Chapter IV: Part 4

By the last word, I do not mean the embrace of vice, but merely that indiscriminate facility which some young women have in permitting what they call a _good-natured kiss_. These _good-natured kisses_ have often very bad effects, and can never be permitted without injuring the fine gloss of that exquisite modesty, which is the fairest garb of virgin beauty.

I remember the Count M----, one of the most accomplished and handsomest young men in Vienna. When I was there, he was passionately in love with a girl of almost peerless beauty. She was the daughter of a man of great rank and influence at court; and on these considerations, as well as in regard to her charms, she was followed by a multitude of suitors. She was lively and amiable, and treated them all with an affability which still kept them in her train, although it was generally known that she had avowed a predilection for Count M. and that preparations were making for their nuptials. The Count was of a refined mind and delicate sensibility. He loved her for herself alone--for the virtues which he believed dwelt in a beautiful form; and, like a lover of such perfections, he never approached her without timidity, and when he touched her, a fire shot through his veins that warned him never to invade the vermilion sanctuary of her lips. Such were the feelings, when one night at his intended father-in-law’s, a party of young people were met to celebrate a certain festival. Several of the young lady’s rejected suitors were present. Forfeits were one of the pastimes, and all went on with the greatest merriment, till the Count was commanded by some witty mademoiselle to redeem his glove by saluting the cheek of his intended bride. The Count blushed, trembled, advanced to his mistress, retreated, advanced again--and at last, with a tremor that shook every fibre in his frame, with a modest grace he put the soft ringlet which played upon her cheek to his lips, and retired to demand his redeemed pledge in evident confusion. His mistress gaily smiled, and the game went on. One of her rejected suitors, but who was of a merry unthinking disposition, was adjudged, by the same indiscreet crier of the forfeits,--“as his last treat before he hanged himself,” she said,--to snatch a kiss from the lips of the object of his recent vows--

“Lips whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,
As Love had fanned them freshly with his wing!”

A lively contest between the lady and the gentleman lasted for a minute; but the lady yielded, though in the midst of a convulsive laugh. And the Count had the mortification, the agony, to see the lips, which his passionate and delicate love would not allow him to touch, kissed with roughness and repetition by another man, and one whom he despised. Without a word, he rose from his chair, left the room--and the house; and, by that _good-natured kiss_, the fair boast of Vienna lost her husband and her lover. The Count never saw her more.

ON THE MANAGEMENT OF THE PERSON IN DANCING, AND IN THE EXERCISE OF OTHER FEMALE ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined.

_Childe Harold._

It is vain to expend large sums of money and large portions of time in the acquirement of accomplishments, unless some attention be also paid to the attainment of a certain grace in their exercise, which though a circumstance distinct from themselves, is the secret of their charms and pleasure-exciting quality.

As dancing is the accomplishment most calculated to display a fine form, elegant taste, and graceful carriage, to advantage; so towards it, our regards must be particularly turned; and we shall find that when Beauty, in all her power, is to be set forth, she cannot choose a more effective exhibition.

By the _exhibition_, it must not be understood that I mean to insinuate anything like that scenic exhibition which we may expect from professors of the art, who often, regardless of modesty, not only display the symmetry of their persons, but indelicately expose them, by most improper dresses and attitudes, on the public stage. What I propose by calling dancing an elegant mode of showing a fine form to advantage, has nothing more in it, than to teach the lovely young woman to move unembarrassed and with peculiar grace through the mazes of a dance, performed either in a private circle, or public ball.

It must always be remembered, and it cannot be too often repeated, “That whatever it is worth while to do, it is worth while to do _well_.” Therefore, as all times and nations have deemed dancing a salubrious, decorous, and beautiful exercise, or rather happy pastime and celebration of festivity, I cannot but regard it with particular complacency. Dancing carries with it a banquet, alike for taste and feeling. The spectator of a well-ordered English ball sees, at one view, in a number of elegant young women, every species of female loveliness. He beholds the perfection of personal proportion. They are attired with all the gay habiliments of fashion and of fancy; and their harmonious and agile movements unfold to him, at every turn, the ever-varying, ever-charming grace of motion.

Thus far his senses only are gratified. But the pleasure stops not there. His best feelings receive their share also. He looks on each gay countenance, he sees hilarity in every step; he listens to their delightful converse, communicated by snatches; and, with a pleasure sympathizing with theirs, he cannot but acknowledge that dancing is one of the most innocent and rational, as well as the most elegant, amusements of youth.

It is indeed the favorite pastime of nature. We find it in courts, we meet it on the village green. Here the rustic swain whispers his ardent suit to his blushing maid, while his beating heart bounds against hers in the swift wheel of the rapid dance. There the polished courtier breathes a soft sigh into the ear of the lady of his vows, as he and she timidly entwine their arms in the graceful _allemande_. But dancing has been appropriated to higher purposes than these; it formed a part of the religious ceremonies of the Jews.

