Little Ferns For Fanny's Little Friends Part 13

A note for John!

"Enclosed, find $500, to pay Mr. John Harris' house rent for the coming year.

A FRIEND."

John rubbed his eyes, and looked at his mother; his mother looked at me; and I looked at both of them; and then we laughed and cried, till we nearly had regular hysterics.

But who was the "Friend"? That was the question. We were all born Yankees, and did our best at "guessing;" but it didn't help us. Well, at any rate, it was very nice, all round. I hadn't to be routed. No, nor John, nor his dear old mother. And p.u.s.s.y purred round as if she had as much reason to be glad as any of us; and the canary trilled so sharp a strain that we were obliged to m.u.f.fle his cage and his enthusiasm, with John's red silk pocket-handkerchief.

Mrs. Harris and I had not got our feminine tongues still, the next day, when John came back, in the middle of the forenoon, with another riddle, to drive our womanly curiosity still more distracted. He was requested to call immediately--so a note, he had just received, read--at Mr. ---- & Co's, and "accept the head clerks.h.i.+p, at a salary of $1,400 a year; being highly recommended by a person whose name his new employers decline giving."

That was a greater puzzle still. John and his mother had rich relations, to be sure; but, though they had always been interfering in all their plans for making a living, they never had been known to _give_ them anything except--_advice_, or to call on them _by daylight_; and it wasn't at all likely that the "leopard would change his spots," at that late day. No; it couldn't be John's rich relatives, who were always in such a panic lest upper-tendom should discover that their cousins, the Harrises, lived in an unfas.h.i.+onable part of the town, dined at one o'clock, and noticed trades-people and mechanics.

We were too sensible to believe in fairies, and who the mischief was emptying the "horn of plenty" in that way at our feet, was the question.

When we woke the next morning, we found in the back yard, a barrel of apples, a barrel of flour, a keg of b.u.t.ter, and a bag of buckwheat flour; labelled, "For Mr. John Harris, ---- street."

John declared, (after pinching himself to see if he were really John,) that he fastened the gate inside the very last thing before he put on his night-cap. Mrs. Harris said somebody must have climbed over and unfastened it; and I jumped right up and down, for a bright thought had just struck me, and I was determined to hold on to it, for I didn't have a bright thought _every_ day.

"What now?" said John, as I capered round the room.

"Oh! nothing," said I, "only it takes a woman, after all, to find out a secret--and to _keep it, too_," I added, snapping my fingers at him.

That day I thought it would do me good to ride about in an omnibus. I tried several. It didn't make much difference to me whether they went up street or down, or where they finally stopped. I was looking more at the pa.s.sengers.

By and by I saw the person I wanted. Said I, in a whisper, sitting down beside him, "House rent--clerks.h.i.+p--flour--b.u.t.ter--crackers and buckwheat; all for giving you a seat in an omnibus!"

Didn't I know that "the fairy" was the nice old man with silver locks?

Didn't he bribe me to hold my tongue, by telling me that he would come and drink tea with me, so that he might get a peep at John and his mother? Didn't he come? and didn't I look as much astonished when he called, as if it hadn't been all settled two days previous? But how was _I_ to know that Mrs. Harris would turn out to be an old love of his?

How was _John_ to know, when he felt such an irresistible impulse to be kind to the old man, that his hair had grown white loving his mother?

How was the _old man_ to know why he loved John so well, and thought him one of the finest young men he had ever seen? How was _I_ to know that I was to turn out to be what I always so mortally hated--a feminine match-maker?

LITTLE GERTRUDE'S PARTY.

Little Gertrude wanted to have a party. Sarah and Julia Smith had had one, and Eliza Doane, and the twin Smith girls, and their little cousin Mary Vose; (parties were very delightful things, why shouldn't _she_ have one?) Gertrude's mother was a sensible woman; she did not approve of children's parties; but she had found out that it was sometimes the cheapest way to teach her little daughter _by experience_, that her mother always knew best; so Miss Gertrude had leave to "have a party!"

How her tongue _did_ run! "She should not ask Louisa Loft because _she_ did not invite _her_; she should not ask Louisa Thompson, because she borrowed her 'Arabian Nights' and tore out one of the pictures; she should not ask Janie Jones, because she heard her call her new bonnet 'a perfect fright;' she should not ask George Sales, because he was such a glutton he would eat up all the bon-bons."

As to "supper," she would like oysters, of course; "escalloped oysters," with wine in them, and two pyramids of ice cream, one vanilla and one lemon; and some Charlotte Russe, and some Jersey biscuit, and all sorts of cakes, and sugar drops with "cordial" inside, and "mottoes" for the little beaux to give the little belles, &c., &c., &c.

Then her dress--_that_ required a _great deal of thought_; her pink dress was too shabby to be thought of a moment; her blue one had neither tucks, nor flounces; (and who ever heard of a party dress with a plain skirt?) her buff one was not gay enough; in short, she had _been seen_ in all those dresses--she ought to have a bran new one--a cherry silk, for instance, with swan's down round the neck and shoulders; that would be charming. Mary Scott told her, that her Philadelphia cousin had a dress like that, and looked lovely in it.

