XXIV. TWO IN HEAVEN. THE talented Boston editor, to be the finest and sweetest article Fanny Fern ever penned. The very thought might well have served as inspiration. What roof-tree where the tears have not fallen? What household that counts not part of its number by tomb-stones? "TWO IN HEAVEN.-' You have two children,' said I. "I have four,' was the reply; 'two on earth, two in heaven.' "There spoke the mother! Still hers! only 'gone before!' Still remembered, loved and cherished, by the hearth and at the board; their places not yet filled; even though their successors draw life from the same faithful breast where their dying heads were pillowed. "Two in heaven!' "Safely housed from storm and tempest; no sickness there; nor drooping head, nor fading eye, nor weary feet. By the green pastures; tended by the Good Shepherd, linger the little lambs of the heavenly fold. ""Two in heaven!' "Earth less attractive! Eternity nearer! Invisible cords, drawing the maternal soul upwards. 'Still small' voices, ever whispering come! to the world-weary spirit. "Two in heaven!' "Mother of angels! Walk softly! holy eyes watch thy footsteps! cherub forms bend to listen! Keep thy spirit free from earth-taint; so shalt thou 'go to them,' though they may not 'return to thee."" XXV. THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF DIDYMUS DAISY, ESQ.-BY FANNY FERN. MRS. RS. DAISY styled herself a pattern wife; a bright and shining light in the matrimonial firmament. She had inscribed on her girdle these words, from John Milton, or Mother Goose, I forget which: He for God only, she for God in him.' "She never laced her boots without asking her husband's advice, and the length of her boddice, or the depth of her flounces, were dependent upon his final decision. She went into strong convulsions at sight of a 'Bloomer,' and rolled up the whites of her eyes, like a duck in a thunderstorm, at the mention of the 'Woman's Rights' Convention,' and considered any woman who persisted in loving white bread, when her husband ate brown, as only fit for the place where-air-tight stoves and furnaces are unnecessary! Her voice was soft and oily; she never spoke above her breath, and her motions were slow, funereal and perpendicular. "And now I suppose you imagine Didymus was master of his own house! Deuce a bit of it! There was a look in the corner of his wife's eye that was as good as a loaded musket, and he fetched and carried accordingly, like a trained spaniel, tiptoeing through life on a chalk-mark, and precious careful at that; confining his observation of the world to the latitude and longitude of her apron-strings. But it was always 'husband,' and 'dear Daisy,' even when he knew his life wasn't worth two cents if he abated one jot or tittle of his matrimonial loyalty. "It was very refreshing to hear her ask him 'his opinion' in company, and his diplomatic windings and twistings on those occasions were worthy of the wiliest politician that ever flourished at the 'White House.' As to speaking to any other female than Mrs. Daisy, he would as soon have ordered his own coffin; and, truth to tell, this was where the matrimonial yoke weighed the heaviest, for Didymus (unlucky wretch) had an eye for a dainty waist or a pair of falling shoulders, or a light, springing step; but the way he had to 'shoulder! march!' when they 'hove in sight,' was crucifying to his feelings! "Mrs. Daisy always went with him, to and from the store, for 'exercise.' (?) He was never allowed to go out after dark; his evenings being mainly occupied in holding skeins of silk, or sorting knots of 'German Worsted,' to give his wife an opportunity to immortalize her genius in transforming the same into hump-backed dogs, deformed lambs and rabbits, with ears twice as long as their bodies. Under such watchful guardianship he was in a fair way to be able to omit entirely at his orisons, this petition-' Lead us not into temptation.' "This hymeneal strait-jacket was more particularly affecting, inasmuch as Mrs. Daisy herself was not what her name would seem to suggest, saving that she was very red. It was the problem of her life to find dresses and hats that 'agreed with her complexion,' and she might well have exclaimed 'how expensive it is to be ugly.' "Well, 'it's a long lane that has no turning;' and so Didymus thought, when he woke up one fine morning and found himself a widower! Did you ever see a poor robin let loose from a cage? or a mouse released from the clutches of grimalkin? or a kitten emancipated from an easy-chair, where she had been mistaken for a cushion by |