What is Beautiful?
Kate Richmond’s Betrothal
The Corsair’s Victim
A Dirge for O’Connell
The Illinois and the Prairies
A Dream of Italy
The Letter of Introduction
Dirge
The Fugitive
The Gentle Step
Barbara Uttman’s Dream
Sunset Upon “The Steine-Kill”
A Song
The Old New House
The Wounded Guerilla
Lines
Speak Kindly
Marie
Love, Duty and Hope
Do I Love Thee?
Ode to Shelley
Marion’s Song in the School-Room
All About “What’s in a Name.”
Game-Birds of America.—No. XII.
Visitants From Spirit-Land
History of the Costume of Men
Maple Sugar
To My Love
Softly O’er My Memory Stealing
Cathara
The Departed
The Dead
The Homestead of Beauty
Gems From Late Readings
Editor’s Table
Review of New Books
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
GRAHAM’S
AMERICAN MONTHLY
MAGAZINE
Of Literature and Art.
EMBELLISHED WITH
MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.
WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING,
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, J. R. LOWELL.
MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD,
MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY,
MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.
PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.
G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.
VOLUME XXXIV.
PHILADELPHIA:
SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.
1849.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
OF THE
THIRTY-FOURTH VOLUME.
JANUARY, 1849, TO JUNE, 1849.
All About “What’s in a Name.” By CAROLINE C——, 62
A Recollection of Mendelssohn. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 113
A Voice from the Wayside. By CAROLINE C——, 300
Barbara Uttman’s Dream. By Mrs. EMMA C. EMBURY, 43
Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem. By JOSEPH R. CHANDLER, 189
Cousin Fanny. By M. S. G. NICHOLS, 354
Doctor Sian Seng. From the French, 123, 174
Deaf, Dumb and Blind. By AGNES L. GORDON, 347
Editor’s Table, 79, 153, 215,
273, 330, 387
Eleonore Eboli. By WINIFRED BARRINGTON, 134
Fifty Suggestions. By EDGAR A. POE, 317, 363
For and Against. By WALTER HERRIES, Esq. 377
Game-Birds of America. No. XII., 68
Gems from Late Readings, 78, 149, 211
History of the Costume of Men. By FAYETTE ROBINSON, 71, 140, 196,
264, 319
Honor to Whom Honor is Due. By Mrs. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON, 192
Jasper Leech. By B., 15
Kate Richmond’s Betrothal. By GRACE GREENWOOD, 8
Love, Duty and Hope. By ENNA DUVAL, 56
Lessons in German. By Miss M. J. BROWNE, 118
Mormon Temple, Nauvoo, 257
Mr. and Mrs. John Johnson Jones. By ANGELE DE V. HULL, 277
Montgomery’s House, 330
May Lillie. By CAROLINE H. BUTLER, 365
Passages of Life in Europe. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 307
Passages of Life in Europe. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 373
Reviews, 81, 151, 213,
270, 334, 385
Rose Winters. By ESTELLE, 258
Reminiscences. By EMMA C. EMBURY, 325
Speak Kindly. By KATE SUTHERLAND, 53
St. Valentine’s Day. By J. R. CHANDLER, 110
The Belle of the Opera. By J. R. CHANDLER, 1
The Illinois and the Prairies. By JAMES K. PAULDING, 16
The Letter of Introduction. By Mrs. A. M. F. ANNAN, 26
The Fugitive. By the VISCOUNTESS D’AULNAY, 37
The Old New House. By H. HASTINGS WELD, 47
The Wounded Guerilla. By MAYNE REID, 50
The Young Lawyer’s First Case. By J. TOD, 85
The Man in the Moon. By CAROLINE C——, 91
The Wager of Battle. By W. GILMORE SIMMS, 99
The Chamber of Life and Death. By PROFESSOR ALDEN, 129
The Lost Notes. By Mrs. HUGHS, 144
The Naval Officer. By W. F. LYNCH, 157, 223, 286
The Unfinished Picture. By JANE C. CAMPBELL, 182
The Adventures of a Man who could Never Dress Well.
By M. TOPHAM EVANS, 199
The Plantation of General Taylor, 206
The Poet Lí. By CAROLINE H. BUTLER, 217
The Recluse. By PARK BENJAMIN, 232, 298
The Missionary, Sunlight. By CAROLINE C——, 235
The Brother’s Temptation. By SYBIL SUTHERLAND, 243
The Gipsy Queen. By JOSEPH R. CHANDLER, 250
The Darsies. By EMMA C. EMBURY, 252
Taste. By Miss AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS, 310
The Man of Mind and the Man of Money. By T. S. ARTHUR, 312
The Picture of Judgment. By W. GILMORE SIMMS, 337
The Battle of Life. By LEN, 362
The Birth-Place of Benjamin West, 378
The Young Dragoon. By C. J. PETERSON, 379
Unequal Marriages. By CAROLINE H. BUTLER, 169
Western Recollections. By FAY. ROBINSON, 178
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 142
Wild-Birds of America. By PROFESSOR FROST, 208
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 267
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 322
Wild-Birds of America. By PROF. FROST, 382
POETRY.
