CHAPTER XIV.

_The Conclusion._

After the little community of Fredonia had provided for their first wants,--houses, clothes, and food,--they began to think of other things. There were several children among them, and for these they required a school. Accordingly they employed a young woman, who had been well educated; and a place being provided, the children were assembled together, and she taught them as well as she could. She had few books, however; for neither the works of Peter Parley or Robert Merry had then been written. Nor were there any bookstores or printing-offices. There was one copy of a Bible, and in this the children were, one after another, taught to read.

In all that could make the people happy, M. Bonfils, the good old governor, took a lively interest. He did not confine himself merely to a routine of official acts, but he was constantly considering how he could influence the people in such a way as to make them live better, more comfortably, and more happily. Being a wise man, he thus exercised a great influence; and I beg my young readers to remember, that in this way--by the exercise of wisdom and patriotism--rulers may be great blessings to their country.

The governor had a notion, which you may think strange, but I will mention it to you. His idea was, that no person can be happy without religion. He was a Catholic himself, but he did not insist that all should think exactly as he did on this subject. What he desired, was, that every person should love and fear God with sincerity. He maintained that no nation could be honest, virtuous, industrious, or patriotic, without religion; and that an enemy to religion was always an enemy to good government; always an enemy to the true interests of mankind, even if we only regard the affairs of human society in this world.

He therefore was desirous of sustaining the institutions of religion, and for this purpose it was his custom, every Sabbath, to get the people together, and offer up prayers, and make some kind of address. It was a beautiful thing to see the people gathered beneath a group of palm trees, and all kneeling in prayer, or listening to the exhortations of the gray-haired patriarch who addressed them. It was also a beautiful thing to hear them joining in their hymns, of which they were able to sing a few from recollection.

Thus it was that society advanced one step after another, and no doubt their improvement arose from the happy guidance of their governor. How different was the state of the people from what it would have been if Rogére had succeeded in making himself king! He was perfectly selfish, and he would have subjected all around to his own personal wishes and interests. Even if he had suppressed riot and turmoil and anarchy by a strong hand, still the people would gradually have sunk lower in the scale of civilization: a few would have been lords and the rest slaves. But now, under the government of M. Bonfils, they enjoyed equal rights and privileges; each one was secure of his house, his home, and his lands, and the produce of his labor. Justice was also duly administered; morality and religion were cherished; education encouraged; peace, industry, and good neighborhood became the established and habitual virtues of society. These are the results, in a great degree, of the conduct and character of the ruler of the little kingdom; and it ought to teach us the importance of having good, wise, and religious rulers.

Thus affairs went on, till the good old governor became very feeble, and was unable longer to attend to the affairs of government. He had drawn up a plan for a constitution, and upon resigning his office, submitted it to the people for their ratification or rejection. It was another pleasing consequence of the virtues of the good old sage, that what he recommended, came with the force of a command, and was immediately adopted by the people. Thus, without agitation or disturbance, the nation adopted a free constitution, and thenceforward, they enjoyed that greatest of blessings--the privilege of self-government.

It is not my purpose to extend this story further, nor have I indeed the means. About a year after François had completed his little vessel, he made a trip to the Isle of France, where he obtained a great variety of articles needed by the Fredonians. During his stay there, which however was brief, he related the events which we have been detailing. He soon set out on his return, from which time we have not heard from the little island which has so long occupied the attention of our readers. If we get any news from them, it shall be immediately laid before our friends of the blue and black eyes.

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Winter is coming.

Yes--cold, bustling, roaring winter is coming. Soon the earth will be covered with snow: the leaves are already stript from the trees; the flowers have perished; the birds have fled; the woodchuck and chip-squirrel have gone to their burrows and laid themselves down for a long nap. The farmer has gathered his hay and grain and potatoes; the cattle are collected from the woods and pastures, and now wait for their meals around the barn; the axe-man is in the woods gathering a supply of fuel, that he may kindle the bright fire, and keep his children warm.

