When we survey with a philosophic eye the varied and complicated works
of nature, there is nothing upon which the mind rests with more
pleasure, than the contemplation of the harmony, the order, and the
unity of design, manifested throughout. The physical philosopher
points to the centripetal and centrifugal forces, to the annual and
diurnal revolutions of the earth, to the periodical return of the
seasons, the regular succession of day and night, to the laws of
cohesion and repulsion, and shows with pride the wondrous harmony
which exists in all the departments of the physical world, all working
and conspiring to one great end. The political economist delights to
look to the nations of the earth, composed of vast multitudes of
individuals; to scan the great variety of occupations which the
endless division of labor has generated, and to see how the almost
countless millions of inhabitants, although each one is busily and
selfishly engaged in the pursuit only of his own little narrow
schemes, are nevertheless, when we embrace the grand whole, working,
in as perfect harmony and accord, as if the spirit of unbounded wisdom
and universal philanthropy guided every head and touched every
heart.--While to the common observer, the great volume of the human
mind is uninteresting, with its pages confused and scattered like the
sybil leaves of antiquity, it becomes to the metaphysician who can
arrange and interpret it, a source of knowledge, of pleasure, and of
gratitude. He beholds the nice lineaments of feelings and
passions--observes the operations of our various intellectual powers
and faculties. He sees a beautiful harmony and unity of design in the
whole Ideal Republic; and finds with wonder and astonishment, that all
our passions, instincts and faculties are so nicely arranged in
relation to each other, that, like the bodies in our planetary system,
not one could be struck from existence without endangering the harmony
of the whole. Thus shall we find, look where we will, through the wide
range of nature's works, part corresponding to part, power to power,
mind to mind, and to matter too; and the whole moving forward with
that beautiful harmonious action, which at once demonstrates the
illimitable wisdom of the designer,--his benevolence and his
consistency. Among all these beautiful adaptations in the universe,
there is not one perhaps, which presents itself to the mind under a
more engaging, a more interesting aspect, than the relations of the
_sexes_. To increase and multiply, seems to be the great law of
animated creation; and the attractions by which the sexes are brought
together for the fulfilment of this universal law, are so many, so
complicate, and yet so beautiful and delightful, while shedding their
benign influence over the rugged journey through life, that it is
impossible to contemplate them, without an immediate acknowledgment of
their sublime harmony, and of the benevolent design of him who ordered
and established them. My mind of late has been more than usually
engaged in the contemplation of this subject; and to amuse my leisure
hours, I have determined to throw together, however loosely, some
thoughts on the constitutional differences between the sexes--to point
out the effects which those differences have produced upon their
moral, social and political characters--to show that the position of
woman in society is not an accidental one, but results from the law of
nature; and that the benign and powerful influence which she exerts
over the destiny of man, is due principally to that very state of
things which woman is so apt to condemn. From this investigation, we
cannot fail to see that a constant amelioration in her condition is
calculated to enlarge and diversify the pleasures of the whole human
family, while it urges forward with irresistible power, the march of
civilization.
Whether there be any original natural differences between the sexes,
in a moral and intellectual point of view, is a question extremely
difficult to determine. Education has commenced, long before children
have arrived at that age and growth of intellect, which will enable
them to manifest with certainty their passions, propensities, tastes,
and mental powers. The wide intellectual and moral differences
existing among individuals similarly situated and similarly educated,
lead us to conclude that they have different original capacities and
dispositions. But so different is the education of the sexes--so
different is their position in society, that we cannot say with
certainty, whether their moral and intellectual differences are due
wholly to education, or partly to nature. The discussion of this
question I shall waive, as not being of much importance to the view
which I propose to take of the subject, and shall proceed to show how
the education of the two sexes is calculated to produce the
differences which we observe among them, and how their relative
positions in society are the results of the force of circumstances,
and not of accident, as some have most ingeniously contended; and this
I hope to be enabled to show, even upon the supposition of perfect
_intellectual equality_ between the sexes at birth.
Before entering upon this subject, it is proper to state, that I use
the word _education_ in its most extended sense,--to mean not only the
moral and intellectual discipline which we derive from our parents and
teachers, but to include the influence of physical organization, of
the physical circumstances by which we are surrounded, of opinion--in
fine, all those influences which are extraneous to the mind itself,
but capable of forming and directing it. There is both a physical and
moral education, to which we are constantly subjected, from birth to
manhood, entirely independent of professed teachers, which perhaps
exercises the greatest sway in the formation of our characters. Most
persons are apt to forget, in the calculation of character, the effect
of physical circumstances; but these must never be lost sight of.
Physics govern morals, to a certain extent, all over the world. It is
impossible to withdraw ourselves wholly from the influence of physical
causes. In the beautiful language of Mr. Allison, "Wander where we
will, trees wave, rivers flow, mountains ascend, clouds darken, or
winds animate the face of heaven; and over the whole scenery, the sun
sheds the cheerfulness of his morning, the splendor of his noonday, or
the tenderness of his evening light;--there is not one of these
features of scenery, which is not fitted to waken us to moral emotion;
to lead us, when once the key of our imagination is struck, to trains
of fascinating and endless imagery; and in the indulgence of them, to
make our bosoms either glow with conceptions of mental excellence, or
melt in the dreams of moral good. Even upon the man of the most
uncultivated taste, the scenes of nature have some inexplicable charm:
there is not a chord perhaps of the human heart, which may not be
awakened by their influence." Again, let us wander where we will, and
in vain shall we attempt to escape the moral influences which are
exerted around us. Opinions, manners, customs, fashions, &c. exercise
a silent, but potent sway, from which none can hope to be exempt. We
sometimes indulge the wish of flying from our native land, to escape
these influences in a foreign clime. How vain the wish! Go where we
will, the mighty spell is still laid over us--the enchantment is still
unbroken--and as long as man's nature remains unchanged, so long must
he be subject to the guidance and direction of that mighty physical
and moral machinery, which if ever at work around him, silently
developing and forming his character. These causes, in their all
pervading influences, may almost be considered as emblematical of the
omnipresence of the Divinity. In our remarks then, upon the
distinctive characteristics of the sexes, it is proper to commence
first with the operation of physical causes; and among these, without
doubt the difference of physical organization exercises the most
powerful influence--perhaps so powerful as to be itself sufficient to
account for all the characteristic differences between man and woman.
