MIRROR OF THE GRACES. (continued 2)

The first time my eyes met these words so coupled, I was seized with that honest shuddering which every delicate woman ought to feel at seeing the parts and situations of her person which modesty bids her conceal, thus dragged before the imagination of the opposite sex. The pure must read it with the frown of disgust—the impure with the smile of ridicule. To this moment, though I find that nothing disrespectful to modesty was meant by the advertisement, I cannot approve of the terms in which it is written; for it is my opinion, (and I am so happy as to be supported in it by the sanction of the wisest moralists,) that, rob woman of her delicate reserves, and you take from her one of the best strong holds of her chastity. You deprive her of her sweet attractive mysteries; you lay open to the eye of love the arcana of her toilet, the infirmities of her nature; the enchantment is broken, and “the bloom of young desire, the purple light of the soul’s enthusiasm,” expire at the disclosure.

To please my still curious readers, I will still further displease myself, and enter more circumstantially into a detail of these strange appendages to a female wardrobe.

But before I proceed with my remarks on the long stay, (the ringleader of the rest,) I will so far rescue the intention of its constructors from any design to excite improper ideas by the words of their advertisement, as to explain to you the proposed usefulness of the inventions denominated pregnant stay, and divorces.

The first is a corset or stay of dimity, or jean, or silk, reaching from the shoulders down to the waist, and over the hips, to the complete envelopement of the body. It is rendered of more than ordinary power by elastic bones, &c. which, introduced between the lining and covering of the stay, bring it into something of the consistency and shape of an ancient warrior’s hauberk. This new-fashioned coat of mail for the fair sex is so constructed, as to compress and reduce to the shape desired the natural prominence of the female figure in a state of fruitfulness. Some women, who are bold enough to wear this Procrustean garb during every stage of their pregnancy, affirm that it preserves their shape without injury to their state of increase. However this may be with a few hardy individuals, I profess myself no proselyte to the innovation, as it must necessarily put a degree of restraint upon the operations of nature, very likely to produce bad effects both on the mother and the child.

Support and confinement to an overstrained part are two different things; the one is beneficial, the other destructive. And this I can assure my readers, that I ever have remarked those married women who have longest maintained their virgin forms were those who, in a state of maternal increase, observed a proper medium between a too relaxed and a too contracted boddice.

Nature in these concerns is our best guide; and when she dictates to us to provide against the possible disagreeable consequences of any of her operations, it is well to obey her; but when a fastidious, and, allow me to say, an indelicate, regard to personal charms would excite you to brace with ribs of whalebone the soft mould of your unborn infant; or when it has, in spite of these arts, burst its prison-house alive, you seek to deprive it of the nourishment your breast prepares—then remember you perform not the duty of a mother, but show yourself rather egregiously guilty of wantonness and unpardonable cruelty.

No person living can feel a more lively admiration than that which animates me at the sight of a beautiful form,

I behold in it the work of the most perfect being—the accomplishment of one of his fairest designs. He seems to show in earthy mould the lovely transcript of the angels of heaven: she looks, she breathes, of innocence and sweet unconscious beauty. But when I cast my eyes on women issuing from the house of a modern manufacturer of shapes; when I see the functions of nature impeded by bands and ligatures; when I behold the abode of virgin modesty thrust forward to the gaze of the libertine; when I observe the pains taken to attract his eye,—I turn away disgusted, and blush for my sex.

Vile as these meretricious arts are, they are not less dangerous to health than to morals. The constant pressure of such hard substances as whalebone, steel, &c. upon so susceptible a part as the bosom, is very likely, in the course of a very short time, to produce all the horrid consequences of abscesses, cancers, &c.: on their miseries I need not to descant.

On the long stay I shall now make a few remarks, arising from the observations I have been enabled to make on the ladies of various ages and figures whom I have known wear it. To the woman whose waning charms set in an exuberance of flesh, perhaps the support of this adventitious aid is an advantage. But in that case its stiffening should rather be cord quilted in the lining, or very thin whalebone, than either steel or iron. In all situations, the boddice should be flexible to the motion of the body and the undulations in the shape; and it should never be felt to press upon any part.

Thus far we may tolerate the adoption of this buckram suit for elderly, or excessively embonpoint ladies; but for the growing girl (whom, I am sorry to say, mothers not unfrequently imprison in these machines,) it is both unrequired and mischievous.

Before nature has completed her work in the perfection of the youthful figure, she is checked in her progress by the impediment which the valves, bands, &c. of the long stay throw in her way. Those finely-rounded points which mark the distinction and the grace of the female form, and which the artist, enamored of beauty, delights to delineate with the nicest accuracy, are, by the constant pressure of these stays, rendered indistinct, and in a short time are entirely destroyed.

Let, then, the long stay be restricted to the too abundant mass of fattening matronhood; so may art restrain the excesses, not of nature, but of disease. Unwieldly flesh was never yet seen in a perfectly healthy person. It generally arises either from intemperance overloading the functions of life, or dissipation decomposing them.

Let the padded corset rectify the defects of the deformed; but where nature has given the outline of a well-constructed form, forbear to traverse her designs. Youth should be left to spring up, unconfined, like the young cedar; and when the hand of man, or accident, does not distort the pliant stem, it will grow erect and firm, spreading its beautiful and cheerful shade over the heads of its planters.

OF THE DETAIL OF DRESS.

There are few things in which our sex can discover more taste than in the choice of the apparel which may best accord with their several styles of figures and features; but we frequently see the direct opposite of good judgment in their selections, and behold between the person and the attire a complete and laughable incongruity.

Some women will actually disguise and disfigure themselves, rather than not appear in the prevailing fashion, which, though advantageous to one character of face, may have the direct contrary effect with another. I hinted at this in the earlier part of this dissertation; now I come closer to my subject, intending to enter into a minute detail of what ought or ought not to be worn by women of different moulds and complexions.

