GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK
Philadelphia, November 1850

THE OLD BACHELOR.

BY PENNY PATCH.

CHAPTER III

"I do not like thee, Doctor Fell;

The reason why I cannot tell."

TO bed went our happy lord of creation, but not to sleep. "Oh! to-morrow, to-morrow; will it never come!" moaned the man, too supremely happy for nature's sweet restorer, as the languid pendulum jogged lazily along, and slowly crept the cold hours of that long, long night.

"Daylight at last!" exclaimed our impatient bachelor, bouncing out of bed, and drawing aside the curtain - after which he jerked it back, and cried, ferociously, "It is only the moon!" for that silver orb was only innocently shining in the absence of her lord, and had only ventured to peep in upon the doctor, never once dreaming of being found fault with by a lover.

The doctor never once thought about the moon and stars; he had quite enough to think about Clara. But Dr. John Hinton was no ordinary lover. Loving with the concentrated and accumulated love which had been lying dormant in his system for full thirty years, he was totally unlike those youths of nineteen, &c., who frequent fragrant groves, apostrophize the moon, and sigh over imaginary dulcineas. He loved a sprightly, sensible, luxuriant creature of flesh and blood. He had a reverent rival, whose large black eyes made the ill-favored bachelor most unhappy. And Clara - fair, betwitching, mysterious - unhappy, too - with a dash of coquetry, and just enough sarcasm to give her still more power, and to pique her lovers - ah, she was quite enough to turn the heads of parsons and bachelors without number.

Well, our hero tossed and pitched, secundum artem, and wondered why she had thrown herself upon his protection on that wild, tempestuous night? Why she looked so much like a princess clothed in rich apparel, while everything around her bespoke primitive simplicity, and almost poverty? Why she was the daughter of Jeremiah? for no parent and child were ever before so totally unlike. These questions tormented our lover until day - and then he was ready for action, quick and decisive. I need not say that ten o'clock found him, like a valiant soldier, at his post.

Clara met him with a smile - such a genial, beaming, sociable, good-natured smile as he would have the future Mrs. Hinton wear whenever he was about. She gave him the large chair, and hoped she had not incommoded him in the least that morning, and went on to say a great many pleasant things in her pleasant way, to all of which the doctor replied as any other man over head and ears in love would have done.

This was a cosy couple, sitting in the old begrimed parsonage. There was no happier man under the dome of heaven than our hero, during this tete-a-tete. He had never known a lady in his life, and his felicity and perfect bliss can be easily imagined while sitting familiarly conversing with the fairest and most enchanting of her sex.

Clara held a crotchet needle in her hand - and, after dextrously catching a stitch by the head just as it was about to escape her, she turned to the doctor, and, laying her hand gently on his, said, in a voice of seraphic music-

"Doctor?"

The doctor bounced like an India-rubber ball.

"Madam!" he cried, rebounding, and by a lucky hit falling back into the protecting arms of his huge chair.

Clara's large eyes sparkled, and the provoking dimple dived deeply in her glowing cheek. She began to suspect that the gentleman was in love, and every novel and extraordinary feat of his only tended to confirm her suspicions.

She quietly proceeded thus:-

"Doctor, I requested you to come this morning, because I knew I should be alone, and I felt it my duty, both to you and myself, to acquaint you with the circumstances which forced me upon you on that terrible night."

The gentleman laid his hands upon his knees, and bent forward eagerly.

"You have seen the Rev. Hezekiah Hays - now tell me, honestly and candidly - what is your opinion of that man?"

"A villain!" cried the doctor, frantically; "a wolf in sheep's clothing; a rascal! - or there is no truth in God's stamp upon his brow."

Clara's lip quivered.

"Take care," she said. "Do you know he is my betrothed?"

"I don't care if he is," cried the doctor, bodly. "I have my eye upon him, sleek and oily as he is. And, madam, it is my opinion that he has about as much religion as I could conveniently carry on the point of my penknife!"

"You judge him harshly, perhaps."

"I think not, madam; you should not have asked my opinion - indeed you should not - but having spoken boldly, I maintain my ground. You have my honest and candid opinion. I have nothing more to say."

"But allow me to say that I agree with you," said the girl.

"And yet he is your betrothed?" replied the doctor.

"Yes; but I do not think him a model man - nor do I love him or admire him."

"Strange!" said our bachelor, turning his hat thoughtfully.

This was a new phase in his idol woman, Alas! he felt that he had yet much to learn concerning those fair creatures.

"No, it is not strange. I certainly cannot marry one whom I neither admire nor respect - but is there any crime in engaging one's self conditionally to a gentleman to please one's father?" inquired Clara, naively.

