solicitude was before him; well for the mother that such devotion to
her dead child had at last touched a heart so encrusted with
worldliness. All their united efforts, joined with the skill of the
friend and physician, were needed to rescue Grace from the grave. To
an observing eye, the interest the latter evinced for his fair patient
was not entirely professional. He had been touched by her
self-sacrificing devotion, and her friendlessness, and each day more
and more charmed with her beauty and simplicity.
* * * * *
"Softly fell the moonlight on the countless sleepers in the vast
cemetery of ----. Each tiny flower swaying in the night-breeze was
gemmed with nature's tears. The solemn stillness was unbroken save by
the sweet note of some truant bird returning to his leafy home. How
many hearts so lately throbbing with pain or pleasure lay there
forever stilled! There, in her unappropriated loveliness, slept the
betrothed maiden; there, the bride with her head pillowed on golden
tresses whose sunny beauty e'en the great spoiler seemed loth to
touch; the dimpled babe that yesterday lay warm and rosy in its
mothers breast; the gray-haired sire, weary with life's conflict, the
loving wife and mother in life's sweet prime, deaf to the wail of her
helpless babe and to the agonized cry of its father; the faithful
pastor, gone at last to hear the 'Well done, good and faithful
servant;' the reckless youth, who with brow untouched by care, and
limbs fashioned for strength and beauty, had rushed unbidden into the
presence of his Maker, impatient for the summons of the 'great
Reaper.' On his tombstone, partial friends had written, 'he sleeps in
Jesus,' while underneath, (in 'the handwriting on the wall') methought
I could read, 'no murderer hath eternal life.'
"There lay the miser, who only in death's agony loosened his hold of
his golden god. The widow he has made houseless, and her shivering
orphans, read the mocking falsehood on the splendid marble that covers
him, and murmur in words that are God's own truth, 'It is easier for a
camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter
into the kingdom of God.'
"With a saddened heart I turn to inhale the sweet breath of the
flowers planted by the hand of affection, or strewn in garlands with
falling tears over the loved and lost. Before me, shining in the
moonlight, is a marble tablet; on it I read, '_Our little Meta_.' I
advance toward it; suddenly I see a female figure approaching, looking
so spiritual in the moonlight--with her snowy robe and shining
hair--that I could almost fancy her an angel guarding the child's
grave. She advanced toward it, and kneeling, presses her lips to the
fragrant sod, saying in a voice of anguish,
"'Would to God I had died for thee, my child, my child!'
"A kind friend had followed Grace's footsteps. A rich, manly voice is
borne upon the air. It shall fall like dew upon the stricken flower.
Listen to the chant!
'There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath;
And the flowers that grow between.
'He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He raised their drooping leaves,
It was for the _Lord of Paradise_
He bound them in his sheaves.
'Oh not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth
And took those flowers away.'
"A holy calm has settled upon the face of the mourner. Noiselessly she
retraces her steps, and as she glides away, I hear her murmur, in a
voice of submission:
'Oh! _not_ in cruelty, _not_ in wrath
The Reaper came that day,
'Twas an _angel_ visited the green earth
And took _my flower_ away.'
* * * * *
"The splendid mansion of the physician had for its mistress the orphan
governess. The world, with its sycophantic smile, now flatters, where
it once frowned. Both are alike to Grace, who has given her warm
heart, 'till death do us part,' to one who knows well how to prize the
gift."
XIX.
ALL ABOUT SATAN.
Fanny says herself, she "knows _all_ about him." Now who in the world
so fit to deliver a discourse on the subject, as so intimate an
acquaintance? Beside, we have seen already that Fanny is in the habit
of writing about her friends. Satan _might_ think it a little unjust
to be held responsible for babies and women's rights movements, but
Fanny knows best, so here follows her sermon, text and all:--
"Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."
"_To be sure he does! I know all about him!_ There's no knowing what
_would_ happen, if the houses now-a-days were not filled up, one half
with babies and the other half with old stockings! Then a man can
tell pretty near, what his wife is about!--sure to find her, year in
and year out, in that old calico wrapper, in that old ricketty
rocking-chair, with the last new twins in her arms, when he wants a
button sewed on his coat to go to the opera. _No other way, you see!_
"Women are getting _altogether_ too smart now-a-days; there _must_ be
a stop put to it! people are beginning to get alarmed! I don't suppose
there has been such a universal crowing since the roosters in Noah's
ark were let out, as there was among the editors when that
'_Swisshelm_' _baby_ was born! It's none of _my_ business, but it
_did_ seem to me _rather_ a _circular singumstance_, that she should
be cut short in her editorial career that way! I suppose, however,
that baby will grow out of her arms one of these days, spite of fate;
and then, if there's no _providential interposition_, she may resume
her pen again. Well, I hope it will be a _warning_! the fact is,
_women_ have no business to be crowding into the editorial chair.