In every age of fashion but the present, dancing was as much expected from young persons of both sexes, as that they should join in smiles when mutually pleased. In days of yore, in the most polite eras of Greece and Rome, and of the chivalrous ages, we find that dancing was a favorite amusement with the first ranks of men. Kings, heroes, and unbearded youth, alike mingled in the graceful exercise. Even in our own island, we read of the splendid balls given by our Plantagenets and Tudors; and that every prince and nobleman contended in happy rivalry who should best acquit themselves in the dance. Here it was that the royal Harry lost his heart to the lovely Anna Bullen, and in such scenes did the gallant lords of his virgin daughter’s court breathe out their souls at the feet of British beauty.

Such _was_ the court of England! but now, where is “the merry dance, the mirth-awakening viol?” In vain our princes led forth their royal sisters and the fairest ladies in the land to celebrate, with festive steps, the birth-day; our noble youth, smit with a love of grave folly, abandon the ball for the gaming-table. The elegant society of the fair is disregarded and exchanged for fellowship with grooms and masters of the whip. Shame on them! I cannot descant farther on such vulgar desertion of all that is lovely and decorous.

Besides the royal brothers, a few yet remain amongst the young men of our higher ranks, who, in this respect, set a worthy example to the youth of inferior stations; and them we still meet at the assemblies of taste, moving with propriety and elegance in the social dance. To make acceptable partners in the minuet, cotillon, &c. with these yet loyal votaries of Terpsichore, I beg leave to offer a few hints to my gentle readers.

Extraordinary as it may seem, at a period when dancing is so entirely neglected by men in general, women appear to be taking the most pains to acquire the art. Our female youth are now not satisfied with what used to be considered _a good dancing-master_; that is, one who made teaching his sole profession; but now our girls must be taught by the leading dancers at the opera-house.

The consequence is, when a young lady rises to dance, we no longer see the graceful, easy step of the gentlewoman, but the labored, and often indelicate exhibition of the posture-mistress.--Dances from _ballets_ are introduced; and instead of the jocund and beautifully-organized movements of hilarity in concord, we are shocked by the most extravagant theatrical imitations. The chaste minuet is banished; and, in place of dignity and grace, we behold strange wheelings on one leg, stretching out the other till our eye meets the garter; and a variety of endless contortions, fitter for the zenana of an Eastern satrap, or the gardens of Mahomet, than the ball-room of an Englishwoman of quality and virtue.

These _ballet_ dances are, we now see, generally attempted. I may say _attempted_, for not one young woman in five hundred, can, from the very nature of the thing, after all her study, perform them better than could be done any day by the commonest _figurante_ on the stage. We all know, that to be a fine opera-dancer, requires unremitting practice, and a certain disciplining of the limbs, which hardly any private gentlewoman would consent to undergo. Hence, ladies can never hope to arrive at any comparison with even the poorest public professor of the art; and therefore, to attempt the extravagancies of it, is as absurd as it is indelicate.

The utmost in dancing to which a gentlewoman ought to aspire, is an agile and graceful movement of her feet, an harmonious motion with her arms, and a corresponding easy carriage of her whole body. But, when she has gained this proficiency, should she find herself so unusually mistress of the art as to be able, in any way, to rival the professors by whom she has been taught, she must ever hold in mind, that _the same style of dancing is not equally proper for all kinds of dances_.

For instance, the English country-dance and the French cotillon require totally different movements. I know that it is a common thing to introduce all the varieties of opera-steps into the simple figure of the former. This ill-judged fashion is inconsistent with the character of the dance, and consequently so destroys the effect, that no pleasure is produced to the eye of the judicious spectator by so discordant an exhibition. The characteristic of an English country-dance is that of _gay simplicity_. The steps should be few and easy, and the corresponding motion of the arms and body unaffected, modest, and graceful.

Before I go further on the subject, I cannot but stop a little to dwell more particularly on the necessity there is for more attention than we usually find paid to the management of the arms, and general person, in dancing.

In looking on at a ball, perhaps you will see that every woman, in a dance of twenty couple, moves her feet with sufficient attention to beauty and elegance; but, with regard to the deportment, of the rest of the person, most likely you will not discover one in a hundred who seems to know more about it than the most uncultivated damsel that ever jogged at a village wake.

I cannot exactly describe what it is that we see in the carriage of our young ladies in the dance; for it is difficult to point out a want by any other expression than a negative. But it is only requisite for my readers to recall to memory the many inanimate, ungraceful forms, from the waist upwards, that they nightly see at balls, and I need not describe more circumstantially.

For these ladies to suppose that they are fine dancers because they execute a variety of difficult steps with ease and precision, is a great mistake. The motion of the feet is but half the art of dancing; the other, and indeed the most conspicuous part, lies in the movement of the body, arms, and head. Here elegance must be conspicuous.

The body should always be poised with such ease as to command a power of graceful undulation, in harmony with the motion of the limbs in the dance. Nothing is more ugly than a stiff body and neck during this lively exercise. The general carriage should be elevated and light; the chest thrown out, the head easily erect, but flexible to move with every turn of the figure; and the limbs should be all braced and animated with the spirit of motion, which seems ready to bound through the very air. By this elasticity pervading the whole person when the dancer moves off, her flexible shape will gracefully sway with the varied steps of her feet; and her arms, instead of hanging loosely by her side, or rising abruptly and squarely up to take hands with her partner, will be raised in beautiful and harmonious unison and time with the music and the figure; and her whole person will thus exhibit to the delighted eye perfection in beauty, grace, and motion.