If Daphne have the features of a Siddons, and Amaryllis those of a Jordan, the style which agrees with the one must ill accord with the other. The like harmony must be maintained between the complexion and the colors we wear; for it is in these minutiæ which, like the nice and almost imperceptible touches of the ingenious artist, produce a complete and faultless whole. That a handsome woman may disfigure herself by an injudicious choice or disposition of her attire; and a plain one counteract the errors of nature, so as to render herself at least agreeable, almost every experienced observer has witnessed. We may therefore conclude, that beauty with a bad taste is far less desirable than a good taste without beauty.

“What an awkward creature is that!” said a gentleman to me the other evening at a supper, and pointing to a slatternly beauty who sat opposite, with her chin nearly reposing on her bosom, and her shoulders drawn up almost to her ears. “Yonder is a very elegant woman!” observed he, directing my attention to a lady who, critically considered, was rather ordinary; but by her judicious style of dress, her unstudied graces of deportment, claimed universal admiration.

To support my arguments with those of a lady whose taste is best evinced by her own personal elegance, I shall give you a short extract from a little tract of her’s, which, like the divine Psyché of Mrs. Tighe, has been only permitted to meet the eyes of a favored few.

“Who is there among us that has not witnessed a beautiful woman so apparelled as to render her rather an object of pity and ridicule than of admiration? How often do we see simplicity and youthful loveliness obscured by a redundancy of ornaments! How often do the robust and healthy, the majestic and the gay, the pensive and the sportive, follow the same mode; marring, mingling and mangling without mercy, and without taste; regardless of discrimination, appropriation, or judgment; to the total overthrow of the attractions which nature liberally bestowed! Do not these ladies perceive that each style of personal beauty has a distinct character to support? That a tasteful adaptation will enforce the stamp which nature has impressed? Let us then admonish the female whose beauty is of the fair, pale, and interesting cast, not to render her appearance insipid by the overpowering hues of robes, mantles, pelisses, &c. of amber, orange, grass-green, crimson, or rose-color. This soft style of beauty makes its appeal to our most delicate perceptions; all grossness of color displeases them, and therefore should not be admitted in the articles of her dress.

“Grass-green, though a color exceedingly pleasing and refreshing in itself, jaundices the complexion of the pale woman to such a degree, as to excite little other sensations in the beholder than compassion for the poor invalid. Such females should, in general, choose their robes of an entire color; and when they wear white garments, they should animate them with draperies, mantles, scarfs, ribbons, &c. of pale pink, blossom-color, celestial blue, lilac, dove-color, and primrose; leaving full green, deep blue, and purple, to the florid; and amber, scarlet, orange, flame-color, and deep rose, to the brunette.

“Thus much we offer in the suitable appropriations of colors. We shall now proceed to say something on the prevailing fashions of the day; and though we may fairly congratulate our countrywomen on their taste and improvement in this particular, yet here also the regulating hand of judgment, the nice and discriminating effects of genius, and the directing influence of a delicate and just taste, become most importantly necessary.

“The mantle, or cottage-cloak, should never be worn by females exceeding a moderate embonpoint; and we should recommend their winter garbs, such as Russian pelisses and Turkish wraps, to be formed of double sarsnet, or fine Merino cloth, rather than velvets, which (except black) give an appearance of increased size to the wearer. In the adoption of furs, flat-ermine or fringe fur is better suited to the full-formed woman that swan’s-down, fox, chinchilla, or sable; these are graceful for the more slender. Women of a spare habit, and of a tall and elegant height, will derive considerable advantage from the full-flowing robe, mantle, and Roman tunic. The fur-trimming, too, gives to them an appearance of roundness which nature has denied; and to this description of person we can scarcely recommend an evening dress more chaste, elegant, and advantageous, than robes of white satin, trimmed with swan’s-down, with draperies of silver or gossamer net. The antique head-dress, or queen Mary coif, is best adapted to the Roman and Grecian line of feature. The Chinese hat and Highland helmet are becoming to countenances of a rounder and more playful contour.

“We have frequently, in our observations, found occasion to lament, in the present style of female dress, a want of that proper distinction which should ever be attended to in the several degrees of costume. For instance, the short gown, so appropriate and convenient for walking, and pursuing morning avocations or exercises, intrudes beyond its sphere when seen in the evening or full dress. It is in the splendid drawing-room that the train robe appears with all that superiority which gives pre-eminence to grace, and dignity to beauty.

“Why should these pleasingly-varying distinctions be neglected? The long sleeve, too, (now so universal in almost every order of dress,) belongs with strict propriety only to the domestic habit. These are inattentions or faults which a correct taste will quickly discover, and easily rectify. It is dangerous to level distinctions in one case, and disadvantageous in the other. There should be a just and reasonable discipline in trifles, as well as in matters of higher import. There is a vast deal more in things of seeming insignificance than is commonly imagined. Subjects of importance, high achievements, and glorious examples, strike every beholder; but there are few who reflect that it is by perseverance, and attention to comparative trifles, that mighty deeds are performed, and that great consequences are ultimately produced.

“A correct taste is ever the concomitant of a chaste mind; for, as a celebrated author has justly observed, our taste commonly declines with our merit. A correct taste is the offspring of all that is delicate in sentiment and just in conception; it softens the inflexibility of truth, and decks reason in the most persuasive garments.

“A walking-dress cannot be constructed too simply. All attractive and fancy articles should be confined to the carriage-dress, or dinner and evening apparel. We shall here particularly address the order of females who may not have the luxury of a carriage, and yet be within the rank of gentlewomen. This class composes treble the number of those to whom fortune has bestowed the appendages of equipages and retinue. We shall, in our observations, particularly aim at increasing their respectability, by leading them to adopt a style of adornment, which, while it combines fashion and elegance, shall be remarkable only for its neatness and simplicity.

“It has been said that the love of dress is natural to the sex; and we see no reason why any female should be offended with the assertion. ‘Dress,’ says an author on the subject, ‘is the natural finish of beauty. Without dress a handsome person is a gem, but a gem that is not set.’ Dress, however, must be subject to certain rules; be consistent with the graces, and with nature. By attention to these particulars, is produced that agreeable exterior which pleases, we know not why,—which charms, even without that first and powerful attraction, beauty.

