"A Visit to Merry's Museum; or, Social Values in a 19th-Century American Periodical for Children," by Pat Pflieger

Unlike Goodrich's serials, the serials in the Museum at this time rarely were published in book form; only Hicks' "Ike Cottle" was published, in 1868, by the Board of Publications of the Reformed Church. However, collections by "Aunt Sue" and by "Robert Merry" of puzzles, songs, and rhymes were published in bright covers -- perfect for giving a child as a gift.

During these years, the magazine did not lose its timeliness. Though the emphasis had shifted from informing the reader about the world to developing the reader's conscience and morality, the Museum still informed its young readers about events of the day. The newly-marketed sewing machine rated several articles in the magazine, as did the triumphant laying of the telegraph cable across the Atlantic Ocean. As may be expected of a periodical published in New York, when the Civil War broke out, the Museum was firmly on the Union side; and it reflected the War in articles designed to inform the reader, but mostly in fiction and poetry. An article -- with a half-page portrait -- praising Major-General George McClellan appeared in October, 1861; and Aunt Sue gave her readers tips on how to discriminate the different ranks of the different services and a lively discussion of the difficulties of planning battle strategy ["Major-Gen. George B. McClellan," 42 (Oct 1861): 115-16; "Aunt Sue's Scrap-Bag," 42 (Oct 1861): 117; "Aunt Sue's Scrap-Bag: A Line of Battle," 44 (Sept 1862): 88-9]. Authors of fiction were quick to make their works contemporary: "Renny's Uniform," printed in March and April, 1862, takes place in autumn, 1861, and concerns the war-play that many young readers probably indulged in. Other works with other concerns often mention in passing the War and the problems associated with it: in "Dreaming and Doing," one reason the heroine must learn to care for her clothing is that each person must ration luxuries; two boys in "The White Rabbit" liken a dog which bites off the tail of their pet rabbit to a rebel spy [Mrs. N. McConaughy, "Dreaming and Doing," 46 (Dec 1863): 166-8; "The White Rabbit," 45 (June 1863): 181-3]. In "Philip Snow's War," the battlefield becomes the testing ground for the hero, who, having learned to discipline himself, now is an inspiration to his men ["Philip Snow's War," 46 (Dec 1863): 161-5]. None of these pieces glossed over an aspect of war which was soon a nightmare to those who endured these years: the pain of a loss of a loved one in battle. A boy whose father has fallen on the battlefield goes home "to his mother to tell the story -- 'the story,' must it be told near every hearth-stone -- must it be heard going, mid shot and shell, down into every woman's heart in the nation?" ["Renny's Uniform," 43 (April 1862): 107] Poetry published in the magazine usually concerned itself with just this sorrow. "Re-Enlisted" records the author's pain at her brother's re-enlistment in the army; when the news of a subscriber's death in a Southern prison was released, the Museum devoted an entire page to a poetical memorial to him [V.L., "Re-Enlisted," 49 (Feb 1865): 44; memorial to Adelbert Older, 49 (March 1865): 87]. The end of the war was celebrated in the July, 1865, issue with both a poem and a song -- separate pieces -- entitled "Victory at Last."

Most of the pieces which appeared in the Museum at this time were signed, and the contributors during this period may be divided into professionals and amateurs. Many pieces were signed by "Hiram Hatchet," "Aunt Sue" and "Uncle Frank". Other professional authors included Meta Lander, whose books included biographies of missionaries and works on children; Julia E. McConaughy, author of several works published by the National Temperance Society; and Catharine Maria Trowbridge, author of several works for children. A few more famous names also wrote for the Museum. Jacob Abbott had already achieved fame with his Rollo books; his brief serial appeared in the periodical in lieu of the traditional premium the editors usually sent to the subscribers. Two authors wrote for the Museum before their success took them elsewhere: Rebecca Sophia Clarke, author of several series books for girls, and Mary Mapes Dodge, who in 1872 founded one of the most important of American periodicals for children: St. Nicholas Magazine. (She paved the way with an article describing her ideal children's magazine.) Clarke -- writing under her popular pseudonym, "Sophie May" -- began to contribute to the magazine in 1861, after the publication of her Christmas Fairies in 1860. Her contributions were steady until February, 1867; the prolific Clarke wrote for the periodical at least two serials and innumerable short stories, until her Little Prudy series -- to which she had contributed six volumes in two years -- made her a wildly popular author of children's books. Dodge, writing as "M. E. D.," contributed several stories to the Museum in 1863 and 1866, and a serial in 1864, and was familiar enough with the Museum's readers to josh each by name in a poem in 1866 ["The Merry-opticon," 51 (Jan 1866): 25-6]. After the publication of Hans Brinker; or, the Silver Skates in late 1866, she no longer contributed to the magazine. Perhaps once both authors became popular outside the confines of the Museum, they could command more money than the magazine could pay.

Whether certain other contributors were paid or not is open to speculation. Many, many of the pieces which appeared in the Museum at this time were contributed by such subscribers as Mattie Bell, Eula Lee, Jolly Jingle, Fleta Forrester, Laura Elmer, Black-Eyes, Buckeye Boy, Adelbert Older, Henry A. Danker, Ellian, Willie H. Coleman, Carolus Piper, and Wilforley -- whose father also contributed a piece. They sent stories, poems, and informational pieces: Henry Danker wrote a series of articles about common birds; Eula Lee and Adelbert Older contributed poems; Wilforley described a trip east in a three-part series; and Willie Coleman wrote a nostalgic retrospective series on the history of the Museum. Fleta Forrester not only wrote stories for the magazine, she also took over the puzzle section for a time in 1864. A handful of these writers achieved modest fame later on in life: Kruna-Julia Perkins Pratt Ballard -- began to publish temperance tracts while she was writing for the Museum and also contributed to the periodical The Child at Home (one piece printed there was reprinted in the Museum), and Laura Elmer went on to contribute poetry to newspapers. Most of the subscriber-authors, however, went on to a well-deserved anonymity. They may have been paid for their contributions to the magazine, but, more likely, they were not, and even if they were, it may not have been at the professional rate; during the earlier years of the Museum, the editors occasionally published a piece by a subscriber, and Stearns may have used this tradition to his advantage, filling the pages of the magazine cheaply. It worked to his advantage in another way, too, for by this time the "Chat" had become more-or-less the core of the periodical and of the readers' loyalties to it. Almost all the subscribers who took the time to praise the magazine's contents limited that praise to the "Chat" -- perhaps in unconscious reaction to the poor quality of the magazine's contents. But, by publishing the literary efforts of his readers, Stearns renewed and repaid their loyalty, and made the link between the magazine and its readers stronger than ever.

As Goodrich had before him, Stearns brought to the job a set of attitudes and opinions that would color the world-view the Museum presented to its readers. Having first signed the temperance pledge at age seven, Stearns had grown up working for the temperance movement; when he left the Museum in 1866, it was to edit the Temperance Advocate and the Youth's Temperance Banner, and to lecture and labor in the cause of temperance ("Noble," 17, 38). Perhaps because he had only a basic education, Stearns was concerned with the education of others, serving on the Brooklyn Board of Education for three years ("Noble," 15). At the time he published the Museum, Stearns also was involved in church work, teaching Sunday-school and acting as a Sunday-school superintendent for almost 30 years ("Noble," 12). The portrait which emerges in a memorial volume by his friends after Stearns' death is of a man deeply concerned with children and with morality.

All of these concerns are apparent in the Museum, which at this time took a strong stance against alcoholism, and a stronger turn toward religion and personal morality. The Museum of this period celebrates moderation, hard work, humility, and charity, as well as pride in American progress, but it also betrays an uneasiness with modern life: a sense that something is wrong in society -- especially in the cities -- and that the views the magazine espouses may not be shared by all. Persecution of the good becomes a minor theme, as do the dangers of the city and the helplessness of the urban poor -- who for the first time in the magazine's pages become objects of charity. The world-focus of the Museum has narrowed: as it had concerned itself primarily with fitting its young readers to be good citizens of a republic that had a mission in the larger circle of the world, now it concerned itself primarily with educating its readers to be good individuals in the smaller circle of the family and the community and to fit them for heaven. Moderation is still key, but it is moderation with a new purpose: to fit the soul to serve God and man. Trust in God is a primary theme. The narrow focus of the magazine extends to the central protagonists of the pieces published in the Museum at this time: instead of the world-traveling Yankee fortune-seekers of Goodrich's time, they are children learning about life and its responsibilities at home. Home is central in all these works -- as is the family and, especially, the mother. Though the magazine cautions its young readers about the difficulties of achieving moral perfection, it holds up to them young models of faith and decorum. This period saw the heyday of what can be called the "effective child". that child who -- through artlessness or invincible morality -- affects the lives of those around her, acting as moral example or persuading them into morality. Though perfect children had appeared in tales during Goodrich's editorship, a new consciousness seems to imbue the Museum during Stearns' editorship. Influenced, probably, by a newer sense in the culture that children were pure souls to be valued as they are, the magazine seems more self-conscious about its presentation of them, making them the protagonists of almost every serial, poem, and short story. Some of the magazine's uneasiness may have been due to its emphasis on religion -- the reader gets a sense that true Christianity is nearly impossible to achieve; but it may also have been due to a growing concern about the cities -- which now dominated a land traditionally agrarian -- and to a growing sense that the values espoused by the "genteel" class which, R. Gordon Kelly has pointed out, dominated nineteenth-century literature, may not have been shared by the rest of society.