Of course, the remarks which follow, apply to the entire sexes, and
not to individual cases; for the individual female will frequently be
found to have all the masculine traits of character more perfectly
developed than the individual man. Few men, for example, can be
compared with an Edgeworth or De Stael in point of intellect--and few
have shown more persevering courage and masculine heroism, than Queen
Margaret of England, or Joan d'Arc of France; but these are specimens
from which we can draw no just conclusions concerning the entire sex.
_Physical Differences between the Sexes, and their Immediate Effects_.
What then is the difference in physical organization? "Woman," says
Voltaire, "is in general less strong than man; smaller and less
capable of lasting labor. Her blood is more aqueous; her flesh less
firm; her hair longer; her limbs more rounded; her arms less muscular;
her mouth smaller; her hips more prominent, and her abdomen larger.
These physical points distinguish woman all over the earth, and of all
races, from Lapland unto the coast of Guinea, and from America to
China."[1] The physiologists all agree in the main points of
difference here asserted. They say that woman differs from man in the
whole of her lower stature--in the delicacy of her organization--in
the predominance of her lymphatic and cellular system, which softens
down the projections of the muscles, and gives to all her limbs those
rounded and graceful forms, of which we see in the Venus de Medicis
the inimitable model. "In woman, sensibility is also more exquisite;
and, with less strength, her mobility is greater. The female skeleton
even, is easily distinguished from that of the male, by striking
differences. The asperities of the bones are less prominent; the
clavicle is less curved; the chest shorter, but more expanded; the
sternum shorter, but wider; the pelvis more capacious,"[2] &c.
Comparing the sexes together then, all over the world, man appears to
be decidedly the stronger and better formed for war, for hard and
persevering labor; woman for retirement, for the mild and less
laborious occupations. The camp, the field, the woods, and the sea
seem to be the natural theatres for the display of man's powers. Woman
fills with peculiar grace, all the domestic occupations and sedentary
employments. In fact, the same amount of exercise is not necessary to
the preservation of her health, as for that of man. Hence she is more
naturally sedentary and quiet, and perhaps less industrious. Her
labor, in a purely politico-economical light, is universally
considered less valuable. The severer labors of cutting, mauling,
ditching, carpentry, masonry, &c. are performed by men. The management
of children, sewing, knitting, washing, &c. are performed most
frequently by women. The working in lace, Rousseau considered an
occupation particularly suited to a delicate modest female. He never
could exercise the slightest patience towards men tailors. The needle
and sword ought not to be managed by the same hands. In his _Emile_,
he says, "If I were sovereign, I would not permit sewing and the
occupations of the needle to any but women and lame men."
[Footnote 1: See Phil. Dic. Vol. 6, Art. Woman.]
[Footnote 2: Richerand's Physiology. Chapman and Goodman's Edition: p.
381.]
Occupation produces a mighty influence on character. Women in all
countries will talk about their dresses and domestic matters: Men talk
of war, politics, horse-racing, field sports, and the labors of the
farm. At a very early period of life, we find the boy delighting in
his top, his bow and arrows, and his mimic wagon or cart. The girl
finds most pleasure in dolls, in pretty dresses and glittering toys,
which amuse her without much exertion on her part. "With what a
languid yawn," says Mary Woolstoncraft in her Rights of Woman, "have I
seen an admirable poem thrown down, that a man of true taste returns
to again and again with rapture; and whilst melody has almost
suspended respiration, a lady has asked me where I bought my gown."
And whilst the men converse about business, politics or literature,
"how naturally," says Swift, "do women apply their hands to each
other's lappets and ruffles." The learned lady whom I have just
referred to, might have saved herself a great deal of vexation and
pretended mortification, if she had only reflected, that difference in
occupation between the sexes is due principally to difference in
physical organization; and that the conversation of men and women will
always run more or less upon their occupations. Our very dreams are
but too frequently dictated by the occupations which engage us. Queen
Mab gallops
"Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtier's knees, that dream on court'sies straight;
O'er lawyer's fingers, who straight dream on fees.
And sometimes comes she with a tithe pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep--
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats;
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades;
Of healths five fathoms deep: and then anon
Drums in his ear--at which he starts and wakes;
And being thus frighten'd, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again."
_Relative Position of the Sexes in Society_.
The relative position of the sexes in the social and political world,
may certainly be looked upon as the result of organization. The
greater physical strength of man, enables him to occupy the foreground
in the picture. He leaves the domestic scenes; he plunges into the
turmoil and bustle of an active, selfish world; in his journey through
life, he has to encounter innumerable difficulties, hardships and
labors which constantly beset him. His mind must be nerved against
them. Hence courage and boldness are his attributes. It is his
province, undismayed, to stand against the rude shocks of the world;
to meet with a lion's heart, the dangers which threaten him. He is the
shield of woman, destined by nature to guard and protect her. Her
inferior strength and sedentary habits confine her within the domestic
circle; she is kept aloof from the bustle and storm of active life;
she is not familiarized to the out of door dangers and hardships of a
cold and scuffling world: timidity and modesty are her attributes. In
the great strife which is constantly going forward around her, there
are powers engaged which her inferior physical strength prevents her
from encountering. She must rely upon the strength of others; man must
be engaged in her cause. How is he to be drawn over to her side? Not
by menace--not by force; for weakness cannot, by such means, be
expected to triumph over might. No! It must be by conformity to that
character which circumstances demand for the sphere in which she
moves; by the exhibition of those qualities which delight and
fascinate--which are calculated to win over to her side the proud lord
of creation, and to make him an humble suppliant at her shrine. Grace,
modesty and loveliness are the charms which constitute her power. By
these, she creates the magic spell that subdues to her will the more
mighty physical powers by which she is surrounded. Her attributes are
rather of a passive than active character. Her power is more
emblematical of that of divinity: it subdues without an effort, and
almost creates by mere volition;--whilst man must wind his way through
the difficult and intricate mazes of philosophy; with pain and toil,
tracing effects to their causes, and unravelling the deep mysteries of
nature--storing his mind with useful knowledge, and exercising,
training and perfecting his intellectual powers, whilst he cultivates
his strength and hardens and matures his courage; all with a view of
enabling him to assert his rights, and exercise a greater sway over
those around him. Woman we behold dependant and weak; but out of that
very weakness and dependance springs an irresistible power. She may
pursue her studies too--not however with a view of triumphing in the
senate chamber--not with a view to forensic display--not with a view
of leading armies to combat, or of enabling her to bring into more
formidable action the physical power which nature has conferred on
her. No! It is but the better to perfect all those feminine graces,
all those fascinating attributes, which render her the centre of
attraction, and which delight and charm all those who breathe the
atmosphere in which she moves; and, in the language of Mr. Burke,
would make ten thousand swords leap from their scabbards to avenge the
insult that might be offered to her. By her very meekness and beauty
does she subdue all around her. The Grecian poet of old has told us
where her power lies.
