Fanny Fern

“ And then Betsey wondered if rich people were always born without hearts, and if her foot would always be lame, and she should never be able to help her mother, but must always be a burden; and then she thought it would be better if she died; and then she thought not, because when her mother came home at night ever so weary, she remembered that she always kissed her cheek, and called her "a little darling," and divided her piece of bread with her, and smiled just as sweetly as if she hadn't worked ever since the sun rose, for a mere penny. ”

“ But it is time I let out my little prisoner, poor little Edith, (that was her real name.)
"Is she gone a great way off? Can't she get me ever?" said the frightened child, peeping round the room as if she expected to see her jump out of the closet, or spring from under the bed. "Will you keep hold of my hand all the time when it comes night? Can't they get me then?"
"No, no, my darling—never, never. Come here and sit on my knee. Now, tell me, how came you to live with Bridget?" ”

“ The sky is cloudless—the birds are singing—and little Floy's tears are all dried up. Her cheeks are plump and rosy; she has plenty to eat now; and another pair of shoes, when she has danced her toes out of those she has on. And mamma?—why, she can sit whole hours with her hands folded, if she likes, and go to sleep whenever she feels tired; for she has earned plenty of money for herself, and little Floy, too. Floy is glad of this, because mamma smiles now, and looks happier—and because all her old friends, who forgot all about her when she was poor, are so delighted now whenever they meet her. ”

“ What a party of horses stamped their iron shoes in Grandpa Scott's barn on Thanksgiving morning! What a party of little children in bright autumn-leaf dresses and white aprons, went scampering through the house! What a fuss they all made over the littlest baby! What a fire (big enough to roast an ox whole) blazed in the great, wide, sitting-room fireplace!
How Grandpa Scott walked round, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, patting this one on the head, chucking the other under the chin, and tossing a third up to the wall. ”

“ Matty, come here. Climb into my lap,—lay your head upon my shoulder,—so. Now listen. You are well and strong, Matty?—yes. You have enough to eat and drink?—yes. You have a kind father and mother?—yes. You have a crowing little dimpled baby brother?—yes. You can jump, and leap, and climb fences, and run up trees like a squirrel?—yes.
Well; the little girl with the rose-colored bonnet, whom you saw riding in the carriage, is a poor little cripple. You saw her fine dress and pretty pale face, but you didn't see her little shrunken foot, dangling helplessly beneath the silken robe. ”

“ Well, you go into a city church,—it is not like yours in the country, where the blessed sunlight shines cheerfully in, and the sweet breeze wafts through the open windows the breath of clover blossoms and new mown hay; where the minister preaches to poor people, who are not forced to carry a dictionary to church; where people don't frown and hastily button the pew door when a stranger comes in; where neighbors smile kindly on each other, and never gather up the folds of their dress lest it should sweep against a shilling de-laine ”

“ Who comforted poor Fannie then? Who arrayed the baby's dainty little limbs for burial? Who placed the tiny flowers between its waxen little fingers? Who folded away from the weeping mother's sight the useless caps and robes? Who spoke words of cheer, while her own heart was breaking?—who, but Chloe?
Ah, dear children, never say that servants are without feeling; never say it spoils them to treat them like human beings. They all have their trials—humble though they be—and (often, God knows,) few joys enough. ”

“ Little Julien came in, one day, from his play, when his mother met him at the door, saying, "Run, Julien, quick—quick—for the doctor."
"Where, mother—where shall I find him?"
"Oh! I don't know," said the distracted woman, chafing her husband's temples; "ask somebody—quick, dear Julien, for the love of God!—the death dew is on your father's forehead."
"Cholera," said the doctor. "I can do nothing for him, my poor woman; the disease is raging fearfully here; he cannot live an hour." ”

“ There, Puss! said little Matty, you may have my dinner if you want it. I'm tired of bread and milk. I'm tired of this old brown house. I'm tired of that old barn, with its red eaves. I'm tired of the garden, with its rows of lilacs, its sun-flowers, and its beds of catnip and penny-royal. I'm tired of the old well, with its pole balancing in the air. I'm tired of the meadow, where the cows feed, and the hens are always picking up grass-hoppers. ”

