Miss Beecher has published (through Phillips & Sampson of Boston), her True Remedy for the Wrongs of Women, and the book is much below her reputation. From a person of her character and unquestionable abilities, we looked for a rebuke of those females who have unsexed themselves, such a rebuke as should have brought to life all the latent shame in their natures, and for ever prevented any renewals of the melancholy displays they have made of an unfeminine passion for notoriety. The "wrongs of woman," in the state of New-York at least, are purely ideal; here woman has all the privileges and protections compatible with her destined offices in a civilized society. She undoubtedly has a share of the sufferings to which human nature is subject, but has literally nothing to complain of at the hands of man in the social organization. The individual wrongs of which she is the victim, are for the most part penalties of individual indiscretions, and the remedy for them is to be found in the education of woman for her proper sphere and duties, such education as shall develope her capacities for the relations of domestic life, most of all, for maternity. Miss Beecher treats parties with respect who are entitled to no respect, acknowledges evils which do not exist, and proposes for the elevation of female character plans of very questionable influence.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Wieseler, Friedrich. Theatergebäude und Denkmaler des Buhnenwesens, beiden Gricchen und Römern. Göttingen, 1851. Vandenhœik und Ruprecht.
The Fine Arts.
All Europe abounds in memorials of illustrious men, and in the present time there is more than ever before a disposition manifested to consecrate art to the honor of the benefactors of mankind, or to those who have been most eminent for great qualities. From Munich, we learn by the latest journals, that two colossal statues—those of Gustavus Adolphus and of the Swedish poet Tegner—have just been cast at the royal foundry of that capital, with complete success. Both were modelled by Schwanthaler, and are destined for public places in the city of Stockholm. In France, the inhabitants of Andelys have been inaugurating a statue of Nicolas Poussin, with great ceremonial. On the same day a statue to Poisson, an eminent mathematician, was inaugurated with pomp, at his native place, Pithiviers, near Orleans. A little before, one was erected to Froissart, the quaint old chronicler of knightly deeds, at Valenciennes, where he was born. Jeanne Hachette is about to have one at Beauvais; Gresset, the author of 'Vert Vert', at Amiens; and the village of Rollot, in Picardy, has just caused to be placed in its public square a bust of the translator into French of the Thousand and One Nights, Antony Galland. He was sent by Colbert to the East on account of his great knowledge of the Hebrew and other oriental languages, and on his return published the Arabian Nights, and a treatise on the origin of coffee.
There is, in fact, scarcely a Frenchman of real eminence in poetry, literature, war, science, statesmanship, or the arts, who is not honored with a statue, either in his birthplace, or in the town made his own by adoption. Most of the statues are erected at the expense of the respective localities; the good people thinking it a duty to render every respect to their illustrious dead. And when they happen to be too poor to incur much cost, they erect a fountain, or some other useful work, which bears the great man's name. In the small and poor village of Chatenay, near Paris, where Voltaire was born, you see, for example, a small plaster bust of him, in an iron cage, and on the parish pump the words "à Voltaire." And, as the Literary Gazette has it, very justly, "the man who should scoff at this simple tribute to genius would be an ass,—it is all that poor peasants can afford to pay." The names of distinguished men are also frequently given by the French to streets and squares. In Paris alone, Molière, Racine, Corneille, Voltaire, Boileau, Montaigne, and I know not how many others, together with men of science by the hundred, have streets named after them: so have Chateaubriand and Béranger; so have even the English Lord Byron and the Italian Rossini. The ships in the navy, too, receive also the names of distinguished men, foreign as well as native—there is a man-of-war named after Newton, and several public works have the name of our own Franklin. But in the United States, although we have sometimes named after soldiers and statesmen, we have scarce any monuments, and no statues at all, except a few of men distinguished in affairs. In Union Square, opposite the house in which he lived, there should be a statue of the great Chancellor Kent; in Richmond, one of Marshall, next to Washington, the greatest of Virginians; in Northampton, one to Jonathan Edwards; in New Haven, one to Timothy Dwight; before the Academy of Sciences in Philadelphia, one to Franklin, one to Rittenhouse, and one to Alex. Wilson; at Cambridge, one to Allston; in Boston, one to Bowditch; and in New-York, memorials of some sort to Audubon, Gallatin, Hamilton, &c.
In the new park which is to be reserved in the upper part of the city, we have an opportunity to commemorate the patriotism and misfortunes of the first magistrate chosen by the people of New-York, the first under whom municipal elections were held here, and the first martyr to Liberty in the New World—Governor Leisler. Leisler Park sounds well, and it has additional fitness from the fact, that the unfortunate governor was once proprietor of a part of the grounds to be so appropriated. If it shall not be called Leisler Park, there is another illustrious New-Yorker, whose name appears to have been forgotten by those who have given names to public places here,—Governor Colden, who wrote the History of the Five Nations.