As to the time for the party she thought a week from that day would suit all the dress-makers--next Thursday week; then there were the notes of invitation--should they be written on plain or embossed paper?

gilt-edged or not gilt-edged? These important questions puzzled Gertrude hugely.

Thursday came--and so did "the cherry dress and the swan's down." The dress-maker pinched Gertrude into it, and Gertrude, catching her breath between the hooks and eyes, said "it fitted beautifully;" the little satin slippers were also laced and rosetted to her mind, and her kid gloves properly _ruche-d_ and bow-d and her hair curled by Mons.

Frizzle, till she looked like his wife's little poodle dog "Apollo."

The bell began to ring! Gertrude ran _once_ more to the gla.s.s before the door should open; it was all right, all but one curl on the left temple that had veered round a little too much to the north-east, and which had to be re-arranged.

In they came.

The two Misses Tarleton first, dressed in a cerulean blue, to set off their "lint locks" and fair complexions, with their two hands encased in white kids, crossed over their two sashes, and an embroidered pocket-handkerchief, starched very stiffly, between their little fingers. Close upon _their_ satin slippers came Miss Jenny Judkins, whose father was "rich." Miss Jenny wore a black velvet waist trimmed profusely with black bugles, that sparkled under the chandelier enough to put your eyes out. Her skirt was pink satin trimmed with black lace flowers, and her hair was drawn back tightly from the roots at her forehead, and confined by tri-colored bows with long streamers like the pennants of a s.h.i.+p. Gertrude felt very much afraid that Miss Jenny would be voted "the belle."

Time would "give out" should I undertake to do justice to all these young ladies, beside I must not omit the young gentlemen. I am not quite sure that I have done right to keep them so long in "the gentleman's dressing room."

In the first place, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Augustus Anthony, who has been in the hands of Mons. Peruke for the last hour, as you will perceive by his perfumed locks; the bows of his little silk necktie, you please notice, are of the proper fas.h.i.+onable size, and his jacket richly embroidered. His brother John, "just from college," fixed his watch chain; so there's no use in my criticising _that_. Then, there's Master George Harrison, Jr., with his patent pumps and silk stockings, and his sister Jane's diamond ring outside his buff glove on the third finger. He has frequent occasion to point about the room with _that_ hand, you notice!

Next comes Master Simpkins, who is very bashful, and stood tweeddling his thumbs, all of a cold sweat, before he ventured in; he knew that his toes _ought_ to turn _out_, instead of _in_, but that was a defect that couldn't be rectified in a minute, and so he made up his mind to shuffle in behind Peter, the black waiter, who just pa.s.sed in to arrange the candelabras.

Well, they commenced dancing and all "went merry as a marriage bell"

for an hour, when Miss Tarleton was discovered crying, because "Master Simpkins had trod on her blue dress and torn off one of the flounces"--and Miss Jane Judkins was very red in the face, because one of Mr. Augustus Anthony's jacket b.u.t.tons had caught in a fine gold chain upon her neck, and a little gold cross had snapped off, n.o.body knew where, that belonged to her sister Julia, who made her promise "certain true not to lose it;" and Miss Smith had burst her kid glove right across the hand, and couldn't think of dancing after such a disaster.

Gertrude ran to her mother in great trouble, proposing that harmony should be restored by the supper table. It looked very gay--that supper table, with its lights, and bouquets, and fancy confectionary; it seemed almost a pity to put it in confusion; but Mr. George Sales did not incline to that opinion; so he very quietly seized a dish of oysters and commenced helping himself out of it, quite oblivious of "the presence of the ladies."

Master Anthony was more gallant--he, under the influence of Miss Jane Judkins' tri-colored bows and velvet spencer, valiantly attacked, knife in hand, a fortress of ice-cream, and having freighted a gilt-edged saucer with it, was in the act of presenting it to her, with a dancing-school bow, when he unfortunately lodged the contents of the saucer on her pink skirt and lace flounces. Gertrude retired to the dressing-room with the afflicted Miss Jane, offering her all the sympathy that such a melancholy occasion called for.

When Gertrude returned to the supper room she had the pleasure of hearing Miss Taft remark, that it was "the stupidest party she ever attended; and as to the supper, it was positively shabby--only _two_ pyramids of ice-cream! but then she had heard her mamma say that Gertrude's mother had never been to parties much, so she supposed she really didn't know any better; _she_ (Miss Taft) intended to have a party herself, when she was twelve years old, which event was to come off in a month or two, and _then_ they'd see a party worth dressing for."

Poor Gertrude, after all the pains she had taken, her pretty supper table "shabby," her party "stupid," and her mamma--"didn't know any better!" She was perfectly miserable--her head ached violently, and had it not been for shame, she would have cried outright.

