The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern Part 19

"That's the way to quench him!"

LXII.

WHAT f.a.n.n.y THINKS ABOUT SEWING MACHINES.

There's 'nothing new under the sun;'--so I've read, somewhere; either in Ecclesiastes or Uncle Tom's Cabin; but at any rate, I was forcibly reminded of the profound wisdom of the remark, upon seeing a great flourish of trumpets in the papers about a 'Sewing Machine,' that had been _lately invented_.

"Now if _I_ know anything of history, that discovery dates back as far as the Garden of Eden. If _Mrs. Adam_ wasn't _the first sewing machine, I'll give up guessing_. Didn't she go right to work making ap.r.o.ns, before she had done receiving her bridal calls from the beasts and beastesses? Certainly she did, and I honor her for it, too.

"Well--do you suppose all her pretty little descendants who ply their 'busy fingers' in the upper lofts of tailors, and hatters, and vest-makers, and 'finding' establishments, are going to be superseded by that dumb old thing? Do you suppose their young and enterprising patrons prefer the creaking of a crazy machine to the music of their young voices? Not by a great deal!

"It's something, I can tell you, for them to see their pretty faces light up, when they pay off their wages of a Sat.u.r.day night (small fee enough! too often, G.o.d knows!) Pity that the _shilling heart_ so often accompanies the _guinea means_.

"Oh, launch out, gentlemen! Don't _always_ look at things with a _business_ eye. Those fragile forms are young, to toil so unremittingly. G.o.d made no distinction of _s.e.x_ when he said--'The laborer is worthy of his hire.' Man's cupidity puts that interpretation upon it.

"Those young operatives in your employ, pa.s.s, in their daily walks, forms youthful as their own, 'clothed in purple and fine linen,' who '_toil not, neither do they spin_.' Oh, teach them not to look after their 'satin and sheen,' purchased at such a fearful cost, with a discouraged sigh!

"For one, I can never pa.s.s such a 'fallen angel' with a 'stand aside'

feeling. A neglected youth, an early orphanage, poverty, beauty, coa.r.s.e fare, the weary day of toil lengthened into night,--a mere pittance its reward. Youth, health, young blood, and the practised wile of the ready tempter! _Oh, where's the marvel?_

"_Think of all this_, when you poise that hardly earned dollar, on your business finger. What if it were your own delicate sister? Let a LITTLE heart creep into that shrewd bargain. 'Twill be an investment in the Bank of Heaven, that shall return to you four-fold."

LXIII.

THE TIME TO CHOOSE.

Mrs. Chrissholm says:--"The best time to choose a wife is early in the morning. If a young lady is at all inclined to sulks and slatternness, it is just before breakfast. As a general thing, a woman don't get on her temper, till after 10 A. M."

Very spiritedly f.a.n.n.y makes answer:--

"'_Men_ never look slovenly before breakfast--no indeed! Never run round vestless in their stocking-feet, with dressing-gown inside out; soiled hankerchief hanging by one corner out of the pocket; minus d.i.c.key; minus neck-tie; pantaloon straps flying at their heels; suspenders streaming from their waistband; chin shaved on one side, lathered on the other; last night's coat and pants on the floor, just where they hopped out of them; face snarled up in forty wrinkles, because the chamber fire won't burn; and because it snows; and because the office-boy hasn't been for the keys; and because the newspaper hasn't come; and because they smoked too many cigars _by one dozen_, the night before; and because they lost _that_ bet, and can't pay the _Scot-t_; and because there's an omelet instead of a chicken-leg for breakfast; and because they are out of sorts and shaving-soap; and out of cigars and credit; and can't _any how_ 'get their temper on,' till they get some money and a mint julap!

"Any time 'before 10 o'clock,' is the time to 'choose' a husband--_perhaps_!"

LXIV.

OUR NELLY.

This is one of f.a.n.n.y's sweet bits of pathos; so sweet, so pure, it would furnish an apology for half a volume of coa.r.s.e slang:--

"'Who is she?' 'Why, that is our Nelly, to be sure.' n.o.body ever pa.s.sed Nelly without asking, 'Who is she?' One can't forget the glance of that blue eye, in a hurry; nor the waving of those golden locks; nor the breezy grace of that lithe figure; nor those scarlet lips, nor the bright, glad sparkle of the whole face; and then she is not a bit proud; although she steps so like a queen she would shake hands just as quick with a h.o.r.n.y palm as with a kid glove. The world can't spoil 'our Nelly,' for her heart is in the right place.

