BEAUTIES OF MODERN LITERATURE. ACCIDENTAL CIRCUMSTANCES IN LIFE, NOT DEPENDING ON OURSELVES. From a Work entitled "Thoughts on Affectation." BEAUTY. they vainly imagine that ornament and affectation conceal defects, and that talking of unpossessed beauties deceives those who must be blind indeed, could they not perceive the striking difference between loveliness and deformity, which no additions whatever can make less disagreeable; whilst the splendid dress may, on the contrary, attract a degree of notice to the wearer's ugliness, which would have been overlooked had more simplicity been attended to, with less affectation of that which must be natural before it can be AFFECTATION of Beauty so regularly excites the most unbounded ridicule, that it is truly astonishing to see how continually it is practised by the old, the ugly, and even by the most de formed people of both sexes; whose glasses, those never-neglected monitors! so honestly reflect what none but the self-beholder views with eyes of admiration. But honest as the poor looking-glass may be, it seems as if by some enchantment an extraordinary deception takes place, which converts frowns into smiles, death-pleasing. like paleness into a blooming complexion, and awkwardness into grace. This is assuredly one of the wonders of nature, which never yet has been thoroughly explained or understood, although the fact be sufficiently known, and that it hourly takes place; so that I know not whether we are not bound more to extend our pity than our blame, or our derision, to those victims of an incomprehensible delusion; who, really fancythemselves lovely, only adorn with care charms which elegant attire will in their opinions render still more attractive. The extreme attention paid to dress and to fashion by the very ugliest of people, nearly justifies the supposition, that they are actually deceived as to their appearance; since otherwise one should imagine no person who was evidently crooked, could like to talk of their form, or choose to wear a dress particularly adapted to the display of a fine figure: yet it has often been remarked that most people with that defect are uncommonly partial to dress and shew, and that a consequential manner in their walk, with a certain pertness in their tone of voice, seems peculiarly affected by them, as if to assume a dignity which nature has positively denied. It sounds almost incredible to say, that an old woman with fiery red hair, addressed a young one, whose beautiful light ringlets curled over a fair complexion, in the following words: "you and I, who have auburn hair." Yet this did happen; and similar instances occur every day, whilst the old and the ugly unmercifully multiply their loads of finery with the most pitiable folly. Nor are the unfortunate objects, as one could wish were the case, so really self-conceited as always to believe themselves handsoine, though No one ought, it is true, to be proud of beau ty; yet it assuredly bespeaks the approbation of strangers, and is so agreeable a letter of recommendation, that I should certainly tax that person with affectation, who, being handsome, should either pretend ignorance of the circumstance, or indifference about what is wished for or aimed at by most people. Beauty is universally allowed to be a dangerous trial; yet nevertheless those who are modestly conscious of it, may surely with the greatest safety indulge the satisfaction of confessing to themselves their natural advantage, without suf fering that satisfaction to run into vanity, or to sink into the affected ignorance of what they know to be fact. But to be so ashamed of ugliness, which being no fault, is no disgrace, as to endeavour to veil it under the mincing airs of youth and beauty, and by adventitious ornaments to gain some admiration for a form destitute of natural elegance, is a folly approaching to criminality, and certainly leading to dangers of which the imitator of loveliness has at first little idea: for how much comfort, and how much health, have ultimately been sacrificed in the affectation, which, after all, no art can obtain. So much does fashion govern all things, that even beauty itself, which naturally appears to be a positive, a self-evident circumstance; to consist in the regular formation of well-turned limbs, and in symmetry of features; yet submits its pretensions to the arbitrary taste of the times. That which was considered as handsome one year, is not thought so another; and in compliance with the general opinion, people try to appear fat or lean, tall or short, according to the dictates of the ever-varying fancy of the hour! As I well re member young women's drinking vinegar, and half starving themselves, in order to obtain the slender waist which was then in vogue; so have I known the subsequent reign of padding and stuffing, with a view to imitate the plumpness which nature had denied: yet neither could the fat lady conceal her size, nor the thin one succeed in persuading us that she was not a skeleton. High heels, when dignity was as much affected as smartness is at present, only produced a tottering gait, without adding much to the wearer's real stature that once-envied height! which a graceful stoop in the shoulders has lately as assiduously endeavoured to lose; since tall women have not pretended to vie in elegance with the little lively beauties of modern taste. How many a form, in the attainment of a fine shape, has been tortured in bands of steel, and streightened in what may almost be termed coats of mail! and how many a constitution has sunk under the unavailing effort to convert a brown complexion to a snowy whiteness by the dangerous application of paints and washes; which, fine as their names may be in the advertisements recommending their virtues, are invariably composed of the most pernicious materials; the use of which, when unhappily it is once begun, is always persevered in at the hazard of life, rather than be reduced to the mortifying exhibition of a