THE CESTUS; OR, GIRDLE OF VENUS.. Fas est et ab hoste diceri. OVID. "Nor need we blush from even a foe to learn." THE interests of society have been considerably injured by the injudicious conduct of some of our moral writers. They have laid down many general positions of right and wrong, without any precise discrimination of their boundaries, and given authoritative precepts for human conduct, without sufficiently attending to human nature. In attempting to remove the disease, instead of trying the lenient arts of cure, they have frequently made short work, and directly prescribed amputation. In one important instance, this error has particularly appeared. The fair sex are formed with a propensity to dress and elegance, to gaiety, tenderness, and love. This disposition is their characteristic, and is given them for the best purposes. It is the source of all their influence, and of the highest joys which man can taste. The little excesses of it are undoubtedly foibles, but the want of it is a capital imperfection. Yet, either from spleen, apathy, or affectation, those grave censors have laboured to destroy it in the gross, and have employed for that purpose all the solemnity of learning, and the smartness of ridicule. Every instance of attention to personal attractions, and the minute, but powerful articles of decoration, have been condemned as unpardonable vanity and folly. The tender insinuations,, and exquisite blandishments of love, are, according to them, no better than indelicacy or immodesty. Nature, in short, is shown as entirely wrong, and her finest endowments are set at variance with virtue and good sense. These documents have been particularly injurious to the married state. Women have been led by them into fale ideas of themselves, as well as of the other sex, and have been discouraged from the use of those engaging qualities which secure the willing captive in his chains, and from exerting those little tendernesses without which no real happiness can be found It is much easier to despise than to practise, so that lessons like these have flattered at once their indolence and their ambition. Desirous of being thought above the common character of the sex, superior to trifles, levity, contempt of those powerful attractions which have still the most difficult and essential part of their task to perform. Yet the facts of which they most complain, should, one would imagine, show them their mistake. I mean the many instances of supe rior, nay, unbounded dominion possessed by those females who associate with our sex with out the sanction of the law. But from a par. tiality too natural, though they see and feel the effects, they cannot divine the cause. Con vinced that they themselves are right, they look for it in the depravity of man's disposi, tion, and think he is managed by arts which lie out of the province of modesty; that he sees peculiar charms in vice, and is governed not so much by the woman as the wanton, lie Could they but personally observe the conduct of these their formidable rivals, they would soon be undeceived. Were they to look behind the curtain, they would see every thing effected by the most natural means, without the aid of any magic, but that which the sex in general possesses. They would be astonished to find that all these mighty powers within their own reach, and that the whole secret consits in the proper use of those qua lities which they had thrown aside as useless, or condemned as improper. The nature of man would be fairly laid open to their view, and they would learn to touch the springs by which he is actuated. Their knowledge would be founded on experiment, and could, with a slight variation, be adapted to the amiable purposes of virtue. Scenes of this kind would show them woman in her natural state of superiority; and an amazing one it is! Without strength, property, or dominion, they are all laid at her feet. Weak, tender, and timid, she moves fleets and armies with a nod. Independent of all laws, she rules over the makers of those laws. Her influence is all self-centered, and she bas only to call it judiciously into action. She stands the most eminent instance in nature, of a gentle force setting a mighty body in motion. She is a combination of mechanic powers beyond any of Archimedes, and can move the world by a hair, without stirring out of her bed-chamber. This is the universal prerogative of the sex, and weakness, and refined into sentimental and only more conspicuous in one part of it, purity, they have been too easily argued into a because necessity forces into action those qualities by which it is supported. Every woman is formed for dominion, and to submit to it, is the pride and happiness of mau. Not the ungenerous dominion of the shrew, but that gentle, yet unlimited influence over the affectious, arising from their numberless, nameless, and bewitching powers. These are by no means peculiar to vice; she seems rather