Book: Elinor Wyllys

S >> Susan Fenimore Cooper >> Elinor Wyllys




{"Chateau Margaux and Rudesheimer" = two famous wines}

His father had, of late years, learned to set too high a value
upon the world, and everything worldly, not to be much gratified
by the change that had taken place in his son. As for Adeline,
she gloried in his six-feet and his black moustaches, his Paris
waistcoat and London boots; while his honest-hearted mother would
have loved him just as much under any other metamorphosis he had
chosen to assume. Such as he was, young Taylor soon became quite
a favourite beau with the New Yorkers, and was invited to most
houses. He proved himself quite a ladies' man; no lazy, grumbling
dandy, but a smiling, assiduous beau. He had not been in New York
a month, before he was known to have sent a number of bouquets to
different belles, and was supposed to have given more than one
serenade to his sister's friend, Miss Hunter.

The last day of December, all New York was set in motion by a
fall of snow, sufficient to allow of pretty good sleighing for
four-and-twenty hours. Like such occasions in general, it became
a sort of holiday. And really, the novelty, the general movement,
the bustle and gaiety, the eagerness to enjoy the pleasure while
it lasts, always render such scenes very enlivening. Every
vehicle with runners, and every animal bearing the name of a
horse, are put in requisition for the day. The dashing sleighs
crowded with gaily dressed people, the smiling faces and flying
feathers of the ladies, the rich cloths and furs, the bright
colours of the equipages, and the inspiriting music of the merry
bells, give to Broadway, at such times, quite a carnival look.
The clear, bracing air disposes people to be cheerful; even the
horses feel the spirit of the moment; they prance their heads
proudly, and shake the bells about their necks, as if delighted
with the ease and rapidity of their motion; sympathizing
foot-passengers stop to give their friends a nod, and follow
their rapid course with good-natured smiles. Young people and
children are collected for a frolic, and family parties hurry off
to drink coffee and mulled wine, to eat plum-cake and waffles at
the neighbouring country-houses. It is altogether a gay, cheerful
sight, enjoyed with all the more zest from its uncertainty.

Hazlehurst was delighted, as he went to his window, the morning
in question, to find the roofs and pavements covered with snow.
For several years he had had no sleighing, and he promised
himself a very pleasant day. Mrs. Stanley was going to remain
quietly at home. He sent to a livery-stable to secure a good
horse and a pretty cutter for himself and immediately after
breakfast hurried off to Mrs. Graham's lodgings, with the hope of
obtaining Jane as a companion. "And who knows," thought he, "what
may happen before evening."

He had just reached Mrs. Graham's door, when a very dashing
sleigh, drawn by four fine horses, drew up from the opposite
direction. Young Taylor was in the coachman's seat; Miss Hunter,
Adeline, and a quiet-looking young man, whom we shall introduce
as Theodore St. Leger, were in the sleigh. Miss Adeline threw off
her over-cloak, and as she gave her hand to Mr. St. Leger, to
jump from the sleigh, called out to Harry in her usual shrill
voice, {sic}

"Good morning, Mr. Hazlehurst, you are exact at the rendez-vous,
for of course you got my note. But you ought to have brought a
lady with you; you mustn't run away with Jane; she is to be of
our party in the sleigh, do you hear?" continued the young lady,
trying hard to look pretty and positive, at the same time. "I
hope you didn't mean to ask her to go with you."

"Yes, I did," replied Harry, rather stoutly. "Miss Graham told me
the other day, she quite longed for sleighing, and made something
very like a promise to go with me if we had any snow."

"Oh, but not to-day; I must have her in the sleigh with me! Now,
Jane, dear," continued the young lady, tripping into the
drawing-room followed by her brother and Harry, "put on your hat
at once, that's a good girl; we wouldn't miss having you for the
world."

Harry had often been provoked with Adeline's constant
appropriation of Jane to herself, when they were together; and he
determined, if he could prevent it, she should not succeed this
time.

"Miss Taylor is very decided," he said, "but so am I. And I think
you must remember you were pledged to me for the first sleighing,
if we were so fortunate as to have any."

"It's no such thing, I'm sure;--is it, Jane?"

"Pray, remember we are two to one, Miss Graham," said young
Taylor, on the other side, in an insinuating voice.

"But we can all go together," said Jane, blushing, and scarcely
knowing what to do.

"If Mrs. Graham were here," added Harry, "I think she would
certainly trust you with me. I have a very good horse, one that I
have driven all along, and he is perfectly safe."