This attention to the movement of the general figure, and particularly to that of the arms (for with them is the charm of elegant action,) though, in a moderated degree, is equally applicable to the English country dance and the Scotch reel, as to the minuet, the cotillon, and other French dances.

A general idea of natural grace, in all dances, being laid down as a first principle in this elegant art, I shall suggest a few remarks on the leading characters of each style; and from them, I hope, my fair friends will be able to gather some rules which may serve them as useful auxiliaries to the lessons of their dancing-master.

The English country-dance, as its very name implies, consists of simplicity and cheerfulness; hence the female who engages in it, must aim at nothing more, in treading its easy mazes, than executing a few simple steps with unaffected elegance. Her body, her arms, the turn of her head, the expression of her countenance, all must bear the same character of negligent grace, of elegant activity, of decorous gaiety.

The Scotch reel has steps appropriated to itself, and in the dance can never be displaced for those of France, without an absurdity too ridiculous even to imagine without laughing. There are no dancers in the world more expressive of inward hilarity and happiness than the Scotch are, when performing in their own reels. The music is sufficient--so jocund are its sounds--to set a whole company on their feet in a moment, and to dance with all their might, till it ceases, like people bit by the tarantula. Hence, as the character of reels is merriment, they must be performed with much more _joyance_ of manner than even the country-dance; and, therefore, they are better adapted, as society is now constituted, to the social private circle, than to the public ball. They demand a frankness of deportment, an undisguised jocularity, which few large parties will properly admit; therefore, they are more at home in the baronial and kindred-filled hall of the thane of the Highland clan, than in the splendid and mixed ball-room of the now modish Anglo-Scottish earl.

French dances, which includes minuets, cotillons, and all the round of _ballet_ figures, admit of every new refinement and dexterity in the agile art; and, while exhibiting in them, there is no step, no turn, no attitude, within the verge of maiden delicacy, that the dancer may not adopt and practise.

I must acknowledge that there is something in the harmonious and undulating movements of the minuet, particularly pleasing to my idea of female grace and dignity; and I remember seeing her Highness the Princess de P----, at the court of Naples, go through the _minuet de la Cour_ with so eminent a degree of enchanting elegance, that there was not a person present who was not in raptures with her deportment.

The young Archduke, C----, of A----, was then a youth, and an incognito visitant with the Prince de V---- F----, and he was so charmed with the dancing of her highness, whose partner was the renowned General Marchese di M----, that, in his own heroic manner, he exclaimed to me, who then sat by his side,--“Ah! madam, that is more interesting than even the Pyrrhic dance! It reminds me of the beautiful movement of the sun and moon in the heavens!”

The _minuet_ is now almost out of fashion, but we yet have its serious movements in many of the dances adopted from the French _ballet_; and in these every gradation of grace, and, if I may say it, sentiment in action, may be discovered. The rapid changes of the cotillon are admirably calculated for the display of elegant gaiety; and I hope that their animated evolvements will long continue a favorite accomplishment and amusement with our youthful fair.

Though much of graceful display is made in these dances, yet there are many rivals in the cotillon contending for the palm of superiority; and the contest, throughout, if maintained with the original elegant decorum of the design, may be continued with undeviating modesty and discretion.

But with regard to the lately introduced German waltz, I cannot speak so favorably; I must agree with Goethé, when writing of the national dance of his country, “that none but husbands and wives can with any propriety be partners in the waltz.”

There is something in the close approximation of persons, in the attitudes, and in the motion, which ill agrees with the delicacy of woman, should she be placed in such a situation with any other man than the most intimate connexion she can have in life. Indeed, I have often heard men, of no very over-strained feeling, say, “that there are very few women in the world with whom they could bear to dance the German waltz.”

The fandango, though graceful in its own country--because danced, from custom, with as reserved a mind as our maidens would make a courtsy,--is, nevertheless, when attempted here, too great a display of the person for any modest Englishwoman to venture. It is a solo! Imagine what must be the assurance of the young woman, who, unaccustomed by the habits of her country to such singular exhibitions of herself, could get up in a room full of company, and, with an unblushing face, go through all the evolutions, postures, and vaultings, of the Spanish fandango? Certainly, there are few discreet men in England who would say, “such a woman I should like for my wife!”

The castanets, which are used in this dance, by attracting extraordinary attention, afford another argument against its being adopted anywhere but on the stage. The tambourin, the cymbals, and all other noisy accompaniments, in the hands of a lady-dancer, are equally blameable; and though a woman may, by their means, exhibit her agility and person to advantage, she may depend on it, that while the artist only is admired, the woman will sink into contempt; and that, though she may possibly meet with lovers to throw a score of embroidered handkerchiefs at her feet, she will hardly encounter one of a thousand who will venture to trust himself to the offering her the bond of a single gold ring.

The bullero, another of our Spanish importations, is a dance of so questionable a description, that I cannot but proscribe it also. It may be performed with perfect modesty; but the sentiment of it depends so entirely on the disposition of the dancer, that Delicacy dare hardly venture to enrol herself in its lists, lest the partner chosen for her might be of a temper to turn its gaiety into licentiousness; to produce blushes of shame where she promised herself the glow of pleasure, and send her away from what ought to have been an innocent amusement, filled with the bitterness of insulted delicacy.