A Dirge for O’Connell. By ANNE C. LYNCH, 15
A Dream of Italy. By CHARLES ALLEN, 25
A Song. By GIFTIE, 46
A Song. By RICHARD WILKE, 112
A Twilight Lay. By W. HORRY STILLWELL, 128
An Hour Among the Dead. By J. B. JONES, 148
A Billet-Doux. By FRANCES S. OSGOOD, 177
A Summer Evening Thought. By COUSIN MARY, 285
A Sonnet. By FAYETTE ROBINSON, 306
A May Song. By S. D. ANDERSON, 316
Ariel in the Cloven Pine. By BAYARD TAYLOR, 324
Cathara. By WALTER COLTON, U. S. N. 76
Christine. By E. CURTISS HINE, 90
Dirge. 36
Do I Love Thee? By RICHARD COE, JR. 60
Dreams of Heaven. By M. E. THROPP, 378
Earth-Life. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 133
Extract. By HENRY S. HAGERT, 181
Egeria. By MARY L. LAWSON, 195
Florence. By HENRY B. HIRST, 165
Fancies About a Lock of Hair. By S. D. ANDERSON, 207
From Buchanan. By RICHARD PENN SMITH, 297
Human Influence. By MARIE ROSEAU, 191
Jenny Lind. By Miss M. SAWIN, 269
Lines. By R. T. CONRAD, 52
Love. By CHARLES E. TRAIL, 173
Lost Treasures. By P. D. T., 242
Lines to an Idea that Wouldn’t “Come.”
By FRANCES S. OSGOOD, 285
Luna. An Ode. By H. T. TUCKERMAN, 297
Marie. By CAROLINE F. ORNE, 55
Marion’s Song in the School-Room.
By Mrs. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, 61
Maple Sugar. By ALFRED B. STREET, 73
My Bird Has Flown. By Mrs. E. W. CASWELL, 117
My Study. By WM. H. C. HOSMER, 377
Night. By Miss AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS, 372
Ode to Shelley. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 61
On a Diamond Ring. By CHARLES E. TRAIL, 231
Parting. By Mrs. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON, 329
Paraphrase. By RICHARD PENN SMITH, 361
Requiem. By WM. H. C. HOSMER, 109
Rome. By R. H. STODDARD, 234
Reminiscences of a Reader.
By the late WALTER HERRIES, Esq., 249
Raffaelle D’Urbino. By W. H. WELSH, 352
Sunset Upon the Steine-Kill. By KATE DASHWOOD, 46
Summer’s Bacchanal. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 206
Sonnet to Machiavelli. By FAY. ROBINSON, 251
Storm-Lines. By J. BAYARD TAYLOR, 270
Stanzas. By Mrs. O. M. P. LORD, 346
Steinhausen’s Hero and Leander. By H. T. TUCKERMAN, 364
Stanzas for Music. By HARRIET S. HANDY, 376
The Corsair’s Victim. By WM. H. C. HOSMER, 14
The Gentle Step. By HARRIET J. MEEK, 42
To My Love. By HENRY H. PAUL, 73
The Departed. By Mrs. MARY S. WHITAKER, 76
The Dead. By “AN AULD HEAD ON YOUNG SHOUTHERS,” 77
The Homestead of Beauty. By S. D. ANDERSON, 77
The World. By R. H. STODDARD, 89
The Ennuyee. By Mrs. S. A LEWIS, 90
The Mirror of Life. By ANNA, 97
To the Thames, at Norwich, Conn.,
By Mrs. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, 98
The Song of the Axe. By C. L. WHELER, 98
The Past. By Miss CAROLINE E. SUTTON, 112
The Phantasmagoria. By A. J. REQUIER, 120
The Beating of the Heart. By RICHARD HAYWARDE, 122
The Highland Laddie’s Farewell. By AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS, 128
The Old Year and the New. By CLARA, 143
The Dial-Plate. By A. J. REQUIER, 168
The Icebergs. By PARK BENJAMIN, 173
The Heart’s Confession. By HENRY MORFORD, 188
The Precious Rest. By RICHARD COE, Jr., 207
The Pine-Tree. By CAROLINE MAY, 210
To My Little Boy. By Mrs. HENRIETTA L. COLEMAN, 212
To Mother. By ANNIE GREY, 231
Thermopylæ. By Mrs. MARY G. HORSFORD, 242
The Unsepulchred Relics. By Mrs. GOODWIN, 249
The Brother’s Lament. By AMELIA B. WELBY, 251
The Unmasked. By S. ANNA LEWIS, 257
The Zopilotes. By FAYETTE ROBINSON, 263
The Rustic Shrine. By GEO. W. DEWEY, 296
The Grass of the Field. By CAROLINE MAY, 309
To an Absent Sister. By MARY G. HORSFORD, 309
Thoughts. By MARIE ROSEAU, 346
Turn Not Away. By HENRY MORFORD, 353
The Sleep of the Dead. By S. G. HAGERT, 361
The New Search After Happiness. By E. FOXTON, 371
Visitants from Spirit-Land.
By E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N. 70
Vincente Filicaja’s Sonnet to Italy.
By FAYETTE ROBINSON, 384
What is Beautiful? By AUGUSTA, 7
MUSIC.
Softly O’er My Memory Stealing. Words by S. D. Patterson.
Music by John A. Janke, Jr.
The Bells of Ostend. Words by W. L. Bowles.
Music by J. Hilton Jones.
Oh, Have I Not Been True to Thee?
Written and adapted to a beautiful melody
by John H. Hewitt.
Adieu, My Native Land. Words by D. W. Belisle.
Arranged for the piano by James Piper.
Virtue’s Evergreen. Words by Theodore A. Gould.
Music by Theodore Von La Hache.
