XLV.THAT MRS. JONES.

"'All articles of gentlemen's wearing apparel made—TO ORDER.'

"Saints and angels! only think of that! Well, thank a kind Providence I never was married. No tyrannical frock-coats, or 'dress-coats,' or Petershams, profane my closets. No vests, or stocks, or dickies crowd my nice laces, and ribbons, and muslins. No overbearing cane keeps company with my silken parasolette. No lumbering great boots tread on the toes of my little slippers and gaiters. Nobody kicks my spinster foot under the table to stop me in the middle of a sentence that I'm bent upon finishing. Nothing on the wide earth that's 'made to order,' finds admittance into my single-blessed territories. I should be all teeth and claws if there did!"

We don't quite agree with Fanny in thinking women ought to bear all the blame. Eve never would have thought of stealing apples, if Adam hadn't been in a hurry for his supper. But in this instance Mrs. Joneswaswrong. This is the story, as Fanny tells it:

"'Heaven be praised for Sunday,' said Mrs. Jones; 'when omnibus horses and women can rest from their labors. Mr. Jones? Bless my soul, the man has gone;' and she raised herself on her elbow, and pushed back the ruffled border of her nightcap, as if to make quite sure of her single blessedness. 'Tommy?' said she, to a little trundle-bed occupant; 'here, Tommy, you always know everything you oughtnotto; where's your father?'

"'Oh, he went off an hour since,' said the urchin; 'took his money-trunk and went down street.'

"Mrs. Jones leaped into the middle of the floor, examined the contents of wardrobe and closets. Yes—his clothes were all there; she couldn't decide whether she was a 'California widow' or not; the chances were about even.

"'Six little mouths to feed,' said she; 'house-rent to pay, and myself to keep out of mischief. Shouldn't have mindedhisgoing, if he hadn't kidnapped that money-trunk; he was getting dyspeptic and fussy,ratherinclining to beancient;' and she shook out her curls from under her cap, and attempted to finish her breakfast toilette.

"'T-o-m-m-y Jones,' said she; 'leave off shaving that cat, with your father's razor. Do you know what day it is?'

"'Well, you'd better ask father,' said the young hopeful. 'There he is, coming up the street with a money-trunk in his hand, of a Sunday morning.'

"'M-r. Jo-n-e-s,' said his spouse, as that gentleman came in, and walking so close up to him that their noses touched—'have you been imbibing?What did you get up so early for? and where on earth have you been? and which way did you go? and what have you been about? Make haste, andtell me! Pretty example for you to set this baptized Tommy—to be running round, Sunday morning, before sunrise, with a money-trunk under your arm. What do you suppose our minister'll think?'

"'Sunday morning!' said Jones, rubbing his forehead—'Sunday morning! That accounts! Couldn't think, for the life of me, why there wasn't a window-shutter taken down in the street. Been down to the store, as true as I'm a sinner; made the fire; opened the shutters, and hung out all the calicoes and ribbons and streamers I could find.Sunday Morning!Well, it's allyourfault, Mrs. Jones; how wasIto know? You didn't havesalt fish for dinner, yesterday, though it was Saturday—that's the only way I know when Sunday comes. Shouldn't make innovations, Mrs. Jones; it's all your fault. There never was a commandment broke yet, that awomanwasn't at the bottom of it.'"

Sitting is the only posture for deliberation. Certainly. Don't 'the House' always 'sit' when any national egg is hatching? The philosophy and naturalness of the maxim is unmistakeably obvious. It accounts, too, for something I've never been able to comprehend, viz., how in the name of all that's astounding I became Mrs. Jonas Jupiter. I was not sitting when Jonas laid his moustache at my feet. If the Legislature would give me a chance to reconsider the subject, gunpowder shouldn't take me off my chair till I did it ample justice. Jonas probably knew what he was about, when he imposed on my simplicity that way. Nicodemus! to think I should havemade such a life-time mistake, all for want of a chair! My veneration for furniture will be on the progressive for the future. I incline to the opinion that men are exceedingly artful. It's surprising how like Moses they cantalk, and how like Judas they canact. If it wasn't that I'm bound to collect their mental skeletons to hang up in my dissecting-room, I should eschew the whole sex. But 'tis a pretty little amusement to the female naturalist to label the different specimens. As far as my scientific research extends, they have one defect in common, viz., that where the heart should be, there is a decided vacuum. It is a trifling oversight of Dame Nature's which her elbow should be jogged to rectify in her future productions. This little amendment in the masculine organization would be excruciatingly refreshing to the female lover of variety. No amount of brains, in my opinion, is an equivalent for this omission, but when heart and brains areboth lacking!—saints and angels, what an abortion!