In short, in addressing my fair countrywomen on this subject, I would sum up my advice, in regard to the choice of dances, by warning them against the introduction of new-fangled fashions of this sort. Let them leave the languishing and meretricious attitudes of modern _ballet_-teachers to the dancing-girls of India, or to the Circassian slaves of Turkey, whose disgraceful business is to please a tyrant for whom they can feel no love.

Let our British fair also turn away from the almost equally unchaste dances of the southern kingdoms of the continent, and, content with the gay step of France, and the active merriment of Scotland, with their own festive movements, continue their native country balls to their blameless delight, and to the gratification of every tasteful and benevolent observer.

While thus remarking on the manner of dancing, it may not be unacceptable to add a few words on the dress most appropriate to its light and unembarrassed motions.

Long trains are, of course, too cumbrous an appendage to be intentionally assumed when proposing to dance; but it must also be remarked, that very short petticoats are as inelegant as the others are inconvenient. Scanty circumscribed habiliments impede the action of the limbs, and, besides their indelicacy, show the leg in the least graceful of all possible points of view. The most elegant attire for a ball is, that the under garments should be absolutely short, but the upper one, which should be of light material, should reach at least to the top of the instep. It should also be sufficiently full to fall easily in folds from the waist downwards to the foot. By this arrangement, when the dancer begins her graceful exercise, the drapery will elegantly adapt itself to the motion and contour of her limbs; and falling accidentally on her foot, or as accidentally when she bounds along, discovering, under its flying folds, her beautifully-turned ankle. Symmetry and grace will be occasionally displayed, almost unconsciously, and thus Modesty, taken unawares, will adorn, with blushes, the perfect lineaments of female beauty.

What has been said in behalf of simple and appropriate dancing, may also be whispered in the ear of the fair practitioner in music; and, by analogy she may, not unbeneficially, apply the suggestions to her own case.

There are many young women, who, when they sit down to the piano or the harp, or to sing, twist themselves into so many contortions, and writhe their bodies and faces about into such actions and grimaces, as would almost incline one to believe that they are suffering under the torture of the toothach, or the gout. Their bosoms heave, their shoulders shrug, their heads swing to the right and left, their lips quiver, their eyes roll; they sigh, they pant, they seem ready to expire! And what is all this about? They are merely playing a favorite concerto, or singing a new Italian song.

If it were possible for these conceit-intoxicated warblers, these languishing dolls, to guess what rational spectators say of their follies, they would be ready to break their instruments and be dumb forever. What they call _expression in singing_, at the rate they would show it, is only fit to be exhibited on the stage, when the character of the song intends to portray the utmost ecstasy of passion to a sighing swain. In short, such an echo to the words and music of a love ditty, is very improper in any young woman who would wish to be thought as pure in heart as in person. If amatory addresses are to be sung, let the expression be in the voice and the composition of the air, not in the looks and gestures of the lady-singing. The utmost that she ought to allow herself to do, when thus breathing out the accents of love, is to wear a serious, tender countenance. More than this is bad, and may produce reflections in the minds of the hearers very inimical to the reputation of the fair warbler.

While touching on song, it may not be unwelcome to my truly virgin readers to have their own delicate rejections sanctioned by a matron’s judgment against a horde of amorous legends, now chanted forth in almost every assembly, where they put their heads. Pretty music, and elegant poetry, seem sufficient excuses to obtain, in these days, not only pardon, but approbation, for the most exceptionable verses that can fall from the pen of man. Such madrigals are now sung with equal applause by mother and daughter, chaste and unchaste; all unite in shamelessly breathing forth words, (and with appropriate languishments too,) which hardly would become the lips of a Thais! Libertines may feel pleasure in such exhibitions--men of principle must turn away disgusted.

Set then this music of Paphos far aside; instead of songs of wantons, if we are to have amatory odes, let us listen to the chaste pleadings of a Petrarch, to the mutual vows of virtuous attachment. My young friend may then sing with downcast eyes and timid voice, but no blush needs to stain her cheek--no thrill of shame shake her bosom. She merely chants of nature’s feelings; and Modesty veiling the sensibility she describes, angels might “lean from heaven to hear.”

By this slight sketch, my dear readers will perceive that I mean _simplicity_ to be the principle and the decoration of all their actions; as it should pervade them in the dance, so it should imbue their voice and action in playing and in singing.

Let their attitude at the piano or the harp be easy and graceful. I strongly exhort them to avoid a stiff, awkward, elbowing position at either; they must observe an elegant flow of figure at both. The latter certainly admits of most grace, as the shape of the instrument is calculated, in every respect, to show a fine figure to advantage. The contour of the whole form, the turn and polish of a beautiful hand and arm, the richly-slippered and well-made foot on the pedal stops, the gentle motion of a lovely neck, and, above all, the sweetly-tempered expression of an intelligent countenance; these are shown at one glance when the fair performer is seated unaffectedly, yet gracefully, at the harp.