Well--cold, chill, and desolate as is the world without, this is the season to have comfort and cheerfulness in the house and the home. Let each do his part to make all happy. What a delightful place is the fireside, in winter, where the parents and children are affectionate to one another; where there is obedience, quietness, kindness, all around! And let us not permit our thoughts to be confined to ourselves during this dreary season. Let us think whether there is not some neighbor, less fortunate than ourselves, to whom our kindness, our charity, our attentions may be a blessing.

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Liberty.

Liberty is freedom from restraint. In its widest sense, it is the free permission to exercise our powers of body and mind as we please, without hindrance or restraint. This is _absolute liberty_. According to this, a man might take away another’s property or life; or enslave another man; or make him the tool of his pleasures or caprices. According to this, a strong man might use a weak one as he pleased, or the cunning man might cheat or circumvent another, and thus take away his life or property, or make him the slave of his pleasures.

This is liberty without law. Such liberty as this could exist only in theory, for where society has enacted no law, the obligation of justice exists. A savage is as truly bound by the golden rule, “do to another as you would have another do to you,” as a member of civilized society; for even the savage has a sense of right and wrong. Truth and justice are intuitive perceptions and feelings in every human soul, and conscience enforces their observance. Every human being, therefore, has his absolute liberty abridged, by notions of right and wrong, anterior to the formation of civil government.

Practically, absolute liberty would be the harshest kind of tyranny, for it would immediately result in making the weak the slaves of the strong. Not only would the weak, therefore, be deprived of liberty, but of justice. In this state of things, no man is free, except the strongest man; he alone has power to act as he pleases; all the rest are his slaves: so that a community endeavoring to establish absolute liberty, immediately make all the members but one, the slaves of a master whose might is the rule of right.

Absolute liberty, therefore, as said before, immediately runs into despotism. It is a thing that can only exist where one man, like Alexander Selkirk, or Robinson Crusoe, is alone upon an island, and “monarch of all he surveys.” Absolute liberty, in society, is a practical absurdity--an impossibility.

_Natural liberty_ is freedom from restraint, except so far as is imposed by the laws of nature. According to this, a man may speak, act, and think as he pleases, without control; in this sense, it is synonymous with absolute liberty. But it is often applied to a state of society, where restraints do actually exist; as, for instance, among savages, even where property is held in common, and where of course there is no theft, there are still obligations, rules, and restrictions, of some kind.

The coward is punished with death; the parricide is banished; the traitor is shot. Every member of such a society is under certain restraints, and certain abridgments of absolute liberty. If one is guilty of cowardice, he consents to lose his life; if he kills his parent, he consents to be forever cast out of his tribe; if he betrays his nation, he agrees that he shall be slain by an arrow. Thus, he is restrained from cowardice, killing a father or mother, or betraying his country; all of which are abridgments of absolute liberty.

Thus, in the simplest and rudest stages of natural liberty, as put in practice among mankind, we see certain restraints upon absolute liberty, established by the laws or customs of the nation. But, in point of fact, other restraints are put upon the largest part of the community, for in such a state of society the weak are obliged, for the most part, to bow to the strong. If, indeed, the weak are protected from the strong, then the strong are restrained, and so far, natural or absolute liberty is abridged. If it is not thus abridged, if the weak are not protected from the strong, then they are the slaves of the strong. In this state of society, where natural liberty is said to prevail, the mass are subject to the despotism of a few; the weak are the slaves of the strong. A state of natural liberty, is, therefore, practically, a state of tyranny on the one hand and slavery on the other.

An illustration of this is found among the animal tribes. Among the fowls of the barnyard, there is no law: the males meet in conflict, and the strongest or most active becomes the master. Among a pack of wolves, or among dogs, the question who shall have the bone, is settled by fighting it out, and the strongest has it. The law of nature, then, is a law of force: where there is no other than natural law, might is the only rule of right.

Even if all men were virtuous, a state of natural and universal liberty could not exist--for virtue itself implies an observance of rules, obligations, and laws. A virtuous man will not steal; his liberty therefore, in this respect, is restrained. It is restrained by law; and the only difference between this restraint and that of civil government, is, that God enacts, and his own heart enforces, the law.

