions should be good, for we should emulate our superiors, not our inferiors ["Advice to Youth, Gratis," 32 (Nov 1856): 155]. Literature also may influence us for good or evil, whether it is the nursery rhymes that so enchant a young boy that he loses interest in such "sensible" works as Watts' hymns and repeats the "coarse" nonsense of the nursery rhymes like an automaton ["Nursery Rhymes," 12 (Aug 1846): 52-4]; the "good" books which "exalt and refine our minds ["Balloon Travels," 22 (Oct 1851): 110]; or, the satires which may so pervert the reader's tastes that the "sense of the true and beautiful" may be "extinguish[ed] altogether." ["Balloon Travels," 23 (Feb 1852): 38]

Because even the smallest thing may make a great difference, the watchwords are control and moderation -- in religion, government, the individual, and the world. The Museum advocates a combination of discipline, duty, and mistrust of the easy which applied directly to the individual, but also extends to the nation as a whole. As we shall see, white, Protestant Yankees were -- in the Museum -- the culmination of civilization in a bright nation on a hill; therefore they must avoid the excesses that beset Indians, blacks, foreigners, Catholics, and the other "lower orders."

The philosophy of moderation extends to everything from medicine to government. An individual must be moderate in appetites, temperament, expectations, and religious fervor and beliefs. A government must be balanced between the two extremes of anarchy and tyranny, allowing its citizens to exercise free will while making sure that the weak are not ignored or abused. All these are important and intertwined, for as the individual influences the government, so is the government responsible not only for the individual, but for the agricultural fertility of the nation.

Moderation in individuals involves temperance in appetite and in emotion. A constant theme in the magazine is the abolition of alcohol, which smothers the conscience, so that one can carry out nefarious deeds without remorse, and which can lead drinkers to early deaths. The thief whom Robert Merry meets in prison steels himself with alcohol before each job; a character in another serial drowns the remorse he feels after an escapade as a pirate, until he is as conscienceless as his companions ["My Own Life," 4 (Sept 1842): 71; "Philip Brusque," 3 (Jan 1842): 24]. Merry's liquor-selling uncle dies in a fit, insolvent, because of his "intemperate habits," as does Merry's childhood friend ["My Own Life," 3 (June 1842): 181; 4 (Dec 1842): 164-5]. This sort of immoderate behavior is as dangerous to society as it is to the individual who indulges in it: in the village where Merry grows up, the schools are very bad, for all the liquor sellers -- who "naturally" have great influence -- are against education, not wanting their customers to be "improved" -- perhaps because they would lose business ["My Own Life," 1 (May 1841): 130-1]; taverns provide their own kind of education, for it is here that youths learn to drink, to smoke, and to swear, and it is from here that the boys stagger out on drunken sprees to do mischief in the village ["My Own Life," 2 (July 1841): 17-20]. Gluttony also is to be avoided; in several pieces, the more gluttonous of two creatures is killed by a farmer disgusted by its greed, while the moderate creature is spared ["The Greedy Robin," 12 (Nov 1846): 145; "The Greedy Fox," 12 (Dec 1846): 188].

Self-control is stressed throughout the Museum, especially in the biographies presented to the young; a famous person often is an example of what to emulate or to avoid. Napoleon's great failing, according to the magazine, is that he could not "conquer himself" ["The Re-entombment of Napoleon," 1 (Feb 1841): 27-8]; Tecumseh, the Native American chief, never overcame the desire for revenge that led him to his death in battle ["Tecumseh," 11 (May 1846): 153-4]. Elizabeth I was an extravagant and jealous woman, but, by learning to control herself, she became an excellent ruler ["Queen Elizabeth, of England," 1 (May 1841): 103-7], while Socrates demonstrated an enviable control of his temper ["Socrates," 8 (Dec 1844): 185]. As may be expected, George Washington is an important example of self-control in the Museum, which celebrates the way that he overcame a quick temper by heeding his mother's advice ["Washington a Teacher to the Young," 2 (Oct 1841): 167]. This self control becomes, by extension, reflective of a democratic soul in an "Anecdote of Washington," where his natural politeness persuades a carter to make way on a bad road, after the rudeness of a fellow officer has failed; Washington thereby demonstrates "[h]ow much more noble, and how much more successful, is a mild and courteous manner, than a harsh and dictatorial one." [7 (Feb 1844): 47] Self-control could lead one to success of almost any kind.

Extremes in religious fervor and beliefs are also to be avoided. In its early years, the Museum evinced a distrust of non-Protestantism that echoed American culture at large. Religion, as Merry tells the young friends who ride in his balloon, is basic to all civilization ["Balloon Travels," 26 (Nov 1853): 142]; but it soon becomes apparent to the reader that some religions are better than others. Unbelievers are more or less dismissed out of hand, for only the weak of mind or those of ill-balanced judgment become unbelievers; great men never do ["My Own Life," 4 (Aug 1842): 35). The scientific man who persists in his unbelief is triumphantly shown the error of his ways by his eight-year-old daughter, and his repentance is immediate ["The Philosopher Rebuked," 8 (Aug 1844): 39-40]. "Heathen" religions such as Buddhism and Mohammedanism are little better, for their followers are hypocrites, and their leaders are interested only in power. At the very least, these beliefs are not really religions at all, but only empty rituals. Native Americans, according to the Museum, may have some concepts which lead us to think they have a religion, but it is not really one, for their concept of God and of the afterlife is that neither is much different from what they experience in daily life ["Pictures of Various Nations," 7 (F 1844): 58; 7 (April 1844): 116). When "Gilbert Go-Ahead wakes in a ruined Asian temple, he thinks he sees the ghosts of Buddhist monks still praying; he soon realizes that they are only apes mimicking the rituals they have seen ["Gilbert Go-Ahead," 24 (Aug 1852): 59-60). At best, non-Christian religions are rituals with no meaning. At worst, they are a form of tyranny in which a unbelieving minority rule and bilk a guileless, uneducated majority which may not even believe what it has been taught to believe. The priests of the ancient Druids used their knowledge and the superstition of the people to keep themselves in authority ["The Druids," 1 (Feb 1841): 34-6). The Buddhist priests whom "Gilbert Go-Ahead meets during his travels are interested only in their own power and their own luxury. Though the priests are superstitious enough to have lost their common sense, they don't really believe the religion they peddle: that is for the people who must bow to the priests' religious authority, to whom they sell charms and images, from whom they exact tribute. The hypocritical priests view the people as "sand and gravel," fit only to "feed the roots of the tree" of the Buddhist religion ["Gilbert Go-Ahead," 25 (June 1853): 189]; pretending poverty, they are interested only in whatever money they can get from their followers; claiming to be above earthly appetites, they get so drunk with Gilbert that they fall out of the niches in which they meditate. The common followers may not be much better, for they may have lost all faith: the followers of Mohammed whom Gilbert meets in the Middle East don't believe the tenets of their faith, for "'that is not our business. The priests believe it for us." ["Gilbert Go-Ahead," 27 (March 1854): 92]