We quote, by permission, from the files of the True Flag, a second sketch, contributed to its columns, by Olivia,aliasFanny Fern.

"Kate Stanley was a brilliant, sparkling brunette. Wo to the rash youth who exposed his heart toherfascinations! If he were not annihilated by the witching glance of her bright eye, he would be sure to be caught by the dancing dimple that played 'hide-and-seek' so roguishly in her rosy cheek, or the little rounded waist that supported her faultless bust, or the tiny feet that crept, mice-like, in and out from under the sweeping folds of her silken robe.

"I am sorry to say, Miss Kitty was anarrant coquette. She angled for hearts with the skill of apractised sportsman, and was never satisfied till she saw them quivering and bleeding at her feet;then, they might flounce and flutter, and twist and writhe at their leisure, it was no farther concern ofhers. She was off for a new subject.

"One fine morning she sat listlessly in her boudoir, tapping one little foot upon the floor, and sighing for a new sensation, when a note was handed her. It ran thus:

"'Dear Kitty:—Our little cottage home is looking lovely, this 'leafy June.' Are you not weary of city life? Come and spend a month with us, and refresh heart and body. You will find nothingartificialhere,save yourself!

'Yours,

Nelly.'

"'Just the thing,' said Kitty, 'but the girl must be crazy, or intolerably vain, to bring me into such close contact with her handsome lover—I might as well try to stop breathing as to stop flirting, and thecountryofallplaces, for a flirtation! The girl must benon-compos; however, it's her own affair, not mine;' and she glanced triumphantly at her beautiful face, and threaded her jewelled fingers through her long ringlets, and conquered him—in imagination!

"'When do you expect your friend?' said alaughing young girl to Nelly. 'From the descriptions I have had of her, your bringing her here, will be something akin to the introduction of Satan into Paradise. You wouldn't findmeguilty of such a folly, were I engaged to your handsome Fitz. Now you know, Nelly dear, that although you are fascinating and intellectual, you have no pretensions to beauty, and there are few men who prize a gem unless it ishandsomely set, however great its value. Now be warned in time, and send him off on a pilgrimage till her visit is over.Iwon't bet on his constancy!'

"'On the contrary,' said Nelly, as she rose slowly from the little couch where she was reclining, and her small figure grew erect and her large eyes lustrous, 'I would marry no man who could not pass through such an ordeal and remain true to me. I am, as you see, hopelessly plain and ungraceful; yet, from my earliest childhood, I have been a passionate worshipper of beauty. I never expected to win love—I never expected to marry—and when Fitz, with all his glorious beauty, sued for my hand, I could not convince myself that it was not all a bewildering dream. It was such a temptation to a heart so isolated as mine; and eloquently it plead for itself. When I drank in the music of his voice, I said, 'surely I must belovely inhiseyes; else why has he sought me?' Then, in my solitary moments, I said, sadly, 'there are none to dispute the prize with me here. He is deceiving himself; he is only in love with nature and the beautiful about us. He has mistaken his own heart.' Then again, I would ask myself, 'can nothing butbeautywin a noble heart? are all my intellectual gifts valueless?' And still, Fitz unable to understand my contradictory moods, passionately urged his suit. It needed not that waste of eloquence; my heart was already captive. And now, by the intensity of that happiness of which I know myself to be capable, I will prove him. Kate's beauty—Kate's witchery, shall be the test! If his heart remains loyal to me, I am his. If not—' and her cheek grew pale, and large tears gathered slowly in her eyes—'I have saved myself a deeper misery.'

"Fitz Allan 'had travelled,' and that is generally understood to mean to go abroad and remain a period of time long enough to grow a fierce beard and fiercer moustache, and cultivate a thorough contempt for everything in your own country. This was not true of Fitz Allan. It had only bound him the more closely to home and friends. His splendid person and cultivated manners had been a letter of recommendation to himin cultivated society. He was no fop, and yet he was fully aware of these personal advantages. (What handsome man is not?) He had trophies of all kinds, to attest his skillful generalship; such as dainty satin slippers, tiny kid gloves, faded roses, ringlets of all colors, ebony, flaxen and auburn, andbijouteriewithout limit.

"Happy Fitz! What spell bound thee to the plain, but loveable Nelly? A nature essentially feminine; a refined, cultivated taste; a warm, passionate heart. Didst thou remember when thou listenedest to that most musical of musical voices, and sat hour after hour, magnetised by its rare witchery as it glanced gracefully and skillfully from one topic to another, that its possessor had not the grace and beauty of a Hebe or a Venus?

