THE FANCY-FAIR.

———

BY MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN.

———

“With her personage, her tall personage,

Her height, forsooth, she hath prevailed with him.”

Shakspeare.

“Good morning, Saybrooke,” said a gentleman named Creswell, meeting a friend; “I have just ascertained to whom Collins is married—a lady of your city—Laura Sands.”

“Amazing!” exclaimed Saybrooke, striking down his cane with such energy that the other started; “why, she is six feet high!”

“Not quite,” returned Creswell, laughing; “and, though somewhat large, she is one of the most queenly looking women—”

“Pshaw! Victoria has put that word out of fashion, or at least changed its signification.”

“I beg pardon—I had forgotten your horror of large women, or, rather, I did not regard it, supposing it was your affectation—everybody has at least one.”

“Affectation! take care, or I’ll raise my stick at you!”

“Well, it is unaccountable that a man of your inches should have such notions. Now, for a little fellow, like myself, it would be bad taste to be following women who might look as if they could flog him, but with your six feet two, and abundant proportions, the case is different. On the contrary, I can’t imagine anything more comical than a little wife hanging on your arm; she would look like a reticule—not straining a pun.”

“In saying I detest large women, I make no committal by preferring very small ones; but, seriously, I would no more expect to find a woman’s soul in all its sweetness, delicacy and purity hidden in a coarse, capacious body, than I could think of loving a woman for the recommendation—‘Sexu fæmina, ingenio vir.’ ”

“There it is with you men of fortune! You become so finical from having all sorts of attractions paraded before you, that you stand still waiting for perfection, till at last, in despair, you tie up your eyes, and, like a child at blind man’s buff, spring forward and secure the first against whom you stumble. Now, we poor, hard-working dogs—but I’ll get out of heart if I talk about my own grievances. I have a lady selected for you, beautiful, accomplished, with a thousand excellencies, and of station in society and all that, just to suit, but this last freak has chilled my good intentions. So good bye, till I get into a better humor!”

In the evening the two gentlemen met again, as Saybrooke was coming out of an exchange office, in the act of securing his pocket book.

“Have you been filling or emptying that article, which?” asked Creswell.

“The more agreeable alternative,” replied his friend.

“Then you are the very fellow I wished to see. I have an appointment for you to-night—to take you to a ladies’ fair.”

“The mischief! when you know that fancy-fairs are my aversion, and not from caprice but from real principle. I don’t know anything more disgusting than to see a room full of Misses, taking advantage of some either really or nominally worthy purpose, to exhibit themselves to the public, and to gratify a petty and an indelicate vanity, by flirting over their pincushions and doll-babies with any fellow who can afford an admittance shilling for the honor.”

“Come, come, that’s really too severe, but just now I have not time to take the other side of the question. This, however, is no ordinary occasion. It is an impromptu affair, undertaken by a number of charming, whole-hearted girls, to raise a fund in aid of the sufferers by a recent public disaster, and more taste, enthusiasm, and liberality, I have never seen exhibited. If you wish to see the élite of our beauty and fashion, under the most favorable circumstances, you had better avail yourself of my invitation.”

“If that is the case, I have no scruples. I intended to appropriate a part of this very supply to a charity so unquestionable, and it may as well pass through the medium you have selected as any other. So I’m at your service.”

At the appointed time they reached the —— Saloon, in which the fair was held, and Creswell, who from previous visits was posted as to all concerning it, led his friend, for a cursory inspection, around the room. Its arrangements were novel and tasteful, its decorations of the most rich and appropriate character, and the fair projectors were fulfilling their duties with a dignity, grace, and decorum that surprised as well as gratified the fastidious stranger.

“Now, if you are satisfied,” said Creswell, “I’ll give myself the trouble to advise you in the disposal of that spare cash of yours—come to this table,” and bowing to its fair attendant, he took up a large and magnificently bound quarto volume, and turned over its pages; “I have heard you express a fondness, Saybrooke,” he continued, “for what you call the only ladies’ science—Botany; did you ever see any thing to equal this?” It was a collection of dried flowers, of such as best preserve their color, pressed with great niceness and skill, and pasted on the smooth, white pages so carefully, some singly and some in groups, that it required close examination to distinguish them from delicate water-color drawings. Beneath them were written, in an exquisite hand, clear, full, and accurate technical descriptions, and on intermediate pages quotations appropriate to their symbolical characters, or fanciful and elegant passages, evidently original.

“This must have been the work of a lady, judging from its ingenuity and beauty,” said Saybrooke.

“It was done by Miss Martha Grainger, was it not?” asked Creswell, turning to the title page, which was a graceful vignette, executed, even to the lettering, in leaves and flowers, but it contained no name.