"To woman what does nature give?
Beauty she gives instead of darts;
Beauty instead of shields imparts:
Nor can the fire nor sword oppose
The fair, victorious where she goes."
We must recollect, however, that it is beauty of mind, of grace, of
accomplishment; and not beauty of person alone, which constitutes her
power. When the beautiful mother of mankind is described by the
matchless poet, he mentions not one _purely_ physical trait of beauty.
"Grace was in all her steps; heaven in her eye:
In all her gestures dignity and love."
When Juno too, tries the old and successful cheat of love with her
imperial husband, the poet of antiquity makes her borrow the beauties
of mind, rather than those of body.
"The gentle vow, the gay desire,
The kind deceit, the still reviving fire;
Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs,
Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes."
Even Waller, the sycophantic poet of a corrupt and profligate court,
pays all due homage to the beauty of mind.
"Oh, my lovely foe,
Tell me where thy strength doth lie--
Where the power that _charms_ me so:
In thy soul, or in thine eye."
As woman then cannot conquer by physical strength, she must depend
upon other attributes of a more passive quality. The following little
anecdote well illustrates the characteristic differences between the
sexes in this respect. I was once giving a handsome and accomplished
lady a description of the Menagerie Royal at Paris, and was describing
the apartment of a large ferocious lion that had been brought from
Africa. The apartment was double, with a partition wall between the
chambers. Whilst the lion would be in one chamber eating, it was the
custom of the keeper to go into the other for the purpose of cleaning
it out, taking care to shut the door between them. One day he
neglected this; and the lion leaving the meat which he had been
devouring, suddenly entered the room, advanced to the man, who backed
against the wall, then leaped upon his breast, and looked him steadily
in the face. Just at this point, I paused and asked the lady, for she
seemed agitated, what she would have done in a similar crisis. Her
answer was characteristic indeed: I would have _kissed_ him! Now I
assert that there is not a man in the wide world who would have ever
thought of appeasing the wrath of the monarch of the forest by a kiss.
His power does not depend on a kiss. From him it is not sufficiently
appreciated to make it coveted by others, and therefore a source of
his power. But with woman it is far otherwise; it is one of her most
potent means--a sort of reserve, not to be resorted to but under the
pressure of necessity. Had you addressed the same question to man, he
would have told you, that he would have stood quiet and firm, (as did
the individual just mentioned,) till assistance could be brought; or
he would have summoned up all his courage and all his strength for one
desperate effort, and attempted to hurl the lion from him; but never
would he have thought of purchasing his life by giving him a kiss.
This is one of woman's resources in the hour of peril, and woman alone
would ever have thought of it.
In that darkest and most dismal hour of Josephine's life, when the
dread secret of the divorce was first hinted to her by that great but
wily and unprincipled statesman Fouche, how does she act? In all the
agony and concentrated grief which preys upon her heart, she seeks in
his chamber the solitary chieftain, whose martial prowess had shaken
all the thrones of Europe, and filled the world with a fame which
eclipsed that of the Cæsars and Alexanders--she seats herself in his
lap--she strokes back the hair from his forehead: in the mild and
faltering tone of injured honor, she asks him if it be so? He answers
no! And with beauty, grace and tears supplicating, who could have
answered otherwise! Then imprinting a kiss upon his brow, she asks the
dismission of Fouche as an earnest of his attachment. This was denied
her; and at that moment despair seized upon her heart. She knew her
power was gone--the charm was broken--the spell was dissolved.
Ambition triumphed over love. But the Colossus of Europe could have
told you, that the melancholy triumph of that moment, had cost him
more than the conquest of kingdoms and the dethronement of monarchs;
or he could have told you afterwards, that when he for the first time
beheld the barren rock of St. Helena, with that countenance unmoved
and unchanged, which so astonished those who observed it,--the
internal struggle by which he chained down the conflicting emotions of
his soul, was not to be compared with that which could firmly resist
the request of a beloved but injured wife in tears.
_Points of Honor in the Sexes_.
So far, I have been considering the effects of mere inferiority of
strength in the female. But independently of this, there is another
portion of her organization, attended with consequences no less marked
on the whole character. I allude of course to the great law of nature,
which imposes upon her the burden of gestation--of nursing and of
training the rising population of the world. That woman is destined to
the office of nursing and rearing her children, the arrangement of
nature evidently demonstrates. It is she alone whom nature provides
with the food adapted to the support of the fragile constitution of
the newly born babe. She has known and felt all the solicitude,
anxiety and pain pertaining to its existence. It is a law of our
nature, to love that with most ardor, which has cost us most pain and
most anxiety in the attainment. For this reason perhaps, it may be
that even at birth, a mother's love for her babe is more intense than
that of the father; and hence an additional reason of a moral
character, why the office of tutoring and nursing should devolve more
particularly on her. Let us now proceed, for a moment, to trace the
consequences of this position of woman. It is evident that its
tendency must be, to narrow the circle in which she moves; a
considerable portion of her life must be spent in the nursery and the
sick room. Here, at once, would be presented an insurmountable barrier
against that ambition which would lead her into the field, into
politics, or any of the regular professions. She never could compete
with man. In fact, to succeed at all, she would be obliged to desert
the station and defeat the ends for which nature intended her. A
physician, a lawyer, or statesman, who should be obliged to attend to
the suckling, clothing, and the thousand little wants of a helpless
babe, would be distanced in the race by him, who with any thing like
equal power of intellect, was unimpeded in his career by any of those
embarrassing obstacles.
This organization of woman now under consideration, renders
circumspection and virtue more absolutely indispensable to her than to
man. Guilt and infidelity are much more certainly detected in her case
than in his, and are attended with much more lamentable consequences.
Her whole moral character is formed in some measure in view of this
state of things: chastity and virtue become her points of honor;
modesty becomes her most pleasing and necessary attribute.