"It was a bright, moonlight evening. Fitz and Nelly were seated in the little rustic parlor opening upon the piazza. The moon shone full upon Kate, as she stood in the low door-way. Her simple white dress was confined at the waist by a plain, silken cord. Her fair, white shoulders rose gracefully from the snowy robe. Her white arms, as they were crossed upon her breast, or raised above her head to catch playfully the long tendrils of the woodbine, as the wind swept them past her forehead, gleamed fair in the moonlight, and eachand all had their bewildering charm. She seated herself upon the low door-step. Song after song was borne upon the air. Her eyes now flashing with the enthusiasm of an Improvisatrice—then soft, and lustrous, and liquid, and—dangerous! Nelly's heart beat quick—a deep crimson spot glowed upon her cheek, and, for once,shewas beautiful.

"Kate, apparently, took but little notice of the lovers, but not an expression that flitted across the fine face of Fitz Allan passed unnoticed by her. And she said proudly to herself—'I have conquered him!'

"And so the bright summer months passed by, and they rambled through the cool woods and rode through the winding paths and sang to the quiet stars in the dim, dewy night.

"'Fie! Mr. Fitz Allan! What would Nelly say, to see you kneeling here at my feet? You forget you are an affianced lover,' said the gay beauty, as she mockingly curled her rosy lip; 'when you address such flattering language tome!'

"'I only know that you arebeautiful as a dream,' said the bewildered Fitz, as he passionately kissed the jewelled hand that lay unresistingly in his own.

"That night Fitz might be seen pacing his room with rapid strides, crushing in his hands a delicate note, in which was written these words:

"'Themoon looks on many brooks;Thebrook seesbutone moon.'

"'Themoon looks on many brooks;

Thebrook seesbutone moon.'

'Farewell!

'Nelly.'"

"'We must do our aspiring sisters the justice to say that several of them made very good speeches, and manifested a real talent for debatequite equalto that displayed by half the he-fellows we send to Congress. * * * We opine nothing serious will come of these Women's Rights' Conventions. If it amuses the darlings, to insist upon doing their own voting and fighting, let 'em talk on. If they go too far we can adopt measures andcompel them to do their own kissing! They must have recreation of some kind, and this is a good substitute for fancy balls, expensive millinery, &c.Strong-minded women have a soul above buttons.Let the blessed angels weep and resolve if it relieves their minds.'"—New York Sunday Times.

Now I'll wager a pair of new kid gloves that the writer of the above article is awhole-souled, loveable, handsome son of Adam. If all the men were like him the women would lay downtheirarms and takehis!—there'd be no more drumming up recruits for petticoat parliaments—they'd 'resolve' to stay at home and 'do as they oughter.'I think there should be arafflefor him! (You don't find such a man every day!) He takes a liberal view of things—you don't catchhimbut toning his coat up to his chin, folding his arms, strutting round and looking daggers at us, like the rest of the men. No, he isn't on the 'anxious seat'—HEisn't! He just takes off his hat to us, like a gentleman, and says, with an irresistible smile:—'Dear ladies—there's a soft place in your heartssomewhere, after all.Who's afraid!Your gunpowder plots will all end in smoke! Three cheers for the ladies!' NowTHAT'Sdoing the thing handsomely.

"Nobody but avery'wiry sister' could hold out against such an incarnation of good-humored gallantry. It's only thebad husbandswho see their own uglymentalphizes in the looking-glass these 'female philanthro-pesses' hold up to them, that raise such a breeze about it. 'It's only thetruththat wounds,' as the French proverb says.

"IfIhad been of that convention, I should just draw off my glove, shake hands with that 'Sunday Times' writer, and sign aneverlasting and repentantrecantation of all incendiary resolutions,—now, henceforth and forever! Pass him round; send us a lock of his hair!—give us his daguerreotype!"

"'Is this theheartthat beat so tenderly for Sarah; yea, and for Anna afterwards, and then for Maria, and in the course of time for Margaret Jane!'"—True Flag.

As Cupid is your witness, the very same! Why not? No computing the times amasculineheart can be damaged, repaired, cracked, broken, mended, and be just as good as new! How often it can be tossed, like a shuttlecock, from one fair hand to another, and lose none of its freshness or intrinsic value. Howferventlyit can adoreeverydaughter of Eve the sun shines upon! How instantaneous may be the transition from the dirge note of sorrow to 'Love's Quickstep!' How unnecessary it is, to be off with theoldlove, before it is on with thenew.

"Oh! it is an exhaustless fountain, that heart!No bounds to its capacities! A widower, whose wives had been 'legion,' was once heard to say:—'The more I loved my Elenore, the more I loved my Mary; the more I loved my Mary, the more I loved my Anna;' &c. Imagination fails me to picture, at this rate of progression, the'unwritten' felicityof theLASTfeminine, on the marital list! Venus! the very thought paralyzes my pen!"

Since the previous pages were prepared, we have been favored with an interesting history of a recent interview with Fanny Fern's father, by a gentleman of Boston, upon whose statements implicit reliance may be placed.