“Of course,” returned the pretty vender; “no other of us could have had the taste, patience, and knowledge for such a work, to say nothing of the talent the literary illustrations display. I really think it was a piece of heroism in her to give up a possession so beautiful, and one that must have cost her a world of labor and care.”

“If it is not already sold, I shall be happy to become its purchaser,” said Saybrooke; and paying for his acquisition with much satisfaction, they walked on. The next thing that struck their notice was a large vase encrusted with shells, and filled with fragrant and splendid flowers. It was white, and transparent as alabaster, and of an antique form, as rare as beautiful. Saybrooke examined it carefully. “How superior,” said he, “to the unshapely, crockery-looking ware commonly seen as shell-work—nothing could be more perfectly elegant and classical than it is.”

“Is it of your workmanship, Miss Ellen?” asked Creswell.

“I am sorry to say, very far from it. It is a donation from Martha Grainger; she had just finished it for herself, but, with her usual generous benevolence, gave it up in hope that it might be turned to the benefit of the unfortunate. The flowers, which you seem to admire so much, Mr. Creswell, are also of her culture. Her windows, you know, were the rivals of the green-houses, but she robbed them all to fill it. Suppose you take it for your office? There is no one who will value it more.”

“Ah, if I could afford to have all I value! but I would not desecrate anything so pure and sweet, by stowing it away among the rough book-cases, and dust, and cobwebs of a poor lawyer’s office. Now, my friend here could give it a place not unworthy. If it were placed within your curtains, Saybrooke, I’d engage that you would have more bright eyes peeping through your windows than you ever had before.”

“The temptation is too strong to be resisted,” answered Saybrooke, smiling, and he placed his card in a handle of the vase, as its purchaser. “I am glad to find that the botanical lady has a real love of flowers,” he continued, as he walked away with a China rose, which he had selected, in his hand; “it is not always the case; a proficiency in the science argues a clear and discriminating mind; the other seems to belong to a naturally refined taste.”

“Pray, Mr. Creswell, can’t you find us a purchaser for this?” asked a lady, pointing to a glass case, which contained a set of elaborately carved ivory chess-men.

“An exquisite set,” said Saybrooke, “they look like fairy work.”

“I think this is not the first time I have seen them, madam; can you remind me where they came from?” said Creswell.

“They were added to our stock by Miss Grainger, an effort of self-denial that I fear I never could have attained. They were sent to her as a present by an uncle in India, but she is so conscientious that she offered them for our undertaking, saying that she could not be satisfied to keep them for mere amusement, when a set for ten dollars would answer as well. Of course we cannot expect to get their real value, as, very properly, there are few persons who would offer a couple of hundred dollars for a thing of the kind, but we are in hopes that some one willing to aid the cause will take them at a price which, at least, will not be unworthy of the generosity of the donor.”

“As it is not very likely, from present appearances,” said Saybrooke, “that the artists of the Celestial Empire will have the courage and leisure to execute toys so singularly elaborate and ingenious for some time to come, I may as well avail myself of the opportunity, and take possession of these. Will this be sufficient for them, madam?”

“Thank you, sir, for your liberality,—it is more than we expected;” said the lady, looking after the stranger with much curiosity.

“That Miss Grainger must be a remarkable person to be possessed of so much talent and industry, and so much open-handed generosity. But what have you there?” Creswell was looking at a pair of small paintings which ornamented one of the stalls, and Saybrooke continued, after joining him, “these are really beautiful little things, and from their apparent reference to the late calamity, they must have been furnished expressly for this occasion. They are evidently by the same hand, yet it must have been difficult for one person to do them in so short a time. There is much feeling, as well as originality, in the designs, and not less spirit than grace in their execution. May I ask, Miss, from whom these were obtained?”

“They are from the pencil of a lady, sir,—the all-accomplished Miss Grainger.”

“Miss Grainger again!” said Saybrooke smiling; “they are marked for sale, I believe?”

“They are, sir, though we would prefer letting them remain here till the sale is over.”

“Certainly; but you will let me secure them in time?” and having completed the purchase, he followed Creswell; “there now,” said he, “I think I have done my part, so I shall tie up my purse-strings; but pray who is this Miss Grainger?”

“What do you imagine her to be?”

“An active, bustling, fussy old maid, such a person who is always to be found in the like enterprises; but in addition she must have an enlarged mind, which, having freed her from the selfishness peculiar to her relative position, still furnishes her with resources to devote to general benevolence.”

“You never were more mistaken in your life,—but what do you think of that oriental kiosk which the ladies have fitted up as the post-office?”

“I was just going to remark that it is particularly tasteful and beautiful.”

“The plan is another of the labors of Miss Grainger,—but we must ask for letters to finish our business.”

“Certainly, but where is your fair virtuoso? you must point her out to me.”

