in the eye of Heaven, by using every effort to mar the figure it had bestowed upon me, and arrest the course of nature-because it was the fashion. I have made it a rule to hide or expose my person, not as the dictates of modesty, or the dignity of my sex, requiredbut because it was the fashion. I have not asked myself what was conformable to my duties to the domestic circle in which my lot was cast, or to those moral obligations enjoined on my sex, by the great Creator of the world--but I have inquired what was the fashion, and acted accordingly. When it was the fashion to be pious, I was pious; and when the fashion altered, I shut my bible and turned my back on the church. Above all, dear Goddess of my devotions, I have done violence to my first affections, and starved my heart to feed my vanity. I have discarded a youth who possessed and deserved my love, because he was not fashionable, and given myself to another—because he was the fashion. Lastly, I have worn satin slippers to walk the streets in winter, at the risk of my life-because it was the fashion." Here the breath of the young woman failed, and she fell into a long hollow cough, which prevented her saying any thing more. Retiring a little on one side, she sat down panting for breath, and those about her thought she was fainting, until they observed that her cheeks were the colour of scarlet. On her retiring, a second young maiden came pressing forward with a countenance, though faded, yet full of delicacy, and a figure which, though Fashion had tried all she could to spoil it, was still graceful in its outlines and motions, notwithstanding her waist bore testimony of the rack. Her breath was short, her bosom heaved with eager anticipation, and without being questioned by the Goddess, she addressed her in a sweet voice, as follows: "I am an only child, and have been from infancy without a mother. My remaining parent was long an invalid, and as it could not be reasonably expected I should be forever soothing his infirmities, I sought refuge from loneliness and ennui, in the gaiety of the fashionable world. I resolved to devote myself to thee, dear Goddess; and leaving my father to the care of nurses and doctors, become one of thy most faithful worshippers. I have sacrificed all those antiquated sources of enjoyment, that are said to spring from the faithful discharge of those tender ministrations, that fall to the lot of our oppressed sex, in every situation of life, unless they have the sense and spirit to break their ignominious thraldom, and enlist among thy free votarics. My father died one night that I was dancing at a ball. I have lost all capacity to derive pleasure from domestic occupations and enjoyments; I have survived the power of loving any thing but myself; I live only on the admiration of that world which is now forsaking me; my beauty is fading away; my health is gone; my mind forever incapacitated for all delights but those of gratified vanity, which are now beyond my reach, and nothing remains but the fruition of my ambition. Pity me, dear Goddess, and reward one who has sacrificed all to thee!" The Goddess moved her aside courteously, and she retired weeping, being elbowed out of the way by another competitor. She was a matron of some five-and-forty, dressed in the extreme of the mode, with a certain protuberance behind that proved, beyond doubt, she had lately paid a visit to Paris. Her face still retained the melancholy ruins of what once was beauty, and her confident air indicated that she had been accustomed to look the world in the face without blushing. Waiting for no questions, she related, with a confident air and tone, a tale of the total neglect of all the duties of a wife and a mother. Having sated her vanity with the admiration, or rather envy, of the little circle of Fashion in her native city, by a display of all those vulgar airs and fineries miscalled genteel, she had fallen into one of those desperate diseases which are only to be cured by a trip to Paris. She left her husband, whose business would not admit of his accompanying her; her children, who she discreetly considered would only be in her way; and became one of those lady-errants so common at the time in which the events recorded in this true history occurred. Every where she strove to attract the notice of the fashionable world by efforts unbecoming, if not disgraceful, in women; and finally closed her career abroad by sacrificing her reputation in attempts to procure the patronage of a titled Roué, who she fondly believed could gratify her longing for that charmed circle, which the folly of inexperience fancies the abode of happiness. All this time the husband, an honest merchant, was toiling at his desk to supply her extravagance, and her children growing up without the cares of a mother. She remained long enough abroad to learn a lesson of her own insignificance, as most of your itinerant ladies do; to taint her good name as a wife and a mother; to impair the fortune of her husband; to lay the foundation of misery to her children, by leaving them to the care of hirelings; and to give herself a claim to assume a ridiculous superiority on the score of having travelled. This last was so common at that time, that people of any pretensions to fashion had become actually ashamed to visit Europe, or the Falls of Niagara, it was so desperately vulgar. The retirement of the travelled lady was succeeded by a great bustle among the crowd, which was every moment increasing, occasioned by the approach of a creature of rather doubtful character, which came wriggling along, flourishing a little black whalebone switch in the most graceful manner imaginable. Its waist was rather thinner than that of the female votaries; its bosom projected in a manner that put their sunken chests quite in the background, and it wore a pair of flesh-coloured gloves. In short it was no bad imitation of a woman, and might have passed for one had it not been for a prodigious crop of whiskers which bristled about its cheeks and chin, hiding its little pale face; and being of a fiery red, reminded the pious devotees of one of Fox's martyrs with his visage enveloped in the flames of persecution. The Goddess nodded familiarly to the