Supposing they _know_ enough to fill it (which I _doubt_! hem!) they
oughter 'hide their light under a b'--aby!
"I tell you, editors _won't stand_ it, to have their masculine toes
trod on that way. They'll have to sign a 'quit claim' to their
'dickeys' by and by! I wonder what the world's coming to! What do you
suppose our fore_fathers_ and _foremothers_ would say, to see a woman
sitting up in the editorial chair, as pert as a piper, with a pen
stuck behind her little ears? phew! I hope _I_ never shall see such a
horrid sight!"
XX.
WELL-KNOWN CHARACTERS.--BY FANNY FERN.
Miss Charity Crackbone was a spinster; not that she ever 'spun street
yarn.' Oh no! but she spun tremendous long 'yarns' with her _tongue_,
and had spun out forty years of her life in single blessedness, in a
shop at the corner of Pin Alley, where you could purchase, for a
consideration, gingerbread and shoe-blacking, hooks-and-eyes and
cholera pills, razors and sugar candy, crackers and castor-oil,
head-brushes and butter, small tooth combs and molasses.
"Not having sufficient employment in superintending her own affairs,
she very philanthropically undertook to manage those of her neighbors;
and, like all persons of weak intellect, had an astonishing memory for
_little_ things; could tell you the very hour, of the very day, of the
very week, and month, and year, you were born; how long you were
employed in cutting your first tooth, what tailoress had the honor of
introducing you into jacket and trowsers, and when you put on your
first long-tail coat.
"Miss Charity's 'outward man' was not remarkably felicitous; her
figure much resembling a barber's pole in its proportions. She
generally preferred dresses of the flabbiest possible material, and a
very tight fit; so that her projecting bones were no mystery, and as
the skirt lacked two or three inches of reaching the ground, it
revealed a pair of feet and ankles evidently intended more for _use_
than _ornament_. Her hair was the color of a dirty blanket, and her
eyes bore a strong resemblance to a drop of indigo in a pan of
buttermilk.
"'Good morning, Charity,' said a fellow gossip; '_such_ a budget of
news!'
"Charity dropped her knitting-work, seized one chair for her visitor,
and placed herself on another in front of her, with both elbows on her
knees, and her face as near Miss Pettingill's as possible, lest she
should lose a word; exclaiming,
"'For the land's sake, make haste and begin. _Who did what?_ The cat's
tail pointed north this morning, and I _knew_ it was the _fore-end of
a runner_ of something.'
"'I declare, I don't know which end _to_ begin,' said Pettingill;
'_such_ a piece of work! This is a wicked, abominable world, Charity.
You know that Mrs. Clark?'
"'Land alive! don't I though? Wasn't I the first one to tell that her
husband ran off and left her; and that she was a flirt and
extravagant? Not that I _knew_ she was, myself, but I heard tell so,
and what you hear said is _most_ always true. Besides, she's pretty,
and that's always against a woman, as you and I know, Pettingill. Who
ever heard any body talk against _us_?' and she set her arms a-kimbo
as if 'pistols for two' would be sent for, if they did! 'Well, what
has the creature done _now_, Pettingill?'
"'Why, you know she boards at Deacon Ephraim Snow's--I wonder at his
having her in his house, and he a _deacon_ too. But you know Mrs.
Clark has 'mazin pretty ways with her, and she's got round him
somehow. Well, you know I do washing for his wife, and speaking of
_that_, she's horrid stingy of her soap. Well, t'other day she sent me
up garret, as it rained, to hang up the clothes, and as I went by Mrs.
Clark's room, it struck me I'd just peep into the key-hole and listen
a bit.' Here Charity drew up her chair so close that the tips of
their noses met; saying, in a hoarse whisper,
"'What _did_ you see?'
"'La! don't frighten me so,' said Pettingill; 'your eyes look like a
cat's in the dark! I saw a very fine-looking gentleman--'
"'_I'll warrant it_,' said Charity, with a triumphant chuckle.
"'And I heard him say, 'Edith, dear--'
"Here Charity pushed back her chair and rolled up the whites of her
eyes like a duck in a thunderstorm.
"'Edith dear,' says he, 'rely upon me; never heed these slanderous
stories; I will be your protector.' There, Charity, what do you think
of that?'
