The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern Part 8

XXIV.

TWO IN HEAVEN.

The following sketch has been p.r.o.nounced by a talented Boston editor, to be the finest and sweetest article f.a.n.n.y Fern ever penned. The very thought might well have served as inspiration. What roof-tree where the tears have not fallen? What household that counts not part of its number by tomb-stones?

"TWO IN HEAVEN.--'You have two children,' said I.

"'I have four,' was the reply; 'two on earth, two in heaven.'

"There spoke the mother! Still hers! only 'gone before!' Still remembered, loved and cherished, by the hearth and at the board; their places not yet filled; even though their successors draw life from the same faithful breast where _their_ dying heads were pillowed.

"'Two in heaven!'

"Safely housed from storm and tempest; no sickness there; nor drooping head, nor fading eye, nor weary feet. By the green pastures; tended by the Good Shepherd, linger the little lambs of the heavenly fold.

"'Two in heaven!'

"Earth less attractive! Eternity nearer! Invisible cords, drawing the maternal soul upwards. 'Still small' voices, ever whispering _come_!

to the world-weary spirit.

"'Two in heaven!'

"Mother of angels! Walk softly! holy eyes watch thy footsteps! cherub forms bend to listen! Keep thy spirit free from earth-taint; so shalt thou 'go to them,' though they may not 'return to thee.'"

XXV.

THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF DIDYMUS DAISY, ESQ.--BY f.a.n.n.y FERN.

Mrs. Daisy styled herself a _pattern wife_; a bright and shining light in the matrimonial firmament. She had inscribed on her girdle these words, from John Milton, or Mother Goose, I forget which: '_He_ for G.o.d only, _she_ for G.o.d in _him_.'

"She never laced her boots without asking her husband's advice, and the length of her boddice, or the depth of her flounces, were dependent upon his final decision. She went into strong convulsions at sight of a 'Bloomer,' and rolled up the whites of her eyes, like a duck in a thunderstorm, at the mention of the 'Woman's Rights'

Convention,' and considered any woman who persisted in loving _white_ bread, when her husband ate _brown_, as only fit for the place where----air-tight stoves and furnaces are unnecessary! Her voice was soft and oily; she never spoke above her breath, and her motions were slow, funereal and perpendicular.

"And now I suppose you imagine Didymus was master of his own house!

_Deuce a bit of it!_ There was a look in the corner of his wife's eye that was as good as a loaded musket, and he fetched and carried accordingly, like a trained spaniel, tiptoeing through life on a chalk-mark, and _precious careful_ at _that_; confining his observation of the world to the lat.i.tude and longitude of her ap.r.o.n-strings. But it was always 'husband,' and 'dear Daisy,' even when he knew his life wasn't worth two cents if he abated one jot or t.i.ttle of his matrimonial loyalty.

"It was very refreshing to hear her ask him 'his opinion' in company, and his diplomatic windings and twistings on those occasions were worthy of the wiliest politician that ever flourished at the 'White House.' As to speaking to any other female than Mrs. Daisy, he would as soon have ordered his own coffin; and, truth to tell, this was where the matrimonial yoke weighed the heaviest, for Didymus (unlucky wretch) had an eye for a dainty waist or a pair of falling shoulders, or a light, springing step; but the way he had to '_shoulder!_ _march!_' when they 'hove in sight,' was crucifying to his feelings!

"Mrs. Daisy always went with him, to and from the store, for '_exercise_.'(?) He was never allowed to go out after dark; his evenings being mainly occupied in holding skeins of silk, or sorting knots of 'German Worsted,' to give his wife an opportunity to immortalize her genius in transforming the same into hump-backed dogs, deformed lambs and rabbits, with ears twice as long as their bodies.

Under such watchful guardianship he was in a fair way to be able to omit entirely at his orisons, this pet.i.tion--'Lead us not into temptation.'

"This hymeneal strait-jacket was more particularly affecting, inasmuch as Mrs. Daisy _herself_ was not what her _name_ would seem to suggest, saving that she was very red. It was the problem of her life to find dresses and hats that 'agreed with her complexion,' and she might well have exclaimed 'how _expensive it is to be ugly_.'

"Well, 'it's a long lane that has no turning;' and so Didymus thought, when he woke up one fine morning and found himself a widower! Did you ever see a poor robin let loose from a cage? or a mouse released from the clutches of grimalkin? or a kitten emanc.i.p.ated from an easy-chair, where she had been mistaken for a cushion by some fat old lady of about two hundred weight? Well--_I say nothing_! The satisfaction with which Didymus ordered his 'weeds,' spoke for itself! In HIS mental rainbow, _black_ was hereafter to be '_couleur de rose_!' He purchased Mrs. Daisy a _nice_ coffin, and a STRONG one; and his speech to Miss Maria Fitz b.u.mble was cut and dried, and ready for delivery as soon as he had safely planted his _first_ Daisy in the earth!