I Can’t Make Up My Mind. Words from Hood’s Magazine.
Arranged for the piano by C. Grobe.
ENGRAVINGS.
Day on the Mountains, engraved by W. E. Tucker.
The Belle of the Opera, engraved by W. E. Tucker.
The Wounded Guerilla, engraved by Rice.
Oglethorp University, engraved by Rawdon & Co.
A Valentine, engraved by W. E. Tucker.
Home Treasures, engraved by Addison.
The Mirror of Life, engraved by Wilmer.
Portrait of Mrs. Davidson, by Rawdon & Co.
Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem, by W. E. Tucker.
Why Don’t He Come, engraved by Addison.
The Bridal Night, engraved by Addison.
View of the Plantation of Gen. Taylor.
The Gipsy Queen, engraved by Thomas B. Welsh.
The Church of St. Isaac’s, engraved by A. L. Dick.
The Miniature, engraved by an American Artist.
Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
May Morning, engraved by T. B. Welsh.
View of Tortosa, engraved by J. Dill.
Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
The Star of the Night, engraved by Addison.
The Cottage Door, engraved by Humphreys.
Col. Washington at the Cowpens.
Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OGLETHORP UNIVERSITY, Engraved by Rawdon & Co.]
[Illustration: THE BELLE OF THE OPERA, Engraved by W. E. Tucker.]
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
* * * * *
VOL. XXXIV. PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1849. No. 1.
* * * * *
THE BELLE OF THE OPERA.
AN ESSAY UPON WOMAN’S ACCOMPLISHMENT, HER CHARACTER AND HER MISSION.
BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER.
[SEE ENGRAVING.]
It is not a small thing to be an engaged writer for a magazine that has
admittance into numerous families, and, by the costliness and adaptation
of its decorations, and the general proclivity of its contents, is in no
small degree the handbook of young females.
A good book, an octavo or quarto, upon sound morals or religious
doctrines comes like a wholesome breeze, “stealing and giving
odors”—but then, like that breeze, it is only occasional—a current
rushing in but rarely, and seldom finding the right object within its
healthful influence. But the magazine is the atmosphere in which the
inmates dwell; they are constantly within its influence, and their
general life, their mental sanative properties become imbued with its
qualities: And this is the more important as the influence is commenced
at home, and upon the female portion; so that it becomes constantly,
permanently, and extensively operative upon, and through others.
The writers for this magazine seem to have been impressed with this idea
of these consequences, and hence the importance of their contributions;
or the editor has been exceedingly careful in his winnowing, to allow
nothing to pass the sieve that might be productive of evil in the field
which he is called to cultivate.
The writer of this article is deeply impressed with the importance of
his position, and the danger of an error. A magazine that is devoted to
taste, the arts and the fashions, it would seem, from the opinions of
some, must be in a great degree light, and in no degree instructive,
save in the very subject of taste, fashion and the arts, to which it is
ostensibly devoted, and according to the general acceptation of the
words, taste and fashion, and the ordinary uses to which the arts are
applied.
“A magazine, then, of polite literature, of the arts and fashions, must
be for the day—must treat of ephemeral subjects—must make the fashions
of female dresses a leading and permanent matter of thought—must
recommend amusements as matters of life-consideration, and erect the
finer arts as an image of universal worship.”
We say plainly that we differ from those who make this estimate of
periodical literature. We cannot consent to such a degrading standard
for the monthly press—we certainly will not submit ourselves or our pen
to this shortening process of the Procrustean bed of literature—we will
do what we can to keep “Graham’s Magazine” from such debasement—we will
do it for the long established character of the periodical, and for what
we think it capable of—we will do it for our own credit—and, most of
all, we will do it for the good of that large portion of society to
which this magazine supplies the mental _pabulum_. When we furnish forth
the table of those who look to our catering, we will take care that
there shall be no poison in the ingredients, no “death in the pot.”
But in a secular magazine there _must_ be light reading—all, or nearly
all, the contents must be of a kind addressed to the fancy as well as
the understanding—and consequently of a character to excite the
censure, or at least forbid the approach, of the ascetic. Nay, it must
greatly differ from the class of periodical literature devoted to, and
sustained upon sectarian religious grounds. The task, the labor of the
magazine editor is to sustain the high moral tone of his work, and yet
have it the vehicle of fashion, taste and the arts—to take the pure,
the good, and the beneficial, and give to them attractions for the young
and gay—or, to take that which is attractive for the young and the gay,
and make it the vehicle of high moral truth—of sober, solid reflection,
the means of heart-improvement, and the promoter of home joys—to
overlay the book with gold, and with sculptured cherubim, and all the
magnificence of taste and ingenuity—but to be sure that within are the
prophet’s rod—the shew-bread of the altar—and the written law of
truth.
Our sense of the duty of a magazine writer of the present time, is
rather hinted at than set forth in the above remarks. The subject is one
that might command the pages of a volume, and if properly handled would
be made eminently useful to writers and to readers. Our attention was
awakened to the subject by an examination of the exquisitely executed
picture of “THE BELLE OF THE OPERA,” with which that accomplished
artist, W. E. Tucker, has enriched the present number of this Magazine.
We do not know that he who drew the figure had such a thought in his
head as the improvement of magazine literature; and it is probable that
Tucker when he exhausted the powers of engraving, or almost all its
powers, to produce the figure, was impressed rather with the importance
of his contribution to the artistic importance of periodicals, than to
the high moral influence which he was aiding to promote. But true
genius, wherever exercised, is suggestive—and the beautifully drawn
figure is as promotive of useful reflection as the best composed essay.