As any facts relating to the venerable parent of so distinguished a woman as Fanny, must be of interest to the public, we have concluded to devote a chapter to a condensed account of the interview in question.

Deacon Willis was found at his office in School street, at an early hour on a winter morning, engaged in looking over some business matters with his book-keeper. The veteran publisher is described as a person rather below the medium stature; gray-haired and feeble; slightly bent withage and care; dressed in a sober suit of black, with white cravat, and spectacles.

The conversation turning upon "Ruth Hall," the old gentleman shook his head sadly. Had he read the book? Oh, no! he had not the heart to do that. He had understood that he was abused in it; but at his time of life, with the gates of eternity drawing so near, and the world receding so fast behind him, he felt no desire to know what an ungrateful child would say of him. As far as he could learn, the book had been read by none of his family: they passed it by, as children shun a reptile in their path. But he had seen notices of it in the newspapers, from which he had learned something concerning Fanny's treatment of her relatives. It was needless for him to say how unjust that treatment was. He had no defence to make. And as for retaliation—he was still her father; she was his child; he grieved not on his own account, but for her sake—not because evil was said of him in his old age, but because it was in her heart to say it: what retaliation then could he seek?

This last was not the first, nor by any means the greatest trial Fanny had caused her parents. From her girlhood, she had been a wild and troublesome child. A total disregard for the feelingsof others, was a distinguishing characteristic of her disposition. Selfish and wilful, all attempts to control her, excited only passion and spite. No pains had been spared to soften and tame her. The most celebrated teachers were employed. Not only did Miss Catherine E. Beecher try her skill upon her, but schools at Pittsfield, Mass., at Londonderry, N. H., and at several other places, were patronized, one after the other, with quite indifferent success. At the termination of each fruitless effort to mould her character, Miss Fanny was returned, wild and wilful as ever, upon her parents' hands.

In the course of conversation, Fanny's complaints of neglect and cruelty on the part of her friends, were alluded to. Again the old man shook his head sorrowfully. These complaints, he said, were utterly without foundation; and to this statement he added a fact, which Fanny and her advisers will find it difficult to put out of sight. During the brief widowhood of the self-styled "Ruth Hall," her own father alone, paid out money to the amount of eight hundred dollars, for her support. For this, Mr. Willis can show receipts. Add an equal sum contributed by her husband's father, and we have not less than sixteen hundreddollars—certainly a snug little pension for Ruth and her children to starve upon.

In this connection, the old gentleman had occasion to remark, that, had he been less liberal in the education and support of his children, he might not now be compelled to go early in the morning to his office, and remain late in the afternoon in all sorts of weather, exerting his feeble strength to obtain a livelihood, at an age when quiet and rest from toil are most to be desired.

Instead of becoming less troublesome to her friends as she grew older, Fanny seemed to acquire with years additional power to harass and distress them. At last came her separation from Mr. Farrington, accompanied with inexpressible mortification and pain to her family.

"Notwithstanding her rash and undutiful conduct they once more came to her relief, and she was permitted to draw the same pension as when a widow. She now commenced writing for the papers, and under the stimulus of her first success as an authoress, assumed an air of insufferable insolence toward the old man, who, all her life, had borne so patiently with her temper. More than once she had angrily charged him with falsehood to his face. Her letters to him were foolishlyimpertinent. It was with reluctance and grief that Deacon Willis spoke of these things; but they seemed wrung from him by a powerful sense of the wrongs which had been heaped upon his head.

When, at length, it was well known that Mrs. Farrington was in the receipt of liberal pay from the newspapers for which she wrote, her father warned her, that, if she sent him any more such unwomanly and unfilial notes as generally accompanied her applications for money, her pension would be stopped. She defied him, and the threat was carried into execution. And now Fanny has sought her revenge.

The old man spoke affectionately of his son, Mr. N. P. Willis, whose touching tribute to his father has been recently published. Throughout the interview he had shown a subdued and Christian temper, uttering unpleasant truths "more in sorrow than in anger." It was affecting to listen to him; and our informant states, that on coming away, the reflection that this was the man whom the "Old Ellet" in Fanny's book was intended to caricature—a fact he had quite lost sight of—excited a revulsion of feeling, which he devoutly wished might be experienced by a few of the adorers of poor, abused "Ruth Hall."

We clip the following critique on "Ruth Hall" from the columns of the Albion, an able organ of English sentiment.