"'She is a church-member,' said Charity, thoughtfully, 'isn't she?
keep quiet, and watch her, the hypocrite! Did you say anything about
it to Mrs. Snow, or the deacon!'
"'Not I,' said Pettingill; 'it would have fetched _me_ out, you know,
for _listening_; but I'm convinced the man has a '_canister_' motive
in going there.'
"'_Sinister_,' said Charity, reprovingly, who considered herself a
scholar.
"'Well, _canister_ or _sinister_, it makes no difference to _me_,'
said Pettingill. 'I know what _I_ think of her. It's no use talking
to the Snow's; _they_ won't believe anything against her.'
"'That's very true,' said Mrs. Snow, who had entered unperceived, and
heard a great part of their conversation. 'Mrs. Clark has been with us
six months, and is blameless and correct in her deportment. She has
been shamefully ill-treated and slandered by her husband, as _I_ know,
and the gentleman about whom you were getting up such a fine story is
her _brother_, who has just returned from Europe. When he said he
'would protect her,' he intended to be as good as his word; and for
your own sakes I would advise you to _bear it in mind_. I have the
pleasure to wish you both good-morning.'
"'There's a tempest in a thimble,' said Charity, as she drew a long
breath.
"'Ain't it, though!' said Pettingill. 'But I'll warrant we shall catch
her tripping yet. These 'grass widows,' you know.'
"'Yes,' said Charity--'and so pretty, too. I never saw a _pretty_
woman that behaved herself."
XXI.
HORACE MANN'S "OPINION."
Horace Mann, in his lecture on "Woman," says: "I see but one reason
why woman should not preach the gospel, and that reason is, that it is
ten thousand times better to go about _practising_ the gospel, than
even to preach it."
"On this hint," Fanny characteristically waxes eloquent.
"I'm perfectly ready to close my female eyes now! Here's justice meted
out to our suffering sex at last, and by a _Man-n_, too! Nobody can
disturb the serenity of my soul to-day. I feel like a crowned martyr;
could shake hands with every enemy I have except ----! Anybody any
'little favors' to ask, now is their time! If my bonnet wasn't bran
new, I'd toss it up till it got hitched on the horn of _some_
celestial dilemma. Wonder if all those democrat cannons are used up?
It's outrageous there's no way provided for a woman to express her
surplus enthusiasm. If I roll up my eyes, it may suggest a pitcher of
water in my face; hysterics would but feebly express my emotions;
(besides, I don't know how they are got up) no use in fainting unless
there's somebody 'worth while' at hand to bring you to. What's to be
done? I'll borrow a 'True Flag,' and hoist it. I'll go into the woods
and shout huzza! Never mind whether he's married or single--he's too
much of a curiosity for a _monopoly_. Barnum must have him; he belongs
to the world in general. He's booked for immortality! Napoleon, and
Hannibal, and Cæsar weren't a circumstance! Just think of Horace
Mann's _moral courage_ in propagating such an unpopular sentiment! I
shall have to get out a Fern dictionary. Can't find words to express
my tumultuous emotions!"
XXII.
WHAT FANNY THINKS OF HOT WEATHER.
Shadrach, Meshek, and Molock! how hot it is! I pity omnibus horses and
ministers; I pity the little victims of narrow benches and short
recesses; I pity ignorant young mothers with teething babies; I pity
the Irish who huddle in a cellar and take boarders in each corner; I
pity consumptive semptresses who "sing the song of the shirt" for six
cents per day; I pity dandies with tight boots; I pity cooks and
blacksmiths, and red-haired people; I pity anybody who doesn't live in
a refrigerator, and hasn't a _Fan_ to _temper_ the air.
XXIII.
FAMILY JARS.
This is a subject on which Fanny _ought_ to speak _feelingly_. Her
article thus entitled, is, however, full of funny hits, doubtless much
like the roses which crown the skeleton, or the smiles which hide the
heart-ache. Poor Fanny!
"Domestie peaee can never be _preserved_ in family jars."
Mr. Jeremiah Stubbs was rash enough to remark, one morning, to his
wife Keziah, "that, after all, women had little or nothing to do; that
he only wished she knew the responsibilities of a man of business."
(Jeremiah kept a small shop, well stocked with maple sugar, suspicious
looking doughnuts, ancient pies and decayed lemons.)--"Yes, Keziah, if
you only knew the responsibilities of a _man of business_,' said
Jeremiah, fishing up the corner of his dickey from a questionable
looking red neckerchief that protected his jugular.
