Mamma looks sensible and judicious, and tells the girls they ought not to see what people are wearing in church on Sundays; but it becomes evident, before the week is through, that she has not forgotten the observation. She is anxiously pricing visites, and looking thoughtful as one on the eve of an important determination; and the next Sunday the girls appear in full splendor, with new visites, to the increasing horror of Mrs. N.
So goes the shuttlec.o.c.k back and forward, kept up on both sides by most judicious hands.
In like manner, at a modern party, a circle of matrons sit in edifying conclave, and lament the degeneracy of the age.
"These parties that begin at nine o"clock and end at two or three in the morning are shameful things," says fat Mrs. Q., complacently fanning herself. (N. B. Mrs. Q. is plotting to have one the very next week, and has come just to see the fashions.)
"O, dreadful, dreadful!" exclaim, in one chorus, meek Mrs. M., and tall Mrs. F., and stiff Mrs. J.
"They are very unhealthy," says Mrs. F.
"They disturb all family order," says Mrs. J.
"They make one so sleepy the next day," says Mrs. M.
"They are very laborious to get up, and entirely useless," says Mrs. Q.; at the same time counting across the room the people that she shall invite next week.
Mrs. M. and Mrs. F. diverge into a most edifying strain of moral reflections on the improvement of time, the necessity of sobriety and moderation, the evils of conformity to the world, till one is tempted to feel that the tract society ought to have their remarks for general circulation, were one not damped by the certain knowledge that before the winter is out each of these ladies will give exactly such another party.
And, now, are all these respectable ladies hypocritical or insincere? By no means--they believe every word they say; but a sort of necessity is laid upon them--a spell; and before the breath of the mult.i.tude their individual resolution melts away as the frosty tracery melts from the window panes of a crowded room.
A great many do this habitually, resignedly, as a matter of course. Ask them what they think to be right and proper, and they will tell you sensibly, coherently, and quite to the point in one direction; ask them what they are going to do. Ah! that is quite another matter.
They are going to do what is generally done--what Mrs. A., B., and C.
do. They have long since made over their conscience to the keeping of the public,--that is to say, of good society,--and are thus rid of a troublesome burden of responsibility.
Again, there are others who mean in general to have an opinion and will of their own; but, imperceptibly, as one and another take a course opposed to their own sense of right and propriety, their resolution quietly melts, and melts, till every individual outline of it is gone, and they do as others do.
Yet is this influence of one human being over another--in some sense, G.o.d-appointed--a necessary result of the human const.i.tution. There is scarcely a human being that is not varied and swerved by it, as the trembling needle is swerved by the approaching magnet. Oppose conflict with it, as one may at a distance, yet when it breathes on us through the breath, and shines on us through the eye of an a.s.sociate, it possesses an invisible magnetic power. He who is not at all conscious of such impressibility can scarce be amiable or human. Nevertheless, one of the most important habits for the acquisition of a generous and n.o.ble character, is to learn to act _individually_, unswerved by the feelings and opinions of others. It may help us to do this, to reflect that the very person whose opinion we fear may be in equal dread of ours, and that the person to whom we are looking for a precedent may, at that very time, be looking to us.
In short, Mrs. A., if you think that you could spend your money more like a Christian than in laying it out on a fashionable party, go forward and do it, and twenty others, whose supposed opinion you fear, will be glad of your example for a precedent. And, Mrs. B., if you do think it would be better for your children to observe early hours, and form simple habits, than to dress and dance, and give and go to juvenile b.a.l.l.s, carry out your opinion in practice, and many an anxious mother, who is of the same opinion, will quote your example as her shield and defence.
And for you, young ladies, let us pray you to reflect--_individuality of character_, maintained with womanly sweetness, is an irresistible grace and adornment. Have some principles of taste for yourself, and do not adopt every fashion of dress that is in vogue, whether it suits you or not--whether it is becoming or not--but, without a startling variation from general form, let your dress show something of your own taste and opinions. Have some principles of right and wrong for yourself, and do not do every thing that every one else does, _because_ every one else does it.
Nothing is more tedious than a circle of young ladies who have got by rote a certain set of phrases and opinions--all admiring in the same terms the same things, and detesting in like terms certain others--with anxious solicitude each dressing, thinking, and acting, one as much like another as is possible. A genuine original opinion, even though it were so heretical as to a.s.sert that Jenny Lind is a little lower than the angels, or that Shakspeare is rather dull reading, would be better than such a universal Dead Sea of acquiescence.
These remarks have borne reference to the female s.e.x princ.i.p.ally, because they are the dependent, the acquiescent s.e.x--from nature, and habit, and position, most exposed to be swayed by opinion--and yet, too, in a certain very wide department they are the lawgivers and custom-makers of society. If, amid the multiplied schools, whose advertis.e.m.e.nts now throng our papers, purporting to teach girls every thing, both ancient and modern, high and low, from playing on the harp and working pincushions, up to civil engineering, surveying, and navigation, there were any which could teach them to be women--to have thoughts, opinions, and modes of action of their own--such a school would be worth having. If one half of the good purposes which are in the hearts of the ladies of our nation were only acted out without fear of any body"s opinion, we should certainly be a step nearer the millennium.