Similar beauty of position may be seen in a lady’s management of a lute, a guitar, a mandolin, or a lyre. The attitude at a pianoforte, or at a harpsichord, is not so happily adapted to grace. From the shape of the instrument, the performer must sit directly in front of a straight line of keys; and her own posture being correspondingly erect and square, it is hardly possible that it should not appear rather inelegant. But if it attain not the _ne plus ultra_ of grace, at least she may prevent an air of stiffness; she may move her hands easily on the keys, and bear her head with that elegance of carriage which cannot fail to impart its own character to the whole of her figure. One of the most graceful forms that I ever saw sit at an instrument, is that of St. Cecilia, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, playing on the organ. It is the portrait of the late Mrs. R. B. Sheridan; and, from the simplicity of the attitude, and the graceful elevation of the head, it is, without exception, one of the most interesting pictures I ever beheld. A living instance of what beauty and grace, elegance and propriety combined, can do, has always been admired in the Marchioness of D---- by all those who ever had the felicity to see and hear her at the piano; an engraving of her portrait, in that attitude, would teach every female lover of the art unaffected elegance, much more effectually than all that the advices and ability of masters can ever be able to perform.

If ladies, in meditating on grace of deportment, would rather consult the statues of fine sculptors, and the figures of excellent painters, than the lessons of their dancing-masters, or the dictates of their looking-glasses, we should, doubtless, see simplicity where we now find affectation, and a thousand ineffable graces taking place of the present _régime_ of absurdity and conceit.

It was by studying the perfect sculpture of Greece and Rome, that a certain lady of rank, eminent for her peculiarly beautiful attitudes, acquired so great a superiority in mien above her fair contemporaries of every court in which she became an inmate. It was by meditating on the classic pictures of Poussin, that one of the first tragic actresses on the French stage learnt to move and look like the _daughter of the sun_. And by a similar study, has our own Melpomene caught inspiration from the pencil of Corregio and Rubens.

Glancing at the graphic art, reminds me that some degree of proficiency in this interesting accomplishment is also an object of study with my fair young countrywomen. I shall not make any observation on their progress in the art itself, but only with regard to their manner of practising it.

Both for health and beauty’s sake, they should be careful not to stoop too much, or to sit too long in the exercise of the pencil. A bending position of the chest and head, when frequently assumed, is apt to contract the lungs, round the back, redden the face, and give painful digestions and headach. An awkward posture in writing, reading, or sewing, is productive of the same bad effects; and, what may seem almost incredible, (but many who have witnessed the same, can, I am sure, give their evidence in support of my representation,) there are young persons, who, when writing, drawing, reading, or working, keep a sort of ludicrous time with their occupations, by making a succession of unmeaning and hideous grimaces. I have seen a pretty young woman, while writing a letter to her lover, draw up her lips, and twist the muscles of her face in every direction that her pen moved; and so ugly did she look during this sympathetic performance, that I could not forbear thinking that, could her swain see the object then dictating her vows, he would take fright at the metamorphosis, and never be made to believe it could be the same person.

Mumbling to yourself, while reading, is also another very inelegant habit. A person should either read determinately so much aloud as to be heard distinctly by the company present, or peruse her book without even moving her lips. An inward muttering, or a silent motion of the mouth, while reading, is equally unpleasant to the observer, and disfiguring to the observed.

In short, there is nothing, however minute in manners, however insignificant in appearance, that does not demand some portion of attention from a well-bred and highly-polished young woman. An author of no small literary renown, has observed, that several of the minutest habits or acts of some individuals, may give sufficient reasons to guess at their temper. The choice of a gown, or even the folding and sealing of a letter, will bespeak the shrew and the scold, the careless and the negligent. This observation I have made myself, not only in this, but in several other countries. The Marchioness of B---- addressed me, a few years ago, in a letter so cleanly folded, so carefully sealed, that I was really prejudiced in her favor, ere I saw that my surmises were right; and the flame-color ribbon, fluttering about the Hon. Mrs. D.’s head, had given me a foreboding of her acrimonious and fiery disposition. These fine and almost imperceptible objects are the touches which bring the whole to its utmost perfection. They are the varnish to the picture, the polish to the gem, the points to the diamond.

I will go further upon this subject. The very voice of an individual, the tone she assumes in speaking to strangers, or even familiarly to her friends, will lead a keen observer to discover what elements her temper is made of. The low key belongs to the sullen, sulky, obstinate, the shrill note to the petulant, the pert, the impatient; some will pronounce the common and trite question “how _do_ you _do_?” with such harshness and raucity, that they seem positively angry with you that you should ever _do_ at all. Some effect a lispingness, which at once betrays childishness and downright nonsense; others will bid their words to gallop so swiftly, that the ablest ear is unable to follow the rapid race, and gathers nothing but confused and unmeaning sounds. All these extremes are to be avoided; and, although nature has differently formed the organs of speech for different individuals, yet there is a mode to correct nature’s own aberrations. I have heard of sensible men, who, merely for the tone of voice which did not quite harmonize with their ears, have dropped their connexion with women, who, in all other points were unexceptionable.

Admit this, and another salutary truth will be made manifest. If good-breeding and graceful refinement are ever _most proper_, they are always so. It is not sufficient that Amaryllis is amiable and elegant in her whole deportment to strangers and to her acquaintance; she must be undeviatingly so to her most intimate friends, to nearest relations, to father, mother, brothers, sisters, husband. She must have no _dishabille_ for them, either of mind or person.