"That chastity of look which seems to hang
A veil of purest light o'er all her beauties,
And by forbidding, most inflames desire,"
may truly be said to constitute one of her greatest and most
indispensable ornaments. The great point of honor in man, is
undoubtedly courage; and in woman, chastity and virtue. "In books of
chivalry, (says Addison, in one of the Nos. of the Spectator,) where
the point of honor is strained to madness, the whole story runs on
chastity and courage. The damsel is mounted on a white palfrey, as an
emblem of her innocence; and to avoid scandal, must have a dwarf for
her page. She is not to think of a man until some misfortune has
brought a knight errant to her relief. The knight falls in love, and
did not gratitude restrain her from murdering her deliverer, would die
at her feet by her disdain. However, he must waste many years in the
desert, before her virginity can think of a surrender. The knight goes
off--attacks every thing he meets that is bigger and stronger than
himself--seeks all opportunities of being knocked on the head--and
after seven years' rambling, returns to his mistress, whose chastity
in the mean time has been attacked by giants and tyrants, and
undergone as many trials as her lover's valor." The following
inscription on a monument erected in Westminster Abbey, to the Duke
and Duchess of New Castle, particularly pleased Mr. Addison, as
illustrative of the difference in the points of honor between the
sexes. "Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest sister to the Lord Lucas
of Colchester; a noble family--for all the brothers were valiant, and
all the sisters virtuous." Voltaire in his Philosophical Dictionary
remarks, that all animals, if they could talk, would tell you they
considered the female, each one of its own species, as the most
beautiful creature in the world. The remark is a philosophical one;
and will no doubt apply with great force to man, especially in a
civilized condition. All our writers on taste, rank woman in point of
beauty at the head of creation; and make _her_ the most beautiful of
her sex, whose beauty is combined with virtue and loveliness, and
fortified by modesty. How beautifully has Barrett described the
superior excellence of the female character in the following lines:
"To guard that virtue, to supply the place
Of courage, wanting in her gentle race--
Lo, modesty was given; mysterious spell,
Whose blush can shame, whose panic can repel.
Strong, by the very weakness it betrays,
It sheds a mist before our fiery gaze:
The panting apprehension, quick to feel
The shrinking grace, that fain would grace conceal,
The beautiful rebuke that looks surprise--
The gentle vengeance of averted eyes;--
These are its arms, and these supreme prevail;
Love pauses--Vice retracts his glozing tale."
We are now prepared to see at once, the foundation of that difference
observable among the sexes all over the world, in all ages, in
relation to the conduct which they observe towards each other. Man
makes all the advances towards the weaker sex. He is the wooer, and
woman the wooed, in every age and country: whilst she is coy and
retiring, and blushes deeply at the very idea of her preferences and
attachments for the opposite sex being even suspected, man
acknowledges with candor his devotion to woman; seeks her society
every where; confesses his enthusiastic delight at the charms of her
conversation, and glories in the performance of those civilities and
gallantries, which the laws of social intercourse have always demanded
at his hands. The desires and inclinations of man, are open and
confessed; those of woman, kept doubtful and secret. "Man (says
Rousseau,) depends on woman on account of his desires; woman on man
both on account of desires and necessities." The difference, however,
is that the former are avowed, the latter concealed.[3] The charms and
fascination of woman, are so contrived as to hide all art itself, and
to appear entirely aimless. Yet in this very circumstance frequently
rests the great power of her attractions.
"Unaiming charms with edge resistless fall,
And she who means no mischief does it all."
[Footnote 3: Broussais, the materialist, supposes a difference in this
respect between the sexes, founded on differences in irritation and
animal sensibility, and this is the reason why "she is contented to
win him (man) by gestures and speech, but never does she undertake to
subdue him by force." Whether this be the fact, must be decided by
physiologists. To those who wish to examine this subject, I can only
refer them to Broussais's Physiology, ch. 13, sec 2.]
It is easy to deduce from the foregoing, that what is called character
or reputation, in the eyes of the world, is infinitely more necessary
to woman than to man: her virtue is the true sensitive plant, which is
blighted even by the breath of suspicion. Cæsar would not have a wife
upon whom suspicion fell, even though convinced of her innocence. Man
may, by reformation, regain a lost character, but woman rarely can.
Man may, and often ought to rise superior to the opinion of the world;
woman never can. Hence the bold assertion of Rousseau, in his _Emile_:
"L'opinion est le tombeau de la virtue parmi les hommes et son trône
parmi les femmes." Under these circumstances, does not the guilt of
the individual, who undermines or asperses the female character,
become a thousand times more atrocious? In regard to woman, Madame de
Stael observes, in her work on literature, that "to defend themselves
is an additional disadvantage; to justify themselves a new alarm. They
are conscious of a purity and delicacy in their nature, which the
notice even of the public will tarnish." And those who suppose
themselves clothed in panoply complete, because of their superior
talents, she likens to "Erminia in her coat of mail:" the warriors
perceive the helmet, the lance, and the dazzling plume; they expect to
meet with equal force; they begin the onset with violence, and the
_first_ wound cuts to the heart. Well then does it behoove every man
of honor and chivalry to guard against the injury of a being so
defenceless, and to contribute all in his power, to the elevation and
amelioration of her position, if it be only as compensation for the
many disadvantages to which she is subjected, in comparison with man.
I have thus endeavored to trace out the causes which produce the
modesty, gentleness and virtue, which certainly characterize the
female sex.
Upon the same principles we may explain that extraordinary command
over her feelings, which is certainly another of the characteristics
of woman. She cannot give utterance to her passions and emotions like
man. She is not to seek, but to be sought. She is not to woo, but to
be wooed. She is thus frequently required to suppress the most violent
feelings; to put a curb on her most ardent desires, and at the same
time to wear that face of contentment and ease which may impose upon
an inquisitive and scrutinizing world. How often do we see in the gay
circles of fashion and of folly, that while apparent joy it beaming
from the countenance, a secret grief is preying on the heart, and
working the soul into an agony. We are told by Plutarch, that the
institutions of Lycurgus had so disciplined the Spartans in the art of
enduring pain without complaint, that a boy permitted a stolen fox to
eat down to his bowels, without complaining or exhibiting his
sufferings in his countenance. The education and position of woman,
produces an influence in this respect similar to that produced by
Spartan legislation. She can suffer much, and she can suffer long, in
silence, without complaint. How admirably has Shakspeare described
this trait of character, in the description of Viola, in the 12th
Night: though so often quoted, I cannot forego the pleasure of
repeating it:
"She never told her love,
But let concealment like a worm in the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief."
