"'Faint heart ne'er won fair lady.'
"'Faint heart ne'er won fair lady.'
"Didn'tit though! I FAN-cy itdoes! If there's anything in the world that isquite entirelyinteresting, it's a man who daresn'tsay'I love you,' thoughhiseyes told the story long ago! Of course you don'tknowanything about it. Oh, no! Can't, for the soul of you, tell why he never comes near you without a tremor, or what possesses him to say 'yes,' instead of 'no,' or to kiss your little brother so often, and give him so much sugar-candy! Have no ideawhyhe looks so 'distrait'and embarrassed, when you take another gentleman's arm or smile at him. Never see that bright magnetic sparkle in his eye when you call himHarry, instead ofMr.Fay. Don't see him pick up a rosebud that you dropped from your girdle, andhide it in his vest! (don't like it, either!!) You don't notice what along jobhe makes of it, putting your shawl on. You haven't the slightest suspicionwherethemateof your little kid glove went, the last time you went to walk; you arenot at all magnetically affected yourself! Oh, no,not a bit of it! Just as cool as a fur—refrigerator!
"Don't feel a bitnervouswhen your mother gets up and leaves the room! Always have a topic at your tongue's end to dash off on. Never pick your ribbons all to pieces because you daresn't look him in the face. Neverrefuseto go to ride with him, when you are justdyingto go. Never blush as red as a pulpit cushion, when your brother teases you about him, or say 'you don't care a fig for him.' WhenHISring at the door sends your heart to your mouth, you never snatch up a book and get soentirelyabsorbed in it, that he is obliged to touch your arm, before you can find out that he's in your presence!You never read his notes, when you could say them all off with your eyes shut!You neverhide themwhere anybody can find them—without you should be taken with a fainting fit! You take precious good care to keepall thatfromMr.Fay!
"All right, dear; don't hold out asingle straw to help him ashore! Make him comeevery stepof thewaywithout a guide-board! but when beGETS THERE—hem!—if youowna soul—tell him so!
"'Faint heart never won fair lady,' hey!I differ!If there's anything that's aregular shower-bath to love, it's your'veni, vidi, vici' man, who considers himself soexcruciatinglyomnipotent! Softly, sir!Forewarned, forearmed!You rouse all the antagonism in our nature! The more youare sure you'll win, the more you won't! You've to earn your laurels,—towinyour battle; (if youever noticed it!)
"Doyousuppose we are going to lose all those interesting, half-broken sentences, and all those pretty little blunders you make when we come near you? If you onlyknewhow interesting it was for us to see the color rush to your forehead, at such times, or to see you lookso'triste' when some old maid comes in to spend the evening, and you have to leave your little Paradise to gocreepinghome with her! or to see you manœuvre one whole evening with a diplomacy (deserving a reward) for a seat next to us! Goodness gracious! I tell you 'faint hearts'never win anything elsebut 'fair ladies!'"
Little Mabel had no mother. She was slight, and sweet, and fragile, like her type, the lily of the valley. Her little hand, as you took it in yours, seemed almost to melt in your clasp. She had large, dark eyes, whose depths, with all your searching, you might fail to fathom. Her cheek was very pale, save when some powerful emotion lent it a passing flush; her fair, open brow might have defied an angel's scrutiny; her little footfall was noiseless as a falling snow-flake; and her voice was sweet and low as the last note of the bird ere it folds its head under its wing for its nightly slumber.
"The house in which Mabel lived, was large and splendid. You would have hesitated to crush with your foot the bright flowers on the thick, richcarpet. The rare old pictures on the walls were marred by no envious cross-lights; light and shade were artistically disposed. Beautiful statues, which the sculptor (dream-inspired) had risen from a feverish couch to finish, lay bathed in the rosy light that streamed through the silken curtains. Obsequious servants glided in and out, as if taught by instinct to divine the unspoken wants of their mistress.
"I said the little Mabel had no mother; and yet there was a lady, fair and bright, of whose beautiful lip, and large dark eyes, and graceful limbs, little Mabel's were the mimic counterpart. Poets, artists, and sculptors, had sung, and sketched, and modelled her charms. Nature had been most prodigal of adornment—there was only one little thing she had forgotten—the Lady Mabel had no soul.
"She did not forget to deck little Mabel's limbs with costliest fabrics of most unique fashioning; not that every shining ringlet on that graceful little head was not arranged by Mademoiselle Jennet, in strict obedience to orders; not that a large nursery was not fitted up luxuriously at the top of the house, filled with toys which its little owner never cared to look at; not that the Lady Mabel's silken robe did not sweep, once a week,with a queenly grace through the apartment, to see if the mimic wardrobe provided for its little mistress fitted becomingly, or needed replenishing, or was kept in order by the smart French maid. Still, as I said before,the little Mabel had no mother!
"See her, as she stands there by the nursery window, crushing her bright ringlets in the palm of her tiny hand. Her large eyes glow, her cheek flushes, then pales; now the little breast heaves! for the gorgeous west is one sea of molten gold. Each bright tint thrills her with strange rapture. She almost holds her breath, as they deepen, then, fade and die away; and now the last bright beam disappears behind the hills; and the soft, grey twilight comes creeping on. Amid its deepening shadows,one bright starsprings suddenly to its place in the heavens! Little Mabel cannot tell why the warm tears are coursing down her sweet face, or why her limbs tremble, and her heart beats so fast, or why she dreads lest the shrill voice of Mademoiselle Jennet should break the spell. She longs to soar, like a bird, or a bright angel. She had a nurse once who told her 'there was a God.' She wants to know ifHeholds that bright star in its place. She wants to know if Heaven is a long way off, and ifsheshall ever bea bright angel; and she would like to say a little prayer, her heart is so full, if she onlyknew how; but poor, sweet little Mabel—she has no mother."
