A Bachelor's Confessions

I'll have a private, pensive single life.

THE COLLIER OF CROYDON.

I was sitting in my room a morning or two since, reading, when some one
tapped at the door, and Master Simon entered. He had an unusually fresh
appearance; he had put on a bright green riding-coat, with a bunch of
violets in the button-hole, and had the air of an old bachelor trying to
rejuvenate himself. He had not, however, his usual briskness and
vivacity, but loitered about the room with somewhat of absence of
manner, humming the old song,--"Go, lovely rose, tell her that wastes
her time and me;" and then, leaning against the window, and looking upon
the landscape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been
accustomed to see Master Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there might
be some vexation preying on his mind, and I endeavoured to introduce a
cheerful strain of conversation; but he was not in the vein to follow it
up, and proposed that we should take a walk.

It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal temperature, that seems
to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and to set all nature in a
ferment. The very fishes felt its influence: the cautious trout ventured
out of his dark hole to seek his mate, the roach and the dace rose up to
the surface of the brook to bask in the sunshine, and the amorous frog
piped from among the rushes. If ever an oyster can really fall in love,
as has been said or sung, it must be on such a morning.

The weather certainly had its effect even upon Master Simon, for he
seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood. Instead of stepping
briskly along, smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, or
telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about the
approaching nuptials; from whence he made several digressions upon the
character of womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion, and
made sundry very excellent, though rather trite, observations upon
disappointments in love. It was evident that he had something on his
mind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward in approaching it. I
was curious to see to what this strain would lead; but I was determined
not to assist him. Indeed, I mischievously pretended to turn the
conversation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting;
but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably got back, by hook
or by crook, into the sentimental vein.

At length we came to a clump of trees that overhung a whispering brook,
with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were grievously scored with
letters and devices, which had grown out of all shape and size by the
growth of the bark: and it appeared that this grove had served as a kind
of register of the family loves from time immemorial.