tarnished skin, become by the long practice of art actually disgusting, and to the consequent ac knowledgment of the falsehood which was pre viously attempted. Can a few frivolous compliments lavished on mere appearance, or does the short lived triumph of perhaps a few years, compensate for the loss of limbs; or afford consolation for the misfortune of premature old age? Indeed it seems as if the conscious made-up beauty could enjoy but little pleasure, though she should receive all the adulation she courts, embittered as it must be with continual terror of some unlucky accident, which may discover her shape to be owing to the skill of a stay-maker, her teeth to that of a dentist, her hair to be only a fashionable wig, and her complexion bought at a perfumer's! Let us rather be satisfied with the appearance it has pleased God to give us. We may injure, but shall not mend his works! If we are ugly, let us no otherwise a tempt to adorn that ugliness, than by an endeavour at a constant exercise of good-nature and benevolence, which infuses a pleasing cheerfulness into the least agree. able set of features, and lights up even an ugly countenance with more attraction than can be purchased in all the shops of the metropolis! Should we, after all our attempts to improve our looks by the serenity of temper arising from a cultivation of the most estimable virtues, should we still be so unfortunate as to possess a gloomy and forbidding appearance; let us not even then be mortified or ashamed, but remember · that there is One, to whom our inward thoughts are known; who regards not the outward man, but who loves, and will reward, the beauty of the soul-that which it is in our power (with assistance which, when applied for, will not be withheld) to improve during every hour of our existe ce; to render, under every increased trial or difficulty, less and less unworthy of Almighty mercy and which (without fearing the impu tation of affectedly following that fleeting and most commonly unattainable circumstance, personal attractions) we may strive, and strain every effort, continually to beautify with the beauty of holiness, for which we are commanded unremittingly to labour. UGLINESS. Being desired and admired by no one, Ugliness is indeed so seldom an object of affectation, that I should scarcely have ventured to mention it in that light, were it not that in spite of the insults to which it is not unfrequently exposed, the abhorrence it inspires, and the offence it gives ta all people to hear it imputed to them; yet I am bound to confess that there have been instances, where ugliness, or rather deformity, has been the occasion of a sort of pride to ugly persons, who, conscious of a disagreeable appearance, which nothing could conceal, have stretched the laudable determination to be content with their fate; till meaning to be praised for a meritorious humility, their calling for notice of defects has grown into a troublesome obtrusion of their misfortunes, and has sunk what otherwise would have been pity into downright disgust. This odd, and in its origin well-meant affectation, belonging to ugly people, (for it is not affectation of ugliness itself) by degrees is sometimes converted into absolute pride in those singularities, which are exclusively their own.What else could make an unfortunate dwarf proud of his littleness? and talk with a sort of satisfaction of being still shorter than another, who was mentioned as famous for the same defect? Another instance of actual pride in de-~~ formity has likewise been related to me-of a black man, a trumpeter to a regiment, who was seriously hurt on being told of another regiment, in which there was another trumpeter, still more frightful than himself! This species of pride is however very rare, and it must be acknowledged that a taste for ugliness is not sufficiently prevalent to be productive of much affectation ON FRIENDSHIP. From a Work entitled "Letters, from a Mother to her Daughter, on Religious and Moral Subjects. By M. S." 1 BEHELD the sight of your hand-writing, my beloved Louisa, with as great emotions of transport, as the benighted traveller would feel on discerning the rising moon, or with sensations no less animating than those which would fill|| the breast of a mariner who beheld the beams of the sun dispersing the terrors of a storm! But in truth, you are the sun, which seems to illuminate my earthly prospects, a kind of vivifying luminary which animates my life, and so much does my happiness seem to depend upon your felicity, that though our persons are divided, I think our souls must be entwined. The filial apprehensions so affectingly expressed in your letters, least the climate should ultimately prove prejudicial to my health, I trust I shall remove, by a positive assurance, that I never enjoyed this blessing in a more perfect degree. I am rejoiced at hearing that the pang of separation no longer prevents you, my dear Louisa, from feeling satisfaction in the different enjoyments of life; and the account you give me of the gratification the society of Miss Danvers affords you, imparts almost an equal degree of pleasure to my mind. From your description of this young lady, I am led to imagine, that she possesses all those amiable qualities which you so warmly paint; yet as my feelings with regard to friendship are different to those of the generality of parents, I shall expatiate with some prolixity upon the interesting theme. it is ready to sacrifice the dearest wishes of her heart; but it means a person who contributes to, or promotes those pleasurable amusements, which gives a zest to fashionable life. This, my Louisa, alas! is the too prevalent idea of friendship, and the basis upon which that convenient intercourse is formed; for neither the head or the heart are now consulted in a connection, which has naturally the power of assuaging the severest calamities of life! This censure upon one of the noblest passions that can dignify our nature, may appear to you, my