AN APPEAL FOR THE MODEST POOR. LORD! how the people suffer day by day A ling'ring death, through lack of honest bread; They still but ask Endurance nerves their hearts in patient band, They cluster sadly round the foodless hearth, And parents pine in silence for their young, The stalwart man is bow'd with hope deferr'd, The maiden's cheek is flush'd with truthful scorn; He hangs upon the facts that have occurr'd, She braves the tempter who would blight her morn; And angels of the poor, with magic wand, Give sleep and guard their souls with trusty hand. The cottage rents are now in long arrears, The household treasures one by one are sold; What glint of promise for the stricken poor What can we do but open Fortune's store, That these, our brothers, through these times may live? If only touched with that the mite allies Shall winter, with its chilly Northern blast, Inscribes its watchword for the noble poor Who mate with want and seek not workhouse door. When dawning promise brightens into morn, Shall guerdon man, And thoughts of good will always rise to bless Let" pamper'd menials" of the rich and great, Who hide their woes, Blackburn, July 2, 1861. Fashion. BY H. OWGAN, LL.D. Ir may be a question not unworthy of the attention even of a philosopher, why it is that the caprices of taste-conventionally termed "fashions "-are so proverbially transient; that new and popular styles in art and literature, in costume, and even in modes of thinking and speaking, after enjoying their brief seasons of enthusiastic approbation, pass away, and are heard and seen no more-or, revived after an interval in any isolated instances, are certain to be received with ridicule and aversion? Let us suppose, for example, that any man, not generally recognized as hopelessly eccentric, and therefore admitted to exceptional privileges, were to appear in public in the every-day costume of the reign of George II., how long would it be safe to undertake that he could walk the streets with untorn garments and unbroken bones? The cause of the phenomenon seems to be simply this: that those fashions-phases of deformity and inconvenience, as most of them are-are purely artificial,-the same cause, in fact, for which it happens that all merely human laws and modes of action are undergoing perpetual reform and modification; that is, because man, being after all but an apprentice and not a master of his craft, is doomed to an interminable succession of experiments, and to eat the bitter fruit of his experience; while, on the other hand, Nature's laws are the only code that is immutable, because they have been perfect from the beginning. The laws and works of Nature, however, are not alone unchangeable; with them may be safely classed the equally invariable works of genius, because genius is an inspiration, and its works are im. mortal-that is, eternally true-in proportion as they are correct imitations of Nature; their beauty consisting rather in fidelity to their models than in any essential elevation of subject, and the true artist being the alchymist whose touch makes precious all common and worthless things. All that is not stamped with the impress of that truth must necessarily be transient; and that is why so many names and works, applauded and idolized for the moment, are lost and forgotten in the future. We hear, for example, not unfrequently, of music that has grown obsolete, and wit that has passed out of date. Let us enquire a little further respecting music, and leave wit to speak for itself. The general deficiency of correct musical taste and the mauvaise honte that silences the few good judges among the multitude, give reason to fear that under the name of "old music" some masterpieces of genius may be suffered from time to time to sleep away decades of years-sometimes, perhaps, to sleep for ever, known only to the moths and mice, while uproarious acclamations have been welcoming the tawdry charivari which fashion patronized long enough to make the fortunes of the composers. But music, if it be really a work of art, cannot, any more than the other creations of genius, ever die, and how old soever it may be, wields the same power as at first to thrill to the heart, and call up tears of sympathy to the surface. Of books, too, especially the imaginative, the case is precisely parallel. Homer and Chaucer, Dante and Tasso, are always new, while some that are circulated by tens of thousands for a season are unreadable in ten years, because they are not works of art-not true to nature, and because, having been written solely and expressly to harmonize with the fleeting fancy of a day, they were as untrue at first as they are eventually acknowledged to be. How is a philosopher to approach the metamorphoses of that whimsical and irrational Proteus, costume? It has occurred to me to speculate on the hideous deformities which would be embraced from time to time by civilized society, if we unfortunately had the power of changing the form which an infallible Creator has given us, as easily as we alter that of the garments in which we perversely disguise it. Let us, however, take as an illustration the imaginary case of two men, of whom one is a loyal votary of fashion, and adopts every innovation in dress so promptly that he may seem almost to have invented it, while the other has chosen and adhered to some one style, which satisfies the eye and the judgment, because it suits the wearer and his purposes. Let us suppose, then, one of those vicissitudes from which none of us are secure, so to alter the circumstances and resources of these two men that they shall be unable for some time to renovate their wardrobes. Well, in six months the first becomes a scarecrow; in three years the other exhibits scarcely any indications of decay. He will not, of course, be, for he never has been, remarked for any peculiar smartness of attire; but he will still be, as he has always been, respectable and gentlemanly. The cause of the difference is just this-that the taste of the one is false, and that of the other true-the same cause from which it comes that a portrait half a century old is more or less grotesque, while an antique statue is always graceful, always new. The Princess Borghese, for instance, has given to the world an undying memento of her beauty, while the portraits of many other royal and noble personages are little better, after a time, than caricatures, because they present some one or another of those extravagant vagaries of costume which everywhere and always originate in the design of concealing some deformity, or displaying some perfection of some influential individual, and are adopted by servile adulators as emulously as if among the whole human race there were to be found no varieties of figure, feature, or complexion. Among the various devices by which persons, in what is called society, while seeking to enhance the perfections and correct the errors of Nature, have generally distorted the visible outline of the human figure into cones and pyramids, and parallelograms-into anything, in fact, rather than what Nature intended, or an aesthetic eye would suggest, some are considerably less practicable, and of course less popular and enduring than others; popularity and duration being mostly in proportion to absurdity and inconvenience, through all generations, from the piccadils (or frills) and hoops of the era of Elizabeth, down to the voluminous wigs of the time of Charles II., and the crinoline of the