All persons placed in situations requiring great self command, by
constantly curbing the passions and allaying the rising emotions,
arrive at last at that self control, that perfect apparent mental
equilibrium which appears so wonderfully difficult to the ordinary
spectator. This is often most strikingly exemplified in statesmen,
diplomatists and gamblers, and sometimes in mercantile men. The great
reserve of Washington on state affairs, is well known: Davilla, the
historian, praises the deep dissimulation of Catherine de Medicis.
Lord Clarendon, and Locke, have spoken with commendations of the same
traits in the characters of the Earls of Bristol and Shaftsbury;
whilst Cicero even, has bestowed his eulogy on the same qualities, and
points to the characters of Homer's Ulysses, Themistocles the
Athenian, Lysander the Spartan, and to Marcus Crassus of Rome, for
examples. Talleyrand, the great diplomatic wonder of the nineteenth
century, it is said, possesses this "_talent pour le silence_," on
state affairs, in a most extraordinary degree. With such a being,
every thing becomes a matter of calculation, down even to the
responses to the ordinary questions of "how do you do?" and "how have
you been?" Such a man may truly be said to carry his heart in his
head, as was said of Mr. Pitt the younger.[4]
[Footnote 4: Bulwer, in his France, pp. 107 and 8, has given us the
following little anecdotes illustrative of this trait of character;
and the first admirably exhibits the opinion which that deep searching
and wily politician entertained of the candor of statesmen. "But why
is not M. de S. here?" said M. de Talleyrand. "M. de S. est malade,"
said an acquaintance. "Ha! ha!" replies the old statesman, shaking his
head, "M. de S. est malade! mais qu'est ce donc qu'il gagne à être
malade!" Again, "which do you like best, M. de Talleyrand," said a
lady, "Madame de ---- or myself?" The reply was not so decisive as the
fair and accomplished questioner expected. "But now," said she,
"suppose we were both to fall into the sea, which should you first try
to save?" "_Oh! Madame_," said the Prince, "_I should be quite certain
that you could swim._" After these, we may well believe the late
response which he is said to have made to his physician, who asked him
some questions about Spain. "Doctor," said he, "you must have
remarked, that I never give an opinion, except upon subjects which I
do not understand. I am happy to talk about physic."]
Upon the same principles we can explain a seeming moral paradox, in
the fact, that phlegmatic men, when once suddenly excited, become
perfectly ungovernable; exhibiting follies and extravagances, beyond
those we see manifested by men of great imagination and warm feelings.
Very phlegmatic persons, when suddenly in love, are sometimes to be
ranked among the most amusing and laughable objects in nature: with
them a new feeling has just been called, for the first time, into
action: it entirely unhinges and deranges the whole internal man: it
is a new power, which, for a moment, subjects every thing to its
capricious dominion, and the man becomes instantly like Ahmed, the
pilgrim of love, so beautifully described in the tales of the
Alhambra, mounted upon the suddenly disenchanted steed, clad in the
magic armor, and overturning, without the possibility of managing
himself or steed, both friend and foe.
It has generally been supposed, that sudden love is a symptom of much
imagination, and excitable feelings: this is not always true; it may
sometimes be a proof of the reverse. Very cold phlegmatic men, may
frequently be suddenly roused and enamoured, because they have no
control over the little imagination and feeling which they possess,
when once that little has been roused. One of the most phlegmatic men
I ever knew, married in less than three months after the death of a
wife, whom he had loved while alive, as much as such a nature was
capable of loving; and an affectionate squeeze of the hand, and a more
than usually tender tone of voice, were the simple means by which this
sudden flame was kindled.
The remarks made above, are susceptible of extensive generalization.
Mr. Stuart says, in the third volume of his Elements of the Philosophy
of Mind, "In one of our most celebrated universities, which has long
enjoyed the proud distinction of being the principal seat of
mathematical learning in this Island, I have been assured, that if at
any time a spirit of fanaticism has infected (as will occasionally
happen in all numerous societies,) a few of the unsounder limbs of
that learned body, the contagion has invariably spread much more
widely among the mathematicians, than among the men of erudition. Even
the strong head of Waering, undoubtedly one of the ablest analysts
that England has produced, was not proof against the malady; and he
seems at last (as I am told by the late Dr. Watson, Bishop of
Landaff,) to have sunk into a deep religious melancholy, approaching
to insanity. When Whitefield first visited Scotland, and produced, by
his powerful though unpolished eloquence, such marvellous effects on
the minds of his hearers, Dr. Simpson, the celebrated professor of
mathematics at Glasgow, had the curiosity to attend one of his sermons
in the fields, but could never be persuaded, by all the entreaties of
his friends, to hear another. He had probably felt his imagination
excited in an unpleasant degree, and with his usual good sense
resolved not to subject himself to the danger of a second experiment."
Now it is well known, that mathematical studies exercise the
imagination less perhaps than any other whatever; and the powerful
influence spoken of by Mr. Stewart, was no doubt owing to the fact,
that the individuals in question, had no control over the imagination;
when once excited, they had never learned to manage and restrain it.
Upon the same principles we can explain the wonderful control which
the coquette ultimately acquires over all her feelings. The general
opinion is, that coquettes are cold and feelingless, and have always
been so, and that all their demonstrations of emotion, are the result
of hypocrisy. This may sometimes be the case, but not always. Persons
of this description, may even have intense feelings; but from
constantly watching, restraining and curbing them, after they have
been called into action, they acquire perfect mastery over them. In
some cases, the feelings may be so chained down by habit, as almost to
be destroyed; in fact, this is generally the case with coquettes, and
when they do marry, it is frequently more from policy than love.
Ambition and vanity, in their case, triumph eventually over love and
feeling; and the love of riches, standing, pomp, and show, determines
their choice.[5] There is one species of coquetry for which I have
much compassion and sympathy; it is where the affections of a lady
have really been won by an individual, whom prudence and the advice of
friends, will forever prevent her from marrying. In this case it
sometimes happens, that tenderness on her part, and a desire to avoid
wounding his feelings, may cause her to excite hopes which are never
to be realized. In this case, he may drink too deeply of what
Shakspeare calls
"The honey'd music of her words;"
and at last will awaken to a disappointment, whose melancholy
influence I shall describe, when I come to speak of the effects of
love on the sexes. Perhaps in a case like this, prompt decision, and
the concealment of every thing like tenderness, may be the stern
mandate of reason and prudence; but we must recollect that it is not
that of feeling and sympathy; and we often, in our passage through
life, meet with cases of this kind, when too loose a rein is given to
the feelings upon Sterne's principle, that it is not always agreeable
to be fighting the d----l.