“ But Tom was not a man to whine about his bad luck. No; he looked at that new baby, and made his fingers fly faster than ever, and wore a cheerful smile for his sick wife, beside. That's why I called him "a hero;" for, Charley, anybody can be courageous and endure a great deal when all the world are looking on and clapping their hands, and admiring them; but it is another thing, in an obscure corner, without food, without friends, without hope, to struggle—struggle—struggle on, fighting off Temptation, fighting off grim Want, day after day, with none to say, "God speed you." ”

“ When it came sundown, he and Kitty, and the old yellow dog Jowler, would start off on a stroll. It was very funny to see little Kitty fasten down the windows with an old nail, before she started, like some old housekeeper, and put the tea-kettle in the left-hand corner of the fire-place, and take such a careful look about to see if everything was right, before turning the key. When they got out into the fields they both enjoyed the fresh air as only industrious people can. Every breath they drew seemed a luxury; and as to Uncle Tim, I don't know which was the younger, he or Kitty. ”

“ And now, as you sit in your happy homes, where you hear only kind, good, pure words,—where you never tremble at your father's footfall, or creep under the bed for fear of your own mother,—where you are never hungry, or thirsty, or cold,—where you meet only loving smiles, and go to sleep with the hand of blessing on your bright young head,—oh, remember the poor little outcast ones still forced to live at the Five Points; and if you cannot give them money to help them away, fold your hands and pray God every night to "keep them from the evil that is in the world." ”

“ I tell you it is enough to ruin any baby's temper. How should you like to have your mamma stay at a party till you were as hungry as a little cub, and be left to the mercy of a nurse, who trotted you up and down till every bone in your body ached? How should you like, when your mamma dressed you up all pretty to take the nice, fresh air, to spend the afternoon with your nurse in some smoky kitchen, while she gossipped with one of her cronies? How should you like to submit to have your toes tickled by all the little children who insisted upon "seeing the baby's feet?" ”

“ Some years ago, in one of the handsomest houses in New-York, lived a lady and her husband, and a little girl named Rosa. They had plenty of money, plenty of servants, and, of course, plenty of friends. They had a fine carriage and horses, and every day you might have seen Mrs. Simon, dressed like a queen, seated upon the velvet cushions, with black John, the coachman, upon the box, and black Peter, the footman, standing behind, while little Rosa, as gay as a little paroquet, peered out from her little plumed hat, laughing merrily at all the fine sights she saw. ”

“ Poor old Tim! Would you throw another stone at him, boys? Would you hunt the weary old man through the streets like some wild beast? Would you taunt, and sneer, and shout in his ears, "Old crazy Tim"—"Old crazy Tim?" Oh, no—no! Pick a flower and give him, as Kitty used; take his hand—poor, harmless old man—and walk along with him; maybe he'll fancy that you are little Kitty, (who knows?) and smile once more before he dies. Poor Uncle Tim!
CICELY HUNT ”

“ Were not the tea cakes nice? Didn't Uncle Jolly make them eat till he had tightened their apron strings? Were their toes ever out of their shoes again? Did they wear cotton shawls in January? Did cruel landlords ever again make their mamma tremble and cry?
In the midst of all this plenty, did they forget "papa?" No, no! Whenever little Susy met in the street a tall, princely man with large black whiskers, she'd look at Katy and nod her little curly head sorrowfully, as much as to say—"Oh, Katy, I never—never can forget my own dear papa." ”

“ You saw the white gloved coachman, and the silver-mounted harness, and the soft, velvet cushions, but you didn't see the tear in their little owner's soft, dark eyes, as she spied you at the cottage door, rosy and light-footed, free to ramble 'mid the fields and flowers. You didn't know that her little heart was aching for somebody to love her. You didn't know that her mamma loved her diamonds, and silks, and satins better than her own little girl. ”

“ There's nothing here to amuse me, not even a fly in the room to catch, for Miss Nipper won't have one about. There she sits, knitting—knitting—knitting—in the chimney corner. If she'd only drop her ball now and then, it would be quite a pretty little excitement for me to chase it round, you know; but she never drops her ball, nor her handkerchief, nor even leaves an old shoe round for me to toss about—and as to playing with her apron strings, I should as soon think of jumping into the cradle of Queen Victoria's baby. ”