This last word inclines me to pursue the hint further; to exhort my fair readers, while I plead for consistency in manners, also to carry the analogy to dress. If they would always appear amiable, elegant, and endearing to the beings with whom they are to spend their lives, let them always make those beings the first objects for whose pleasure their accomplishments, their manners, and their dress are to be cultivated. Let them never appear before these tender relatives in the disgusting negligence of disordered and soiled clothes. By this has many a lovely girl lost her lover; and by this has many an amiable wife alienated the affections of her husband.

Let me, then, in concluding this chapter, again repeat, that consistency is the soul of female power, the charm of her fascination, the bond of her social happiness.

CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT.

“Observe the just gradation of degree.”

The carriage of a woman to her equals being founded on a just appreciation of their merits, and a proper respect to herself, the same sentiment will be found to pervade her conduct to her superiors in rank.

With regard to men, when they occupy a higher station than herself, she must proportion reverential courtesy to them, according to the rules of court ceremony. If she knows them merely as officers high in authority under the king, or as nobles distinguished by their honors, her manner must then be of calm, dignified respect. But when she finds that merit is yet higher in any of these men than his titles, then, let her show the homage of the soul, as well as that of the body; for real greatness ennobles the head which bows.

With regard to her own sex, the same rule must be observed. There are certain regulations in society which are called Laws of Precedence. They are of as much use in maintaining a due and harmonious order amongst civilized men and women, as the law of attraction is to preserve the heavenly bodies in their proper orbits. As one star differs from another in magnitude and splendor, in proportion to the destiny it hath to fulfil; so do the talents and degrees of men vary according to the allotted duties they have to perform. Hence, as in astronomy, we think not of despising Mercury, because he is not as large as Saturn, nor of speaking of our own Earth as a planet of no account, because she has not four moons like Jupiter; so, by parity of reasoning, we do not esteem our inferiors or equals the less, because they do not fill the first orders in society. All ranks have their proper place, the station in which they can be the most useful; and it is in proportion as they perform their respective duties, that we must respect the individuals.

We, therefore, regard society as a grand machine, in which each member has the place best fitted for him; or, to make use of a more common illustration, as a vast drama, in which every person has the part allotted to him most appropriate to his abilities. One enacts the King, others the Lords, others the Commons; but all obey the Great Director, who best knows what is in man. Regarding things in this light, all arrogance, all pride, all envyings and contempt of others, from their relative degrees, disappear, as emotions to which we have no pretensions. We neither endowed ourselves with high birth or eminent talents. We are altogether beings of a creation independent of our own will; and, therefore, bearing our own honors as a gift, not as a right, we should condescend to our inferiors, (whose place it might have been our lot to fill,) and regard with deference our superiors, whom Heaven, by so elevating, has intended that we should respect.

This sentiment of order in the mind, this conviction of the beautiful harmony in a well-organized civil society, gives us dignity with our inferiors, without alloying it with the smallest particle of pride; by keeping them at a due distance, we merely maintain ourselves and them in the rank in which a higher Power has placed us; and the condescension of our general manners to them, and our kindness in their exigencies, and generous approbation of their worth, are sufficient acknowledgments of sympathy, to show that we avow the same nature with themselves, the same origin, the same probation, the same end.

Our demeanor with our equals is more a matter of policy. To be indiscreetly familiar, to allow of liberties being taken with your good-nature; all this is likely to happen with people of the same rank with ourselves, unless we hold our mere acquaintance at a proper distance, by a certain reserve. A woman may be gay, ingenuous, perfectly amiable to her associates, and yet reserved. Avoid all sudden intimacies, all needless secret-telling, all closeting about nonsense, caballing, taking mutual liberties with each other in regard to domestic arrangements; in short, beware of familiarity! The kind of familiarity which is common in families, and amongst women of the same classes in society, is that of an indiscriminate gossiping; an interchange of thoughts without any effusion of the heart. Then an unceremonious way of reproaching each other, for a real or supposed neglect; a coarse manner of declaring your faults; a habit of jangling on trifles; a habit of preferring your own whims or ease before that of the persons about you; an indelicate way of breaking into each other’s privacy. In short, doing everything that declares the total oblivion of all politeness and decent manners.

This series of errors happens every day amongst brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, and female acquaintances: and what are the consequences? Distaste, disgust, everlasting quarrels, and perhaps total rupture in the end!

I have seen many families bound together by the tenderest affection; I have seen many hearts wrought into each other by the sweet amalgamation of friendship; but with none did I ever find this delicious foretaste of the society in Elysium, where a never-failing politeness was not mingled in all their thoughts, words, and actions, to each other.

Deportment to superiors must ever carry with it that peculiar degree of ceremony which their rank demands. No intimacy of intercourse with them, no friendship and affection from them, ought ever to make us forget the certain respect which their stations require. Thus, for a mere gentlewoman to think of arrogating to herself the same homage of courtesy that is paid to a lady of quality, or to deny the just tribute of precedence, in every respect, to that lady, would be as absurd as presumptuous. Yet we see it; and ridicule, from the higher circles, is all she derives from her vain pretensions. By the same rule, every woman of rank must yield due courtesy to those above her, in the just gradation, according to their elevation in the scale of nobility. The law of courts on this subject is soon understood, and, as a guide to my young readers, who may not yet have been sufficiently informed, I shall, beneath, give them a list of female titles, according to their precedence in the march of hereditary and other honors. I shall begin with the highest rank, as it is that which, in all public processions, or in private parties, has the right of standing or moving first.