“Fashion, in her various flights, frequently soars beyond the reach of propriety. Good sense, taste, and delicacy, then make their appeal in vain. Her despotic and arbitrary sway levels and confounds. Where is delicacy? where is policy? we mentally exclaim, when we see the fair inconsiderate votary of fashion exposing, unseemly, that bosom which good men delight to imagine the abode of innocence and truth. Can the gaze of the voluptuous, the unlicensed admiration of the profligate, compensate to the woman of sentiment and purity for what she loses in the estimation of the moral and the just?

“But, delicacy apart, what shall we say to the blind conceit of the robust, the coarse, the waning fair one, who thus obtrude the ravages of time upon the public eye? Let us not offend. We wish to lead to conviction, not to awaken resentment.—Fashion must, in these instances, have borrowed the bondage of fortune, and so blinded her votaries against the sober dictates of reason, the mild dignity of self-respect.

“There is a mediocrity which bounds all things, and even fixes the standard which divides virtue from bombast. Let us, therefore, in every concern, endeavor to observe this happy temperature. Let the youthful female exhibit, without shade, as much of her bust as shall come within the limits of fashion, without infringing on the borders of immodesty. Let the fair of riper years appear less exposed. To sensible and tasteful women a hint is merely required. They need not very close instructions; for at once they perceive, combine, and adopt, with judgment and delicacy. The rules of propriety are followed, as it were, instinctively by them; and their example is so impressed on the generality of our lovely countrywomen, (who, too often and inconsiderately, follow the vagaries of fashion with, perhaps, ridiculous avidity,) that we must take upon us to correct the irregularities of the many, in hopes that the judicious few will embrace grace, and make it universal.

“Far be it from us to lead the female mind from its solemn engagements to the pursuit of comparative nothings. But there is a time and place for all things, and for every innocent purpose under heaven; and on these grounds we do not see why a female should not blend the agreeable with the estimable.

“There are persons who neglect their dress from pride, and a desire to attract by a careless singularity; but wherever this is the case, depend on it something is wrong in the mind. Lavater has observed, that persons habitually attentive to their attire display the same regularity in their domestic affairs. ‘Young women,’ he continues, ‘who neglect their toilet, and manifest little concern about dress, indicate a general disregard of order; a mind but ill adapted to the detail of house-keeping; a deficiency of taste, and of the qualities that inspire love:—they will be careless in everything. The girl of eighteen who desires not to please, will be a slut, or a shrew, at twentyfive. Pay attention, young men, to this sign; it never yet was known to deceive.’

“Hence we see that the desire of exhibiting an amiable exterior is essentially requisite in woman. It is to be received as an unequivocal symbol of those qualities which we seek in a wife; it indicates cleanliness, sweetness, a love of order, and of universal propriety. What, then, is there to censure in a moderate consideration of dress?—Nothing. We may blame when we find extravagance, profusion, misappropriation; the tyranny of fashion; slavery to vanity; in short, bad taste!

“Let us then urge the British fair to that elegant simplicity, that discriminating selection, which combines fashion, utility, and grace. Thus shall the inventive faculty of genius be honored and encouraged, and industry receive the reward of its ingenuity and labors.

“We shall now proceed to notice the present articles which claim fashionable pre-eminence, and give some useful hints on their application.

“As a walking habit, we know of none in summer which is more graceful than the lightly flowing shade of lace or finest muslin. And in winter no invention can exceed the Trans-Baltic coat or Lapland-wrap. These comfortable shields from the cold are usually formed of cloth or velvet, with deep collars and cuffs of sable, or other well-contrasted fur. Ladies of the first nobility usually have them lined throughout with the same costly skins. These garments wrap over the figure in front; sometimes they have them without other ornament than their bordering furs; and at others, fasten them with magnificent clasps and buckles. We have seen one of these coats (or, as northern travellers denominate them, shoubs,) on a female of high rank, composed of crimson-velvet, with deep cuffs, cape and collar of spotted ermine, and a deep border of the same down the sides. It had a superb effect; and, with the imperial helmet-hat of the same material, exhibited one of the most sumptuous carriage costumes that can be imagined.

“When this dress is adopted by the pedestrian fair, we recommend it to be of a more sober hue, and that the bonnet should be of the provincial poke or cottage form.

“Short women destroy the symmetry of their forms, and encumber their charms, with redundancy of ornament, either in their morning or evening attires. A little woman, befeathered and furbelowed, looks like a queen of the Bantam tribe; and we dare not approach her for fear of ruffling her plumes. Feathers are much in vogue; and though formerly a symbol of full dress, are now often a mark of graceful negligence, and are seen falling carelessly, and floating with ease; they kiss the rosy cheek of youth and health; or, less courteous, steal the vermilion from the painted face of fading maturity, as, fanned by the spiteful breeze, they wave from her bonneted head in the gay promenade.

“We love to see our countrywomen remarkable for elegance and modesty, as well as beauty. Englishmen, accustomed to objects of undisputed loveliness, aim at something beyond the surface of external charms; they require that all should be fair within.

“Hear what a male writer has observed on the fashion of exposing the bosom! ‘A woman, proud of her beauty,’ says he, ‘may possibly be nothing but a coquette; one who makes a public display of her bosom, is something worse.’ This writer insinuates too much; for we believe that so far from our females being actuated in this case by any unbecoming motive, they too commonly act from no motive at all, save that blind and mistaken one which we have so much condemned—the heedless adoption of an absurdity because it is the fashion! But let the inconsiderate beauty remember, that where two motives can be assigned to an action, the world will generally adopt that which is least favorable!”

Though I have made this extract, which enters so intimately into the secrets of the toilet, and descants so engagingly on its attractive subject, I must desire that it may not be supposed I would seek to create an inordinate degree of care respecting that which is comparatively of no account, when placed in competition with the indispensable qualities and acquirements which ought to adorn the Christian maid. I would have my fair friends be fully impressed with the truth, that it is not she who spends the most time at her toilet that is usually the best dressed; a too zealous care generally subverts the effect it was meant to produce. It is very easy to “varnish till the painting disappears.” A multiplicity of ornaments ever distracts the attention, and detracts from feminine loveliness. They are regarded as a sort of make weights in a scale, where nature must have been a niggard to render them necessary.

