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Our present chapter treats of love and matrimony.

Doubtless it has occurred to the reader, that John Glenville
is yet a bachelor and ought to be looking out for a
wife. Now, although John was never overhead and ears
in love, he yet was always falling into it—knee deep at
least; but as yet, he had never found anybody for help-meet,
though several were disposed to be help-mates.

My friend had, indeed, often gone “a gallin” among our
log-cabin beauties; and sometimes received answers so
serious to his sportive questions as to make his backing out
very difficult and ungraceful. For instance, he once accompanied
Peggy home from a night meeting; and on
reaching the cabin she paused a moment by the wood pile,
when John playfully said:

“Well, Peggy, I've a notion to go in and court awhile,
what do you say to it?”

“Well—maybe you mought and maybe you moughtn't—”

“Why? has anybody cut me out?”

“Hey?!”

“Perhaps somebody else is gallin down here?”

“Prehaps thar is, and prehaps thar isn't.”

“Awh! come Peggy do tell me.”

Here Peggy looked down in some perplexity, as balancing
uncertainties, and after kicking up a large heap of chips
with the toe of her shoe, she seemed to have arrived at

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the conclusion—“a bird in the hand,” &c.—and, therefore
modestly answered:—

“Well! John—I'm a kinder sorter courted like, and a
kinder sorter not like,—but I'm more a kinder sorter not,
nor a kinder sorter—and I allow you'd better step in and
see daddy; tain't late—although mammy's in bed.”

Of course, John got out as awkwardly as we end his adventure.

But once Glenville was caught more effectually and
much more to his surprise; and yet, he backed out with
some ingenuity. The lady, however, had ultimately her
revenge. He was on a visit of business in an adjoining
state, when he was invited by the celebrated Mr. Brown to
spend a few days at his house. Here he became naturally
interested in Miss Brown, the daughter—a young lady of
some beauty, of much good nature, of good talents, and mistress
of many useful acquirements beside several ornamental
branches.

In an unguarded moment, John sportively popped the
question, or rather popped at the question, by wondering
how Miss B. would like to live in a cabin with such a
Hoosier as himself; to which Paddy's hint, Miss B. too
seriously intimated that Mr. G. had better consult her
father on such points. Now, generous reader, Glenville
was by no means ready to forsake father and mother at that
time; and the cabin alluded to, was so open and unchincked,
that poverty could easily enough have crept in all around,
and love gone flying out through an hundred crevices in addition
to the doors and window. In plain English, the
fellow was too poor to ask any woman to share his poverty;
unless she belonged to the Range, was used “to
chinkin and daubin, and to makin huntin shirts and lether
brichis:” hence after musing on the affair the whole night,
he seized an opportunity the next morning of renewing
with Miss B. the colloquy of the previous afternoon. In

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this he painted in true colours, the cheerlessness of his
rude cabin and his half hunter's life, and the privations and
sufferings to which such a man's wife would necessarily
be subjected; and then, with some ingenuity, (certainly
with some boldness,) he wished to know if such a man
ought to ask any kind parent, in affluent circumstances, to
send away an amiable and beloved daughter.

To his relief, Miss B., with a slight betrayal of surprise,—
(John said “mortification,”)—agreed with him; but after
this his situation was so awkward, that he left Mr. Brown's
mansion that very day. Here, therefore, is another proof
that some things can be done as well as others; and while
this affair is not quite so odd as that of Deerslayer and
Judith, yet it shows the difference between truth and fiction.

Well, the present winter, Glenville being often on visits
to Woodville, and circumstances existing to alter cases,
we frequently rallied the bachelor on his courtships; and
more than once, in full assembly, voted that he must and
should forthwith go and find a wife. To all this, he opposed
the stale replies, that he was too old now—could
find nobody to suit him—and that such as would suit would
not have him,—till at last he consented, if I could find the
proper person, and persuade her to have him, he would
marry.

Accordingly, one night after such a discussion, Glenville
and myself sat alone by the fire, when the following talk
went on in continuation of the subject:—

“But, Glenville, are you really serious?”

“Yes, Carlton, I am really serious.”

“Still, you would not marry if you did not love?”

“Well—I'm not quite so sure there. At all events, I
shall easily love any girl you will choose—especially if
you choose Miss Brown.”