"Didymus was a _man_ again! He dared to look himself in the face! He stood up straight, and, clapping his hand on his waistband, exclaimed--'Daisy, _this_ is living, old boy!' Julius Caesar! what ails the man, as he turns his horrified gaze towards the bed!

"'There--there! _that'll do!_' said Mrs. Daisy. 'Don't make a donkey of yourself, Didymus, because _that_ is unnecessary! I was only in a _faint_, my dear! A FEINT--ha! ha! I think I understand you _now_, from Genesis to Revelations. That _black_ coat's a _good fit_;--very _becoming_, too! _Maria_--_Fitz_--B-U-M-B-L-E-E!! There, that'll DO, Didymus. _Sorry to disappoint you_, but I'm just as good as _new_!'"

XXVI.

THE WEDDING DRESS.

Under this t.i.tle appeared in the columns of the True Flag, one of f.a.n.n.y's most effective sketches. Thus ran the tale:--

"'Good-bye, dearest mother,' said Emma, as she pressed her lips to her forehead. 'Let me bring your foot-stool and your spectacles before I go. We shall have a lovely drive, and I'll not stay after nightfall.'

"As she listened to the sound of the retreating wheels, Mrs. Leland said to herself, 'I'm selfish to be unwilling to part with Emma, but she is so good and so beautiful. Her presence is like a ray of sunshine; my room seems so dark and cheerless when she leaves me; and yet it will not be long that I can watch over her; and when these dim eyes are closing, it will be a comfort to know that she has a protector and a husband.'

"Mrs. Leland was a widow--that name always suggestive of desolation, want and sorrow. Her husband, however, had left herself and Emma enough to keep them from suffering, and the latter had made her musical talents available in driving poverty from the door.

"About a year before the date of my story, Emma had met with Lionel.

Of prepossessing exterior and polished manners, the young merchant had made himself a welcome guest at the quiet fireside of the widow.

Thoughtful and attentive to Mrs. Leland, he had already yielded her the devotion of a son. She was alone most of the day, but when Emma returned to her at night, with her tasks completed, and they were seated around their little table, and Emma herself prepared the nice cup of tea that was to refresh her invalid mother, and evening came, and with it Lionel, with his bright, handsome face, and winning smile and soft low tones; how quickly the hours fled away! And now she was soon to be his bride. Their cottage home in the outskirts of the city was already chosen, and thither they had gone to make arrangements for their removal. And who so happy as the lovers, that long, bright, summer afternoon? The little cottage rooms were carefully inspected; the pretty rosebush was trained anew over the low door-way, and the gardener had especial orders to take care of the nice flowerbeds and gravel walks. Amid the last sweet carol of the birds, when the flowers, heavy with the falling dew, were drowsily nodding their heads, and the first bright star of evening was timidly stealing forth; in the dim, fragrant twilight, again and again they exchanged new vows of love.

"When Emma remembered the dull and cheerless past, life seemed now to her a fairy dream; she trembled to _be_ so happy. Then a dark shadow would pa.s.s before her eyes, and she would say, shudderingly, '_What if a change should come!_' but she looked in Lionel's face, and remembered it no more.

"Home was gained at last, Lionel a.s.sisted his fair companion to alight; she sprang gaily up the steps, and was turning to wave her hand to him as he left, when she saw a man step up to him, lay his hand familiarly on his shoulder, and, taking the reins in _his own hands_, drive off. Supposing him to be some friend, or business acquaintance, she thought no more of it, and pa.s.sed into the house.

"'It is needless to ask you if you have enjoyed your ride, my daughter,' said Mrs. Leland, looking with a mother's admiration at the bright flush on her cheek, and her sparkling eye.

"'Oh! it was so delightful, mother, at the cottage; and we shall be so _happy_ there,' said the fair girl, as she laid aside her pretty hat and shook from their confinement her long, bright tresses. Then, seating herself at the window, she commenced embroidering a part of her wedding dress.

"Soon after, a stranger called to see Mrs. Leland on business; and Emma withdrew to their little bed-room. She was sitting there, busy with her work; a song, sweet as a bird's carol trembled on her lips, when Mrs. Leland returned.

"'Emma!'

"She turned her head to see her mother's face overspread with the pallor of death. Springing to her side, she said, 'Mother! dear mother! who has dared? what has troubled you? who is this stranger?'

"Her mother pointed to the wedding dress, saying, (as if every word rent her heart-strings,)

"'Emma, _you'll never need that_! Lionel is arrested for forgery.'

""Tis false!' Emma would have said, but the words died on her lips, and she fell heavily to the floor.