"So are ours, all four of them," said Adeline; "and I'm sure
there must be more safety with four safe horses, than with one!"

"Perfectly safe, Miss Graham, I assure you," added young Taylor.
"Of course I should not press you unless I felt sure you would
run no risk."

"Pshaw!" said Adeline. "Why should we stand here, talking about
the risk and danger, like so many old grey-beards. Put on your
hat, dear, that's a darling, without any more palaver. Anne
Hunter and Mr. St. Leger are waiting for us at the door; you know
we are going to Bloomingdale, to lunch, at Mrs. Hunter's. We
shall have a charming time; and Mr. Hazlehurst is going with us
too. Of course you got my note," she added, turning to Harry.

{"Bloomingdale" = a fashionable and still rural area of Manhattan
Island, though a part of New York City}

"No, I did not; but I should have been obliged to decline your
invitation, Miss Taylor," said Hazlehurst, bowing a little
stiffly. "I have made arrangements for going on Long Island."

"Oh, that's a pity; I am really sorry, for I wanted you to be of
our party; only I couldn't have you run away with my friend Jane.
Silence gives consent, Jane. You didn't answer my note, this
morning."

"Perhaps I had better not go at all," said Jane, not a little
perplexed. "Mamma is not at home, and will not know what has
become of me."

"Nonsense, child; Mrs. Graham will know you are in very good
hands. You have been out with me a hundred times before, and you
surely don't think there is any more danger because Tallman is of
the party."

"I hope not," added young Taylor, in an insinuating manner; "I'm
a first-rate whip, Miss Graham."

"Now, just tell the truth; didn't you mean to go with me, before
Mr. Hazlehurst came in?" said Adeline--"no fibbing, mind."

"I only received your note ten minutes since," replied Jane; "but
I did think of going with you."

"I should like to know why you hesitate, then. First come, first
served. Now, the best thing you can do, Mr. Hazlehurst, is to
change your mind, and ask one of the Miss Howards, and join our
party, too. I really wish you would!"

"You are very good," said Harry, coldly; "but I must beg you to
excuse me."

Jane allowed herself to be shawled and cloaked by young Taylor,
and the affair was settled. But Harry thought she did not seem
quite satisfied with herself, for she changed colour several
times, and he even remarked that her fingers trembled as she tied
the strings of her hat. This rather softened his feelings towards
her; but he still felt extremely provoked with the meddling
Adeline, and her officious brother. As he did not wish to play
the worsted man, however, he tried to put a good face on the
matter, and accompanied the party down-stairs, helped the ladies
into the sleigh, wished them a pleasant drive, and went off
himself, at a rapid pace, towards the Long-Island ferry.

He was exceedingly out of humour with Adeline, and reproached
Jane not a little for allowing herself to be so often guided by
her trifling friend. The occurrence of the morning, hastened his
determination to bring matters to a conclusion. That very evening
should decide the point. He must have been more than modest to
have doubted the result; Jane's manner he had long thought just
what he could wish from one so little demonstrative as herself.
Hubert de Vaux, it is true, had been very assiduous of late, but
Jane had never given him any sign of preference, sufficient to
excite Harry's jealousy. Mr. Graham was expected every day from
Charleston, to pass the remainder of the winter with his family;
as he had already given one daughter to the elder Hazlehurst, and
no serious objection could be raised against Harry, his prospects
were very promising. Before long, the gentle, lovely Jane would
be his own; his would be the enviable lot, of carrying off the
beautiful prize.

Hazlehurst had time to make these reflections, and disperse his
ill-humour, before he reached the wharf at Brooklyn. Here he met
Charlie Hubbard, whom he had not seen for some time, not, indeed,
since his rupture with the Wyllyses. Charlie's greeting was not
quite as warm as usual; he did not seem as much pleased at this
unexpected meeting, and the offer of a seat in Harry's cutter, as
one might have supposed. Hazlehurst was so cordial, however, and
urged the young painter so much to take a turn with him on the
Island, that, after a little hesitation, Hubbard accepted.

"Come, Charlie; I am sure you haven't any very good reason for
not making the most of the snow, like the rest of us."

"Perhaps not," said Charlie; and he took his seat with Harry.

Hubbard gave a good account of himself and his family. He had
received several orders; and his pet picture of the moment was
going on finely. His youngest sister was in town, taking music
lessons, to fit her for her future occupation; and he had just
sent Miss Patsey a pair of globes for her school, as a New Year's
gift; the most expensive present, by-the-bye, Charlie had ever
made in his life.