[Footnote 5: Sometimes coquettes appear to love after marriage more
intensely than others: in most cases I am disposed to doubt the
reality of the affection. Sometimes they have remained single until
the decline of their charms, the advance of age, and an unfavorable
public opinion, have destroyed their reign. This condition is almost
insupportable, and marriage becomes an asylum for their refuge. In
this case the coquette is in love with marriage, rather because of the
insupportable ills which she has escaped, than of the love which she
bears her husband. In other cases, after marriage, want of something
to engage her attention, and exercise her powers of pleasing; of
something that may amuse and excite her; in fine, as Mademoiselle de
L'Enclos, who will readily be acknowledged first rate authority on
this subject, expresses it, "_La necessité d'avoir quelque
gallantrie_," may induce her to lavish upon her husband, all those
attentions, finesses, and displays of feeling, which she before
bestowed upon the world at large. In this case, she makes her husband
the very personification of the gallantries of the world, and proceeds
to play out the game with him, which she had before been carrying on
with the dashing beaux of the fashionable world. Lastly, in some
cases, mere vanity itself may be sufficient, by its intense action, to
make the coquette wear in her countenance, and manifest by her
actions, that love which she feels not in her heart. I do not think
then the coquette will often make a fit companion for the man of
delicate sensibility and all searching penetration. He should seek for
some sensitive, deep feeling heart, which can return him back a full
measure of the love of which his own fond, devoted heart is so lavish.
True and genuine affection cannot long be deceived: it has too many
nice and exquisitely delicate chords, to be played upon with success
by the coarse fingers of hypocrisy.]
A gentleman, for similar reasons, often indulges sentiments of love
towards her whom he knows that circumstances will never permit to be
his. I have seen many cases of most tender attachment, of this kind.
Travellers in foreign countries, and persons in lower stations of
life, suddenly brought into contact with the upper, furnish the most
frequent illustrations.
_Pride and Vanity._
We are now prepared to compare the sexes together, as to two most
important traits in character--_pride_ and _vanity_; and before
entering upon this investigation, it is proper to premise, that I use
these words in their technical philosophical meaning: _Pride_ to mean
that quality which makes us set a high value on ourselves,
independently of the esteem of the world--and _vanity_, to be that
which makes us desire the esteem of others, and value ourselves
accordingly.
False pride is the valuing ourselves for properties which are really
contemptible, or not praiseworthy; and false vanity is the desire of
the esteem of those whose opinions we should disregard, either because
of the inferiority of their judgments, or because of the
insignificance of the merit, for which we claim their approbation. The
meaning which I have here given to _false_ pride and vanity, is what
is generally attached in ordinary parlance to the simple terms pride
and vanity.
Now, according to the definition given above, it follows, that these
two qualities belong, in some proportions, to all the members of the
human family. Man is evidently made by his maker, a being of relations
and dependencies: coming into the world in the most helpless and
dependent condition, the preservation of his life, and the training of
infancy, demand the continued assistance of others: those who are
around him, give him his daily food, and teach him his daily lessons:
their esteem and love is the reward of his little virtues and merits:
their censures and frowns his punishments. As he grows to manhood, and
his mind expands, his relations with the world become more numerous,
and more extensive, and he ultimately seeks the applause and esteem,
not only of the little family circle in which he was reared, but of
his neighborhood, of his State; then, if his ambition be great, of
mankind, and of the generations that are to follow. Thus the desire of
the applause of the world, and the dread of its censure, becomes one
of the most powerful motives to action, in the breast of man--this is
_vanity_.
But at the same time, there is that within us, which produces
happiness from the reflection, that we have done our duty, and that
our conduct is praiseworthy, whether we have the esteem of the world
or not. We value ourselves for what we consider our real intrinsic
merits, and not for the applause of the world--and this is _pride_.
As thus explained, it is very evident that these two great principles,
pride and vanity, must have almost omnipotent sway in the formation of
character. Chenevix, in his work on national character, and Adam Smith
in his theory of moral sentiments, make the whole human character to
hinge on these two qualities. When pride is excessive, you have for
the most part a haughty isolated independent taciturn being, who,
wrapt up in himself, and his own ideal perfections, despises the
opinions of those around him, and treats the world with austerity and
scorn. His social defects are bluntness, rudeness, and a want of
sympathy and compassion. But then he is a being who is firm and steady
in his character, and unwavering in his resolves. He may be relied on,
if you can ever win him to your side. When vanity is excessive, you
have a being the very reverse of the one just described. He is social,
loquacious, polite and attentive to all around him. He has no fixed
character or opinion of his own: the opinion of the world is the
looking glass in which he daily dresses himself. Affectation and
disingenuousness are his social defects. Win him to your side to-day,
and to-morrow when he finds the other the most popular, he will desert
you without hesitation. He is a treacherous friend. When these two
qualities are properly combined, you have the perfect character.
Now it is easy to see, from what has already been said, that of the
two sexes man is the prouder, and woman the vainer. The greater
physical strength of man, the occupations in which he is engaged, his
self dependence and self sufficiency, make him generally more proud
and less vain than woman, who being weaker than man, and more
dependent on others, is obliged to seek their esteem and applause, in
order that through their attachment and love, she may exercise a power
which she finds not within herself. The desire to please is
undoubtedly the ruling passion in the female heart. As I have before
observed, her virtue is a much more sensitive and tender plant, than
that of man: it can much more easily be tarnished, by the breath of
public opinion; and when her reputation is once lost, it can never be
regained. Hence the good opinion of the world is all in all to her.
She endeavors to secure it by every means. She is generally more gay
and cheerful, more loquacious and polite, infinitely more amiable and
agreeable in the social circle, and she trifles with more grace and
elegance. For the same reason she adorns and perfects her beauty more,
and endeavors to heighten and polish her natural endowments by the aid
of artificial ornaments. "I have observed, (says Ledyard,) among all
nations, that the women ornament themselves more than the men; that
they are ever inclined to be gay, cheerful, timorous and modest." They
are more observant of fashions and of etiquette, and, as we shall
presently see, they have more tact, more nice discrimination of
feeling and discernment of character than men have. Women are
precisely what the men make them, all over the world. Addison says,
"that had women determined their own point of honor, it is probable
that wit or good nature would have carried it against chastity;" but
our sex have preferred the latter, and woman has conformed to the
decision.
