“Ugly! no, no; she is one of the most charming and—yes, beautiful young women I have ever met.”
In the eyes of the speaker there was a pained surprise, which well supplemented the intense earnestness of her manner.
“You always find some beauty in these very plain people, Hortense, I almost never knew it to fail; given a face and form ugly enough to draw pity from a savage—and, forsooth, we have a heroine—in your eyes! Will you kindly give me a description of your ideal of womanly beauty, together with your reasons for your particular tastes? Also, perhaps you will give me some formula by which I myself may hope to aspire to the lofty heights to which the young person referred to has evidently risen?”
There was a touch of playful banter in the clear voice and a twinkle in the bright eyes as Evelyn Willis turned a smiling face toward her companion.
“Your question is a challenge for a story, Evelyn. Very well; it is a short one, and one which shall be told without adornment or embellishment like the sweet girl of whom we were speaking and of whose life I shall tell you.
“Martha Gray never knew the tender care of a father; he died when his little girl was too young to mourn for him. Left alone with her widowed mother, the child had little opportunity to attend school, tho she was naturally studious and thoughtful beyond her years. As the hard, toilsome years went by, she never complained or murmured, tho prevented by cruel poverty from joining in the festivities of the young people of her acquaintance. Of course she developed into a shy, sensitive, self-distrustful young woman.
“Finally came the crowning sorrow of her young life. On account of her strenuous life of hard work and grinding poverty, the mother, to whom the daughter was most tenderly attached, became a helpless and hopeless invalid. But that which to many another young woman would have been the last drop in an already full cup of bitterness, and furnished a ready excuse for a sour temper and a sullen disposition, only developed in her a tender, sympathetic manner and a loving, patient unselfishness which still grow more beautiful as the years pass. The constant care of her mother forbids the brave girl from earning much with which to supply the necessities of life, so that the galling poverty of the weary years grows even more bitter. At last the poor invalid’s brain has become affected, so that she does not even recognize her devoted daughter. Yet not even now will the noble girl give her mother up to the care of strangers; and whenever she accepts charity, it is for her mother’s sake.
“Seven long years she has toiled and sacrificed, and still toils and sacrifices for her loved one, until already the hand of Time has been busy writing his cruel autograph on face and form. But, my dear, her voice is the most musical I have ever heard. Constantly attuned to the music of gentle, loving, soothing words, it is wonderful in its richness and quality. Her hands are hard, but it has not been selfish greed which has hardened them; her features may be plain and irregular, but into her eyes has crept such a wondrous light and such a mellow tenderness,—the logical result of years of unselfishness,—that I am sure if you only knew her, you would be constrained, as well as I and many others, to pronounce her beautiful—yea, more than this, you would love her.”
There were tears of sympathy in the eyes of Evelyn Willis, and her voice trembled as she replied:
“To think of my unkind words! I’m so glad, so glad she never need know them.”
“No, my dear, she will never know them, but we must not forget that hard, unloving, ungenerous words and even thoughts leave their ugly marks on the soul. But I have not forgotten that you asked me for a formula by conforming to which you might achieve that beauty of soul which is so much to be desired. Perhaps it might be summed up in two words—love and unselfishness. Do you know, my dear, these are the greatest beautifiers in the world?”
The story was ended. But that formula is worth more than all those of all the fancy specialists and beauty doctors in all the countries of all the world. Love and unselfishness inwrought into the life and into the heart of a young woman never yet failed and never will fail of transforming the plainest face into one of true beauty. They are veritable wonder-workers.
Did you ever see an otherwise pretty face distorted with passion? There was no beauty about it then, was there?
“What do you use—what medicine do you take, Mrs. W—, to make your eyes so bright?” questioned a vain woman of a dear friend of mine.
My friend assured her that she did nothing except to keep her brains busy and to make an intelligent use of the powers God had given her, and that if she would do the same, she would have no further trouble about keeping her eyes bright. But whether the silly creature thought the formula too hard to follow, or whether she feared the result would not be certain, suffice it to say she resorted to the use of a certain powerful drug as an “eye-brightener,” and the good doctor who succeeded in saving her life wondered that she had not been obliged to spend the remainder of her days in total blindness.
Beautiful young womanhood, then, must not be sought in such ways as these. If girls would learn to be content with the eyes and complexion and form God gave them; if they would not squeeze their lungs and their livers until they are objects of pity, under the mistaken idea that people admire them for their sylph-like forms; if they would refuse to call for a number three shoe to fit a number five foot; if they would cease to imitate the example of their savage sisters who bedaub their faces with paint and blacken their teeth with the betel nut; if they would study more the graces of the mind and heart, and refuse to cherish anything but love toward all—then would they become truly lovely; for soul beauty is the sweetest thing in the world.