BY P. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.
"This is the house that Jack built."
Whether it was cotton or tallow that laid the foundations of Mr. Fairchild's fortunes we forget—for people have no right now-a-days to such accurate memories—but it was long ago, when Mrs. Fairchild was contented and humble, and Mr. Fairchild happy in the full stretch of his abilities to make the two ends meet—days which had long passed away. A sudden turn of fortune's wheel had placed them on new ground. Mr. Fairchild toiled, and strained, and struggled to follow up fortune's favors, and was successful. The springs of life had well-nigh been consumed in the eager and exhausting contest; and now, breathless and worn, he paused to be happy. One half of life he had thus devoted to the one object, meaning when that object was obtained to enjoy the other half, supposing that happiness, like every thing else, was to be bought.
Mrs. Fairchild's ideas had jumped with her husband's fortunes. Once she only wanted additional pantries and a new carpet for her front parlor, to be perfectly happy. Now, a grand house in a grand avenue was indispensable. Once, she only wished to be a little finer than Mrs. Simpkins; now, she ardently desired to forget she ever knew Mrs. Simpkins; and what was harder, to make Mrs. Simpkins forget she had ever known her. In short, Mrs. Fairchild had grown fine, and meant to be fashionable. And why not? Her house was as big as any body's. Her husband gave her carte blanche for furniture, and the mirrors, and gilding, and candelabras, were enough to put your eyes out.
She was very busy, and talked very grand to the shopmen, who were very obsequious, and altogether was very happy.
"I don't know what to do with this room, or how to furnish it," she said to her husband one day, as they were going through the house. There are the two drawing-rooms, and the dining-room—but this fourth room seems of no use—I would make a keeping-room of it, but that it has only that one large window that looks back—and I like a cheerful look-out where I sit—why did you build it so?"
"I don't know," he replied, "it's just like Ashfield's house next door, and so I supposed it must be right, and I told the workmen to follow the same plan as his."
"Ashfield's!" said Mrs. Fairchild, looking up with a new idea, "I wonder what use they put it to."
"A library, I believe. I think the head carpenter told me so."