window there, I _suppose_ that's a man; a _cane and a coat-tail
walking behind a moustache_! Well, here's the thermometer up to
boiling point, and his coat is buttoned up tight to his jugular, _to
show his chest_ to the best possible advantage. I don't believe if he
was stifling, he'd let his throat out of prison. Oh, _vanity!_ thy
name is _man_! I sat here at the window, laughing till I had fits, to
see that fellow _prink_, the other morning, and make himself
beautiful. The _attitudes_, he practised! the different styles of
_hair_ he 'got _up_,' and brushed _down!_ the neck-ties he tried on!
the way his _bosom-pin_ wouldn't _locate_ to his satisfaction! were
all excruciating to my risibles.'
"'Well, Fan, you've no mercy, so I might as well say--I suppose, as to
the comparative vanity of men and women,--it's six of one and
half-a-dozen of the other; but to change the subject. Do you know I
was thinking, to-day, that _dentistry_ might be made a very
fascinating occupation if one could but choose one's customers?'
"'As how?' said Fan.
"'Why _I_ should proceed after _this_ fashion. When a pretty woman
came to me, I should plant her down in the crucifying chair; open
sundry mysterious-looking drawers, spread out a formidable array of
instruments under her little nose, take up all the files, and saws,
and scrapers, one by one, and hold them up to the light to see if they
were ready primed. Then I'd step round behind her chair (getting
napkin, basin, and footstool fixed to my satisfaction.) The effect I
calculated on being produced, the little blue-eyed victim would turn
pale and look deliciously imploring into my face--then I'd use a
little 'moral suasion,' as the ministers say--and quiet her nerves.
Then follows an examination of her mouth, (I should make a long job of
that!) Very likely the light would not be right, and I should have to
move her head a little nearer to my shoulder, then it is more than
probable her long curls would get twisted round the buttons of my
coat; _there'd_ be a web for two to unweave! Then we'd commence
_again_; the file in my hand makes an unlucky move against some
sensitive tooth,--by that time it is to be hoped she'd be ready to
faint, and need something held to her lips! Oh, Fan, my mind is in a
state of vibration between _dentistry_ and the _shoe business_!'
"'What do you think of the _clerical_ profession?' said Fan,
laughing. '_That_ would give you an opportunity to ask them plump,
without any circumlocution or _circumbendibus_, the state of their
hearts? You'd be of the Methodist persuasion, of course, and patronize
'Love Feasts.'
"'Not a bit of it. If I went into _that_ line of business, I'd be a
Roman Catholic priest, and get up a confession box, and the first
exercise of my authority after that would be to get _you_ into a
nunnery _somewhere_. I never saw a 'Fanny' yet that wasn't as
mischievous as Satan.'
"'The _name_ is infectious, my dear; can't you get it _changed_ for
me? Speaking of that, Tom, you know that 'miserable young man' that
talked so freely of 'prussic acid and daggers' once on a time? May I
die an old maid if he isn't the owner of a pretty little wife and two
or three children--he is as fat as a porpoise, merry as a cricket, gay
as a lark--don't he sing out to me 'how d'ye do Fan?' in the most
_heart-whole_ fashion, as if he never said anything _more_ than that
to me all the days of his life! Oh, Tom! _men have died_--and _worms
have eaten 'em_--but--_not for love_!'
"'Do _women_ ever die for love?'
"'Heaven forbid! I _did_ see a man the other day, though, oh
Tom!!--never mind; he's gone--with your '_little feet_;' vanished into
that grave of our mutual hopes--an omnibus! my heart went with
him--_such_ a figure as he had! Saints and angels! wouldn't I like to
see him again? I've had an overpowering sensation of _goneness_ ever
since! and speaking of _goneness_, won't you _walk out_, before you
light that horrid cigar.'"
XXXII.
A LETTER TO THE TRUE FLAG.