to have stolen them from virtue, when in a fit of remissness; for, to give poignancy to her joys, she is obliged to hide her own features, and assume the air, the language, and the inviting reluctance of her rival. Man loves not vice; he only seeks his own happiness; and, from an honest instinctive gratitude, repays it, wherever found, with affection and tenderness. Would virtue only display the banner of pleasure, the whole male world would go over to her party. || human nature, the art of pleasing; and ambition would reject every degree of dominion inferior to that unbounded one, which the exertion of this art must necessarily confer. It is far from my intention to insist on the trite, and, I hope, needless topics of neatness and good temper. There is but little merit in not being a termagant, or a slattern. Something more than negatives is required. Man is an animal with multifarious appetites; it is a noble point gained to command esteem, but it is paying him much too high a compliment, to treat him as a being consisting only of spirit, or capable of subsisting merely on spiritual food. The senses, the passions, the imag nation, all expect their share. Every art of elegance, every power of endearment, should therefore be exerted without reserve. Nothing should be deemed trifling that leads to happi'But custom denies the ladies this scene of ness, nor should coldness or austerity be inobservation, they can only resort to their own dulged under the specious name of delicacy. imaginations. We feel, but we cannot describe Marriage would then get rid of the dull idea the powers by which they subdue, captivate, which custom too frequently annexes to it, and and command. They are too subtile to be appear in the inviting form of a perfect union clothed in words, and pass directly to the of the sexes, under the protection of all laws, heart, too rapid even for observation. They not only for mutual comfort and support, but operate like spells, or charms, and raise the most also for the full and free enjoyment of every unaccountable, as well as the most delightful || rapture which their natures are formed to give sympathies which the human frame can feel. and receive. The prettiest allegory in the world is that of the Girdle of Venus, which may be exhibited under the single appellation of goodhumour. This is undoubtedly the ground, but the embroidering is thus beautifully attempted by Homer, or rather by Pope, though I could wish he had not omitted the molle baci (soft kisses), of Tasso, for they seem to be essentially necessary. "In this was every art, and every charm, "To win the wisest, and the coldest warm; "Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, "The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire; "Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs, "Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes." I would recommend the whole passage, which is both amusing and instructive, to the perusal of my fair married readers. Proposing only, that instead of occasionally borrowing this bewitching ornament from Venus, they should wrest it from her as their property, and wear it by night as well as by day. I never knew a lady without a competent share of pride or ambition. Two noble quali ties, if they were called in from trifling pursuits, and emp oyed on the valuable purposes of nature. Pride would then blush at being excelled by the lowest of the sex in that art which does honour to woman, and indeed to I beg leave to call upon the ladies to do themselves due honour, and assert their rank in the creation. They are intrusted with the happiness of the world, and the stores of pleasure are in their hands. Man is thrown dependent on their bounty, and implores their kindness as the great palliative of pain, the reward for all the toils, the dangers, and the vicissitudes of life. When he has renounced all other sources of joy but one, it were cruel, ungenerous, and unjust to make him a loser by his virtue. Amidst the hurry of artificial pleasures, let not nature be overlooked, nor her gentle dictates disregarded, but let it be the pride and happiness of every married woman to make her husband a virtuous voluptuary. We shall now, in order to give an example of the good effects which attend the observation of the foregoing maxims, insert a true story of an amiable and respectable pair, as communicated by an old gentleman, who was well acquainted with both the parties. "Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, DRYDEN. Even at my time of life, it refreshes the imagination and diffuses a kind of vernal cheerfulness over every idea. Its efficacy is indeed so irresistible, that women have, in my opinion, most of the moral, and much of the natural evil of the world to account for. The potency of their influence may prevent the one, and disarm the other of its sting. How superstition could be so stupid as to attribute witchcraft to old hags, hardly