Though the emphasis of the Museum in its early years had been on educating the child's mind, the emphasis now was on perfecting the child's inner being. Serials and stories published during this time are basically adventures in the life of the spirit, as their protagonists learn valuable lessons in morality. As one scholar has pointed out, "The Museum became more and more a medium for Sunday school stories and songs, and temperance tales." (Dechert, 176) This perfection of the soul is important, for, in the Museum's world-view, each person is in control of her own character, and of her own success or failure. The individual is constantly building and refining her character, the magazine reminds us, and the only sure foundation for anyone's life is Christianity ["The Builders," 37 (Jan 1859): 6-7]. If our characters are in our own control, then so is our failure or success, for success depends on habits and personality. Those whose luck is bad have only themselves to blame, for if one does not take care or think ahead, bad luck is sure to follow; the carpenter who rejects advice to drive in an extra nail is badly injured when his scaffolding collapses ["Tim Broadax," 33 (April 1857): 110-12]. Success depends on hard work ["Dreaming and Doing," 46 (Dec 1863): 166-68], but also on such character traits as virtue, temperance, and "a high moral estimate of the true aims of life" ["Mike Smiley," 35 (Jan 1858): 19]: "Temperance, industry, virtue, and the fear of God, are all a capital on which no young man ever failed to win the highest reward." ["Mike Smiley," 35 (April 1858): 116]

Education is important, too, for one difference between the rich and the poor is "a well-directed intelligence" ["Mike Smiley," 35 (Jan 1858): 19]. Study may be dull, but it is a necessary foundation even for the imagination. Carl Bedenker, who would rather play with his dog all day than go to school, dreams of a beautiful fairy named Fantasia and of an old man named Studiosus -- both of whom will teach him the wonders of nature. But Carl must, reluctantly, go with Studiosus before he can be trusted with Fantasia; the fact must go before the fantasy. That night, Carl sees his studious grandfather as in a dream, with Studiosus behind him and Fantasia whispering in his ear as he reads -- perhaps the perfect balance between fact and imagination ["Carl," 35 (Feb 1858): 50]. It is the child's duty to "love.. books as well as.. play" ["Away, Away to School," 35 (Jan 1858): 10], but learning is real happiness, and God has made sure that all of creation has something to teach us; even after death, we can learn through all eternity ["The Young Philosopher," 38 (Aug 1859): 46-7]. Education, in the world of the Museum, makes us superior: the man who hires a boy to be his groom and educates him soon realizes that keeping the boy a servant would "be doing him a great injustice," for "the attempt to hold him in a subordinate situation could not have been long successful, if it had been made" ["Mike Smiley," 35 (Jan 1858): 19). It also has monetary value, for, after a series of very convoluted figuring, one realizes that an education is worth about $4 for every day spent in school ["Who Wants $4 a Day?," 43 (March 1862): 83-4]. (An educated man can make $1,000 per year, and an uneducated man can make about $313 -- a difference of $687. To get this amount each year would be equal to having $11,450 in the bank, drawing 6% interest; therefore, education is worth $11,450; and since one probably spends 2,860 days in school in a lifetime, education is worth $4 per school day. Only in America.)

The Museum at this time still extolls the value of hard work, but it allies with this concept the idea that time is a precious commodity: the reader is urged not just to avoid procrastinating, but to make good use of every moment. "The idler is a sponge on society and a curse to his own existence," the Museum assures its readers ["Do Something," 41 (Ap 1861): 103]. Work is the natural order of things, for, as an idle young girl learns as she walks in the woods, all the plants and animals of creation work hard, helped on by "God's thoughts," in the shape of little people who look "'[a]s if they could do something ... [a]s if they would finish what they began ... [a]s if they'd never sit down and say, "Oh, dear, I'm tired'[.]" ["The Working Fairies," 39 (April 1860): 107] "'God does not bless lazy people,'" a farmer informs his nephew [J. E. McConaughy, "Blessings of Work," 45 (May 1863): 150]. Work is good for us, for it not only allows us to provide for ourselves and our families, but it keeps us healthy in mind and body: "'A fine education is an excellent thing,'" the farmer goes on, "'but it is of little account unless you have a sound body to match it, and there is nothing like exercise to make a man's mind strong and healthy as well as his body.'" Thus, the boy is not to complain about doing chores, for they have provided exercise and given him a good appetite for supper [J. E. McConaughy, "Blessings of Work," 45 (May 1863): 150-1]. Work also teaches the qualities necessary to make one's way in life. By the time Lizzie finishes her patchwork guilt, she has learned not only sewing, but thrift, taste, and how to use her free time constructively ["Lizzie's Patchwork," 37 (Jan 1859): 19]. For Elva, lost in fantasies cribbed from romantic literature, her "disagreeable" job as a nursemaid is almost an exorcism, for here she has no time to be "absent-minded or indolent," and thus she can't indulge herself in daydreams; she becomes again the quiet, self-denying child she was before she began to dream ["Elva Seeking Her Fortune," 50 (Nov 1865): 144-6].

Both girls have learned another, equally-important lesson as well: not to waste the precious commodity of time. Though procrastination is a sin which the Museum had tried to eradicate from its first issue, now time is a substance not to be squandered. One can't begin too early to cherish the value of hard work, for

[a]ll children should cherish a desire to do all they can for themselves, and to support themselves by their own labor as early as possible. Those who lean on father and mother for everything will find it hard work to get along by-and-by, as they may have to when their parents die. ["Do You Want a Boy, Sir?," 50 (Sept 1865): 80]

If one wants to accomplish anything, he must always keep in motion ["Always Busy," 41 (Feb 1861): 35]; but keeping busy is important in and of itself, as well: readers are urged to

Press on!  You're rusting while you stand;
    Inaction will not do.
Take life's small bundle in your hand,
    And bridge it briskly through.    ["Press On!," 44 (Aug 1862):  55]

However, just as important is keeping busy in the right way. The future president, the Museum assured its readers, woudn't be the boy who played during his leisure time, but the boy who learned about the world by reading the newspaper ["The Future President," 53 (April 1867): 196-8]. Frivolous activities are as dangerous to the individual's future as they are useless, for they don't lead to success. When Frank teaches his sister's kitten tricks, his uncle warns him against this bad use of his time, citing the story of another boy who taught a poodle to dance, while his friend studied, invented useful machines, and thereby earned a fortune; the lazy local handyman, the uncle points out, had learned sleight-of-hand as a boy, instead of a "useful" trade, and now is a bad worker ["Hawthorn Blossoms," 52 (Sept 1866): 65-7]. Time is meant to be used to improve one's future prospects.

Obedience is still of major importance in the world of the Museum: obedience to parents, to experienced adults, and, especially, to God. "Ah, it is a dangerous thing to cast off the restraint of those who are older and wiser than we!" exclaims the author of a story about two antelopes who stray from the mandated grazing area and are killed by a lion [J. E. McConaughy, "The Truant Antelopes," 50 (Sept 1865): 74]. Punishment for disobedience is swift, appropriate, and physical -- not imposed by someone in authority, but a natural outgrowth of the disobedient activity. There is a sense of cosmic inevitability about the outcome of disobeying. The boys who disobey adults and go sliding invariably fall through the ice into freezing waters and almost die ["Stolen Pleasure, and Its Fruits," 36 (Dec 1858): 171-4; "The First Slide," 49 (April 1865): 106-8]; a little boy with a cold teases his mother into letting him play in the snow and almost dies of pneumonia ["'Mamma Knows Best'," 45 (Jan 1863): 22]. Willie persuades his mother to let him go to the circus despite her objections that it is not "'a nice place for boys'"; and, dazzled by the acrobats, he tries to stand on his hands, falls, and breaks his arm -- all just punishment, according to the author: "'Poor Willie! As he suffered from the pain of having the bone set, and the weariness of staying indoors for weeks, he often thought that 'mother knew best' after all. ["Willie and the Circus," 49 (May 1865): 130]. The last two examples underscore a minor theme of obedience: that, even when they are persuaded to change their minds, parents still know what is best, and it is better to heed their first decrees. Willie's mother says nothing about having been right from the beginning, but the mother of the boy with the cold takes herself to task for giving in to him and resolves to stand firm in the future ["'Mamma Knows Best'," 45 (Jan 1863): 22]. Even when the parent is not present, God is, inflicting punishment on all who err -- including, if it must be so, the indulgent parent.

For, indeed, the child's obedience must extend from the parent to God. In the world of the Museum, God is a stern parent who knows what is best and who punishes the disobedient, but who rewards and indulges the obedient. One must be careful to do good and -- more importantly -- to have faith, for a stern but loving God will work out everything for our ultimate good. As the hart searching through a drought-stricken land and finally finding an ever-flowing stream, so is the soul searching by "a thousand springs of pleasure" which finally finds an "everlasting spring" in God [J.E. McConaughy, "The Hart and the Water-Brooks," 50 (Nov 1865): 132-3]; even those not actively seeking God are influenced by Him: the ancient Greeks and Romans, one author asserts, were being gently led to a consciousness of the one God, who taught them to worship Zeus not as a greedy tyrant, but as a loving power [Reverend George Cox, "Mythology," 54 (Oct 1867): 106-11]. In the Museum, God is a loving parent whose ways are just. When Bessie's father, who has been working in the dark cellar, calls to her to jump down through the trap door to him, invisible in the darkness, she does so unhesitatingly, following his voice and trusting that he will catch her; God, the author of the piece asserts, is our Father, and, though we can't see into "the darkness of the future," we must trust and fearlessly "follow" His voice, and we will end up in His arms ["Little Bessie," 49 (Feb 1865): 55]. God watches over all and cares for all, the reader is assured; two little girls frightened by a noise one night wouldn't have been had they "asked God, believingly, to watch over and keep them from harm, and lain down with a perfect trust in loving care," for "the angels" watch over all, and "there is nothing you need fear save your own deceitful, sinful hearts." [Eula Lee, "Children's Fears," 53 (Feb 1867): 46-7] When a girl decides to make "a real up-and-down fool" of someone on April Fool's Day, she unwittingly enacts part of God's plan to protect her family, for her actions cause the family to sleep in the one part of the house not destroyed in a freak accident; this incident shows that God protects us all, and that "the foolish thoughts in a little girl's brain help to work out His wise and loving plans." [Sophie May, "All-Fool's Day," 45 (April 1863): 112]