"'You should have seen her thank an old farmer, the other day, for clearing the road, that she might pa.s.s. He shaded his eyes with his hand, when she swept by, as if he had been dazzled by a sudden flash of sunlight, and muttered to himself, as he looked after her--'Won't she make somebody's heart ache?' Well, she has, but it is because from among all her lovers she could marry but one, and, G.o.d save us! that her choice should have fallen upon Walter Lee! If he don't quench out the love-light in those blue eyes, my name is not John Morrison. I've seen his eyes flash when things didn't suit him; I've seen him nurse his wrath to keep it warm till the smouldering embers were ready for conflagration. He's as vindictive as an Indian. I'd as soon mate a dove with a tiger, as give him 'our Nelly.' There's a dozen n.o.ble fellows, this hour, ready to lay down their lives for her, and yet out of the whole crowd she must choose Walter Lee. Oh, I have no patience to think of it. Well-a-day! mark my words, he will break her heart before a twelve-month! He's a pocket edition of Napoleon.'

"A year had pa.s.sed by, and amid the hurry of business and the din of the great city, I had quite forgotten Glenburn and its fairy queen. It was a time to recall her to mind, that lovely June morning--with its soft fleecy clouds, its glad sunlight, its song of birds, and its breath of roses; and so I threw the reins on Romeo's neck, that he might choose his own pace down the sweet-briar path, to John Morrison's cottage. And there sat John, in the doorway, smoking his pipe, with Towser crouched at his feet, in the same old spot, just as if the sun had never gone down behind the hills since I parted with him.

"'And 'our Nelly,' said I, taking up the thread of his year old narrative as though it had never been broken--'and 'our Nelly?'

"'Under the sod,' said the old man, with a dark frown; 'under the sod.

He broke her heart, just as I told you he would. Such a bridal as it was! I'd as lief have gone to a funeral. And then Walter carried her off to the city, where she was as much out of her element as a humming-bird in a meeting-house; and tried to make a fine lady of her, with stiff, city airs, and stiff city manners. It was like trying to fetter the soft west wind, which comes and goes at its own sweet will; and Nelly--who was only another name for _Nature_--pined and drooped like a bird in a darkened cage.

"'One by one her old friends dropped off, wearied with repeated and rude repulses from her moody husband, till he was left, as he desired, master of the field. It was astonishing the ascendancy he gained over his sweet wife, contemptible as he was. She made no objection to his most absurd requirements; but her step lost its spring, her eye its sparkle; and one might listen long for her merry-ringing laugh.

Slowly, sadly, to Nelly came that terrible conviction from which a wife has no appeal. Ah! there is no law to protect woman from negative abuse! no mention made in the statute book (which _men frame for themselves_) of the constant dropping of daily discomforts which wear the loving heart away. No allusion to looks or words that are like poisoned arrows to the sinking spirit. No! if she can show no mark of brutal fingers on her delicate flesh--he has fulfilled his legal promise to the letter--to love, honor, and cherish her. _Out_ on such a mockery of justice!

"'Well, sir; Nelly fluttered back to Glenburn, with the broken wing of hope, to die! So wasted! so lovely! The lips that blessed _her_, could not choose but to curse _him_. 'She leaned on a broken reed,' said her old gray-haired father, as he closed her blue eyes forever. 'May G.o.d forgive him, for I never can,' said an old lover, whose heart was buried in her grave.

"'NELLY LEE, _aged 18_.'

"'You'll read it in the village churchyard, sir; eighteen! Brief years, sir, to drain all of happiness Life's cup could offer!'"

LXV.

I CAN'T.

This is a phrase which is "teetotally" banished from f.a.n.n.y's "Fern dictionary." Read the following exordium, and you'll never think of doubting her a.s.sertion, that she is "a little Bunker-Hill" herself--a genuine Napoleon in petticoats.

"Apollo! what a face! doleful as a hea.r.s.e; folded hands; hollow chest; whining voice; the very picture of cowardly irresolution. Spring to your feet, hold up your head, set your teeth together, draw that fine form of yours up to the height that G.o.d made it; draw an immense long breath, and look about you. What do you see? Why, all creation taking care of number one--pushing ahead like the car of Juggernaut, over live victims. There it is; and you can't help it. Are you going to lie down and be crushed?

"By all that's holy, no! dash ahead! You've as good a right to mount the triumphal car as your neighbor. Snap your fingers at croakers; if you can't get _round_ a stump, leap over it, high and dry! Have nerves of steel, a will of iron; never mind sideaches, or heartaches, or headaches; dig away without stopping to breathe, or to notice envy or malice. Set your target in the clouds and aim at it. If your arrow falls short of the mark, what of that? Pick it up and go at it again.

If you should _never_ reach it, you'll shoot higher than as if you only aimed at a bush. Don't whine, if your friends fall off. At the first stroke of good luck, by Mammon! they'll swarm around you like a hive of bees, till you are disgusted with human nature.

"'_I can't!_' Oh, pshaw! I throw my glove in your face, if I _am_ a woman! You are a disgrace to corduroys. What! a _man_ lack courage! A _man_ want independence! A _man_ to be discouraged at obstacles! A man afraid to face anything on earth save his Maker! Why! _I'm a little 'Bunker Hill,' myself!_ I've the most unmitigated contempt for you!

you little _pus_illanimous p.u.s.s.y cat! There's nothing manly about you, except your whiskers."