present day. At all times, indeed, ancient and modern, the largest amount of ingenuity has been expended upon the decoration of the head, which is naturally the most ornamental, and artificially the most remorselessly disfigured, portion of the human body. The hair, which is our greatest natural decoration, has been tortured sometimes into a resemblance to an Alpine glacier, sometimes into the repelling aspect of a poultice of some sort, and sometimes removed altogether as an unmanageable excrescence, and replaced by that of some other animal; and is in all cases-though intended by Nature to form the only protection of the cranium-surmounted and prematurely burned off by coverings which no felicity of invention has ever yet succeeded in rendering picturesque, with the sole exception, perhaps, of the oriental turban, and which have been, in many instances, so elaborately difficult of arrangement as to resemble music which has been sometimes composed for the express purpose of overtaxing the utmost dexterity of the performer. Let us take a recent instance :-Some short time since a malicious project entered the heads of some ladies, who were naturally gifted with a more than average allowance of hair, to exhibit the superiority in such a manner as to render imitation or counferfeit, as nearly as might be, impossible. The plan was to draw forward around the face a substantial mass of broad glossy bands, and reminded one of a style that prevailed for a long interval among the ancient Roman ladies, or rather, to speak more politely and less equivocally, the ladies of ancient Rome. But the difficulty, so formidable and vexatious at first, was soon overcome, and, strange to say, soonest by those to whom Nature had given least assistance in the competition, for not only wer adventitious tresses employed to compensate the deficiency, but cushions and pads of various sorts gave substance to the mass, so that after a while, those who appeared to possess least, were really the owners of most of the envied embellishment; and after all, the rivalry was a less exciting one than some others tending to aggravate natural attractions, in proportion as it is more satisfactory to "be at charges" for something superfluous-something that obviously represents the command of funds, and gratifies pride of purse, than for what must appear to be natural. If money be invested in satin and velvet, lace and jewelry, everybody recognizes and can measure the expenditure; and a woman expensively dressed resembles a divinity whose shrine is enriched by devotion, or a red Indian sagamore arrayed in the spoils of his victims; but it is quite another affair it is something saddening and discouraging-to part with money, to sink money, in fact, for such things as teeth and hair, and eyes and a complexion, to supplement the illiberality of Nature; and the difference between these two forms and motives of expenditure may probably suggest the reason why some fashions are more enduring than others-why crinoline, for instance, affording as it does such ample scope for display, and being expensive in proportion as it is expansive, exercises so universal a fascination, in spite of its dangerous discomfort and unnatural deformity. It would, however, be a mistake, perhaps, and to some extent an injustice, if such criticisms were not impartially divided between the sexes. It may be only fair to ask, are men less artificial, less vain, less extravagant in the fantastic epidemics of fashion than women? Is their costume more rational or natural! Are the fluctuations of their absurdities less numerous? A ready answer may be found in the various styles of the modern hat-a thing which seems to have been originally invented by some malicious and far-sighted enemy of mankind, who fastened that instrument of torture and disfigurement permanently and immovably upon their heads, consecrating it by the terrors of an undying superstition, and revelling in his hatred and vengeance from generation to generation; in the periodical modifications of shirts and collars, and sleeves and trousers-which, by the way, were originally worn by women-in the several affectations of jewelry which should belong exclusively to the other sex, and, more decisively still, in rouge and hair-dye; but most of all in cravats, things of such a sort that a visitor from another planet, suddenly alighting on this earth, must suppose that the wearers were all convicts condemned to die by slow strangulation. After all, however, the subject of dress is one that may easily claim serious consideration, for there are moments when it makes the happiness or misery of some whose minds may seem to be above its influence. How often has the most stoical pride of some of us been galled by the preference which we have seen costly garments commanding in society, and our contempt for the servility of human nature embittered by finding our more sterling qualities superseded by the showy raiment of some empty-headed simpleton; for it is undeniable that artistic dress, if it does not actually compensate the absence of beauty to some persons, does at least very considerably enhance such pretensions to it as they may possess. There are but few who can discern moral beauty-that of the soul and the intellect-through the disguise of the material envelope; and in any case, however brilliant that spiritual beauty may be, we cannot clothe ourselves in it externally, and make it attractive to vulgar eyes; nor, if we could, is it very likely that we would care to exhibit to the multitude, what it is the privilege of a chosen few to behold; so that, if altogether indifferent to externals, we should be carrying about a precious perfume in a rude vessel of common clay. The opposite, indeed, is generally the prevailing tendency, for one fashionable tailor or perfumer, anywhere within the pale of civilization, is sure to find more patronage than all the philosophers existing at any one time in the world; and if one has any object to attain, he will succeed more effectually, with nineteentwentieths of the human race, for being expensively dressed. In order, however, that dress should enhance personal attractions, it is necessary that it be artistic, suited in form and colour to the physical idiosyncrasy of the wearer, because every individual man and woman has some peculiarities of feature, and figure, and complexion, which require a corresponding adaptation of dress, and demonstrate the indefensible absurdity of imposing the same costume upon all. Each sex also has its own special style of beauty; but while women cultivate qualities which are their natural right, men perversely destroy what should be their essential distinction, by borrowing what they can never altogether appropriate. It is not that there is no such thing as masculine beauty, but that it is totally different from feminine, which is of the same order as that of sunset and moonlight, and flowers and soft music. If women were not naturally, and as a general rule, beautiful, the effect would be the same as if the sun were suddenly put out; even our thoughts would become etiolated, and we might as well throw our pens into the fire and our ink-bottles out of the window. At the same time, it is no less than justice to say that, if women have the advantage in beauty, it results, first, from the care with which so precious a gift is cultivated, and secondly, from contrast with the less delicate organization which is to theirs like |