However, the parent must not only protect, but discipline, as well, and, in the world of the Museum, God's chastisement is as important as His protection. As it did in the early years, now the Museum assures its readers that even misfortune is good for them and comes from God. As a parent takes away a child's toy to discipline and control the child, so God may take away what He has given us, to discipline and control us ["The Penitent," 37 (April 1859): 106-7]. Such punishment may be the loss of material goods, but it also may be something more tragic. One must be good, the magazine warns, else God will take a brother or a sister, to bring on repentance ["The Penitent," 37 (April 1859): 107]. Speaking of a blind child, one character tells her niece that the boy's disability is punishment: "'It certainly is some form of wrong -- some broken law of God -- that has caused Benny's blindness'[.]" ["Philip Snow's War," 45 (April 1863): 105] On the other hand, supposed misfortunes may only be part of a larger plan to give us a greater good. Florence becomes angry when her aunt keeps a secret from her, but the secret is a magnificent birthday gift the aunt is making for the girl: the aunt has seemed "unkind" because she was acting from love, and "'[s]o it often proves in God's dealings with us. When he seems to hide his face from us we turn away grieved, and it may be rebellious, and then after a time we find that only blessings were being prepared for us.'" [Kruna, "Little Florence's Curiosity, and How It was Cured," 43 (Feb 1862): 42-5] If one has the proper amount of faith, all will come out right, as a poor widow realizes one Christmas when she has "mistrusted" God but still received enough food and warm clothing to brighten her family's holiday ["Mrs. Gray's Christmas," 50 (Dec 1865): 182]. Three tiny streams which follow different routes all suffer in their journeys to the sea. While the streams which go forth boldly to get ahead or to cheer others along the way are polluted and degraded by human beings, the stream which trusts itself to God suffers the most pain -- as it is filtered through the earth -- but it achieves the greatest beauty; when they come together in the sea, all three agree that "'He doeth all things well.'" ["The Three Rivulets," 44 (July 1862): 11-13] Though miserable, orphaned Daisy Lee puts her faith in fairy tales for a time, it is God who brings one of her father's old friends to find and adopt her: "The fairies had not brought him, but one of God's great storms gathering in its might and riding over the prairie had brought him[.]" ["Daisy Lee's New Year," 49 (Jan 1865): 4] Even if faith does not bring such dramatic rewards, simple happiness will follow if one will only "leave to-morrow's fare/ To thy heavenly Father's care." [Kruna, "The Brightest Side," 42 (July 1861): 14]

Such emphasis on trusting in the will of God leads naturally to an emphasis on control and moderation in the individual which would have been familiar to the reader of the Museum in its early years. But, whereas the earlier Museum had stressed the individual's relationship with the nation, now it stressed the individual's relationship with God. Moderation had been an important characteristic of the good citizen of a shining republic; now it was an important characteristic of the heaven-bound soul. The "passions" of Native Americans may have led to their repression by the whites and thus made them good examples of what immoderate behavior could mean to the nation ["Why Have the Indians Disappeared?," 43 (Jan 1862): 21-2], but this aspect is not dwelt upon; rather the emphasis is on the individual's personal need to practice control and moderation in order to become a better person. Lucy, who daydreams about the heroine of the adventure novel she is reading and who longs to "'fight battles, and win victories'," is gently told by her grandmother that to gain "'a victory'" over herself would "'be a greater triumph than all the ten-cent story- books ever recorded'" and takes tremendous pride in "overcoming the faults of Lucy Wilson, and making her a good girl." ["Lucy's Victory," 50 (Sept 1865): 82] Moderation in expectations is important, so that the individual won't be disappointed [Meta Lander, "Guess What!," 36 (July 1858): 18-19], and one must learn not to be vexed by what can be helped or by what can't be helped [Catharine Trowbridge, "The Two Rules, and How They Worked," 38 (Aug 1859): 39]; but controlling temperament and actions receives the most attention of all, for these things affect future prospects. Edward, who looks forward to the end of school so he can do as he pleases and smoke, go out at night, and "have a jolly spree with the boys," is reminded by his sober friend, Henry, that he has a body and a soul which he is to "improve or ruin" and, therefore, he should take Henry's moderate approach to life and become as happy, healthy, and strong as he is ["A Finished Education," 43 (March 1862): 82-3]. Curiosity, the magazine tells its readers, is a good thing, but only if "rightly directed"; a boy who is too curious finds some gunpowder, and, in trying to explode something with it, almost loses an eye [The Old Major, "A Boy with Too Much Curiosity," 40 (Nov 1860): 167-8]. Not controlling oneself around others can have even more disastrous consequences; though the Museum's emphasis on moderation would seem to be aimed at making the reader better able to relate to others, the lessons still emphasize that better actions lead to a better soul. The protagonist may err and thereby harm someone else, but the lesson does not end there; the focus becomes the erring hero's repentance. In the first few pages of a two-part story, Eddy, in a flash of temper, hits his younger brother in the eye with a stone, making him go "BLIND!" The rest of the tale recounts Eddy's repentance and struggle to earn the money needed for an operation to restore his brother's sight; after resisting the provocation of a bully and paying for the operation, his redemption is complete, as he prays and "'[t]he recording angel dropped another tear"' while recording the prayer, and "the angels in heaven rejoiced over another victory won." [Aunt Sue, "Govern Your Temper," 39 (March 1860): 70] Frustrated by the antisocial behavior of a friend, Nathan taunts him instead of helping him when the other boy is in what becomes a life-threatening situation; Nathan's repentance and redemption are the focus of the rest of the serial ["Silver and Gold," 44 (Aug-Dec 1862)]. Pranks and teasing also must be eradicated. Edwin, mimicking a crippled boy, Charles, is suddenly, sickeningly aware that the other boy is watching; and Charles is so shocked and horrified that he becomes ill, to recover only when a repentant Edwin begs forgiveness; Charles' illness "cures" Edwin "of his sinful habit of indulging in heedless conversation and giving way to exaggeration." [D. M. T., "Idle Words," 54 (Aug 1864): 52-4; italics original] Jack, almost hyperactive in his fondness for pranks, so startles a sickly, gentle boy that he falls into some water, catches a fever, and dies, looking forward to heaven and asking his mother to "'Tell Jack to be a good boy and love Junesus, and by-and-by he will come, too, and not be naughty any more.'" After this, Jack is more "thoughtful," blaming himself; perhaps he has "given up his naughty ways." [Pearl Peveril, "Jack the Teaser," 52 (Oct 1866): 101-3]

There is an inevitability in all of these pieces which teaches the reader that nothing is important, for all unworthy actions may lead to disaster. One must be careful from the very beginning, for small faults grow and multiply. A bad habit is like a tiger cub, "harmless and comely,.. even beautiful ...while its tusks and claws are not quite grown," but untameable, and, thus, dangerous when it has grown up. Like the tiger, the habit must be kept at a distance to avoid harming anyone ["The Leopard and Tiger," 45 (Feb 1863): 49]. As sailors who "cross the line" of the equator may see no difference in the water but now must reckon by different stars, so "crossing the line" with the first indiscretion leaves little impression but requires new reckoning, an old sea captain warns: "'The first cigar, the first glass of liquor, the first oath may leave you in south latitude. From that time your course may be down, down, forever!" [J.E. McConaughy, "Sea Breezes--Crossing the Line," 49 (Jan 1865): 10) That softening "may" does not appear in other tales; in most pieces, after the first step, the course is "down, down forever," in conclusions almost as inevitable as death or taxes. The boy who does not try to correct his bad habits now because he will leave off these habits when he is a man ruins his chances in life, for his habit of slouching leaves others thinking that he is "a careless, lazy lad, with little energy of character, and but poor prospects of success in life," and makes him unhealthy, for his rounded shoulders cramp his chest ["'Such a Little Thing"', 50 (Dec 1865): 181]. The young clerk who accompanies another to a saloon orders only ice cream, but just going into the saloon so disgusts him with himself that he loses his self-respect -- and starts to drink the next time [Uncle Frank, "The First False Step," 37 (Feb 1859): 42-3]. Caroline Thorpe's practical jokes have so alienated those around her that she is expelled from school; inevitably, she elopes with "a foreign swindler," and that is the last anyone hears of her [Sophie May, "Caroline Thorpe," 45 (March 1863): 77-9). The boy who robs a bird's nest grows up to be a murderer, and boys who fish on Sunday end up in prison in an almost natural progress [Uncle John, "Who Stole the Bird's Nest?," 50 (Aug 1865): 39; "First Step to Ruin," 52 (Nov 1866): 140]; gambling for a shilling, Ike Cottle warns his friends, leads invariably to heavier gambling, which leads to hard drinking and then prison or hanging ["Ike Cottle," 53 (May 1867): 147]. Even the indulgent father who pays $5 for "a Frenchified toy, that a philosophic Yankee baby will pull all to pieces in five minutes" will probably come to know the real value of a dollar -- or his widow will ["Don't Be Extravagant," 33 (Jan 1857): 11]. In the world of the Museum, even the smallest moral misstep may be fatal.