"I feel quite rich," said the young man, "since I pocketed a
hundred a-piece for my two views of Nahant. To be sure, I never
expect to make a fortune; if I can earn enough to support my
mother and sister, and paint only such pictures as I please, that
is all I want of the good things of this world."

"It's all very well to say so now, Charlie, that you have
received your two hundred; but wait till you are the great Mr.
Hubbard, and expect two thousand for your last view of
Coney-Island."

"That day will never come, to me, or to any other man, perhaps,
in this country," replied young Hubbard. "I go to work with my
eyes open, as you well know. My uncles have talked the matter
over with me a hundred times, if they have once; they have showed
me what I could do if I took to making money, and what I could
not do if I took to painting. They have offered to help me on;
Mr. Taylor would take me into his counting-house, to-morrow; and
Hilson offers to make me an auctioneer. But I have chosen my
profession, and I shall abide by it. I have no wish for wealth. I
should never be tempted to sell my soul for money--no, nor my
good name, or my independence: for I do not feel willing to
barter even my time and tastes for riches. I can honestly say,
money has no charms for me. A comfortable subsistence, in a very
moderate way, is all I should ask for."

"I know it, Hubbard, and I honour your decision," said
Hazlehurst, warmly. "It is impossible, however, but that genius
like yours should make its way; and I hope you may meet with all
the success you deserve, even though it bring you more money than
you wish for: one of these days when there is a Mrs. Hubbard, you
may want more than you require now."

A shade of feeling passed over the young artist's fine face, as
Harry carelessly uttered these words; it seemed to spring from
some painful thought. It was unobserved by Hazlehurst, however,
who was not looking at his companion at the moment. Charlie was
soon roused by Harry's inquiries as to his plans for travelling
in Europe. The young men then spent a pleasant hour in discussing
different works of the great masters, which Hubbard, as yet, knew
only from engravings and books. Surrounded by snow and ice, they
talked over the atmospheres of Italy and Greece.



CHAPTER XXII.

"Happy New-Year!"

THE streets had been cleared of the snow for New-Year's day, by a
thaw, and a hard shower in the night. The sun rose bright and
clear; and, as usual, early in the morning, that is to say
morning in its fashionable sense, the greater part of the male
population of the town were in motion, hurrying in all directions
towards the houses of their female friends and relatives. It
appeared as if the women had suddenly deserted the city, and the
men were running about, half-distracted, in pursuit of them.
After the markets and churches were closed, few indeed were the
females to be seen in the streets; while, on the contrary, troops
of men of all ages, were hurrying over the side-walks of
Broadway, usually enlivened by the gay dresses and bright faces
of the ladies. There were young men running a race against time,
carrying lists in their hands with an impossible number of visits
to be paid during the day; there were boys taking their first
steps in this yearly course of gallantry; there were elderly men
walking more leisurely from one favoured house to another. All,
but a few grumblers here and there, looked smiling and
good-humoured. As the black-coated troop hastened hither and
thither, they jostled one another, now nodding, now shaking
hands; here, old friends passing without seeing each other;
there, a couple of strangers salute one another in the warmest
manner. The doors of the houses seemed to open of themselves; men
were going in, men were coming out. The negroes looked more
lustrous and light-hearted than ever; the Paddies, cleaner and
more bothered; the regular Knickerbockers, to the manner born,
were, of course, in their element.

{"visits" = for men to make short calls at as many homes as
possible on New Year's Day was an old New York City custom;
"Paddies" = Irish; "Knickerbockers" = traditional term for native
New Yorkers}

We have heard nice calculations as to the precise number of
calls, that an able-bodied, well-trained New-Year's visiter can
accomplish between midnight and midnight; allowing, of course, a
couple of hours for the toilette, and a moment to snatch a
mouthful at breakfast and dinner: it is affirmed, however, that
as great generals have passed days of battle without food, so
your chivalrous Knickerbocker should be willing to forego, on
such an occasion, even a sight of the roast turkey and
cranberries. Allowing the individual, however, something to
sustain nature, that he may be the better enabled to perform his
duties, it is supposed that a beau, in good visiting condition,
should pay his court in not more than three hundred, nor less
than fifty drawing-rooms. But, then, to do this, a man must have
method; he must draw up his plan of action before-hand; he must
portion out his districts, as they lie on each side of that
longest of streets, Broadway; he must not only study the map of
the city closely, but he must possess an accurate knowledge of
the localities; he must remember that some houses have stoops of
twelve steps, that some drawing-rooms are not on the first floor.
He must NOT allow himself to be enticed into any flirtation
whatever, beyond a glance or a smile; he must NOT indulge the
hope of calling twice upon the sweet creature he most admires; he
must NOT be tempted to sink, even for a moment, upon the most
comfortable of ottomans or divans; he must NOT return home to
re-adjust his locks, to change either boots, gloves, or
handkerchief. We have heard it asserted, that owing to some
unfortunate weakness of this kind, many a promising youth,
unaccustomed, probably, to the hardships of such visiting, has
been distanced in the gallant race of the day, by more methodical
men--by men who were actually encumbered with over-shoes and
greatcoats!

