The Indianapolis sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis, Ind.) 1880-1904, 1885-03-29

landlord had not tsken that view of il,
but finally acknowledged that it was,
since she had paid for it.
Then / can do what / please with
my own said the indignant and impul-
sive woman, and seizing a poker she went
into the room and broke every piece of
the set to eternal smash. Her keen
sense of justice was outraged by such
contemplate conduct"
Her marriage to James Parton, the
historian, was a singularly happy one.
Mr.. Willis remarked, as suggestive of
the family heritage, that a graDddsugh-
ter Of Fanny Fern is one of the leading
editorial writers on the New York Ledg-
er at the present time, while the grand
daughter of another member of the fam
lily is a sparkling and popular writer on
the Boston journals. A granddaughter
of n. z. Willis, living with her mother
at Cambridge, while yet a mere child,
wrote a little play which was performed
in the presence of Longfellow, Holmes
delight, the child herself acting the lead.
ing part.
As this paper is necessarily a compila-
ton OF biography, conversation and per-
soDal reminiscence. it will be excusable
to refer in broken sequences to any mat
ter of interest concerning the three dis
tinguished subjects. While still en- rap
port with the beloved sketch-writer, who
in her day was an educator, it may be of
interest to refer briefly to her style of
writing. 1t was a blending of humor
aud path0s told in piquant sentences.
She ridiculed the foibles of fashion and
society. Like Dickens she preached q
gospel of humanity. Her articles were
terse and struck a popular vein at once.
A quarter-column newspaper skid was
of the whole thing was in the opening
sentence of sarcastic brevity:
would not wear her veil up on any
account; thinks her complexion looks
fairer than ever in contrast with her
sables; sends back her new dress because
the folds of Grape on the skirt is not
deep mourning enough steadfastly re.
fuses to look in the direction of a dress
coat for-one week."
Little Allie" a sketch full Of the pa
thos OF a motherless child's story, ends
with this transcript from her humanita-
rian creed:
"Never forget it. Betsey," said he;
"hsrsh words amt for the mOtherless.
May God forget me, if He ever hears one
from my lips"
Fanny Fern died at the comparatively
early age of 81. She lies buried in beau.
tifnl Mount Auburn, the lovely GENET
cry which lies adjacent to Boston. Over
her grave is a white marble cross erected
TO her memory by Mr.. Bonner as a token
of his regard for her. 1t is wreathed
with fern leaves, carved from the solid
marble. 1t is said of her that in the
fourteen years during which she wrote
for the New York Ledger, that she never
once failed to send in her manuscript
promptly on time. She was paid for one
story at the rate of 500 a column.
Few can stand by the grave of that
bright, loving woman and not recall her
W sad, pathetic words:
20, to die and be forgotten. This
warm heart cold, these active limbs still,
these lips dustl Suns to rise and set,
flowers to bloom, the moon to silver leaf
and tree around my own desr home-the
merry laugh, the pleasant circle and ]
not there"
But her usual philosophy was of the
bright, cheerful, combative order. Diff
ficulties were her best inspirations to