"Ah! I must confess I know nothing of these matters," said the doctor, shaking his head. "I had thought that an engagement was a promise to marry, and that a promise was a thing to be regarded as rather sacred. But I suppose I was mistaken."

"My friend, you do not understand me. I spoke only of a conditional engagement. For instance - I promise to marry a gentleman, provided he be what he pretends to be, and I do this only at papa's earnest and repeated request."

"And you do this," cried our hero, "firmly believing the man to be a cheat - you promise to marry one whom you cannot respect or admire?"

"Yes," said the girl, seriously, "but under uncommon circumstances." She then proceeded to relate her little history, which we will take the liberty to lay before our reader.

Clara Ann Moreton was the only child of the Rev. Jeremiah Moreton, and Edith his wife. This fair, eccentric damsel, having lost her mother at a very early age, was reared and educated solely by the parson. And this reverend and most estimable gentleman, in order to atone for his early sin in marrying an heiress, a worldly-minded and dashing lady, determined to make a perfect saint of Clara. The catechisms, hymns, Bible-verses, and psalms taught this sprightly and interesting child were truly astonishing. No pains, no fatigue, no physical or moral obstacle deterred our pious clergyman in his work of atonement and love. In his zeal, he only overshot the mark, and gave his nursling a disrelish for those wholesome doctrines which it was the sole aim of his life rightly to instil into her youthful mind. Perhaps a milder practice would have made her all he could have wished. The parson saw his child grow up, under his very eyes, the same brilliant, piquant beauty which her mother had been in bygone days. He saw her as gay, as careless, as fond of dress and show, as coquettishly inclined as was once his lamented and beautiful partner. But she was a kind and dutiful daughter; and, though she was no model Christian, the pious man loved his child, and would not relax his efforts to secure her happiness, both in this world and in the next. Consequently he had urged her to accept Hezekiah, because he thought to secure her temporal and eternal welfare thereby.

Parson Moreton was a man of deep and undoubted piety. His singleness of heart and purity of life were beyond all praise. Lifted by the stamp of his Maker from worldly taint, he lived a pattern of godliness. Pure and undefiled, he never thought of guilt, and his wildest dreams had never visioned one-half the wickedness of the world in which he daily walked. But while this good man was honored for his unpretending and simple piety, he was often duped by the wily and designing. This weakness was not unknown to Clara, and she no more believed the fine tales trumped up by Hezekiah than she believed the moon was made of green cheese.

This gentleman, the Rev. Hezekiah Hays, had come to the humble parsonage, bringing a letter recommending him as a highly-talented but unfortunate brother, and requesting Parson Moreton to introduce him to his flock, that he might labor among them, and also receive subscriptions for the Bible cause.

Always zealous to do good, our worthy parson received him with open arms - placed him in the bosom of his family - and divided his heart and also his purse with him.

Six weeks had Hezekiah been cosily domiciled at the parsonage, before he ventured to woo the parson's peerless daughter; and, had not Clara's mother-wit befriended her, she too might have been won by the sweet tongue, and gentle, insinuating address of the reverend beguiler. But she knew she was very beautiful - she knew she was worth twenty thousand dollars, independent of papa - and, by putting these important facts together, she came to some pretty wise conclusions. She therefore determined to bide her time; and though each day she was teased unceasingly by her importunate lover, and affectionately exhorted by papa, she would not come into measure, and positively refused to accede to Hezekiah's flattering proposals.

Thus matters remained for some time. But we will let the lovely lady herself finish the narrative. The doctor sits with bended ear, and Clara goes on to say-