Civil government is founded in the idea that men are not all virtuous; that men will not enact and observe just laws individually and of themselves; and therefore to secure order, peace and justice, government must enact and enforce laws, and thus abridge natural or absolute liberty.

Experience, in all ages, has taught the lesson, that among men, as well as among animals, there being some strong and some weak, the former will ever seek to get the advantage of the latter. Thus government steps in to protect the weak against the strong; to substitute justice for force, right for might.--_Young American._

Dress and other matters in France, in the time of Henry IV.

One grand object of the king, Henry IV. of France, was to promote the arts and manufactures. The silk trade of Lyons owes its birth to him. Thinking to benefit trade and commerce, he encouraged his courtiers in habits of expense, quite opposite to his own frugal habits.

The expense of dress became enormously great on account of the quantity of gold, silver, and jewels with which it was decorated. It was not only costly, but dreadfully heavy. It is related of one of the ladies of the court, that, when she was in full dress, she was so encumbered by the weight of her finery as to be unable to move, or even to stand.

The dress of a gentleman of the day is thus described: “He was clothed in silver tissue; his shoes were white, and also his stockings. His cloak was black, bordered with rich embroidery and lined with cloth of silver; his bonnet was of black velvet, and he wore besides a profusion of precious stones.”

The ruff had been laid aside in the last reign, because Henry III. took it into his head that the person whose business it was to pin on his ruff, had been bribed to scratch him on the neck with a poisoned pin.

Its place, so far as the ladies were concerned, was supplied by a sort of frame of wire and lace, in which the head was enclosed, and which, in compliment to the queen, was called a _Medicis_. Masks were much worn by both sexes. They were made of black velvet, and were so necessary a part of the out-door costume of a lady, that she was thought to be in _dishabille_ if seen without one.

This weight of dress led to the introduction of a new luxury. The ladies could no longer ride to court on horseback. Coaches were therefore employed to carry them. The first coach made its appearance in Paris, in the reign of Henry II.

For a long time, there were but three in the whole city. The queen had one; a great court lady had another; and the third belonged to an old nobleman, “who, being too fat to ride on horseback, was obliged to submit to the mortification of being carried in a coach like a woman.”

The tapestry, carpets, and bed hangings of the houses corresponded in splendor and costliness with the dress. When the constable Montmorenci was killed, his body was brought to his own house, and lay in state, as it is called; that is, for exhibition, in a hall, the walls of which were hung with crimson velvet bordered with pearls.

But in all other respects, the houses, and even the king’s palaces, were very deficient in what we should call furniture. Excepting one or two arm-chairs for the heads of the family, the rooms usually contained one coarse long table, some stools, a few benches, and several chests, which also served for seats.

Those who could not afford the expense of hangings of silk, or damask, or satin, covered the walls with gilt leather, or had them panelled with wood. I think the last was the most appropriate, from the description we have of what was perhaps the only parlor and sitting-room of a French _chateau_, or country house.

“The hall was very large. At one end was a stag’s antlers, which were used for hanging up hats, coats, dogs’ collars, and the chaplet of paternosters. At the opposite end of the hall were bows and arrows, targets, swords, pikes and cross-bows.

“In the great window were three harquebusses, (a kind of gun,) with a variety of nets, and other apparatus for sporting. In the chests (called coffers) were coats of mail laid up in bran, to keep them from rusting. Under the benches was a plentiful supply of clean straw for the dogs to lie on.”

Amidst all this litter, there were two shelves, on which was deposited the library. This consisted of the Bible, Ogier the Dane, the Shepherd’s Calendar, the Golden Legend, the Romance of the Rose, &c.

From this selection, it would appear that romances were preferred to those memoirs and histories, so much more interesting to us, of which many had been written. The period itself produced several writers, whose works are still held in high estimation.

At the head of these is the great Duke of Sully, who has given a most interesting account of those scenes in French history, in which he and his great master bore the most conspicuous part. Next to him is De Thou, who has written a minute general history of the period between 1545 and 1607.