little thing as an old acquaintance, which straightway proceeded to set forth its pretensions. In a squeaking, affected voice, half male, half female, and in classified words, interlaced with bad French, it set forth how it dressed itself four or five times a day; employed the most fashionable milliners of Paris to make its corsets and stuffings; had learned the names of upwards of one hundred dishes of French cookery, and was a regular connoisseur in all; and that it had actually invented three new fashions, one of which was adopted by the royal family of France, which had used all its efforts to deprive him of the honour. Finally, it modestly stated, its claim to some degree of literary distinction was unquestionable, having written a tale of three pages, divided into sixteen chapters; and four pieces of poetry on entirely new subjects, namely: an Address to the Moon; an Ode to the Evening Star, which he had discovered sometimes rose in the morning; a Song about Nothing, which puzzled all the critics; and a furious Pindaric Ode, abusing matters and things in general, after the manner of another bard of that day, who tied his collar with black riband, and drank gin and water instead of muddling his genius at the Castalian Fount. The Goddess listened to this detail with such evident complacency that the female votaries became alarmed least the prize should be given to this little strange equivocation. They accordingly suggested doubts as to its sex, and the Goddess, with evident unwillingness, courteously requested it to stand aside for further investigation. It would be but a tedious repetition to record the claims of all the applicants who came forward in succession. Suffice it to say, there was a striking similarity in all. Each one had made sacrifices at the Altar of Fashion, which fashion could never repay, and strayed out of that domestic circle where alone woman can find happiness, or administer to the happiness of others. Each and all had gathered but the bitter fruit of disappointment, the apple of the Lake of Sodom, fair without-but within, nothing but dust and ashes. The Goddess, who soon becomes tired of one object or pursuit, and lives alone on the lean diet of perpetual variety, long before a hundredth part of her votaries had put forward their pretensions, was observed to exhibit symptoms of ennui. She yawned incessantly, pulled a bunch of artificial flowers all to pieces, and could only keep herself awake by fixing her eyes on the great lookingglass. The crowd of devotees, who always imitate their Queen, were straightway infected with similar symptoms of langour. A fit of yawning seized them all, and a dead silence, as unnatural as profound, reigned throughout the vast illimitable crowd. The little Indian maid became tired to death, and seizing her bow and arrows sought her native wilds again; while the damsel of Polynesia launched her light canoe and paddled away out of sight over the bosom of the melancholy main On a sudden the calm which reigned all around was disturbed by the approach of some one chattering with vast volubility. The Goddess started, and withdrawing her eyes from the looking-glass,. bent them with smiling eagerness on some one approaching. The crowd separated, as if with one accord, at the waving of her hand, to make room for a little French milliner, who came forward puffing and blowing, and vociferating about a long voyage, sea sickness, and what not, followed by a train of apprentices, each bearing a band-box as large as a balloon. The little woman announced that she was just from Paris with the newest fashions. She directed her attendants to open the boxes and display their contents, that the Goddess might make her choice; and straightway there was such a mighty rush of the crowd that garments were torn, and divers devotees almost demolished by the elbows of certain travelled ladies, who, having seen the world, did not mind trifles. Even the Goddess herself seemed awakened to new life; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks would have glowed still more intensely had their colour been natural, and she so far forgot her divinity as to descend from her throne to try on a beautiful lace cap, ornamented with ribands of various colours. The devotees, for a while, forgot the object of their coming, and were all now eagerly employed in rummaging amongst the trumpery of Madame Fricassée de Poulet, just arrived from Paris, when they were roused by the sound of the trumpet which had called them together. The Goddess, who had been contemplating herself in the great looking-glass, found the lace cap so inimitably becoming that her gratitude overflowed. It made her look twenty years younger; and commanding silence, she caused proclamation to be made, that Madame Fricassée de Poulet, of Rue Petit Pot de Crême, Paris, should thenceforward be recognized by her votaries, in all parts of the world, as the legitimate representative of the Goddess of Fashion, until the arrival of another little French milliner from Paris with a fresh cargo. And thus it came to pass, that ever since that period, the devotions of all the worshippers at the Altar of Fashion have been offered up at the milliner's-shops of Madame Fricassée de Poulet, Rue Petit Pot de Crême, and her successors in the office of Vice Queen. The disappointed votaries consoled themselves with Madame's trumpery, all save the travelled lady, who declared, with a toss of her head, that the whole of it was out of fashion before she left Paris, and consoled herself in the disappointment of her ambition by ever after pampering her vanity. SONG. BENEATH THE BRIGHT MOON. CHORUS. Beneath the bright moon, beneath the bright star Thick coming fancies are gathering fast, Dreams of our childhood, fair visions of youth, Summer of life, when the purple blood flows, In your own land of eld, ye proud halls of the great, Lady, fair lady, awake-oh and hear, The minstrel's low numbers arise on the ear! And love's sweetest influence steals on the mind. Beneath the bright moon, &c. A taper appears-'tis love's own signal light, Beneath the bright moon, &c. A garland of flowers love's trembling hand weaves, The song it hath ceased, and its notes die away, BEVERLY, MASS. J. P. |