Linked with the emphasis on moderation is the theme of humility. During the years of Stearns' editorship, the Museum became, in effect, a celebration of humility, assuring the reader of the joys of patience, of self-denial, and of contentment with whatever little one has, and emphasizing that suffering can be ennobling, that pride and wealth can be pernicious, that only the humble are good and safe, and that the poor can provide a model of morality. Charity becomes an important concern, with the benefits of giving reverberating to the giver.

In the world of the magazine, patience and self-denial are important virtues to cultivate, not just because they are good to have in and of themselves, but because they may lead to greater rewards -- often material. Practicing these virtues promotes the happiness of the individual and of others, and almost may lead to material rewards. The reader is to learn the patience of a crocus waiting under the snow to bloom [H. F. Gould, "The Crocus's Soliloquy," 35 (May 1858): 130], but mostly so that greater things will come. Smoke joyfully tumbling from a chimney is reaping the reward of centuries of patience: first through the slow conversion into coal, then through the long years before that coal was mined; it counsels a despondent kite to "'Be patient and humble; learn something from everything ... and when next we meet you will be happier!'" ["The Smoke and the Kite," 35 (March 1858): 83-5] God may seem to turn from us, Florence's aunt tells her, but we must have patience, for "'after a time we find that only blessings were being prepared for us.'" [Kruna, "Little Florence's Curiosity," 43 (Feb 1862): 45] Self-denial does not just help promote the happiness of others, but brings rewards to the one who practices it. By forming "a resolution to make [each] day a happy one to a fellow-creature" and giving to the poor, offering "a kind word to the sorrowful [or] an encouraging expression to the striving," one not only makes 365 people happy each year -- 14,600 in 40 years - - but can find happiness oneself ["A Recipe for Happiness," 34 (Dec 1857): 179]. In other pieces, however, self-sacrifice on the part of the protagonist brings material rewards as well as a sense of virtue. After Barbara helps the disabled boy competing with her to be the best scholar at school, he wins a rosewood desk as a prize -- a desk she receives in turn two years later, after he dies [Sophie May, "Barbara Blythe," 42 (Aug 1861): 44-7]. Though a poor girl and her brother have been looking forward to a school picnic as a chance to revel in luxury for a day, the girl willingly stays home to care for their sick mother. A teacher has the picnic's leftovers gathered and brought to the family, and their neighbors begin to look after the family: the girl's "self-denial," the author asserts, probably brought this result, for "filial piety has an especial promise of reward even in this life." [J. E. McConaughy, "Jessie's Victory," 46 (Nov 1863): 139-42] Both pieces also emphasize the glow of well-being the girls feel as they make their sacrifices; in a way, the magazine hints, self-denial allows one to have one's cake and eat it, too.

Self-denial is important in the world-view of the Museum, for pride and wealth can be inherently evil. Most of the characters in the Museum's stories are comfortable, but not especially wealthy; they are contrasted favorably with those characters whose wealth is made a point of. In many pieces in the magazine, wealth is presented almost as something unnatural: getting it is an abnormal activity, and having it may cause us to act unnaturally. The getting of wealth is an activity almost separate from those of a normal life, in the Museum; readers are exhorted not to follow the example of a man who had concerned himself with making money and died just on the verge of success, for it is better to "live rich" than to die rich ["Died Rich," 46 (Sept 1863): 77]. Those who wish to become wealthy, Mrs. Barbauld warns, should be prepared to lead a life of spiritless "drudgery" far different from ideal:

... you must give up the pleasure of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a free, unsuspicious temper .... You must learn to do hard, if not unjust things .... In short, you must not attempt to enlarge your ideas, or polish your taste, or refine your sentiments; but must keep on in one beaten track, without turning aside either to the right hand or to the left. ["How to Get rich," 41 (April 1861): 108]

Even more damning is the way wealth makes its owners act, for great wealth leads to great trouble. The easy-going sailors who fish up gold dumped by smugglers begin to gamble and to quarrel over it and finally throw the gold into the sea [J. E. McConaughy, "Sea Breezes -- The Smuggler Boat," 49 (Feb 1865): 47-8]; the wealthy boys at a boarding school drink wine, bribe the servants, and get into debt and other trouble which includes framing an innocent, middle-income scholar [Sophie May, "Wild Oats," 52 (Oct 1866): 104-10]. Having wealth may lead a young man to become too proud to work, and "[m]any a young man's prospects for life have been utterly blasted by having an estate left him." [J. E. McConaughy, "Blessings of Work," 45 (May 1863): 15] Wealth can lead to elegance, which may lead to misery. The repressed rich children whose mother does not want the girls to freckle or the boys to get their clothes dirty quarrel and hit each other in boredom and frustration as they ride in a handsome carriage, contrasting with poor children who happily shout and swing on a gate, freckling and muddying their clothes [M. E. D., "The Two Rides," 46 (Oct 1863): 105-9]. The elegant Wendeline's elegant mother goes insane, convinced she is Queen Victoria and obsessed with "'dancing steps and attitudes, and you can't make her think of anything else.'" [Sophie May, "Elva Seeking Her Fortune," 50 (July 1865): 7] More dangerously, wealth can lead one to become so proud as to forget God: the husband of a poor woman once was rich, but he soon "forgot that he was but a steward of God's mercies," became proud, and went on to lose first his fortune and then his life by drinking [W. W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 54 (July 1867): 3].

The evils of pride are illustrated in pieces which preach against it, but also in numerous pieces which extoll its opposite. In the Museum, the humble are always right, be they humble flowers, humble children, humble invalids, or the humble poor. This idea wasn't new to the magazine's readers -- the virtues of humility had been trumpeted since the first issue -- but now the virtue takes on cult status. Pride can be dangerous, for it makes the individual feel better than others; the "haughtiness" of the South was one cause of the Civil War, the Museum informs its readers, for this pride made the region think it could rule over the entire nation ["Independence Day," 46 (July 1863): 26] The humble, on the other hand, are happy, successful, and "safe." Quiet and unambitious, content with being "lowly" and with influencing only the small circle around them, the humble live modestly and in elemental purity, obscure -- but indispensable. They are naturally virtuous, for they are unimpaired by the temptations of pride and wealth: the "state of innocence" which is the only route to real happiness is available only to the humble, for

[man] may fancy himself happy, when in the full extent of power, governing empires, or controlling fashion; these things invariably bring with them care and disquietude, and it is only in an humble or moderately elevated station of life that man can find and enjoy that peace of mind which is above all price. [May Fullerton, "Happiness," 34 (Sept 1857): 83]

Girls who earn what they need by working are better than "those who do nothing but sigh all day," for working girls have "cheeks like the rose, bright eyes and elastic step," and they "have no affectation -- no silly airs about them. When they meet you, they speak without putting on a half dozen airs ... and you feel as if you were talking to a human being, and not to a painted.. .angel." ["Working Girls," 46 (Oct 1863): 113] A farmer, whose few wants are supplied by the land and who does not crave luxuries, the Museum tells its readers, is happier than a king ["The Farmer's Song," 49 (May 1865): 138]. Ike Cottle, whose family struggles for its hand-to-mouth existence, learns to pity the rich, who have not his advantages [W. W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (Feb 1867): 41].

In what may seem a curious reversal, humility and modesty are presented as the paths to success. Though such success may occur in the realm of the outside world, it is the "unseen influence" that the magazine extolls -- success in the smaller realm of home and community. The Museum gives few examples of success in the wider world. A young violinist who so loses himself in his music and in the memories of his humble upbringing that he catches the emotions of those who hear him play may become a great musician [Fritz, "Paul Goldschmeid," 40 (N-D 1860)], but few other protagonists follow his lead. The magazine may assert that the cottage is good training ground for great men because here they learn to persevere and use their ingenuity, but few examples are given [W.W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (March 1867): 68-9]. On the other hand, anyone who believes, as one boy does, that "'a blacksmith can't be anybody'" because he is not "genteel," is bound to fail in the world, for he "will be quite likely to try some profession which he has not ability enough to fill." ["The Blacksmith," 43 (May 1862): 144] It is, instead, success in a narrower realm that is emphasized. The best ambition, the magazine advises, does not take us far from home; it

is the earnest desire to contribute to the rational happiness and moral improvement of others. If we can do this -- if we can smooth the rugged path of one fellow-traveler -- if we can give one good impression, is it not better than all the triumphs that wealth and power ever attained? ["Pleasures of Life," 49 (Jan 1865): 10]

"Usefulness" and "influence" are prized, and the truly successful person often achieves her measure of usefulness unacknowledged by the rest of the world but not unimportant for all that. "Usefulness" is key in the Museum, and that which is somehow useful is also that which is good. The "working girls" the Museum extolls are active and productive ["Working Girls," 46 (Oct 1863): 113]. "'It is a curious fact,'" one character assures his nieces and nephews, "'that the most useful things in nature are usually of humble appearance. Iron is not so handsome as gold, yet it is worth far more to the world."' The humble dirt is not beautiful, but is necessary; the prettiest clouds don't bring rain, nor do the loveliest birds sing sweetest ["The Home Society," 45 (June 1863): 163]. The vicissitudes of a tea-leaf which is -- after brewing tea -- used to sweep a carpet and then put on the ground to nourish a rose, show that "even a little tea-leaf can be of some use ... if it has a desire to be." ["Story of a Tea-Leaf," 53 (March 1867): 82] One may best leave a mark on the world, in the Museum, by not seeming to influence it at all Just as the smallest cowslip, the tiniest dewdrop, or the slightest breeze are important in the workings of the world, so may be the least action of a child ["Deeds of Kindness," 41 (April 1861): 105]. A rose hidden in an obscure valley influences the world unseen and unknown, its sweetness spread by the breeze; so, in obscurity, "The virtues too may grow;/ And, noiseless, round a world in need/ The choicest blessings throw." [The Old Major, "The Rose in the Vale," 37 (April 1857): 105] Sending out lovely thoughts, Amy's father tells her, is as good as taking an action, for, "'There are angels on the earth.. and you do not know how ready these are always to fly with messages of love, and pity, and comfort. The poor child that goes in rags ... feels not quite so ragged, if, when you meet in the street, you love and pity her'," because the ragged girl's angel will know and tell her. However, these kind thoughts lead Amy to kind deeds, which make a difference in the world, though "not so many knew it here"; like the rose, Amy influences the world in obscurity ["The Working Fairies," 39 (April 1860): 106-10].