Another distinguished memoir-writer was Theodore d’Aubigné, half-brother to the king, and grandfather to Madame de Maintenon.

One of the first cares of Henry when he came to the throne, was to restore his capital to its former flourishing condition. He found the streets overgrown with grass, many of the shops shut up, and others, abandoned by their owners, had been converted into stables. When the Spanish ambassadors arrived, a few months after his coronation, they expressed their admiration at the great improvement which had taken place in the city, since it had been under his rule.

The king replied, “When the master is absent, all things get into disorder; but when he is returned, his presence ornaments the house, and all things profit.”--_Pictorial History of France._

The Last Leaf of Autumn.

It came with spring’s soft sun and showers, Mid bursting buds and blushing flowers; It flourished on the same light stem, It drank the same clear dews with them. The crimson tints of summer morn That gilded one, did each adorn; The breeze that whispered light and brief To bud or blossom, kissed the leaf; When o’er the leaf the tempest flew, The bud and blossom trembled too.

But its companions passed away, And left the leaf to lone decay. The gentle gales of spring went by, The fruits and flowers of summer die. The autumn winds swept o’er the hill, And winter’s breath came cold and chill. The leaf now yielded to the blast, And on the rushing stream was cast. Far, far it glided to the sea, And whirled and eddied wearily, Till suddenly it sank to rest, And slumbered in the ocean’s breast.

Thus life begins--its morning hours Bright as the birthday of the flowers-- Thus passes like the leaves away, As withered and as lost as they. Beneath the parent roof we meet In joyous groups, and gaily greet The golden beams of love and light, That dawn upon the youthful sight. But soon we part, and one by one, Like leaves and flowers, the group is gone. One gentle spirit seeks the tomb, His brow yet fresh with childhood’s bloom: Another treads the paths of fame, And barters peace to win a name. Another still, tempts fortune’s wave, And seeking wealth, secures a grave. The last, grasps yet the brittle thread-- Though friends are gone and joy is dead, Still dares the dark and fretful tide, And clutches at its power and pride-- Till suddenly the waters sever, And like the leaf he sinks forever.

Varieties.

THE elevated and marshalled flight of wild geese seems dictated by geometrical instinct; shaped like a wedge, the whole body cuts the air with less exertion to separate individuals, and it is conjectured that the change of form from an inverted V, A, L, or a straight line, is occasioned by the leader of the van quitting his post at the point of the angle, through fatigue, dropping into the rear, leaving his place to be occupied by another.

* * * * *

THE LADY-BIRD.--The following address to the lady-bird is from the German. Part of the second verse, most of my young friends are acquainted with:

“Lady-bird! lady-bird! pretty one stay; Come, sit on my finger, so happy and gay. With me shall no mischief betide thee. No harm would I do thee, no foeman is here-- I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear, These beautiful winglets beside thee.

Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home; Your house is on fire! your children will roam. List, list to their cry and bewailing! The pitiless spider is weaving their doom! Then lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home, Hark, hark to thy children’s bewailing!”

* * * * *

WINTER. Mary Howitt has beautifully described the contrast between the rich and the poor at this season of the year:

“In rich men’s halls the fire is piled, And furry robes keep out the weather; In poor men’s huts the fire is low, Through broken panes the keen winds blow, And old and young are cold together.

Oh, poverty is disconsolate! Its pains are many, its foes are strong. The rich man, in his jovial cheer, Wishes ’twas winter all the year; The poor man, ’mid his wants profound, With all his little children round, Prays God that winter be not long.”

