of yourself, Didymus, because _that_ is unnecessary! I was only in a
_faint_, my dear! A FEINT--ha! ha! I think I understand you _now_,
from Genesis to Revelations. That _black_ coat's a _good fit_;--very
_becoming_, too! _Maria_--_Fitz_--B-U-M-B-L-E-E!! There, that'll DO,
Didymus. _Sorry to disappoint you_, but I'm just as good as _new_!'"
XXVI.
THE WEDDING DRESS.
Under this title appeared in the columns of the True Flag, one of
Fanny's most effective sketches. Thus ran the tale:--
"'Good-bye, dearest mother,' said Emma, as she pressed her lips to her
forehead. 'Let me bring your foot-stool and your spectacles before I
go. We shall have a lovely drive, and I'll not stay after nightfall.'
"As she listened to the sound of the retreating wheels, Mrs. Leland
said to herself, 'I'm selfish to be unwilling to part with Emma, but
she is so good and so beautiful. Her presence is like a ray of
sunshine; my room seems so dark and cheerless when she leaves me; and
yet it will not be long that I can watch over her; and when these dim
eyes are closing, it will be a comfort to know that she has a
protector and a husband.'
"Mrs. Leland was a widow--that name always suggestive of desolation,
want and sorrow. Her husband, however, had left herself and Emma
enough to keep them from suffering, and the latter had made her
musical talents available in driving poverty from the door.
"About a year before the date of my story, Emma had met with Lionel.
Of prepossessing exterior and polished manners, the young merchant had
made himself a welcome guest at the quiet fireside of the widow.
Thoughtful and attentive to Mrs. Leland, he had already yielded her
the devotion of a son. She was alone most of the day, but when Emma
returned to her at night, with her tasks completed, and they were
seated around their little table, and Emma herself prepared the nice
cup of tea that was to refresh her invalid mother, and evening came,
and with it Lionel, with his bright, handsome face, and winning smile
and soft low tones; how quickly the hours fled away! And now she was
soon to be his bride. Their cottage home in the outskirts of the city
was already chosen, and thither they had gone to make arrangements for
their removal. And who so happy as the lovers, that long, bright,
summer afternoon? The little cottage rooms were carefully inspected;
the pretty rosebush was trained anew over the low door-way, and the
gardener had especial orders to take care of the nice flowerbeds and
gravel walks. Amid the last sweet carol of the birds, when the
flowers, heavy with the falling dew, were drowsily nodding their
heads, and the first bright star of evening was timidly stealing
forth; in the dim, fragrant twilight, again and again they exchanged
new vows of love.
"When Emma remembered the dull and cheerless past, life seemed now to
her a fairy dream; she trembled to _be_ so happy. Then a dark shadow
would pass before her eyes, and she would say, shudderingly, '_What if
a change should come!_' but she looked in Lionel's face, and
remembered it no more.
"Home was gained at last, Lionel assisted his fair companion to
alight; she sprang gaily up the steps, and was turning to wave her
hand to him as he left, when she saw a man step up to him, lay his
hand familiarly on his shoulder, and, taking the reins in _his own
hands_, drive off. Supposing him to be some friend, or business
acquaintance, she thought no more of it, and passed into the house.
"'It is needless to ask you if you have enjoyed your ride, my
daughter,' said Mrs. Leland, looking with a mother's admiration at the
bright flush on her cheek, and her sparkling eye.
"'Oh! it was so delightful, mother, at the cottage; and we shall be so
_happy_ there,' said the fair girl, as she laid aside her pretty hat
and shook from their confinement her long, bright tresses. Then,
seating herself at the window, she commenced embroidering a part of
her wedding dress.
"Soon after, a stranger called to see Mrs. Leland on business; and
Emma withdrew to their little bed-room. She was sitting there, busy
with her work; a song, sweet as a bird's carol trembled on her lips,
when Mrs. Leland returned.
"'Emma!'
"She turned her head to see her mother's face overspread with the
pallor of death. Springing to her side, she said, 'Mother! dear
mother! who has dared? what has troubled you? who is this stranger?'
"Her mother pointed to the wedding dress, saying, (as if every word
rent her heart-strings,)
"'Emma, _you'll never need that_! Lionel is arrested for forgery.'
"''Tis false!' Emma would have said, but the words died on her lips,
and she fell heavily to the floor.
"One fainting fit succeeded another through that long, dreary night,
till life seemed almost suspended. Morning came, and woke the sufferer
to consciousness. Passing her hand slowly across her forehead, as if
still bewildered, and unable to realize the dreadful change that had
passed over her, she said,
"'Mother, I must go to Lionel!'