Along with the virtues of humility, the Museum extolls the virtues of being content with one's lot -- or with less, if that is possible. Because God "knoweth best what is required by each of his creatures," one must be content with what she has been given, and use it to help others; to feel otherwise is to be "'rebellious.'" [Aunt Lovicy, "The Twilight Vision," 49 (May 1865): 150] "'Great wealth you have got,'" a hen clucks to her chicks, "'If content with your lot.'" ["The Home Society," 44 (Sept 1862): 75] If possible, one should try to be content with even less: the boy who only wants a marble, the Museum warns, then needs a ball, then a top, then a kite, and still is not satisfied; and the man who only needs money to be happy then wants a house, then land, then a coach, and still wants more. The only way to be truly happy is to "[b]e content with little, for much will have more, all the world over." ["Be Content," 46 (S 1863): 84]

Being content with what one has is linked with being cheerful, for one must realize that all is for the best. Like the sundial that marks "only the hours that shine," we should dwell on the cheerful, not the somber, on what we do have, not on what we do not ["'I Mark Only the Hours that Shine'," 35 (May 1858): 132; Uncle Frank, "The Bright Side and the Dark Side," 36 (Oct 1858): 102). Even that which may seem to be bad may be good: Aurora's life of troubles and misfortunes ends in happiness, and she realizes that all her problems actually have been blessings ["Aurora," 50 (April 1865): 45-9]. In the Museum, troubles may discipline the spirit and lead it to heaven. Ike Cottle's father has an accident which leaves him lame and unable to work, but it disciplines his soul, and it allows him to sit by the road and remind passers-by about religion and God [W. W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (Jan 1867): 19). Disappointment, in the magazine's world-view, leads to heaven, for, by taking from us our material goods, it makes us travel "the freer and the faster," and the "thorny paths" we are led down strengthen the soul [poem, 45 (March 1863): 116].

In this emphasis on the virtue of the humble and on being content with what one has, suffering can be ennobling, and the poor and the disabled can be models of morality. The beauty of patient suffering is expressed in both fiction and in biographical pieces. Minerva, paralyzed on one side since infancy, personifies patience and saintliness in a brief biography, as does Abby, who -- hurt in a fall -- becomes partly paralyzed, then deaf, dumb, and blind [Aunt Mattie, "Aunt Minerva," 39 (May 1860): 147; S., "The Patient Sufferer," 33 (March 1857): 79-80]. Such saintliness is natural, in the view of the Museum, for a disability precipitates the kindness of others, and keeps the disabled from the temptations of the world. Blinded by a stone thrown by his brother, Eddie is "'much happier than I was before I was blind; every one is so kind to me." [Aunt Sue, "Govern Your Temper," 39 (Feb 1860): 39] The isolation of the other two sufferers is emphasized: Minerva lives in one room, sewing and reading her Bible and her copies of Woodworth's Youth's Cabinet and the Museum; Abby's pain is such that she can't be moved, and, locked in a dark world of silence, she is free of the temptations of the world, communing with God. In several pieces, the poor, too, are models of morality. Seemingly untempted and untouched by the luxuries of others, they are happy with their lot, free of the cares that beset those with means. Ike Cottle's family is so perfect and happy in its cottage that he pities the rich, for they are so open to the temptations that money can bring that they don't have his spiritual advantages [W. W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (Feb 1867): 41]. When poor and rich children are compared in the pages of the Museum, it is the rich who suffer in the comparison. The rich -- but repressed -- children who ride in a carriage quarrel and fight, while the poor children are loving and happy swinging on their gate [M. E. D., "The Two Rides," 46 (Oct 1863): 105-9]. Santa Claus, invisibly visiting two families, notes the way that the rich children fret and quarrel over their rich gifts, each wanting what the others have, but not willing to share, while the poor children lovingly share the homemade gifts they have been given [Kruna, "After the Holidays," 49 (March 1865): 81-3]. In the pages of the Museum, generally the poor are simple, good-hearted, and loving, spiritually pure and grateful for charity. A girl with no dress good enough to wear to school is so grateful for the gift of a calico dress that the child who gives it is ashamed of wanting rich clothes for herself [Catharine Trowbridge, "Nellie's New Dress," 43 (Feb 1862): 48-52]. Another poor girl works hard for three months to get enough new subscribers to the Museum that she can earn a premium -- a Grover & Baker sewing machine -- for her mother [M. E. D., "The Daughter's Gift," 44 (Dec 1862): 50-1]. In his travels through New York City, Uncle Hiram Hatchet dispenses charity to the deserving poor and records -- modestly, it must be admitted -- their gratitude ["Uncle Hiram's Pilgrimage," 37 (May 1859): 140-1; 38 (Dec 1859). 170-1; 39 (Feb 1860): 36-7]. This celebration of the humble emphasizes, too, the glories of heart and home. The reader is counseled to trust in mother, trust in the instincts of the heart, and trust in the circle of home, for the world outside is a dangerous place. The veneration of motherhood is evident at first glance, for the Museum is filled with illustrations showing sweet-faced mothers and their sweet-faced children in loving companionship. Several poems are nothing but paeans to motherhood, to a mother's "pure, deep, and truthful [love], springing from no improper or selfish motives, ... always ready to make any sacrifice however painful for the pleasure of the object of its affections." ["Mother," 46 (Nov 1863): 151) A "good" mother is of inestimable value, for her influence is enough to keep those around her from moral error. By sending an erring boy to boarding school, his mother makes a mistake, for her "influence" would save him [Sophie May, "Wild Oats," 51 (March 1866): 73]. A convict whose father died broken-hearted and whose brothers died in prison or as suicides has his mother to blame, for "[a] bad mother brought the family to ruin"; however, "[t]housands of us can say with thankful hearts, 'Our good mothers have saved us from so sad a fate.'" ["Be Thankful for a Good Mother," 45 (Feb 1863): 52]

A mother's influence extends beyond the grave; when orphaned Daisy Lee is frightened by a dream of fairies, she then dreams of her mother and is comforted by the mother's reminder that, if Daisy is good, they will meet in heaven ["Daisy Lee's New Year," 49 (Jan 1865): 4]. Readers are exhorted to love such mothers in poems like "I Ought to Love My Mother" [38 (Sept 1859): 96]. They are to emulate George Washington, who is held up as a model of the tender son devoted to his mother; Benedict Arnold, on the other hand, "very likely" was a bad son who did not try to be quiet when his mother had a headache [Laura Elmer, "The Sailor Boy," 36 (July 1858): 10, 12]. Emulating the tenderness George Washington must have shown his mother, the reader also is to trust implicitly in mother. Elva's troubles, the author of her adventures hints, wouldn't have overwhelmed her if she had trusted in her mother instead of in her best friend: if Elva had told of her down-heartedness, all would have been well, but "lately she was not inclined to make a confidante of her mother. And why not? Oh, because she had a bosom-friend! Dear, bewildered little Elva, have you then a bosom-friend who is truer than your own mother?" [Sophie May, "Elva," 49 (June 1865): 163]

Trusting in the pure love of a mother, the reader is urged to trust, as well, in the instincts of the heart, which are never wrong. Love, in the Museum, animates the universe and makes the world tolerable. There is love in every small bit of nature, and

    If love were fled, all life, all mirth,
From Nature's heart were riven;
    Love is the only charm of earth
That likens it to heaven!    [L. M., "Love in Nature," 45 (March 1863):  82]

One should never ignore the "impulses of [the] heart, for in neglecting these there is always unhappiness"; when two girls receive birds as gifts, one neglects hers and accidentally lets the cat get it, while the other -- following her heart -- sets hers free and is happy in the knowledge that the bird is happy ["The Two Birds," 42 (July 1861): 15-16]. Love has its rewards, too. Marie, who saves a dove from some boys and tames the bird with love is saved by it in turn, when it knocks from her hand a glass containing poison, which she is about to drink ["Marie and Her Dove," 44 (S 1862): 65-6]. Following the heart, whether or in charity or love, rarely goes unrewarded.

