The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern. William U. Moulton

The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern - William U. Moulton


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      In accordance with the course he had wisely planned for his children, Sarah Willis—the veritable "Fanny"—was favored with an early introduction into the seminary of Miss Catherine E. Beecher, in Hartford, Conn. At this well-conducted establishment—the most popular in the country, at that time—Miss Fanny received her first strong impressions of life and the world. We have never heard her spoken of as a very apt or studious pupil. Staid works of philosophy and learning were not much to her taste. But from the prohibited pages of romances and poems, eagerly devoured in secret, her craving genius derived an active stimulus. Already she had become a keen dissector of the human heart, and she found plenty of pleasant practice for the scalpel of her wit among the young ladies of the school. Here, too, the novel and startling experiences of boarding-school flirtation gave their warm coloring to her future life. Fanny possessed a large capacity for this description of knowledge, and her writings show a better memory for those more pleasant branches of female education, than for the dry rules of syntax and prosody. In fact, the best of her sketches are transcripts of her school-girl life—for Fanny writes well only when giving the concentrated vinegar and spice of her own vivid experiences.

      A sketch of Fanny's, entitled "A Leaf from my Experience," referring to her school-life, may, perhaps, form the best embodiment of the earlier portion of her school-history.

      "Miss Jemima Keturah Rix was at the head of a flourishing school for very young ladies and gentlemen. She originated in the blue state of Connecticut, where the hens, from principle, refrain from laying eggs on Sunday, and the yeast stops working for the same reason. She had very little opinion of her own sex, and none at all of the other. Her means were uncommonly limited, yet 'she was too much of a gentlewoman to keep school, had it not been for her strong desire to reform the rising generation.'

      "In person, she was tall and spare, with small, snapping black eyes, and thin, compressed lips, telling strongly of her vixenish propensities. She could repeat the Ten Commandments and Assembly's Catechism backwards, without missing a word; and was a firm believer in total depravity and the eternal destruction of little dead babies.

      "She had the usual variety of temper and disposition, generally found in a school, and a way of her own of getting along with them. She would catch a refractory pupil with one hand by the shoulder, and press the thumb with such force into the hollow of the arm, that the poor victim was ready to subscribe to any articles of faith or practice she might see fit to draw up; and who of us will soon forget that old brass thimble, mounted on her skinny forefinger, as it came snapping against our foreheads?

      "Being considered an untamable witch at home, I had the ill luck to be sent to this little initiatory purgatory. This was unfortunate, as Miss Rix and I looked at life through very different pairs of spectacles. The first great grief I can remember, was when I was about as tall as a rosebush,—nearly breaking my heart, because a little boy threw away one of my ringlets, that I cut off for his especial keeping. In fact, I may as well own it, I was born a coquette; and the lynx eyes of Miss Rix had already discovered it.

      "She always made a chalk line on the floor between the girls and boys, that neither were allowed to cross without a special permit. Being aware of this, I had been in the habit of making certain telegraphic communications with a little lover of mine, in jacket and trowsers, on the other side of chalk-dom.

      "Little dreaming of the storm that was brewing, I sat watching her one morning, as she slowly drew from her pocket a long piece of cord, and tested its strength. Raising her sharp cracked voice to its most crucifying pitch, she called,

      "'Miss Minnie May and Mr. Harry Hall step out upon the floor.' Of course, we didn't do anything else, when, turning us back to back, she silently proceeded to tie our elbows together with the cord, remarking, with a satanic grin, as she sat down, that 'we seemed to be so fond of each other, it was a pity to keep us apart.'

      "Now this was a very cutting thing to me, in more ways than one, as Harry's jacket sleeves protected his arms, while my little fat elbows were getting redder every minute from the twitches he made to extricate himself; for, like some bigger boys, he was very willing to be a fair-weather lover, but couldn't face a storm. I've never forgiven him for it, (true to my woman nature,) and though I often meet him now, (he is a thriving physician with an extensive practice;) and he looks so roguishly from out those saucy black eyes, as much as to say, 'I wouldn't mind being tied to you now, Minnie,' I give him a perfect freezer of a look and 'pass by on the other side.'

      "I understand that Miss Rix has rested from her labors and gone to her reward. I wish no better satisfaction than that she may get it!"

       THE NEW NAME.

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      Fanny's career as a young lady seems to have been very lively. She recalls many amusing reminiscences of early flirtations. Among others, she led away captive the heart of a certain Unitarian clergyman, the son of a wealthy family. As she affirms, however, "papa" concluded that he had learned the Westminster Catechism to so little purpose as to be no safe partner for his orthodox daughter. But, like a large spare chamber, swept and garnished, her affections had plenty of room for a new occupant.

      There were breezy walks on the common, mysterious whisperings over skeins of thread with handsome clerks, until at length the conquering hero came. Like a sun-flower in the beams of morning, her heart expanded at the warm suit of her favored lover.

      May 4th, 1837, at a period of well-matured womanhood, Sarah Willis became Sarah Eldredge. The fortunate husband of the yet undeveloped genius, was an only child—the son of the late Dr. Eldredge, a highly esteemed physician, in the neighborhood of Boston. Her first child died at the age of three years, but two remaining daughters, the fruit of this union, now reside with their mother in New York. One is about ten, and the other we should judge from her appearance to be some fifteen years of age.

      Mr. Eldredge enjoyed a handsome income from his services as cashier of the Merchant's Bank, the largest institution of the kind in Boston. Now we esteem the domestic virtues of economy and prudence; but a penurious mode of life is not so readily pardoned as the opposite extreme of lavish expenditure; and the devoted husband of so spirited a young wife may certainly be excused for "living" to the extent of his means. But, as Othello very properly observes, "Who can control his fate?" Had the young banker been as wise as he was generous and indulgent, he would have looked forward through the long, bright vista of the present, to that proverbial "rainy day," liable at any time to befall. In the prime of manhood, October 6th, 1846, he was cut off by a sharp, quick stroke from Death's remorseless hand; and the wife and mother, awaking suddenly from her gay dreams, saw affliction and widowhood descend upon her like a pall.

       THE HUSBAND'S DEATH.

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      Throughout the whole course of Fanny's writings we are presented with frequent and most pleasing pictures of her own self. Not only does she figure as the graceful heroine of "Ruth Hall," but all her sketches have a connection more or less remote with the events of her own life. The following sketch, as we are assured, is a description of the death of her husband, though it contains one of the customary portraitures of Fanny herself.

      "The Young Wife's Affliction.—A delightful summer we passed, to be sure, at the —— Hotel, in the quiet village of S——. A collection of prettier women, or more gentlemanly, agreeable men, were never thrown together by the necessity of seeking country quarters in the dog-days. Fashion, by common consent, was laid upon the shelf, and comfort and smiling faces were the natural result. Husbands took the cars in the morning for the city, rejoicing in linen coats and pants, and loose neck-ties; their wives,


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