How bitter is the contempt which the philosopher pours out upon the fashionable ladies of the time, who spend their days in the mysterious rites of the toilet, curling their locks, anointing their cheeks, painting their eyes, "mangling, racking, and plastering themselves over with certain compositions, chilling the skin and furrowing the flesh with poisonous cosmetics;" and then in the evening "creeping out to candle-light as out of a hole." Love of display is not the characteristic of a true lady. The woman who gives herself up to finery is worse than one who is addicted to the pleasures of the table and the bottle! She is a lazy housekeeper, sitting like a painted thing to be looked at, not as if made for domestic economy, and she cares a great deal more about getting at her husband's purse-strings than about staying at home with him. And how preposterous is her behavior when she goes abroad. Is she short? she wears cork-soles. Is she tall? she carries her head down on her shoulder. Has she fine teeth? she is always laughing. Has she no flanks? she has something sewed on to her, so that the spectators may exclaim on her fine shape. A little while ago, a mania for yellow hair broke out in Paris, and fashionable ladies had their locks dyed of the popular hue. Well, it appears from St. Clement's discourses that this folly is over sixteen hundred years old. He upbraids the Alexandrian ladies for following the same absurd custom, and asks, in the words of Aristophanes, "What can women do wise or brilliant who sit with hair dyed yellow?" Nor is this the only modern fashion about the hair which was known and condemned in his time. Read this, young ladies: "Additions of other people's hair are entirely to be rejected, and it is a most sacrilegious thing for spurious hair to shade the head, covering the skull with dead locks. For on whom does the priest lay his hand? Whom does he bless? Not the woman decked out, but another's hairs, and through them another head." Chignons, braids, tresses, and all the other wonderful paraphernalia of the hair-dresser's art are condemned as no better than lies, and a shameful defamation of the human head, which, says St. Clement, is truly beautiful. Neither is it allowable to dye gray hairs, or in any other way to conceal the approach of old age. "It is enough for women to protect their locks and bind up their hair simply along the neck with a plain hair-pin, nourishing chaste locks with simple care to true beauty." And then he draws a comical picture of a lady with her hair so elaborately "done up," that she is afraid to touch her head, and dares not go to sleep for fear of pulling down the whole structure.
A man ought to shave his crown, (unless he has curly hair,) but not his chin, because the beard gives "dignity and paternal terror" to the face. The mustache, however, "which is dirtied in eating, is to be cut round, not by the razor, for that were ungenteel, but by a pair of cropping scissors." The practice of shaving was a mark of effeminacy in those days, and it was thought disgraceful for a man to rob himself of the "hairiness" which distinguishes his sex, even as the lion is known by his shaggy mane. So St. Clement is unsparing in his denunciations of the unmanly creatures who "comb themselves and shave themselves with a razor for the sake of fine effect, and arrange their hair at the looking-glass." Manly sports, provided they be pursued for health's sake and not for vainglory, he warmly approves. A sparing use of the gymnasium and an occasional bout at wrestling will do no harm, but rather good; yet, when you wrestle, says the saint, be sure you stand squarely up to your adversary, and try to throw him by main strength, not by trickery and finesse. A game of ball he especially recommends, (who knows but there may have been base-ball clubs in Egypt?) and he mildly suggests that, if a man were to handle the hoe now and then, the labor would not be "ungentlemanly." Pittacus, King of Miletus, set a good example to mankind by grinding at the mill with his own hand; and, if St. Clement were alive now, he might add that Charles V. employed himself in constructing time-pieces, and that notorious savage, Theodoras, Emperor of Abyssinia, passes most of his days making umbrellas. Fishing is a commendable pastime, for it has the example of the apostles in its favor. Another capital exercise for a gentleman is chopping wood. This, we may remark, is said to be the favorite athletic pursuit of the Honorable Horace Greeley.
The daily occupations of women must not be too sedentary, yet neither, on the other hand, ought the gentler sex to be "encouraged in wrestling or running!" Instead of dawdling about the shops of the silk merchant, the goldsmith, and the perfumer, or riding aimlessly about town in litters, just to be admired, the true lady will employ herself in spinning and weaving, and, if necessary, will superintend the cooking. She must not be above turning the mill, or getting her husband a good dinner. She must shake up the beds, reach drink to her husband when he is thirsty, set the table as neatly as possible, and when anything is wanted from the store, let her go for it and fetch it home herself. We fear it is not the fashion, even yet, to follow St. Clement's advice. She ought to keep her face clean, and her glances cast down, and to beware of languishing looks, and "ogling, which is to wink with the eyes," and of a mincing gait.