Hence the fine arts and literature are allied—allied in their elevating
influence upon the possessors, and their power of meliorating and
improving the minds of the uninitiated. Hence they go hand in hand in
the path of usefulness—hence they are united in this Magazine.
The Belle of the Opera! Will the reader turn back once more and look at
the picture? How full of life—how much of thought—how
self-possessed—how desirable for the possession of others—how
conscious of charms—and yet how charmed with the tasteful objects
represented.
The Belle of the Opera! To be that—to be “the observed of all
observers,” in a house crowded with objects for observation, to be made
preeminent by exceeding beauty is “no small thing.” It must be
costly—it must demand large contributions from other portions of the
possessor of the proud object. If acres went to enrich the dress of the
ancient nobility of England, something as desirable and as essential to
the possessor, as those acres were to the British nobility, must have
been sacrificed to perfect the attractions of the Belle of the Opera.
Were they social duties? were they domestic affections? were they the
means of womanly usefulness? of healthful and almost holy operation upon
the minds of others? were they prospective or present? is present
moderate but growing happiness sacrificed, or is the present enjoyment
of distinction so great as to balance all of immediate loss, and to make
the sacrifice that of future peace, future happiness, future domestic
usefulness, future social consequence, all that makes mature womanhood
delightful, all that makes age respectable and lovely?
Such reflections and such pregnant queries arise in the mind, when we
contemplate the representation of such loveliness, so displayed. (I
might say such loveliness displayed, for the representation is
loveliness itself.) And the moralist has taken just such a beauty, (if
his mind ever “bodied forth” the forms of things _so_ unknown,) and
marked upon all the display “vanity and vexation of spirit”—the very
display, and especially the place of the display, warranting the
conclusion.
We confess that we have looked at The Belle of the Opera until our mind
has arrived at other conclusions. We think it fair to conclude that so
lovely a face, and such a majestic form, are at least _prima faciæ_
evidence of an elevated and beautiful mind, and that the enjoyment of
opera music, nowhere to be enjoyed but at the opera, is by no means
inconsistent with that elevation or that beauty. Music, that constitutes
half our worship on earth, and all in heaven, shall that be regarded in
itself as a sin or a means of degradation?
“But the display of the person, the vanity of the dress, the folly of
the personal exhibition, these are against the character and usefulness
of the Belle—”
How so? There is certainly no improper diminution of dress. The most
that can be said is, that a beautiful woman, beautifully dressed, is
sitting in the front seat of an opera-box, surrounded by hundreds of
persons of both sexes, who have come with the same ostensible object,
and who sit equally exposed.
But it is the exceeding beauty of the person and the elegance of the
dress that make her conspicuous; and it is that conspicuousness which
constitutes the ground of censure.
But fortunately The Belle of the Opera did not make herself beautiful.
Those elegant proportions, those enticing charms, are the gift of Him
who made human beings in his own image; and let it be confessed that
half the elegance of the _dress_ is attributable to the elegance of the
form which it covers, and the exquisite beauty which it is not intended
to conceal.
Beauty is a gift—a gift of God—like all personal or mental endowments,
dangerous, it is confessed—but, like all, to be used for personal
gratification and the promotion of social advantage.
If it is conceded to be a means of mental melioration to dwell among the
beauties of artistic skill and lofty architectural efforts, then surely
it must be still more advantageous to be reared within the influence of
_living_ charms; “to grow familiar day by day” with features and forms
that constitute models for the representation of angels, and to pass
onward through life with the sense of seeing constantly improved and
gratified with objects of exquisite beauty exquisitely clothed. This is
viewing The Belle of the Opera with an artist’s eye.
“But,” the moralist will say, “the high office of woman is vacated by
such a sacrifice to display, and such a devotion of time to amusement.
That The Belle of the Opera can never be The Bonne of the Nursery, and
therefore woman is out of her place when out of such an exercise of her
faculties as shall minister directly to domestic advantage.”
We take issue with the moralist on this question of the direct
application of female faculties; and we do this because we feel that the
narrow bigotry of the unenlightened, which leads them to condemn the
elegant enjoyments of life, and to ground their condemnation on the
demand which is constant upon human beings, “to do good and to
communicate,” is founded on a want of a full appreciation of female
powers, and a mistake as to what constitutes these, and their means of
usefulness.
There will be no space for a discussion of the measure of female duties,
though it is intended to enter upon such a discussion hereafter; but we
may say that however extensive or however limited they may be, their
discharge will be more or less effectual and complete, as she is
qualified by the elegance of education, the improvement of her mind, the
cultivation and adaptation of her faculties, to impart to others the
graces of life, and to fix them by constant example.
Virtue is embraced for its charms—it is not admired for deformity or
its negligence of mind; it has its attractions and its means of
compensation, as much as has vice—but they are not always as obvious.
The young must be made to _trust_ in the results of a virtuous course;
they must have their faith fixed by the graces of parental, of maternal
precept and example—and this good cannot be hoped for if the mother is
incapable of attracting, if she has not the means of charming—if,
indeed, she cannot show that what constitute the pleasures of life
(pleasures which in excess become crimes) are, while properly enjoyed,
wholesome and advantageous, and at the same time can show the line of
demarcation between their uses and their abuses. She must know what are
the true accomplishments of life—she must understand the influence of
refinement and cultivation on the mind—and she must bring herself to
apply all these. She must know the difference, too, between the uses and
the abuses of cultivated talents, and she must learn to discriminate.