Next get into the habit of writing letters to your female
acquaintances, which will draw from them replies; from both
of which sources you will in time learn enough of female
vanity and sentimentality to form the ground-work of a
love-story.--_True Flag_, No. 39.
Dear Mr. True Flag:--I'm appointed 'a committee of one,' to inquire
_who_ perpetrated that sentiment in your last week's paper? _Trot him
out!_ please, and let me put my two eyes on him; and if _looking_ will
annihilate him, there shan't be anything left for the undertaker to
shovel up. I'm _indignant, very_! and what's more; _I don't like it_!
"'_Female vanity and sentimentality!_' Oh, Delilah, Dolly, Julia,
Jane, Agnes, Amelia, Kathleen, Kitty, your letters fell into the hands
of the Philistines, and _that's_ their epitaph!
"'_Female vanity and sentimentality!_' _O-o-h!_ May you never have a
string to your dickey, or a dickey to your string! button to your
coat, or a pair of _whole_ gloves or stockings. May you sit in a state
of utter inconsolability over your unswept, untidy hearth, and
bachelor fire. May you never have a soft place to lay your head when
it aches; no nice little hand to magnetize away the blue devils;
nobody to jump up on a cricket and tie your neck-cloth in a pretty
little bow! No bright eyes to look proudly out the window after you
when you go down to the store! no pretty little feet to trip to the
door to meet you when you come back! May your coffee be smoky, your
toast burnt, your tea be _water-bewitched_; your razor grow dull, your
moustache _turn the wrong way!_ your boots be '_corned!_' your lips be
innocent of a kiss from this day, henceforward and forever; and may
you die a cantankerous, crusty, captious, companionless, musty, fusty
_old Benedict_! Amen!
"FANNY FERN.
"P. S.--If he's _handsome_, dear Mr. Flag, we'll remove the anathema,
and let him off with a slight reprimand, under promise of better
behavior.
"F. F."
XXXIII.
THE ORPHAN.--BY FANNY FERN.
It was a rough, dark, unsightly-looking, old farm-house. The doors
were off the hinges, panes of glass were broken in the windows, the
grass had overgrown the little gravel-path, and the pigs and poultry
went in and out the door as if they were human. Farmer Brady sat
sunning his bloated face on the door-step, stupid from the effects of
the last debauch; his ungainly, idle boys were quarrelling which
should smoke his pipe, and two great romps of girls, with uncombed
locks and tattered clothes, were swinging on the gate in front of the
house.
"Everything _within_ doors was in keeping with the disorder that
reigned without, save a young, fair girl, who sat at the low window,
busily sewing on a coarse garment. Her features were regular and
delicate, her hands and feet small and beautifully formed, and
despite her rustic attire, one could see with a glance that she was a
star that had wandered from its sphere.
"'I say, Lilla,' said one of the hoydens, bounding into the kitchen
and pulling the comb out of Lilla's head, as she bent over her work,
shedding the long, brown hair around her slight figure till her white
shoulders and arms were completely veiled; 'I say, make haste about
that gown. Ma said you should finish it by noon, and you don't sew
half fast enough.'
"Lilla's cheeks flushed, and the small hands wandered through the mass
of hair in the vain attempt to confine it again, as she said, meekly,
'Won't you come help me, Betsey? my head aches sadly, to-day.'
"'No, I won't. You think because you are a lady, that you can live
here on us and do nothing for a living; but you _won't_, and you are
no better than Peggy and I, with your soft voice, and long hair and
doll face.' So saying, the romp went back again to her primitive
gymnasium, _the gate_.
"Lilla's tears flowed fast, as her little fingers flew more nimbly,
and by afternoon her task was completed, and she obtained permission
from her jailers to take a walk. It was a joy to Lilla to be alone
with nature. It was a relief to free herself from vulgar sights and
sounds, to exchange coarse taunts, and rude jests, and harsh words,
for the song of birds, the ripple of the brook, and the soft murmur of
the wind as it sighed through the tall tree-tops.