As the crown of the whole, I set down a Queen. Then Princesses. Then follow, in regular order, Duchesses, Marchionesses, Countesses. The Wives of the eldest sons of Marquisses. The Wives of the younger sons of Dukes. Daughters of Dukes. Daughters of Marquisses. Viscountesses. Wives of the Eldest sons of Earls. Daughters of Earls. Wives of the younger sons of Marquisses. Baronesses. Wives of the eldest sons of Viscounts. Daughters of Viscounts. Wives of the younger sons of Earls. Wives of the eldest sons of Barons. Daughters of Barons. Wives of the younger sons of Viscounts. Wives of the younger sons of Barons. Wives of Baronets. Wives of Privy Counsellors. Commoners. Wives of Judges. Wives of Knights of the Garter. Wives of Knights of the Bath. Wives of Knights of the Thistle. Wives of Knights Bachelors. Wives of Generals. Wives of Admirals. Wives of the eldest sons of Baronets. Daughters of Knights, according to their fathers’ precedence. Wives of the younger sons of Baronets. Wives of Esquires and Gentlemen. Daughters of Esquires and Gentlemen. Wives of Citizens and Burgesses. The Wives of Military and Naval Officers of course take precedence of each other in correspondence with the rank of their husbands.

This scale, if every young lady would bear in mind and conform to it, is a sufficient guide to the mere ceremony of precedence; and would effectually prevent those dangerous disputes in ball-rooms about places, and those rude jostlings in going in and out of assemblies, which are not more disagreeable than ill-bred. It is the perfection of fine breeding to know your place, to be acquainted with that of others; and to fall gracefully into your station accordingly. While the gentlewoman is content to move in the train of female honors, the dignified decorum of step forms one graceful link in the chain of society; but if she struggles to get before, strikes one to her right, and the other to her left; treads down alike her equals and her superiors, in her eagerness for pre-eminence; we fly from the shrew, and declare her unworthy of fellowship with any class of well-ordered females.

The deference we pay to superiors, our inferiors will refund to us; and therefore, if we wish to maintain “that proud submission, that dignified obedience,” which binds the subject, through various gradations, to the sovereign, we must teach our untractable spirits to bend to the cogent reasons and salutary ordinances of high authority.

Women in every country have a greater influence than men choose to confess.

“Men’s earliest words are taught them from her lips.”

Though haughtiness of mind will not allow them always to acknowledge the truth, yet we see the proof in its effects; and, in consequence, must exhort women, by yielding their deference to the laws of honorary precedence, to teach men to obey them; and rather to emulate such distinctions, than seek to pull down the possessors to the level of the common herd.

CONCLUSION.

“Can comeliness of form, or shape, or air,
With comeliness of words or deeds compare?
No! those at first th’ unwary heart may gain,
But these, these only, can the heart retain.”

GAY.

When so much has been said of the body and its accoutrements, I cannot but subjoin a few words on the intelligence which animates the frame, and of the organ which imparts its meaning.

Connected speech is granted to mankind alone. Parrots may prate, and monkeys chatter; but it is only to the reasonable being that power of combining ideas, expressing their import, and uttering, in audible sounds, in all its various gradations, the language of sense and judgment, of love and resentment, is awarded as a gift, that gives us a proud and undeniable superiority to all the rest of the creation.

To employ this faculty well and gracefully, is one grand object of education. The mere organ itself, as to sound, is like a musical instrument, to be modulated with elegance, or struck with the disorderly nerve of coarseness and vulgarity.

I must add to what has been said before on the subject, that excessive rapidity of speaking is, in general, even with a clear enunciation, very disagreeable; but, when it is accompanied with a shrill voice, the effect is inexpressibly discordant and hideous. The first orator the heathen world ever knew, so far remedied the natural defects of his speech, (and they were most embarrassing,) as to become the most easy and persuasive of speakers. In like manner, when a young woman finds any difficulty or inelegance in her organs, she ought to pay the strictest attention to rectify the fault.

Should she have too quick or encumbered an articulation, she ought to read with extreme slowness for several hours in the day, and even pay attention, in speaking, to check the rapidity or confusion of her utterance. By similar antidotal means, she must attack a propensity of talking in a high key. Better err in the opposite extreme, while she is prosecuting her cure, as the voice will gradually and imperceptibly attain its most harmonious pitch, than, by at first attempting the medium, most likely retain too much of the screaming key. A clear articulation, a tempered intonation, and in a moderate key, are essentials in the voice of an accomplished female. Her graceful peculiarities must be the gift of nature, or the effect of cultivated taste. Fine judgment and delicate sensibility are the best schoolmistresses on this subject. Indeed, where, in relation to man or woman, shall we find that an improved understanding, and enlightened mind, and a refined taste, are not the best polishers of manners, and in all respects the most efficient handmaids of the Muses?

Let me, then, in one short sentence, in one tender adieu, my fair readers and endeared friends! enforce upon your minds, that if Beauty be woman’s weapon, it must be feathered by the Graces, pointed by the eye of Discretion, and shot by the hand of Virtue!