"'No, no,' said Mrs. Leland, ''tis no place for you, Emma.'
"Covering her face, as if to shut out some dreadful vision, she said,
'I care not _where_ I find him, mother! I must go or _die_. Would you
kill your child?'
"The succeeding day found her at the prison door. As the key grated in
the lock for her admittance, she shuddered and hung back; but it was
only for an instant. Nerving herself, as by a strong effort, she
advanced and threw herself, fainting, upon Lionel's breast. As the
jailer came towards her, Lionel started to his feet, and with a fierce
gesture, motioned him off. Pressing his lips to her cold forehead, he
said to himself, 'If she would but pass away thus!' But death comes
not at the bidding of the wretched, and there she lay, that young,
fair thing, with her beautiful head bowed with grief and shame; still
loving, still trusting, through dishonor and pain, with the strong,
deep love of _a woman's heart_. Even the stern jailer, though inured
to scenes of human suffering, brushed away the tears with his rough
hand from his furrowed cheeks, and said, 'God be merciful.'
"Few words were spoken by either, and the allotted hour passed by. One
long embrace--and the wretched man was again _alone_ in his cell, with
an accusing conscience; the darker, the gloomier for the angel-light
that was withdrawn.
"And Emma! She was borne back again to the arms that had pillowed her
infancy, and laid her head upon her mother's breast like a tired
child. The agony of that hour had done the work of years. The rose had
faded from the cheek, the eyes were dim and lustreless. She only said,
'_I'm weary_.'
"And so weeks passed by. Nothing interested her, nothing seemed to
rouse her from her apathy. At length news reached them of Lionel's
escape! The change in Emma was instantaneous. Her manner became
excited, nervous and hurried; she passed about the house arranging
everything to the best advantage, as if expecting some friend or
guest.
"One stormy night they sat at their little table, each busy with
their own sad memories. The wind wailed dismally, and the beating rain
had driven every living thing to seek a shelter. Mrs. Leland spoke of
the fury of the storm, and Emma glanced toward the window. A dark face
was prest close against it! Those eyes! (she passed her hand across
her own, as if to clear her vision,) those eyes were Lionel's!
Tottering as if bent by age, she staggered towards the door, and in a
moment they were in each other's arms. What a night of fear, and
horror, and joy was that! for he must away before the day should dawn.
"'Then you go not _alone_,' said Emma; 'if you have sinned you have
also _suffered_.'
"'Yes, and it's but right he should,' said a rough voice, as the door
was rudely burst, and a stout man advanced to make him prisoner.
"Lionel had prepared himself for _this_. A flash! a report! the lovers
lay side by side. They were _both prisoners_, but _Death_ was the
_jailer_!"
XXVII.
IS IT BEST TO USE ENVELOPES?
On this question hear Fanny!
"Mrs. Joseph Smith was the envy of all the wives in the neighborhood.
Such a _pattern_ husband as Smith was, to be sure! He never went
across the room without hugging his wife first, and language would
fail to describe their melancholy partings when he 'tore himself
away,' to go down to the store. If the wind got round east after he
had left, he always ran back to tell her to put on an extra petticoat;
he cut up her food in homoeopathic infinitessimal bits, to assist
her digestion, and if she wanted an ice-cream or a lobster-salad in
the middle of the night, it was forthcoming. Did she have the
headache, the blinds were closed, the bell was muffled, and he was the
most wretched of Smiths till she was convalescent. He selected her
shoe-strings and corset-lacings himself, and when her health was too
delicate to admit of her accompanying him to church, he always
promised to sit in the middle of the house, so that in case the
galleries should fall he needn't be made any _flatter_ than he was by
nature.
"The present Mrs. Smith was his _fourth_ wife, and as Joseph had been
heard to say, that 'the more he loved his Elenore, the more he loved
his Nancy, and the more he loved his Nancy, the more he loved his
Julia and Mary,' any one with half an eye, could see how peculiarly
felicitious _Mrs. Mary Smith's_ position must be!
"There never was a sweet without a bitter; and so she found out, when
Joseph announced to her that he 'must leave the little heaven of her
smiles, to go on a short 'business trip.' Mary went into the strongest
kind of hysterics, and burnt feathers and sal-volatile couldn't bring
her out of them, till he swore on the dictionary to telegraph to her
every hour, and carry his life preserver and a box of Russia salve.