human, is amazing; but it is no more than a natural truth to say, that every amiable woman is a sorceress; fascination is in her eye, magic in her smile, and a legion of little demons in her touch. When virtue deigns to assume the enchanted wand, the arts of Circe are reversed; man starts from the brute into his proper nature, and rises into refinement and bliss. A CONNUBIAL STORY. Nec minor est virtus, quam quærere, parta tueri; OVID. "The glory's more to keep than win the prize, "Chance may do one, in t'other merit lies. Sir Edward G. the son of an English Baronet, at the age of eighteen, succeeded to the title and fortune of his father: he thus entered into the fashionable world with every advantage. His estate was a clear 3000l. a year, his constitution excellent, and his person handsome. A liberal education had afforded him a large share of knowledge, and his strong understanding had made it all his own. His principles, well turned by nature, had been formed by the strictest rules of honour and virtue. Add to all these, the attractions of the sweetest temper, great vivacity, and a fine address, and you have a sketch of Sir Edward's picture. But the pleasure of our interview was net a little abated on my finding that he had brought over with him a lady, with whom he had formed a connexion in Paris and from whom I saw but little prospect of his ever being released. Mademoiselle Duval had every gift of nature and art that was necessary for such a conquest. Besides a considerable share of well-improved good sense, she had great sweetness of temper, and an unaffected desire to please. To a very beautiful person was added a perfect skill in all the arts of decoration. She had a tender. ness of aspect and manner very difficult to be resisted, and a modest elegance of address, which flattered his delicacy, and threw a veil over the very nature of vice. In her fetters I found him, nor could any influence of mine, nor indeed any human means, but her own mercenary mind have ever set him free. Some time after my return to the country, I learned that her repeated infidelities had at last broken his chain. I thought this a good time to remonstrate, but before my letter reached him, his unruly leading passion had resumed its way, and thrown him into the bondage of a celebrated Italian Opera singer, more notorious for her address than for her charms, but whose great proficiency in artifice promised to be more dangerous than even the beauty of La Duval. But I must introduce my heroine to you. Eliza's family and fortune were good. Her person extremely fine, and her face, though far from regular, the most attractive that I ever saw. Besides the most even and whitest teeth, and pouting lips, "like the ruby rosebud moist with morning dew," about which ten thousand graces revelled, she had a pair of the most charming blue eyes, full of the bewitching softness peculiar to that colour. Her spirits were excellent; her temper sweet; and, added to every polite accomplishment, she possessed a good understanding, and an affectionate heart. Such a young woman could not fail of having admirers. She had indeed, before the age of twenty, declined several offers, which, in the language of the world, were ex Nothing could bid fairer for happiness than such an outset. Great were the expectations of his friends. But I, who knew him best, could perceive, through all his excellences a weak part, which made me fear for him. Joined to a general social affection, and an uncommon tenderness of heart, he possessed a sensibility of female charms which carried him almost to enthusiasm. It was easy to foresee the rock on which this habit of mind, aided by the vigour of a genial constitution, would inevi-traordinarily advantageous. tably hurry a young man of his rank and She came with her family to pass a few of fortune; and I clearly saw that, with a firm-the winter months in town, where it was my ness that no violence could shake, a judginent not to be deceived, and morals which the world's riches could not vitiate, my friend was doomed to be the dupe, the absolute slave of female dominion. I met him in London, after his return from the tour of Europe. He came back enriched with every valuable acquirement, and his solid understanding polished into genuine elegance. fortune frequently to escort her to the theatre. One night, to my great surprise, Sir Edward entered the box, just arrived from his countryseat. We met with mutual pleasure; but I soon perceived his attention stealing from me to another object. Eliza struck him; and I fancied I could see in her eyes she was equally smitten. The next morning disclosed his intentions. I opposed them strongly, and pictured him to himself with friendly severity; but he pleaded so well, and so forcibly urged that both his reformation and his happiness depended on Eliza, that I was obliged to submit. I carried his message, and at the same time honestly exhibited his