Part 4 (1/2)
Of the command, ”Honor thy father and mother,” says the Boston Transcript, _Ruth Hall_ has been a significant reminder, to those who know the excellent man vilified in that novel as the heroine's father, and admitted in many ways to be intended by ”f.a.n.n.y Fern” as a picture of her own father, Mr. Willis. How differently he is looked upon by his other children it is a relief to humanity to know, and we are glad to be able to copy from the ”Youth's Companion,” the paper which Mr.
Willis publishes in his declining years, the following lines addressed to him by his son, N. P. Willis, the brother of ”f.a.n.n.y Fern.”
TO MY AGED FATHER.
[ON HEARING OF HIS RECENT CALAMITY, IN HAVING HIS OFFICE DESTROYED BY THE LATE FIRE IN SCHOOL-STREET.]
BY N. P. WILLIS.
Cares thicken round thee as thy steps grow slow, Father beloved!--not turn'd upon, as once, And battled back with steadfastness unmov'd-- (That battle without fame or trump to cheer-- That hardest battle of the world--_with care_-- Thy life one patient victory till now!) Faint has thy heart become. For peace thou prayest-- For less to suffer as thy strength grows less.
For, oh, when life has been a stormy wild-- The bitter night too long, the way too far-- The aged pilgrim, ere he lays him down, Prays for a moment's lulling of the blast-- A little time, to wind his cloak about him, And smooth his gray hairs decently to die.
Yet, oh, not vain the victories unsung!
Not vain a life of industry to bless.
And thou, in angel-history--where s.h.i.+ne The _silent self-forgetful who toil on_ _For others until death_--art nam'd in gold In heaven it is known, thou hast done well!
But, not all unacknowledg'd is it, here.
Children thou hast, who, for free nurture, given With one hand, while the other fought thy cares, Grow grateful as their own hands try the fight.
And more--they thank thee more! The name thou leavest Spotless and blameless as it comes from thee-- For this--their pure inheritance--a life Of unstained honor gone before our own-- The father that we love an ”honest man”-- For this, thy children bless thee.
Cheer thee, then!-- Though hopelessly thy strength may seem to fail, And pitilessly far thy cares pursue!
What though the clouds follow to eventide, Which chased thy morn and noon across the sky!
From these thy trying hours--the hours when strength, Most sorely press'd, has won its victories-- From _life's dark trial clouds_, that follow on, Even to sunset--glory comes at last!
Clouds are the glory of the dying day-- A glory that, though welcoming to Heaven, Illumes the parting hour ere day is gone.
XIV.
IDEAS ABOUT BABIES.
f.a.n.n.y's sentiments on this subject are decidedly contradictory. If one were to read any two of her articles, without a definite knowledge of her circ.u.mstances, they would be at a loss to determine whether she is maid or matron. The language of the first article which we shall quote is certainly very _anti_-motherly.
”FOLLY--For girls to expect to be happy without marriage.
Every woman was made for a mother, consequently, babies are as necessary to their 'peace of mind,' as health. If you wish to look at melancholy and indigestion, look at an old maid. If you would take a peep at suns.h.i.+ne, look in the face of a young mother.”
”Now I _won't stand that_! I'm an old maid myself; and I'm neither melancholy nor indigestible! My 'PIECE _of mind_' I'm going to give you, (in a minute!) and I never want to _touch_ a baby except with a _pair of tongs_! 'Young mothers and suns.h.i.+ne!' Worn to fiddle-strings before they are twenty-five! When an old lover turns up he thinks he sees his grandmother, instead of the dear little Mary who used to make him feel as if he should crawl out of the toes of his boots! Yes! my mind is _quite_ made up about _matrimony;_ but as to the '_babies_,'
(sometimes I think, and then again I don't know!) but on _the whole I believe_ I consider 'em a d----ecided humbug! It's a _one-sided_ partners.h.i.+p, this marriage! the _wife casts up all the accounts_!
”'Husband' gets up in the morning and pays his '_devours_' to the looking-gla.s.s; curls his fine head of hair; puts on an immaculate s.h.i.+rt-bosom; ties an excruciating cravat; sprinkles his handkerchief with cologne; stows away a French roll, an egg, and a cup of coffee; gets into the omnibus, looks _slantendicular_ at the pretty girls, and makes love between the pauses of business during the forenoon _generally_. Wife must 'hermetically seal' the windows and exclude all the fresh air, (because the baby had the 'snuffles' in the night;) and sits gasping down to the table more dead than alive, to finish her breakfast. Tommy turns a cup of hot coffee down his bosom; Juliana has torn off the string of her school-bonnet; James 'wants his geography covered;' Eliza can't find her satchel; the butcher wants to know if she'd like a joint of mutton; the milkman would like his money; the ice man wants to speak to her 'just a minute;' the baby swallows a bean; husband sends the boy home from the store to say _his partner_ will dine with him; the cook leaves 'all flying,' to go to her 'sister's dead baby's wake,' and husband's thin coat must be ironed before noon. '_Suns.h.i.+ne and young mothers!!_' Where's my smelling-bottle?”
To the foregoing denunciation of the infant-angels, the following defence furnishes quite a decided contrast.