In the like manner, a diversity of colors bespeaks vulgarity of taste, and a mind without innate elegance or acquired culture. Where doubt may be about this or that hue being becoming or genteel (as it is very possible it may neither be the one nor the other,) let the puzzled beauty leave both, and securely array herself in simple white, “pure as her mind.” That primeval hue never offends, and frequently is the most graceful robe that youth and loveliness can wear. “It is inconceivable,” says a writer on the subject, “how much the color of a gown or a shawl may heighten or destroy the beauty of a complexion; and how much the sex in general neglect these (to them) important particulars.” Every consideration must yield to the prevailing mode; and to this tyrant all advantages are sacrificed. Women no longer consult their figures, but the whim of the moment; and it is sufficient for them that the Duchess of D——, or the Marchioness of E——, appeared in murry color or coquelicot, to make all the belles in England, black, brown, or fair, array themselves in the same livery.

Nothing contributes more to the setting forth of the beauties of a complexion than the choice of the colors opposed to it. Women should not only be nice in this adaptation, but they must be careful that the different shades or hues they admit in the various parts of their garments should accord with each other.

Here it is that we distinguish the woman of taste from the hoyden, ready to employ a pedlar’s pack upon her shoulders. To attempt to contrast two shades of the same color, has in general a very harsh effect; indeed I never saw it harmonize in the least, except in the case of two greens as a trimming; or in the beautiful blending of nature in the form and hues of flowers.

It is also not unworthy of remark, that colors which are to make a part of evening apparel ought to be chosen by candle-light; for if in the morning, forgetful of the influence of different lights on these things, you purchase a robe of pale yellow, purple, lilac, or rose-color, you will be greatly disappointed when at night it is observed to you that your dress is either dingy, foxy, or black.

The harmonious assortment of well-chosen colors was once quite a science amongst women; and even now it may not only be considered as a specimen of delicate taste, but a proof of that genius which, if cultivated, might distil the hues of Iris over the animated canvass fraught with beauty and life.

This union of a thousand dyes, “by nature’s pure and cunning hand laid on,” cannot be found in greater perfection than in the resplendent lap of summer; then the earth teems with gay enchantment, and presents to the fair wanderers through her fragrant bowers the loveliest raiment for their beauties. This animating and native ornament, so interesting and charming in itself, should ever find a place on the toilet of youth. How can a beauteous young woman (the fairest production of creation) be more suitably adorned than with this sweet apparel of the fairest season? It is uniting “sweets to the sweet.” Flowers recall so many pleasing images to the mind, that when a beholder sees them, he is ever put in a temper to admire; and, when they are found blended with the beauties of a lovely girl, the effect is irresistible.

The simple wreath of roses, the jessamine, the lily of the valley, the snow-drop, the brilliant ranunculus, and a long train of rival sweets, offer themselves at the shrine of female taste. From this rich assemblage are selected and formed those delicious garlands which deck the snowy brows of Celia, which twine with Chloe’s golden hair. From this fair parterre we collect the variegated bouquet, which, reposing on the bosom of beauty, mingles its fragrant breath with hers.

This tender, this exquisite sweetness, which we inhale from the lily, the rose, or the violet, is far preferable to all the extracted perfumes that ever were wafted “from Indus to the pole.” They are not only purer and more balmy; but, when, on approaching a lovely woman, we find, not only our eye delighted with the sight of beauty, but our senses “wrapped in the sweet embrace of soft perfumes;” when it is not the preconcerted fragrancy of essences drawn from east to west, and poured upon the fair with the design to affect our senses; then we yield ourselves to the lovely breathing of nature. We see her in the charming creature before us, blooming in youth and freshness; we feel her in the thousand odors of Paradise emanating from the newly-plucked flowers, which seem to share her being, imbibing and partaking sweetness.

Amidst the variety of materials with which women decorate their persons, there is not one that requires greater discrimination in the use than those articles of jewelry which we denominate trinkets. Here good taste, the general regulatrix, now resumes her sway. The blind directress of the luxuriant imagination gives grace to solidity, and consequence to trifles. Her magic spirit breathes in the laurels of the hero, dwells on the lip of oratory, and sparkles in the gem that decorates the fair!

To women of the most exalted as well as of the more humble ranks, we recommend a moderate, rather than a profuse, display of conspicuous and showy ornaments. A well-educated taste ought to open the eyes of a woman to be a tolerably correct judge of the perfections or imperfections of her own person; and by that judgment she ought to regulate the adoption or rejection of striking decoration.

It is well to remind my youthful reader that she can never learn these truths (when they are on the defective side) but from the decisions of her own impartial mind. Few women, much less men, would venture to say to an improperly dressed young lady,—“Madam, your fingers are two clumsy to wear with advantage that brilliant ring;—your neck and arms are two meagre, discolored, or coarse, to adopt the pearl bracelet or necklace; unless, indeed, you soften the contrast by putting a lace shirt and long sleeves between your skin and the pearls.” These observations would place the too frank adviser in a similar situation with that of Gil Blas when correcting the manuscripts of the conceited Prelate of Granada;—and, therefore, we cannot expect that any friend should run the risk of incurring our resentment, when they might retain our favor by only permitting us to make ourselves as ridiculous as we please.

Let me then, in the light of an author, who cannot be supposed, in a general address, to mean any individual personal reflections, admonish my readers, one and all, not to neglect composing their complexions with the hues and brilliancy of the gems offered to them to wear. Clear brunettes shine with the greatest lustre when they adopt pearls, diamonds, topazes, and bright amber. The fair beauty may also wear all these with advantage, while she exclusively claims as her own, emeralds, garnets, amethysts, rubies, onyxes, &c. &c. Cornelian, coral, and jet, may be worn by either; but certainly produce the most pleasing effect on the rose and lily complexion.