The vanity of woman, under proper regulation, makes her the most
fascinating being in creation, when it is the virtuous, the
intelligent, and the just, whose approbation she attempts to win, by
the charms and graces of virtue, innocence, modesty, and
accomplishment, where "she is the darling child of society, indulged
not spoiled, presiding over its pleasures, preserving its refinements,
taking nothing from its strength, adding much to its brilliancy,
permitted the full exercise of all her faculties, and retaining the
full endowment of all her graces."
And this same being, who, in her unmarried state, is the delight and
charm of every circle in which she moves, may after marriage look to
the esteem and approbation of him who has won her hand and heart, as
the jewel of greatest price. His opinion may become to her what that
of the world was before. His taste is the one which she may delight to
please.
"She, if her lord but gaze with pride,
Wears what he loves, and thinks no gem denied;
And if, compliant with his wish, she roam,
To the gay tumults which endear her home,
'Mid brighter fashions, and that pomp of waste,
Which glittering fools misname, and call it taste;
Tho' not a gem her simple hair have crown'd,
While lavish diamonds fling their beams around,
Can smile serene, nor feel one envy burn,
And sleep without a sigh, on her return."[6]
[Footnote 6: _Paradise of Coquettes_, generally ascribed to the pen of
the late Dr. Thomas Brown, the professor of moral and mental
philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, of whom Mr. Dugald Stewart
said, "in my opinion even Dr. Brown would have been a still better
metaphysician, if he had not been a poet, and a still better poet if
he had not been a metaphysician." I have no doubt of the truth of this
remark, though we must acknowledge, that whether we examine his
metaphysics or his poetry, we shall find that none has ever better
understood the heart of a truly virtuous and constant female, or more
highly appreciated it.]
Such a companion makes the home of her husband a paradise on earth,
and the thought of him and his happiness, soon interweaves and
intertwines itself with all her little schemes and projects, with all
her desires and ambition, and her house becomes the true scene of
domestic happiness and of the domestic virtues.
On the other hand, when vanity is excessive, or badly regulated, woman
is too apt to substitute art for nature, and to attempt to impose upon
the world by outward show and hollow pretensions; to manage and
intrigue for the purpose of carrying her plans, and consummating her
schemes; and when in danger of detection, she has recourse to evasions
and devices, which in the end may produce the character of falsehood
and hypocrisy.
"A person (says Adam Smith,) who has excessive vanity, in attempting
to win the applause of those around him, is apt to fall into the
practice of lying, but the lies are not of a black or very hurtful
character to society; they are intended to deceive you, and make you
think more of the person who tells them, and not to injure others;
whereas a proud man but rarely lies, and when he does, it is apt to be
a dark and malicious falsehood, which he tells; one intended for the
injury of others, not for the exaltation of himself." It is badly
regulated vanity, which produces that character for cunning, which
Rousseau considered one of the distinguishing characteristical traits
in the female. He was so much impressed with the predominance of this
trait in woman's character, that he was disposed to attribute it, (I
think falsely,) rather to nature than to circumstances and education.
He tells us of the following device, practiced by a girl of six years
old, who had been strictly forbidden to ask for any thing at table.
For the purpose of inducing her parents to help her to a dish which
she had not tasted, she pointed her finger at the several dishes,
saying, I have eaten of that, and of that, &c. until she came to the
one of which she had not eaten, passing that by in silence. A cunning
hint was thus given to the parents, without violation of their
commands, that she would like to be helped to it. This little
stratagem Rousseau thinks far beyond what a boy of the same age would
have planned, and hence he comes to the conclusion, that "_La ruse est
un talent naturel au sex_"--he thinks this a wise dispensation of
nature, for, says he, "La femme a tout contre elle nos defauts, sa
timidité, sa faiblesse; elle n'a pour elle que son art et sa beaute.
N'est il pas juste qu'elle cultive l'un et l'autre?" When these
devices and stratagems, which the softer sex practice for the
attainment of their ends, become too apparent, they disgust; when well
concealed, they frequently succeed: but honesty here, as every where,
will prove to be the best policy; and I cannot agree with Rousseau,
that generally they are advantageous to those who practice them: they
always endanger more or less the character of the individual. In
spite, however, of all our caution and advice on this subject, in the
little concerns of life, and the petty tactics of the drawing and ball
rooms, woman will always display more skill and cunning than man.
These are the scenes with which she is more conversant, and which she
studies far more deeply than he. A skilful tactician in the drawing
room, may almost be compared to a general in the field. She notes,
without being perceived, every movement, and by skilful evolutions she
brings about that arrangement of parties which best suits her taste,
and which seems to others, who have not the sagacity to see the game,
the effect of magic, rather than of art. With man it is very
different; concealment and stratagem in the little courtesies and
plans of life, are never expected of him. The maxim of David Crockett,
"go ahead," is the one on which he practices. As woman is the most
skilful manager on these occasions, so is she the most sagacious
observer, and she can sometimes greatly amuse us, by furnishing a key
to the manoeuvring in the social and fashionable world.
_Mother and Child._
I now proceed more particularly to the consideration of the effects
produced upon the female character, by that most interesting and
tender tie, the relation of mother and child. We have already pointed
out the reasons why the mother should be considered, as intended more
particularly by nature, for the office of nursing, rearing, and
tutoring the infant. Although the effects of this position, are first
manifested upon mothers, yet, as they constitute so large and
influential a portion of females, their character, whatever it may be,
will quickly diffuse itself over the whole sex, and consequently we
may predicate of the whole, to a certain extent at least, the
properties and peculiarities of character, which flow from the
relation of mother and child.
