Fern Fanny
Folly as It Flies; Hit at by Fanny Fern
Daylight creeps gradually on, after weary hours of twisting and turning. Your strange male vis-á-vis has overslept himself, and you have been, meanwhile, maliciously watching to enjoy his discomfited waking from that awkward posture, knowing, as you well do, that vanity has no sex. He starts, and takes a look at you; then he rubs his eyes – combs out the pet lock of hair on his forehead with his fingers, gives his disarranged moustache a scientific twist, straightens out a wrinkle on his coat, turns down the collar, which has all night harbored his nose, gets up and gently stamps his pants down over his boots, settles his hat at the accustomed knowing angle, draws on his gloves and looks at you, as if to say, Come now, you see I am not such a bad looking fellow, after all! Of course you don't notice the varlet; you are very busy just then with the "prospect."
Between our midnight leave of Pittsburg and daylight, I was conscious, as we darted through the fog, how much we were losing in the way of scenery. Oh, those sublime Alleghany Mountains, and that lovely Juniata winding round and through them. I have no words to express my sense of their beauty, and my unalloyed delight. I trust the coroner's inquest will be deferred on me till I drink that draught of pleasure again. Of course, through the narrow limits of the car window, and where one can only see one side of the way at a time, too, my tantalization was next door to lunacy. In vain I twisted my neck, and bobbed my bonnet, and, in child fashion grabbed at so much that I nearly lost all. Not all! for enough is left to dream over with closed eyes, when the dreary winter snows shall drive against the windows. Had I not been strictly enjoined by Mr. Fern never to jump a judgment, of a town, from a bird's-eye view out of a car window, I should quarrel with Harrisburg, situated in that gem of a valley, for resting so satisfied with nature's work, as to ignore any adornment of art, as well as with some other places near, and for the same reason. Come to think of it, I will assert my feminine right to declare that it is a shabby little town, and a disgrace to those kingly mountains, and Mr. Fern may like or dislike it.
Profiting by our experience of a day's compulsory fast from Cleveland to Pittsburg, we bargained with the head-waiter at the latter place, to fit us out with a lunch-basket, thus rendering us independent of the way-stations, where half the time is spent in fumbling out your money, and the rest in making change, the whistle sounding just as you get possession of your knife and fork. As hot tea and coffee are now sold on the platform, quite independent of the general scrambling feeding-room, if your luncheon-basket is furnished with a cup or mug to put it in, you may of course snap your fingers at fate. Railroad people and way station providers have jointly themselves to thank for being outwitted by the well-provided "luncheon-basket;" the convenience of which, especially where there are children in the party, and about one waiter in the feeding hall to two dozen people, and ten minutes to fight for food is plainly manifest; not to speak of the economy as it regards temper and digestion. Let me do justice, however, to one obscure way-station, where a friend and myself were the fortunate discoverers of a squirrel-pie, with which, alas! we had all too brief an acquaintance. A certain "Oliver Twist" near us, scenting the secret, called for "more;" whereupon the buxom young woman in attendance replied, "that she was sorry, but the squirl-pie was all out." It struck me that the word in would have been more significant, but I didn't mention it.