Ornaments and trimmings of silver are to be preferred to gold, when intended for the fair beauty. The white lustre of the first of these costly metals harmonizes better with delicacy of skin than the glaring effulgence of the gold. By a parity of reasoning, gold agrees better with the brunette, as its yellow and flaming hue lights up the fire of her eyes, and exhibits her complexion in the brightest contrast.

If the clavicle, or collar-bone, be too apparent, either from accidental thinness or original shape, remedy the defect by letting the necklace fall immediately into the cavity which the ungraceful projection occasions. But should this bone protrude itself to an absolutely ugly extent, I would recommend the neck to be completely covered by a lace handkerchief and frill; for its exposure would only give a bad specimen of a figure which may be, in every other part, of a just and fine proportion.

If the prevailing fashion be to reject the long sleeve, and to partially display the arm, let the glove advance considerably above the elbow, and there be fastened with a drawing-string, or armlet. But this should only be the case when the arm is muscular, coarse, or scraggy. When it is fair, smooth, and round, it will admit of the glove being pushed down to a little above the wrists.

There is perhaps no single beauty of the female form which obtains so much admiration as a well-proportioned foot and ankle. Possibly the liveliness of this sentiment may be increased in this instance by the rarity of the perfection being found amongst the British fair.

There is a je ne sais quoi in a fine ankle, which seems to assure the gazer that the whole of the form, of which it is a sample, is shaped with the same exquisite grace. A heavy leg and foot seems to hint that the whole of the limbs which the drapery conceals are in a gravitating proportion with their clumsy foundations; and where we see ponderosity of body, we are apt to conclude that there is equal heaviness in mind and feelings. This may be an unjust mode of reasoning, but it is a very common one; and so I account for the general prejudice against any unusual weight in the lower extremities.

When we consider that it required the famous sculptor of Greece to collect the most beautiful virgins from every part of his country before he could find a living model for every part of his projected statue of perfect beauty; when we consider this, that the very native land of female charms could not produce one woman completely faultless in her form—how can we be so unreasonable as to demand such perfection in a daughter of Britain?

Let not the other sex scrutinize too closely, nor demand that universal and correct symmetry in their wives and daughters, which was never yet found but in the elaborately chiseled models of the sculptor’s study.

It must not, however, be presumed from what I have said, that the generality of other countries are happier in the beautiful formation of their women’s forms than England, or that the British fair are at all more notorious than many other nations for heavy feet and legs. So far from it, there are ladies in England with feet and ankles of so delicate a symmetry, that there is nothing in modelling or in marble to excel their perfection. But to make a display of them—to exhibit them by unusually short petticoats, and draw attention by extraordinary gay attire, is an instance of immodesty and ill-taste, which attracts contempt instead of admiration. Men despise her for her impropriety, and envious women have a fair subject on which to ground their detractions.

In short, it can never be sufficiently inculcated, that modesty is the most graceful ornament of beauty.

Be the foot eminently handsome, or the reverse, it alike requires to be arrayed soberly. Except on certain brilliant occasions, its shoe should be confined to grave and clean-looking colors; of the first, black, grays, and browns; of the last, white, nankeen, pale-blue, green, &c., according to the color of the dress, and the time of day. I should suppose it almost useless to say, that (except in a carriage) the dark colors ought to be preferred in a morning. To be sure, there is nothing out of character in wearing nankeen shoes or half-boots in the early part of the day, even in walking, provided the other parts of your dress be spotless white, or of the same buff hue. The other delicate colors I have mentioned above (I repeat, except in a carriage) are confined to evening dresses. Red morocco, scarlet, and those very vivid hues, cannot be worn with any propriety until winter, when the color of the mantle or pelisse may sanction its fulness. On brilliant assembly nights, or court drawing-rooms, the spangled or diamond-decorated slipper has a magnificent and appropriate effect. But for the raiment of the leg, we totally disapprove, at all times, of the much ornamented stocking.

The open-wove clock and instep, instead of displaying fine proportion, confuse the contour; and may produce an impression of gaiety, but exclude that of beauty, whose rays always strike singly. But if the cloak be a colored or a gold one, as I have sometimes seen, how glaring is the exhibition! how coarse the association of ideas it produces in the fancy! Instead of a woman of refined manners and polished habits, your imagination reverts to the gross and revolting females of Portsmouth-point, or Plymouth-dock; or at least to the hired opera-dancer, whose business it is to make her foot and ankle the principal object which characterizes her charms, and attracts the coup d’œil of the whole assembly.

If I may give my fair friends a hint on this delicate subject, it would be that the finest rounded ankles are most effectually shown by wearing a silk stocking without any clock. The eye then slides easily over the unbroken line, and takes in all its beauties. But when the ankle is rather large, or square, then a pretty unobtrusive net clock, of the same color as the stocking, will be a useful division, and induce the beholder to believe the perfect symmetry of the parts. A very thick leg cannot be disguised or amended; and in this case I can only recommend absolute neatness in the dressing of the limb, and petticoats so long that there is hardly a chance of its ever being seen.

One cause of thick ankles in young women is want of exercise, and abiding much in overheated rooms. Standing too long has often the same effect, by subjecting the limb to an unnatural load, and therefore to swelling. The only preventive, or cure, for this malady, is a strict attention to health. You might as well expect to see a rose-bush spring, bud, and bloom, in a closely-pent oven, as anticipate fine proportions and complexion from a long continuance of the exotic fashions of modern days.

If a girl wishes to be well-shaped and well-complexioned, she must use due exercise on foot. Horseback is an excellent auxiliary, as it gives much the same degree of motion, with double the animation, in consequence of the change of air, and variation of objects; but carriage exercise is so little, that we cannot recommend it to any case that is short of an absolute invalid. A woman in respectable health must walk, to maintain her happy temperament. By this she will still more consolidate her solids, and preserve the shape with which nature has kindly endowed her. If it was originally fine, it will remain; and if it was but ordinary, it will at least save itself from growing deformed.

ON DEPORTMENT.

Having discoursed so largely on form and apparel, I shall now throw together a few hints on that indispensable assistant-grace of beauty, an elegant and appropriate air.