The cult of humility, the cult of motherhood, and the cult of love lead to a cult of domesticity where the circle of the home and family is the only safe place, for the world outside is dangerous. Most of the stories in the Museum take place in the home, and few protagonists are tempted to go out into the world. Under Stearns, the pages of the Museum saw no Gilbert Go-Aheads or Thomas Trotters, forging a way across unknown lands in search of fortune; instead, the protagonists forge their way across the unknown territory of human relationships, safe amid family and friends. Those who do leave home quickly regret it. Sent to boarding school, away from home and from his mother and "her gentle influence day by day," John Merry is soon in so much trouble that it is no surprise to the reader that he is finally tried for stealing [Sophie May, "Wild Oats," 51 (March 1866): 73]. Back home, John spends one night away from his family with a group of boys and gets into trouble again; this time, he can be saved only by leaving the purity of home for the discipline and purity of a local farm [52 (Dec 1866): 165-70]. Adolescent Elva, unhappy with her adoptive parents and dreaming of finding excitement and her real -- and, she supposes, wealthy -- parents in the city, finds, instead, confusion and pickpockets; robbed, she must earn her living by being a drudge. Finally safe at home, Elva stays there and works hard with a will, "feeling that she could hardly do enough for her excellent parents. Not a word of fault did she henceforth find with her lot. The remembrance of her Boston experience was enough to check all murmuring. One's true place is at home, Elva -- and the reader -- discovers, and here is the place to find one's destiny; Elva grows into "a 'real lady.' But you may be sure that only once in her life did she ever run away to seek her fortune." [Sophie May, "Elva," 50 (D 1865): 177]

This emphasis on the importance of the humble and of love, together with an insistence on the basic innocence and goodness of children, culminates in the theme of the effective child -- the child who, through action or moral example, influences the world by acting as a force for good. This theme wasn't new in the Museum: under Goodrich's editorship, in two tales a young girl converts her father by turning his logic back on him, and a son's "noble firmness" in his determination not to allow his father to drink "instantly" cures the father of alcoholism ["The Philosopher Rebuked," 8 (Aug 1844): 39-40; "New Way of Curing a Toper," 32 (Oct 1856): 12]. But, under Stearns, the effective child reaches almost cult status: innocent and beautiful, these children save their parents from alcoholism, keep other people from death, and act as an elemental force against the evils of the world. Just as the smallest thing can have a great influence, so can children make some sort of impact on the world. "There is no little child too small/ To work for God," the Museum tells its readers ["Work for Little Ones," 50 (Nov 1865): 148], and it gives as an example the story of Neddie, a poor boy who earns money for missionaries by selling "door-stones"; all children can be such "closet missionaries" if they will only so choose ["'Neddie and Me"', 50 (Oct 1865): 112].

And, many of the children who appear as protagonists in the Museum do so choose -- whether consciously or not. Some protagonists in the magazine's tales consciously work to convert those around them to temperance or religion, but even more exert their influence unconsciously. Like Ike Cottle, Mike Smiley persuades those who hear him into temperance and is rewarded by the redemption of not only his own father but of

thousands and tens of thousands of hearths ...[,] countless broken widowed hearts ..., and whole families, yea, whole communities.... Men, fathers, husbands, legislators, teachers, once raving delirious, fierce, brutal, now clothed and in their right minds, risen as it were from the second death, and standing erect, beloved and honored, in the high places in our land. [W. Cutter, "Mike Smiley," 35 (March 1858): 67]

Ike Cottle also persuades others into religious conversion, as does a boy who, having been converted, helps with revivals in his village and converts his younger sisters [W. W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (June 1867): 176-78; "The Brother," 36 (July 1858): 20-1]. However, in their innocence, a score of other children effect change either by their own pure example or by their artless words or deeds. Little Jamie, so pure as to be reminiscent of the young Christ, is an inspiration to the soul of the narrator "To win my wayward spirit/ Unto love and purity." ["Little Jamie," 42 (Aug 1861): 35] In the same way, with the fervor of his patriotism and courage, a drummer boys inspires the soldiers of his regiment before he is killed in battle ["The Boy Soldier," 44 (July 1862): 6-10). Righteousness guides other children into effective actions. Through her innocent insistence on absolute truth, a little girl who is a witness for the prosecution in a court case exposes the defendant's lying testimony and "[breaks) the cunning devices of matured villainy to pieces like a potter's vessel" ["Truth -- The Bible-Child in Court," 37 (May 1859): 151-2] overhearing his daughter pray for him to "'forsake his bad ways'," an alcoholic weeps and becomes temperate ["The Little One's Prayer," 36 (Aug 1858): 48]. Dolly, who has taken her favorite pet chicken with her on an ocean voyage, has nothing but that to give for an auction to raise money for several shipwrecked men; so inspired are onlookers by her generosity, that the chicken is sold for $50 ["Dolly Wren's Pet Chicken," 49 (May 1865): 139-41]. The superior morality of such children not only allows them to escape from danger unscathed but offers them up as effective models to those around them; Harry Babcock steps between two brutal bullies and is instantly the master of the situation:

He was so superior to them, in his cool fearlessness, that they were afraid of him. They did not acknowledge in words, but they felt in their hearts, that he was their master -- that moral courage, which fears only to do wrong, is infinitely superior to that more criminal courage, which brawls and fights, and submits only to brute force. ["A Lesson for the New Year," 39 (Jan 1860): 4]

The loving hearts of these children are also effective across distances. Maggie sends a "comfort-bag" to a soldier whose arm has been amputated and who is cheered by the gift and by the realization that those at home were thinking of such as he [Eula Lee, "Maggie's Comfort-Bag," 49 (Jan 1865): 14-16). More dramatically, Minnie sends her soldier-brother a pincushion in the shape of a rabbit like the one he left her, which, in the best fiction tradition, he kisses and puts into his breast pocket; in a pattern as old, perhaps, as war itself, the pincushion stops a bullet while he is on picket duty ["Minnie and Her Rabbit," 49 (Feb 1865): 38-40].

The theme of the effective child may be a natural outgrowth of the way children were increasingly regarded in the nineteenth-century: pure and inexperienced, they were seen not as tiny adults to be educated into their place in the world as quickly as possible, but as people in their own right, with their own way of seeing and dealing with the world (Heininger in Century, 10). And, indeed, a certain kind of self-consciousness seems apparent in the Museum; many of the pieces contributed by subscribers themselves present children as beautiful and innocent and effective, in what may be an aping of patterns of adult literature, or in unconscious expression of their own desires. The effective child is an important child, for she influences everyone around her, and all heed her; there is more than a touch of self-consciousness in the vision of one converted boy who realizes that he can reform his degenerate parents:

A father sat listening to his son, who seemed to be reading and expounding, while deep seriousness settled down upon the family group. Presently he saw the father weep and drop upon his knees, and all the faces in the picture seemed deeply agitated. The mother, morose and sad, sobbed aloud; the little ones ran into the most distant corner to weep and tremble. In this picture Jim saw himself and his parents kneeling and pleading for mercy at the hands of God. It affected him very much. [W. W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 54 (Dec 1867): 165]

This theme also may show the reader that he can make a difference in the world and influence it for good, for the magazine at this time seems to betray a certain ambivalence about modern life which had not been apparent in its early years. Nature always had been held up as ideal, but now it is even more sharply contrasted with an urban society that is coarse and alien, where the streets are filled with the helpless poor. Progress is gloried in if it eases the human burden, but machines may be ugly and soulless, and modern life doesn't have the richness or morality of the life of the past. And, in a theme new in the pages of the Museum, the virtuous may find themselves persecuted for their goodness.

In the world-view of the Museum, progress is good when it frees the human burden, but feelings are ambivalent about the modern age itself. The "backwardness" of such nations as China serve as examples of what unprogressive tendencies can cause. Though the Chinese "have made very considerable advances in the arts and sciences, in some of which they have shown ingenuity and skill far beyond that of Europe," their "self-conceit and jealousy of foreign ideas" have prevented them from accepting the inventions and improvements of "a higher civilization." ["Something About China," 35 (May 1858): 139] The Museum celebrates such events as the laying of the Atlantic telegraph cable and such inventions as the sewing machine as improvements in the human condition. The telegraph is a "bridge of thought" ["The Atlantic Telegraph," 36 (Oct 1858): 104; italics original], which allows people to communicate so freely as to preclude the possibility of war, "for if anything seems to be going wrong, and like to make a quarrel, the blessed cable will tell back and forth, till all is explained, and good friends again." [Laura Elmer, "The Telegraph Cable," 36 (Nov 1858): 148) The sewing machine comes in for the most praise, for it relieves the massive burden of clothing a family and provides time

for air, exercise, and cheerful amusements to those who have been wasting their strength and spirits in sedentary devotion to the needle -- stitch, stitch, stitch, all day, and too often all night .... How many daughters, wasting away in consumption of the never-ending, monotonous tasks of the needle, might be saved and restored to health, by the relief which this untiring colaborer would afford! ["The Sewing-Machine," 34 (Dec 1857): 182]

Having listened as a grandfather regales his incredulous grandchildren with tales of the days when cloth was woven by hand, the reader is urged to marvel at the speed with which cloth is woven now, and with which clothes may be made up on a sewing machine: "The entire spring and fall work of a family may be done up in one rainy week, and not an hour lost for out-of-door exercise and health"; one man fascinated by this speed "made several night- gowns, three or four pairs of pants, and two skirts, all in one afternoon, and then, like Alexander of old, cried out for more." [Margaret, "Old Times and New," 36 (Aug 1858): 49-53]

But not all of modern life is so good. Life in modern America would disgust the founders of the nation; on the site of an old college, now gone, Uncle Hiram seems to see the ghosts of the great men educated there -- Washington, Adams, Junefferson, and others -- and,

[t]he place, the people, the customs were so changed, they did not feel at home. They looked sorrowfully on the extravagance and luxury of the times, and seemed to feel that all their labors and sacrifices would, after all, prove fruitless of any permanent good." ["Uncle Hiram's Pilgrimage," 35 (June 1858): 174]

Life in the factories and mills is coarse and hard, and life in the cities is equally bad. In the Museum, factories are dehumanizing, because of the coarseness of those who work there and because the mills themselves are suffocating in their unaesthetic qualities. The moral protagonists in two serials, forced to work there, are shocked and appalled by what they find. Ike Cottle, looking for work, goes to a coal mine where the workers are but slaves ordered about with oaths and blasphemy [W.W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (Feb 1867): 41); when he finally gets a job, it is in a tin mill where the men drink, swear, and brawl [53 (March 1867): 66-7]. Philip Snow's reaction to working in an iron mill is shock and repulsion: "'I work in the mill, with the greasy, black machinery, and the oily boys and men; mother, you don't know how I hate mills -- they make me sick.'" ["Philip Snow's War," 45 (June 1863): 172] When he does go to the mill, it is suffocating, deadening, hot, black, and dangerous, an almost animate thing which seems to advance and swallow him up:

... the tall and smoke-blackened chimneys looked to Philip like monuments erected to evil spirits. Stone, and brick, and wood were all blackened; and Philip's spirit sank as the walls rose higher and higher, as the suffocating mill came nearer and nearer .... The roar and the hum filled Philip's ears, the black smoke fell down from the chimneys and half- suffocated him. Philip felt an utter repugnance to the furnace; he could have torn down the chimneys and walls ... he hated it so; but it was coming nearer -- at last it swallowed the boy. He was within the walls. [45 (June 1863): 173-4]

Especially during the early years of this period, the cities are presented as noisy and uncomfortable places where human values are lost. By this time, the explosive growth of American cities had become of concern. Between 1790 and 1830, the population of New York had increased 548% (Jackson and Schultz, 99); 120,000 in 1820, the population by the time of the Civil War was over 1 million (Carroll and Noble, 150). In consequence, reformers and others seem to have become alarmed; in literature, the city became an evil place where individuality and Christianity could be subsumed (Glaab and Brown, 57-67) and which acted as the focus of the growing "poverty problem" in the United States (Bremner, 238-46). In his "Pilgrimages," Uncle Hiram's New York is a place exotic, bizarre, and dangerous, as much a wilderness as Asia was to Gilbert Go-Ahead. Here the ragged and the elegant mingle in a cacophonous, never-ending parade in which individuals are lost, going nowhere in particular, and ignoring both fire alarms and the crimes going on around them ["Uncle Hiram's Pilgrimages," 35 (March 1858): 76]. The only images of nature he can call up to describe the city are bleak: it is "a wilderness of brick and mortar" which disheartens the inhabitants with its size, "for, to a social heart, there is no desert like a crowded street." [35 (June 1858): 174; 34 (O 1857): 117] Cities are dangerous places where crime abounds: arriving in Boston, Elva quickly has her pocket picked; another girl is kidnapped from her front door by people who make her beg for them [Sophie May, "Elva," 50 (Sept 1865): 70; "Pilgrimages," 39 (March 1860): 81]. What is worse is the effect of the cities on the human heart. "Those who have lived long shut up in brick, stone, and mortar seem to have imbibed a little of the stony dust," the Museum laments, "and thus always present a hard surface to the stranger." [Fritz, "Paul Goldschmeid," 40 (Dec 1860): 165] The inhabitants of these places are coarse and almost alien, from the tasteless man who puts a pair of showy bronze lions in front of his house -- "...they are out of place in this cold climate. Lions belong to the torrid zone, and could not live exposed through our winters." -- to the laborers who accost Hiram on all sides with "barbarous yells." ["Pilgrimages," 34 (July 1857): 14] The laborers at the dock are "Border Ruffians" who "assault" Hiram as if they were savages; they and the street peddlers speak a kind of patois: "'Imevourmanser!'" and "Izepokefustser!'" the men shout, while a newsboy pipes, "'HeesetheExeHell-onvtusants-horblax'nlosserlife!'" [33 (Jan 1857): 9-10; 34 (July 1857): 14]

"Sin and misery meet us everywhere as we walk through this world," Hiram tells us, "and nowhere do they glare upon us with more hideous faces than in the proud thoroughfares of great cities." [38 (Dec 1859): 9] In several pieces, the miseries of the urban poor are clarified. For the most part families headed by women, they seem lost in the clamor of city life, desperately eking out a hand-to-mouth existence. The city seems to have hardened many of the poor, who become brazen enough to seem unashamed of their poverty:

It may be ... a feeling of selfish pride on our part, that we think it would be more becoming and natural for the very poor and ill clad to choose some more quiet walk, when they would be less exposed to observation and to painful contrast But there is no accounting for tastes. They evidently think they have as good a right to exhibit their ugliness in broad daylight as the more favored have to show off their splendor and magnificence. ["Pilgrimages," 36 (Dec 1858): 178]

Others, however, are quieter and more unassuming, and these are the proper objects of charity. Though the men Hiram meets seem to have earned their poverty through laziness or drink, the women and the children get his help. In the pages of the Museum, it becomes clear that the deserving poor need only an impulse in the right direction. A crippled peddler needs only help to get medical assistance, and he goes into business and lives the rest of his life in prosperity ["Pilgrimages," 39 (Feb 1860): 36-7]. Another family, once helped, is able to leave the city for the serene country, in "the very cottage, on the banks of the Connecticut, where the mother was born." ["Pilgrimages," 37 (My 1859): 141] In the Museum, rural is ideal, and its style of life is healing. The city family prospers in its cottage, and a boy in trouble learns "real virtues" on the farm to which he is sent [Sophie May, "Wild Oats," 52 (Dec 1866): 169].

The Museum's ambivalence extends to the place of goodness in the modern world. Though kindness, humility, and the effective child are celebrated throughout the pages of the magazine, a new theme -- the persecution of the good -- emerges; and charity, while good for its own sake, becomes a way to profit materially. That the virtuous are persecuted seems almost a given, according to the magazine: "It is not enough that you are praised by the good; you have failed somewhere in your duty if you are not cursed by the bad." [filler, 49 (March 1865): 75] In several pieces seemingly aimed at boys, the virtuous protagonist becomes the focus of the hatred of those around him, not so much because they are villains but because he is so good. A newsboy who goes to Sunday school and now avoids swearing and "low company" is jeered at and assaulted by his former friends; one man threatens to set his dog on the boy if he does not swear. Though the man is only indulging in malicious fun, the dog attacks and the boy is badly mauled; his moral courage attracts the attention of a merchant who gives him a job after he recovers ["A Brave Boy," 45 (Jan 1863): 21-2]. Ike Cottle's moral conduct is "a constant rebuke to the evil-doers around him" at the mill where he works, though they only tease him [W.W. Hicks, "Ike Cottle," 53 (April 1867): 100]; the boy who reads a newspaper instead of wasting his time as his friends do is verbally abused by the boys ["The Future President," 53 (April 1867): 196-8]. August, in Jacob Abbot's "Pistols and Bravery," is often jeered at by other children because of his own superior moral integrity. In none of the tales with a female protagonist is the virtuous protagonist a focus of malice; the Museum's world-view does not seem to admit the possibility that female virtue is not a given, while in boys it is so unusual as to cause not only comment but challenge. The potency of peer pressure is a theme which crops up occasionally in the Museum; these tales not only recognize it but make victory over it into an adventure. A certain tension seems inherent in the way charity is portrayed. In the Museum, the good feelings engendered by giving to the needy are apparent, but these feelings are not the only reward; there is material reward as well. A boy who gives his Christmas money to a beggar girls wins the prize of a bible from his father, while a girl who gives money she has saved for a doll to a poor woman to buy medicine, receives from the woman's daughter a gold ring and from her own father $5 "as a reward for her kindness to the poor and needy." [May Fullerton, "Generosity Rewarded," 33 (Jan 1857): 13- 15; G.L. Cranmner, "The Plain Gold Ring," 45 (Feb 1863): 50-1] Renny, who wants a real army uniform like his father's, insists that the money for the uniform be given, instead, to clothe a poor boy; a week later, his father sends him a small duplicate of his own uniform ["Renny's Uniform," 43 (March-April 1862)]. As we have seen, self-denial allows one to be virtuous and to win a material reward as well. Such tales bring to life the idea of casting one's bread upon the waters, and they show in a tangible way that kindness and generosity are rewarded. But they may also betray a certain tension: in a world where virtue is cursed, it is not enough to tell the reader that charity is rewarded in heaven, one must also persuade her that it is also rewarded on earth.

Ambivalence also marks the ways in which blacks, Native Americans, and women are portrayed at this time. For the most part, non-white non-Americans are objects of condescension: "Joggo," a Hindu boy, and his friends, talk "'gibberish"' and are bored with the beautiful landscape around them, "being nothing but heathens"; the Chinese, who are "a very sagacious sort of people after all," might be just as good as "we" are, "if they had had all our advantages." [Sophie May, "Joggo at School," 66 (D 1863): 171; "Some Matters and Things in China," 41 (March 1861): 85] American minorities, on the other hand, are a different matter. During this period of the gathering of the force of war and of the war itself, slavery is lightly condemned the few times it is mentioned, but it is slavery oddly removed from the lives of blacks, who are most often comical figures. Africans, the Museum assures its readers, may look strong, but "'they can by no means compare with even moderately strong Europeans'"; they are also ugly: "'Why, they're black!'" exclaims a little girl examining a picture. "'How can they be pretty?"' Reminded that her brother's black pony is pretty, she sees no correlation; "'Never mind, pussy,'" her uncle says, laughing, "'you are not the only one that has the same opinion.'" ["Home Society," 44 (Sept 1862): 78] The few black Americans who appear in the pages of the magazine are dialect- ridden servants who serve as objects of charity or as comic relief: a former slave is taught by a young Northern girl to read the Bible, which teaches her "'de way to live to die'"; a servant decides that the best way to use a little fuzzy poodle is to tie it to a stick and use it to wash high windows ["Sarah's Reward," 45 (April 1863): 119; "Good for Something, After All," 34 (Dec 1857): 172]. Perhaps in an attempt to temper the divisions between North and South, even during the war the Museum rarely mentions slavery, and when it is mentioned, it is slavery far removed from the American South. The Southerners loyal to the North in "Left on the Field" in 1865 have slaves, but this word is never used, nor is "servant"; it is almost as if the blacks have attached themselves to the family out of loyalty, and when one goes north, he is not escaping slavery, but is leaving the evil Confederacy to join the Union army and bring a speedier victory ["Left on the Field," 50 (Oct 1865): 134-5]. In two pieces, the anti-slavery stance is very clear, but it is softened by distance and time. In the strongest anti-slavery statement in the Museum, though someone's body may be owned by another, "His soul, ye have not bought -- / ... 'Twill to its Maker soar/ When from earth's frail clay set free!" ["Selling Joseph," 46 (Aug 1863): 33] However, this piece concerns itself with the Biblical selling of Joseph by his brothers, while the other's use of alliteration makes it into an intellectual exercise, and it takes place in Sardinia, where Sappho sees Scipio "striking savagely six Spanish slaves." ["Selling Joseph," 46 (Aug 1863): 33; "Aunt Sue's Scrap-Bag," 43 (April 1862): 120] In the Museum, slavery is a distant evil.