Only Christianity will do, for only Christianity keeps its followers from being "degraded," and only Christianity teaches mercy ["Pictures of Various Nations," 7 (F 1844): 58; "Madagascar," 1 (June 1841): 170]. However, in the Museum, only Protestantism is true Christianity. Catholicism is presented as is Buddhism: a system of flat rituals in which rapacious priests dupe an uneducated public. It is a false religion of violence, not even as good as the belief system of the Incans whom it had decided to convert. The priests who accompanied the Spanish into South America in the seventeenth century are presented as power-hungry monsters who persecute those who stand in their way; the soldiers who follow them look forward to being allowed to "'murder, ravish, and plunder, as we please, and lay claim to reward for good service in the cause of religion, to boot.'" ["Story of Chicama," 11 (March 1846): 93] By contrast, the natives are peaceful, gentle people who follow a true religion; to them, God represents peace and love, and "he would have us spend our lives in making one another happy .... Tell me not that Christianity is of God; for its ministers are robbers and murderers." ["Story of Chicama," 13 (April 1847): 121] The Catholic ceremonies -- which are described in one article as an anthropologist would describe the mysterious rites of some alien culture ["Catholic Ceremonies," 11 (June 1846): 176-8] -- are hollow mockeries of a system of beliefs, empty rituals with no meaning. Even the deep- dyed villain of one serial, faced with death, rejects these "mummeries" with eloquence:

In a bit of reverse conversion, Chicama, a Spanish soldier sickened by the violent excesses of his own religion, leaves his people and joins a secluded tribe in the Andes.

The most damning piece of evidence against non-Protestant beliefs seems to be their undemocratic natures: they don't take into account the responsibility of each individual for her actions and her soul, nor do the leaders of these religions view their followers as anything more than dupes and pawns, and all seek a kind of theocracy in which the common people have no thought or voice, either in this life or in the next. When Gilbert Go-Ahead taxes Butter-Pate, a Buddhist priest, with not believing his own religious tenets, the priest is amused by his outrage and quick to agree that he follows his religion only because it puts him above the common people: "You will see that all the wealth and power of the country are in the hands of the priests. The mass of the nation are poor, ignorant, and degraded; do you think I will sink myself to their level?" ["Gilbert Go-Ahead," 25 (June 1853): 187] Unlike his followers, Butter-Pate is free to cheat and to act against the tenets of his religion, for he is controlled by no laws, being above them all; the people, however, educated by the priests, are under their control:

Catholic priests have the same amount of control over their parishioners, for they, too have power over them after death; the narrator of "Talks and Walks" is hard put to explain Purgatory to the children who accompany him, and equally hard put to explain the system of indulgences, through which the priests "control" their parishioners in this life with promises about the next ["Talks and Walks," 14 (July 1847): 15]. As one Spanish priest explains to the Incan he is torturing, the common people can have no real freedom of either religion or thought, for that has no part in God's plan:

Protestant beliefs are never formally explored in these pieces. In his arguments with Butter-Pate, Gilbert Go-Ahead represents Christianity, not just a branch of it, and the only opposition to the Catholicism of the Spanish priests is the religion of the native tribes they persecute. "Catholic Ceremonies" presents its subject as a series of curiosities, with no description of Protestant rituals [11 (June 1846): 176-8]. Protestantism is the invisible norm by which all other belief systems are measured and found wanting.

Moderation and discipline are inseparable in the pages of the Museum, for moderation depends on self-discipline. From the periodical, the reader learned that doing one's duty is integral to happiness; and duty includes obedience, industry, submission to God, and being content with what one has, making the best of all that happens.

As may be expected in a periodical intended primarily for children, much emphasis is placed on the child's obedience to the parent. Children may like sweets and luscious fruits, one piece comments, but mother's advice is better than these, and one shouldn't dislike or avoid it ["Mother's Advice," 5 (April 1843): 123]. Children who persist in disobeying parents suffer for it directly and physically, in a sort of cosmic punishment: the child who ignores her father's weather advice is lost in a snowstorm and nearly freezes ["The Snow Storm," 19 (Feb 1859): 33-8]; the little boy who ignores his mother and goes barefoot steps on a thorn and is crippled for three weeks ["The Thorn," 6 (July 1844): 5-6]; the girl who disobeys her mother's advice and tries to get something off a high shelf falls and gashes her forehead ["I Don't See Why," 2 (Oct 1841): 120]. Obedience to parents in matters of education is equally crucial, for education itself is all-important. Robert Merry blames his lack of character and his bad luck to his lack of education ["My Own Story," 4 (Sept 1842): 68], but education -- or lack of it -- can also directly influence one's material standing in the world. Selfish Jacob Karl has not learned to read, so he can't read his father's will and does not know that he is due for an inheritance until well after an unscrupulous lawyer has taken it from him ["Take Care of Number One!," 11 (May 1846): 148]; when two Arab boys are captured by an enemy, their freedom comes to depend on being able to read, and the poor lad - - who has been educated so he will be successful -- tutors the rich boy -- who has ignored education because his father's wealth will make working unnecessary ["Wit and Wealth," 7 (June 1844): 185-7]. Education teaches us our duty to God and man ["The Walk and the Talk," 19 (April 1850): 122] and allows us to work and thus avoid being "idle" and "bad" ["Importance of Attention," 1 (June 1841): 176]; there are two paths of life, one of which leads from education to a respected old age, while the other leads from lack of education to dissipation and an unmourned death ["The Two Paths of Life," 29 (April 1855): 105-6]. Here, too, there is a direct correlation between disobedience and its consequences: Harry, who hates work and school and ignores his father's advice to study diligently, is fit for nothing better than hard, menial labor after his father dies and the family is left bankrupt, and for the rest of his life he regrets having ignored his father's advice ["Harry Know-Nothing," 31 (Jan 1856): 8-9].

Probably because the Museum was intended primarily for children, education often is linked to being industrious and working hard. Education leads directly to a good job, but education also is the child's labor; the little scholar who dislikes study and wishes to be lazy like the birds and insects is reminded that the creatures themselves work hard, as he must ["Grandmother's Scholar," 8 (Aug 1844): 62-3]. Hard work is important, for all property comes from work, and "'[t]is industry supports us all." ["About Labor and Property," 1 (Ja 1841): 3-4; "Industry," 12 (Oct 1846): 105] Each person must work to support himself and to better his life; many of those who have become great once were poor and worked hard to better themselves ["Professions and Trades," 1 (April 1841): 94; "Fruits of Industry," 3 (March 1842): 68]. Work and enjoying work take on more than a tinge of morality: God makes sure that the hard worker's wants are satisfied ["Professions and Trades," 1 (April 1841): 95], for work is part of His plan. Humans have been given "speech and thought" to praise God and do His labor, "And we do not his laws obey/ In wasting time that flies ..." ["Grandmother's Scholar," 8 (Aug 1844): 62] Work is real happiness, and the boy who hates work and study is as foolish as the child who "when asked what he deemed the highest state of happiness, replied -- 'swinging on a gate, with one's mouth full of molasses candy'" ["Peter and the Pig," 7 (June 1844): 176] Even a Native American hunting technique that makes hunting easier is suspect, for dressing in a deerskin and pretending to be a deer is unfair and too easy:

Submission to God is as important as submission to parents, in the Museum, and linked with this is the idea that one must make the best of all that happens, for all is for the best. As we have seen, God uses misfortune to teach a lesson to those who need one; misfortune and pain are also presented a part of God's mysterious, all-encompassing plan -- especially when death is involved. In most pieces, the death used to point this up is that of a child: when Charles' sister dies, his mother explains that, painful as the ordeal is, it is better for the mother that things happen thus, for the death is part of God's plan ["Charles and His Mother," 2 (Oct 1841): 124-6]; one little girl reminds her grieving mother not to mourn her brother's death, for God has simply taken back what He had given ["The Mother Counselled by Her Daughter," 5 (April 1843): 121-2]. There are few instances of the "beautiful death" at this time in the Museum, but one is linked to the idea that all things are for the best because all things happen according to God's plan. A blind boy and his sister, who look for the "secret good" in all that happens, are both killed in a dreadful accident; before he dies, the boy praises God's foresight, for he wouldn't have been happy had he grown up ["The Blind Boy," 11 (April 1846): 106-12]. This philosophy is summed up in a quatrain that makes it clear that the death of the young may be a blessing because their innocence will thereby be preserved:

     Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death came, with friendly care,
     The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.   ["Epitaph on an Infant," 11 (May 1846): 145]

Submission in smaller matters is stressed, too: a kitten with a lame leg makes the best of its situation and becomes not only popular but famous as a result ["The Story of Limping Tom," 5 (March 1843): 90-1]; the philosophy of "Cheerful Cherry" is that because all that occurs is part of God's plan, then all is right and one must make the best of things -- and she achieves a measure of material success ["Cheerful Cherry," 3 (Feb 1842): 48-56]. Even the worst times are not completely dark, for "The gloomiest day hath gleams of light; ... / And twinkles through the cloudiest night/ Some solitary star, to cheer it." ["Lights and Shades," 11 (March 1846): 75]

All of this fits into the larger picture of doing one's duty. Duty to parents requires obedience; duty to God requires obedience, submission, and a cheerful heart; duty to oneself requires working hard so as to take every advantage to better oneself intellectually and materially. Lack of a sense of duty can cause one to fail. Robert Merry comes to realize that the duty of a child is to go to school and to use that opportunity well, and he blames himself for not taking every advantage to learn from what is clearly an impossible teacher in a school where it is impossible to learn ["My Own Life," 1 (April 1841): 66; 1 (May 1841): 131-3]. In a Mongolian legend, the poor peasant impressed with a sense of duty before he undertakes a difficult mission succeeds, where the rich prince sent out for "success and glory" fails -- having not had the peasant's advantage of being raised without luxury ["Sable-Hunter," 4 (O 1842): 115-16]. Knowing and doing one's duty can make one more perfect in adversity, as a Polish gentlewoman demonstrates after her family has been driven into exile. Patient, cheerful, industrious, and humble, she acts from a sense of duty and has become more worthy of admiration as a result; her father writes that

This paragon demonstrates, also, the importance of modesty, humility, and staying in one's place in society. Though at first glance the idea of remaining in one's social standing seems alien in a nation which was beginning to pride itself on erasing social strata, in the Museum, it is a function of humility, which, the periodical advises, is necessary for both the rich and the poor. Perhaps it is more important to the rich, for wealth is likely to make one proud and ambitious, while poverty gives one the "advantage" of being naturally humble.

Pride and ambition not only leave one open to ridicule, but actually can be dangerous. The British officer who boasts of the might and professionalism of the British navy before the War of 1812 is humorously twitted about this by the Americans after the first British ship is captured ["Naval Anecdote," 19 (May 1850): 155]. The humble are often of more use than the proud, and they also know it. A diamond which sneers at a coal and is haughty about being "related" to it is quietly reminded by the coal that the diamond is useless by comparison, for, the coal replies, "I know I boast a double praise,/ As I can warm as well as shine." ["The Coal and the Diamond," 20 (Sept 1850): 78] In the same vein, a boastful pebble can only look on as a modest acorn grows into a tree ["The Pebble and the Acorn," 12 (Nov 1846): 147]. Ambition and pride can actually be dangerous, for setting oneself above the rest means that one is open to destruction. The oak proud of its strength is uprooted by a wind which does not touch the hidden reed ["The Oak and the Reed," 2 (Sept 1841): 80-1]; the weed which grows high is cut down by the gardener, while "those sweet flowers of genuine worth,/ Inclining toward the modest earth" are left intact ["The Ambitious Weed," 12 (Nov 1846): 152]. A flower which as grown hidden between two stones provides a lesson, for it has

In the world-view of the Museum, only the hidden and the low survive.

In part this attitude may stem from the idea that wealth is dangerous and bad, for it fosters an unnatural pride and negates the ethic of hard work. In the periodical there are many examples of young men growing up amid luxury who don't discipline themselves because they know that they won't have to work; these proud young men are always humbled by circumstances and forced to rethink their attitudes and their lives. Money has the power to corrupt, in the Museum: a hermitess who has hoarded a cache of Continental dollars since the American Revolution gives it all to Robert Merry because the money would only "feed her pride" ["My Own Life," 4 (July 1842): 27]; of course, the money is worthless. The partner of Dick Boldhero's father is not equal to the temptation presented by a large amount of gold, and he steals it, bankrupting Dick's father ["Dick Boldhero," 7 (Feb 1844): 38-9]. Money also can make one greedy and ridiculous. Tom Trudge, a poor peddler, finally earns enough to buy a little house and finds himself beset by ambition and envy, which make him unhappy: "Envy made him feel a sort of hatred toward people who were richer than himself. Ambition urged him to make every effort to be rich ...." ["The Lottery Ticket," 7 (Jan 1844): 14] Finally, he spends all his money on a lottery ticket, but after he wins, he and his family are even more miserable: Tom, now rich, is unhappy because he has nothing to do; Bridget, his wife, becomes more ambitious, spiteful, and ridiculous trying to be a fine lady. The ludicrous figure she cuts at church when she tries to dress up, her attempts to nurture "jinnysyquaw" in her bewildered family, her confusion of "pianny" (piano) with "pianny" (peony), and her difficulties with the servants, who resent her haughtiness, culminate in Bridget's attempt to be "elegant" and install bells in the house, as the rich people have:

Extravagance finally bankrupts the Trudges, and they go back to their little house and their old way of life, content with what they have. Even if wealth does not make you ridiculous, it can bring you dangerously close to forgetting your duty to God, for wealth and refinement

Billy Bump, having found $10,000 in gold and jewels during his adventures in California, feels a change occur in himself, now that he is rich:

Immoderate wealth can trap the unwary, but once one has learned to be humble, it is a proper reward: having lost all his money gambling, Billy proves that he has learned his lesson and gets it all back ["Billy Bump," 20 (Dec 1850): 185]; Jacob Karl, having conquered his selfishness, comes into an inheritance of $11,000.

The idea of survival of the modest may also stem from an idea which can only be called "muscular modesty" and which is linked to the importance of hard work. Modesty, Billy Bump's teacher tells his pupils, keeps us continually striving:

Modesty may be important in and of itself, but it also may be the means to an end.