This subject should be particularly considered; and the arguments from such reflections strongly enforced on the attention of young women. There is scarcely an observer of manners and their effects, who will not maintain that the most beautiful and well-dressed woman will soon cease to please, unless her charms are accompanied with the ineffable enchantment of a graceful demeanor. A pretty face may be seen every day, but grace and elegance, being generally the offspring of a polished mind, are more distinguished.

While we exult in the pre-eminent beauty of our fair countrywomen; while we talk of their lilies and roses, and downy skins; we cannot but shrink from comparison when we bring their manners in parallel with the females of other nations, who have not half their corporeal advantages.

I am not going to deny, that in this land of beauty, (a land to which a certain cardinal, many centuries ago, gave the appellation of the native paradise of angels!) we shall find the fair

There are many lovely women of all ranks in England who merit this encomium: but I am not writing an eulogium on these happy exceptions; I feel it my duty to admonish the general race of my female contemporaries. To the rising generation I especially address myself; and when the young belle in her teens listens to the suggestions of experience, perhaps the advice may not be quite so unpalatable, when she understands that it comes from one who has studied the graces at more than one of the courts of the Bourbons; and, since their dispersion, has followed the flight of elegance wherever it was to be found.

The awkward, reserved air of the early part of the last century has given way, not to grace and frankness, but to an unblushing impudence, which is the very assassin of female virtue and connubial honor. Think not I am too severe, ye indulgent mothers! regard me not as a cynic, ye thoughtless daughters of imitation! I mean not to arraign your hearts, but your manners; I seek to pluck the garb of Phryné from your chaste and Christian shoulders. Who, that is an actress, when called upon to perform the part of spotless Virginia, would rush upon the stage half naked, dancing, rolling her eyes as if intoxicated, and flirting with every officer of the pretorian guard who crossed her path? In such a case should we not call the actress mad? or say, “If such were Virginia, he performed a rash and unnecessary act, who avenged the insulted person of such a wanton on the first magistrate of Rome!”

Yet such Virginias are our Virginias! and to see a modest, abashed, retiring, blushing girl enter one of our assemblies, is as uncommon a sight as now and then an embassy from a foreign land. The modern taste for exhibitions of all kinds is the chief source of this depravity; a girl is no longer taught to dance that she may move easily in the occasional festivities of her neighborhood, and enjoy the graceful exercise of a birth-day or a race ball, without annoying the movements of her companions. No! these are not sufficient: she takes her lessons of the corps de ballet, that she may present herself in the ball-room or on a stage; and while the motions of her limbs, and the exposure of her person, scandalize every discreet matron present, she believes herself the object of general admiration, the very ne plus ultra of the art. In like manner, her musical talents are cultivated. She does not learn to compose, with her sweet lullaby, the unquiet hours of old age or of sickness, to rest and sleep: enough for her relations, father, brothers, husband, that she practises all day the crude and disagreeable parts of her lessons. It is for the guest, the gay assembly, the concert of amateurs, that she reserves her harmonies; and to them she sings and plays till she believes herself the tenth muse, and them her adorers.

Can we be surprised that from such an education should be produced the vain, the conceited, the presumptuous, the impudent?

To check this growing evil, by showing the young candidate for admiration what is “woman’s best knowledge and her praise;” to show her what is indeed the proper, the graceful, the winning deportment, is the design of these few following pages; and I trust that my young reader will receive them as the admonition of a tender and experienced parent, and not allow “a mother’s precepts to be vain!”

Having laid it down as a first principle, that no demeanor, whether in a princess or a country girl, can be becoming that is not grounded in feminine delicacy, I shall proceed to show, that a different deportment is expected from different persons. Certain characteristics of persons are suited to certain styles of manner; and also the same demeanor does not agree as well with the steward’s daughter as the squire’s bride.

As in a former chapter I have particularized the dresses which are adapted to the gay and the grave, so in the next I propose pointing out the appropriate miens which belong to the various degrees of beauty and classes of society.

PECULIARITIES IN CARRIAGE AND DEMEANOR.

As order is the beautiful harmonizer of the universe, so consistency is the graceful combiner of all that is in woman to perfection.

In reference to this sentiment, her manners must bear due affinity with her figure, and her deportment with her rank. The youthful and delicate-shaped girl is allowed a gaiety of air which would ill become a women of maturer years and larger proportions; but at all times of life, when the figure is slender, a swan-like neck, and the motions are naturally swaying, for that girl, or that woman, to affect what is called a majestic air, would be as unavailing as absurd. It is not in the power of a figure so constructed ever to look majestic. By stiffening her joints, walking with an erect mien, and drawing up her neck, she would certainly be upright; she would seem to have had a determined dancing-master, who, in spite of nature and grace, had made her hold up her head; but she would never look like anything but a stiff, inelegant creature. The character of these slight forms corresponds with their resemblances in the vegetable world: the aspen, the willow, bend their gentle heads at every passing breeze, and their flexible and tender arms toss in the wind with grace and beauty: such is the woman of delicate proportions. She must enter a room either with the buoyant step of a young nymph, if youth is her passport to sportiveness; or, if she is advanced nearer the meridian of life, she then may glide in, with that ease of manner which gives play to all the graceful motions of her elegantly undulating form. For her to crane up her neck, would be to change its fine swan-like bend into the scraggy throat of the ostrich: all her movements should be of a flexible character. Her mode of salutation should be rather a bow than a courtesy; and when she sits, she should model her easy attitude rather by the ideas of the painter, when he would pourtray a reclining nymph, than according to the lessons of the grace-destroying governess, who would marshal her pupils on their chairs like a rank of drilled recruits. In short, for a slender or thin woman, to be stiff at any time, is, in the first case, to render of no effect the advantages of nature; and, in the next, to increase and aggravate her defects, by making it more conspicuous by a constrained and ridiculous carriage.

Though we cannot unite the majestic air which declares command with this easy, nymph-like deportment, the dignity of modesty may be its inseparable companion. The timid, the retreating step; the downcast eye; the varying complexion, “blushing at the deep regard she draws!” all these belong to this class of females; and they are charms so truly feminine, so exquisitely lovely, that I cannot but place them with their counterpart, the ethereal form, as the perfection of female beauty.