It is amusing to watch the hurried steps of some experienced
visiter without doors; the decision of his movements, the
correctness of his calculation in passing out of one house into
another; and one is sure to know a raw recruit, by his anxious,
perplexed manner and expression.

The scene within doors is quite as amusing as it is without.
Everything wears a holiday look; it is evidently no common
morning reception; the ladies' dresses look gayer and fresher,
their smiles brighter than usual; the house, the furniture, and
the inmates, all wear their most agreeable aspect. The salver of
refreshments speaks at once the occasion; for there, in the midst
of richer cakes, stands the basket of homely "New-Years'
cookies," bequeathed to their descendants by the worthy vrows of
New-Amsterdam. The visiters appear, first singly, then in
parties. Here comes a favourite partner of the young ladies,
there a mere bowing acquaintance of the master of the house. This
is an old family friend, that a neighbour who has never been in
the house before; here is a near relative, there a passing
stranger. The grey-haired old gentleman who has the arm-chair
wheeled out for him, announces his fiftieth visiting anniversary;
the buckish youth, his grandson, has already made his bow, and
off again; so {sic} finish his gallant duties. Now we have a five
minutes visit from a declared lover; and who follows him? One who
advances slowly and steadily, with a half-inquiring look; the
lady of the house sees him, gives a glance of surprise, is
gratified, accepts the offered hand immediately. That is a
reconciliation; old friendship broken off, now renewed, a
misunderstanding forgotten--that is one of the pleasantest visits
of the day. All come, bow, look, and speak their friendly
good-wishes, and are off again to make room for others.

{"New Years' cookies" = the Dutch in New York had special recipes
for cakes and "cookies" for each major holiday, such as New
Year's Day; vrows" = wives, in old Dutch New York}

Long may this pleasant, cheerful, good-natured, lively custom be
perpetuated among us! As long as the side-walks of Manhattan and
the canals of Amsterdam last, so long may Santa Claus bring his
Christmas gifts to the little folk; and so long may the gallant
Knickerbockers pay to their female friends the homage of a
PERSONAL visit at New-Year's. Cards on every other day in the
year, if necessary; but, on New Year's, carry your good wishes in
person. Should not, indeed, a custom so pleasant spread
throughout the whole country, like crackers, waffles, Dutch
blood, and many other good things brought originally from
Holland?

On the particular New-Year's day at which we have arrived in our
narrative, an individual of the reader's acquaintance, instead of
joining the busy throng of visiters, was seen turning his steps
through a bye-street, towards the Battery. He walked slowly
through Greenwich-Street, apparently busy with thoughts of his
own, and entering the Battery-Gate he continued for some time
pacing the paved walk near the water.

"There is a fellow who seems to have nothing to do to-day," said
a young man to his companion, as they were hurrying across the
Battery from one end of State-Street to the other. "I should like
to hire him as proxy, to show himself in a score or two of houses
in my place. I should hand him over half my list at once, if I
thought the ladies would submit to the exchange; he looks like a
presentable chap, too."

"Why, it is actually Harry Hazlehurst! What can he be doing,
moping about in that fashion?"

"Hazlehurst, is it? Oh, ho!--you have heard the hubbub they have
had at the Graham's, I suppose?"

"Not I--What is it?"

"There was quite a scene there, yesterday; my sister had the news
from Adeline Taylor, a great friend of her's; so it comes very
straight."

"I thought all was going on there as smoothly as possible. I
expected an invitation to the wedding before long."

"To be sure; so did everybody. But it seems the beauty has ideas
of her own. In the first place she refused Hazlehurst, rather to
the astonishment of himself and all his friends, I believe."

"Refused Hazlehurst!--You don't say so!"

"And that is only half the story. She took the same opportunity,
while weeping and trembling, to confide to her mamma that her
heart had been for some time, how long I cannot tell you
precisely, the property of Tall. Taylor."