"'Tisn't possible you have been insane enough to go to housekeeping in the country for the summer? Oh, you ought to hear my experience,' and Uncle Ben wiped the perspiration from his forehead at the very thought.
"Yes, I tried it once, with city habits and a city wife; got rabid with the dog-days, and nothing could cure me but a nibble of green grass. There was Susan, you know, who never was off a brick pavement in her life, and didn't know the difference between a cheese and a grindstone.
"Well, we ripped up our carpets, and tore down our curtains, and packed up our crockery, and nailed down our pictures, and eat dust for a week; and then we emigrated to Daisy Ville.
"Could I throw up a window or fasten back a blind in that house, without sacrificing my suspenders and waistband button? No, sir! Weren't the walls full of Red Rovers? Didn't the doors fly open at every wind gust? Didn't the roof leak like the mischief? Wasn't the chimney leased to a pack of swallows? Wasn't the well a half a mile from the house?
"Oh, you needn't laugh. Instead of the comfortable naps to which I had been accustomed, I had to sleep with one eye open all night, lest I shouldn't get into the city in time. I had to be shaving in the morning before a rooster in the barn-yard had stirred a feather; swallowed my coffee and toast by steam, and then, still masticating, made for the front door. There stood Peter with my horse and gig (for I detest your cars and omnibusses.) On the floor of the chaise was a huge basket to bring home material for the next day's dinner; on the seat was a dress of my wife's, to be left 'without fail' at Miss Sewing Silk's, to have the forty-eleventh hook moved one-sixth of a degree higher up on the back. Then there was a package of shawls from Tom Fools & Co., to be returned; and a pair of shoes to carry to Lapstone, who was to select another pair for me to bring out at night; and a demijohn to be filledwith Sherry, &c. Well, I whipped up Bucephalus, left my sleeping wife and babies, and started for town, cogitating over an intricate business snarl which bid defiance to any straightening process. I hadn't gone half a mile before an old maid (I hate old maids) stopped me to know if I was going into town, and if I was, if I wouldn't take her in, as the omnibusses made her sick. She said she was 'niece to Squire Dandelion, and had a few chores to do a-shopping.' So I took her in, or rather she tookmein (but she didn't do it but once—for I bought a sulkey next day)! Well, it came night, and I was hungry as a Hottentot, for I never could dine as your married widowerspro tem.do, at eating-houses, where one gravy answers for flesh, fish, and fowl, and the pudding-sauce is as black as the cook's complexion. So I went round on an empty stomach, hunting upmy express-man parcels, and wending my way to the stable with arms and pockets running over. When I got home, found my wife in despair; no tacks in the house to nail down carpets, and not one to be had at the store in the village; the cook had deserted, because she couldn't do without 'hercity privileges,' (meaning Jonathan Jones, the 'dry dirt' man;) and the chambermaid, a buxom country girl, with fire red hair and temper to match, was spinning round the crockery(a la Blitz) because she 'couldn't eat with the family.'
"Then Charley was taken with the croup in the night, and in my fright I put my feet into my coat sleeves, and my arms into my pants, and put on one of my wife's ruffles instead of a dickey, and rode three miles in a pelting rain, for some 'goose-grease' for his throat.
"Then we never found out till cherries, and strawberries, and peaches were ripe, how manyfriends(?) we had. There was a horse hitched at every rail in the fence, so long as there was anything left to eat on a tree in the farm; but if my wife went in town shopping, and called on any of them, they were 'out, or engaged;'—or if at home, had 'just done dinner, and were going to ride.'
"Then there was no school in the neighborhood for the children, and they were out in the barn-yard feeding the pigs with lump-sugar, and chasing the hens off the nest, to see what was the prospect for eggs, and making little boats of their shoes and sailing them in the pond, and milking the cow in the middle of the day, &c.
"Then if I dressed in the morning in linen coat, thin pants, and straw hat, I'd be sure to find the wind 'dead east' when I got into the city; or if I put on broadcloth and fixins to match, itwould be hotter than Shadrach's furnace, all day—while the dense morning fog would extract the starch from my dickey and shirt-bosom, till they looked very like a collapsed flapjack.
"Then our meeting-house was a good two miles distant, and we had to walk, or stay at home; because my factotum (Peter) wouldn't stay on the farm without he could have the horse Sundays to go to Mill Village to see his affianced Nancy. Then the old farmers leaned on my stone wall, and laughed till the tears came into their eyes, to see 'the city gentleman's' experiments in horticulture, as they passed by 'to meetin'.'
"Well, sir, before summer was over, my wife and I looked as jaded as omnibus horses—she with chance 'help' and floods of city company, and I with my arduous duties asexpress manfor my own family in particular, and the neighbors in general.
"And now here we are—'No 9 Kossuth square.' Can reach anything we want, by putting our hands out the front windows. If, as the poet says, 'man made the town,' all I've got to say is—he understood his business!"