"On arriving at the depot, a gentleman requested leave 'to place a
lady under his protection,' who was travelling in the same direction.
Smith looked at her; she was young and pretty, and dressed in deep
mourning. 'A widow!' said Smith to himself. 'Certainly, sir, with
pleasure.'
"How they _did_ get on! With opening and shutting the windows in the
cars, pulling that travelling shawl round the pretty shoulders that
_wouldn't_ keep it up, and trying to quiet her nerves when the cars
went through 'the dark places,' Smith didn't know any more than _you_
whether they were travelling through France or Spain, and what's more,
he _didn't care_!
"Arriving at their place of destination much sooner than was
necessary, (conductors and engineers have no bowels of mercy,) he
escorted the widow to the house of her friend, taking the most
disinterested care of the big and little bandboxes, and was strongly
tempted to put an end to the life of the little poodle-dog she carried
in her arms.
"An hour after, he sat down in his lonely quarters at the hotel, and
dutifully drew towards him a sheet of paper to write to his wife. It
ran as follows:--
"'MY DEAREST WIFE: If you knew how utterly desolate I am without you.
I can think of nothing else, and feel entirely unfitted for business.
As for _pleasure_, that is out of the question, without you. I've
been bored to death with the care of an empty-headed woman--(you know
I couldn't _refuse_, my angel); but I never will be hampered so again.
I long for the day that will return me to your arms. Your loving
husband,
"'J. S----.'
"Then drawing towards him a nice sheet of embossed note-paper, he
penned the following:--
"'MY DEAR MADAM: Those blue eyes have never ceased to haunt me since
we parted. Thank you for your flattering acceptance of my invitation
to ride. I will call for you at four this afternoon. Till then, my
heart is with you.
"'Yours, ever,
"'JOSEPH SMITH.'
"Full two mortal hours Joseph spent at his 'twilight,' adorning his
outer man. How those whiskers were curled and perfumed! What a fit
were those primrose kid gloves! How immaculate was that shirt bosom!
How _excruciatingly_ those boots pinched! The very horses pricked up
their ears and arched their necks proudly, as if they knew what a
freight of loveliness they were to carry.
"Arrived at the widow's Joseph handed the reins to a servant and was
settling his pet curl, preparatory to mounting the stairs, when a
letter was rudely thrust into his hand, and he was unceremoniously
seized by _that_ dickey and sent spinning out upon the side-walk. As
soon as he recovered breath, he picked himself up, and looked at the
letter. Horror of horrors! He had placed the letters in the wrong
envelopes! The widow had his wife's, and what was worse, his wife the
widow's! Oh, Smith! Oh, JOSEPH Smith!
"MORAL.--Some think it wise to use envelopes, 'some _othewise_.'
_Joseph_ inclines to the _latter_ opinion, and advises all 'pattern
husbands' to be of the same mind. His message hails from California!"
XXVIII.
FEMININE WISDOM.
We insert the following for the special benefit of the ladies. It is
true, Fanny very characteristically informs us, that they 'don't all
know as much as _she_ does,' but then that is hardly to be expected.
"Tupper, speaking of the choice of a wife, says, 'Hath she wisdom? it
is precious, but _beware that thou exceed_!'
"My dear sir, wasn't you caught napping that time? Didn't you speak in
meeting? Didn't cloven feet peep out of your literary shoes? Don't it
take an American woman to see through you! Isn't that a tacit
acknowledgment that there _are_ women who do 'exceed?' Wouldn't you
think so if you lived _this_ side the pond? Hope you don't judge _us_
by John Bull's daughters, who stupefy themselves on roast-beef and
porter. I tell you Yankee women are on the squirrel order. You'd lose
your English breath trying to follow them. There isn't a man here in
America that knows as much as his wife. Some of them _own_ it, and
some don't, but they all believe it, like gospel. They ask our opinion
about everything. Sometimes straightforward, and sometimes in a
circle--but they _ask it_! There are petticoats in the pulpit,
petticoats in the editorial chair, petticoats in the lecturer's desk,
petticoats behind the counter, petticoats labelled 'M. D.' Oh, _they
'exceed_!' no mistake about that. All femality is wide awake over
here, Mr. Tupper. They crowd, and jostle, and push, just as if they
wore hats. I don't uphold them in _that_, because, as I tell them,
'tis better policy to play possum, and wear the mask of submission. No
use in rousing any _unnecessary_ antagonism. _But they don't all know
as much as I do._ I shall reach the goal just as quick in my velvet
shoes, as if I tramped on rough-shod as they do, with their _Woman's
Rights Convention brogans_!"