The woman whose figure bears nature’s own stamp of majesty, is generally of a stately make; her person is squarer, and has more of embonpoint than the foregoing. The very muscles of her neck are so formed as to show their adaptation to an erect posture. There is a sort of loftiness in the natural movement of her head, in the high swell of her expansive bosom. The step of this woman should be grave and firm: her motions few and commanding; and the carriage of her head and person erect and steady. An excess in stateliness could not have any worse effect on her, than perverting the majesty of nature into the haughtiness of art. We might admire or revere the first; the last we would probably resent and detest. The dignified beauty must therefore beware of overstraining the natural bent of her character: it is like the bombast of exalted language which never fails to lose its aim, and engender disgust. We might laugh at a delicate girl, so far exaggerating the pliancy of her form and ease of manners, as to twist herself into the thousand antics of a Columbine: she aims at pleasing us, and though she chooses the wrong method, we will not frown, but only smile at the ridiculous exhibition. But when a majestic fair one presumes to arrogate an undue consequence in her air, it is not to gratify our senses that she assumes the extraordinary diadem: and, irritated at the contempt her greatness would wish to throw upon us inferior personages, we treat her like an usurper; and, armed with a sense of injustice, we determine to pull her at once from her throne.

The easy, graceful air, we see, belongs exclusively to the slender beauty, and the moderated majestic mien to a greater embonpoint.

There is a race of women whose persons have no determined character. These must regulate and adopt their demeanors according to the degrees in which they approach the two before-mentioned classes. But in all cases, let it never be forgotten, that a too faint copy of a model is better than an overcharged one. Excess is always bad. Moderation never offends. By falling easily into the degree of undulating grace, or the dignified demeanor which suits your character, you merely put on the robe which nature designed, and the habit will be fit and becoming.

But when the nymph-like form assumes a regal port, or a commanding dame pretends to “skip and play,” the affectation on both sides is equally absurd: discords of this kind are ever ridiculous and odious. Besides these, there are affectations of other descriptions, of equal folly and bad effect. Some ladies, to whom nature has given a good sight, and lovely orbs to look through, must needs pretend a kind of half-blindness, and they go peeping about through an eye-glass, dangling at the end of a long gold chain, hanging at their necks. Not content with this affectation of one defect, they assume another, and lisp so inarticulately, that hardly three words in a sentence are intelligible. All such follies as these are not more a death-blow to all respect for the novice that plays them off, than they are sure antidotes to any charms she may possess. Simplicity is the perfection of form; simplicity is the perfection of fine dressing; simplicity is the perfection of air and manners.

In the details of carriage, we must not omit a due attention to gait, and its accompanying air. We find that it was “by her graceful walk the Queen of Love was known!” In this particular, the French women far exceed us. Pope observes, that “they move easiest who have learnt to dance.” And it is the step of the highly-accomplished dancer that we see in the generality of well-bred Frenchwomen; not the march of the military sergeant, which is the usual study with our pedestrian Graces. There is a buoyant lightness, a dignified ease in the walk of a lady, who has been taught the use of her limbs by a fine dancer, which is never seen in her who has been drilled by the halbert, and told to stand at ease with her hands resting on her stomach, as if reposing on the trigger of her fire-lock. Such a way as we have fallen upon to teach our daughters the graceful step of the Queen of Love, is, indeed, so singular, that until another race of Amazons arise, to whom military tactics may be useful, we have no chance of any imitators. Indeed, the marching walk of Englishwomen is so ridiculous, even in the eyes of their own countrymen, that I remember of being one day in St. James’s Park, with one of these female recruits, when a sentinel, with a humorous gravity, struck his musket to her as she passed.

Both in the case of air and gait, it is necessary to begin early to train the person and the limbs to the ease and grace you wish. It is difficult to straighten the stem long left to diverge into irregular wildness; but the tender tree, pliant in youth, needs only the directing hand of a careful gardener to train it to symmetry and luxuriance.

Many of the naturally most pleasing parts of the female shape have I seen assume an appearance absolutely disgusting; and all form an outre air, vulgar manners, or hoydening postures. The bosom, which should be prominent, by a lounging attitude, sinks into slovenly flatness, rounding the back, and projecting the shoulders! On the one side, I have seen a finely-proportioned figure transform herself into a perfect fright by this awkward neglect of all propriety and grace; and, on the other, I am acquainted with a lady, whose beauty, taken in the common acceptation of the word, would not obtain her a second look, but in the elegance of her manners, in the dignity of her carriage, in the taste and disposition of her attire, and in the thousand inexpressible charms which distinguish the gentlewoman, she is so powerful that none can behold her without captivation.

A late author, in a work entitled, “Remarks on the English and French Ladies,” very ably points out the superior attention which the women of France pay to the cultivation of their air and manners; and he proceeds, with no inconsiderable degree of eloquence, to exhort the British fair not to lose, by a careless neglect, the advantages which nature has given them over the belles of la grande nation.

“It must not be dissembled,” says this writer, “that our much fairer countrywomen (the English) are too often apt to forget that native charms may receive considerable improvement by attending to the regulation of carriage and motion. They ought to be reminded, that it is chiefly by an attention of this kind, that the Frenchwomen, though unable to rival them in such exterior perfections as are the gift of nature, attain, however, to a degree of eminence in other accomplishments, that effaces the recollection of their inferiority in personal charms.” He proceeds to observe, that “the gracefulness of a French lady’s step is always a subject of high commendation in the mouth even of Frenchmen;” and again he says, “conscious where their advantage lies, they spare no pains to improve that grace of manner, that fund of vivacity, which are in their nature so agreeable, and which they know so well how to manage to the best effect.”

My intimacy with the French manners makes me quote these short extracts with greater pleasure; and as I bear witness to the truth of their evidence, I hope that an amiable ambition will unite in the breasts of the British fair, to rise as much superior to their French rivals in all feminine graces, as our British heroes are to the French on the seas! We shall then see cultivated understandings, unaffected cheerfulness, and manners of an enchantment not to be exceeded by the fairest sorceresses in beauty and grace.