I don't think my worst enemy can say that I am often betrayed in showing politeness to females. I trust I know my own sex too well, so miserably to waste my time. Once, on my journey, I waived this well known article in my creed, in favor of an unprotected one who was seated next me at table. Every woman but herself, had one of the male species to stand between her and the – "how not to do it" – landlord and his satellites; – to have been more truthful I should have put this last word in the singular number. There was nothing preposessing about the woman; she was wiry and angular, and had a horrible trick of snuffing; perhaps it was all these that made me insane enough to pity her, as she sat there gazing into her empty plate, with a sort of dumb despair. What goodness may be enshrined in that repulsive face and form, I said to myself; how tenderly she may, in happier days, when younger and more attractive, have been watched and cared for; and how wretched to have only the memory of such things in this solitary place; so I just snatched some eggs that after unheard efforts to obtain, Mr. Fern had fondly hoped to regale himself upon, and offered them to her. Did that female thank me by a word, or even a glance? Ye gods? Didn't she take those eggs as if she had laid them herself? "Good enough for you Fanny," muttered I; "one would think you were old enough by this time, to know better." I didn't say any wicked words; it is not my way. Shortly after, the damsel who waited on us, and who employed the intervals when dishes were preparing in running up stairs to attend to her toilet: – First course being, no hoop, and bread-and-butter. Second course, crinoline and poached eggs. Third course, ear-rings and mutton-chop. Fourth course, ringlets and apple-pie; – this girl, I say, sat before me, at my own private, personal request, a plate of tea-biscuit. The unprotected female looked at them – so did I. Presently she poked me in the ribs and imperatively requested "them biscuit." Shade of Lindley Murray! you should have seen how civilly I informed her that they were destined for my luncheon-basket, but that doubtless the damsel in waiting would attend to any of her orders for food, as she had to mine. You should have seen the "unprotected female" at that moment. She was a panting, panther-like, gasping monument of philanthropy ill-directed. – Peace to her irate bones.
The butter, cheese, and other dairy (I wonder if the type-setters will print this daily) delicacies of Philadelphia, are no longer a matter of marvel to me, after travelling through Pennsylvania, and viewing its admirable farms, unencumbered by a weed or stone or thistle, and as far as foliage and fruit gave evidence, by any noxious vegetable insect; and enclosed by fences in perfect order and repair. Not an unsightly object about barn, house or garden; the very genius of thrift and neatness seemed pervading and presiding over all. It was indeed a delight to see them, although I was not unaware of the years of patient, careful tillage which had brought them to such a point of perfection. True – there might have been more flowers and vines, about their very neat dwellings, without endangering the Quaker's title to a seat among the blessed in a future state; for I never will believe that if He who made this bright world, approved of universal drab, he would have tinted the rose such a beautiful pink, or the morning-glory such a heavenly blue, or the grass such a cool, eye-satisfying-green; but for all that, were I queen of the country, the Quakers should believe and wear what they pleased, as I would myself.
We entered Philadelphia just at sunset, and rattled through Chestnut Street just as it was looking its brightest and best with its well-stocked shops, its belles and its beaux, and its bran-new Continental, where we longed to stop, had we not given our word to reach New York that night. I liked Philadelphia from the first moment I put my foot there, some years ago.
It always seemed so cosy, home-like, – and comfortable; one might, one thinks, be so domestic and sensible there, while in New York it is next to impossible to be sensible, with the very best intentions. So I left Philadelphia with real regret, thinking of friends to whom I would gladly have said, even a brief "how d'ye do." May I be allowed to ask who invented the torturing style of cars from Philadelphia to New York, with wooden panels where windows should be, and seats divided off into spaces, narrow as a bigot's creed? It may be all very well for spinsters and bachelors, but as I don't belong to either class, and as I like a shoulder to sleep on when I have travelled since the previous midnight, it was just simply infamous to shut me off, and bar me up from it by that ridiculous partition; in vain I bobbed my bonnet, and got a crick in my neck, trying to reach the shoulder to which I was legally entitled without a permit from any railroad company. In vain I doubled my travelling shawl and piled it on that shoulder, and tried to annex my head to it that way; in vain I rose in my might and looked viciously at the wooden pane which should have been a window, and whimpered out, "Oh I'm so tired!" in vain Mr. Fern and I corkscrewed ourselves into all sorts of shapes, and asked each other, with a grim attempt at jest, "if they called that an accommodation train." Thank heaven, said I, if we do live to reach New York, a hot supper and a warm welcome awaits us! And now, seated at ease in mine inn, I wish to wind up these articles with a whisper to landlords generally:
First: – Don't always fasten the looking-glass in a lady's bed-room in the very darkest corner, or attach it to some lumbering piece of furniture incapable of being moved, save by an earthquake.
Secondly: – Give ladies four bed-pillows instead of two, until geese yield more feathers.
Thirdly: – Banish forever, with other tortures of the Inquisition, that infernal "gong," (excuse the expression,) which has had so much to do in filling our Lunatic Asylums.