"One afternoon last winter, I was returning alone from Col. Vernon's. On the highway, I encountered Hezekiah, who, with a solemn and imposing visage, requested me to accompany him to see one of papa's parishioners, who lay very low. I of course consented. We walked along very quietly for nearly a mile. Perceiving the sun gradually declining, I asked him how much further we had to go. 'Only just there,' said he, pointing to an eminence, surrounded by a thick cedar grove. I confess I was dumb with amazement when Hezekiah placed his hand upon my mouth, and lifted me into a carriage, which had been concealed by the hill. I struggled, but to no purpose. The door was slammed - Hezekiah beside me - and the coachman ordered to drive to the Hillston depot. I knew I was powerless in his hands; I knew I was to be taken somewhere to be married; but my nerves were as unshaken as they are at this moment, nor did my resolution waver in the least. I sat quietly in the carriage, resumed my former placid manner, and actually duped my deceiver. It was nearly dark when we reached the Hillston depot. On the arrival of the train, Hezekiah drew down my veil, and placed me in a snug car, with an elderly lady, who had already tucked herself in her berth for the night. My reverend guardian placed himself just without the door of this snug car, and away the long train went. Here I had ample time for reflection. Fortunately, I found a visiting card in my pocket, on which I dextrously scribbled a few lines, explaining my situation. This I determined to hand to any gentleman in the cars to whom I could gain access. Hezekiah still guarded the door, but the lamp in our car was waning, and the conductor entered to trim it. I hurriedly gave him my note, glanced at Hezekiah, and placed my finger on my mouth. The stranger understood my pantomime, and read the note without being perceived by my gallant Cerberus. After giving me to understand that he would arrange matters, he retired. I now pretended to fall asleep. This ruse so completely duped Hezekiah, that he yielded to the drowsy god also, and was soon off into a comfortable nap. The conductor now came to me, and said he would drop me quietly at Edon, while Hezekiah proceeded on his way alone. The evening was cloudy, but the moon shone a little, and, with a brave, light heart, I walked on rapidly towards the village, which, you know, is only half a mile distant. Now, I had stopped at Edon twenty times in my life, and walked to the village to see my freinds, but this time I was so bewildered and frightened that I mistook the road, and wandered I knew not where."

"You were not far from the village when I encountered you," said the doctor.

"I did not know where I was. I only know I should have died but for you."

"Well, but you escaped me, too; pray how did you manage that?"

"Why, I bribed your man Dick, who took me in your buggy to my friend Mrs. Floyd. After relating my adventure, at which she laughed immoderately, she permitted me to return to the parsonage, under a strong escort; for now I had two enemies to elude - yourself and Hezekiah."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed our bachelor. "I only wish I may secure you at last."

"But I am not done yet," said Clara, blushing, for the doctor never permitted an opening to be lost. "Hezekiah had the assurance to return and besiege me again; nor has he allowed me any rest since his failure. Papa still stoutly befriends his holy brother, and now the matter stands thus - we are to be married in six months, if I cannot find any just cause or impediment to prevent."

"God forbid!" ejaculated the eminent physician.

Clara continued-

"My repugnance and unconquerable aversion to this lauded saint daily increase. I dislike him more and more, while every hour he rises in papa's esteem. The good people in this vicinity are unanimous in his favor. Every old maid in the parish is ready to lay down her life for him. You have no idea what a hold he has upon the religious community here. He is feted and caressed, and followed by crowds, and called upon daily to preach this sister's funeral, and to marry that wealthy couple - and his fees are enormous. But why did he fancy me?"

"That is the most natural occurrence you have mentioned yet," promptly responded our bachelor, with a bow.

"Not at all," said Clara; "I have never paid him court. I have been formal and reserved to him. I have treated him with undisguished contempt. But I suspect" - she observed, looking archly at the doctor - "I suspect our holy man wants the funds. I suspect he is not altogether indifferent to my twenty thousand dollars."

"Bravo!" cried the doctor, delighted. "Upon my word, you are the most sensible lady I ever met. You suspect he is not indifferent to your twenty thousand dollars! Ha! ha! ha! Well, that is good - very good - upon my word."

"But," said our heroine, half musingly, and looking askance at the gentleman, "this Hezekiah has fine eyes and teeth, with a dashy growth upon his upper lip, which the ladies call beautiful. He has a most sweet tongue - he is gentle and facinating, and lenient to my faults. He is-"

"The devil!" cried the doctor, regardless of her presence, and getting mad, very mad.

Clara was silent. Again she turned to him, and said-

"Well, in six months I am to marry him, unless I can find some just cause or impediment to prevent. Time flies. My lover's reputation for philanthropy, piety, and zeal remain unimpaired. I have no friend to assist me. Every day I grow more unhappy, yet my solemn word is pledged." The irresistible lash fell upon the oval cheek, and a tear gathered slowly.

"Now," said the doctor, solemnly, "you want my assistance. You would have me gather all the information I can concerning this man; and, if he be, as we suspect, a wolf in sheep's clothing, you would have me rescue you from his fangs?"

"Yes, my dear friend, that is what I want. Pray lose no time, if-"

"If I love you?" inquired the doctor, bending over her.

"No - oh no! - I did not mean that. But if you would save one who puts her whole trust in you."

She blushed deeply, and our hero's face was radiant with a sudden light, which gleamed beautifully.

