Virtue the Soul of Beauty.—The Tulip and the Rose.—The
Nightingale.—External Ornaments.—Characters.
The next morning Mrs. Mason met them first in the garden; and she desired
Caroline to look at a bed of tulips, that were then in their highest
state of perfection. I, added she, choose to have every kind of flower
in my garden, as the succession enables me to vary my daily prospect, and
gives it the charm of variety; yet these tulips afford me less pleasure
than most of the other sort which I cultivate—and I will tell you
why—they are only beautiful. Listen to my distinction;—good features,
and a fine complexion, I term _bodily_ beauty. Like the streaks in the
tulip, they please the eye for a moment; but this uniformity soon tires,
and the active mind flies off to something else. The soul of beauty, my
dear children, consists in the body gracefully exhibiting the emotions
and variations of the informing mind. If truth, humanity, and knowledge
inhabit the breast, the eyes will beam with a mild lustre, modesty will
suffuse the cheeks, and smiles of innocent joy play over all the
features. At first sight, regularity and colour will attract, and have
the advantage, because the hidden springs are not directly set in motion;
but when internal goodness is reflected, every other kind of beauty, the
shadow of it, withers away before it—as the sun obscures a lamp.
You are certainly handsome, Caroline; I mean, have good features; but you
must improve your mind to give them a pleasing expression, or they will
only serve to lead your understanding astray. I have seen some foolish
people take great pains to decorate the outside of their houses, to
attract the notice of strangers, who gazed, and passed on; whilst the
inside, where they received their friends, was dark and inconvenient.
Apply this observation to mere personal attractions. They may, it is
true, for a few years, charm the superficial part of your acquaintance,
whose notions of beauty are not built on any principle of utility. Such
persons might look at you, as they would glance their eye over these
tulips, and feel for a moment the same pleasure that a view of the
variegated rays of light would convey to an uninformed mind. The lower
class of mankind, and children, are fond of finery; gaudy, dazzling
appearances catch their attention; but the discriminating judgment of a
person of sense requires, besides colour, order, proportion, grace and
usefulness, to render the idea of beauty complete.
Observe that rose, it has all the perfections I speak of; colour, grace,
and sweetness—and even when the fine tints fade, the smell is grateful to
those who have before contemplated its beauties. I have only one bed of
tulips, though my garden is large, but, in every part of it, roses
attract the eye.
You have seen Mrs. Trueman, and think her a very fine woman; yet her skin
and complexion have only the clearness that temperance gives; and her
features, strictly speaking, are not regular: Betty, the housemaid, has,
in both these respects, much the superiority over her. But, though it is
not easy to define in what her beauty consists, the eye follows her
whenever she moves; and every person of taste listens for the modulated
sounds which proceed out of her mouth, to be improved and pleased. It is
conscious worth, _truth_, that gives dignity to her walk, and simple
elegance to her conversation. She has, indeed, a most excellent
understanding, and a feeling heart; sagacity and tenderness, the result
of both, are happily blended in her countenance; and taste is the polish,
which makes them appear to the best advantage. She is more than
beautiful; and you see her varied excellencies again and again, with
increasing pleasure. They are not obtruded on you, for knowledge has
taught her true humility: she is not like the flaunting tulip, that
forces itself forward into notice; but resembles the modest rose, you see
yonder, retiring under its elegant foliage.
I have mentioned flowers—the same order is observed in the higher
departments of nature. Think of the birds; those that sing best have not
the finest plumage; indeed just the contrary; God divides His gifts, and
amongst the feathered race the nightingale (sweetest of warblers, who
pours forth her varied strain when sober eve comes on) you would seek in
vain in the morning, if you expected that beautiful feathers should point
out the songstress: many who incessantly twitter, and are only tolerable
in the general concert, would surpass her, and attract your attention.
I knew, some time before you were born, a very fine, a very handsome
girl; I saw she had abilities, and I saw with pain that she attended to
the most obvious, but least valuable gift of heaven. Her ingenuity
slept, whilst she tried to render her person more alluring. At last she
caught the small-pox—her beauty vanished, and she was for a time
miserable; but the natural vivacity of youth overcame her unpleasant
feelings. In consequence of the disorder, her eyes became so weak that
she was obliged to sit in a dark room. To beguile the tedious day she
applied to music, and made a surprising proficiency. She even began to
think, in her retirement, and when she recovered her sight grew fond of
reading.
Large companies did not now amuse her, she was no longer the object of
admiration, or if she was taken notice of, it was to be pitied, to hear
her former self praised, and to hear them lament the depredation that
dreadful disease had made in a fine face. Not expecting or wishing to be
observed, she lost her affected airs, and attended to the conversation,
in which she was soon able to bear a part. In short, the desire of
pleasing took a different turn, and as she improved her mind, she
discovered that virtue, internal beauty, was valuable on its own account,
and not like that of the person, which resembles a toy, that pleases the
observer, but does not render the possessor happy.
She found, that in acquiring knowledge, her mind grew tranquil, and the
noble desire of acting conformably to the will of God succeeded, and
drove out the immoderate vanity which before actuated her, when her
equals were the objects she thought most of, and whose approbation she
sought with such eagerness. And what had she sought? To be stared at
and called handsome. Her beauty, the mere sight of it, did not make
others good, or comfort the afflicted; but after she had lost it, she was
comfortable herself, and set her friends the most useful example.
The money that she had formerly appropriated to ornament her person, now
clothed the naked; yet she really appeared better dressed, as she had
acquired the habit of employing her time to the best advantage, and could
make many things herself. Besides, she did not implicitly follow the
reigning fashion, for she had learned to distinguish, and in the most
trivial matters acted according to the dictates of good sense.
The children made some comments on this story, but the entrance of a
visitor interrupted the conversation, and they ran about the garden,
comparing the roses and tulips.