character. The mother hesitated; Eliza was referred to for a decisive answer. With the most modest candour she declared that she saw some strong marks of constancy in the portrait, on which she would venture to rely, and was willing to run the risk. They were married soon after, and went to reside at his scat. A perverse turn in my own affairs, caused me, about this time to go abroad. The pain of a ten years' absence was however a good deal lessened by the regular accounts I received of my amiable friends being completely happy. As soon as I returned to London, hearing they were in the country, I set out thither immediately. I got there the second day about three, and was shown into a parlour, where I found my fair friend at work, her eldest girl reading to her, and two sweet little boys playing on the carpet. Our first salutes were scarcely over, when Sir Edward flew into the room, and hung upon my neck. Words were not necessary to tell me their mutual happiness. I have seldom felt more joy. Dinner was served, and, the|| first hurry of spirits subsiding, my attention was attracted by Eliza. Ladies may laugh, and perhaps not believe me, when I say, that though the day was extremely wet, and no prospect of any company, she came down very elegantly dressed. The whole had an unstudied air, yet I could see that the minutest article was carefully adjusted; I was particularly struck with the beautiful decorations of her head, and, when she drew off her gloves, with a pair of diamond bracelets, which he had lately presented to her. Love had diffused an exquisite tenderness over her features; and an habitual wish of pleasing, animated by success, had so pointed every charin, that though she had been frequently a mother, she wa a much finer woman than when I last saw her. My spirits were raised; I shared sincerely in their happiness. The piano-porte succeeded our tea, and I found her improved into a capital performer. five, yet I found it convenient to turn my attention for a while towards some historical pictures which were near ne. Indeed my worthy friends seemed to have been married but ten days instead of as many years. withdrew before supper. I A month's stay in this delightful retreat gave me hourly occasions to admire her. Joined to a steady uniformity of purpose, sha contrived to throw such an amazing variety in her dress, her manner, the disposal of our hours, and all her little schemes of amusement, that inconstancy itself would have doated on her. By always turning the bright side of domestic life to her husband, she avoided dwelling on the dark one. A cheerful alacrity in her economy made it perceptible only by the effects; and though they lived remarkably well, she had nearly liquidated a debt of six thousand pounds, incurred by his former indiscretions, before he could conceive it possible. Indeed I wondered not at his being happy. He possessed all that La Duval, or the Italian singer could give, and much more; he had affection pure and unalloyed; with a worthy heart besides, which neither of them had to bestow. The morning I came away, meeting her alone in the garden, I could not avoid paying her some well-deserved compliments on her conduct. "I know, my dear Sir," said she, you were in pain for me, but, with vanity I say it, I found the task full as easy as I had imagined. My husband has too many virtues to be lost. He took a liking to my person; all the rest depended upon myself. I resolved that my appearance should not be impaired by my own fault; my temper I could trust to; and I felt a lively affection, which I hoped, would supply the place of better abilities, and dictate as I procceded, the means of making him happy. To please and be pleased are, in reality, the mutual cause and effect of each other; so that my labour is a round of pleaThe business of my toilet, being habitual, is easy, nay, agreeable. I regard my glass as a friend who daily gives me new hints for pleasing the man I love. To you, Sir, I will own, that I love hin, in the full extent of the word, with the ardour which he deserves ; with the ardour which he requires. Had he met with only the cold return of esteem, Sir Edward would have been far from happy. sure. The enraptured husband gazed like a lover; his enamoured regards ran over her various charms; her bright eyes beaming sensibility; her lips breathing sweets, and emittig the most melodious tones; her snow-white tapering fingers rapidly flying over the keys of the instrument, through all the complicated mazes of the most brilliant execution, and her tempt-lead it right by flattering the ruling propensity. ing bosom swelling with expression. I am sixty No. XXV. l'ol. III. "Happiness like mine," continued she, “would be more general, would women but observe two maxims. One is, never to attempt an opposition to nature, but gently to The other, never to contemn small matters as Tt indeed so irresistible, that women have, in my opinion, most of