A BACHELOR IN CUPID’S NET.
In blessed bachelorhood had passed sixty years of Mr. Hazleton’s life.
With no one’s whims but his own to nurse—no one to scold but his tailor
and washerwoman, their flight had left little trace save in the silver
threads with which Time weaves experience—linking the what has been to
the what is and what will be. It is true, in early life he had wooed but
not won, and it might be from disgust at the willful blindness of the
lady of his love, he from that moment looked coldly upon the whole
sex—blind to their beauty—deaf to their voices, and invulnerable to
all their witchery, “charmed they never so wisely.”
But, alas! the work of years may be shattered in a moment! Hard as the
heart of Mr. Hazleton had become, it melted like the frost of an autumn
morning under the sunny beams of Mrs. Ketchim’s eyes! It was at
Saratoga, that great hunting-ground of Cupid, that Mr. Hazleton first
encountered the glances of the pretty widow. Whether that lady was in
truth on a matrimonial chase cannot be definitely stated. Yet one thing
is certain, no sooner did she meet with this rich, hard-hearted old
bachelor than she determined to forget her departed Ketchim, and catch
him—thus nobly avenging in her own person the slights her sex had
received. What could not a fair and handsome widow accomplish with
“sparkling black e’en and a bonnie sweet man!” Mr. Hazleton was lost.
The age of the widow was an enigma which no one but herself could solve.
She did acknowledge she was _too_ young—she did also own to the
interesting fact that one sweet child called her “mother.” “Ah, a little
golden-haired cherub, of some four or five summers!” thought our lover.
What, then, was the surprise of Mr. Hazleton when, a few weeks after
their marriage, a tall, beautiful girl of seventeen rushed into the
parlor, and, giving him a hearty kiss, called him “papa!”
He had abjured spectacles, using only the eyes of love, but he now for a
moment involuntarily resumed them, and gazed long and inquiringly at his
charming wife. He was satisfied. Mrs. Hazleton smiled as sweetly, and
looked just as young and bewitching as she had appeared to him
before—so he returned the filial salute of his _daughter_ with a
paternal embrace, and unlocked another chamber of his heart to receive
her.
Some months passed pleasantly on, and the honey-moon waxed not old. The
so long time bachelor almost wept with sorrow over those lost years
spent alone, and blessed the hour which had harbingered his present
happiness. By degrees a little, a very little difference of opinion
began to display itself—but insensibly gathering strength from frequent
recurrence. Most generally, however, the husband yielded, and harmony
was restored.
Julia was a lively, good-hearted girl—her faults more the result of her
mother’s mismanagement than her own willfulness. In fact, it was Julia
herself who first suggested the invitation which Alice Churchill
received from her uncle.
“Dear me, papa, how dull it is! Pray have not you any relations?” she
inquired one evening, when they were left _tête-à-tête_.
This was rather a posing question, for indeed Mr. Hazleton could hardly
remember whether he had any or not.
“No sisters, or nieces?” continued Julia.
“Or nice young nephews?” added Mr. Hazleton.
“Yes, papa—a cousin would be so delightful!” and here Julia sighed and
looked sad. Why she sighed the reader shall know bye and bye.
This careless remark of Julia aroused a train of long banished
reflections in the mind of Mr. Hazleton. Early associations came
thronging upon him, vividly calling up the image of his only sister, as
tearfully and patiently she had turned from his reproaches at their last
meeting, to follow the fortunes of him she loved. Ere Mr. Hazleton
sought his pillow, the letter to his long neglected sister was written,
and not even the possession of the late Mrs. Ketchim had made his heart
so light as this simple act of duty and kindness.
Mrs. Hazleton had many weak points, but there were two upon which she
was peculiarly sensitive. The first, viz.—her family. The Ninnybrains
could trace a pedigree almost as far back as Adam—a sprig of nobility,
too, had once engrafted itself upon the family tree, which important
item had been handed down from generation to generation, and Mrs.
Hazleton never lost an opportunity of proclaiming her noble lineage,
while at the same time she indulged an almost slavish fear of deviating
from the code of gentility, in _her_ acceptation of the term. Her second
tangible weakness was an affectation of juvenility. The idea of growing
old gracefully was preposterous. Although she saw the seams and creases
of Time’s fingers on other faces, she would not see them on her own, and
while all the world were growing old around her, she resolved to set the
gray-beard at defiance.
Mrs. Hazleton loved her daughter as much as she was capable of loving,
yet she could not forgive her for the very contradictory evidence she
brought against her youthfulness—could not pardon her for stepping
forth from the nursery a tall, grown up girl, instead of quietly
contenting herself with pantalettes and pinafores. The widow felt there
must be a rapid race, or her daughter would reach the goal of Hymen
before her—hence her conquest of Mr. Hazleton. Her own purpose
attained, she then generously resolved to give Julia a chance, who,
nothing loth, was summoned from a country boarding-school to catch a
husband as quick as possible. To be sure this latter clause was not
expressed in so many words—it was the ultimatum of the mother alone. As
for Julia, she thought only of escaping from the odious Mrs. Rulem—of
new dresses, theatres, and dancing till two o’clock in the morning. For
once, then, Mrs. Hazleton concluded to assume maternity gracefully, and
to matronize her daughter with all the dignity of the Ninnybrain school.
She was exceedingly annoyed, therefore, when she found her plans might
all be defeated by the arrival of Alice Churchill. No way could she
reconcile herself to this unavoidable evil. If handsome and engaging,
she would only be in the way of her daughter’s advancement—if awkward
and ugly, a constant source of mortification. Every device of which she
was mistress was put in practice to thwart the expected visit, but that
she did not accomplish her object has already been shown.