"Poor Lilla! with a soul so tuned to harmony, to be condemned to
perpetual discord! Through the long, bright, summer days, to drudge at
her ceaseless toil, at the bidding of those harsh voices; at night, to
creep into her little bed, but to recall tearfully a dim vision of
childhood. A gentle, wasted form; a fair, sweet face, growing paler,
day by day; large, lustrous, loving eyes, that still followed her by
day and night; then, a confused recollection of a burial--afterwards a
dispute as to her future home, ending in a long, dismal journey. Since
then, scanty meals, the harsh blow, coarse clothing, taunting words
and bitter servitude; and then she would sob herself to sleep as she
asked, 'Must it _always_ be thus? is there none to care for me?'
"The golden days of summer faded away; the leaves put on their dying
glory, the soft wind of the Indian summer lifted gently the brown
tresses from Lilla's sweet face. She still took her accustomed walks,
but it was _not alone_. A stranger had taken up his residence at the
village inn. He had met Lilla in her rambles, and his ready ingenuity
soon devised a self-introduction. He satisfied himself that she
claimed no affinity to the disorderly inmates of the farm-house; he
drew from her her little history, and knew that she was an orphan,
unprotected in her own sweet innocence, save by Him who guards us all.
"And so--the dewy, dim twilight witnessed their meetings, and the
color came to the pale cheek of Lilla, and her eyes grew wondrously
beautiful, and her step was as light as her heart, and harsh household
words fell to the ground like arrows short of the mark--for _Lilla was
happy_. In the simplicity of her guileless heart, how should _she_
know that Vincent lived only for the present? that she was to him but
_one_ of _many_ beautiful visions, admired _to-day_--forgotten
_to-morrow_! It was such a joy to be near him to feel herself
appreciated, to know that she was beloved!
"And so time passed on; but their meetings had not been unnoticed;
rough threats were uttered to Lilla if they were continued, for she
had made herself too useful to be spared. All this was communicated to
her lover, as they met again at the old trysting-place, and _then_, as
she leaned trustingly on his arm, Vincent whispered in her ear words
whose full import she understood not. Slowly the truth revealed
itself! Her slight figure grew erect, as she withdrew from his
supporting arm--her soft eye flashed with indignation, and the man of
the world stood abashed in the presence of innocence. A moment--and
_he was alone_, beneath the holy stars!
"That night, Lilla fled her home; she could scarce be more desolate or
unprotected. The next day found her, foot-sore and weary, in the heart
of the great city, startled and trembling like the timid deer fleeing
from its pursuers.
"Lilla knew that she was beautiful. She read it in the lengthened gaze
of the passers-by. Friendless, houseless and beautiful! God help thee,
Lilla!
* * * * *
"In a dark, unhealthy garret sat Lilla! Her face, still lovely, was
pale as marble; her fingers flew with lightning rapidity over the
coarse work that yielded her only a _shelter_; but there were angel
faces, (unseen by her,) smiling approval, and she could clasp those
small hands when the day's toil was over, and say '_Our Father_,' with
the innocent heart of childhood, and invisible ones had charge to
guard her footsteps, and 'He who feedeth the ravens,' gave her 'daily
bread.'
"One day she took her little bundle, as usual, to the shop of her
employers, and, while waiting for the small pittance due, her eye
fell upon an advertisement 'for a housekeeper,' in a newspaper before
her. But how could _she_ obtain it? without recommendation, without
friends. She resolved to try. Her little hand trembled nervously as
she pulled the bell of the large, handsome house. She was preceded by
the servant into the library, where sat a fine-looking man in the
prime of life. He looked admiringly upon the shrinking, modest face
and form before him. She told him, in a few simple words, her history.
"The eccentric old bachelor paused for a moment, then taking her hand,
he said, 'I advertised for a _housekeeper_--but I'm more in need of a
_wife_. _Will you marry me?_'
"And so Lilla became a happy, honored wife; and if a flush passes over
her sweet face when she meets Vincent in the circle of her husband's
acquaintances, it is from no lingering feeling of affection for the
treacherous heart that held in such, light estimation the sacred name
of _orphan_."