Sorceresses I would make you, my gentle friends; but your spells should be those of nature and of virtue. While I exhort you to preserve your persons in comeliness, to array yourselves in elegance and sweet attractive grace, I would not lead you to believe, that these are all your charms; that these are sufficient “to take the captive soul of love, and lap it in Elysium!” No; woman was created for higher attainments; many a heart was formed to pant for dearer joys than these can produce. Woman must, in every respect, and at all times, regard her form as a secondary object; her mind is the point of her first attention; it is the strength of her power; the part that links her with angels; and, as such, she must respect, cultivate, and exalt it.

But as these familiar pages are expressly intended as a little treatise on the dress of these admirable qualities, I do not suppose it demanded of me to enter so minutely into the subject of mind, as I otherwise should have esteemed it my duty. We have before admitted, that while on this earth wandering amongst the erring and voluptuous sons of men, virtue must be clad in an attractive garb, else few will love her for herself. To this end, then, like Solon of Athens, I give the best directions the inmates of this gay world are capable of receiving—though, perhaps, not the best I could lay down. I would win the too earth-clinging soul by his senses, to give up his sensual enjoyments, and, caught by earthly charms, see and feel his connexion, and leaving the grosser part, aspire to mingle being with those alone which partake of immortality.

It is not by the showy attire of meretricious splendor, by the seductive air of Sybaritical refinement, that I would effect this. “It is good that virtue keep ever with its like!” my means should ever be consistent with their object. So, with me, beauty, elegance, and grace, should be the only pleaders for the empire of morals and religion. On these principles, as I am aware that the most estimable and amiable qualities adorn the wives and daughters of our isle, I cannot but be the more solicitous that their outward deportment and appearance should exhibit a fair specimen of their inward worth.

“An upright heart, and sensibility of soul, are doubtlessly the most noble qualifications of the fair sex. These, Englishwomen possess in an eminent degree. But there are lighter, and perhaps more catching attractions, which, though they will not bear a competition, are nevertheless great smoothers of the rough passages of life, and very necessary conducives to social happiness.”

It is the opinion of wiser heads than mine, that no circumstance, however trifling in itself, should be neglected, which strengthens the bonds of an honorable and mutual attachment; and so great is the privilege allowed for this purpose, that it is deemed laudable in woman to collect into herself all the innocent advantages, mentally and corporeally, which may render her most admirable and precious in the eyes of him who may be, or is, her husband.

This latter sentiment reminds me to impress upon my young friend, that there are shades of demeanor which must be varied according to the sex, degree, and affinity of the persons with whom she converses. To men of all ranks and relations, she must ever hold a reserve on certain subjects, and indeed on almost every occasion, that she does not deem necessary to observe with regard to her own sex. To inferiors of both sexes she must ever preserve a gracious condescension; but to the men a certain air of majesty must be mixed with it, that she need not assume to the women. To her equals, particularly of the male sex, her manners must never lose sight of a dignity sufficient to remind them that she expects respect will be joined with probable intimacy. In short, no intimacy should ever be so familiar as to allow of any infringement on the decent reserves which are the only preservers of refinement in friendship and love. What are called cronies amongst girls, are among the worst of connexions, as they generally are the very hotbeds of fancified love-fits, secrecies, and really vulgar tale-bearing.

This friendship is indeed the gift of Heaven—a boon more precious than much fine gold; but it is not usually to be found in school cronies, or in the confidence of misses, whose unbosomings usually consist of flirtations, complaints against parents and guardians, and schemes for future parties of pleasure. Friendship is too sacred for these pretenders; under her influence, “heart meets heart,” and acknowledges her as the pledge of Heaven to man, of immortality, and endless joys. To such an intimate your whole soul may be laid open. But such an intimate is rare. You may meet her once in the shape of a female friend, and in that of a tender husband! But believe not that her appearance will be more frequent. Hers are “like angels’ visits, few and far between!” Earth would be too much like heaven were it otherwise.

To the generality, then, of your equals, while you are affable and amiable with them all, you must be intimate with few, and preserve an ingenuous reserve with most. Show them your sense of propriety demands a certain distance, and with redoubled respect they will yield what you require. With men of your acquaintance, you ought to be more reserved than with women. But while I counsel such dignity of manners, you must not suppose that I mean starchness, stiffness, prudery; I only recommend the modesty of the virgin—the sober dignity of matron years.

The present familiarity between the sexes is both shocking to delicacy, and to the interests of women. Woman is now treated by the generality of men with a freedom that levels her with the commonest and most vulgar objects of their amusements. She is addressed as unceremoniously, treated as cavalierly, and left as abruptly, as the veriest puppet they could pick up at a Bartholomew Fair.

We no longer see the respectful bow, the look of polite attention, when a gentleman approaches a lady. He runs up to her; he seizes her by the hand, shakes it roughly, asks a few questions, and, to show that he has no interest in her answers, flies off again before she can make a reply.

To cure our coxcombs of this conceited impertinence, I would strongly exhort my young and lovely readers. When any man, who is not privileged by the right of friendship or of kindred, to address her with an air of affection, attempts to take her hand, let her withdraw it immediately, with an air so declarative of displeasure, that he shall not presume to repeat the offence. At no time ought she to volunteer shaking hands with a male acquaintance, who holds not any particular bond of esteem with regard to herself or family. A touch, a pressure of the hands, are the only external signs a woman can give of entertaining a particular regard for certain individuals; and to lavish this valuable power of expression upon all comers, upon the impudent and contemptible, is an indelicate extravagance which, I hope, needs only to be exposed to be put forever out of countenance.

As to the salute, the pressure of the lips—that is an interchange of affectionate greeting, or tender farewell, sacred to the dearest connexions alone. Our parents—our brothers—our near kindred—our husband—our lover, ready to become our husband,—our bosom’s inmate, the friend of our heart’s core—to them are exclusively consecrated the lips of delicacy, and wo be to her who yields them to the stain of profanation!

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—

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.

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.