On this subject Fanny writes eloquently, as will be seen by the following sketch. She writes as if she had learned all about it, in the bitter school of experience.
"'Connubial.—Mr. Albert Wicks, of Coventry, under date of December 28th, advertised his wife as having left his bed and board; and now, under date of March 26th, he appends to his former notice, the following:"'Mrs. Wicks, if you ever intend to come back and live with me any more you must come back now or not at all."'I love you as I do my life, and if you will come now, I will forgive you for all you have done and threatened to do, which I can prove by three good witnesses; and if not, I shall attend to your case without delay, and soon, too.'
"'Connubial.—Mr. Albert Wicks, of Coventry, under date of December 28th, advertised his wife as having left his bed and board; and now, under date of March 26th, he appends to his former notice, the following:
"'Mrs. Wicks, if you ever intend to come back and live with me any more you must come back now or not at all.
"'I love you as I do my life, and if you will come now, I will forgive you for all you have done and threatened to do, which I can prove by three good witnesses; and if not, I shall attend to your case without delay, and soon, too.'
"There, now, Mrs. Wicks, what is to be done? 'Three good witnesses,' think ofthat! What the mischief have you been about? Whatever it isMr. Wicks is ready to 'love you like his life.' Consistent Mr. Wicks!
"Now take a little advice, my dear innocent, and don't allow yourself to be badgered or frightened into anything. None but a coward ever threatens a woman. Put that in your memorandum book. It's all bluster and braggadocio. Thread your darning-needle, and tell him you are ready for him—ready for anything except his 'loving you like his life;' that you could not possibly survive that infliction, without having your 'wick' snuffed entirely out.
"Sew away, just as if there was not a domestic earthquake brewing under your connubial feet. If it sends you up in the air, it sends him too—there's a pair of you! Putthatin his Wick—ed ear! Of course he will sputter away, as if he had swallowed a 'Roman candle,' and you can take a nap till he gets through, and then offer him your smelling-bottle to quiet his nerves.
"That's the way to quench him!"
There's 'nothing new under the sun;'—so I've read, somewhere; either in Ecclesiastes or Uncle Tom's Cabin; but at any rate, I was forcibly reminded of the profound wisdom of the remark, upon seeing a great flourish of trumpets in the papers about a 'Sewing Machine,' that had beenlately invented.
"Now ifIknow anything of history, that discovery dates back as far as the Garden of Eden. IfMrs. Adamwasn'tthe first sewing machine, I'll give up guessing. Didn't she go right to work making aprons, before she had done receiving her bridal calls from the beasts and beastesses? Certainly she did, and I honor her for it, too.
"Well—do you suppose all her pretty little descendantswho ply their 'busy fingers' in the upper lofts of tailors, and hatters, and vest-makers, and 'finding' establishments, are going to be superseded by that dumb old thing? Do you suppose their young and enterprising patrons prefer the creaking of a crazy machine to the music of their young voices? Not by a great deal!
"It's something, I can tell you, for them to see their pretty faces light up, when they pay off their wages of a Saturday night (small fee enough! too often, God knows!) Pity that theshilling heartso often accompanies theguinea means.
"Oh, launch out, gentlemen! Don'talwayslook at things with abusinesseye. Those fragile forms are young, to toil so unremittingly. God made no distinction ofsexwhen he said—'The laborer is worthy of his hire.' Man's cupidity puts that interpretation upon it.
"Those young operatives in your employ, pass, in their daily walks, forms youthful as their own, 'clothed in purple and fine linen,' who 'toil not, neither do they spin.' Oh, teach them not to look after their 'satin and sheen,' purchased at such a fearful cost, with a discouraged sigh!
"For one, I can never pass such a 'fallen angel' with a 'stand aside' feeling. A neglected youth, an early orphanage, poverty, beauty, coarse fare,the weary day of toil lengthened into night,—a mere pittance its reward. Youth, health, young blood, and the practised wile of the ready tempter!Oh, where's the marvel?
"Think of all this, when you poise that hardly earned dollar, on your business finger. What if it were your own delicate sister? Let aLITTLEheart creep into that shrewd bargain. 'Twill be an investment in the Bank of Heaven, that shall return to you four-fold."
Mrs. Chrissholm says:—"The best time to choose a wife is early in the morning. If a young lady is at all inclined to sulks and slatternness, it is just before breakfast. As a general thing, a woman don't get on her temper, till after 10 A. M."
Very spiritedly Fanny makes answer:—
"'Mennever look slovenly before breakfast—no indeed! Never run round vestless in their stocking-feet, with dressing-gown inside out; soiled hankerchief hanging by one corner out of the pocket; minus dickey; minus neck-tie; pantaloon straps flying at their heels; suspenders streaming from their waistband; chin shaved on one side,lathered on the other; last night's coat and pants on the floor, just where they hopped out of them; face snarled up in forty wrinkles, because the chamber fire won't burn; and because it snows; and because the office-boy hasn't been for the keys; and because the newspaper hasn't come; and because they smoked too many cigarsby one dozen, the night before; and because they lostthatbet, and can't pay theScot-t; and because there's an omelet instead of a chicken-leg for breakfast; and because they are out of sorts and shaving-soap; and out of cigars and credit; and can'tany how'get their temper on,' till they get some money and a mint julap!