XXIX.
ALWAYS SPEAK THE TRUTH.
Why, Fanny Fern! Did you ever hear any old saying about practising and
preaching? How came you ever to think of this sentiment? Oh, Fanny!
you are a born _writer of fiction_. Didn't you prove your genius for
that sort of thing when you wrote the following 'Fern.'
"Well, now, do you know I did that, till I came very near being mobbed
in the street for a curiosity? I was verdant enough to believe that
'honesty was the best policy.' The first astonisher that I had, was on
the occasion of the visit of a vain old lady to our house, before I
was out of pantalettes. Her bonnet was stuck full of artificial
flowers, looking as much out of place as a wreath of rosebuds on a
mummy! Some such thought was passing through my mind, as I stood
looking at her--when, mistaking my protracted gaze for one of
_admiration_, she faced square about, and asked me if I didn't think
they were _becoming_? '_No ma'am_,' said I, never flinching a hair.
_Didn't_ I get a boxed ear for that?
"Well, I didn't make out much better in my subsequent attempts to
'speak the truth;' and what visionary ever concocted such nonsense,
_I'm_ at a loss to know.
"I'd like to put the question to you, and _you_, and YOU, and
YOU!--Would the wheels of creation ever 'go ahead' without one
everlasting intolerable squeak, if they were not 'oiled up' constantly
with flattery? No shirking, now! no dodging the question! OF COURSE
they wouldn't! I humbly confess I ain't broke in myself, as much as I
ought to be, but I'm learning by degrees! I can't help looking over my
shoulder occasionally when anybody says a pretty thing to me to see if
'cloven foot' is anywhere round! but that will wear off in time. It
almost killed me the first time I did the agreeable to a person I had
no more respect for than Judas Iscariot, but I lived through it,
though I don't take to it naturally!
"I've a tell-tale trick of blushing, too, when I'm being delivered of
a lie, that stands very much in my light. I'm afraid there's some
defect in my organization. I've applied to two or three young
physicians, but they only aggravate my complaint. I'm thinking of
putting myself under the tuition of ----; if I don't 'take my degree'
THEN, I'll _give up_ and done with it!
"Oh dear! it's an awful thing to grow up! to find your catechise, and
Jack the Giant-Killer, and your Primer, and Mother Goose, all a
humbug! To come across a wolf making 'sheep's eyes' at a lamb; to be
obliged to make a chalk-mark on the saints to know them from the
sinners; to see husbands, well--THERE! when I think of THEM, I must
wait till a new dictionary is made before I can express my
indignation! Wish I'd been introduced to Adam before he found out it
was beyond him to keep the commandments. If there's anything I hate,
_'tis an apple_!"
XXX.
MOSES MILTIADES MADISON.
Everybody knows Moses. He and others like him, "carry the bag" in too
many of our churches. But nobody seems to know him so well as Fanny;
so we will let her relate his "experience," in her own words:
"Moses Miltiades Madison would fain have the world believe that the
stumbling-block the fallen angels tripped over was no besetting sin of
_his_.
"The very tails of his coat hung around him in a helpless kind of a
way, as if they knew they _ought_ to be suggestive of their owner's
_humility_. No sinful zephyrs presumed to dally with the straight
locks, plastered with such puritanical precision over his diminutive
head; his mouth had a sanctimonious drawing down at the corners, and
his voice was a cross between a groan and a wail. At every
prayer-meeting and conventicle, Moses was on the ground,
(simultaneously with the sexton,) made the most long-winded prayer;
elaborated to _seventh_-LIE, the verse he was expounding, and kept one
note ahead of the singing-choir in the 'doxology;' knew exactly how
long it would be before the natives of the Palm Tree Islands would
dress more fashionably than the wild beasts around them, and was
entirely posted up about the last speech and confession of the very
latest missionary whom the savages had made mince-meat of.
"Now Moses had an invalid wife; and his 'path of duty,' after evening
meeting, generally laid in the direction of Widow Gray's house. _She_
was '_afraid_' and _he--wasn't_! So he took the prayer-book, the
Bible, and the widow, under his protection, and went the longest way
round. His wife, to be sure, before his return, came to the conclusion
that it was a '_protracted_ meeting,' but then _Moses_ was 'a burning
and a shining light,' (at least so the 'church' said,) and if _Mrs._
Moses was of a different opinion, she kept it to herself. That he did
occasionally pervert Scripture words and phrases, and make a very
'carnal' use of the same, when none of the congregation were present,
was an indisputable fact; that the crickets, and chairs and tables,
sometimes changed places in a hurry, was another; but the last was
probably owing to his being a 'medium' for some '_spiritual_
rappings.'