XXXIV.
AN ANSWER TO MRS. CROWE.--BY FANNY FERN.
"'I incline to think that a girl really in love--one who
bore the evident symptoms of the malady--would be thought
very improper; yet I have often fancied that there must be a
man born in the world for every woman; one whom to see would
be to love, to reverence, to adore; one with whom her
sympathies would so entirely blend, that she would recognize
him at once her true lord. Now and then these pairs come
together; and woe to her who meets this other self too
late.'"
--_Mrs. Crowe._
Oh, my dear Mrs. Crowe, don't speak of it! Isn't it _dreadful_ to
think of? It is not only _woe_, but WHOA!! You mustn't _look_ at him,
woman alive; nor _think_ of him. Just number over all _Mr._ Crowe's
excellencies on your ten fingers; get married over again, (if it will
help you any); do anything but think of that '_other self_.' I've no
manner of doubt but Satan will send him across your path at every turn
and corner. Turn your _head_ away, if you can't your _heart_. The more
you like him, the more you mustn't let him see it; but, my gracious!
you MUSTN'T like him! of course you understand THAT! Shut your eyes to
moonlight and starlight; peruse Euclid and _Walker's Dictionary_, (NOT
WEBSTER'S!) and _Lives of the Martyrs_, and the Almanac. Don't make
your heart soft, reading poetry, or hearing music. _Live low_ and
_look high_; redouble your attention to _Mr. Crowe_; drive round as if
you hadn't a minute to live; where you used to put _one_ stitch in
your husband's coat, put a _dozen_ now! Take good care of the _little
'Crowes_!' and NEVER let Mr. Crowe go on a journey, in these days of
steamboat accidents and railroad collisions! He might _get hurt_, you
know! How can you tell? 'TISN'T SAFE!'"
XXXV.
MRS. FARRINGTON ON MATRIMONY.
Fanny _has_ "tried it," and she knows.
"Sambo, what am your 'pinion 'bout de married life? Don't
you tink it de most happiest?"
"Well, I'll tell you 'bout dat ere--'pends altogether how
dey enjoy themselves."
"Sambo! Sambo! be quiet! You needn't _always_ tell the truth. White
folks don't. Just as sure as you do it, you'll lose every friend you
have.
"Don't roll up the whites of your eyes at me that way. It's gospel I'm
telling you. I promise you I don't go through creation with my eyes
shut; and I've found out that good people always tell the truth _when
it don't conflict with their interests_; and they like to hear it from
you when it hits none of their peculiaristicks! There's your chart and
compass, so shape your course accordingly.
"I hope you don't intend to insinuate that matrimony isn't paradise!
Guess you forget how bewitching they look when they stand up before
the minister, promising all sorts of pretty things and afraid to look
each other in the eye! Orange wreaths and bouquet de humbug--alabaster
kid gloves--hair curled within an inch of their lives--Brummel
neck-tie, patent boots, satin slippers and palpitating hearts! Oh,
Sambo! can't make _me_ believe a cloud ever comes over such a blue
sky--no indeed! They're just as contented a twelve month after, as a
fly in a spider's web.
"You never saw a husband yet, that wasn't as docile as a lamb _when
everything went to his mind_. Don't they always love and cherish their
wives as long as there is a timber left of them? Wouldn't they
extinguish the lamp of life for any man, or woman, who dare say a word
to their dispraise? Would they ever do that same _themselves_? Answer
me that?
"And as to wives; they are as easily driven as a flock of sheep when a
locomotive comes tearing past. _Oh!_ y-e-s, Sambo, matrimony is a
'blessed institution,' so the ministers say, (finds 'em in _fees_, you
know!) and so everybody says--except those who have _tried it_? So go
away, and don't be _wool_-gathering. You'll never be the 'Uncle Tom'
of your tribe."