"Any time 'before 10 o'clock,' is the time to 'choose' a husband—perhaps!"
This is one of Fanny's sweet bits of pathos; so sweet, so pure, it would furnish an apology for half a volume of coarse slang:—
"'Who is she?' 'Why, that is our Nelly, to be sure.' Nobody ever passed Nelly without asking, 'Who is she?' One can't forget the glance of that blue eye, in a hurry; nor the waving of those golden locks; nor the breezy grace of that lithe figure; nor those scarlet lips, nor the bright, glad sparkle of the whole face; and then she is not a bit proud; although she steps so like a queen she would shake hands just as quick with a horny palm as with a kid glove. The world can't spoil 'our Nelly,' for her heart is in the right place.
"'You should have seen her thank an old farmer, the other day, for clearing the road, that she might pass. He shaded his eyes with hishand, when she swept by, as if he had been dazzled by a sudden flash of sunlight, and muttered to himself, as he looked after her—'Won't she make somebody's heart ache?' Well, she has, but it is because from among all her lovers she could marry but one, and, God save us! that her choice should have fallen upon Walter Lee! If he don't quench out the love-light in those blue eyes, my name is not John Morrison. I've seen his eyes flash when things didn't suit him; I've seen him nurse his wrath to keep it warm till the smouldering embers were ready for conflagration. He's as vindictive as an Indian. I'd as soon mate a dove with a tiger, as give him 'our Nelly.' There's a dozen noble fellows, this hour, ready to lay down their lives for her, and yet out of the whole crowd she must choose Walter Lee. Oh, I have no patience to think of it. Well-a-day! mark my words, he will break her heart before a twelve-month! He's a pocket edition of Napoleon.'
"A year had passed by, and amid the hurry of business and the din of the great city, I had quite forgotten Glenburn and its fairy queen. It was a time to recall her to mind, that lovely June morning—with its soft fleecy clouds, its glad sunlight, its song of birds, and its breath of roses; and so Ithrew the reins on Romeo's neck, that he might choose his own pace down the sweet-briar path, to John Morrison's cottage. And there sat John, in the doorway, smoking his pipe, with Towser crouched at his feet, in the same old spot, just as if the sun had never gone down behind the hills since I parted with him.
"'And 'our Nelly,' said I, taking up the thread of his year old narrative as though it had never been broken—'and 'our Nelly?'
"'Under the sod,' said the old man, with a dark frown; 'under the sod. He broke her heart, just as I told you he would. Such a bridal as it was! I'd as lief have gone to a funeral. And then Walter carried her off to the city, where she was as much out of her element as a humming-bird in a meeting-house; and tried to make a fine lady of her, with stiff, city airs, and stiff city manners. It was like trying to fetter the soft west wind, which comes and goes at its own sweet will; and Nelly—who was only another name forNature—pined and drooped like a bird in a darkened cage.
"'One by one her old friends dropped off, wearied with repeated and rude repulses from her moody husband, till he was left, as he desired, master of the field. It was astonishing the ascendancy he gained over his sweet wife, contemptibleas he was. She made no objection to his most absurd requirements; but her step lost its spring, her eye its sparkle; and one might listen long for her merry-ringing laugh. Slowly, sadly, to Nelly came that terrible conviction from which a wife has no appeal. Ah! there is no law to protect woman from negative abuse! no mention made in the statute book (whichmen frame for themselves) of the constant dropping of daily discomforts which wear the loving heart away. No allusion to looks or words that are like poisoned arrows to the sinking spirit. No! if she can show no mark of brutal fingers on her delicate flesh—he has fulfilled his legal promise to the letter—to love, honor, and cherish her.Outon such a mockery of justice!
"'Well, sir; Nelly fluttered back to Glenburn, with the broken wing of hope, to die! So wasted! so lovely! The lips that blessedher, could not choose but to cursehim. 'She leaned on a broken reed,' said her old gray-haired father, as he closed her blue eyes forever. 'May God forgive him, for I never can,' said an old lover, whose heart was buried in her grave.
"'Nelly Lee,aged 18.'
"'You'll read it in the village churchyard, sir; eighteen! Brief years, sir, to drain all of happiness Life's cup could offer!'"
This is a phrase which is "teetotally" banished from Fanny's "Fern dictionary." Read the following exordium, and you'll never think of doubting her assertion, that she is "a little Bunker-Hill" herself—a genuine Napoleon in petticoats.
"Apollo! what a face! doleful as a hearse; folded hands; hollow chest; whining voice; the very picture of cowardly irresolution. Spring to your feet, hold up your head, set your teeth together, draw that fine form of yours up to the height that God made it; draw an immense long breath, and look about you. What do you see? Why, all creation taking care of number one—pushing ahead like the car of Juggernaut, over live victims. There it is; and you can't help it. Are you going to lie down and be crushed?
"By all that's holy, no! dash ahead! You've as good a right to mount the triumphal car as your neighbor. Snap your fingers at croakers; if you can't getrounda stump, leap over it, high and dry! Have nerves of steel, a will of iron; never mind sideaches, or heartaches, or headaches; dig away without stopping to breathe, or to notice envy or malice. Set your target in the clouds and aim at it. If your arrow falls short of the mark, what of that? Pick it up and go at it again. If you shouldneverreach it, you'll shoot higher than as if you only aimed at a bush. Don't whine, if your friends fall off. At the first stroke of good luck, by Mammon! they'll swarm around you like a hive of bees, till you are disgusted with human nature.