CHRISTMAS; OR, THE GOOD FAIRY.
"O, dear! Christmas is coming in a fortnight, and I have got to think up presents for every body!" said young Ellen Stuart, as she leaned languidly back in her chair. "Dear me, it"s so tedious! Every body has got every thing that can be thought of."
"O, no," said her confidential adviser, Miss Lester, in a soothing tone.
"You have means of buying every thing you can fancy; and when every shop and store is glittering with all manner of splendors, you cannot surely be at a loss."
"Well, now, just listen. To begin with, there"s mamma. What can I get for her? I have thought of ever so many things. She has three card cases, four gold thimbles, two or three gold chains, two writing desks of different patterns; and then as to rings, brooches, boxes, and all other things, I should think she might be sick of the sight of them. I am sure I am," said she, languidly gazing on her white and jewelled fingers.
This view of the case seemed rather puzzling to the adviser, and there was silence for a few moments, when Ellen, yawning, resumed:--
"And then there"s Cousins Jane and Mary; I suppose they will be coming down on me with a whole load of presents; and Mrs. B. will send me something--she did last year; and then there"s Cousins William and Tom--I must get them something; and I would like to do it well enough, if I only knew what to get."
"Well," said Eleanor"s aunt, who had been sitting quietly rattling her knitting needles during this speech, "it"s a pity that you had not such a subject to practise on as I was when I was a girl. Presents did not fly about in those days as they do now. I remember, when I was ten years old, my father gave me a most marvellously ugly sugar dog for a Christmas gift, and I was perfectly delighted with it, the very idea of a present was so new to us."
"Dear aunt, how delighted I should be if I had any such fresh, unsophisticated body to get presents for! But to get and get for people that have more than they know what to do with now; to add pictures, books, and gilding when the centre tables are loaded with them now, and rings and jewels when they are a perfect drug! I wish myself that I were not sick, and sated, and tired with having every thing in the world given me."
"Well, Eleanor," said her aunt, "if you really do want unsophisticated subjects to practise on, I can put you in the way of it. I can show you more than one family to whom you might seem to be a very good fairy, and where such gifts as you could give with all ease would seem like a magic dream."
"Why, that would really be worth while, aunt."
"Look over in that back alley," said her aunt. "You see those buildings?"
"That miserable row of shanties? Yes."
"Well, I have several acquaintances there who have never been tired of Christmas gifts, or gifts of any other kind. I a.s.sure you, you could make quite a sensation over there."
"Well, who is there? Let us know."
"Do you remember Owen, that used to make your shoes?"
"Yes, I remember something about him."
"Well, he has fallen into a consumption, and cannot work any more; and he, and his wife, and three little children live in one of the rooms."
"How do they get along?"
"His wife takes in sewing sometimes, and sometimes goes out washing.
Poor Owen! I was over there yesterday; he looks thin and wasted, and his wife was saying that he was parched with constant fever, and had very little appet.i.te. She had, with great self-denial, and by restricting herself almost of necessary food, got him two or three oranges; and the poor fellow seemed so eager after them!"
"Poor fellow!" said Eleanor, involuntarily.
"Now," said her aunt, "suppose Owen"s wife should get up on Christmas morning and find at the door a couple of dozen of oranges, and some of those nice white grapes, such as you had at your party last week; don"t you think it would make a sensation?"
"Why, yes, I think very likely it might; but who else, aunt? You spoke of a great many."
"Well, on the lower floor there is a neat little room, that is always kept perfectly trim and tidy; it belongs to a young couple who have nothing beyond the husband"s day wages to live on. They are, nevertheless, as cheerful and chipper as a couple of wrens; and she is up and down half a dozen times a day, to help poor Mrs. Owen. She has a baby of her own, about five months old, and of course does all the cooking, washing, and ironing for herself and husband; and yet, when Mrs. Owen goes out to wash, she takes her baby, and keeps it whole days for her."
"I"m sure she deserves that the good fairies should smile on her," said Eleanor; "one baby exhausts my stock of virtues very rapidly."
"But you ought to see her baby," said Aunt E.; "so plump, so rosy, and good-natured, and always clean as a lily. This baby is a sort of household shrine; nothing is too sacred or too good for it; and I believe the little thrifty woman feels only one temptation to be extravagant, and that is to get some ornaments to adorn this little divinity."
"Why, did she ever tell you so?"
"No; but one day, when I was coming down stairs, the door of their room was partly open, and I saw a pedler there with open box. John, the husband, was standing with a little purple cap on his hand, which he was regarding with mystified, admiring air, as if he didn"t quite comprehend it, and trim little Mary gazing at it with longing eyes.
""I think we might get it," said John.