He hung over her, and, in a deep, low, trembling voice, said, "May God bless and protect the only woman who ever placed her trust in me! May He bless her, who, unlike all others of her sex, saw only my heart and not my ungainly person. Oh woman, woman - once my terror, now my loved ideal - yours is a holy mission here! I am not worthy of your love, but I envy those who are. I am cast out from the pleasant places you adorn, but my eyes rove wistfully towards you, and I fain would gather one of you to my bosom, and cherish her as never woman yet was cherished. But, alas! I am not worthy - I am not worthy!"

Clara looked up. She saw his face lighted up by his great, good heart. She felt the genuine worth of that man, and she pitied him in his sorrow. He took her hand, and, sitting close beside her, said-

"Clara, you are young, pretty, and gay. You doubtless selected me for your sweet confidence because I am middle-aged, ungainly, and bald, and not likely to be influenced by your beauty and sorrow. But, my dear girl, you could not have chosen one more deeply interested in everything in which you are concerned."

"No," said Clara; "I selected you because I knew your worth. I felt no more hesitation in confiding in you than in communing with my own heart. Has not your high character been familiar to me from my childhood? Did not Providence throw me into your very arms? Did I not pray for a strong hand to guide me aright, and, behold, I find you at my side!"

"But - but - you could not love me for all that?"

"We will not discuss that."

"You hate to wound my amour propre?"

"No - I think you worthy of a fairer hand than mine."

"Do not flatter me, for Heaven's sake."

"You are too much on your guard for that, believe me."

"I am nervous; I am beset by mauvais hont. I have been so maltreated and scorned by the sex that I am ever on the qui vive for ridicule; and I would give my whole estate for one faithful bosom on which securely to repose."

Clara felt these words. There was a mournful pathos about his low modulations, which she could not resist.

"Poor fellow!" she murmured, gently. Her eyes were large and luminous, and the doctor saw a soft light stealing up from their dark glowing depths. He folded his arms, and watched the light as it came up and illumined her fine face; and then such a glorious hope was his that his glad heart leaped for joy. Ah! there was yet a happiness of which the isolated man had never dared to dream!

"Clara! Clara! do you not know I love you?"

"Hush," said the girl; "this will not do. I had rather you would say anthing than that."

"But I will say it. I love you, Clara - I will say I love you!"

"Not now - not now. Can you not wait?" and the girl blushed deeply at her own words.

"Yes," he said, smiling; "I can wait six months, but not longer. Remember, to-day is Tuesday; six months from to-day I shall come and -"

"Pray say no more, doctor, I beseech you," said Clara.

The doctor pressed the little hand he held, and then he looked down upon it, and saw that it was very fair, and very soft, and a most timid, trembling little hand; and then - he kissed it once - twice - thrice - and bounded from the room, and never looked back to see what he had done.

Would that I could boast a dozen such heroines as Clara Moreton. She saw through Hezekiah's cant and pretended zeal, and she also saw the real worth which lay imbedded in our doctor's heart. Yet, without great cause, this admirable girl would not go counter to her father's wishes - for was he not as anxious to secure her good as she was herself? He did not wish her to marry an impostor, but, as he thought, a good and holy man. Clara, therefore, expostulated and remonstrated with her father; but Hezekiah had so completely won his heart that actually the good man could not see the matter clearly.

Doctor Hinton came no more to the parsonage. He sent Clara a note, bidding her farewell, and saying he was about to set out on an exploring expedition. The days and weeks of the allotted six probationary months rolled slowly on. Hezekiah's attentions to his fair fiancee were unremitting and wearisome. The parson, happy and secure, felt in his pious heart that he had atoned for his early sin, and had given his daughter to one who would see perfected the admirable work he had begun.

Poor Clara would sit in silence and listen to their plans - how she was to be married in the old church, and how the happy couple were to set off immediately upon a missionary excursion, away upon the outer confines of Oregon. Dismal prospect for one so gay, so unfitted for a mission like this!

"Oh, where is my good doctor?" she would inwardly exclaim; and then she would think about the fine times she would have with the squaws in that interesting country. What merry "head-flattenings" they would hold over their "piccaninies," deep in the grand old woods. What gay "moccasins" they would fashion, and what dashing blankets rival fashionables would sport.

But, for fear my reader may doubt the wonderful good sense which I have boasted for my heroine, I may as well say here that Clara fully intended to put a stop to matters before they reached this highly unique climax.

Affairs were very quiet at the parsonage while our friend Dr. Jack - like an eccentric and unexpected comet - was appearing, now here and now there; astonishing one neighborhood, and then bearing down upon another peaceful village with a rush! In hot haste, he scampered about, from pillar to post, as the saying is, until, to his infinite surprise, he began to find some of Hezekiah's tracks. This occurred during the fourth month of his alarming peregrinations.