As the sufferings of Bridget Trudge demonstrate, trying to live above one's "station" is wrong. Pride and ambition may tempt us to try to be better than we really are, but this is folly, for each person has been put into a certain place in God's scheme. A goose discontent with its place in life tries to be with the swans and is laughed at for its pains ["The Ambitious Goose," 11 (April 1846): 121]. Flowers in a garden despise the forest flowers and think that they are happiest -- and vice versa -- and both are right, in a sense, for all are happiest where God has put them ["Fresh Flowers," 3 (June 1842): 162-4]. Though the Museum teaches that each person must make the best of what she is, with what she has, it also teaches that it is essential not to forget who she really is.

The Museum also teaches a certain mistrust of the easy which probably is linked to the idea that hard work is important. Pleasure and the imagination are not really trustworthy; the easy way is not the best way; and even paradise can be dangerous. As we have seen, the Museum taught that all influences -- especially books -- could be important; allied with this is an idea that the imagination is not to be trusted. After Robert Merry is almost killed by a panther, he "sees" all kinds of imaginary animals as he goes to bed that night -- all of them ready to pounce; if one "indulges" his imagination, Merry muses, it will make him see all kinds of things that are not really there ["My Own Life," 3 (March 1842): 79-81]. Such imaginative literature as fairy tales and nursery rhymes are suspect, for they lead the mind astray and can fill it with gibberish ["Nursery Rhymes," 12 (Aug 1846): 52-4] or lead the child "to turn out a liar, or perhaps a murderer, in after life"; even Homer's works are dangerous, for "he encourages too much a warlike spirit," and perhaps Alexander the Great, had he not read the Iliad, would "very likely had been a good king, staying at home to bless his people, instead of bursting forth with his armies, like a torrent, to conquer and desolate the world." ["Balloon Travels," 27 (Feb 1854): 48-9] On the other hand, Merry has learned from experience that the stories he tells which are based on real life are more popular than the ones he makes up ["My Own Life," 1 (Jan 1841): 9]. And, one does not need to go to imaginary castles or lands to find wonders, for the statistics of what is produced from America's factories "are ample materials for exciting the sentiment of wonder," and the lives of the people these factories employ provide "abundant occasion for the indulgence of the deepest and liveliest sympathy"; for proof, the Museum reprints a detailed account of how needles are made ["Romance of Manufactures," 11 (Ja 1846): 4-12].

Pleasure can be bad, for it may distract us from the real purpose of life, but if it is "proper" and "innocent" and allows us to work, it can be good. The horse who takes pleasure in the bells on its harness works better, so the pleasure is good, for it does not interfere with the "sober business of life," but helps ["The Horse and the Bells," 1 (June 1841): 178]. When an angry lion about to go to war is distracted by the dance of a tiny mouse and forgets its anger, this pleasure, too, is good, for the mouse's dance is innocent and distracts the lion only from its fury ["The Lion and the Mouse," 2 (Aug 1841): 38].

As we have seen, in the Museum, hard work is important; one reason the author of "Deer Hunting" deplores the method used by the Native Americans is that it is too "easy" and doesn't give the deer a chance to escape [19 (May 1850): 133]. In the same way, easy wealth may also be bad. It's all right to work hard and better yourself and thus become well off, but it's something else to come by the money without work. Whang, a poor but avaricious miller, following the example of a neighbor who found gold where he had dreamed he would, happily digs at the foundation of the mill, where his own dreams have indicated, finding treasure just before the foundations collapse and leave him with nothing ["Whang, the Miller," 12 (Oct 1846): 177-18]. Whang's avarice is punished, but so is his lust for easy money. The money that the Trudges win from a lottery also causes them misery. Billy Bump, attempting to restore the family fortunes in the California gold-fields, loses all the gold he finds there; one can't simply pick up money off the ground.

In a minor theme, paradise itself is dangerous. Spiders, which in the north "are kept under by human assiduity," so that they are "small and harmless," are "a more terrible tribe" in the warmer, more inviting climates ["The Spider," 20 (Sept 1850): 84]. Gilbert Go-Ahead becomes enamored of the lush forests of Sumatra, which teem with wildlife: "It really seemed as if I were in fairy-land, and I thought to myself -- how charming it would be to spend a whole life in this valley!" But scarcely does the thought enter his mind before he is menaced by a crocodile and a tiger, and then an enormous, almost unearthly serpent:

In the world of the Museum, even Paradise is suspect. (Many adventures later, Gilbert comes to the site where "no doubt was the garden of Eden," now barren and desolate ["Gilbert Go-Ahead," 29 (June 1855): 171-2]; paradise has been lost.)

This mistrust of the easy extends to the easy climate as well, as does the ethic of moderation. Climate, almost more than anything else, according to the Museum, has determined not only the course of civilization but the character of individuals as well. "True" civilization, according to the periodical, can develop only in temperate climates, for extremes of heat or cold either encourage of force the inhabitants of a given area to remain in a state of "savagery." Even among "civilized" areas, too mild a climate can have a deleterious effect, for it can encourage the people to be lazy and unproductive; only a moderate climate alternating between warmth and cold can keep people truly civilized.

In the Museum, civilization may be generally defined as however the European inhabitants of the United States live. A formal form of government, formal education, a revealed religion, an economy based on agriculture, and fixed settlements are the basis of all "real" civilization; and, in a vague sort of way, so is a sense of intellectual adventure, a willingness to look beyond daily concerns to a vast world of ideas about the world and about humanity's place in it. The real basis for being civilized is being able to speak; as a girl who had grown up wild in the forests of France learns to speak, the memory of her old life, as well as the emotions which drove her during that time disappear, and she sheds her "savage" facade ["Wild People," 12 (July 1846): 9-14] The ancient Tartars were like "most savages," not cooking the food they ate, or seasoning it, never living in "houses or cabins," leaving the task of farming and herding to the slaves they took in battle, and having no written language ["Hungary," 20 (Sept 1850): 87]. The Native Americans of North America may be changed by trade with white settlers, but they still are not "civilized": they "maintain their wild independence and savage customs .... [T]hey are still hunters and warriors, are still without books, or a settled government, or fixed habitations, or extended agriculture, or any of the leading features of civilization." ["Pictures of Various Nations," 7 (March 1844): 88] Equally damning is that

"Real civilization" is always open to progress and improvements in the stuff of daily life. The Chinese have "a civilization of their own," but it is a stagnant one:

The barge in which the emperor of China rides is good, but it can't compare with an American steamboat; though it "shows some taste, some ingenuity, and no little industry," it is "clumsy" and "ineffective" by comparison: "The Chinese emperor can go, by dint of rowing, three miles an hour, while we go fifteen. This is about the difference between the energy of the Chinese and the civilized people of Europe and America." ["The Emperor's Barge," 11 (May 1846): 129] Civilization, probably because it has its basis in agriculture, improves the fertility of the land. In a philosophy very much like that which decreed that "rain follows the plough" (Smith, 179-82), the Museum extolls the "improvements" made in the land by the European settlers in the New World: the settlers built villages and towns, and cultivated fields where only forests had been; New Haven, Connecticut -- where Goodrich lived as a young man -- is held up as a symbol of all that civilization is capable of:

True civilization can develop only where there is a temperate climate. One which is too harsh forces the people who live there to concentrate on survival at the expense of all else; one which is too mild can encourage them to be lazy and unprogressive. Thomas Trotter comments that the climate of Sicily is so mild that its people have become lazy ["Thomas Trotter," 2 (July 1841): 11]. If people don't have to work hard to feed themselves, they're likely to become lazy and "degraded": Russians who live where it is important to grow wheat also have much game to eat, "[t]hus these people are supplied with an almost perpetual feast; and they consequently have sunk into a state of lazy, drunken sensuality." ["The Kamtskadales," 12 (July 1846): 27] Climate has been responsible for the different races of humans -- those who lived where it was hot have become browned by the sun and their hair has crinkled from its heat, while those who lived where it was cold have become light-skinned and fine of hair because they have had to keep themselves covered ["Balloon Travels," 28 (D 1854): 361-2] -- and it has been responsible for the fact that some are "civilized" while others are not. The Eskimos are "dwarfs both in body and mind" because the long periods of cold where they live don't allow them to cultivate the land, and force them to concentrate on survival to the exclusion of all else ["The Change of the Seasons," 20 (Nov 1850): 130-1]. On the other hand, in the warm countries, where "[t]he earth brings forth her increase unasked, and the inhabitants have nothing to do but to pick and eat" ["The Change of the Seasons," 20 (N 1850): 131], the people are tempted to be lazy and not try to improve themselves. "The main spring to exertion in this world, is the necessity of obtaining a livelihood," the Museum informs us, "and in a land where everything is ready made to one's hand, what motive is there to induce one to labor?" ["The Change of the Seasons," 20 (Nov 1850): 132] Robert Merry is blunter: "'It is not in the mild, tranquil regions bordering on the equator, that we find the most civilized and powerful nations. A soft climate makes a soft people." ["Balloon Travels," 25 (June 1853): 170] Though Egypt, Greece, and Rome once had the greatest civilizations on earth, this was because "after the flood," people naturally congregated where "the means of subsistence [were] most easily obtained"; since then, the original inhabitants have been scattered, "the lands and territories they occupied passed into a comparative state of barbarism," and these lands have become "degenerate." ["Balloon Travels," 25 (June 1853): 170] In warm climates, there is no incentive to improve "the arts and social refinements of life," and so the great cities of the world are all found in or near the same climatic zone:

The change of seasons encourages people to plan ahead and to develop care and prudence, for they must grow enough during the warm months to feed them during the cold period. It also encourages commerce, for "[t]here are many things which do not grow in the temperate zone, but which the inhabitants nevertheless need. They must therefore go and get them, for there is nobody to bring them from the tropics here." ["The Change of the Seasons," 20 (Nov 1850): 132-3] The scientific discoveries which are the mark of civilization have been made to improve commerce. Moderation in climate is, like moderation in all things, a supreme good: "In climate, as in everything else, a medium between the two extremes will be found most conducive to happiness, contentment, and advancement[.]" ["The Change of the Seasons," 20 (Nov 1850): 132]

The concept of moderation extends to government as well. A good form of government is a moderate form of government, for the extremes of anarchy and totalitarianism neither encourage nor allow the people to develop to their fullest capabilities; democracy, not surprisingly, is the government of choice. Absolute liberty does not exist, for all human beings have a natural sense of right and wrong, and truth and justice are intuitive to all peoples ["Liberty," 4 (Dec 1842): 184]. Instead, people have come up with various forms by which to govern themselves and each other, and, in the Museum, the best is that which allows all males a voice. These concepts, along with the pros and cons of other forms of government, are made abundantly clear in one of the first serials printed in the periodical "The Story of Philip Brusque" (1841- 1842). Philip, an uneducated young Frenchman, has decided that government is unnecessary and joins the French Revolution. Disillusioned by the Reign of Terror, however, he flees the country and is shipwrecked on a small tropical island, alone. As more people come to the island, Philip -- and the reader -- learns of the necessity of government, and the basic tenets by which a successful government is run. In the course of the story, Philip progresses from absolute freedom to a sort of willing servitude which may be seen as a form of monarchy, and thence to a primitive government with a set of laws guaranteeing the rights of all; when a constitution is proposed on the model of the American constitution, it is voted down, and rule is by the strongest, with anarchy as its result; then, after an absolute but benign monarchy, the people on the island draw up a constitution which guarantees self government on the island, and all are happy.

Basic to the concept of government, in the Museum, is the idea that all people are not virtuous, and that the weak must be protected from the strong. Absolute freedom is possible only when there is only one person, but liberty is useless without companionship, as Philip discovers. When a fisherman is also stranded on the island, Philip serves him eagerly, but the man soon takes advantage of him, and Philip's life becomes miserable; they draw up a set of laws to protect the rights of both. Without laws, the rights of all can't be protected. Depending on "natural liberty" does not work, either, in the Museum, for natural liberty is based on the survival of the strongest; though certain actions -- such as murder -- are punished, the rights of the weak are ignored or trampled on by those who are stronger ["Liberty," 4 (D 1842): 184]. On Philip Brusque's island, when 70 people who have been the prisoners of pirates are stranded and all forms of formal government are voted down, anarchy ensues, and all suffer. A handful of strong men force the weaker people to give up their property, and the women, especially, suffer: because women are physically weaker than men, they must be the men's servants, and they don't have the security they need to raise their children ["Philip Brusque," 2 (Oct 1841): 85-8]. Even the fertility of the island is affected, for no one rations the fruits which grow naturally here, and no one tills the land because what they grow may be taken from them; as a result, the amount of food on the island declines ["Philip Brusque," 2 (Sept 1841): 88]. Men are tyrants where there is no law, the Museum asserts ["Phillip Brusque," 2 (Nov 1841): 132]; finally, one man tries to make the others submit to him, and violence results. The love of power is natural, the periodical admits, but it is selfish and apt to lead to evil because the person who wants it enough to fight for it obviously is not fit to rule others ["Philip Brusque," 4 (Sept 1842): 80]. The would-be tyrant is killed. Thus, despotism is not the answer. Neither is aristocracy, for in this system, the peasants are "servants and slaves" of the aristocracy, who keep them "in ignorance and poverty" so that they will support the aristocrats' magnificent lifestyle ["Balloon Travels," 23 (F 1852): 35]. "Wherever you find a great lord, with a rich and splendid estate," Robert Merry tells us, "you find him surrounded by a numerous and ignorant peasantry. Their degradation is necessary to his splendor." ["Balloon Travels," 22 (Dec 1851): 185] On Philip Brusque's island, a man who finds an iron axe and becomes "rich" as a result makes a comic attempt to become the island's sole aristocrat and throws the axe away in his humiliation ["Philip Brusque," 4 (Nov 1842): 151-4]. Communism may seem like a viable alternative, but it is against the nature of man and of God. Clothes, good houses, furniture, and other material goods are essential to being civilized, for without them people naturally "sink into a state of nature" and become savages, having lost their refinement and love of order ["Philip Brusque," 4 (Sept 1842): 83]. People have a need to own things -- a need which comes from God - - so to hold things in common is to go against God and against human nature; the result is that the individual becomes "a reluctant drudge, or an indolent savage." ["Philip Brusque," 4 (S 1842): 82-3] Capitalism is the ideal, then, for those who labor must be allowed to keep what they have earned. There may be a vast material difference between those who are "'sharp-witted and industrious'" and those who are "'simple, and careless"', but it is natural: those who work hard can naturally become wealthy, and -- by extension -- those who don't work hard deserve their poverty ["Philip Brusque," 4 (Sept 1842): 82-3]. For a time, however, monarchy of a sort is the only alternative on the island, for one person must lead the others to rebuild their resources. The islanders choose as their "governor" a wise old man beloved by everyone; the Museum equates him with George Washington, who "never strove to get that high office, and ... only accepted it, in the hope that his government might bless the nation." ["Philip Brusque," 4 (Sept 1842): 80]; he is contrasted with Napoleon, who became an absolute ruler because he desired to be. The word "monarchy" is never used, but Mr. Bonfils has absolute rule of the island until his death; though some sort of absolute rule by someone seems to have been the only viable alternative for a time, Goodrich may have been reluctant to advocate a system he had deplored in many of his Parley books. (This comparison seems to have been almost entirely lost on the readers of the Museum; several wondered in their letters whether the island's ruler "was a good king"; Robert Merry did not answer; he may have been sorry he ever brought it up.) Under Bonfils' benign rule, the people and the island prosper, but before he dies, he asks them to adopt a constitution and govern themselves. A constitution modeled on the one for the United States had been earlier proposed and rejected; the implication is that this is the constitution which finally is adopted by the inhabitants of the island.