"'I can't!' Oh, pshaw! I throw my glove in your face, if Iama woman! You are a disgrace to corduroys. What! amanlack courage! Amanwant independence! Amanto be discouraged at obstacles! A man afraid to face anything on earth save his Maker! Why!I'm a little 'Bunker Hill,' myself!I've the most unmitigated contempt for you! you littlepusillanimous pussy cat! There's nothing manly about you, except your whiskers."
"'All dissimulation is disloyality to love.'
"'All dissimulation is disloyality to love.'
"'I'vethoughtso before,' said Mrs. Smith; 'but now Iknowit,because I read it in the newspapers. These editors beat the D—utch for understanding human nature, (all except female nature;)therethey are decidedly benighted. However, it isn't for my interest to throw any light onthatsubject; it is an interesting study that I shan't interfere with. But this is a digression. As I was saying, 'dissimulation is disloyalty to love.' Didn't Mr. Smith tell me, when he asked me, on his knees, to make him the happiest of men, that I was the only daughter of Eve he ever fancied; and didn't I, before the honey-moon was over, find in his old bachelor trunk, locks of hairof every color the sun ever shone upon? And doesn't it do me good to put my matrimonial foot on the cricket that I stuffed with them? Certainly—I only wish I had their entire scalps!
"Well—didn't he come home one Sunday, with a face as long as an orthodox steeple, and give me 'the text and heads of the discourse,' when he had been off rolling ninepins all the morning? And didn't I always know, when he kissed me, or gave me a twenty dollar bill, (which was much more acceptable!) that it was the premonitory symptom of a desperate flirtation with somebody? and wasn't I sure, when that buff vest, and blue coat with bright brass buttons, went on, that there was immense execution to be done somewhere on forbidden ground?
"Well—'Life is short;' so is Mr. Smith. No help for either, that I know of! I'm too busy, amusing myself, to attend to his little derelictions. If there's anything that I ignore it is curiosity. It is so decidedly amasculine failingthat I scorn to be guilty of it!"
"Moorest thou thy bark so soon, little voyager? Through those infant eyes, with a prophet's vision, sawest thou life's great battle-field, swarming with fierce combatants? Fell upon thy timid ear the far-off din of its angry strife? Drooped thy head wearily on the bosom of the Sinless,fearful of earthly taint? Fluttered thy wings impatiently 'gainst the bars of thy prison-house, sweet bird of Paradise?
"God speed thy flight! No unerring sportsman shall have power to ruffle thy spread pinions, or maim thy soaring wing. No sheltering nest had earth for thee, where the chill wind of sorrow might not blow! No garden of Eden, where the serpent lay not coiled beneath the flowers! No'Tree of Life,' whose branches might have sheltered thee for aye!
"Warm fall the sunlight on thy grassy pillow, sweet human blossom! Softly fall the night dews on the blue-eyed violet above thee! Side by side with thee are hearts that have long since ceased hoping or aching. There lies the betrothed maiden, in her unappropriated loveliness; the bride, with her head pillowed on golden tresses, whose rare beauty, even the Great Spoiler seemed loth to touch; childhood, but yesterday warm and rosy on its mother's breast; the loving wife and mother, in life's sweet prime; the gray-haired pastor, gone to his reward; the youth of crisped locks and brow unfurrowed by care; the heartbroken widow, and tearful orphan, all await with folded hands, closed eyes, and silent lips, alike with thee, the resurrection morn."
"'No person should be delicate about asking for what is properly his due. If he neglects doing so, he is deficient in that spirit of independence which he should observe in all his actions. Rights are rights, and, if not granted, should be demanded.'
"'No person should be delicate about asking for what is properly his due. If he neglects doing so, he is deficient in that spirit of independence which he should observe in all his actions. Rights are rights, and, if not granted, should be demanded.'
"Alittle'Bunker Hill' atmosphere about that! It suits my republicanism; but I hope no female sister will be such a novice as to suppose it refers to any butmasculinerights. In the first place, my dear woman, 'female rights' is debateable ground; what you may call a 'vexed question.' In the next place, (just put your ear down, alittlenearer) granted wehad'rights,' the more we 'demand' 'em, themore we shan't get 'em. I've been converted to that faith this some time.No sort of use to waste lungs and leather trotting toSigh-racuse about it. The instant the subject is mentioned, the lords of creation are up and dressed. Guns and bayonets the order of the day;no surrenderon every flag that floats! The only way left is to pursue the 'Uriah Heep' policy; lookumble, and be almighty cunning. Bait 'em with submission, and then throw the noose over the will. Appear not to have any choice, and as true as gospel you'll get it. Asktheiradvice, and they'll be sure to followyours. Lookoneway, andpull another! Make your reins of silk,keep 'em out of sight, and drive where you like!"
Somebody rather ambiguously remarks:— "Let cynics prattle as they may, our existence here, without the presence of the other sex, would be only a dark and cheerless void."