A gentleman in the street should never walk furiously, nor swagger, nor try to stare people out of countenance; neither when going up-hill ought he to be shoved up by his domestics! He ought not to waste his time in barbers' shops and taverns, babbling nonsense; nor to watch the women who pass by; nor to gamble. He must not kiss his wife in the presence of his servants. If he is a merchant, he must not have two prices for his goods. He must be his own valet. He must wash his own feet, and put on his own shoes.
And so the holy man goes on with much more sage counsel and Christian direction, teaching his flock not only how to be faithful children of the church, but how to be true gentlemen and gentlewomen. The etiquette which he lays down is not based upon the arbitrary and changeable rules of fashion, but upon the fixed principles of morality and good fellowship. We have thought it not amiss to give our readers a specimen of them, partly, indeed, because they show us in such an interesting manner what kind of lives people used to lead in his day, but also because they are full of good lessons and wholesome rebukes for ourselves, and because many of the follies which St. Clement condemned are still flourishing, just as they flourished then, or are newly springing into life after they have been for so many centuries forgotten. Of course, there are many of his rules which are not applicable to us. Many things which he forbade because they were indications or accompaniments of certain sinful practices are no longer wrong, because they have been completely dissevered from their evil associations. But upon the whole, we doubt not that a new edition of St. Clement's Paedagogus, or as we might translate it, "Complete Guide to Politeness," would be vastly more beneficial to the public than any of the hand-books of etiquette which are multiplied by the modern press.
Ran away to Sea.
A treacherous spirit came up from the sea,
And passing inland found a boy where he
Lay underneath the green roof of a tree,
In the golden summer weather.
And to the boy it whispered soft and low—
Come! let us leave this weary land, and go
Over the seas where the free breezes blow,
In the golden summer weather.
I know green isles in far-off sunny seas,
Where grow great cocoa-palms and orange-trees,
And spicy odors perfume every breeze,
In the golden summer weather.
There, underneath the ever-glowing skies,
Gay parrokeets and birds of paradise,
Make bright the woods with plumes of gorgeous dyes,
In the golden summer weather.
And in that land a happy people stay:
No hateful books perplex them night nor day;
No cares of business fret their lives away,
In the golden summer weather.
But all day long they wander where they please,
Plucking delicious fruits, that on the trees
Hang all the year and never know decrease,
In the golden summer weather.
Or over flower-enamelled vale and slope
They chase the silv'ry-footed antelope;
Or with the pard in manly conflict cope
In the golden summer weather.
And in those islands troops of maidens are,
Whose lovely shapes no foolish fashions mar;
Eyes black as Night, and brighter than her stars
In the golden summer weather.
Earth hath no maidens like them otherwhere;
With teeth like pearls and wreaths of jetty hair,
And lips more sweet than tinted syrups are,
In the golden summer weather.
Ah! what a life it were to live with them!
'Twould pass by sweetly as a happy dream:
The years like days, the days like minutes seem,
In the golden summer weather.
Come! let us go! the wind blows fair and free;
The clouds sail seaward, and to-morrow we
May see the billows dancing on the sea,
In the golden summer weather.
The heavens were bright, the earth was fair to see,
A thousand birds sang round the boy, but he
Heard nothing but that spirit from the sea,
In the golden summer weather.
All night, as sleepless on his bed he lay,
He seemed to hear that treacherous spirit say,
Come, let us seek those islands far away,
In the golden summer weather.
So ere the morning in the east grew red,
He stole adown the stairs with barefoot tread,
Unbarred the door with trembling hands, and fled
In the golden summer weather.
In the last hour of night the city slept;
Upon his beat the drowsy watchman stept;
When like a thief along the streets he crept,
In the golden summer weather.
And when the sun brought in the busy day,
His father's home afar behind him lay,
And he stood 'mongst the sailors on the quay,
In the golden summer weather.
Like sleeping swans, with white wings folded, ride
The great ships at their moorings, side by side;
Moving but with the pulses of the tide,
In the golden summer weather.
And one is slowly ruffling out her wings
For flight, as seaward round her bowsprit swings;
Whilst at the capstan-bars the sailor sings
In the golden summer weather.
He is aboard. The wind blows fresh abeam:
The ship drifts slowly seaward with the stream;
And soon the land fades from him like a dream,
In the golden summer weather.
And if he found those islands far away,
Or those fair maidens, there is none can say:
For ship or boy returned not since that day,
In the golden summer weather.
E. YOUNG.