In a remote county, he met some sniveling sisters, who were bewailing the absence of Brother Baines, as they called him, who had, they said, run off with their quarterly allowance. Here the doctor engaged lodgings, and made special inquiry concerning this famous Brother Baines. He asked the ladies at the inn about him, and they began with upraised hands: "Oh, he was such a dear fellow - such a dear, darling dove of a man! Such a perfect slave to the church - with such a handsome pair of eyes, and hair like the raven's wing! Oh! he was murderously slandered," they declared. "Some people said he had gone off with more than a thousand dollars which belonged to the church, and with Mr. Grey's horse and buggy besides!" And then they would wipe their eyes, and say, "But the meek Nazarene was also slandered!"

After gathering all the information current in the neighborhood, away our hero sped to the city. Here he took the police into his confidence. They had Hezekiah also in their books, where he figured as a Bible agent, followed closely by a colporteur gathering funds, and then suddenly disappearing. Again the doctor speeds away upon the track indicated by the police. Away down in a place called Green Valley, he finds Hezekiah a man of family; that is, with a wife and two children living on the parish.

"Hurrah for our side!" cried the doctor, with a flourish, when he heard of Mrs. Hezekiah, and the little Hezekiahs, away down in Green Valley. He traced this gentleman of family entirely through the south-western part of our State. He had performed under divers masks. Sometimes he was a dentist, a pious young man, a meekly persecuted brother, a defrauded clergyman, an eminent divine, a Bible agent, a temperance lecturer, and many other things, too numerous to mention. Finally, as Hezekiah, he landed safe and sound at Parson Moreton's, after a circuit of nearly four hundred miles.

"Upon my word, I believe I am on the verge of matrimony," exclaimed Doctor Hinton, as he traced Hezekiah to the parsonage.

Poor Clara sat alone with her betrothed. She was pale and languid, and the gentleman's winning ways and soft address were unheeded by his victim.

"Dearest!" said this dear dove of a fellow, "this day week is our wedding-day. Do you pray, my charmer, that the great vineyard of the Lord may flourish and prosper through us?"

Doctor Hinton was announced, and Clara grew visibly nervous.

The doctor entered, accompanied by Parson Moreton, a lady closely veiled, and a genteel and handsome man.

Hezekiah return the doctor's greeting, but his eye was on the very neatly dressed and genteel gentleman who accompanied him.

"Friend," said Parson Moreton, laying his hand on Hezekiah's shoulder, "these persons come to seek you. The Lord deliver his servant from those who seek to do him evil."

"I have the honor, Mr. Baily," began the doctor, and Hezekiah jumped upon his feet with a start, "to present to you Captain Strange, of the city, and Mrs. Baily." He raised the lady's veil, and Hezekiah saw his wife! With a loud yell, the imposter dashed from the room, but some very polite gentlemen awaited him at the outer door - who kindly conducted him to a carriage, and he was borne rapidly away. Parson Moreton could not believe his own eyes. He saw the still, tall lady led in tears from the room; he saw Captain Strange hand some papers, and make his bow; and then, overcome by his emotions, he sought his closet and prayed.

A solemn stillness reigned in the little parlor. Doctor Hinton stood, hat in hand, before the lady of his heart.

"I have done your bidding," he said. His heart was in his mouth, but he would say no more, for he scorned to take advantage of the boundless gratitude which swelled her heart.

"Good morning." He bowed, and was going away.

"Come back! come back! I am your debtor," cried the girl, rushing after him, and seizing his hand convulsively.

He turned gently to her, and said-

"Indeed, you owe me nothing. I am happy in having served you. I thank you for that happiness."

"And you are going?"

"Yes, if it be your wish."

"But - but - if - suppose I were to-"

The doctor looked down upon those dear eyes, the true index of her heart, and he saw the light he had noticed once before gathering beautifully there. And without a blush, without one tinge of mauvais hont, he drew her to his bosom, and said-

"Then I am with you, from this day forth, for ever!"

There was a grand entertainment at Doctor Hinton's new mansion after the marriage. Four-and-twenty sheepish bachelors were there, and the doctor took the poor fellows by the hand, and bade them be of good cheer. The pretty Clara, too, promised to befriend them all their days. And the old fellows got frisky, and declared they meant to turn over a new leaf, and undertake matrimony if they lived. Hoping that all the old bachelors under the sun may come to this wise conclusion, I bid them adieu.

Godey's Lady's Book is brought to you by

Your Comments Welcomed! Copyright © 1995 EHP