Fanny inquires, in reply:—"Which'other sex?' Don't be so obscure. Dr. Beecher says, 'that a writer's ideas should stand out like rabbit's ears, so that the reader can get hold of them.' If you alluded to the female sex, I don't subscribe to it. I wish they were all 'translated.' If there is anything gives me the sensations of a landsman on his first sea voyage, it is the sight of a bonnet. Think of female friendship! Two women joining the Mutual Admiration Society; emptying their budget of love affairs; comparing bait to entrap victims,sighing over the same rose leaf; sonnetizing the same moonbeam; patronizing the same milliner, andexchanging female kisses! (Betty, hand me my fan!)
"Well, let either have one bonnet or one lover more than the other—or, if they are blue stockings, let either be one round the higher on Fame's ladder—bodkins and darning-needles! what a tempest! Caps and characters in such a case are of no account at all. Oh, there never should be but one woman alive at a time. Then the fighting would be all where it belongs—in the masculine camp. What a time there'd be, though! Wouldn't she be a belle? Bless her little soul; how she would queen it. It makes me clap my hands to think of it.The only woman in the world!If it was me, shouldn't they all leave off smoking, and wearing those odious plaid continuations? Should they ever wear an outside coat, with the flaps cut off, or a Kossuth hat, or a yellow Marseilles vest? or a mammoth bow on their neck-ties; or a turnover dickey; or a watch-chain; or a ring on the little finger; or any other abomination or off-shoot of dandyism whatsoever? Shouldn't I politely request them all to touch their hats, instead of jerking their heads, when they bowed? Wouldn't I coax them to read me poetry till they had thebronchitis? Wouldn't they play on the flute, and sing the soul out of me? And then if they were sick, wouldn't I pet them, and tell them all sorts of comicalities, and make time fly like the mischief? Shouldn't wonder!"
"Do you suppose Diogenes Dinkey would know his own portrait, if I drew it? It won't hurt me if he does, so long as it is a disputed point 'whetherI be I.' Well, his proportions were decidedly alderman-ic, and his gait strongly resembled that of the wooden horses one sees jerked across the stage at the theat—I mean the museum! Such a stiff dickey as he wore! What prevented his ears from being sawed off by it, was beyond me.
"Diogenes was a saint and an epicure; divided his affections equally between veal pies and vestry meetings; in fact the former depended on his proper observance of the latter, as he was supported by sixpenny contributions from humbugged brethrenwho considered him a celestial luminary. Of course he made his appearance simultaneously with the sexton, and kept popping up and down, in service time, like one of those corn-stalk witches, that country children play with. There was no 'napkin' big enough to hide his 'talent;' he endorsed everything the minister said; not mentioning what the deacons got off, and after that he put the audience to sleep by chasing round some idea of his own, till he lost it; and then he sat down. You didn't catch him raising any vexed questions about 'dipping,' or 'sprinkling,' or 'high church,' or 'low church,' not he! he had a real millennial disposition; never raised any theological fences he couldn't crawl under, or climb over, to pick up windfall sixpences to swell his salary for the benefit of his fellow-creatures in general andhimself in particular. He didn't care a torn hymn-book, whether it was a Baptist, or Episcopalian, or Unitarian hand he shook, as long as it left a bonus in his saintly palm.
"Poor Diogenes! he was affected with spasmodic near-sightedness, that always attacked him when he saw a Paul Pry in the distance who might hold him by the button long enough to desire statistics of the amount of good he had performed. He liked to be inquisitorial himself; but, like mostpersons of that description, he was not particular to have the compliment returned. He had a voluminous robe of dignity he threw on, at times, when escape was impossible, that was very excrutiating to anybody who knew what was underneath it.
"Long life to you, Diogenes! I wouldn't lose you for a bright sixpence.
"I've attended many a conventicle where you were the chief attraction; you are a perfect study to
FANNY FERN."
"Never walk on the Common; it is 'vulgar;' dusty streets and a chorus of rattling omnibusses are more refined. Never go out in damp, cloudy or rainy weather. India rubbers and umbrellas are only fit for common people. Should it storm six weeks on a stretch, better ruin your health, than appear in anything but paper soles and silk dresses. When the chill autumn winds blow, go out in drapery sleeves, that the wind may have a free pass round your elbows. Don't disarrange your curls by bowing to an elderly person; nor by any manner of means recognize a male or female who is not a walking advertisement for a tailor or a milliner.
"Always whisper and laugh at concerts, by way of compliment to the performers, and to show your neighbors a sovereign contempt for their comfort. When Betty is brushing your hair, or lacing your boots, listen with avidity to all the gossip she can muster; it will encourage her laudable desire to take notes ofyourestablishment for the benefit of her next mistress. Always keepcallerswaiting, till they have had time to notice the outlay of money in your parlors. It isn't a bad plan to send achildinto the room to act as 'special reporter!' Always take physic onSunday, and have a novel handy; or, you can write or read love-letters. Never on any account go into your kitchen, or know the difference between the manufacture of an omelet or an apple-pie. Call into your nursery once a week to see if Tommy's hair has begun to curl. Keep Betty till one o'clock at night, sitting up for your return; and order her to get up at four o'clock in the morning. Keep as many flirtations on hand as you conveniently can, without getting into a snarl.
"Be just as gracious in your manner to a practisedroué, (provided he has the entrance into good society,) as you would to a man deserving a woman's respect. Dispute with your sempstress about a ninepence, and buy a thousand dollarshawl. Present the bouquet yourlastadmirer sent you, to the next one who looks into your 'starry eyes!' Dance all night, sleep all day, and waltz with anybody who is the 'ton.'"