“Very well, come along, and I’ll introduce you, but of one thing I must apprise you beforehand,—with all her admirable qualities she is, unfortunately, quite—a large woman—the largest, I should think, in the room.”

“That is unfortunate,” said Saybrooke, looking disturbed; “but as I wish merely to have my curiosity gratified, and to pay a tribute of respect to an intellectual and a useful woman, I shall put up with that.”

Creswell paused to speak with an acquaintance, and Saybrooke walked forward. Suddenly a lady swept by, almost jostling him, and of a size that over-shadowed all around her. She was beflounced and befurred, had a tall feather waving above her hat, a decided shade on her upper lip, and a step like a grenadier.

“See here, Creswell, you needn’t mind taking me to see Miss Grainger,—I don’t want to be introduced to her,” said Saybrooke.

“You have changed your mind very suddenly,” returned Creswell.

“You told me she was the largest woman in the room, and by accident I have just met her. I recognized her, of course, and my curiosity is amply gratified.”

Creswell followed his eye, and burst into an irrepressible fit of laughter. “Oh, very well,” said he, “if you are satisfied, so am I. But here is the post-office. Anything here, ladies, for Stanley Saybrooke, Esq.?—just excuse me, while you are waiting for your letter.”

The postmistress was one of the youngest of the association, and whilst she was searching, with much archness and significancy, among the letters, the eyes of Saybrooke fell upon a lady farther back in the alcove, from whom a single look acted like magic on him. The features were of a form and symmetry the most faultlessly classical, and were radiant with an expression of sweetness and intelligence. Her eyes were large and of a soft blue, her complexion was of the purest white and red, and her hair, of a rich brown, fell in a single large curl, smooth and glossy, down either side of her face. She wore a small black velvet bonnet, which contrasted strikingly with the pearliness of her skin, and which, excepting in a little bordering of blond around the face, was entirely without ornament. Vexatiously, as our hero thought it, there was nothing of her figure to be seen; she sat wrapped in a large shawl, on an ottoman behind a table, and appeared quite unconscious of attracting attention, or, at least, indifferent to it.

“Here is a letter, sir;” said the officious little postmistress, with a mischievous smile, but Saybrooke stood unheeding; “there is nothing else, sir;” she added, and recollecting himself, he walked reluctantly away. The letter was a little poetical bagatelle, to which he paid no attention, and reconnoitering the kiosk, he placed himself where, by keeping among the folds of a curtain, he might retain a view of the face which had so much fascinated him. Though, at his distance, he could not overhear a word, he watched her quiet, yet neither cold nor languid manner, to the many who approached and addressed her. “What a lovely—lovely creature she is!” thought he, “if I had not so long dropped my school-boy notions of love at first-sight, I really would believe myself captivated!—how calm she is!—how unembarrassed and dignified, and yet how gracious!”

Creswell returned, but Saybrooke, ashamed to ask a single question lest it might betray him, pleaded fatigue, and declined walking farther, and his friend, who had been watching him, to his secret amusement, left him to the indulgence of his observations.

By this time the story of his liberality, exaggerated, of course, had made its way over the room, and many were the efforts of the fair promenaders to catch the attention of a stranger so fashionable in appearance, so handsome, and reportedly so rich; but if he noticed the attractions of any, it was only to remark how inferior they were to those he was so intently contemplating. At length, to his extreme delight, he observed that she had picked up the rose which he had dropped on the table in his first bewilderment. “What a dolt I have been,” said he to himself; “after coming here to lay out money in charity, to take and retain an equivalent for it!” and to ease his conscience, he decided to get rid of the vase. So calling a servant who was attending on the tables, he directed him where to find it, and to present it to the designated lady in the post-office, with the compliments of a gentleman. He watched as the commission was executed. There was no flutter in the manner of the fair incognito, no wonder nor exultation. She merely asked the man a question or two, and dismissed him without a message. Her bearing suited him to a charm. It was that of a sultana receiving tribute.

“What a hand—what an incomparable hand!” was his next thought. One of his very few coxcomberies was a passion for beautiful hands, and it had its full gratification in the one which lay beside his vase, with whose whiteness it did not suffer in comparison. It was not small, but was exquisitely shaped, full, smooth and tapering, with not an irregular protuberance to detract from its graceful outlines. It set his fancy at a new picture. He imagined himself at his little mosaic chess-table—which was so small that any two at it were in very sociable proximity—and that snowy hand at the other side. Then he looked at her forehead, which was large and nobly developed—he was something of a phrenologist—and he decided that she had a genius for chess, consequently, that his recent purchase of chess-men might thus be suitably transferred. Accordingly, he hurried off to send it, but after he had done so, he found, on returning, his place occupied by a crowd.

The room had filled, and disappointed and abstracted he wandered about for an hour before he found an opportunity to speak to Creswell. The latter at length approached him, saying,

“I have a message for you from a lady.”