Having the right form of government is important, for on the government rests the happiness of the people and the fertility of the land. Under a good government, the people are well-educated and hard-working ["Thomas Trotter," 4 (Nov 1842): 139-40]; the beggars of Italy wouldn't exist, if the government helped them as it should ["Balloon Travels," 25 (June 1853): 171-2]. Thomas Trotter lists "a better organized system of government" among the requirements for the Circassians he visits to "attain a high degree of proficiency" in mechanical skills, though the role of that government is left unsaid ["Thomas Trotter in Circassia," 11 (Jan 1846): 28]. A poem equates "a happy people" with "a well-governed state," and both with peace, agriculture, prosperity, religious faith, and no criminals [poem, 11 (Jan 1846): 23]. As "rain follow the plough," so does it follow, too, the type of government which has been adopted. A tyrannic form of government discourages its people from working the land, for "what avails human industry or enterprise under the sway of [a] ... despot, who, by a single stroke of his pen, or word from his ... lips, can command the field to lie untilled, and cover the land with barrenness and desolation? Such are the fruits of tyranny." ["Thomas Trotter in Circassia," 11 (June 1846): 164] The papacy and bad government of Italy, Thomas Trotter informs us, keep the people from making the fertile soil near Naples to flourish ["Thomas Trotter," 3 (May 1842): 142]. Where "spades grow bright" and "barns are full," there are "a happy people, and well-governed state." [[poem], 11 (Jan 1846): 23]

Along with the ethic of moderation is one which presents the American white male as the ideal. Women, blacks, and Native Americans are presented ambivalently, at best; not surprising, in the Museum, the American way of life and government are the best. In all of the serialized fiction printed in the periodical during this period, the main character is male -- usually adult, and almost always an American.

In the Museum, women are more usually the acted upon than the actors; they are secondary characters in every serial and in almost every story. One exception is Lariboo, an African woman taken by slavers; but in the course of her three-part story, she is the victim of circumstance and fate, rather than the shaper of her own life ["A Story of the Desert," 10 (Sept 1845): 271-3; 10 (Oct 1845): 303-6; 11 (March 1846): 69-74]. Several biographies of famous women were printed in the magazine, but in the stories and essays women are assigned much more traditional roles. Girls must learn to be good housewives, one author asserts, for then they will be better able to manage the servants and the home, and home will be a happier place ["The Kitchen," 3 (May 1842): 138-9]; another piece urges young women to rise early and get to work, assuring them that by doing so they will avoid developing wrinkles ["Wrinkles," 12 (Nov 1846): 143]. Kathinka, in "The Siberian Sable-Hunter," is patient and obedient and works more to please others than to please herself -- certainly the ideal daughter, according to the Museum, and perhaps the ideal woman as well ["Sable-Hunter," 4 (Sept 1842): 50-1]. Robert Merry himself is a bit contradictory about the role of women in the world: in 1856, he is squelching a female reader of the Museum who desired fame ["Chat," 31 (June 1856): 187-8); just two years earlier he was condemning modern civilization for expecting women to remain happy and content at home ["Balloon Travels," 28 (Nov 1854): 328]. The Robert Merry of the "Chat" was John N. Stearns; the Robert Merry of the "Balloon Travels" was Samuel Goodrich. Goodrich already had denounced society's traditional view of women in his Lives of Celebrated Women, in 1844; in 1854 he is equally blunt. In discussing the seclusion in which Turkish women are kept, Merry makes comparisons with American society:

This was Goodrich's parting shot, for Stearns now owned the periodical.

The Museum is equally ambivalent about Native Americans. As we have already seen, they are most often presented as barbarians and savages -- examples of what to avoid. However, pieces in the periodical make a distinction between the natives of North America and those of South America, and it becomes clear that the only good Native American is a distant one. Natives of the North American continent are almost consistently evil, "ferocious and crafty," and just as likely to harm their friends as their enemies ["Lovewell's War," 8 (Sept 1844): 75]. The killing of a young women in the eighteenth century by her paid Native American escorts is illustrated and graphically described ["Murder of Miss Macrea," 20 (Aug 1850): 44-5]. "In their warfare, every species of cunning and cruelty is practised, and all the ferocity of a savage nature breaks forth," the Museum asserts ["Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and History of the Indians of America," 4 (Sept 1842): 75]. Because they have no written language, they have caused trouble with the white settlers who have paid "a valuable consideration" for the lands they occupy: "... the memory of such transactions is soon lost among people who possess no written records. The Indians easily forget the sales made by their ancestors, or imagine that such bargains are not binding upon their posterity." ["Lovewell's War," 8 (Sept 1844): 76] By contrast, the gentleness of the natives of South America is stressed -- especially when their life before the Spanish conquistadors is described. In "Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and History of the Indians of America," Washington Irving's history of Columbus is quoted to present the natives as innocent and child-like, naively welcoming Columbus as a god [1 (April 1841): 117-18]; the inhabitants of the South American continent are generous, "simple, harmless, and happy," "kind-hearted," and "ignorant" ["Sketches," 1 (My 1841): 140-4], especially the Incas ["Sketches," 2 (Aug 1841): 54-60]. In the periodical, the farther north one travels, the more cruel and bloodthirsty are the Native Americans: the natives of Mexico are cruel, with a cruel religion and a despotic government, and the people glorify war ["Sketches," 3 (June 1842): 165-73]; the periodical asserts that "[i]f we begin at the southern part of North America and go north, we shall find that the farther we proceed, the Indians will be fewer in number, and more barbarous and ignorant" ["Sketches," 4 (July 1842): 17]. It may be that the cruelty of the Native Americans of the North American continent is emphasized because they are the ones most "in the way" of the European settlers. Violent contacts between North American natives -- particularly those in New England -- and white settlers would be of more importance and fresher in the memories of the Museum's authors. The Seminoles, far away in distant Florida, are accorded the same sympathy the Museum gives the Incas: they are "poor Indians" who can't make up their minds to leave the place of their forefathers, and the amount of trouble they are giving the United States government may be just reparation for the oppression they have suffered ["The War in Florida," 3 (Feb 1842): 56-8]. On the other hand, the natives of South America are contrasted most often with the Spanish who conquered them, and an important theme in the Museum's pieces on these Native Americans is the vast cruelty of the Spanish; the periodical's anti-Catholic stance has already been discussed -- perhaps any who stood up to the Catholic conquerors and their religion deserved the magazine's sympathy.