This is one of Fanny's most life-like word-paintings.
"It is only a little pauper! Never mind her. You see she knows her place, and keeps close to the wall, as if she expected an oath or a blow. The cold winds are making merry with those thin rags. You see nothing of childhood's rounded symmetry in those shrunken limbs and pinched features. Push her one side,she's used to it; she won't complain; she can't remember that she ever heard a kind word in her life. She'd think you were mocking if you tried it.
"She passes into the warm kitchen, savory with odorous dainties, and is ordered out with a threat by the portly cook. In the shop windows shesees nice fresh loaves of bread and tempting little cakes. Rosy little children pass her, on their way to school, well-fed, well-clad and joyous, with a mother's parting kiss yet warm on their sweet lips.
"There seems to be happiness enough in the world, but it never comes toher. Her little basket is quite empty; and now, faint with hunger, she leans wearily against that shop window. There is a lovely lady, who has just passed in. She is buying cakes andbon-bonsfor her little girl as if she had the purse of Fortunatus. How nice it must be to be warm, and have enough to eat! Poor Meta! She has tasted nothing since she was sent forth with a curse in the morning, to beg or—steal, and the tearswillcome; there is happiness and plenty in the world—butnone for Meta!
"Not so fast, little one! Warm hearts beat sometimes under silk and velvet. That lady has caught sight of your little woe-begone face and shivering form. Oh! what if it wereherchild?—and, obeying a sweet maternal impulse, she passes out the door, takes those little benumbed fingers in her daintily gloved hands, and leads the child, wondering, shy and bewildered, into fairy land.
"A delightful and novel sensation of warmth creeps over those frozen limbs—a faint color tingesthe pale cheeks, and the eyes grow liquid and lovely, as Meta raises them thankfully to her benefactress. The lady's little girl looks on with an innocent joy, and learns, for the first time, how 'blessed are the merciful.'
"And then Meta passes out, with aheavy basketand alight heart. Surely the street has grown wider and the sky brighter! This can scarcely be the same world! Meta's form is erectnow! her step light as a child's should be. The sunshine ofhuman lovehas brightened her pathway! Ah, Meta! earth is not all darkness—bright angels yet walk the earth. Sweet-voiced Pity and heaven-eyed Charitysometimesstoop to bless. God's image is only marred, not destroyed. He who feeds the ravens, bends to listen. Lookupward, little Meta!"
"And so you have 'the blues' hey? Well, I pity you! No I don't either; there's noneedof it. Ifonefriend proves a Judas, never mind! plenty ofwarm,generous,nicehearts left for the winning! If you are poor and have to sell yourfree-agencyfor a sixpence a week to some penurious relative, or be everlastingly thankful for the gift of an old garment that won't hang together till you get it home! just go to work like ten thousand evil spirits, and make yourselfindependent! and see with what a different pair of spectacles you'll get looked at! Nothing like it, my dear; you can have everything on earth you want, when you don'tneedanything. Don't the Bible say, 'to him thathathshall be given?' no mistake,you see! When the wheel turns round with you on the top, saints and angels! you can do anything you like, play any sort of a prank, pout or smile, be grave or gay, saucy or courteous, it will pass muster! you never need trouble yourself—can't do anythingwrongif you try! At the most it will only be an 'eccentricity!' But you never need be such a fool as to expect that anybody will find out you're adiamondtill you get ashowy setting! you'll get knocked and cuffed round, and roughly handled, with paste and tinsel, and rubbish, till that auspicious moment arrives.Then!won't all thesheaves bow down to your sheaf?—notonerebellious straggler left in the field! But stay a little. In your adversity found you one faithful heart that stood firmly by your side and shared your tears; when skies were dark, and your pathway thorny and steep, 'and summer friends fell off like autumn leaves?' By all that's noble in a woman's heart, give that one the first place in it now. Let the world seeoneheart proof against the sunshine of prosperity. You can'trepaysuch a friend—all the mines of Golconda couldn't do it! But in a thousand delicate ways, prompted by a woman's unerring tact, let your heart come forth, gratefully, generously, lovingly. Pray heaven he be on the shady side of fortune—that your heartand hand may have a wider field for gratitude to show itself. Extract every thorn from his pathway, chase away every cloud of sorrow, brighten his lonely hours, smooth the pillow of sickness, and press lovingly his hand in death."
"'Percy,dearPercy, take back those bitter words; as heaven is my witness, they are undeserved by me. See, my eye quails not beneath yours; my cheek blanches not; I stand before you, at this moment, with every vow I made you at the altar unbroken, in letter and spirit;' and she drew closer to him and laid her delicate hand upon his broad breast. 'Wrong me not, Percy, even in thought.'
"The stern man hesitated. Had he notwilfullyblinded himself, he had read truth and honor in the depths of the clear blue eyes that looked so unflinchingly into his own. For a moment, their expression overcame him; then, dashing aside the slender fingers that rested upon him, he left her with a muttered oath.
"Mary Lee had the misfortune to be very pretty, and the still greater misfortune to marry a jealous husband. Possessing a quick and ready wit, and great conversational powers, a less moderate share of personal charms would have made her society eagerly sought for.
