"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 inst.i.tution," 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."
x.x.xVI.
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 f.a.n.n.y. 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 mola.s.ses. _She_ remains "a beauty" to the end of the chapter, and "steps out" just in time to antic.i.p.ate 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 d.i.c.keys, 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!"
x.x.xVII.
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 "fl.u.s.ter" 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_!"
x.x.xVIII.
CLERICAL COURTING.
The following sketch, published by Mrs. Farrington under the name of f.a.n.n.y 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 p.r.o.nounced a perfect--_shingle!_ and forthwith set apart for the work.
"His pa.s.sage 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 ap.r.o.n 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 gra.s.s 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.
"Now it was foreordained that Kezia should be the chosen vessel. She was always at home, and there he found her; as straight and perpendicular as if she had swallowed the meeting-house steeple. His errand was soon made known--the form slightly varying from the first order of performances. Kezia straightened down the folds of her stiffly-starched neckerchief, and said meekly, that "she felt inclined to think it was the path of duty for her;" which Eph. ventured to subscribe to, with the first holy kiss; when he started back in consternation, on observing that her red hair was _curled_ around her face. He shook his head ominously, and said, "he was afraid "the Board" would think it had a carnal look,"--but upon Kezia"s informing him that it was a defect she was _born with_, they made up their minds that a little patience and pomatum might, in time, remove this obstacle to their usefulness, and forthwith embarked on the sea of matrimony, "fetching up" at the Ourang Outang Islands, just in the wane of the honeymoon, strong in the belief that the fate of heathen millions, _long since unborn_ (as Mrs. Partington might say,) lay in their matrimonial hands."
x.x.xIX.
WHAT FOWLER SAYS.
Fowler, the phrenologist, who, probably, never saw f.a.n.n.y Fern, sanctions and publishes the following from one of her friends--honest John Walter, we suspect. The reader who has perused the preceding pages can judge of its truthfulness:
"f.a.n.n.y Fern is the most retiring and un.o.btrusive of human beings. More than any other celebrity we have ever known, she shrinks from personal display and public observation. During her residence in this city she has lived in the most perfect privacy, never going to parties or soirees, never giving such herself, refusing to enlarge her circle of friends, and finding full employment as well as satisfaction in her domestic and literary duties. She has probably received more invitations to private and public a.s.semblies, and her acquaintance has been more frequently sought by distinguished persons, during the period of her residence here, than any other individual. To all solicitations of this kind she returns a mild but decided negative. In the hotels at which she has resided, no one, neither landlord nor guest, has ever known her as f.a.n.n.y Fern. Indeed, she has an abhorrence of personal publicity, and cannot be persuaded to sacrifice any part of the comfort of an absolute _incog._ We cannot but approve her resolution.
"f.a.n.n.y Fern is a sincerely religious woman, the member of an evangelical denomination, and a regular attendant at church. We never knew any one who believed in a belief more strongly than she in hers, or who was more deeply grieved when that belief was treated with disrespect. No one stands less in awe of conventionalities, no one is more strict on a point of honor and principle than she. She is a person who is able to do all that she is convinced she ought, and to refrain from doing all that she is sure she ought not. In strength of purpose, we know not her equal among women.
"The word which best describes f.a.n.n.y Fern is the word Lady. All her ways and tastes are feminine and refined. Everything she wears, every article of furniture in her rooms, all the details of her table, must be clean, elegant, tasteful. Her attire, which is generally simple and inexpensive, is always exquisitely nice and becoming. In the stormiest days, when no visitor could be expected, she is as carefully dressed and adorned as though she was going to court. We say as carefully, though, in fact, she has a quick instinct for the becoming, and makes herself attractive without bestowing much time or thought upon the matter. Her voice is singularly musical; her manner varies with her humor; but it is always that of a lady. One who knows f.a.n.n.y Fern has an idea what kind of women they must have been for whom knights-errant did battle in the Middle Ages.
"With all her strength, f.a.n.n.y Fern is extremely sensitive. She can enjoy more, suffer more, love more, hate more, admire more and detest more, than any one whom we have known. With all her gentleness of manner, there is not a drop of milk and water in her veins. She believes in having justice done. Seventy times and seven she could forgive a repentant brother; but not once, unless he repented.
"f.a.n.n.y Fern writes rapidly, in a large, bold hand; but she sends no article away without very careful revision; and her ma.n.u.script is puzzling to printers from its numberless erasures and insertions. She writes from her heart and her eye; she has little apt.i.tude or taste for abstract thought. She never talks of her writings, and cares little for criticism, however severe. She is no more capable of writing an intentional _double entendre_, than the gross-minded men who have accused her of doing so are capable of appreciating the worth of pure womanhood.