She who would deny to the young the cultivation of talents, musical,
literary or artistic, is like the beings who would pile up the snows of
winter, that the accumulated heap might prevent the budding and the
blossoming of spring; while she who would force the mind of her child to
an unnatural development of merely ornamental faculties, is like one who
would concentrate the rays of the sun through a burning-glass, in order
to accelerate the growth of a delicate plant.
What we mean to assert is the obvious fact, that the female, the mother,
cannot discharge the high responsibilities of her sex, without many of
those acquisitions which are condemned as worthless in themselves, and
perhaps the condemnation is in some measure correct; that is, the
acquisition separately considered may be rather injurious than
beneficial.
Music itself, if it be the only or the principal attainment of a woman,
must be valuable only as a means of obtaining money or fame. So of
dancing—so of painting—so of poetry, that divine gift—each one of
these, allowed to become predominant, loses its meliorating influence,
and devotes the possessor to a solitary enjoyment, or, at most, assists
her in acquiring notoriety and a living.
It is our intention to laud the cultivation of tastes only as parts of
the meliorating means of woman’s character—the acquisition or rather
the improvement of ingredients to fit her for that office of delicate
influence for which God evidently designed her. Her personal beauty may
be a part of the means of her wholesome domestic influence—her love of,
and attainments in, music, her improvement in drawing, her literary
gifts and acquirements all go, when all are mingled, to give to her
consequence and usefulness in the nursery, and to make her beloved and
beneficially influential in the domestic circle, and to add attraction
to her charms in social life. There is no incompatibility between all
these acquisitions with great personal beauty, between a sense of that
beauty, indeed, and the entire fulfillment of all domestic and social
duties, that are likely to be devolved on one thus highly endowed, thus
qualified by extensive attainments.
The Belle of the Opera is at a place of refined amusement, where the
richest productions of musical science are properly delivered. She is
dressed to suit her own means and the place which she occupies. There is
as much propriety in the proper presentation of her charms, as in the
appropriate delivery of the music. The place itself is one of enlarged
social intercourse. Elegant attire is the requisite of the place, and is
due from the female (who has it) to him who incurs the expense of the
visitation, and receives the honor of her company.
“But she is admired in her display; her dress, her form, the beauty of
her face, attract marked attention. She is the object of general
observation.”
And why not? Is it inconsistent with good taste to admire beauty? Is not
the whole opera a place where the taste is to be improved and gratified?
Is it music alone that is to be relished? When went forth the decree
from morals or religion that beauty—female beauty—should not be
adorned? And to be adorned it must be seen.
Let us not hear the platitudes about the worthlessness of beauty; it is
not worthless—it is of high price—of exceeding worth—of extensive
usefulness; and, appropriately displayed, its influence is humanizing,
tranquilizing, and every way beneficial.
To personal charms The Belle of the Opera adds a cultivated taste for
music—a taste which she indulges at the fountain-head of such
enjoyments. But does she less, on that account, or rather on _these_
accounts, (beauty and musical taste, namely,) fulfill her mission at
home? Does the lesson of virtue which the accomplished mother gives to
her young child, fall less _impressively_ on the heart because the
infant pupil, in looking upward, gazes into a face replete with all of
earthly beauty? Is there not a certain coincidence between the looks of
his beloved teacher and the excellence of her delightful instruction? or
rather, does not her beauty tend to make these lessons delightful? And
if the charm for the child is the morning or evening hymn, does not the
sacred simplicity of the text drop with extraordinary unction on the
ear, if conveyed in the rich melody of a cultivated voice.
I might thus enumerate all the high attainments, and show how each
becomes _useful_; but it is enough to have it understood, that the true,
the great value of all these high gifts and extraordinary cultivation is
derived from their influence, when combined, to form the character of
the possessor. The Belle of the Opera is also The Belle of the
Ball-room. The same variety of characteristics, without a necessity for
the same attainment, marks each, and both are liable to be set down by a
superficial observer, as destitute of any qualities, except those which
distinguish them in the places of amusement.
May not the Belle of the Opera, or the Belle of the Ball-room, be the
guardian genius of the sick chamber, the faithful, devoted director of
the nursery?
I knew The Belle of the Opera, and she was as fond of the dance as of
the song, and shared in both in the social circle, and enjoyed them in
_others_ in more public displays. Her buoyant spirits, her happy gayety
of disposition, made her the marked object of admiration in all parties
in which she shared—the first to propose that in which all could
gracefully and appropriately join, and the last to propound a thought
that could cast a gloom over the countenance of a single being around
her. She seemed so much the spirit of the joyous assembly, that serious
thought, deepth of feeling, or firm principles of good, were not
suspected by those incapable of looking into the heart. The Belle of the
Opera was deemed by such, one set apart for the enjoyment of the opera
and the dance, and to be without life when without these means of life’s
pleasures; to have no sympathy with her kind, excepting through music
and display, and to reckon none among her intimates but the
light-hearted and the gay.
Men may be thus exclusive, but women are not.
Returning one night from opera or route, the Belle entered her parlor
wearied _with_, but not tired _of_ the pleasure in which she had shared,
when suddenly a cry of distress was heard; it was caused by the
appearance of a case of small-pox in a neighboring house. At once the
Belle changed her dress, and was at the bed of the sufferer.
“But, madam, have you had the small-pox?”
