The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern Part 9

"One fainting fit succeeded another through that long, dreary night, till life seemed almost suspended. Morning came, and woke the sufferer to consciousness. Pa.s.sing her hand slowly across her forehead, as if still bewildered, and unable to realize the dreadful change that had pa.s.sed over her, she said,

"'Mother, I must go to Lionel!'

"'No, no,' said Mrs. Leland, "tis no place for you, Emma.'

"Covering her face, as if to shut out some dreadful vision, she said, 'I care not _where_ I find him, mother! I must go or _die_. Would you kill your child?'

"The succeeding day found her at the prison door. As the key grated in the lock for her admittance, she shuddered and hung back; but it was only for an instant. Nerving herself, as by a strong effort, she advanced and threw herself, fainting, upon Lionel's breast. As the jailer came towards her, Lionel started to his feet, and with a fierce gesture, motioned him off. Pressing his lips to her cold forehead, he said to himself, 'If she would but pa.s.s away thus!' But death comes not at the bidding of the wretched, and there she lay, that young, fair thing, with her beautiful head bowed with grief and shame; still loving, still trusting, through dishonor and pain, with the strong, deep love of _a woman's heart_. Even the stern jailer, though inured to scenes of human suffering, brushed away the tears with his rough hand from his furrowed cheeks, and said, 'G.o.d be merciful.'

"Few words were spoken by either, and the allotted hour pa.s.sed by. One long embrace--and the wretched man was again _alone_ in his cell, with an accusing conscience; the darker, the gloomier for the angel-light that was withdrawn.

"And Emma! She was borne back again to the arms that had pillowed her infancy, and laid her head upon her mother's breast like a tired child. The agony of that hour had done the work of years. The rose had faded from the cheek, the eyes were dim and l.u.s.treless. She only said, '_I'm weary_.'

"And so weeks pa.s.sed by. Nothing interested her, nothing seemed to rouse her from her apathy. At length news reached them of Lionel's escape! The change in Emma was instantaneous. Her manner became excited, nervous and hurried; she pa.s.sed about the house arranging everything to the best advantage, as if expecting some friend or guest.

"One stormy night they sat at their little table, each busy with their own sad memories. The wind wailed dismally, and the beating rain had driven every living thing to seek a shelter. Mrs. Leland spoke of the fury of the storm, and Emma glanced toward the window. A dark face was prest close against it! Those eyes! (she pa.s.sed her hand across her own, as if to clear her vision,) those eyes were Lionel's!

Tottering as if bent by age, she staggered towards the door, and in a moment they were in each other's arms. What a night of fear, and horror, and joy was that! for he must away before the day should dawn.

"'Then you go not _alone_,' said Emma; 'if you have sinned you have also _suffered_.'

"'Yes, and it's but right he should,' said a rough voice, as the door was rudely burst, and a stout man advanced to make him prisoner.

"Lionel had prepared himself for _this_. A flas.h.!.+ a report! the lovers lay side by side. They were _both prisoners_, but _Death_ was the _jailer_!"

XXVII.

IS IT BEST TO USE ENVELOPES?

On this question hear f.a.n.n.y!

"Mrs. Joseph Smith was the envy of all the wives in the neighborhood.

Such a _pattern_ husband as Smith was, to be sure! He never went across the room without hugging his wife first, and language would fail to describe their melancholy partings when he 'tore himself away,' to go down to the store. If the wind got round east after he had left, he always ran back to tell her to put on an extra petticoat; he cut up her food in h.o.m.oeopathic infinitessimal bits, to a.s.sist her digestion, and if she wanted an ice-cream or a lobster-salad in the middle of the night, it was forthcoming. Did she have the headache, the blinds were closed, the bell was m.u.f.fled, and he was the most wretched of Smiths till she was convalescent. He selected her shoe-strings and corset-lacings himself, and when her health was too delicate to admit of her accompanying him to church, he always promised to sit in the middle of the house, so that in case the galleries should fall he needn't be made any _flatter_ than he was by nature.

"The present Mrs. Smith was his _fourth_ wife, and as Joseph had been heard to say, that 'the more he loved his Elenore, the more he loved his Nancy, and the more he loved his Nancy, the more he loved his Julia and Mary,' any one with half an eye, could see how peculiarly felicitious _Mrs. Mary Smith's_ position must be!

"There never was a sweet without a bitter; and so she found out, when Joseph announced to her that he 'must leave the little heaven of her smiles, to go on a short 'business trip.' Mary went into the strongest kind of hysterics, and burnt feathers and sal-volatile couldn't bring her out of them, till he swore on the dictionary to telegraph to her every hour, and carry his life preserver and a box of Russia salve.

