they should attend the theatre that evening. Helen dared not leave her
child until so late an hour, but begged them not to stay at home on
her account. When the hour arrived she herself placed the spotless
camellia in Mrs. Melville's raven hair, clasped the glittering diamond
bracelet upon her fair, round arm, and went back, in the guilelessness
of her trusting heart, to her child's cradle.
"At length, weary with its restlessness, she threw herself upon the
bed and sank into a deep slumber. She dreamed of the flower-wreathed
cottage where her childhood was passed, and in fancy she roamed with
Harry in the sweet meadows, and revisited the old trysting-place under
the trees by the river side, and heard his words of passionate love as
in those golden days. She awoke and found the hour was late for
Harry's return. Descending the stairs, she bent her footsteps toward
the parlor.
"Transfixed, spell-bound, what has hushed the tread of those tiny,
slipperless feet upon the soft carpet?
"The moonbeams fell brightly through the large bay window upon the
fair Norah. Her opera-cloak had fallen carelessly at her side,
displaying her matchless neck and snowy arms. Her eyes, those
speaking, _bewildering_ eyes, were bent upon Harry, who sat on a low
ottoman at her feet. His hair was pushed carelessly back from his
broad white brow, and Helen was no stranger to the look with which he
gazed upon Mrs. Melville. Musically slow, but with dreadful
distinctness, fell upon her ear the words,
"'Norah, I love you.'
"In that short sentence was compressed for the gentle wife the agony
of death. None but those who have given a warm, living heart into
unworthy keeping, may know such torture.
"Helen spoke not, nor gave other sign of her presence. Slowly,
mechanically, she returned to her room, and, as she sank into a chair,
the words 'My God, pity me!' were wrung from her soul's anguish.
"When Harry returned, she sat cold and pale, swaying her figure gently
to and fro, slowly repeating,
"'Norah, I love you! Norah, I love you!'
"In the lunatic asylum of ----, may now be seen 'the Village Rosebud.'
God forgive the careless hand that so rudely plucked its fresh beauty,
but to blight its fair promise, and cast it aside as a withered
thing.
"The world still takes by the hand, as an honorable man, the gay Harry
Lee; but, in the still midnight hour, a gentle, tearful voice, slowly
repeats to his ear alone, amid unquiet slumbers, the words,--'_Norah,
I love you!_'"
XLIV.
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS.
What a cheerful, happy, self-congratulating old maid was lost when
Fanny became a wife. Only read this extract:--
"'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!"
XLV.
THAT MRS. JONES.
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. Jones
_was_ wrong. 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 ought _not_ to;
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 minded _his_ going, if he
hadn't kidnapped that money-trunk; he was getting dyspeptic and fussy,
_rather_ inclining to be _ancient_;' 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, and tell 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 all _your_ fault, Mrs. Jones; how was _I_
to know? You didn't have _salt 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 a _woman_ wasn't at the bottom of it.'"
XLVI.
MRS. JUPITER'S SOLILOQUY, TAKEN DOWN IN SHORT-HAND.--BY FANNY FERN.
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 have made 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 can _talk_, and how like Judas they can _act_. 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
are _both lacking_!--saints and angels, what an abortion!
XLVII.
THE UNFAITHFUL LOVER.
We quote, by permission, from the files of the True Flag, a second
sketch, contributed to its columns, by Olivia, _alias_ Fanny Fern.
"Kate Stanley was a brilliant, sparkling brunette. Wo to the rash
youth who exposed his heart to _her_ fascinations! 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 an _arrant coquette_. She angled
for hearts with the skill of a practised 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 of _hers_. 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 nothing _artificial_ here,
_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 the _country_ of _all_ places, for a flirtation! The
girl must be _non-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 a laughing 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 find _me_ guilty 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 is _handsomely
set_, however great its value. Now be warned in time, and send him off
on a pilgrimage till her visit is over. _I_ won'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 be lovely in _his_ eyes; 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
but _beauty_ win 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
him in 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, and _bijouterie_ without 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 each and 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, _she_ was
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 to _me_!'
"'I only know that you are _beautiful 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:
"'The _moon looks on many brooks_;
The _brook sees_ but _one moon_.'
'Farewell!
'NELLY.'"
XLVIII.
PETTICOAT PARLIAMENT.
"'We must do our aspiring sisters the justice to say that
several of them made very good speeches, and manifested a
real talent for debate _quite equal_ to 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 and _compel 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 a _whole-souled, loveable, handsome son of Adam_. If all
the men were like him the women would lay down _their_ arms and take
_his_!--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 a _raffle_ for him! (You don't find
such a man every day!) He takes a liberal view of things--you don't
catch _him_ but 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'--HE isn'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 hearts _somewhere_,
after all. _Who's afraid!_ Your gunpowder plots will all end in smoke!
Three cheers for the ladies!' Now THAT'S doing the thing handsomely.
"Nobody but a _very_ 'wiry sister' could hold out against such an
incarnation of good-humored gallantry. It's only the _bad husbands_
who see their own ugly _mental_ phizes in the looking-glass these
'female philanthro-pesses' hold up to them, that raise such a breeze
about it. 'It's only the _truth_ that wounds,' as the French proverb
says.
"If _I_ had been of that convention, I should just draw off my glove,
shake hands with that 'Sunday Times' writer, and sign an _everlasting
and repentant_ recantation of all incendiary resolutions,--now,
henceforth and forever! Pass him round; send us a lock of his
hair!--give us his daguerreotype!"
XLIX.
FANNY FERN ON WIDOWERS.
"'Is this the _heart_ that 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 a _masculine_ heart 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. How _fervently_ it can adore _every_
daughter 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 the _old_ love, before it is on with
the _new_.
"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' felicity_
of the LAST feminine, on the marital list! Venus! the very thought
paralyzes my pen!"
L.
AN HOUR WITH FANNY'S FATHER.
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 with age 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 feelings of 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
hundred dollars--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
foolishly impertinent. 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."
LI.
JOHN BULL'S OPINION OF RUTH HALL.