"There are some books of which it is difficult to speak as one could wish, for a variety of reasons.Ruth Hallis such a one. We have watched the career of Fanny Fern from the first, and have seen but little in it to commend. Suddenly elevated to a pinnacle of popularity, she has demeaned herself as no right-minded woman should have done, and no sensitive-minded woman could have done—throwing out insinuations, that she was a very ill-used woman; that her family neglected her; and finally, that she 'hadnofamily.' Her 'Fern Leaves,' of which two series are before the public, are moreor less an expansion of these or of congenial ideas—neglected wives and sisters, hard-hearted fathers and uncles, fatherless and suffering children, and young but talented authoresses seeking a livelihood by the pen, forming the bulk of the work. 'Ruth Hall' harps on the same strings; showing how Ruth Hall got married; how Mr. Hall died; how Mr. Hall's 'aged parents,' and the blood relatives of Ruth Hall,néeEllet, chaffered about helping her in her time of need, and how they didn't; how she took to authorship, and wrote in the newspapers under the signature 'Floy;' how she became famous, and humbled her brother Hyacinth, who had the good sense to discourage her from the first; and how she has a friend in the person of a Mr. Walter. This, and more of the same sort, is the plot of 'Ruth Hall.' The book is ostensibly published as a novel; but is intended—if general report may be believed—as an autobiography of Fanny Fern herself. If designed for a novel, it is clumsy in construction, and full of false sentiment and questionable morality. If meant for an autobiography, it is a piece of malice and impertinence. Admitting—what we do not for a moment believe—the truth of the narrative, we see no reason why it should be published, but many excellent ones why it should not. An oldproverb says, 'there is a skeleton in every family.' It does not become this egotistical and querulous dame, if she have one in hers, to parade it before the world. It would be wiser to shut the door on it. Such a book as this will win its writer some praise—for there is talent in it—and give her even more notoriety than she appears to possess. We cannot, however, say that on the whole it is creditable to the female head or the female heart."

The Congregational Journal, Concord, N. H., concludes a somewhat severe review, in the following emphatic manner:—

"The chapter wanting in the life of 'Ruth Hall,' perhaps could be furnished by Mr. Samuel P. Farrington, of Chicago, Ill., if he was her second husband till he obtained a divorce from her; and that such is the fact, who will deny? Who that knows will take the responsibility of denying that 'Ruth Hall' alias 'Fanny Fern,' is the daughter of Deacon Nathaniel Willis, of Boston, and that N. P. Willis is her brother? And who will deny that her first husband was a Mr. Eldredge, whose father was a physician, and is now dead? Is not the 'old Doctor' the father of 'Harry?' Is not'Mr. Ellet' the father of 'Ruth,' and is not 'Hyacinth' her brother? are questions which she will not answer in the negative. We shall not ourselves attempt any description of this book, but having knowledge of some facts in the history of its author, and believing that the outlines above quoted are just, we have encumbered our columns with the matter. If by so doing, we shall be the means of increasing the readers of 'Ruth Hall,' the responsibility of reading such an abominable production will rest on themselves and not us."

I've been reading the Bible, to-day, and it strikes me that our foremothers were not very correct old ladies. Who flirted with the old serpent? How came Sampson's hair cut off and his peepers extinguished? Who perforated Jael's head with tenpenny nails? How came Jonah sent on a whale-ing voyage? Who helped Ananias tell fibs? Who put Job up to swearing? Who raised a perfect hurricane in good old Abram's house! Who danced John the Baptist's head off his shoulders, hey? I'd like to have you notice (that's all,) what a stock we all sprung from.

"Iftheyweren't tee-totally depraved, may I never find out which of 'em I descended from! They didn't seem to have the least consideration for future generations 'long since unborn.' NowI don't calculate, myself, to feel responsible fortheircapers. I've read somewhere, in Byron, I believe, that every washtub must stand on its own pedestal! (or something like that.) I don't believe in saddling my shoulders with their old-fashioned transgressions.

"Curious, though, isn't it? the mischief women make in the world? Great pity Noah hadn't set Mrs. Noahadriftwhen he 'took one of each kind in the ark." I should rather have stood my chance for a ducking, than to have been shut up with such a 'promiskus' men-agerie. Noah was a worthy old gentleman. No mention made of his getting tipsy but once, I believe."

Nota Bene.—We cannot help being a little amused at Fanny's comical want of Scriptural information. Our Bible represents Jael as awoman, not by any means "perforated with tenpenny nails," though she did try the "perforating" experiment with excellent success, on the head of Sisera "the captain of Jabin's army." Oh, wondrous Fanny, those early Sabbath-school lessons must have been long ago forgotten!