“No; but I have been vaccinated.”
“Ah! so was my sister.”
“But evidently not well. I will tarry and assist until she be removed,
or some change take place.”
The change took place after a few days, and the Belle of the Opera
carefully wrapped the body of the deceased in its grave-clothes, and
having committed it to a coffin, she went to purify herself, give thanks
for her preservation, and to enjoy again the fine arts which she so much
admired.
The pleasant laugh could at times, and _did_, give place to tears of
sorrow or of sympathy; and the appearance of indifference would promptly
yield, when thoughtlessly or wickedly some sentiment opposed to strict
morality, would drop from the lip of a companion. Never did hours of
gayety tend to moments of unkindness, or the full enjoyment of the
abundance to which all were happy to contribute, obliterate a sentiment
of gratitude toward those whose earlier kindness might have assisted to
prepare for that enjoyment.
Beneath the exterior of frequent devotion to admissible pleasure, there
was a depth of feeling and a soundness of principle that sustained
themselves in all circumstances, and exhibited themselves where-ever
their exercise was requisite, that were seen, indeed, influencing even
in the midst of gayety, and throwing a charm around that freedom of
conversation in which those of well-regulated minds may indulge.
The virtues of The Belle of the Opera are not sudden, fitful, dependent
upon excited feelings—they are constant, influencing, ruling. They
appear in private conversations, they are manifest in delicate
forbearance toward the errors of others, they exhibit themselves in
unwavering attachment to known established principles, and a delicate
tolerance of the views of friends; and they are set forth for admiration
by the charms of those accomplishments which the world admires, and
which that world supposes to be her principal attraction.
And that world judges in this case as in most others; it has no interest
in the object before it, and it is not concerned to look into the effect
of its own judgment upon that object. Ten thousand who saw the late
laughter-moving Jefferson upon the stage, supposed that he never moved
without laughing himself, and making others laugh. They supposed that he
must delight in and be the delight of social life; and as they had
nothing to do with his life off the stage, they never cared to correct
their judgment—they never knew that the most pleasant of all comedians
was fond of solitude, loved the quiet silence of angling—and was a prey
to melancholy.
The inward man, the man to himself, the household man, the man of the
fireside and social circle, is different from the man abroad, the man
professionally, the man to others, and this not from hypocrisy, not from
a difference of character throughout, but simply because the many who
judge see only one phaze, and one, indeed, is all that is exhibited, all
that is required to fill up the part in which the many know the man. But
justly to judge, and fairly to decide, we must see the whole man, we
must know how all his relations are sustained; we must see how he
discharges the high, solemn duties of his life, and carries the
influence of that discharge into minor relations. We must understand how
much of himself, his better self, he gives to the amusements and light
enjoyments of life, and how much he brings from them to influence his
conduct elsewhere; or, if weak, how much of himself he leaves in scenes
where artistic taste only is exercised; how much he sacrifices of
himself to mere gratification—a burnt-offering never to be recalled.
And here we reach a point toward which we have attempted to steer; we
mean the fullness of character, the entire inward person—the
meeting—the combination—the fusion, indeed, of all those properties
and qualities of the mind, by a well-directed education; the balancing
of the various propensities and gifts by the skillful hand of
instruction, so that no appetite, natural or acquired, shall have an
undue predominancy, or serve to constitute the distinguishing
characteristic of the possessor.
The Belle of the Opera, we have already said, brought to the place of
amusements only the charms which God has bestowed and cultivated taste
has well set off. She did not elect herself as The Belle of the Opera;
she did not inaugurate herself as “the observed of all observers.” Such
results, though made probable by the charms of her person, and promoted
by the opportunities afforded by the indulgence of a high order of
talents, was, nevertheless, the work of the admiring many, who felt and
acknowledged the charms of person thus displayed, and at once rendered
to them the kind of homage which their excellence and position seemed to
suggest. They, the multitude, judged in part, judged by what they saw,
and what they imagined—and deified the woman with the appellation of
“Belle of the Opera;” it was all the attribute they had to bestow; they
felt an influence that they did not comprehend; and not knowing of the
charms concealed, that made effective what they saw, they gave to the
visible and the ostensible, the regard which was only due to the
concealed and the influencing, as the shepherds of old saw with
admiration and delight the fiery part of the stars of the firmament in
all their loveliness, and feeling an influence from the celestial
display, adored the hosts of heaven for their beauty and their use,
forgetful or ignorant of the power that made them seem
beautiful—uninstructed in all the relations of those orbs by which
their beauty and their usefulness are secured.
We have taken the reader to one scene, in which The Belle of the Opera
showed how little the accomplishment of person, and the cultivation of
taste had disturbed the feelings of humanity; and yet we confess, that
such an example standing alone, seems to be a contradiction, or a sort
of accidental effort, rather the result of impulse, rather dependent
upon caprice or individual affection, than to be regarded as
illustrative of, or consistent with, the ruling characteristics. We are
speaking now of a whole character—and a character cannot be judged of
by one strong propensity on one hand, and one great but contradictory
act on the other.
