Fanny Fern - Ginger-snaps

When I was a little girl, I used to play "make ginger-snaps;" and Ialways tossed in all the ginger in the spice-box, be it more or less;so if you find these rather biting, attribute it to the force of earlyhabits. Beside, they are not intended for a "square meal;" only tonibble at, in the steamboat, or railroad-car, or under the trees inthe country; or when your dear, but tardy John, is keeping youwaiting, with your gloves buttoned, and your bonnet-strings tied; or,best of all, when you are sitting in your rocking-chair, nursing thatdear little baby. I do not think the milk of human kindness is wantingin these Ginger-Snaps, and I trust they arekneaded.

FANNY FERN.

To fasten as many drags as possible to the social machinery of to-day,seems to be the first idea of hospitality, which, there is everyreason to fear, will gradually be smothered in the process.

Perhaps the lady who gives the dinner-party would really prefer aplain dinner with her friend Mrs. Jones, than all the elaboratedinners she is in the habit of giving and attending; but her husbandlikes wines and French cookery, and would consider anything else apoor compliment to a guest; and so there's an end.

And now, what are these fine dinners? Just this: a pleasant gleam ofsilver and china; a lovely disposition of fruit and flowers; a greatdeal of dress, or undress, on the part of the ladies; muchswallow-tail, and an exquisite bit of cravat and kid-glove, on thepart of the gentlemen. Brainsas the gods please; but always aprocession of dishes, marched on and marshalled off, for the requisitenumber of tedious hours, during which you eat you know not what,because you must be ready with your answer for your elbow neighbor, oryour vis-a-vis; during which, you taste much wine and nibble muchconfectionery, and finish up with coffee; and under the combinedinfluence of all this you sink supinely into a soft chair or sofa, andthe "feed" is over.

Everybody there feels just as you do. Everybody would like to creepinto some quiet corner, and be let alone, till the process ofdigestion has had a chance.

Insteadthey throw a too transparent enthusiasm into the inquiry,"How's your mother?" If the gods are kind, and there has been aninroad of measles or fever, the narrator may possibly give you tenminutes' reprieve from pumping up from beneath that dinner anotherquery about "the baby." But if heor she, toois laboring, likeyourself, with duck and quail, and pat and oyster, and wine and fruitand bon-bons, then may a good Providence put it into the distractedbrain of the hostess to set some maiden a-foul of the piano!

Oh, but that is blessed! no matter what she plays, how hard shethumps, or how loud she screeches. Blessedto lean back, and foldyour kid gloves over your belt, and never move them till you applaudthe performance, of which you know, nor care, any more than who struckBilly Patterson.

This over, you see a gentlemen coming towards you. You know by hislooks, he too is suffering the pangs of repletion. Good heavens! howfull of deceit is his smile, as he fastens on you, thinking youwill talk! Mistaken man! you smile too, and both together agree that"the weather has been fine of late." This done, you look helplessly,with the untold pain of dumb animals, in each other's faces, and thenglance furtively about to see if that piano-young-woman really meansto leave your anguish unassuaged. She does. Hum!you make an errandacross the room to pick up a suppositious glove you droppedand getrid of the parasite.

At last!reliefthere is your husband. How glad he is to see you!It's really worth going to the dinner-party to witness that man'saffection for you at that moment. Now he can yawn behind his glove.Now he takes a seat so near, that no man or woman can interrupt hislazy heaven. He even smiles at you from very gladness of heart, and inthick utterance tells you, in order to keep you from going from hisside, that "he don't see but you look as well as any woman in theroom." You only needed that unwonted display of gallantry from thehypocritical wretch, to rise immediately and leave him to his fate,though you should, in doing it, rush madly on your own.

And this is "a dinner-party." For this men and women empty theirpurses, and fill their decanters and wardrobes, and merge their brainsin their stomachs, andare in the fashion!

Better is a leg of mutton and caper-sauce, and much lively talk,whensoever and wheresoever a friend, with or without an invitation,cares enough about you and yours with impromptu friendship to "dropin." Best clothes, best dishes, best wine, best parlors!what arethey, with rare exceptions, but extinguishers of wit and wisdom anddigestion and geniality. Who will inaugurate us a little common-sense?

Queen Victoriahow glad I am she had such a good, loving husband, tocompensate her for the misery of being a queentried her best toabolish the custom, prevalent in England at dinner, of the gentlemenremaining to guzzle wine after the ladies left. I am aware that guzzleis an unladylike word; but, as no other fits in there, I shall use it.Wellshe succeeded only in shortening the guzzling periodnot inabolishing it; so those consistent men remained, to drink toasts to"lovely women," whose backs they were so delighted to see retreatingthrough the door.

What of it? Why, simply this, that Queen Victoria did what she couldto civilize her own regal circle; and that she set a good precedentfor American women of to-day to follow. I fail to see why, when ahostess has carefully watched the dishes and glasses come and go, ather husband's dinner-party, to the obstruction of all rationalconversation, save by agonized spasms,I fail to see why, when thegentlemen guests have eaten to satiety, and conversation might besupposed to be at last possible, why, at that precise, enjoyableperiod, the lady of the house should be obliged to accompany the emptyplates to regions unknown and uncared for. This seems to me aquestion well worthy of consideration in this year of our Lord, 1868.It strikes me, rather an inglorious abdication for a woman ofintelligence, who may be supposed to understand and take an interestin other things than the advance and retreat of salad, and ragouts,oysters, and chicken. I call it a relic of barbarism, of which men ofintelligence should be ashamed. Then what advantage has the woman whocultivates her mental powers, over the veriest fool? It is an insultto her. But you say, all women are not thoughtful or intelligent. Verytrue: and why should they besave that they owe it to their ownself-respectwhen gentlemen thus offer premiums for insipidity?whyshould they inform themselves upon any subjects but those of dressingwell and feeding well?

It is a satisfaction to know that there are gentlemen, who endorse theother side of the question. There was lately a dinner given in NewYork to a literary gentleman of distinction. One of the gentlemeninvited to attend it, said to his wife: "It is a shame that ladiesshould not attend this dinner.