Springfield Weekly Republican

"ANGELINA'S FAINTED!"
A Story of Warning for all Fainting Young Women.

The talk was of Hottentots.

"Don't speak of 'em," cried Miss Angelina Daffey. "I'm certain of it—if I were only to look at a Hottentot, I should faint—I must faint."

"Fiddlededee," said Miss Lilywhite; and there was a hush—a pause in the conversation; for when Miss Lilywhite exclaimed Fiddlededee, it behooved thoughtless young ladies to look to themselves. Now Miss Daffey had a great talent for fainting. Perhaps the talent was originally a natural gift; nevertheless it could not be denied that a frequent and earnest cultivation of the endowment had brought it to perfection. Miss Daffey, at one minute's notice, could faint at any time, and upon any subject—she could faint at either extreme of the day—faint at breakfast or faint at supper; could faint with equal beauty and truthfulness whether the matter to be fainted upon were a black beetle or a blackbird—a bull or a bullfinch. She had wonderful powers of syncope; though it must be allowed, like most folks haunted with a despotic sense of their own genius, she now and then employed it a little out of place. Vanity, however, is a human weakness. For a philosopher, to his own satisfaction, has proved that the peacock takes no pride in its own effulgent glories, but, all unconscious of their beauty, spreads them because it was ordained to do so; and, after all, had Miss Daffey been philosophically examined upon her proneness to faint, she would have attributed the habit to no self-complacency, but to the simple, inevitable truth that she was made to faint. She would not have recognized any beauty in the art of fainting, but merely the natural consequence that to faint was feminine. Eve, she thought, was made for sal volatile.

Miss Lilywhite was a spinster of seven-and-forty, "I am six-seven-eight-and-forty, next birthday," Miss Lilywhite would blithely observe, as the year might be. And this gay veracity was the more pleasing in Miss Lilywhite, inasmuch as she might have passed for forty; nay, had she stickled ever so little for it, she might have got off with six-and-thirty at most—a happy, blooming six-and-thirty; for Miss Lilywhite, like a true English woman, carried in her unfading beauty the assertion of her British race. How much triumphant beauty all over the world fades and yields as teens blow into twenties, and twenties wrinkle into thirties! Now your truly beautiful English woman, with her carnations and lilies, will carry her colors up to two-score-and-ten. Nay, we have known some veterans, blooming with a sprinkling of years over tyrannous fifty. Miss Lilywhite was as jocund as she was handsome. It is said there is no better preservative against the melancholy changes wrought by time, than honey. We know not whether Miss Lilywhite was acquainted with the Egyptian truth; if not, she had unconsciously acted upon the unknown recipe, and had preserved herself in the sweetness of her disposition—in the honey of her goodness. She was a pattern old maid. Yet a pattern, we would hope, never to be followed; for it is such women who make the real wives and mothers. Miss Lilywhite, like Miss Venus de Medicis, should remain a single perfection; alone in sweetness and beauty, to show what celibacy and art can do; to be admired as samples, but never to be added to.

Miss Lilywhite was an old school-fellow of Mrs. Daffey, and was passing the Christmas-time with her early friend and family. Now Angelina Daffey—a pretty creature, with more goodness in her than she dreamt of—had, as we have indicated, this weakness—she must faint; and carrying out this will, as a first principle, she had duly fainted through the whole round of the holidays. She had fainted at snap-dragons on Christmas-eve—fainted, very emphatically fainted, when surprised under the mistletoe on Christmas-day—fainted when the bells rang in 1850—and fainted, dead as a stone, as a nervous guest declared, when prevailed upon to crack a bon-bon on Twelfth-night. "Angelina's fainted!" had become household words in the homestead of the Daffeys.

And so, can it be wondered at that the ingenious Miss Lilywhite, at this last threat of Angelina's, to faint at a Hottentot—should rebuke the maiden with more than ordinary vivacity? The truth is, Miss Lilywhite had been much provoked; even on the previous Sunday, when Angelina had menaced to faint at the clergyman—a very handsome, meek, young man, who preached a maiden sermon with great promise of preferment—Miss Lilywhite could only scold the maiden into firmness by threatening to give her up, unattended, to the care of the beadle. Therefore, when Angelina, returning to her weakness, expressed herself ready to go off at the very look of a Hottentot—therefore, all previous provocation considered, can it be wondered at that the patience of Miss Lilywhite fairly exploded with—'Fiddlededee?' We think not; and take up the stitch of our little story.

"Fiddlededee," said Miss Lilywhite.

Miss Angelina looked surprised—amazed—and gradually became very deeply wounded. At first she raised her eyes toward Miss Lilywhite, as though doubtful of the truth of her impressions; but the set, stern features of Miss Lilywhite—if you can couple the expression of sternness with the thought of a bright, clear, open face, bright and clear as Dresden china—convinced Angelina that it was the lady visitor who had really spoken.

What, under the new and painful circumstance, could Angelina do? Why, she fell back upon the strength of her own weakness; she instantly made an ostentatious preparation to faint. Her eyelids were slightly tremulous—she swallowed one sob—her neck took one swan-like curve, and—and in another second, there would have been the old old cry of the house of Daffey, "Angelina's fainted!"

But—

Miss Lilywhite jumped from her chair, and resolutely passing Mrs. Daffey, made direct to the sufferer, who, half unconscious of the intended rescue, was fainting all the faster. "Angelina," cried Miss Lilywhite, with a restorative shake, "this is affectation—folly, hypocrisy, nonsense!"