XXXVI.
A WHISPER TO ROMANTIC YOUNG LADIES.
"A crust of bread, a pitcher of water, a thatched roof, and
love,--there's happiness for you."
Girls! _that's a humbug!_ The very _thought_ of it makes me groan.
It's all moonshine. In fact, men and moonshine in my dictionary are
synonymous.
"Water and a crust! RATHER spare diet! May do for the honey-moon.
Don't make much difference _then_, whether you eat shavings or
sardines--but when you return to _substantials_, and your wedding
dress is put away in a trunk for the benefit of posterity, if you can
get your husband to _smile_ on anything short of a 'sirloin' or a
roast turkey, you are a lucky woman.
"Don't every married woman know that a man is as savage as a New
Zealander when he's hungry? and when he comes home to an empty
cupboard and meets a dozen little piping mouths, (necessary
accompaniments of 'cottages' and 'love,' clamorous for supper, '_Love_
will have the _sulks_,' or my name isn't Fanny. Lovers have a trick of
getting disenchanted, too, when they see their Aramintas with dresses
pinned up round the waist, hair powdered with sweeping, faces scowled
up over the wash-tub, and soap-suds dripping from red elbows.
"We know these little accidents never happen in novels--where the
heroine is always 'dressed in white, with a rose-bud in her hair,' and
lives on blossoms and May dew! There are no wash-tubs or gridirons in
_her_ cottage; _her_ children are born cherubim, with a seraphic
contempt for dirt pies and molasses. _She_ remains 'a beauty' to the
end of the chapter, and 'steps out' just in time to anticipate her
first gray hair, her husband drawing his last breath at the same time,
as a dutiful husband _should_; and not falling into the unromantic
error of outliving his grief, and marrying a second time!
"But this humdrum life, girls, is another affair, with its washing and
ironing and cleaning days, when children expect boxed ears, and
visitors picked-up dinners. All the 'romance' there is in it, you can
put under a three-cent piece!
"St. Paul says they who marry do well enough, but they who _don't_
marry do WELL-ER! Sensible man that. Nevertheless, had _I_ flourished
in those times, I would have undertaken to change his sentiments; for
those old-fashioned gentlemen were worth running after.
"One half the women marry for fear they shall be old maids. Now I'd
like to know why an old maid is to be snubbed, any more than an old
bachelor? Old bachelors receive 'the mitten,' occasionally, and old
maids have been known to _outlive several 'offers.'_ They are both
useful in their way--particularly old bachelors!
"Now _I_ intend to be an old maid; and I shall found a mutual
accommodation society, and admit old bachelors honorary members. They
shall wait on _us_ evenings, and we'll hem their pocket
hand-ker_chers_ and mend their gloves. No _boys under thirty_ to be
admitted. Irreproachable dickeys, immaculate shirt-bosoms and
faultless boots _indispensable_. Gentlemen always to sit on the
_opposite_ side of the room--no refreshments but _ices_! _Instant
expulsion_ the consequence of the first attempt at love-making! No
allusion to be made to Moore or Byron! The little '_bye-laws_' of the
society _not_ to be published! Moonlight evenings, the sisters are not
at home! the moon being considered, from time immemorial, an
unprincipled magnetiser!"
XXXVII.
A WOMAN WITH A SOUL.
"A new affectation is to speak of the soul as _feminine_.
For example, the London papers announce the third edition of
'The Soul, HER sorrows, and HER aspirations.'"
I always _thought_ John Bull was a goose; now I _know_ it! _A woman
with a soul!_ I guess so! (made out of an old _spare-rib_!) What on
earth does _she_ want of a _soul_? First thing you know, she'd be
eating of the 'tree of knowledge,' and we had enough of that in
_Eve's_ day; I tell you there are none but _masculine souls_.