"As soon as her eyes were opened to the defect alluded to in her husband's character, she set herself studiously to avoid the shoals and quicksands that lay in the matrimonial sea. One by one, she quietly dropped the acquaintance of gentlemen, who, from their attractiveness or preference for her society, seemed obnoxious to Percy.
"Mary was no coquette. Nature had given her aheart; and superior as she was to her husband, she reallylovedhim. To most women, his exacting unreasonableness would only have stimulated to a finished display of coquetry; but Mary, gentle and yielding, made no show of opposition to the most absurd requirements. But all these sacrifices had been unavailing to propitiate the fiend of jealousy—and there she sat, an hour after her husband had left her, with her hands pressed tightly together, pale and tearless, striving, in vain, to recall any cause of offence.
"Hour after hour passed by, and still he came not. The heavy tramp of feet had long since ceased beneaththe window; thepulseof the great city wasstill; silence and darkness brooded over its slumbering thousands. Mary could endure it no longer. Rising and putting aside the curtain, she pressed her face close against the window-pane, as if her straining eye could pierce the gloom of midnight. She hears a step! it ishis!
"Trembling, she sank upon the sofa to await his coming and nerve herself to bear his bitter harshness.
"Percy came gaily up to her and kissed her forehead! Mary passed her hand over her eyes and looked at him again. No! he was not exhilarated with wine. What could have caused this sudden revulsion of feeling! Single-hearted and sincere herself, she never dreamed of treachery.
"'Percy regrets his injustice,' she said to herself. 'Men are rarely magnanimous enough to own they have been in the wrong;' and, with the generosity of a noble heart, she resolved never to remind him, by speech or look, that his words had been like poisoned arrows to her spirit.
"The following day, Percy proposed their taking 'a short trip into a neighboring town,' and Mary, glad to convince him how truly she forgave him, readily complied. It was a lovely day in spring; and the fresh air, and sweet-scentedblossoms, might have sent a thrill of pleasure to sadder hearts than theirs.
"'What a pretty place,' said Mary. 'What a spacious house! and how tastefully the grounds are laid out. Do you stop here?' she continued, as her husband reined the horse into the avenue.
"'A few moments. I havebusinesshere,' replied Percy, slightly averting his face, 'and you had better alight too, for the horse is restive, and may trouble you.'
"Mary sprang lightly from the vehicle and ascended the capacious stone steps. They were met at the door by a respectable grey-haired porter, who ushered them into a receiving room. Very soon, a little sallow-faced man, bearing a strong resemblance to a withered orange, made his appearance, and casting a glance upon Mary, from his little twinkling black eyes, that made the blood mount to her cheeks, made an apology for withdrawing her husband for a few minutes, 'on business,' to an adjoining room.
"As they left, a respectable middle-aged woman entered, and invited Mary to take off her hat. She declined, saying 'she was to leave with her husband in a few minutes.'
"The old woman then jingled a small bell, and another matron entered.
"'Better not use force,' said she, in a whisper. 'Poor thing! So pretty, too. She don't look as though she'd wear a 'strait jacket.'
"The truth flashed upon Mary at once! She was in aLunatic Hospital! Faint with terror, she demanded to see her husband,—assured them she was perfectly sane; to all of which they smiled quietly, with an air that said 'we are used to such things here.'
"By-and-bye, the little wizen-faced doctor came in, and listening to her eloquent appeal with an abstracted air, as one would tolerate the prattle of a petted child, he examined her pulse and motioned the attendants to 'wait upon her to her room.' Exhausted with the tumult of feeling she had passed through, she followed without a show of resistance; but who shall describe the death-chill that struck to her heart as she entered it? There was a bed of snowy whiteness, a table, a chair, all scrupulously neat and clean, but the breath of the sweet-scented blossoms came in through agrated window!
"Some refreshment was brought her, of which she refused to partake. She could not even weep; her eyes seemed turned to stone. She could hear the maniac laughter of her fellow-prisoners—she could see some of the most harmless marching ingloomy file through the grounds, with their watchful body-guard.
"Poor Mary! She felt a stifled, choking sensation in her throat, as if the air she breathed were poison; and, with her nervous, excitable temperament, God knows the chance she stood to become what they really thought her! To all her eager inquiries she received only evasive answers; or else the subject was skilfully and summarily dismissed to make place for one in which she had no interest.
"Little Dr. Van Brunt daily examined her pulse and 'hoped she was improving—,' or, if she wasn't, it was hisinterestto issue a bulletin to that effect, and all 'company' was vetoed as 'exciting and injurious to the patient.' And so day after day, night after night, dragged its slow length along, and Percy, with the meanness of a revengeful spirit, was 'biding his time,' till the punishment should be sufficiently salutary to warrant his recalling her home. But while he was quietly waiting the accomplishment of his purpose, the friend of the weary came to her relief.
"'Leave me, please, will you?' said Mary to the nurse, as she turned her cheek to the pillow like a tired child. 'I want to be alone.'
"The old woman took her sewing and seatedherself just outside the door, thinking she might wish to sleep. In a few moments she peeped cautiously through the open door. Mrs. Percy still lay there, in the same position, with her cheek nestling in the palm of her little hand.
"'She sleeps sweetly,' she muttered to herself as she resumed her work.
"Yes, dame Ursula, but it is the 'sleep' from which only the trump of the archangel shall wake her!
"Mary's secret died with her, and theremorsethat is busy at the heart of Percy, is known only to his Maker."