* * * * *

SIGNS OF THE WEATHER. An English writer, by the name of Jennet, thus describes the signs of the weather:

“The hollow winds begin to blow, The clouds look black, the glass is low; The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, And spiders from their cobwebs peep. Last night the sun went pale to bed, The moon in halos hid her head; Hark! how the chairs and tables crack! Old Betty’s joints are on the rack; Her corns with shooting pains torment her, And to her bed untimely send her-- Loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowl cry, The distant hills are looking nigh. How restless are the snorting swine! The busy flies disturb the kine; Low on the grass, the swallow wings; The cricket, too, how sharp she sings! Puss, on the hearth, with velvet paws Sits wiping o’er her whiskered jaws; The smoke from chimneys right ascends-- Then spreading back to earth it bends; Through the clear stream, the fishes rise And nimbly catch the incautious flies. The glow-worms num’rous, clear and bright, Illumined the dewy hill last night! At dusk, the squalid toad was seen Like quadruped stalk o’er the green. The whirling wind the dust obeys, And in the rapid eddy plays; The frog has changed his yellow vest, And in a russet coat is dress’d. Behold the rooks, how odd their flight! They imitate the gliding kite; In fiery red, the sun doth rise, Then wades through clouds to mount the skies. ’T will surely rain, we see with sorrow, No working in the fields to-morrow.”

* * * * *

THE amaranth is one of the latest flowers in autumn, and when the plant is dead, the flowers still retain their rich scarlet color. The ancients associated it with supreme honors, choosing it to adorn the brows of their gods. Poets have sometimes mingled its bright hue with the dark and gloomy cypress, wishing to express that their sorrows were combined with everlasting recollections. Homer, an ancient poet, tells us that at the funeral of a great warrior, named Achilles, the Greeks wore crowns of amaranth.

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Reflections.

Here we are then--at the end of another year--at the end of another volume of Merry’s Museum! There is something in the winding up of the year that is calculated to make us look back, and think over the past: something which seems to stop us on the highway of time, and put the questions--“What have you been doing? Where have you been? Where are you going?”

And it is well for us all to answer these questions,--to answer them fairly and sincerely to that inward monitor which thus calls upon us. Have we done our duty, the past year, to our God, our neighbor and ourself? If we have, let us rejoice: if we have not, let us repent and sin thus no more.

I am not disposed to read a harsh lecture to my friends; for, to say the truth, I am much more inclined to make them laugh than to make them cry: I like a round face, far better than a long face. If I have any advice to give--any correction to bestow, I prefer doing it in a story, a fable or an allegory. If anybody wants to be scolded, they must not come to Bob Merry--I do not like to be scolded myself--and I never scold others. Still--still--my dear little friends, let me ask seriously, are we improving in mind, in temper, in graces of all kinds? Are you growing better, more intelligent, more wise, more dutiful, more sincere, more fond of truth, of mankind, and of God? If you are, I am glad of it: if not--my dear young reader, take old Robert Merry’s advice--which is this--_be careful every day, every month, every year, to do better than the day, the month, or the year before_. Although it is my design to amuse you--to please you--still, I shall almost feel that my labors are vain, if they do not result in your improvement, mental and moral.

And now, we must say good-bye to the old year, and next month bid a welcome to the new. I hope and trust that those young friends who have trudged along with me for two years, will keep me company for another year, and I promise to give them plenty of stories, lays and legends, facts and fables, songs, anecdotes, sketches and adventures. I have wound up the long tales which have run through two years of our magazine, but others shall be forthcoming. If we have dismissed Bill Keeler, Philip Brusque, Alexis Pultova, and Tom Trotter, still, somebody quite as interesting shall soon be introduced to our readers.

Transcriber’s Note:

This book was written in a period when many words had not become standardized in their spelling. Words with inconsistent hyphenation were left unchanged. Jargon, obsolete words and alternative spellings were left unchanged. Misspelled words were corrected.

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, unprinted or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added. Duplicate words at line endings or page breaks were removed. Missing header, Varieties, was added to the December issue.

The following were added where blotches on the page obscured the text:

‘---ng the coast’ to ‘along the coast’ (line 6749) ‘ta--- care that’ to ‘taking care that’ (line 10064) ‘to have ----’ to ‘to have it?’ (line 14722) ‘a--- twenty-five miles’ to ‘about twenty-five miles’ (line 17990) ‘The patt----- building’ to ‘The pattern of building’ (line 18000)