""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.""
x.x.xII.
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 d.i.c.key, or a d.i.c.key to your string! b.u.t.ton 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; n.o.body 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!
"f.a.n.n.y 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."
x.x.xIII.
THE ORPHAN.--BY f.a.n.n.y FERN.
It was a rough, dark, unsightly-looking, old farm-house. The doors were off the hinges, panes of gla.s.s were broken in the windows, the gra.s.s 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 coa.r.s.e 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 ma.s.s 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 coa.r.s.e 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, l.u.s.trous, 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, coa.r.s.e 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sers-by. Friendless, houseless and beautiful! G.o.d 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 coa.r.s.e 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 advertis.e.m.e.nt "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 pa.s.ses 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_."
x.x.xIV.
AN ANSWER TO MRS. CROWE.--BY f.a.n.n.y 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_ st.i.tch 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!""
x.x.xV.
MRS. FARRINGTON ON MATRIMONY.
f.a.n.n.y _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 compa.s.s, so shape your course accordingly.