Fanny doesn't think so. She expresses her opinion as follows:—

"I wish I could ever take up a paper that endorsed my liberal sentiments. I've always warped to the opinion that good men were as safe as homœopathic pills. You don't suppose they ever patronize false words or false weights, false measures or false yardsticks? You don't suppose they ever slander their neighbors after making a long-winded exhortation in a vestry meeting? You don't suppose they ever lift their beavers to a long purse, and turn their backs on a thread-bare coat? You don't suppose they ever bestow acharity to have it trumpeted in the newspapers? You don't suppose when they trot devoutly to meeting twice a day on Sunday, that they overhaul their ledgers in the intermission? You don't suppose they ever put doubtful-looking bank bills in the contribution box? You don't suppose they ever pay their minister's salary in consumptive hens and damaged turkies? I wish people were not so uncharitable and suspicious. It disgusts me with human nature.

"Now if I once hear a man make a prayer, that's enough said. Afterthat, Gabriel couldn't make me believe he was a sinner. If his face is of an orthodox length, and his creed is dyed in the wool, I consider him a prepared subject for the undertaker. If his toes are on an evangelical platform, I am morally certain his eyes never will go on a 'Tom Fool's errand.' If he has a proper reverence for a church-steeple, I stake my life on it, his conduct will be perpendicular. I should be perfectly willing to pin my faith on his sleeve till the final consummation of all things. Yes, I've the most unswerving, indestructible, undying confidence in any man who owns a copy of Watts' Psalms and Hymns. Such a mannevertrips, or if he does, you nevercatch himat it!"

In a very different spirit the following sketch was written:—

"A lover's quarrel! A few hasty words, a formal parting between two hearts, that neither time nor distance could ever disunite; then—a lifetime of misery!

"Edith May stood before me in her bridal dress. The world was to be made to believe she was happy and heart-whole. I knew better. I knew that no woman who had once loved Gilbert Ainslie could ever forget him; least of all such a heart as Edith's. She was pale as a snow-wreath; and bent her head as gracefully as a water lily, in recognition of her numerous friends and admirers.

"'What a sacrifice,' the latter muttered, betweentheir set teeth! 'What a sacrifice,' my heart echoed back!

"Mr. Jefferson Jones was an ossified old bachelor. He had but one idea in his head, and that was, how to make money. There was only one thing he understood equally well, and that was, how to keep it. He was angular, prim, cold and precise; mean, grovelling, contemptible and cunning.

"And Edith! Our peerless Edith, whose lovers were 'legion;' Edith, with her passionate heart, her beauty, grace, taste and refinement; Edith to vow 'love and honor' to such a soulless block! It made me shudder to think of it! I felt as though his very gaze was profanation.

"Well, the wedding was over; and she was duly installed mistress of Jefferson House. She had fine dresses, fine furniture, a fine equipage, and the stupidest possible encumbrance, in the shape of a husband.

"Mr. Jefferson Jones was very proud of his bride; firstly, because she added to his importance, secondly, because he plumed himself not a little in bearing off so a dainty a prize. It gave him a malicious pleasure to meet her old admirers, with the graceful Edith upon his arm. Of course shepreferredhimto them all; else, why did she marry him?

"Then how deferential she was in her manner since their marriage; how very polite, and how careful to perform her duty to the letter. Mr. Jones decided, with his usual acumen, that there was no room for a doubt, onthatpoint! He noticed, indeed, that her girlish gaiety was gone; but that was a decided improvement, according to his views. She wasMrs. Jones, now, and meant to keep all the whiskered popinjays at a respectful distance.He liked it!

"And so, through those interminable evenings, Edith sat, playing long, stupid games of chess with him, or listening (?) to his gains or losses in the way of trade; or reading political articles of which the words conveyed no ideas to her absent mind.

"She walked through the busy streets, leaning on his arm, with anunseen formever at her side; and slept—(God forgive her!) next his heart, whenherswasfar away! But when she wasalone!no human eye to read her sad secret! her small hands clasped in agony, and her fair head bent to the very dust,—was he not avenged?

"It was a driving storm; Mr. Jones concluded to dine at a restaurant instead of returning home.He had just seated himself, and given his orders to the obsequious waiter, when his attention was attracted by the conversation of two gentleman near him.

"'Have you seen la belle Edith, since her marriage, Harry?'

"'No; I feel too much vexed with her. Such a splendid specimen of flesh and blood to marry such an idiot! all for a foolish quarrel with Ainslie. You never saw such a wreck as it has made of him. However, she is well punished; for, with all her consummate tact and effort to keep up appearances, it is very plain that she is the most miserable woman in existence, as Mr. Jefferson Jones, whom I have never seen, might perceive, if he wasn't, as all the world says, the very prince of donkeys.'

"Jones seized his hat, and rushed into the open air, tugging at his neck-tie as if he was choking. Six times he went, like a comet, round the square; then, setting his beaver down over his eyes, in a very prophetic manner, he turned his footsteps deliberately homeward. It was but the deceitful calm before the whirlwind!

