She preserved, however, a long list of the various solicitations sent her to furnish poems for special occasions, and I think this shows that she possessed a sense of humor. Let me quote a few:
"Some verses were desired as an elegy on a pet canary accidentally drowned in a barrel of swine"s food.
"A poem requested on the dog-star Sirius.
"To write an ode for the wedding of people in Maine, of whom I had never heard.
"To punctuate a three-volume novel for an author who complained that the work of punctuating always brought on a pain in the small of his back.
"Asked to a.s.sist a servant-man not very well able to read in getting his Sunday-school lessons, and to write out all the answers for him clear through the book--to save his time.
"A lady whose husband expects to be absent on a journey for a month or two wishes I would write a poem to testify her joy at his return.
"An elegy on a young man, one of the nine children of a judge of probate."
Miss Sedgwick, in her letters, occasionally showed a keen sense of humor, as, when speaking of a certain novel, she said:
"There is too much force for the subject. It is as if a railroad should be built and a locomotive started to transport skeletons, specimens, and one bird of Paradise."
Mrs. Caroline Gilman, born in 1794, and still living, author of "Recollections of a Southern Matron," etc., will be represented by one playful poem, which has a veritable New England flavor:
JOSHUA"S COURTSHIP.
A NEW ENGLAND BALLAD.
Stout Joshua was a farmer"s son, And a pondering he sat One night when the f.a.gots crackling burned, And purred the tabby cat.
Joshua was a well-grown youth, As one might plainly see By the sleeves that vainly tried to reach His hands upon his knee.
His splay-feet stood all parrot-toed In cowhide shoes arrayed, And his hair seemed cut across his brow By rule and plummet laid.
And what was Joshua pondering on, With his widely staring eyes, And his nostrils opening sensibly To ease his frequent sighs?
Not often will a lover"s lips The tender secret tell, But out he spoke before he thought, "My gracious! Nancy Bell!"
His mother at her spinning-wheel, Good woman, stood and spun, "And what," says she, "is come o"er you, Is"t _airnest_ or is"t fun?"
Then Joshua gave a cunning look, Half bashful and half sporting, "Now what did father do," says he, "When first he came a courting?"
"Why, Josh, the first thing that he did,"
With a knowing wink, said she, "He dressed up of a Sunday night, And _cast sheep"s eyes_ at me."
Josh said no more, but straight went out And sought a butcher"s pen, Where twelve fat sheep, for market bound, Had lately slaughtered been.
He bargained with a lover"s zeal, Obtained the wished-for prize, And filled his pockets fore and aft With twice twelve b.l.o.o.d.y eyes.
The next night was the happy time When all New England sparks, Drest in their best, go out to court, As spruce and gay as larks.
When floors are nicely sanded o"er, When tins and pewter shine, And milk-pans by the kitchen wall Display their dainty line;
While the new ribbon decks the waist Of many a waiting la.s.s, Who steals a conscious look of pride Toward her answering gla.s.s.
In pensive mood sat Nancy Bell; Of Joshua thought not she, But of a hearty sailor lad Across the distant sea.
Her arm upon the table rests, Her hand supports her head, When Joshua enters with a sc.r.a.pe, And somewhat bashful tread.
No word he spake, but down he sat, And heaved a doleful sigh, Then at the table took his aim And rolled a gla.s.sy eye.
Another and another flew, With quick and strong rebound, They tumbled in poor Nancy"s lap, They fell upon the ground.
While Joshua smirked, and sighed, and smiled Between each tender aim, And still the cold and b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.l.l.s In frightful quickness came.
Until poor Nancy flew with screams, To shun the amorous sport, And Joshua found to _cast sheep"s eyes_ Was not the way to court.
"f.a.n.n.y Forrester" and "f.a.n.n.y Fern" both delighted the public with individual styles of writing, vastly successful when a new thing.
When wanting a new dress and bonnet, as every woman will in the spring (or any time), f.a.n.n.y Forrester wrote to Willis, of the _New Mirror_, an appeal which he called "very clever, adroit, and fanciful."
"You know the shops in Broadway are very tempting this season.
_Such_ beautiful things! Well, you know (no, you don"t know that, but you can guess) what a delightful thing it would be to appear in one of those charming, head-adorning, complexion-softening, hard-feature-subduing Neapolitans, with a little gossamer veil dropping daintily on the shoulder of one of those exquisite _balzarines_, to be seen any day at Stewart"s and elsewhere. Well, you know (this you _must_ know) that shopkeepers have the impertinence to demand a trifling exchange for these things, even of a lady; and also that some people have a remarkably small purse, and a remarkably small portion of the yellow "root" in that. And now, to bring the matter home, I am one of that cla.s.s. I have the most beautiful little purse in the world, but it is only kept for show. I even find myself under the necessity of counterfeiting--that is, filling the void with tissue-paper in lieu of bank-notes, preparatory to a shopping expedition. Well, now to the point. As Bel and I snuggled down on the sofa this morning to read the _New Mirror_ (by the way, Cousin Bel is never obliged to put tissue-paper in her purse), it struck us that you would be a friend in need, and give good counsel in this emergency. Bel, however, insisted on my not telling what I wanted the money for. She even thought that I had better intimate orphanage, extreme suffering from the bursting of some speculative bubble, illness, etc.; but did I not know you better? Have I read the _New Mirror_ so much (to say nothing of the graceful things coined under a bridge, and a thousand other pages flung from the inner heart) and not learned who has an eye for everything pretty? Not so stupid, Cousin Bel, no, no!...
"And to the point. Maybe you of the _New Mirror_ PAY for acceptable articles, maybe not. _Comprenez vous?_ Oh, I do hope that beautiful _balzarine_ like Bel"s will not be gone before another Sat.u.r.day! You will not forget to answer me in the next _Mirror_; but pray, my dear Editor, let it be done very cautiously, for Bel would pout all day if she should know what I have written.
"Till Sat.u.r.day, your anxiously-waiting friend,
"f.a.n.n.y FORRESTER."
Such a note received by an editor of this generation would promptly fall into the waste-basket. But Willis was captivated, and answered:
"Well, we give in! On _condition_ that you are under twenty-five and that you will wear a rose (recognizably) in your bodice the first time you appear in Broadway with the hat and _balzarine_, we will pay the bills. Write us thereafter a sketch of Bel and yourself as cleverly done as this letter, and you may "snuggle" down on the sofa and consider us paid, and the public charmed with you."
This style of ingratiating one"s self with an editor is as much a bygone as an alliterative pen-name.
f.a.n.n.y Fern (Sarah Willis Parton) also established a style of her own--"a new kind of composition; short, pointed paragraphs, without beginning and without end--one clear, ringing note, and then silence."
Her talent for humorous composition showed itself in her essays at school. I"ll give a bit from her "Suggestions on Arithmetic after Cramming for an Examination":
"Every incident, every object of sight seemed to produce an arithmetical result. I once saw a poor wretch evidently intoxicated; thought I, "That man has overcome three scruples, to say the least, for three scruples make one dram." Even the Sabbath was no day of rest for me--the psalms, prayers, and sermons were all translated by me into the language of arithmetic. A good man spoke very feelingly upon the manner in which our cares and perplexities were multiplied by riches. Muttered I: "That, sir, depends upon whether the multiplier is a fraction or a whole number; for if it be a fraction, it makes the product less." And when another, lamenting the various divisions of the Church, pathetically exclaimed: "And how shall we unite these several denominations in one?"
""Why, reduce them to a common denominator," exclaimed I, half aloud, wondering at his ignorance.