Blacks are not presented often in the periodical, and though the magazine is clearly anti-slavery, the slavery itself is never an issue. This may have been a concession to the Museum's Southern readers, and it probably reflects Goodrich's position as a moderate abolitionist; in an article in the New York Evening Post, Goodrich writes that, though he is opposed to the extension of slavery, he is not in favor of attacking the slave holders or the institution itself (Goodrich, "Who Are the Aggressors?" New York Evening Post 15 Oct 1856: 1). Certainly, slavery is never directly attacked in the pages of the Museum, and the only truly anti-slavery remarks concern the slave trade in Brazil and Africa. The sufferings of an African woman enslaved by Africans are graphically portrayed, as she and the others stumble across a burning desert; and the slavers throw her baby onto the sand and force her to leave it, because it is a burden ["A Story of the Desert," 10 (Sept 1845): 271-3; 10 (Oct 1845): 303-6; 11 (March 1846): 69-74]. Graphic, too, is the description of the harsh treatment of Congo, a slave in Brazil, who is shot and lashed for being slow to obey ["Dick Boldhero," 8 (Sept 1844): 78-9]; the black slaves, who have escaped from their masters and set up a village in the remote jungle, are kinder and more gentle to the hero of the story than are the whites who owned them ["Dick Boldhero," 8 (July 1844): 22- 4]. This may have been a reaction to the slave uprisings in Brazil in the 1830s, as the author may have reasoned that the slaves there had revolted because they received harsher treatment than did the slaves in the United States. Certainly, slavery in the United States is rarely mentioned, and it is not presented as harshly as is slavery elsewhere. In the only story read for this study which mentions slavery, the only sufferings of the slave are emotional, though very real: her husband is sold and she grieves, for, the author points out, she does have a heart, "despite her complexion." ["The Story of Cotton-Wool," 7 (March 1844): 82-4] If the periodical were going to attack slavery in any way, probably it was safer to attack distant slavery than that practiced by a portion of its readers.

In the case of both blacks and Native Americans, the "natural" superiority of whites is made clear, and white supremacy is justified by "legends" of both races. The "superior genius and bravery" of Captain John Smith "rendered him very dangerous to the Indians," and so they tried to kill him; at his almost-execution, the natives watch in silence, "with sensations of awe at the spectacle" as he goes quietly to his death ["Pocahontas and Captain Smith," 20 (July 1850): 14]. Whites are naturally stronger than Native Americans, the Museum informs us, and "[i]n a personal conflict, where strength and energy of purpose are required, the white man will generally overcome the Indian." ["Pictures of Various Nations," 7 (Ap 1844): 114] At the beginning of 1850, the magazine presented two "legends" which justify white supremacy. In both the "Ashantee legend" and the story told by a Native American, the actions of the whites are justified as part of God's plan, in an acknowledgement by the "inferior" races that this is the way it should be. Blacks themselves make a wrong decision in the African "legend":

In the Native American "legend," the invasion of the Europeans is a punishment for a "weakness" which reinforces the natives' vaunted ferocity; Manitto gave this pleasing and fair country to the Native Americans because "they were the bravest of the nations in battle," but the men began to prefer peace and "indolence," and

The Europeans are not so much a conquering enemy as they are a force of nature, naturally taking what is due them and exterminating all who oppose them as a storm sweeps all before it -- a theme vaguely asserted in the "Sketches," which had been published years before. That these tales appear so soon after the push by whites to the California gold-fields may be significant; any tension about whether or not whites were justified in expanding their settlements would likely be resolved if the oppressed peoples acknowledged their superiority. This type of justification does not reappear in the Museum.

Throughout the Museum, America is held up as a land of promise, a strong Utopia with strong, industrious, well-educated people. This young, bright nation is a beacon for the oppressed of an old and weary Europe -- a place where even the poor are well-off, and a place which nurtures men superior in energy and industry to any the rest of the world has to offer.

The travelers in the Museum's fictionalized geographies constantly comment on the "ancient" aspect of the cities and landscapes of Europe and Asia. Whether it is Thomas Trotter or Gilbert Go-Ahead gaping at ruins in the Middle East, or Robert Merry and the children in his balloon, sailing over the cities of Europe, to all, the "Old World" is indeed old, weary, and in ruins. The cities of Italy have an "old, worn-out, decaying look. ..The people even seem like the wreck of other days." ["Balloon Travels," 26 (July 1853): 1] Rome, filled with ruins, is no longer interesting of itself, but because of its history ["Balloon Travels," 26 (Oct 1853): 102]. No longer new from the hand of God, altered and recreated by humans, the land has lost its grace and freshness:

The sunsets and storms are better in the United States than in Italy, Thomas Trotter remarks wistfully, and he misses the fresh scent of America's woods and "virgin soil." ["Thomas Trotter," 4 (Sept 1842): 95] In the course of the Museum's fictionalized geographies, the reader gets a sense that Europe and Asia are but barren lands and ruins; the lushness of the jungles and forest which Gilbert Go-Ahead describes lies to the west, in lands which, he constantly reminds us, have not yet been exploited for commerce -- a "virgin territory" for capitalism.