"What, Tallman Taylor? That is news, indeed--I never should have
dreamt of such a thing."

"Miss Adeline Taylor is the authority. It seems the affair has
been going on, no one knows how long, and Miss Taylor has had the
management of it. These girls are sly minxes; they are not to be
trusted, half of them."

"And what says Taylor to all this?"

"What does he say? Why he is in a sort of ecstasy of despair, I
suppose; for the Grahams won't hear of the match. It was no news
to him; they have been engaged, I tell you, for months,"

At that moment the two young men entered the door of a house in
State-Street. Although their story was, upon the whole, correct;
yet, we happen to be still better informed on the subject, and
shall proceed to account, in our own way, for Hazlehurst's
solitary walk.

When Miss Adeline and her party had returned from sleighing,
Harry went to Mrs. Graham's, and finding Jane alone, he
immediately seized the moment to explain himself, beginning by a
lover-like remonstrance upon her having joined the Taylors,
instead of going with him as she had already promised to do. Jane
was excessively embarrassed. As Harry proceeded, she became more
and more agitated. Her manner was so confused, that it was some
time before Hazlehurst could understand that she wished to refuse
him. Had she not actually wept, and looked frightened and
distressed, he might have given a very different interpretation
to her embarrassment. At length, in answer to a decided question
of his, she confessed her attachment to another person; and,
never was lover more surprised by such an acknowledgement.
Pained, and mortified, and astonished as Harry was, the name of
"Hubert de Vaux!" passed his lips before he was aware he had
spoken.

"Oh, no; no;" said Jane. "I never cared at all for Mr. de Vaux."

Harry's astonishment increased. He could scarcely believe that he
had heard her correctly. To whom could she possibly be attached?

"Oh, I wish I had some one here to advise me! Adeline may say
what she pleases, I cannot conceal it any longer."

Harry listened in amazement.

"Is it possible," he said, at length, "that there is some
difficulty, some embarrassment, that prevents your acting as you
would wish? My dear Jane, confide in me. You cannot doubt that I
love you, that I have long loved you;" and Harry then ran over a
variation of his first declaration. But Jane's trouble seemed
only to increase.

"Oh, stop, Harry; don't talk in that way," she said; "I ought to
have told you before. I wished to tell you when you first came on
to New York, but Adeline said we should risk everything by it."

"What can you possibly risk? What is it you wish to tell me?"

"I was very sorry when you broke with Elinor--I never can have
any other feeling for you than I have always had: I have been for
some time, almost-----engaged--to--to--Mr. Taylor--"

"You-----engaged to Mr. Taylor!"

"No-----not engaged-----only I have not refused him--We know
father and mother dislike Mr. Taylor's family so much--"

It was but natural that Harry should feel indignant at having
been deceived by the under-current of plotting that had been
going on; that he should feel mortified, ashamed of himself, and
disappointed, at the same time; vexed with Jane, and almost
furious against the meddling, officious Adeline, and her
presuming brother. From a long acquaintance with Jane's
character, it flashed upon his mind in a moment, that she must
have been misguided, and gradually led on by others. But the
mischief was done; it was evident that at present, at least, she
cared no more for him than she had always done; while, on the
contrary, young Taylor had insinuated himself into her
affections. He could not endure to think, that while Jane was
indifferent to himself, his successful rival should be one whom
he so much disliked. Yet, such was the fact. It was infatuation
on the part of Jane, no doubt; and yet how often these deceptions
have all the bad effects of realities! He had been silent for
some minutes, while the tears were streaming freely from Jane's
beautiful eyes.

"Oh, if I had not been so afraid that father would never give his
consent, I should not have waited so long. If I only knew what to
do now?"

Harry came to a magnanimous resolution. "I forgive you, Jane," he
said, "the pain you have caused, since I cannot but think that it
is not the fruit of your own suggestions. You could not
deliberately have trifled with me in this way; I owe it, no
doubt, to the goodness of Miss Taylor," he added, bitterly. Jane
made no answer, but continued to weep. Harry felt some compassion
for her, in spite of her unjustifiable conduct towards himself.
In the course of half an hour, she had fallen very much in his
estimation; but he determined to return good for evil, by urging
her to take the only step now in her power--the only one proper
under the circumstances. He begged her, as she valued her future
peace, to reveal everything to her mother; and to be guided in
future by Mrs. Graham. But Jane seemed terrified at the idea.

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