“Come, John, be candid—did you ever truly love her?”

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“More, perhaps, than I ever loved any one before, or
ever shall again.”

“And why did you back out so foolishly?”

“For the very reasons I have a thousand times told you.
I was too poor—my home too utterly dreary to take such
a girl to—and if I had ever dreamed my jesting manner
would have been mistaken, I should have been far enough
from trifling with her —”

“Suppose she had seemed willing next morning?”

“I would have consulted her father, unquestionably—
but for the daughter's sake, I should have regretted his
consent.”

“Well, Glenville, what do you say to Miss Smythe?—
I think she feels tender towards you.”

“She would do:—and with a little practice I should love
her as well as most men love their wives. But Carlton,
the Squire has been cutting round there the last six months,
and —”

“No odds—suppose you try?”

“Willingly, if I thought there was any chance; but, in
the first place, maybe she's engaged—next, maybe she
might not want me—and so I do not like to lose my time
and run risk, and —”

“Tut! tut!—you need not waste any time; for I'll write
a love-letter for you; and as to the other objection, I'll bet
a coon skin you're too modest, and the girl, if disengaged,
will have you.”

“Carlton!—will you write such a letter? If you will,
I'll deliver it.”

“Done!—and I'll write you as many more as you like.”

“Suppose, then, you do another for Miss Brown? and
so I shall have two snaps.”

“Agreed—when shall I do them?”

“Any time between this and next Saturday. I shall be

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in Woodville then, you know—so 'tis settled,—come, I'm
tired, let's go to bed.”

The two letters were duly concocted, the first one to be
delivered to Miss Smythe,[31] the other, in case of the first
failing, was to be sent to Miss Brown; but if Miss S. was
disengaged and smiled propitious, John was, to all intents
and purposes, a married man; and Miss Brown was to have
no opportunity of revenge.

The letter for Miss Smythe was as follows:—

“Miss E. A. Smythe,

“A knowledge of your character, derived from mutual
friends, from the opinion of all your acquaintances, and also
from a somewhat intimate personal acquaintance, induces
me to believe that such a lady would fill the vacancy in my
domestic establishment most perfectly and delightfully:—
although I am not vain enough to suppose Miss Smythe
will necessarily feel herself flattered by such a preference
on the part of the writer. As, however, Miss S. on better
acquaintance, might become interested in him—more so at
least than he fears she is at present—he very respectfully,
yet most carnestly, craves permission to pay his addresses
in person.

The letter to Miss Brown, or rather for her, as it was
addressed to the father, was this:—

“My dear sir,

“In a playful conversation on a subject so common when
unmarried persons meet, your daughter, Miss Brown, in a

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jesting manner, remarked, that she always referred gentlemen
to her father—as his choice would always be hers.
What was jest with her, with me would have become very
solemn earnest, had I had then to offer any thing beyond
my hand and my heart, to induce such a girl to leave such
a home. Happily, circumstances are now favourably altered;
and willingly now would I ask that father for his
daughter could I flatter myself the daughter could be induced
to gladden and adorn a hearth, which, however
warm in one sense, must be yet cold and cheerless without
the love of a bosom friend. And such a friend would Miss
Brown prove:—and, dear sir, if you think such a match
suitable for your lovely daughter, I sincerely entreat the
communication of your favourable opinion to her in my behalf—
hoping that the daughter's choice then may be as the
father's.

On Saturday Glenville came; when after reading, criticising,
correcting, and laughing, he took copies of the letters;
it being arranged, that he put one in each coat pocket,
and on waiting next day on Miss Smythe from church, he
should, at a proper time, hand her the proper letter. And
all this he accordingly did, and with no greater blunder than
putting his hand into the Brown pocket, and pulling out the
wrong letter—which, if he had also delivered it to Miss
Smythe, would have made our book still more interesting—
but he fortunately corrected his error in time, and prevented
a very handsome laugh at our expense.

To save Miss S. the awkwardness of a special messenger,
and to avoid prying eyes at the post-office, Glenville,
on bowing adieu at the lady's door, stated that he would
call in person next morning for an answer. At that time,

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therefore, after lots of speculating as to the style and manner
of the answer, Glenville, with Miss Brown's letter in his
pocket, and anxious not to be too early for the lady's convenience,
nor too late for the ardent affection he intended
to have, marched off very bravely, looking back once or
twice and shaking his fist as he caught sight of our cachinating
faces.