"'Well, let me know 'em, then,' said his wife, tying on her bonnet.
'Seeing is believing. We will change works for one day. You get
breakfast, tend the baby, and wash and dress the other three children,
and I'll go down and open shop.'
"Jeremiah didn't exactly look for this termination to the discussion;
but he was a man, and of course never backed out; so he took a survey
of the premises, wondering which end to begin, while Keziah went on
her way rejoicing, took down the shutters like a master-workman,
opened shop, made a fire, arranged the tempting wares above mentioned,
with feminine ingenuity; putting the best side of everything
uppermost, and wishing she had nothing else to do, from day to day,
but stand behind the counter and sell them.
"This accomplished, she went home to breakfast. There sat Jeremiah, in
a chair, in the middle of the room, with one side of his beard shaved
off, and the lather drying on the remainder, trotting a little
blue-looking wretch, in a yellow flannel night-gown, who was rubbing
some soft gingerbread into his bosom with his little fists, by way of
amusement. The coffee had boiled over into the ashes, and Thomas
Jefferson and Napoleon Buonaparte Stubbs were stirring up the
miniature pond with Jeremiah's razor. James Madison was still between
the sheets, vociferating loudly for 'his breakfast.'
"Looking with a curious eye over the pile of scorched toast for a
piece that was eatable, Keziah commenced her breakfast, referring her
interesting young family to their paternal derivative for a supply of
their numerous wants. At last he placed a cup of muddy coffee before
him, congratulating himself that his labors were ended, when the baby,
considering it an invasion of his rights, made a dive at it, and he
sprang from his chair with the scalding contents dripping from his
unwhisperables, and--a word that church-members don't use--hissing
from between his teeth.
"Calm as a summer morning, Keziah replaced her time-worn straw upon
her head, telling Jerry that her children must be prepared for school
at nine o'clock, the room must be swept and righted, the breakfast
things washed, the potatoes boiled, and the mince-meat prepared for
dinner by twelve. Her husband grinned a ghastly smile, and told her
'that was easy done.' No such thing. The comb couldn't be found; he
had to wipe James Madison's presidential phiz-mahogany on the corner
of the table-cloth. Napoleon Buonaparte's pinafore had been used to
wipe the dishes; Thomas Jefferson had rejoiced twice in a pair of
boxed ears, for devouring the contents of the sugar-bowl; and that
little yellow flannel night-gown was clutching at his heels, every
step he took over the floor.
"Miserable Jeremiah! didn't you wish you were a woman? Well, 'time and
tide wait for no man.' Twelve o'clock came, and so did Keziah. Her
husband would rather have seen the ---- hem! The bed was unmade, the
children's hair stood up 'seven ways of a Sunday,' the cat was
devouring the meat, the baby had the chopping-knife, and Napoleon
Buonaparte was playing ball with the potatoes.
"Jeremiah's desire for immediate emancipation overcame his pride, and
passing his arms _half-way_ around Keziah's waist, (it was so large
that he always made a chalk mark where he left off embracing, that he
might know where to begin again,) he told her she was an angel, and he
was a poor miserable wretch, and was ready to acknowledge his mistake.
Keziah very quietly withdrew from his arm, told him the bargain was
made for the day, and she would change works at night; and treating
herself to a piece of bread and butter, she departed. Jerry sat for a
minute looking into the fire, then reaching down a huge parcel of
maple-sugar, he put it on the floor, and seating all the young
hopefuls round it, turned the key on them and the scene of his cares,
mounted his beaver on his aching head, and rushed to ----'s for a
_whiskey punch_! The room was nice and tidy, the fire was comfortable,
the punch was _strong_, and Jeremiah was _weak_. He woke _about dark_,
from troubled dreams of broomsticks and curtain lectures, and not
having sufficient courage to encounter their fulfilment, has left
Keziah to the glorious independence of a '_California widow_.'"
XXIV.
TWO IN HEAVEN.
The following sketch has been pronounced by a talented Boston editor,
to be the finest and sweetest article Fanny Fern ever penned. The very
thought might well have served as inspiration. What roof-tree where
the tears have not fallen? What household that counts not part of its
number by tomb-stones?
"TWO IN HEAVEN.--'You have two children,' said I.
"'I have four,' was the reply; 'two on earth, two in heaven.'
"There spoke the mother! Still hers! only 'gone before!' Still
remembered, loved and cherished, by the hearth and at the board; their
places not yet filled; even though their successors draw life from
the same faithful breast where _their_ dying heads were pillowed.