The "ladies and gentlemen" having surfeited themselves at the "shabby supper table," had one more dance, in which n.o.body was suited with their partners, and several declared, pouting, that they would not dance at all, "because the music was so miserable;" and then they cloaked and hood-ed themselves, and the "rich" Miss Judkins rolled off in her father's carriage, much to the dissatisfaction of some of the other young ladies, who walked home with their little pinafore admirers, cutting up Miss Gertrude's party in a manner that showed they had not listened in vain to the remarks of their mammas about the parties _they_ had attended.

As to Gertrude herself, when the last little foot had pattered out of the entry, she threw herself, weeping, into her mamma's lap, quite worn out with excitement and mortification.

Gertrude's mother considers the money laid out for that "party," and the "cherry silk dress," as one of the most profitable investments she ever made; for, although Miss Gertrude is now a wife and a mother, with a house of her own, she has never been known since that night, to "have a party," or to express the least desire to _go to one_. For, my dear children, "grown-up parties" are not a whit more profitable or satisfactory than the little miniature one that caused Gertrude so much trouble and unhappiness.

FERN MUSINGS.

Morning again! and New-York is beginning to stir. Lazy creatures! they _should_ have been up hours ago. That old rooster over the way has crowed himself hoa.r.s.e, trying to start them all out: and _he_ is not as smart as he might be, for I saw the first streak of dawn myself, before he was off his perch.

Now the carts begin to rumble by, with "fresh sweet milk," labelled on the sides. Lucky they tell us of it, for we never should find it out ourselves by _tasting_. There go the dray-carts, with baggage from the just-arrived cars; then follows a carriage with the owners of the baggage. How hollow-eyed they look, traveling all night. They are evidently thinking of eggs and hot rolls. There go the boarding-house women, basket in hand, to secure their dinner: hope they won't spoil it with bad cooking-b.u.t.ter! There go the shop girls, shrouded in thick brown veils: poor things! they got up late and couldn't stop to comb their hair. There come the market carts from the country, laden with cabbages, and turnips, and beets, and parsnips, and apples, and n.o.body knows what else beside.

There comes a little boy, screeching "R-a-d-i-shes;" and a little girl just behind him, shouting "Bl-a-ck-ber-ries," and a man in the middle of the street, yelling "Tin-tin-tin--tin ware for sale." Oh dear! I shall have to stuff my ears with cotton wool. I'm as crazy as a Fourth-of-July orator who has forgotten his speech.

There come some business men, chewing the last mouthful of their breakfast as they b.u.t.ton the first b.u.t.ton of their overcoats and hurry down street. There go the laundresses with their baskets of clean clothes,--hope they haven't ironed off all the s.h.i.+rt-b.u.t.tons. There's a man with a parcel of old umbrellas on his back: it would puzzle "a Philadelphia lawyer" to find out what _he_ is shouting. Never mind, he makes a noise in the world; so I suppose he is satisfied. There go two or three women with _slip-shod feet_;--ugh! And there's a little girl fresh from the country, (you may know that) for her eyes are as bright as stars, and her cheeks look like June roses. She has a bunch of flowers in her hand, but they are no prettier than herself;--she is a perfect little rose-bud (if her shoes are clumsy and her bonnet old-fas.h.i.+oned.) If you'll excuse me I'll run down a minute and speak to her.

Well, I declare! she says her name is "Letty Hill," and she has come into town to see Aunt Hopkins; and her aunt, and she, and her little cousin Meg Hopkins, are all going to Barnum's Museum, (Uncle Hopkins isn't going with 'em, because he says Burnum's a humbug;) and she is going to wear a clean white ap.r.o.n, that is stowed away safe in her carpet bag, with blue ribbon strings on it. She don't know whether she shall stay over night, or not; her mother told her she _might_, if Aunt Hopkins asked her, and she hopes she _will_ ask her, because she and Meg Hopkins want to tell ghost-stories, and play "tent" with the sheets after they get into bed. She has a whole ninepence in her pocket, which Jake (the man on the farm) gave her, and she intends to buy out some of the Broadway shop keepers with it before she sees Clover Farm again.

She hopes Aunt Hopkins will have mince pie for dinner, and make it real sweet, too; and she hopes Cousin Tom Hopkins will be at home, because he always gives her sixpences. There she goes, tripping along. G.o.d bless her! _She_ don't care whether there's a revolution in Europe or not.

Look over there at that street pump; isn't that a pretty sight now?--that little girl in the short frock, with bare legs, and feet as plump as little partridges. She has set down her basket, and stopped to get a drink of water. The pump handle goes very hard. She concludes to put it to a better use,--she will make a swing of it. So she lifts it way up, and then seizing hold with both hands, swings herself down upon the sidewalk. Ah! she has alighted in a puddle! She looks at her little fat feet, and makes up her mind she will take a bath; so she pumps out the water, and holds first one little plump foot under, then the other, till they are as white and polished as marble, and her little pink-tipped toes look all too dainty to touch the dirty sidewalk. Now, she sees me looking at her, and blus.h.i.+ng scampers off.