"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.
"Oh," said she, "father will be so angry! And we expect him every
day: Mother, too, I know, will think I have behaved very badly to
you."
It is probable she might not have had the courage to follow his
advice, had not Mrs. Graham accidentally entered the room at the
moment. Her attention was immediately attracted to the unusual
expression of Harry's face, and the tearful, woe-begone look of
her daughter, which she could in no way account for. Harry,
merely answering her inquiries by a bow, arose and left the room,
leaving the mother and daughter together.
Poor Mrs. Graham was little aware of what awaited her. She could
not be called a woman of very high principles, but she had more
feeling, and, of course, more experience than Jane. When she
discovered the true state of things, she was very much shocked.
She had never had the least idea of what had been going on around
her; far from it, indeed, she had never for a moment doubted
that, before long, her daughter would become the wife of young
Hazlehurst.
Little by little she gathered the whole truth from the weeping
Jane. It appeared that the two or three meetings which had taken
place between Jane and young Taylor, just before he sailed, had
been sufficient for him to fancy himself in love with her. He
made a confidante of his sister Adeline, who, as one of the older
class in her boarding-school, considered all love-affairs as
belonging to her prerogative. Her friend, Miss Hunter, was a
regular graduate of the Court of Love, according to the code--not
of Toulouse--but of a certain class of school-girls in New-York.
This young lady had gone through the proper training from her
cradle, having been teased and plagued about beaux and lovers,
before she could walk alone. She had had several love-affairs of
her own before she was fifteen. "All for love," was her motto;
and it was a love which included general flirtation as the spice
of unmarried life, and matrimony with any individual whatever,
possessing a three-story house in Broadway, as the one great
object of existence. Adeline had, of course, profited by such
companionship; and, at the time her brother confessed himself in
love with Miss Graham, after having met once on board a
steamboat, and once at an evening party, she was fully equal to
take the management of the whole affair into her own hands. It is
true, young Taylor had entered into a boyish engagement at
college; but that was thought no obstacle whatever. She delighted
in passing her brother's compliments over to Jane; in reporting
to him her friend's blushes and smiles. With this state of
things, young Taylor sailed for Europe; but Adeline gloried too
much in her capacity of confidante, to allow the matter to drop:
not a letter was written but contained some allusion to the
important subject. In the course of the year she had talked Jane
into quite a favourable state of feeling towards her brother; he
would probably himself have forgotten the affair, had not Miss
Graham arrived in Paris at the moment she did.
They saw each other, of course, and the feelings which Adeline
had been encouraging during the last year, and which otherwise
would have amounted to nothing at all, now took a serious turn.
Young Taylor was very handsome, and astonishingly improved in
appearance and manners. Jane, herself, was in the height of her
beauty, and the young man had soon fallen really in love with
her. Unfortunately, just at the moment that he became attentive
to her, Mrs. Robert Hazlehurst, who was confined to the house
that winter, had confided Jane to the care of Mrs. Howard, the
lady who had brought her from America. Young Taylor soon found
out that he was rather disliked by Mr. and Mrs. Hazlehurst, and
preferred securing Jane's favour, if possible, without attracting
the attention of her friends. Adeline, on her part, had
discovered that her own family were no favourites with Mr. and
Mrs. Graham; of course she recommended the proper degree of
mystery, under the name of prudence. Young Taylor left Paris for
England, about the time that Harry returned from his eastern
journey; but before parting from Jane, he explained himself; and
if he had not been accepted, he had certainly not been refused.
Thus matters stood when the whole party returned home. Mr. Graham
was known to be a violent, passionate man, and as he had taken no
pains to conceal his dislike to Tallman Taylor's father, the
young people had every reason to believe that he would refuse his
consent. The idea of a clandestine marriage had once occurred to
Adeline, but never with any serious intention of proposing it.
Had she done so, she would not have been listened to. Jane had
not lived so much with Miss Wyllys and Elinor, without deriving
some good from such association; besides, she did not think the
step necessary. She believed that Mr. Graham would give his
consent after a while; and young Taylor was obliged to submit for
the present. As for his college engagement, he had paid it no
more attention than if it had never taken place; it had been long
since forgotten, on his part.
Little by little, Mrs. Graham gathered most of these facts from
her daughter, whose weeping eyes and pale face would have
delighted Adeline, as being just what was proper in a heroine of
romance, on such an important occasion. But Adeline could not
enjoy the sight of all the misery which was the fruit of her two
years' labours, for Mrs. Graham insisted that Jane should see
none of the family until her father had arrived; and knew the
state of things.
Harry Hazlehurst, although not quite as well informed as the
reader, knew essentially how matters stood. He knew at least,
that Jane and young Taylor were all but pledged to each other; he
knew what had been Adeline's conduct--what had been his own
treatment; and as he walked slowly from one end of the Battery to
the other, his reflections were anything but flattering to
himself, or to any of the parties concerned. He blamed Mrs.
Graham for her want of maternal caution and foresight; he blamed
his brother, and sister-in-law, for their blindness in Paris;
Jane, for her weakness, and want of sincerity to himself;
Adeline, for such unjustifiable management and manoeuvring; and
young Taylor, for what he called his "presumption and puppyism."
And to think that he, Harry Hazlehurst, who prided himself upon
being clear-sighted, had been so completely deceived by others,
and what was worse, by himself! He was obliged to remember how
sure he had felt himself of Jane; it was humiliating to think
what a silly part he had been playing. Then came a twinge or two,
from the consciousness that he had deserved it all, from his
conduct to Elinor. He tried to persuade himself that regret that
Jane should fall into hands he fancied so unworthy of her--that
she should be sacrificed to a mere second-rate sort of dandy,
like young Taylor, was his strongest feeling at the time. But he
was mistaken: there was a good deal of the lover in his
recollection of Jane's transcendant {sic} beauty. He hoped that
she would yet be saved from the worst--from becoming the wife of
Tallman Taylor. He felt convinced that Mr. Graham would refuse
his consent to the marriage.
The next day, Harry returned to Philadelphia. The astonishment of
all those interested in himself and Jane, at this rupture, was
very great. If Mrs. Stanley had been grieved at Harry's
difficulties, Mrs. Robert Hazlehurst was made quite unhappy by
her sister's conduct. She reproached herself severely for her
blindness; for not having taken as much care of Jane as she ought
to have done under the circumstances. Like all her family, she
disliked young Taylor; who, in fact, had nothing to recommend him
but his handsome face, and his father's money. Miss Wyllys, too,
was much pained by the conduct of one who had been so often under
her care--one, in whose welfare she was so warmly interested. She
received the news in a note from Mrs. Hazlehurst, who preferred
giving it in that form; and as Miss Wyllys was alone with Elinor,
she immediately handed the billet to her niece.
It must be confessed that Elinor's heart gave one bound at this
unexpected news. She was more moved by it than any one; more
astonished that Jane should have refused Harry; that she should
have preferred to him that silly Tallman Taylor; more shocked at
the double-dealing that had been going on; and more pained that
Jane, who had been to her as a sister, should have been so easily
misled. Another thought intruded, too--Harry would be free again!
But the idea had hardly suggested itself, before she repelled it.
She soon felt convinced that Mr. Graham would break off the
engagement between his daughter and Mr. Taylor, and that after a
while her cousin's eyes would he opened to Harry's merits, which
were numberless in her eyes. Miss Agnes strongly encouraged this
opinion; and Elinor fully determined that her aunt's counsels,
her mother's letter, and her own experience, should not be thrown
away; she would watch more carefully than ever against every
fancy that would be likely to endanger anew the tranquillity she
had in some measure regained.