By contrast, the United States is a bright, young nation on a hill, a beacon to the rest of the world. Americans may not realize it, but they are blessed, for they can depend on the strength of the nation to keep them from losing what they have through war ["The Minute Man," 19 (April 1850): 113], and Americans can earn much more than can the citizens of other nations. Thomas Trotter muses as he walks through a Middle East village plundered by Russian soldiers on

The poor of Europe, the Museum asserts, can't be as happy as the poor of the United States, for the poor here can earn much more than those of other nations. The miseries of the poor in France are elaborated upon and contrasted with the richness of the United States, where a boy can earn several times more than would a French boy or woman ["A Scene in France," 11 (April 1846): 113; "France," 6 (Aug 1843): 59]. "There are few countries in which the people, at large, are so happy as in our own country," the Museum states. "... Should we not be thankful that a good Providence has cast our lot in America?" ["France," 6 (Aug 1843): 59]

Thus, it is not surprising that the United States has not only become a refuge for the poor, but a force for change in the rest of the world. Because the Irish can get no relief from their government or the British, "[h]undreds and thousands are flying from this doomed island; the greater part of them are seeking our shores. The stars and stripes speak to them of a land of liberty and bread." ["The Famine in Ireland," 14 (Aug 1847): 56] And, people all over the world look at the freedoms America has to offer and come here to share them ["Balloon Travels," 24 (Nov 1852): 140]. Because American citizens have been blessed by God, they have a certain obligation to help the poor of other nations:

Simply by virtue of its existence, America is exerting a slow, but steady, force for change in the rest of the world. As the oppressed learn that in the United States they can find a place of freedom and leave their old homes, the rulers of the European lands feel the pressure to grant more freedoms and lessen the tyranny they exercise. As Robert Merry tells his young friends,

This gradual lessening of oppression is part of God's plan; as the creation of the world was a gradual generation of life, so is the freedom symbolized by America part of

The freedom of the United States is also an obligation, for "[i]f we enjoy liberty, independence, prosperity, denied to others, we should take care to let our light so shine as that others, seeing our good works, may glorify our Father which is in heaven." ["Balloon Travels," 24 (Nov 1852): 140]

The citizens of this strong, superior, and energetic country are themselves represented as strong, superior, and energetic. Throughout these years of the Museum, the "American type" is the Yankee -- practical, industrious, ingenious, and thrifty as the day is long. Europe may have picturesque shepherds, but few are to be found "in our busy, bustling Yankee-land," for few here have the patience for it ["The Scottish Shepherd," 12 (July 1846): 30]. If an American boy were to take a job as a cowherd, unlike a French boy, he wouldn't be content just to watch the cow: "Our boy would have a penknife in hand, and would be trying to invent a new steam- engine, or, perhaps, perpetual motion; or he would have a book, and be improving his mind. The care of one cow would not satisfy the genius of a Yankee boy." ["A Scene in France," 11 (April 1846): 113] In Sicily, Thomas Trotter informs us, the inhabitants have only a mule path to get them places; an American would have built a railroad ["Thomas Trotter," 2 (July 1841): 8]. In the same vein is a piece on the emperor of China's barge, in which the slowness of the oar-driven barge is contrasted with the swiftness and ingeniousness of an American steamboat ["The Emperor's Barge," 11 (My 1846): 129].

Gilbert & a friend admire a clock

In the heroes of the serials which the Museum printed, we find the Yankee hero personified. In almost all, the main character is Yankee to the core: practical, ingenious, and adventurous. Even Michael Kastoff, the Russian sailor, tries to sell the Japanese on the practicality and ingenuity of using prefabricated homes on their earthquake-plagued island ["Michael Kastoff," 13 (April 1847): 115]. When Thorwald, the Norwegian Viking explorer, courts a lovely maiden in Iceland, they go berrying -- just, as the author points out, similar couples do in the United States ["Thorwald," 19 (April 1850): 120]. But in the American characters, such as Thomas Trotter, Dick Boldhero, and, especially, Gilbert Go-Ahead, we find the ingenious Yankee typified. Gilbert, as he is fond of telling us in "The Adventures of Gilbert Go-Ahead in Foreign Parts," is the quintessential Yankee. Simple and practical, he is a charming combination of business and boast, bigger and brasher than everyone he meets. Armed with a New England education and with 200 clocks which are his sole profit from an investment in a clock-making business, Gilbert sets out for China to make his fortune. Gilbert is a practical man who never skimps the details or the plans; plotting the progress of his soon-to-be-earned fortune, he is careful about everything:

He is equally generous with details as his journey progresses, giving the reader not only the prices of everything he buys, sells, or thinks of buying or selling, but a running account of all he possesses; when Gilbert is shipwrecked, he has nothing but "a two-bladed knife, ... a box of wet matches, three fish-hooks, about half a New-York Herald, a gimblet with a split handle, and a locket around my neck, containing a daguerreotype likeness of one of my friends at Sandy Plain." [24 (Aug 1852): 58] Gilbert constantly tries to "improve" the way the natives he meets do things; on Sumatra, he tries to introduce the use of bellows among its gold-workers:

The "improved" wagon he builds in Cambodia gets out of control and destroys the marketplace and half the village. When Gilbert trades, he becomes the quintessential silken-tongued Yankee peddler. Seated before the King of Lampong, he sells him a clock thus:

Gilbert's education stands him in good stead: in his debates with a Himalayan priest, Gilbert holds his own -- perhaps standing as a good example of the benefits of a free education -- and he constantly uses aphorisms to keep up his spirits. Deciding whether or not to enter a native village, Gilbert debates with himself: "'Faint heart never won fair lady.' 'None but the brave deserve the fair.' 'Courage and luck are trumps that win every game.' 'In short,' said I ... 'as there's nothing else to be done, I'll march upon the village, and take it by storm.'" [21 (May 1851): 139] For Gilbert, the direct approach is the best approach; when he gets unfair judgments in foreign courts, his reaction is simple and swift: in one case, he finds out how much the judge would fine someone for knocking down a judge, pays the fine, and takes his revenge [27 (May 1854): 153-7]. Relentlessly proud of his nation, Gilbert becomes one of the earliest of a long line of arrested Americans to inform the authorities that they can't be doing this to him:

Constantly beset by misfortune, Gilbert, nevertheless, rises above it all, losing his clocks but still ending up with a fortune.

These heroes symbolic of Yankee ingenuity and energy are, nevertheless, examples of moderation as well. Each man begins the story adventuresome and devil-may-care, and all "reform." Physically humbled by illness and abuse, each comes to realize that there is no place like home, and all return as quickly as they can, cured of their love of adventure. Their reward is material, as well, for each has a fortune at the end of the adventure, but this fortune is never earned by sweat, but by moral. Dick Boldhero regains the family fortune by accident, as does Alexis, the Siberian Sable-Hunter. Billy Bump, having lost a fortune by gambling, repents and, having proved his repentance, gets the money back from the wealthy eccentric who had cheated him out of it in order to teach him a lesson. Gilbert, having earned and lost several fortunes, finally manages to keep the one he "earns" by accidentally teaching a Persian merchant a lesson in morality. Even Jacob Karl, once he has learned not to be selfish, ends his adventure with a new character, a bride, and $11,000. The basic pattern of these adventures is that of the hero leaving society, learning, and being readmitted to society. These rascals reform and are readmitted to society, but the readmittance is rarely dwelt upon; more important to the point of the story, perhaps, is the lesson, rather than the reward.

In the pages of the Museum under Goodrich's editorship, its readers got valuable lessons about the place of the individual and the American nation. Here, every person is in charge of her own destiny, and moderation in beliefs and in all aspects of an individual's life is important, for, controlling one's environment and one's fate, one must first be able to control oneself. This is especially important in a republic, where each person not only has rights, but obligations, and must sometimes give up her own wants and desires in order to accommodate the common good. The editors of the Museum gave their readers a picture of themselves and their nation as the best the world had to offer, though still capable of whatever improvements were necessary. Ingenious, certain, and self-controlled, the Museum's young readers were ready to take their places in a world progressing toward freedom.