"He found Edith, calm, pale, and self-possessed, as usual. He was quite as much so, himself; even went so far as to compliment her on a coquettishlittle jacket that fitted her rounded figure very charmingly.

"'I'm thinking of taking a short journey, Edith,' said he, seating himself by her side, and playing with the silken cord and tassels about her waist. 'As it is wholly a business trip, it would hamper me to take you with me—butyou'll hear from me. Meanwhile, you know how to amuse yourself; hey, Edith?'

"He looked searchingly in her face. There was no conscious blush, no change of expression, no tremor of the frame. He might as well have addressed a marble statue.

"Mr. Jefferson Jones wasposed! Well, he bade her one of his characteristic adieus; and when the door closed, Edith felt as if a mountain weight had been lifted off her heart. There was but one course for her to pursue. She knew it; she had already marked it out. She would deny herself to all visitors; she would not go abroad till her husband's return. She was strong in her purpose; there should be no door left open for busy scandal to enter. Of Ainslie, she knew nothing, save that a letter reached her from him after her marriage, which she had returned unopened.

"And so she wandered restlessly through those splendid rooms, and tried, by this self-inflictedpenance, to atone for the defection of her heart. Did she take her guitar, old songs they had sang together came unbidden to her lip; that book, too, they had read. Oh, it wasall misery!turn where she would!

"Day after day passed by—no letter from Mr. Jones! The time had already passed that was fixed upon for his return, and Edith, nervous from close confinement and the weary inward struggle, started like a frightened bird, at every footfall.

"It came at last, the letter, sealed with black! 'He had been accidentally drowned—his hat was found—all search for the body had been unavailing.'

"Edith was no hypocrite. She could not mourn for him, save in the outward garb of woe; but now that he wasdead, conscience did its office. She had not, in the eye of the world, been untrue; butthere is an eye that searches deeper! that scansthoughtsas well as actions.

"Ainslie was just starting for the continent by order of a physician, when the news reached him. A brief time he gave to decorum, and then they met! It is needless to say what that meeting was. Days and months of wretchedness were forgotten like some dreadful dream. She was again his own Edith, sorrowing, repentant, and happy!

"They were sitting together, one evening; Edith's hand was upon his shoulder, and her face radiant as a seraph's. They were speaking of their future home.

"'Any spot on the wide earth but this, dear Ainslie. Take me away from these painful associations.'

"'Say you so, pretty Edith?' said a well-known voice. 'I but tried that faithful heart of yours toprove it! Pity to turn such a pretty comedy into a tragedy, but I happen to bemanagerhere, young man,' said Mr. Jones, turning fiercely towards the horror-struck Ainslie!

"The revulsion was too dreadful. Edith survived but a week; Ainslie became hopelessly insane."

Fanny has very nice ideas on this subject She says:—

"'Every wife needs a good stock of love to start with.'

"Don'tshe! You are upon a sick bed! a little feeble thing lies upon your arm, that you might crush with one hand. You take those little velvet fingers in yours, close your eyes, and turn your head languidly to the pillow. Little brothers and sisters, Carry, and Harry, and Fanny, and Frank, and Willy, and Mary, and Kitty, (half a score) come tiptoeing into the room, 'to see the new baby.' It is quite an old story to 'nurse,' who sits there like an automaton, while they give vent to their enthusiastic admiration of its wee toes andfingers, and makeprofound inquiries, which nobody thinks best to hear! You look on with a languid smile, and they pass out, asking 'why they can't stay with dear mamma, and why they mustn't play puss in the corner,' as usual?

"You wonder if your little croupy boy tied his tippet on when he went to school, and whether Betty will see that your husband's flannel is aired, and if Peggy has cleaned the silver and washed off the front door-steps, and what your blessed husband is about, that he don't come home to dinner. There sits old nurse, keeping up that dreadful treadmill trotting, 'to quiet the baby,' till you could fly through the key-hole in desperation.