"'Two in heaven!'
"Safely housed from storm and tempest; no sickness there; nor drooping
head, nor fading eye, nor weary feet. By the green pastures; tended by
the Good Shepherd, linger the little lambs of the heavenly fold.
"'Two in heaven!'
"Earth less attractive! Eternity nearer! Invisible cords, drawing the
maternal soul upwards. 'Still small' voices, ever whispering _come_!
to the world-weary spirit.
"'Two in heaven!'
"Mother of angels! Walk softly! holy eyes watch thy footsteps! cherub
forms bend to listen! Keep thy spirit free from earth-taint; so shalt
thou 'go to them,' though they may not 'return to thee.'"
XXV.
THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF DIDYMUS DAISY, ESQ.--BY FANNY FERN.
Mrs. Daisy styled herself a _pattern wife_; a bright and shining light
in the matrimonial firmament. She had inscribed on her girdle these
words, from John Milton, or Mother Goose, I forget which: '_He_ for
God only, _she_ for God in _him_.'
"She never laced her boots without asking her husband's advice, and
the length of her boddice, or the depth of her flounces, were
dependent upon his final decision. She went into strong convulsions at
sight of a 'Bloomer,' and rolled up the whites of her eyes, like a
duck in a thunderstorm, at the mention of the 'Woman's Rights'
Convention,' and considered any woman who persisted in loving _white_
bread, when her husband ate _brown_, as only fit for the place
where----air-tight stoves and furnaces are unnecessary! Her voice was
soft and oily; she never spoke above her breath, and her motions were
slow, funereal and perpendicular.
"And now I suppose you imagine Didymus was master of his own house!
_Deuce a bit of it!_ There was a look in the corner of his wife's eye
that was as good as a loaded musket, and he fetched and carried
accordingly, like a trained spaniel, tiptoeing through life on a
chalk-mark, and _precious careful_ at _that_; confining his
observation of the world to the latitude and longitude of her
apron-strings. But it was always 'husband,' and 'dear Daisy,' even
when he knew his life wasn't worth two cents if he abated one jot or
tittle of his matrimonial loyalty.
"It was very refreshing to hear her ask him 'his opinion' in company,
and his diplomatic windings and twistings on those occasions were
worthy of the wiliest politician that ever flourished at the 'White
House.' As to speaking to any other female than Mrs. Daisy, he would
as soon have ordered his own coffin; and, truth to tell, this was
where the matrimonial yoke weighed the heaviest, for Didymus (unlucky
wretch) had an eye for a dainty waist or a pair of falling shoulders,
or a light, springing step; but the way he had to '_shoulder!_
_march!_' when they 'hove in sight,' was crucifying to his feelings!
"Mrs. Daisy always went with him, to and from the store, for
'_exercise_.'(?) He was never allowed to go out after dark; his
evenings being mainly occupied in holding skeins of silk, or sorting
knots of 'German Worsted,' to give his wife an opportunity to
immortalize her genius in transforming the same into hump-backed dogs,
deformed lambs and rabbits, with ears twice as long as their bodies.
Under such watchful guardianship he was in a fair way to be able to
omit entirely at his orisons, this petition--'Lead us not into
temptation.'
"This hymeneal strait-jacket was more particularly affecting, inasmuch
as Mrs. Daisy _herself_ was not what her _name_ would seem to suggest,
saving that she was very red. It was the problem of her life to find
dresses and hats that 'agreed with her complexion,' and she might well
have exclaimed 'how _expensive it is to be ugly_.'
"Well, 'it's a long lane that has no turning;' and so Didymus thought,
when he woke up one fine morning and found himself a widower! Did you
ever see a poor robin let loose from a cage? or a mouse released from
the clutches of grimalkin? or a kitten emancipated from an easy-chair,
where she had been mistaken for a cushion by some fat old lady of
about two hundred weight? Well--_I say nothing_! The satisfaction with
which Didymus ordered his 'weeds,' spoke for itself! In HIS mental
rainbow, _black_ was hereafter to be '_couleur de rose_!' He purchased
Mrs. Daisy a _nice_ coffin, and a STRONG one; and his speech to Miss
Maria Fitz Bumble was cut and dried, and ready for delivery as soon as
he had safely planted his _first_ Daisy in the earth!
"Didymus was a _man_ again! He dared to look himself in the face! He
stood up straight, and, clapping his hand on his waistband,
exclaimed--'Daisy, _this_ is living, old boy!' Julius Cæsar! what ails
the man, as he turns his horrified gaze towards the bed!