The female protagonists in the magazine are submissive, sweet- tempered, and pure of heart -- or learn to be. But here, too, there is a certain ambivalence. For the most part, the magazine champions submission and sweetness of spirit in women. They are advised to "sew buttons on your husband's shirts; do not make up any grievance; ...plant a smile of good temper in your face; and carefully root out all angry feelings, and expect a crop of happiness." ["Gardening for Ladies," 46 (Nov 1863): 146] The ideal girl is "elfish" and almost hyperactive as she greets her parent, plays the piano and sings -- unasked -- and "casts herself at one's footstool and clasps one's hand, and asks eager, unheard-of questions with such bright eyes and flushing face ..." ["What is a Darling?," 44 (Oct 1862): 111] Those unhappy with the place of women in society are wrong, for

[i]t is Christianity only that gives woman her proper place, as the companion and equal of man. And yet, strange to say, those women and men who are loudest in advocating what they call 'woman's rights,' almost always reject the Gospel, or rely more upon some human system than upon God's. ["China, and Some of Its Curious Places," 36 (Aug 1858): 34)

On the other hand, girls who earn their own living are prized, for they are better than the languid girls who don't; they are "above them in intelligence, in honor, in everything, as the heavens are above the earth." ["Working Girls," 46 (Oct 1863): 113] And a filler wryly comments on the expectations society has of women's intelligence and the proper use of it: "The young lady who can sing three songs is 'accomplished.' ... [B]ut the young lady who has an opinion of her own on matters of philosophy or history, or who thinks beyond whalebone and camelias, is an 'unfeminine creature.'" [filler, 50 (Nov 1865): 131] Generally, however, in the magazine, the ideal woman knows that her place is submission and duty to others.

The greatest ambivalence in the magazine is reserved for native Americans. Though in earlier issues of the Museum the natives of South America are presented fairly sympathetically, while North Americans are savage, in the years of Stearns' editorship, all Native Americans are savage or child-like, except for the fictional ones, who are uniformly noble savages. In factual pieces, Native Americans are presented as "scarcely more than a superior order of mere animals" ["Why Have the Indians Disappeared?," 43 (Jan 1862): 21], uncivilized, though capable of it: "Some tribes, it is true, have gradually become civilized, or partly so, at least. But there are others who have resisted all the efforts that have been made to civilize them. They seem like some wild animals, incapable of being tamed." ["Wild Indians," 34 (July 1857): 12-13] Their brutality is emphasized in such pieces as "The Hunter's Escape," in which a band of hunters is captured and killed [Edward W. Davison, 42 (Sept 1861): 78-9]. In many of the fiction pieces in the magazine, however, the Native Americans are noble savages, and there is a distinctly elegiac tone. The basic pattern involves contact with whites, after which the generic natives, "obliged to yield to the superiority of the civilized over the savage," gracefully move on to death or deeper wilderness [Aunt Sue, "Pukkwana," 35 (April 1858): 109-13]. Sentiment prevails: "The Legend of the White Canoe" purports to be a native legend, in which the only daughter of a stern chief is chosen to be sacrificed to the spirit of Niagara Falls; unable to face life without "the only joy to which he clung on earth," the father joins her, and "the eyes of father and child meet in one last look of love, as together they plunge over the thundering cataract into eternity!" ["The Legend of the White Canoe," 45 (May 1863): 152] Another Native American, having adopted a kidnapped white girl, gives her up to her biological father and then gracefully bows out by moving west with the rest of his tribe [Cousin Hannah, "The Indians' Captive," 38 (Nov 1858): 138-43]. Three tales by subscribers express a sort of wish-fulfillment, as the Native Americans leave behind some special gift for a favored European girl before departing: one girl, raised by the tribe but now living with her biological parents, receives from a heartbroken childhood sweetheart a beautiful wooden box containing a simple, heavy gold cross before he and his tribe disappear west [Madge, "Unella," 49 (June 1865): 171-3); while two other girls, in separate pieces, prove their worth to native American men, who present each with a pet deer before either disappearing or dying [Martha G., "The Grateful Indian," 44 (Aug 1862): 33-5; Kruna, "Jessie and Her Fawn," 46 (Jl 1863): 1-7]. In their exotic simplicity, these gifts seem to symbolize their givers; genteelly pretty, they represent natives just as genteel and prettified, spiritually one with the European girls who befriend them. The gifts are cherished by their receivers, who mourn beautifully. Removed in time and distance from the natives who lived in New England, the subscribers of the Museum could safely sentimentalize them; these tales allow their authors to identify with the noble Native Americans and prove their own worth, before the natives fade gracefully -- and safely -- into distance or time.

On one aspect of modern life, the Museum shows no ambivalence. Though it does not get as much mention as it did in the magazine's earlier years, America is still presented as God's redeeming nation, its flag "[t]he last hope of mortals" all over the world [Laura Elmer, "Our War-Worn, Fulgent Flag," 45 (May 1863): 145]. The Civil War seems to have only strengthened this idea, for the victory of the North over the South renews, for the rest of the world to see, the nation's commitment to freedom: "Freedom and Liberty, purchased by the best blood of our Revolutionary fathers, has been repurchased and consecrated anew by the noble heroes who have freely died that their country might live." ["Chat," 46 (July 1865): 23] Throughout the War, the magazine presents the conflagration as a heart-rending crusade against tyranny, in the course of which even children can make a difference. The Museum never came out strongly against the South, mindful, perhaps, that most of its readers still had familial and emotional ties there, and that such a stance wouldn't be in keeping with the magazine's emphasis on moderation, kindness, and religion. But, in passing, almost, the South is presented as "haughty" and tyrannical, trying to impose its will on the rest of the nation; and the struggle of the North with it is for freedom and for the right ["Independence Day," 46 (July 1863): 26]. Because America's political system provides a voice for every citizen, "[r]ebellion in such a country as this is the highest of crimes, because without excuse, and we all fervently desire to see it put down by every means." ["The Home Society," 45 (June 1863): 164-5] But the emphasis in the magazine is not so much on the preservation of the political system as it is on the preservation of the country, and the Union soldiers are equated with the heroes of the American Revolution: a memorial to a young captain records that he died in "'the holy cause, and ascended on high to join the immortal Washington and his compatriots.'" ["The Young Captain," 49 (June 1865): 180] A poem in a one-page memorial to a popular subscriber who died a prisoner of war urges,

God of our fathers, our freedom prolong,
And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong!
Oh! land of earth's hopes, on thy blood-reddened sod
I die for the Nation, the Union, and God!  [poem, 49 (March 1865):  87]

By contrast, the single Confederate soldier whose background is mentioned in the magazine is one who has been forced by the tyrannical South to join its army, having waited too late to flee north ["Left on the Field," 50 (O 1865): 99]. The readers of the Museum were to emerge from the nation's conflagration with a deeper sense of America's fitness to be the "land of earth's hopes," and, perhaps, with a modicum of sympathy for the people of the South: though the Confederacy is mildly condemned, such pieces as "Left on the Field" and "Adventures of a 'Merry' Boy" -- the true story of Eugene Fales' escape from prison -- leave the reader with a picture of individual Southerners loyal to the Union but overwhelmed by the tide of Confederacy. Though the Confederate neighbors of one loyal family make sure the family's house and property are destroyed, and a fleeing Confederate soldier is shown turning at the sound of a drummer boy playing "Yankee Doodle" and shooting him, these portraits are tempered by the good will of the people who help Eugene Fales to escape, and the gentleness of the family which helps wounded Union soldiers in "Left on the Field" ["Left on the Field," 50 (Nov 1865): 136; "The Boy Soldier," 44 (July 1862): 9]. The celebration in the magazine at the end of the War is not just a celebration of victory but of the reunion of the two halves of the nation.

If there is one all-encompassing theme in the Museum of this period, it is the spiritual perfection of the individual. Though beset by the coarseness and dehumanization of modern life, each person is to remake herself in the image of Christ [Rene, "Forgetting Self," 40 (Sept 1860): 86-7] and thereby prepare herself for heaven. Moderation, humility, and self-denial reward the person who practices them not only in heaven but on earth. In this emphasis on the child's self- denial, obedience to the parent and to God, and humility, an element of control is apparent: an obedient, self-sacrificing child is a child more easily controlled by an adult. And, many an exhausted parent may have envied the parents of all-but-invisible ideal children, who are, like the trailing arbutus, "retiring in their manners -- to be sought for, to be called upon, when they should be seen and heard." [A.C.M., "A Word to the Children," 39 (May 1860): 149] If, during the editorship of Goodrich, the Museum offered its young readers a view of the entire world ready for their influence, during Stearns' editorship, it offered them a view of the way into the graces of God and humanity.

Chapter Five: Robert Merry & H. B. Fuller

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