Look, then, my sweet pupils, not merely to your mirrors, when you would decorate yourselves for conquest, but consult the _speculum_, which will reflect your hearts and minds. Remember that it is the affections of a sensible and reasonable soul you hope to subdue, and seek for arms likely to carry the fortress.

He that is worthy, must love corresponding excellence. Which of you all would wish to marry a man merely for the color of his eye, or the shape of his leg? Think not then worse of him than you would do of yourselves; and hope not to satisfy his better wishes with the possession of a merely handsome wife.

Beauty of person will ever be found a dead letter, unless it be animated with beauty of mind. “For ’tis the mind that makes the body rich.” We must, then, not only cultivate the shape, the complexion, the air, the attire, the manners, but most assiduously must our attention be devoted to teach “the young idea how to shoot,” and to fashion the unfolding mind to judgment and virtue. By such culture, it will not be merely the charming girl, the captivating woman we shall present to the world, but the dutiful daughter, affectionate sister, tender wife, judicious mother, faithful friend, and amiable acquaintance.

Let these, then, be fair images which will form themselves on the models drawn by my not inexperienced pen! Let me see Beauty, whose soul is virtue, approach me with the chastened step of Modesty; and, ere she advances from behind the heavenly cloud that envelops her, I shall behold Love, and all the graces, hovering in air to adorn and attend her charms.

This may be thy picture, lovely daughter of Albion! Make thyself, then worthy of the likeness, and thou wilt fulfil the fondest wish of thine unknown friend.

APPENDIX.

ON THE USE OF CORSETS.

The following pages are abridged by an eminent English physician from an Essay on the Use of Corsets, by Soemmerring, the German physiologist:

Fashion lives on novelty, and we have on this account much charity for its wanderings and eccentricities. Bonnets, with a snout as long as an elephant’s proboscis, or a margin as broad as a Winchester bushel, are merely ridiculous. Shoulders that look like wings, and sleeves as wide as a petticoat, we think are not particularly graceful; but they have at least the merit of being airy, and we take no offence. We cannot, however, extend our indulgence to the compressed waist, which is the rage at present. We know that as often as the waist is lengthened to its natural limits, this tendency to abridge its diameter appears; and we confess we are puzzled to account for the fact; for surely it is strange, that a permanent prepossession should exist in favor of a mode of dress which is at once ugly, unnatural, and pernicious. Were fashion under the guidance of taste, the principles of drapery in painting and sculpture would never be lost sight of in its changes. The clothes that cover us may be disposed in an infinite variety of forms, without violating those rules which the artist is careful to observe. The true form of the body ought to be disclosed to the eye, without the shape being exhibited in all its minutiæ, as in the dress of a harlequin; but in no case should the natural proportions (supposing the figure to be good) be changed. Ask the sculptor what he thinks of a fashionable waist, pinched till it rivals the lady’s neck in tenuity, and he will tell you it is monstrous. Consult the physician, and you will learn that this is one of those follies in which no female can long indulge with impunity; for health, and even life, are often sacrificed to it.

Corsets are used partly as a warm covering to the chest, and partly to furnish a convenient attachment to other parts of the female dress. This is all proper and correct; but to these uses fashion superadds others, originating in fantastical notions of beauty. Corsets are employed to modify the shape, to render the chest as small below, and as broad above, as possible, and to increase the elevation, fulness, and prominence of the bosom. To show how this affects the condition of the body, we must begin by giving a short description of the thorax or chest, which is the subject of this artificial compression.

Every one who has seen a skeleton, knows that the chest consists of a cavity protected by a curious frame-work of bones. These are, 1st, the back-bone, (consisting of _vertebræ_, or short bones jointed into one another,) which sustains the whole upper part of the trunk; 2d, the breast-bone, about seven or eight inches long, and composed of three pieces; and 3dly, the ribs, of which there are generally twentyfour. The twelve ribs on each side are all fixed to the back-bone behind; seven of these, the seven uppermost, are also attached to the breast-bone before, and are, therefore, called _true ribs_. The eighth rib has its end turned up, and rests on the seventh; the ninth rests in the same way on the eighth; but the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth are not connected with one another in front at all. The fore extremity of each rib consists not of bone, but of an elastic substance called cartilage. The elasticity of this substance, combined with the oblique position of the ribs, constitutes a beautiful provision, in consequence of which the chest enlarges and contracts its volume, to afford free play to the lungs.

We now wish to call attention to the form of this cavity, which, as we have seen, is surrounded and protected by the back-bone, ribs, and breast-bone, and is called the _thorax_, or chest. The uppermost pair of ribs, which lie just at the bottom of the neck, are very short; the next pair is rather longer; the third longer still; and thus they go on increasing in length to the seventh pair, or last _true_ ribs, after which the length diminishes, but without materially contracting the size of the cavity, because the false ribs only go round a part of the body. Hence the chest has a sort of conical shape, or it may be compared to the bee-hives used in this country, the narrow or pointed end being next the neck, and the broad end undermost. The natural form of the thorax, in short, is just the reverse of the fashionable shape of the waist. The latter is narrow below, and wide above; the former is narrow above, and wide below.