the moral, and much of the natural evil of the world to account for. The potency of their influence may prevent the one, and disarm the other of its sting. How superstition could be so stupid as to attribute witchcraft to old hags, hardly human, is amazing; but it is no more than a natural truth to say, that every amiable woman is a sorceress; fascination is in her eye, magic in her smile, and a legion of little demons in her touch. When virtue deigns to assume the enchanted wand, the arts of Circe are reversed; man starts from the brute into his proper nature, and rises into refinement and bliss. A CONNUBIAL STORY. Nec minor est virtus, quam quærere, parta tueri; OVID. "The glory's more to keep than win the prize, "Chance may do one, in t'other merit lies. But the pleasure of our interview was not a little abated on my finding that he had brought over with him a lady, with whom he had formed a connexion in Paris and from whom I saw but little prospect of his ever being released. Mademoiselle Duval had every gift of nature and art that was necessary for such a conquest. Besides a considerable share of well-improved good sense, she had great sweetness of temper, and an unaffected desire to please. To a very beautiful person was added a perfect skill in all the arts of decoration. She had a tenderness of aspect and manner very difficult to be || resisted, and a modest elegance of address, which flattered his delicacy, and threw a veil over the very nature of vice. In her fetters I found him, nor could any influence of mine, nor indeed any human means, but her own mercenary mind have ever set him free. Some time after my return to the country, I learned that her repeated infidelities had at last broken his chain. I thought this a good time to remonstrate, but before my letter reached him, his unruly leading passion had resumed its way, and thrown him into the bondage of a celebrated Italian Opera singer, more notorious for her address than for her || charms, but whose great proficiency in artifice promised to be more dangerous than even the beauty of La Duval. || Sir Edward G. the son of an English Baronet, at the age of eighteen, succeeded to the title and fortune of his father: he thus entered into the fashionable world with every advantage. His estate was a clear 3000l. a year, his constitution excellent, and his person handsome. A liberal education had afforded him a large || share of knowledge, and his strong understanding had made it all his own. His principles, well turned by nature, had been formed by the strictest rules of honour and virtue. Add to all these, the attractions of the sweetest temper, great vivacity, and a fine address, and you have a sketch of Sir Edward's picture. But I must introduce my heroine to you. Eliza's family and fortune were good. Her person extremely fine, and her face, though far from regular, the most attractive that I ever saw. Besides the most even and whitest teeth, and ponting lips, "like the ruby rosebud moist with morning dew," about which ten thousand graces revelled, she had a pair of the most charming blue eyes, full of the bewitching softness peculiar to that colour. Her spirits were excellent ; her temper sweet; and, added to every polite accomplishment, she possessed a good understanding, and an affectionate heart. Such a young woman could not fail of having admirers. She had indeed, before the age of twenty, declined several offers, which, in the language of the world, were ex Nothing could bid fairer for happiness than such an outset. Great were the expectations of his friends. But I, who knew him best, could perceive, through all his excellences a weak part, which made me fear for him. Joined to a general social affection, and an uncommon tenderness of heart, he possessed a sensibility of female charms which carried him almost to enthusiasm. It was easy to foresee the rock on which this habit of mind, aided by the vigour of a genial constitution, would inevi-traordinarily advantageous. tably hurry a young man of his rank and fortune; and I clearly saw that, with a firmness that no violence could shake, a judginent not to be deceived, and morals which the world's riches could not vitiate, my friend was doomed to be the dupe, the absolute slave of female dominion. I met him in London, after his return from the tour of Europe. He came back enriched with every valuable acquirement, and his solid understanding polished into genuine elegance. She came with her family to pass a few of the winter months in town, where it was my fortune frequently to escort her to the theatre. One night, to my great surprise, Sir Edward entered the box, just arrived from his countryseat. We met with mutual pleasure; but I soon perceived his attention stealing from me to another object. Eliza struck him; and I fancied I could see in her eyes she was equally smitten. The next morning disclosed his intentions. I opposed them strongly, and pictured |