dear girl, both illiberal and severe; but I do not mean generally to condemn all modern friendships,, but only those which come under the denomination of the fashionable kind. In the choice of a friend much care is necessary, and much precaution ought to be observed; a weak mind is incapable of attachment, and a bad temper imperceptibly destroys the firmest regard; yet shining qualities are not so likely to insure a permanency of friendship, as a sensibility of disposition, united to a real goodness of heart. The natural turn of your mind is so ingenuous and unsuspicious, that you will never suspect a character until you have been deceived; and I consider it almost an act of cruelty in me to inform you, that the specious garb of virtue is often assumed by the designing, merely for the purpose of concealing vice-Not, my beloved girl, that I would wish to steel your heart against those attachments, which, if founded upon a proper basis, will enhance the joys of life, but I only wish you never to enter into the sacred engagement of friendship, without being convinced that the object of your affection has a susceptible heart, and a highly principled mind. A fascinating manner, elegance of deportment, and a minute attention to those little civilities which are so much calculated to please have often been mistaken by those, towards whom they were directed, for the most indisputable proofs of friendship and regard. In forming Necessity has been termed the mother of in- your opinion of a character, never be guided by vention, and it is by experience alone that we these appearances, for manners become habitual, can expect to become wise; but I shall never and softness is frequently assumed; but rather think that mine has been too dearly purchased, let your judgment be formed upon little trifling if my beloved Louisa profits by my advice. In circumstances, when the person whose disposithe present age, the sacred name of friend is so tion you are anxious to discover, conceives they prostituted, that it is difficult to define the mo- are not observed. But if you ever perceive in dern meaning of the word; for I grieve to say, the manners of your acquaintance an inattention that in general it does not imply a being who to those duties which religion and virtue require, warmly enters into your interest, and to promote | if you ever hear them venture to treat with The precautions of a mother are generally directed against the insinuating snares which the other sex may lay; but I would guard my Louisa from those which are still more dangerous, and tell her that the arts of females are no less apt to betray! Yet do not suppose I would wish to blast the bud of friendship, or throw a shade upon the fairest flower that ever yet bloomed; I only wish you to select a soil where the plant may become vigorous, instead of one that will corrode or destroy its tender root. serable days, a stranger to every tender senti. ment, and utterly precluded from the heartfelt levity subjects which ought to be held sacred, or On this subject, my dear girl, I am completely able to advise, for by the semblance of amiable qualities, I have too often been deceived; but I hope that the experience which was so dearly purchased, will prevent you from falling into the same snare. Yet do not suppose that I wish to fill your breast with cold suspicion, or lock up the ingenuous emotions of your heart, I am only anxious to caution you against entering into the bonds of friendship, until you are convinced that the being you are attached to, is worthy of regard. The sentiments of this elegant writer, my be loved Louisa, are so perfectly correspondent with my own, that I could not resist the inclination I felt to transcribe them for you, to prove that I do not mean to caution you against entering into the tender league of friendship, but merely to convince you that you ought to study the disposition of the person, towards whom you are inclined to feel sentiments of regard. The being who would attempt to extinguish these sympathetic emotions, which naturally excite affection for the human race, I should cousider as more obnoxious to society than the man who forcibly deprived me of my purse. In cherishing the impulse of general philanthropy, our hearts are imperceptibly prepared to receive impressions of a more delicate kind; and we anxiously look round to find some kindred spirit who is formed to share both our pleasures and our griefs. Friendships which are contracted in the early part of life, are generally more permanent than those which are formed at a later date; for there are so many pleasurable emotions united with the connection, that at once strengthen the links of the interesting chain. Yet at whatever period we have the power of entering into the sacred union, it is an intercourse capable of affording the most exquisite delight, it soothes our sorrow, augments our enjoyments, and is justly described as the balm of life. The Grecian philosophers, incapable of feeling the bliss it afforded, asserted, that "friendship was an affair of self-interest, which was entered into for the sake of receiving a convenient return," and advised their disciples always to contrive to keep the bonds in that loose kind of direction, that they might strengthen or relax them, as necessity required. "Excellent and obliging sages," says Melmoth, in his translation of Cicero's Lælius, "to strike out the friendly affections from the moral world, would be like extinguish-with the eye of affection, a still greater number ing the sun from the natural one, each of them being the source of the best and most grateful satisfactions, that heaven has conferred upon the sons of men." · If sensibility, therefore, be not incompatible with true wisdom (and it surely is not, unless we suppose that philosophy deadens every finer feeling of the heart) what reason can be assigned for these philosophers wishing to degrade friendship, by bestowing upon that delightful passion a self-interested