Miss Angelina Daffey opened her orbs, and in a moment sat upright, with her prettily cut nostril dilated, and the tear that was coming into her astonished eyes almost frozen, and indeed altogether in such a state of amazement that she must—no, she would not faint; it was not a time to faint, when so cruelly offended.

Miss Lilywhite drew her chair beside Angelina, who was every moment hardening in dignity.

"My dear child," said Miss Lilywhite, "you must give up fainting—it's gone out of fashion."

"Fashion, Miss Lilywhite! Do you think that feelings—"

"Fiddlededee," again repeated Miss Lilywhite; and Angelina sternly resolved not to say another word to so strange a person—to so unpolite a visitor. Angelina crossed her arms in resignation, determining—since her mamma would not interfere—to suffer in silence. Miss Lilywhite might be rude—might say her worst.

"When I was eighteen, your age," said Miss Lilywhite, "and that, my dear, is nearly thirty years ago, I used to faint, too. I enjoyed fainting very much; indeed, my dear, I question if you ever take greater pleasure in fainting than I did."

"Pleasure!" exclaimed Angelina. Who could remain dumb under such an imputation?

"O, I know all about it—pleasure, my dear," said the remorseless Miss Lilywhite.

"You see it gave me a little consequence; it drew upon me general notice; it made me, as it were, the center of a picture: and it was a pleasure—not a healthful one, certainly, but still a pleasure—to enjoy so much sympathy about one. To hear, whilst I was in a fit—I do not know, my dear, whether you hear when fainting, quite as well as I did—to hear expressions of concern, and pity, and admiration, and—do you hear them distinctly?"

Angelina could not answer such a question; she could only look lightning—harmless summer lightning—at Miss Lilywhite, who inexorably continued, "I confess it now—I used to enjoy the excitement, and therefore went off upon every reasonable opportunity. It was very wrong, but there was something very pleasant, exciting in the words, 'Miss Lilywhite has fainted!' O, I can remember them, my dear, as though it was only yesterday. But, my love," said the cruel spinster, taking the young maid's hands between her own, and looking so benignly and speaking so sweetly, "but, my love, we may faint once too often."

Angelina was very much offended—deeply hurt that Miss Lilywhite should for a moment associate her own past affectation with the real existing weakness then and there before her. Nevertheless, there was such quietness, such truthfulness, and with all, such an air of whim in the looks, and words, and manner of the elderly spinster, that the young one gradually resigned herself to her adviser.

"We may faint once too often" repeated Miss Lilywhite, and she sighed: and then her customary smile beamed about her. "Of this dreary truth I am a sad example."

"You! Miss Lilywhite!" said Angelina.

"Listen," said the old maid. "It is a short story but worth your hearing. When I was nineteen, I was about to be married. About, did I say! Why, the day was fixed; I was in my bridal dress; at the altar; the ring, the wedding-ring, at the very tip of my finger, when'—"

"Mercy me!" cried Angelina, "what happened?"

"I fainted," said Miss Lilywhite, and she shook her head, and a wan smile played about her lips.

"And you were not married because you fainted?" said Angelina, much awakened to the subject.

"As I have confessed, it was my weakness to faint upon all occasions I enjoyed the interest that, as I thought, fainting cast about me. My lover often looked coldly—suspiciously; but love conquered his doubts and led him triumphantly before the parson. Well, the marriage ceremony was begun and'—"

"Do go on," cried Angelina.

"And in a few minutes I should have been a wife, when I thought that I must faint. It would seem very bold of me in such a situation not to faint. I, who had fainted on so many occasions, not to swoon at the altar would have been a want of sentiment—of proper feeling, on so awful an occasion. With this thought, I felt myself fainting rapidly: and just as the bridegroom had touched my finger with the ring—I went off; yes my dear, swooned with all the honors.

"Do go on," again cried Angelina.

"As I swooned the ring slipped from the bridegroom's fingers, fell upon the stove, and was rolling—rolling—to drop through the aperture of the stove, that, from below, admitted heat to the church, when—though swooning—I somehow saw the danger, and, to stop the ring, put forth my foot'—"

"Well," exclaimed Angelina.

"Too late—the ring rolled on—disappeared down the chimney of the stove—and then I fainted with the greatest fidelity. Hartshorn and sal volatile came to my aid. I was restored—but where was the ring? It was hopeless to seek for it. Half-a-dozen other rings were proffered—but no—it would be an evil omen—there would be no happiness if I were not wedded with my own ring. Well, search was made and time flew,—and we were late at church to begin with—and the ring was not found when the clock struck twelve.

"Well!" sighed Angelina.

"Well!" sighed Miss Lilywhite, "the clergyman, closing his book, said, it is past the canonical hour; the parties cannot be married to-day; they must come again to-morrow."

"Dreadful!" exclaimed Angelina.

"We returned home; my lover upbraided—I retorted; we had a shocking quarrel, and—and—he left the house to write a farewell letter. In a week he was on his voyage to India; in a twelve month he had married an Indian lady, as rich as an idol, and I—after thirty years—am still Caroline Lilywhite, spinster."

It is very strange. From the time of the above narrative there were two words never again heard beneath the roof-tree of the Daffeys. And these unuttered words were—

"Angelina's fainted!"