We would have our Magazine commend to our fair readers for approval and acquisition, all the gifts and graces which belonged to The Belle of the Opera; we would not have them seek that title. _She_ did not; as unconscious of the admiration of the audience, as the performers were of her individual presence; she came to enjoy the music, not to acquire fame. We would have those for whom we write bear in mind that the character of woman is incomplete, whatever talents or acquisition she may boast, if she has not the charm that attracts to and delights its domestic circle. And she should know that the basis of all those charms which give permanent beneficial influence, is _religion_; a fixed principle of doing right, from right motives. Upon _that_ basis let the lovely fabric be erected; beauty, music, literature, science, social enjoyment, all become and all ornament the structure. And woman’s character with these is complete, if she add the discharge of the duties of a friend—a wife—a mother. She who is the charm of social life must be the benignant spirit of home—the source and centre of domestic affection. * * * * * WHAT IS BEAUTIFUL? BY AUGUSTA. Flowers are beautiful—every hue Colors their petals, and pearly dew, The nectar the fairies love to sup, Sparkles brightly in each tiny cup, While the dark leaves of the ivy shine, And its clustering tendrils closely twine Round the old oak, and the sapling young, And when it has lightly round them clung, It laughs, and shouts, and it calls aloud, Have I not now a right to be proud? I’ve mastered the lordly forest-tree, I’m King of the woods, come see, come see. Night’s gems are beauteous, right rare are they, Gloriously bright is each gentle ray, Flashing and twinkling up so high, Like diamonds set in the deep blue sky; Who is there but loves night’s gentle queen, Gorgeously robed in her silver sheen? Shedding her pale, pure brightness round, O’er hill and valley, and tree and ground; Gilding the waters as on they glide In their conscious beauty, joy and pride; Or sending a quiet ray to rove, And wake the shade of the deep-green grove. The Sun is beautiful—“God of day,” He sends o’er the earth a lordly ray, He shames the sweet pensive Orb of night By his radiant beams so fiercely bright.