Well, in due season he returned—but what pen or pencil
can give the odd expression of that face!

“Well, Glenville, what luck?”—(Can I ever forget the
peculiar intonation, emphasis, inflection of that answer?)

“Engaged!”

“Is it possible!—but if she had not been, what then?”

“Bah!—do you think I asked her?”

“Why not?—I should like to know what she thinks of
you.”

“Why not!!—in case she did not fancy me, was I going
to suffer a double refusal, when one is decisive?”

“Haw! ha! he![32] but what have you done with Miss
Brown's letter?”

“Dropp'd it in the office as I came along; and there's
a chance for Miss Brown to have her revenge. Bet a
dollar she says no!”

The case of my friend was like that of the school boy,
who described his disappointment in a composition, which
we shall here introduce to fill up the time till the return
mail.

eaf111v2.n31

[31] We do not expect the reader to laugh here, unless he is so disposed—
I only laughed at the time because I could not help it.

“The other morning I went out a hunting with father's
duck-gun what he brung out from Kentucky; but as I
had no luck, I allowed I might as well put off for home;
and so I turn about and goes towards home. As I come to

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the edge of our clearin, what should I see away off on the
top of a dead walnut, but a black crow! And so I makes
up my mind to try and hit him. The critter was more nor
three hundred yards from me; but I insinuates myself along
as near as two hundred yards to the feller; when he begins
a showing signs of flittin: and so I trees where I was in a
minute. Well, I determines to try him there, although
'twas near as good as desperut to try a black crow that
distance with a shot-gun; although father's duck-gun's
the most powerful shot-gun in the Purchis. Howsomdever,
I wanted the load out; and I thought I might as
well fire that a way as any other—and so up I draws the
piece very careful, and begins a takin aim, thinking all the
while I shouldn't hit him: still I tuk the most exactest aim,
as if I should; when just then he hops about two foot
nearer my way, as if to get a look round my tree, where he
smelt powder—and then, thinking all the time, as I said, I
shouldn't hit him, as the distance was so most powerful
fur, I blazed away!—and sure enough, as I'm alive—I
didn't hit him!”

Now Glenville, from the distance of his second shot, insisted
he should never hit: yet how near he came may be
conjectured from the following replies to his epistle:—

“John Glenville, Esq,—
“Dear Sir—

* * * * * * and the inclosed
from my daughter, to whom was handed your late communication,
contains, I presume, the most satisfactory answer,
* * * * and * * *

Now, this sentence in the envelope containing a sealed
letter from Miss Brown, brought “the crow about two feet
nearer;” and John's eyes began to sparkle, although he

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continued humbly affirming that the sealed epistle contained—
“No!”

“Sir:—

“I honour you for honesty, as I am satisfied you assign
true reasons for not taking one to share your home; although
the reasons themselves can never seem satisfactory where
one was willing to share another's heart. For, like most
girls in their days of romance, that one cared to find only a
heart when she married. As my own home is sufficiently
comfortable, there can be no inducement to wish another,
however comfortable, in the New Purchase; and where its
owner seems to think `altered circumstances' are important
in winning a woman's love. But to show that kindness is
estimated that would spare my delicacy, by leading my dear
father to think all our conversation had been sportive, I do
hereby most cordially—(here John looked! oh! I tell you
what!)—invite you to our Christmas festivities, when the
writer changes her name from Mary Brown to Mary Burleigh.”

“There, Carlton! I told you so—I said it would be—
no! And yet secretly did I wish,—ay! I do wish it now—
that the answer could be—yes! I am glad the girl has
her revenge; but still I have known too many hard-ships
not to feel happy in the reflection, that one I did love
a little, and could now love a great deal, has never been
called to share them.”

And so after all, reader, our chapter ends without a wedding!
proving how hard it is to get an old bachelor married.
Another year we may, perhaps, be more successful.

eaf111v2.n32

[32] She was distantly related to the Smiths in the city, and the r kinsfolks
the Smythes.

p111-505

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