American telegraph. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1851-1851, 1851-03-24
THE TRUE LADY.
By tie Editor Of the Portland Eclectic


By tie Editor Of the Portland Eclectic.
We once knew "young lady" who lived
in fine style. Her parlors were elegantly fur
nished, and her dress was always of the latest
fashion. She had her piano and her teacher,
and she played Italian music charmingly. La
all the exquisite graces Of life she was fault
I less She had rich vein of sentiment, too
and could talk philosophy, or discuss the stand
ard authors, at pleasure Of course she read
novels; in fact, large portion of the day was
devoted to that interesting and instructive class
Of polite literature. She was also somewhat
industrious, for she would occasionally work
embroidery. With an abundance of curls, that
hoated over her neck in beautiful profusion, a
fine form, hands white and delicate, large pow
ers Of conversation in the usual drawing-room
style, she was followed by the young men Of
taste Yet, somehow, she aeUer got married
The .bcaux' huttered around her like heg
over pot of honey, but they were very careful
not TO be caught as those other insects are apt
to do. Their attentions were never so particu-
lar as to require some g friend Of the family
to demand what were their intentions. This
was no fault Of the young lady. She was in
the market as plainly as though she had in
scribed il on her forehead, "a HUSBAND
WANTED; for particulars inquire tcithin." But
the husband never, TO our knowledge, came;
and we believe she is ut this day disconsolate
old maid
What was the trouble? Step with us into
the kitchen. That fat woman, with red face.
is the servant Of the house She does the cook
ing, the washing, and the chamber-work From
early dawn until late at night, she is u slave.
| Well, that woman is our charming young ladyy
| mother! She never sees her daughters call
ers. If by accident she should drop into the
parlor while yisiters were present, she would
| hasten out again with embarrassed manner,
| looking as though she had committed an offence,
while her own child's face would be suffused
with bushes.
| Now take n walk with us. In that workshop
do you see that Woodworking mechanic? The
wrinkles are hardening upon his face, and the
gray hairs are thinly sprinlled over his head.
He looks anxious, and as though his heart
strings tugged some deep sorrow and mortfca.
ton. He is the father of our beautiful s'young
lady," and his hard earnings, for many years,
have been absorbed i'll the expensive luxuriea
that her admirable taste has craved. He, too,
is excluded from the society ofhis own daughter.
She moves in circle above her parents, and,
in short, is ashamed Of them. They live in the
kitchen---she in the parlor. They drudge-she
reaps the fruit. She has no pusation Of graft
tude for all this. She despises them, and, in
fashionable gatherings, is the first to curl her
pretty lips at slow mechanics" provided abe
can do it safely
Is she true lady No; ten thousand tineH
No! We object not to her accomplishments
to her taste in dress-to her manners. We look
upon and admire such just as we do superb
statue of Venus. AS work OF art 1t Is beau
tiful but, nevertheless, il is insensate marble,
having no soul, being of no use in practical life.
and good for nothing but 10 look al.
The beauty of the mind is the true beauty;
and the affectionate daughter who nestles her.
self lovingly into the heart of hearts OF her pa
rents-who makes her mother her companion
and coftiddnte--who not only works with that
mother, but takes the heaviest burden upon
herself-she is the true lady, She may never
have struck note on the piano, yet her house
is melodious with harmony, saeh as angels
sing Her exterior may be humble, but her In
terror life is clothed in the vestments Of inmor-
tai beauty.
There arc many young ladies" whose whole
character is on tho surface. Dress, manners,
accomplishments, all are external. They have
no depth of thought, no moral strength, no
heart. They are outsiders" When the
scorching fires Of adversely burn beneath the
surface, there is no protecting wall upreared
within. The whole becomes but heap Of
ashes, though it may retain the outward ssm-
blance of humanity.
The true lady cultivates the higher nature.
She is religious, but not fsnatical--courteous
but not fawning Reposing serenely upon the
arm Of her heavenly Father, and associating
with unseen angelic spirits, she meets the
storm with calmncss, and accepts it rs disoi-
plinary mercy. Her sympathy ever pulsates to
the cry of suffering, and her hand is ever open
to relieve. She is beautiful at home, beautiful
at the bedside OF the sick, beautiful through
life, beautiful at the hour Of her departure into
the world Of spirits, and transcendantly and
eternally beautiful in heaven.
That is the true lady.