Is the character of The Belle of the Opera complete? Is the distance
between the lustre and display of the opera-box, and the devotion to the
loathsomeness of the small-pox chamber, all occupied with corresponding
virtues, and similar graces mingling, shading, combining, perfecting? If
the great offices of the woman’s life, (we are speaking now of the Belle
as a _woman_, looking at her higher vocation,) if all these offices are
well discharged, if as mother, wife, as friend and neighbor, she stand
unimpeachable; if she is as notable in all these relations as in the
opera-box, still we want to inquire what is the influence exercised upon
all these relations, by those qualities which made her The Belle of the
Opera. How stand the opera-box and the nursery related? Because in the
complete character of a woman are very few isolated qualities; they all
bear upon each other, or exercise mutual influences, and each is less of
itself by the qualities which it derives from others. The Belle of the
Opera gave to her own fireside the attraction of her personal charms, if
less gorgeously accompanied, still the more directly effective. The
adventitious aid of ornaments, that was a sacrifice to public taste, was
not required; and these charms gathered a circle which the exercise of
mental accomplishments retained; and thus all within their influence
derived the advantage which association with high gifts and large
attainments necessarily impart, and the _home_ was made gladsome by
those charms which are attractive to their like, and compensating to
their admirers.
The attainment of the science of music, and the display of that science
at home, meliorated the manners of the inmates, and invited to
association those whose taste was elevated, and whose talents were of a
kind to sustain and appreciate high cultivation; and beyond the parlor
these extended even to the nursery, or rather the nursery, by their
exercise, was transferred to the parlor. That is what The Belle of the
Opera understood by making _all_ her accomplishments subservient to her
duties as wife and mother. The mind of the child, by this constant
intercourse with the gifted and the improved, became expanded, received
character from the atmosphere in which it was placed, derived pleasure
from the development which it witnessed, and had its _habits_ formed to
those graces which, in others, are only extraordinary results of
extraordinary means, distinguishing the possessor only by one quality or
attainment, making _her_ The Belle of the Opera _alone_.
It is this association of the young with the beautiful and the
accomplished, which infuses into their character, and fixes there those
meliorating influences that constitute the charm of life, ruling,
modifying, illustrating their whole character, making it _whole_,
harmonious, consistent.
It must be understood that The Belle of the Opera was not a mere
pianist, not a mere strummer upon the harp, she understood music as a
_science_, and was therefore capable of conversing upon the subject as
well as playing upon an instrument. This power of conversation, resting
upon a deep knowledge of subjects, is the secret and charm of
association; and it is worthy of remark, that gossip, even among the
elevated, soon wearies; and what is more remarkable, it is wearisome and
disgusting to children compelled to listen, while conversations or
discussions upon subjects well understood by the interlocutors, are at
once interesting to general listeners, and attractive, gratifying and
instructive even to children. We appeal to general experience for this.
Eminently did The Belle of the Opera comprehend that truth, and practice
upon it; hence a musical entertainment in her house was not a mere
exercise of vocal powers, or a fearful attack upon the piano-keys. Music
was _discussed_ and then performed; and music, too, was not alone the
theme. The well-lined walls denoted a taste for kindred arts; and the
degrees of excellence of pictures, the distinguishing attributes of
masters, were so lucidly illustrated, that the junior members of the
family grew into connoisseurs without dreaming of study—grew directly
and certainly into such characters without forethought, as a blade of
corn, in all its greenness, is tending in the warmth of the sun, and the
favor of the soil, to produce a golden harvest. But the discipline of
mind necessary to acquire the advancement which The Belle of the Opera
attained, gave to her habits of care with regard to the education of her
children; and the superficial study which makes amateurs in any branch,
was unknown in her family. Various degrees of perfection were
observable, and in different branches of pursuits and studies there was
a superiority among them, according to gifts; but compared with other
families, these children evinced pre-eminence in almost every thing they
undertook.
But it was as a _wife_ that The Belle of the Opera most distinguished
herself; we mean the special, particular duties of a woman to her
husband—all the other qualifications to which we have referred, were of
a kind to make her desirable as a wife—but in constant affection,
manifested in various ways in those delicate arts, appreciable but
inimitable by man, with which a beautiful and an accomplished woman
makes attractive her home, preserves it at once from the restraints of
affected knowledge, which is always _chary_ of near display, because
fearful of detection, and from that ostentatious exhibition of
attainments which wearies and disgusts by obtrusiveness. In all these,
and the graces of intimate and reciprocal affection, she made her
husband proud of his home, happy in his companion, and gratified at her
superiority in those things which belong more especially to her sex and
made her beauty beautiful.
There was a cloud thrown suddenly across the brilliant prospects of the
husband, a threatening of utter insolvency; the evil seemed inevitable.
Who should tell The Belle of the Opera that the means of gratifying her
highly cultivated taste, and displaying her admirable accomplishments
were about to cease?
The husband had all faith in the _affections_ of his wife; he
appreciated the excellence of her character, for he was worthy of her.
But it was a terrible blow to pride—to womanly pride—the pride of
condition, which had never been straightened; it must be a terrible blow
to her who knew how to use and how to give, but had never been called
upon to suffer or acquire. He carried to her the fearful news of the
anticipated disaster; he did not annoy her by the prelude of weeks of
abstraction and painful melancholy, but with the first consciousness of
danger he announced to her his fears, and awaited the consequences of
the shock.
“And what, my dear husband, will become of us all—of you, of me, and of
the children?”
“That is the misery of my situation. It is not only the loss of the
property I received with you, and that which I had acquired, but it is
the difficulty of pursuing any business without some of the means which
I thought so safe. I know not now how to sustain my family even in the
humble state which we must assume until I can again make a business. And
you, with all your charms, with all your attainments, and all your power
to enjoy, and means of affording pleasure—what a blow—what a fall!”