"It is a matter of astonishment and thanksgiving to me that _men_
condescend to notice _us_ at all. I trust all the sisters feel their
inferiority, and know how to keep their place, as well as _I_ do! It's
next door to martyrdom when they speak to _me_, I'm in such a
'fluster' for fear I shall make some wretched blunder. It is as much
as ever I dare to LOOK at them, but when it comes to TALKING, I'm
entirely nonplussed! If by good luck I _catch_ an idea, I chase it
round till I lose it; and if I were to swallow a whole dictionary, I
couldn't clothe that idea in words! _Oh_, dear! wish I _had_ a 'soul,'
just to see how it _would seem_! It would be so refreshing to have a
_new sensation_!"
XXXVIII.
CLERICAL COURTING.
The following sketch, published by Mrs. Farrington under the name of
Fanny Fern, is a graphic life-picture. We are informed that a worthy
gentleman connected with her family by marriage, sat for the portrait
of Ephraim.
"Mr. Ephraim Leatherstring labored under the hallucination that he had
a call to preach the gospel to the heathen. He had hitherto hid his
'light under a bushel' in the worldly occupations of mending fences,
felling trees, driving cattle and shoeing horses. Conceiving that the
chief qualifications for his new office were _a pair of green
spectacles, and a long, petticoat-y, ministerial cloak_, he forthwith
equipped himself in this spiritual armor, and presented himself before
'the _Board_;' by whom, after examination, he was pronounced a
perfect--_shingle!_ and forthwith set apart for the work.
"His passage was spoken in the Sea-Gull for the Ourang Outang Islands,
and his sea-chest duly stored with 'Village Melodies' and penny
tracts, when it was intimated to him by 'the Board' that it would be
advisable for him to provide himself with a help-meet before starting.
Whether they feared his yoking with an unbeliever, or--well--no
matter; any way, two days' grace were allowed him _to find Mrs.
Ephraim Leatherstring_. Letters of introduction to three damsels were
given him, whose parents' principles were known to be 'dyed in the
wool.'
"Now this little matrimonial luxury had not been thought of by
Ephraim; or, if it had, was quickly banished from his mind as a
temptation of Satan, and quite incompatible with his new calling.
However, coming to him recommended by such high authority, 'Barkis was
willing!'
"His first call was upon Miss Charity Church. She was absent on a
visit. Unfortunate female!! No chance for _her_ to see the Ourang
Outang Islands! Ephraim began to feel nervous, for, now he had made up
his mind to be a victim, he didn't like to be disappointed.
"Nothing daunted, he wended his way to Deacon Pettebone's. His
daughter Merinda was as round as a barrel and much the same shape, as
rosy as an apple and quite as sweet, and had been brought up by _the
deacon_, and that's _enough said_! Eph. made known his errand to the
deacon, who was highly delighted at the honor about to be conferred on
his family, and left him alone with his chubby daughter, not doubting
that she would be of the same opinion. Now Ephraim, (spite of his long
cloak and green spectacles,) _had_ made the acquaintance of _several
other_ damsels in the course of his earthly pilgrimage; but he knew
that this missionary wooing was to be got up on a new principle; so he
decorously seated himself in the farthest corner of the room, placed
the palms of his hands together, allowing the two forefingers to meet,
and began to tell 'his experience,' by way of solemnizing her mind, to
all of which Merinda appeared to listen with becoming gravity. He then
informed her, that he and 'the Board' had decided to invite her to be
his co-worker and fellow-laborer in the Ourang Outang vineyard. Then,
peering over his green spectacles at Merinda, who sat stuffing the
corners of her checked apron in her mouth, he said, '_Silence gives
consent. Let us pray._' When he arrived at _Amen_, and turned his
head to reward himself with a long look at his future wife, Merinda
was among the missing; rolling on the grass at the back part of the
house, in a perfect paroxysm of laughter! Eph. had no more time to
waste on such a sinner, so he picked himself up, and his cloak was
soon seen fluttering in the wind, in the direction of Parson
Clutterbuck's.