The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1874-04-17
The Plain Girl.

|
To lie handsome must indeed, to a wo-
mar, lie glorious state ofself satisfaction
| To feel that she will do credit to any ap-
| parel, whatever be the cut, fit, material
| or coIor--in other words, to rise out of
| the depths of shabbinesS or unfaShion-
| ableness with the feeling that she is SUI
| perior to her plumage; to don her sims
| pie muslin with its moderate number OF
| tucks, FUCKERS, and fiounces; to wear a
rosebud for her jeWelry; half yard of
| blue ribbon uniting her plaits, for her
! hair oInaments-thus to dress, or rather
| thus to avoid dress, and offend no fas-
] tidiOus taste. to make all whom she
passes feel that delightfully."- refreshing
| breeze has swept by; to have them ac-
| cept it as they do health-giving air, sim
| ply with gratitude for a gift from God;
| to be thus handsome, to live thus, to i'm
| press people thus, must be glorious
| privilege. But to be handsome and
| long to be more handsome; to let her
| beauty swallow up or dwarf her life; to
sacrifice her body, intellect, and
| soul in beauty's cause, to value glance
from man more than a blessing from
| God; to walk through the world and
see, think, and feel nothing in it but her
own loneliness; to be so stepped in yani~
| ty and self consciousness that every be-
| witching dimple cries out, "BehOld
mel" every smile grows to be art, in
stead of artless, and every attitude
seems struck with view to being
photographed-to possess loveliness
in these phases is indeed the least en-
viabIe of all destinies. But glorious ex-
captions rise out of the mass; and there
are few persons who do not hold in their
hearts the image OF some rare creature
using and not abusing the gift of beau
ty. We gaze at her without the slight
est wish to reverse her doom, nor can
we wiring our hands and sigh over the
'fatal gift" But there is something
within us rises up batfted. For a mos |
ment we cease to believe i'll the law of
compensation. The likeness of eX~
tremes, or the similarity of effect pro-
duced by dissimilar causes, is too old
paradox to make lengthy observations
on. Yet, neither the flight of years nor
the wisdom Of sages has Invested it of
its strangeness. If Nature surprises us
by the lavish fondness with which she |
seems to beStow so many gifts on one, !
she equally appalls us by the stern
ripOr with which she with holds all from |
another, and the totally plain girl be- |
comes no less a pre- blem of her plans |
aud purposes than the universally lOve> |
ly one. If the plainness were of face |
alone, with some rich gift of mind or |
manners to relieve it, to offer her sym> |
pathy, for the loneliness or neglect |
which is the usual tate of LONELINESS, |
type. But she is no Francis Burney, |
Charlotte BrOnte, or Margaret Fuller.
Neglect and loneliness are words which |
such minds as theirs must be satisfied |
to learn from photographers. If Mar
garet Fuller had not numbered among |
her intimate friends, two such rare
characters as Emerson and Hawthorne,
as she did, in world of illimitable
fancy, how could she have felt the keen
ness of neglect or the drearineSS of un~
accompanied sell? That ingenious plan
by which she relieved the monotony of
her early life is no evidence of her des-
Olateness, but rather the proof of her
capacity to satisfy from within her
craving for society. Perhaps all are
aware of her habit of sitting for hours
daily with folded hands, in the silence
of her room, cOnversing with the heroes
of her brain; arguing, debating with
them and doubtless defeating them
every one and browning Margaret Full
Ter after the victory. WHAT light must
have cleaned from her eyes? How con-
tentedy she must have descended to
the common necessity of a broom or
busting brush, after dwelling for time
in her own created world, which was
hers to command or Danish at pleasure!!!
Even Charlotte Bronte, poor, plain, and
neglected, could she know the world of
sympathy her surviving admirers have
wasted on her loneliness, would posi-
bly smile at this preteKt for sadness in
her very sad lie, That life had its COM
pensation. In spite of its plainness,
poverty, and neglect, she discovered one
morning that she was favored child of
God. Passing her life among the time
worn grave stones of Haworth parson-
age, picking up a newspaper at her simple
breakfast table, she read that all Lon
don was ablaze with her glory. 1t is
well known how Jane Eyre lay on the
shelf Of book store in undisturbed OBJ
security for six years, when an editor,
CHANGING to pick it up, took 1t home
and carelessly opening it TO read, passed
the night in it's perusal, unwilling to
close it for sleep or food, and fastening
to his printing Office the following
morning sent forth the cry: "There is
something new in the word, read it
Jane Eyre" Suddenly it became
known, that demure little woman,
unmarked even by the Inhabitants of
the village where she lived, number
bering among her intimate friends
scarcely three women, and not one man,
who had seen not foot of earth forty
miles beyond the expressiOnless stone
parsonage where her life had passed,
possessed, besides genius tor charac-
terri alton and description, aspirations,
ambition and tQliness of life, so long re-
pressed, that the Utterance at last in
its fury was little less than an avalanche,
and the result was Jane Eyre. Not that
the avalanche was either as clear or rs
pure as it might have been, but vehe-
ment it certainly was. The author, |
without any mud at tho bottom Of her
own heart, was yet too uuworldly wise
to know what to express and what to
restrain. Then too she was so ignorant
and uncultivated that her wonderful
genius had no guide.
But as for loneliness, ii such condi-
ton can exist for woman whose fer
tile mind and imagination can create
worlds of surprising splendor, can
transform herself from the lowliest Gin
derella, to the most regal Princess, then
Fannie Burney's life was the very gram
deur of loneliness. For she stOOt I'M
observed in the midst of brilliant soci-
ETY.. Satisfying herself with the father
ly friendship of Johnson, she allowed
society to pass, but not unobserved or
when he learned that his "Fannikin"
had written book; but turning its
leaves he discovered that she had lived
a life unknown even to him, and, in the
enthusiasm of his admiration declared,
there were gleams of genius in Evelina
that would Go honor to Richardson.
And her wide circle of acauaintances |
WINGED to zee in the pages Of Evelina,
their follies and foibles staring at them
in printed characters. The quiet little
woman who had sat with folded hands
in an apparent state of inanity had been
taking their pictures.
Perhaps nature expresses the excel
lency, if not the sufficiency, of either
gift. beauty or genius, by seldom allow
ing them to exist together. Authoresses
are notably plain; and authors, with a
few exceptions, are not handsome.
George Eliot, it seems, has no claim,
however slight, to beauty. A fact that
her biographer delivers in such a solemn
strain that it provokes ones mirth.
Nobody would like to be an EsOp
in appearance, and yet who that might
be the author of AIiddlemsrch would res
fuse to try it-at least for a season?
But the totally plain girl, who receives
so little sympathy, is eminsptIy the fittest
subject tor it. The world is even less