name?" Ye Gods!" continues the eloquent Cicero, "is there a man upon the face of the earth, who would deliberately accept of all the wealth and all the affluence this world can bestow, if offered to him upon the severe terms of his being unconnected with a single mortal whom he could love, or by whom he should be beloved? This would be to lead the life of a detested tyrant, who amidst perpetual suspicions and alarms passed his mi I have cautioned you, my beloved girl, against forming a close intimacy with any being who appeared deficient in religious duties, or in filial regard; I must now endeavour to prevent you from expecting to find perfection in creatures to whom frailty appears to belong. Young people are apt to form romantic ideas upon this subject, and to invest those they are attached to with virtues which in fact do not exist; and the consequence of this is, that time discovers to them they have been partial to a chimera, that existed but in their brain. Through the partial veil which parental fondness throws over my Louisa's imperfections, still many little failings are to be observed, and to those who do not behold her may possibly be discerned. Never, therefore, expect to find a friend devoid of imperfection, or suppose that perfect goodness exists in the human heart; but when you discover a mote in the eye of a brother, remember the beam that is in your own. Seneca observes, "that it requires time to deliberate upon friendship; but the resolution once taken, my friend is entitled to the secrets of my heart, and I look upon my thoughts to be as safe in his breast as my own." The sentiments of this wise and celebrated philosopher differ widely from those which some more modern theorists have taught, who advise that we should treat our friends with that prudent precaution, as if we expected they would one day become our foes. Far be it from me, my beloved Louisa, ever to advise you to treat your friends with coldness or reserve, yet I would caution you against disclosing all your secrets, until you have received some decided proofs of th rectitude of their hearts. Candour and sincerity compose an essential part of friendship, but recollect that the secrets of another ought carefully to be concealed; and though you may wish your friend to share the inmost thoughts of your own bosom, you must never disclose any circumstance that has been entrusted to yourself. STATE OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS. PUBLIC RECREATIONS OF PARIS. L'OPERA BUFFA, OR Italian Comic Opera, after all, is the only true school for vocal music in Paris; I presume to say true, because the management of the voice, the beauty of air, and the art of accompaniment, are the peculiar attributes of the Italian school. There are at present no very capital singers at this theatre. If, however, the vocal performers here are not great, they are at least good; if there are, to use an expression, no meteors, there are many fixed stars. Paesiello is at this time at Paris, and has produced several new operas at this theatre. He is also a frequent auditor of his own beautiful productions. The orchestra here is more sparingly charged with loud instruments of effect, than at the French serious opera. It being the principle of the Italian school to accompany, and not to overpower the voice. The hall of this theatre is spacious, and simply elegant and being the only Italian theatre in Paris, it is always sure to be filled by the most fashionable classes of society. The curtain of this theatre represents a rural temple, decorated with flowers. In three seperate compartments are pourtrayed the musical representatives of the Italian school; and on the base of the pedestals are the following inscriptions:-VENEZIA, Napoli, RoMA. To the above review of the principal theatres, expressly dedicated to music, little remains to be added further than a general conclusion. It will be seen that the French have judiciously detached the various branches of the musical drama, by a total separation of the serious opera, comic opera, and Italian opera. This is certainly highly politic, as it gives each species of music the greater opportunity of arriving to perfection. But in doing this they have let national vanity get the better of reason: for they have totally excluded the Italian serious opera, in order to give the serious opera in their own unmusical language. Thus they have wholly shut up the grand school for the more sublime Italian music; and have thereby prevented many of the finest Italian operas from being heard. In all other respects the French theatres have well defined the several branches of the musical drama; which, on the whole, they have, much to their honour, brought to considerable perfection. THEATRE FRANCAIS, Or the Theatre of the National Drama. In order justly to weigh the merits of this theatre, it is previously necessary to possess a clear know. edge of the language, style of the authors, merits of the performers, and taste of the audithemselves in the present instance, I can only ence; but as these qualifications do not attach presume to speak generally. Acting here is apparently a profound science; the most studious attention is paid to look, action, attitude, dress, decoration, and every finesse of the scene. Talma is the hero of this theatre, and the idol of the Parisians. He is, without doubt, a great actor. Indeed every performer on this stage possesses superior merit; certainly a necessary qualification here, since the avowed object of this theatre is the perfection of the national drama. The Parisians appear to be very partial to this theatre. Indeed the acting must be very superior, where a people so devoted to music and dancing, will forego both opera and ballet, to witness, with enthusiasm, the representation of a tragedy or comedy, although it should be in verse. The hall of this theatre is large and noble. Here is also a good orchestra, but its chief business is to play characteristic music between the acts. |