"But if Mrs. Moses 'kept dark,' Jeremiah Jones wouldn't! He was as
thorough and straight-forward in his religion as he was in building
houses; he detested 'sham foundations,' as he professionally expressed
it!
"One night, in an evil hour, Moses popped up, as usual, from his seat
in meeting, intending to give an extra touch to his devotional
exercises, as he contemplated taking a longer walk than usual with
little Widow Gray. So he told 'the brethren,' (through his nose,) that
'if ever there _was_ a sinner that deserved a _very_ uncomfortable
place hereafter, it was _him_--(_Moses!_)--that it was a marvel to him
that he was permitted to cumber the earth, that his sins were more
than the hairs on his head,' (and, by the way, that was a very
moderate computation!)
"So Jeremiah Jones seemed to think; for he 'riz' very demurely, and
remarked that 'he had been brother Moses Madison's neighbor for many
years, and was qualified to endorse that little statement of his, with
regard to himself, as _substantially correct in every particular_!'
Moses fainted!"
XXXI.
TOM VERSUS FAN; OR, A LITTLE TALK ABOUT LITTLE THINGS.
In the sketch thus entitled, we are once more presented with a life
picture, a veritable transcript of the writer's own mind. It will be
seen that Fanny is _au fait_ in the mysteries of coquetry; understands
the use of long dresses, and "gaiter-boots" to perfection. Just
listen:--
"'Well, Fan; any room for _me_ here?' said Tom Grey, as he seated
himself in a large arm-chair in his sister's boudoir.
"'Possession is nine points of the law, Tom; it's no use answering in
the negative _now_.'
"'I'm in a very distracted state of mind, sis, and I've come to make a
clean breast of it to you.'
"'Mercy on us! if you are going to confess your sins, I shall beat a
retreat; the catalogue is longer than my patience.'
"'Listen; you know yesterday was one of my days for walking?'
"'Boisterous wind, hey?'
"'Yes; and a man _must_ use his eyes when the gods favor him. Just
before me, in Washington-street, I saw _such_ a pair of feet! Now you
know pretty feet are my passion, and 'Cinderella's' were not a
circumstance to these. So I travelled on behind them, in a state of
mute ecstacy, and they might have led me to the Dead Sea, and I
shouldn't have stopped to ask any questions!'
"'Did you see her face?'
"'_Face?_--I didn't think of such a thing. _I_ shouldn't have cared if
she hadn't any face. Of course it was pretty; nature wouldn't have
perfected those continuations to that degree and left--but no matter,
they were 'the _greatest_' feet for _little feet_, I ever saw. All of
a sudden my goddess vanished into a shoe-store, and I stood gaping in
at the window and wishing I was the clerk. Presently, the young man
handed her a pair of boots, and going round the counter, down he goes
on one knee, and, by the blessed saints! if _he didn't take that dear
little foot in his lap and try on those boots_! The rascal was twice
as long about it as he need be, too, for after it was all laced on,
he kept 'smoothing out the wrinkles,' as _he_ said, 'on the instep.'
St. Crispin! _wasn't_ I furious!'
"'Well--didn't you see her face, all this time?'
"'No, I tell you; she had one of those curs--I beg pardon--_curious_
veils that you women are so fond of playing _beau peep_ with! But her
shawl fell off, and you'd better believe there was a figure under it
even _those feet_ might be proud to carry.'
"'Well--let's have the denouement.'
"'She got into an omnibus--didn't I wish I was the mat in the bottom
of it? No room for another soul, outside or in, or I should have
followed her. Wish I might wake up and find myself _married to those
feet_, some morning!'
"'Fan--these long skirts are very effective weapons in the hands of a
pretty woman. They are provocative of curiosity. Now Bloomers--ugh! (a
man is disenchanted at once;) but a nice, plump, little, cunning foot,
creeping in and out, _mice-like_, from under those graceful
folds--depend upon it, no woman who knows anything, will ever shorten
her skirts. A coquette does as much execution with them as a Spanish
dame with her fan and mantilla.'
"'Many a woman, when she thinks it worth her while, 'gets up' an
imaginary quagmire, and, presto! _there's_ a pair of feet for you!
and then down goes the long skirt again, and a man's senses with it.
Jupiter! _don't_ they understand it?'