“And while you enumerate my attainments, do you forget that they are
like yours, marketable; have you forgotten what that education cost?
Will not others pay _me_ as much for instruction as I have paid for my
education? And will not the task of imparting be a pleasure rather than
a pain, because it will be the exercise of those talents, and the uses
of those attainments, whose employment has been the delight of our home,
the pride of our social relations, and the solace of my solitary hours.
Be assured, my dear husband, that with the exception of _giving_, most
of the pleasures of wealth may be had in poverty—and the substitute for
the pleasure of giving must be found in that of earning.”
The apprehended evil was never realized. The losses, though
considerable, did not reach an amount that rendered necessary any
diminution of style in the family.
“I think the alarm has not been uninstructive,” said The Belle of the
Opera; “either that, or the approach of age,” (there was nothing in the
lustre of her eye, or the brilliancy of her complexion that denoted the
proximity of years—and she knew it when she said so—women seldom speak
lightly of such _foes_ when they are within hearing distance,) “either
that or the approach of age has taught me to relish less many of the
amusements which our means have allowed and with which my taste was
gratified.”
“A natural gratification of so cultivated a taste,” said her husband,
“could be nothing but correct; and it is only when others _are_
acquired, that we need feel regret at indulging such as you have
possessed. We, who approach the midsummer of life, find fewer flowers in
our pathway than spring presented, but let us not complain of those who
gather the vernal sweets; rather let us rejoice that we take with us the
freshness of appetites that delights in whatever the path of duty
supplies, and by discipline are made to enjoy those latent sweets that
escape the observation of the uncultivated.”
We repeat our remarks, that to judge of a woman we must know her whole
character. We must not suppose because a lady is at the opera, that she
has no pleasure in other positions, or that a cultivated taste for music
is inconsistent with the general cultivation of her talents. It is wrong
to imagine that a beautiful woman is necessarily vain, or that her
beauty is inconsistent with the discharge of all the high and holy
duties that belong to her sex; the wife, the daughter, the mother, and
the friend.
Excessive amusement, we know, vitiates the mind; and a woman, whose
whole pride is to be The Belle of the Opera, has evidently no mission
for domestic usefulness. But the domestic circle is blessed, and woman’s
office honored, when an improved taste and generally cultivated talent,
the charms of person and elegance of manners are made subservient to,
and promotive of, the full discharge of the duties that belong to woman
in her exalted sphere.
And, we may add, that religion itself is made more lovely, more
operative, when the offices of humanity which it suggests, and the
services of devotion by which it is manifested, are discharged by one
who brings to the altar talent, beauty, acquirements, with a sense of
their unworthiness, and takes thence a spirit of piety and devotion that
throws a charm about all the graces that have been so attractive to the
world.
We would have our Magazine commend to our fair readers for approval and
acquisition, all the gifts and graces which belonged to The Belle of the
Opera; we would not have them seek that title. _She_ did not; as
unconscious of the admiration of the audience, as the performers were of
her individual presence; she came to enjoy the music, not to acquire
fame. We would have those for whom we write bear in mind that the
character of woman is incomplete, whatever talents or acquisition she
may boast, if she has not the charm that attracts to and delights its
domestic circle. And she should know that the basis of all those charms
which give permanent beneficial influence, is _religion_; a fixed
principle of doing right, from right motives. Upon _that_ basis let the
lovely fabric be erected; beauty, music, literature, science, social
enjoyment, all become and all ornament the structure. And woman’s
character with these is complete, if she add the discharge of the duties
of a friend—a wife—a mother. She who is the charm of social life must
be the benignant spirit of home—the source and centre of domestic
affection.
* * * * *
WHAT IS BEAUTIFUL?
BY AUGUSTA.
Flowers are beautiful—every hue
Colors their petals, and pearly dew,
The nectar the fairies love to sup,
Sparkles brightly in each tiny cup,
While the dark leaves of the ivy shine,
And its clustering tendrils closely twine
Round the old oak, and the sapling young,
And when it has lightly round them clung,
It laughs, and shouts, and it calls aloud,
Have I not now a right to be proud?
I’ve mastered the lordly forest-tree,
I’m King of the woods, come see, come see.
Night’s gems are beauteous, right rare are they,
Gloriously bright is each gentle ray,
Flashing and twinkling up so high,
Like diamonds set in the deep blue sky;
Who is there but loves night’s gentle queen,
Gorgeously robed in her silver sheen?
Shedding her pale, pure brightness round,
O’er hill and valley, and tree and ground;
Gilding the waters as on they glide
In their conscious beauty, joy and pride;
Or sending a quiet ray to rove,
And wake the shade of the deep-green grove.
The Sun is beautiful—“God of day,”
He sends o’er the earth a lordly ray,
He shames the sweet pensive Orb of night
By his radiant beams so fiercely bright.
Wind is beautiful—not to the eye—
You cannot see it—but hear it sigh
Lowly and sweet in a gentle breeze,
Rustling the tops of the lofty trees,
Sending the yellow leaves to the ground,
Playfully whirling them round and round,
Filling the sails with their fill of air,
Then dancing off on some freak more rare;
Scat’ring the snow and the blinding hail,
Shrieking aloud in the wintry gale,
Rudely driving the pattering rain
’Gainst the lonely cottage’s humble pane,
Uprooting the aged forest-tree,
Then whistling loud right merrily;
Owning no king save a _mighty One_!
Following _His_ dictates, and _His_ alone.