"The odor of dinner begins to creep up stairs—you wonder if your husband's pudding will be made right, and if Betty will remember to put wine in the sauce, as he likes it; and then the perspiration starts out on your forehead, as you hear a thumping on the stairs, and a child's suppressed scream; and nurse swathes the baby up in flannel to the tip of its nose, dumps it down in the easy-chair, and tells you to 'leave the family to her, and go to sleep.' Bye-and-bye she comes in, after staying down long enough to get a refreshing cup of coffee—and walks up to the bed with a bowl of gruel, tasting it, and thenputting the spoon backinto the bowl. In the first place you hate gruel—in the next, you couldn't eat it if she held a pistol to your head, afterTHAT SPOONhas been in her mouth; so you meekly suggest that it be set on the table to cool, (hoping by some providential interposition, itmay get tipped over.) Well, she creeps round your room with a pair of creaking shoes, and a bran new gingham gown, that rattles like a paper window-curtain, at every step; and smooths her hair with your nice little head-brush, and opens a drawerby mistake(?) 'thinking it was the baby's drawer.' Then you hear little nails scratching on the door; and Charley whispers through the key-hole—'Mamma, Charley's tired;pleaselet Charley come in?' Nurse scowls, and says no; but you intercede (poor Charley, he's only a baby himself.) Well, he leans his little head wearily against the pillow, and looks suspiciously at that little bundle of flannel in nurse's lap. It's clear he's had a hard time of it,what with tears and molasses! The little shining curls that you have so often rolled over your fingers, are a tangled mass; and you long to take him, and make him comfortable, andcossethim a little; and then the baby cries again, and you turn your head to the pillow with a smothered sigh. Nurse hears it, and Charley is taken struggling from the room.

"You take your watch from under the pillow, to see if husband won't be home soon, and then look at nurse, who takes a pinch of snuffover your bowl of gruel, and sits down nodding drowsily, with the baby in alarming proximity to the fire. Now you hear adearstep on the stairs. It'syour Charley! How bright he looks! and what nice fresh air he brings with him from out doors! He parts the bed-curtains, looks in, and pats you on the cheek. You just want to lay your head on his shoulder, and have such asplendid cry! but there sits that old Gorgon of a nurse—she don't believe in husbands,shedon't! You make Charley a free mason sign to send her down stairs for something. He says, (right out loud—men are so stupid!) 'What did you say, dear?' Of course you protest you didn't say a word—never thought of such a thing! and cuddle your head down to your ruffled pillows, and cry because you don't know what else to do, and because you are weak and weary, and full of care for your family, and don't want to see anybody but 'Charley.'

"Nurse says 'she shall have you sick,' and tells your husband 'he'd better go down, and let you go to sleep.' Off he goes, wondering what on earth ails you,to cry!—wishinghehadnothing to dobut lie still, and be waited upon! After dinnerhe comes in to bid you good-bye before he goes to his office—whistles 'Nelly Bly' loud enough to wake up the baby, (whom he calls 'a comical little concern)!' and puts his dear thoughtless head down to your pillow, (at a signal from you,) to hear what you have to say. Well, there's no help for it, you cry again, and only say 'dearCharley,' and he laughs, and settles his dickey, and says you are 'a nervous little puss,' gives you a kiss, lights his cigar at the fire, half strangles the new baby with the first whiff, andtakes your heart off with him down street!

"And you lie there and eatthatgruel! and pick thefuzzall off the blanket, and make faces at the nurse, under the sheet, and wish Eve had never ate that apple (Genesis 3: 16;) or that you were 'Abel' to 'Cain' her for doing it!"—

Dear me! howexpensive it is to be poor. Every time I go out, my best bib and tucker has to go on. If Zebedee was worth a cool million, I might wear a coal-hod on my head, if I chose, with perfect impunity. There was that old nabob's wife at lecture, the other night, in a dress that might have been made for Noah's great-grandmother.She can afford it!Now if it rains knives and forks, I must sport a ten dollar hat, a forty dollar dress, and a hundred dollar shawl. If I go to a concert, I must take the highest priced seat, and ride there and back, just to let 'Tom, Dick and Harry' see that I can afford it. Then we must hire the most expensive pew in the broad-aisle of a tip-top church, and give orders to the sexton notto admit any strangers into it who look snobbish. Then my little children, Napoleon Bonaparte and Dona Maria Smith, can't go to a public school, because, you know,we shouldn't have to pay anything.

"Then if I go shopping, to buy a paper of needles, I have to get a little chap to bring them home, because it wouldn't answer for me to be seen carrying a bundle through the streets. We have to keep three servants where one might do; and Zebedee's coats have to be sent to the tailor when they need a button sewed on,for the look of the thing.

"Then if I go to the sea-shore, in summer, I can't take my comfort, as rich people do, in gingham dresses, loose shoes, and cambric sun-bonnets. My senses! no! I have to be screwed up by ten o'clock in a Swiss muslin dress, a French cap, and the contents of an entire jeweller's shop showered over my person; and my Napoleon Bonaparte and Dona Maria can't go off the piazza, because the big rocks and little pebbles cut their toes so badly through their patent kid slippers.

"Then if Zebedee goes a-fishing, he wouldn't dare to put on a linen coat for the price of his reputation. No indeed! Why, he never goes tothe barn-yard without drawing on his white kids. Then he orders the most ruinous wines at dinner, and fees those white jackets, till his purse is as empty as an egg-shell. I declare it isabominablyexpensive. I don't believerich peoplehave the least idea how much it costspoor peopleto live!"

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