Fanny has an off-hand, dashing way of entertaining company, which we have never seen surpassed. If you are so fortunate as to be a favored visitor, and to find her alone, you may make sure of her, for at least one evening. No matter who calls; the haughty Mr. A., the foppish B., the jealous and frowning C., are all neglected for your sake. "Sit still," says Fanny, "and they'll have sense enough to see they are not wanted, and withdraw." Accordingly, in a little while, out goes A., very stiffly. Then B. retires, bowing snobbishly, and making insipid remarks about the weather. Finally comes poor C.'s gruff and lowering "good evening." And Fanny, clapping her hands, and laughing merrily, rejoins you upon the sofa, after shutting the door upon her last visitor—and whispering a consoling word in his ear, behind your back. Oh, matchless, diplomatic Fanny!
Of course the polite Fanny does the agreeable in introducing you to her friends. But she entertains odd ideas about names. Sometimes you are ready to explode in convulsions of mirth, at the delightfully careless manner in which she bestows upon you some comic patronymic, never before heard of in your family history. To-night you are Mr. Pilridge. Last night you figured as Smith. To-morrow you'll be Jenkins or Jones.
Fanny is consistent, and invents names for all her visitors. You are no exception. Mr. White is introduced to you as Mr. Brown. (Why, indeed, shouldn't a lady take the same liberty with her friends' names as with her own complexion, and just change the color a trifle?) Mr. Webb becomes Mr. Wing—a mere difference of a pinion. Mr. Rose is transformed into Mr. Minks,—probably on the principle that a rose by any other name will smell as sweet. In the same way a Walker is dignified as a Ryder; Dix is expanded into Richards; Rich becomes Poore, and French is translated into English.
Now mistakes will happen in the best regulated families. Some funny ones occur in Fanny's. 'Tisn't so easy a thing to remember all her names. Accordingly, forgetting that you are called Johnson, for this evening, you gravely address Mr. Howard by that name. That gentleman replies, with a knowing smile, that Johnson is your name—you laugh, Fanny laughs, and it passes as a good joke. Or, perhaps, the other visitor has also become slightly confused, and readily subscribing to Johnson, bestows Howard upon you, by way of exchange. Or, while passing for Smith, you meet some one who knew you last week as Pilridge.
Another pleasant incident is liable to occur. By a coincidence, you meet at Fanny's some friend whom you astonish into silence. You are similarly astonished; and observing no signs of recognition, Fanny proceeds to introduce you. You can scarcely contain yourself on hearing familiar Bob Peters dubbed as General Budington; and he looks hugely tickled at your appellation of Rev. Mr. Bird.
One additional circumstance we should not fail to state. You never meet a lady visitor at Fanny's. There appears to be but little affinity between her and her own sex. "Cause unknown," as coroners' verdicts say of "poor deaths" that occur through neglect of the city authorities.
VII.
EARLY LITERARY EFFORTS.
Fanny first appeared before the public, in the columns of the Olive Branch, sometimes as "Fanny Fern," and in several instances as "Olivia Branch." We knew, personally, the good old man, "frosty, yet kindly," who at that time filled the editorial chair of that paper. We remember distinctly his own account of some of their frequent interviews. Like most others who viewed Fanny through the enchanted medium of a not too intimate acquaintance, he was, in some sense, dazzled by her fascinations. Fanny is a regular meteor. You cannot choose but look at her, even if you don't place much faith in a light so erratic and fitful. The bewildered old gentleman felt the touch of those magnetic little fingers upon his shoulder, and looked up, over his spectacles, in absolute bewilderment, at the thing of smiles and tears standing before him.
No wonder that he thought the sensitive, impulsive Fanny must be faultless, and sympathized profoundly in her execrations on hard-hearted parents and tyrannical husbands. No wonder, if defended by such lips, the worse appeared the better reason—and the price per column dwindled into comparative insignificance. Mr. Norris was Fanny's faithful friend. Already tottering toward the grave, he was not, indeed, able to render her as much actual service as the younger and more vigorous editor of The True Flag, who was, next to Mr. N., her earliest patron, but the proprietor of the Olive Branch gave her employment, friendship and counsel, which should have secured in return, at least gratitude.
As we have intimated, Fanny had contributed but few articles to the Olive Branch, before forming an engagement with the Boston True Flag, and our next chapter will be devoted to a graphic description of her connection with that paper, by its editor.