“What lady?” asked Saybrooke, eagerly, hoping it was the lady—the only one he cared about at the moment.

“The one to whom you sent your vase and chess-men; she says that if you don’t take them back she will offer them for sale anew.”

“I hope she did not think me impertinent in sending them?” said Saybrooke, looking alarmed, “how did she discover that it was I?”

“It was easy to ascertain by whom they were purchased, and she judged accordingly.”

“Then you know her?”

“Certainly.”

“Pray introduce me, won’t you?—immediately, if you please, my dear Creswell.”

“I would rather not. You won’t like her—for a very material reason.”

“I will—positively—I do like her—I’m half in love already.”

“With her face, you mean—that’s a pretty scrape for a man of twenty-six to get into! however, I may have an opportunity after a while, so be patient. There’s a fine figure,” he continued, looking through a glass he had picked up from a table, and then handing it to Saybrooke—“there in that recess—the lady with her back towards us.”

“Very fine, but the glass contracts too much; at full size I dare say the proportions would scarcely appear so perfect. Who is she?”

“A particular favorite of mine, the owner of this shawl, which I am carrying to her. Come along, and you shall have a nearer view.”

The lady was at the farther end of the saloon, and with some difficulty they threaded their way towards her. She was talking, and still had her back towards them. “A fine figure, indeed,” said Saybrooke, as they advanced, “but, she seems—isn’t she rather large?—why, upon my word—Creswell—she must be full five feet nine, if not ten!” and, putting his arm through his friend’s, he was drawing him in another direction.

“Stop! don’t jerk me off my feet, my dear fellow!” said Creswell; “I must go on to deliver the shawl; allow me, Miss Grainger,” he continued, “to present my friend, Mr. Saybrooke—” and as the lady turned round to curtsey, Saybrooke recognized the brilliant face of the post-office.

Never was there a more instantaneous revolution. “I’ll call you out for this night’s work!” whispered Saybrooke, while the lady was replying to the parting compliments of her former companions. Creswell pretended to look very much surprised, and after a little while, when he made a move to proceed, Saybrooke gave him a deprecatory shake of the head, at which they parted for the night.

The next morning Creswell called at the lodgings of his friend. “I am glad,” said he, “that you were not disappointed in Miss Grainger.”

“Disappointed!—she is the most fascinating woman I ever met with—full of sweetness, feeling, and intellect! I do not remember to have enjoyed a conversation more in my life than the one we had as I escorted her home last night”

“Why, Saybrooke! you certainly did not do that? she is unquestionably large enough to take care of herself!”

“You are an impudent dog, Creswell,” returned Saybrooke, laughing.

“But, seriously, Saybrooke, it is a great pity that Miss Grainger is so large; to a man of your sentiments, who never could see a woman over the medium height without thinking of an ogress, it must very much neutralize the effect of her unrivalled face, her winning manners, and her delightfully spirituelle conversation.”

“If you’ll oblige me by remaining civilly quiet, for a few minutes, I’ll tell you how I argued that point. I stated to myself that the larger women I had seen were as small ones examined through a magnifying glass, every defect being thus rendered more apparent. Now, I continued, here is a woman of the magnified size, without a single defect, and she is of course entitled to a magnified portion of admiration.”

“Very good.”

“And then I recollected that I was not the first who had come to such a conclusion. That Juno would not have looked the queen of Olympus had she been other than a large woman—that had the rib of Menelaus been but a small bone of contention, Troy might have been standing to this day.”

“Pshaw!” said Creswell.

“And that a man must have a very contracted imagination to fancy a little Venus De Medicis, a little Cleopatra or a little Mary Stuart.”

About six months after this, a gentleman and lady passing, bowed to Creswell through his office window while an acquaintance was sitting with him.

“A magnificent looking couple—who are they?” said the latter.

“The new bride and groom, Stanley Saybrooke, and Martha Grainger, that was. By the by, I made that match.”

“Indeed! how did you accomplish it?”

“Just by persuading the lady to sit still for a few hours. He had a most absurd aversion to large women, and as I knew that Martha, who, in fact, is a sort of cousin of mine, would suit him exactly in other respects, I laid a plan to get him in love with her before he found out her size, so I took him to a fancy-fair, where he saw a great number of her productions, and heard a great deal of her character, and then I contrived to give him a sight of her beautiful face, having, as I said, apprised her that she would oblige me very much by keeping her seat until I gave her notice. That finished the business. He stared till he was conquered, and then the three or four extra inches became very small matters indeed.”

“But now, since they are married, won’t the defects shoot up again?”

“Not at all. I never saw a fellow so proud of a wife. He says that a small casket could not contain so lofty an intellect and so noble a heart!”