"On arriving at the depot, a gentleman requested leave 'to place a lady under his protection,' who was travelling in the same direction.

Smith looked at her; she was young and pretty, and dressed in deep mourning. 'A widow!' said Smith to himself. 'Certainly, sir, with pleasure.'

"How they _did_ get on! With opening and shutting the windows in the cars, pulling that travelling shawl round the pretty shoulders that _wouldn't_ keep it up, and trying to quiet her nerves when the cars went through 'the dark places,' Smith didn't know any more than _you_ whether they were travelling through France or Spain, and what's more, he _didn't care_!

"Arriving at their place of destination much sooner than was necessary, (conductors and engineers have no bowels of mercy,) he escorted the widow to the house of her friend, taking the most disinterested care of the big and little bandboxes, and was strongly tempted to put an end to the life of the little poodle-dog she carried in her arms.

"An hour after, he sat down in his lonely quarters at the hotel, and dutifully drew towards him a sheet of paper to write to his wife. It ran as follows:--

"'MY DEAREST WIFE: If you knew how utterly desolate I am without you.

I can think of nothing else, and feel entirely unfitted for business.

As for _pleasure_, that is out of the question, without you. I've been bored to death with the care of an empty-headed woman--(you know I couldn't _refuse_, my angel); but I never will be hampered so again.

I long for the day that will return me to your arms. Your loving husband,

"'J. S----.'

"Then drawing towards him a nice sheet of embossed note-paper, he penned the following:--

"'MY DEAR MADAM: Those blue eyes have never ceased to haunt me since we parted. Thank you for your flattering acceptance of my invitation to ride. I will call for you at four this afternoon. Till then, my heart is with you.

"'Yours, ever,

"'JOSEPH SMITH.'

"Full two mortal hours Joseph spent at his 'twilight,' adorning his outer man. How those whiskers were curled and perfumed! What a fit were those primrose kid gloves! How immaculate was that s.h.i.+rt bosom!

How _excruciatingly_ those boots pinched! The very horses p.r.i.c.ked up their ears and arched their necks proudly, as if they knew what a freight of loveliness they were to carry.

"Arrived at the widow's Joseph handed the reins to a servant and was settling his pet curl, preparatory to mounting the stairs, when a letter was rudely thrust into his hand, and he was unceremoniously seized by _that_ d.i.c.key and sent spinning out upon the side-walk. As soon as he recovered breath, he picked himself up, and looked at the letter. Horror of horrors! He had placed the letters in the wrong envelopes! The widow had his wife's, and what was worse, his wife the widow's! Oh, Smith! Oh, JOSEPH Smith!

"MORAL.--Some think it wise to use envelopes, 'some _othewise_.'

_Joseph_ inclines to the _latter_ opinion, and advises all 'pattern husbands' to be of the same mind. His message hails from California!"

XXVIII.

FEMININE WISDOM.

We insert the following for the special benefit of the ladies. It is true, f.a.n.n.y very characteristically informs us, that they 'don't all know as much as _she_ does,' but then that is hardly to be expected.

"Tupper, speaking of the choice of a wife, says, 'Hath she wisdom? it is precious, but _beware that thou exceed_!'

"My dear sir, wasn't you caught napping that time? Didn't you speak in meeting? Didn't cloven feet peep out of your literary shoes? Don't it take an American woman to see through you! Isn't that a tacit acknowledgment that there _are_ women who do 'exceed?' Wouldn't you think so if you lived _this_ side the pond? Hope you don't judge _us_ by John Bull's daughters, who stupefy themselves on roast-beef and porter. I tell you Yankee women are on the squirrel order. You'd lose your English breath trying to follow them. There isn't a man here in America that knows as much as his wife. Some of them _own_ it, and some don't, but they all believe it, like gospel. They ask our opinion about everything. Sometimes straightforward, and sometimes in a circle--but they _ask it_! There are petticoats in the pulpit, petticoats in the editorial chair, petticoats in the lecturer's desk, petticoats behind the counter, petticoats labelled 'M. D.' Oh, _they 'exceed_!' no mistake about that. All femality is wide awake over here, Mr. Tupper. They crowd, and jostle, and push, just as if they wore hats. I don't uphold them in _that_, because, as I tell them, 'tis better policy to play possum, and wear the mask of submission. No use in rousing any _unnecessary_ antagonism. _But they don't all know as much as I do._ I shall reach the goal just as quick in my velvet shoes, as if I tramped on rough-shod as they do, with their _Woman's Rights Convention brogans_!"

XXIX.

ALWAYS SPEAK THE TRUTH.