“ It is hard to be sick in one's own home, even, with kind friends around; but to be sick in a prison!—to lie on such a narrow bed that you cannot toss about,—to bear, (beside your own pain and misery,) the moanings of your sick companions,—to see through the grated windows the bright, blue sky, the far off hills, and the silver streams threading the green meadows,—to be shut in from the fresh breeze, that would bring you life and health,—to pine and waste away, and think to die, without one dear hand to press yours lovingly—oh, Harry!
One of the sick prisoners had a little squirrel. ”

“ He wants to see her trip down the gravel walk to meet him when business hours are over, and he has nothing to do but to come home and love us. He wants her to ramble with; he wants that little velvet cheek to kiss when he wakes each morning.
Where is Nelly?
I am sure she loved Papa. It was she who ran to warm his slippers when his horse's feet came prancing down the avenue. It was she who wheeled the arm-chair to its nice, snug corner; it was she who ran for the dressing-gown; it was she who tucked in the pockets a sly bit of candy, that she had hoarded all day for "poor, tired Papa." ”

“ Little pet feels as though she was most a woman, to be traveling about, seeing so many fine things. On they dash!—it half takes her breath away—but she is not afraid; no, indeed! What little darling ever could be afraid, when its hand was in mamma's love clasp?
Alas! poor little pet!
Grand-papa's eye grow weary watching for you, at the little cottage window. Grand-mamma says, "the cakes will be quite spoiled;" and she "knits to her seam needle," and then moves about the sitting-room uneasily; now and then stopping to pat the little Kitty, that is to be pet's play-fellow. ”

“ His young mamma cried very hard,—but that didn't bring back her poor, neglected little boy; but it made her a better mother. She loves to stay in the nursery now, with Walter's little sisters nestled in her lap; and sometimes when they smile, she will part the sunny curls from their little foreheads, and the tears will fall like rain drops on their rosy faces, as she remembers her poor, darling, mangled, little Walter. ”

“ Cicely was looking forward to all that, when she limped along to school. She thought it would be so delightful to empty her purse in her kind mother's lap, and say: "Dear mother, you needn't work any more. I will support you, now."
Oh, what a nice thing hope is! Sometimes, to be sure, she leads us a long dance for nothing; but I am very certain that were it not for hope, we shouldn't be good for much. Many a poor groaner has she clapped on the back, and made him leap to his feet and set his teeth together, and spring over obstacles as if he had on "seven league boots." ”

“ It is our duty to go to church; and it is wrong to think of anything else in church but worshipping God; but there's so much display, and show, and fashion now-a-days, in the churches—so much to distract the thoughts—so much hollow pretension to piety, that I sometimes feel, as I told you, that I would rather worship amid the green hills, like the old persecuted Covenanters. ”

“ While his fingers were busy at his lap-stone he was thinking—not of the coarse boots and shoes he was making, but of little Kitty—how he meant to send her to school—how he meant she should learn to read and write, and know a great deal more than ever he did, when he was young—and how he meant to save up all his money in the old yarn stocking, till he got enough to put in the bank for Kitty,—so that when he died she needn't go drifting round the world, trying to earn her bread and butter among cold, stony-hearted strangers. ”

“ How glad little Mitty was to see that bag of meal! and what a nice time she had of it that night, sitting on a little cricket before a blazing hickory fire, and eating the buttered cakes that her mother handed down to her from the table. Oh, you city children couldn't get up such a frontier appetite for your fricassees, and mince-pies, if you tried a lifetime. ”

“ Uncle Tim used to be the village shoemaker, hammering away at his lap-stone in that little shop with the red eaves, as contentedly as if he owned a kingdom. He always had a pleasant smile and a merry story for his customers, and it was worth twice the money one paid him, to see his sunshiny face and hear his hearty laugh.
CRAZY TIM.
But the light of Uncle Tim's eyes was his little daughter Kitty. Kitty was not a beauty. No—her little nose turned right up, like a little dogs; her hair was neither soft nor curly ”