There can scarcely be conceived in the whole range of nature, a more
tenderly interesting object, than the perfectly helpless and innocent
babe. The writers on the sublime tell us, that that obscurity and
indistinctness which prevents us from seeing the exact proportions of
objects, is favorable to sublimity, by the increased play which it
gives to the imagination. Now, what is there so well calculated to
rouse the imagination and excite our anticipations, as the listless,
inactive infant,--slumbering from the moment at which he takes his
milky food to the moment at which he awakes to require it again? What
is that infant to become? What is to be his destiny? What the rôle
which he is to play in the great drama of life? He is now at the
starting point; the future lies latent within him. He is to be nursed
and taken by the hand, and led gently along the path of life, until
the growth of body, and the developement of mental powers, shall
enable him, unaided, to combat the difficulties and obstacles which
beset him on his way.
Then, is he to select the part which he is to act? Is he to be the
great warrior, "striding from victory to victory, and making his path
a plane of continued elevation"--dethroning and unmaking princes, and
grasping the destiny of empires in his single hand? Or is he, by
overturning the fair fabric of his country's government, and wading
through war, anarchy and blood, at last to triumph over the law and
the constitution, and build up his own throne on the melancholy ruins
of his country's liberty? Or will he be the philosopher of his age,
taking
"His ardent flight
Through the blue infinite;"
numbering the planets, noting their complex but harmonious movements,
and deducing the unerring laws by which they are governed? Or, by
pouring truth after truth upon the world, is he to break up the
prejudices and dissipate the errors which have before bound down the
restless energies of the mind under the fatal spell of ignorance and
superstition? Perhaps he is to be the genuine philanthropist, and like
Howard, to travel from country to country, "not to survey the
sumptuousness of palaces or the stateliness of temples; not to make
accurate measurement of the remains of ancient grandeur; not to form a
scale of the curiosity of modern arts; nor to collect medals or to
collate manuscripts: but to dive into the depths of dungeons--to
plunge into the infection of hospitals--to survey the mansions of
sorrow and pain--to take the gauge and dimensions of misery,
depression and contempt--to remember the forgotten, to attend to the
neglected, to visit the forsaken--and compare and collate the
distresses of all men in all countries." Or is he to be the simple,
but contented being, whose world is bounded by his visual horizon,--
"Who never had a dozen thoughts
In all his life; and never changed their course;
But told them o'er, each in its 'customed place,
From morn till night, from youth till hoary age,
And never had an unbelieving doubt;
But thought the visual line that girt him round
The world's extremes: and thought the silver moon
That nightly o'er him led her virgin host,
No broader than his father's shield."--
Well, this being who is now rocked in his cradle, with these germs
infolded, but unperceived, in his heart and in his feeble intellect,
although the most helpless and dependent of animated creation,
commands the sympathies and love of those who were the authors of its
being, and possesses already so great an influence, that he cannot in
after life, "by the most imperious orders which he addresses to the
most obsequious slaves, exercise an authority more commanding, than
that which in the first hours of his life, when a few indistinct cries
and tears were his only language, he exercised irresistibly over
hearts of the very existence of which he was ignorant." But it is the
mother that gave it birth, who feels the deepest sympathy with all its
pains and wants, and carries in her heart, the most unbounded and
unremitting affection for it. Man as I have before observed, has a
ruder and a hardier nature than woman: the out of door world, with all
its bustle and jostling, its difficulties, dangers, hardships and
labors, is the theatre for his actions. He only enjoys the domestic
scenes during the intervals of his labors, and then perhaps worn down
by toil and fatigue, he dandles for a moment his smiling infant on his
knee, and retires to rest, or to muse on the projects of his ambition,
or to form schemes for the accumulation of wealth and the extension of
his influence. And when he thinks of his child, he associates him with
those schemes and projects with which he is to be connected in after
life, and looks upon
"The bright glad creature springing in his path
But as the heir of his great name, the young
And stately tree, whose rising strength ere long
Shall bear his trophies well. And this is love!
This is man's love!"
The prayer which Homer puts into the mouth of Hector for his son
Astyanax, at the parting with Andromache, most beautifully illustrates
the nature of a father's love. "O Jupiter, and ye gods! grant that
this my son may be like his father, a leader among the Trojans, brave
in battle, and a brave king of Illion. And hereafter, may the people
say of him as he comes from battle, he is far braver than his father,
and may he bring back the bloody spoils, having slain his enemy, and
please his mother's heart." A Brutus and a Titus Manlius, who would
condemn their own sons to death for the satisfaction of public
justice, may be found among fathers, but never among mothers.
Agamemnon may consent to the sacrifice of Iphigenia, but Clytemnestra,
although a woman of depravity, could not,--because she loved the
daughter more than she loved Greece. Joy it is well known, may
sometimes be so intense as to produce death. Listen to the three
following cases of death from joy: they will illustrate the difference
between the father's and mother's love. Pliny tells us, that Chilo the
Spartan died upon hearing that his son had gained a prize at the
Olympic games. Again--the three sons of Diagoras were crowned on the
same day victors in the Olympic games, the one as a pugilist, the
other as a wrestler, and the third, at the _pancration_, or game
combined of wrestling and boxing; and Aulus Gellius tells us, that the
father's joy was so great, that he expired in the arms of his sons in
the presence of the assembled multitude, "ibi in stadio inspectante
populo, in osculis atque in manibus filiorum animam efflavat." In both
of these cases joy came from gratified ambition. Livy tells us of an
aged mother, who, while she was plunged into the depths of distress
from the news of her son's death in battle, died in his arms from the
excess of joy, on his sudden, unexpected safe return; the mother loved
her son, not for the lustre which he might shed on her name and
family, but for himself, and well might she, for it is the lot of a
mother to watch with unremitting care over her infant during the first
years of its existence. She notices with a tender anxiety all its
little movements, and administers to all its wants. She alone learns
to
"Explore the thought, explain the asking eye;"
she alone learns to read all the emotions of its heart by gazing on
the play of its features. To her the voice of laughter is as
delightful and beautiful as the most ravishing music; and the tones
and cries of sickness and distress, are as afflicting and melancholy,
as the fall of stocks, revulsions of commerce, and the disasters of
trade and business are to man.
Even in women of the most wicked character, those who are the very
fiends of their sex, we sometimes see this maternal fondness bursting
out, and demonstrating at once, the difference between the wickedness
of man and that of woman. Mrs. Jameson admires very much those touches
of Shakspeare's pencil, which mark in the midst of all her atrocities
and dark crimes, the womanly character of Lady Macbeth. How beautiful
is the recollection of a mother's love, even in this fiend:
"I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis
To love the babe that milks me."
And again she shows the woman, when she exclaims:
"Had he not resembled my father as he slept,
I had done it"--