University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.

Newspaper Verses.

Early in December, a new glazed card was to be seen on
most of the fashionable tables in New York. It was of the
particular tint most in favour that season, whether bluish or
pinkish we dare not affirm, for fear of committing a serious
anachronism, which might at once destroy, with many persons,
all claim to a knowledge of the arcana of fashionable
life. Having no authorities at hand to consult, the point
must be left to the greater research of the critical reader.
This card bore the name of T. Tallman Taylor; but
whether in Roman or Italic characters we dare not say, for
the same reason which has just been frankly confessed. It
was, however, a highly fashionable bit of pasteboard, as
became the representative of a personage who returned to
New York, claiming the honours of fashion himself. This
was no less a person than the son of Mr. Pompey Taylor.
But the T. Tallman Taylor, whose whole appearance was
pronounced unexceptionable by the New York belles, from
the points of his boots to the cut of his moustaches, was a
very different individual from the good-looking, but awkward,
ungainly youth, introduced to the reader two or three
years since, at Wyllys-Roof. He had, in the mean time,
learned how to stand, how to sit, how to walk, how to talk
in a drawing-room. He had learned what to do with his
cane and his hat, how to manage his pocket-handkerchief
and his gloves; branches of knowledge which an American
who sets about acquiring them, usually learns quite rapidly.
He was also very much improved in riding and dancing, and
was said to fence well. These, with the addition of a much

better French accent, were the principal changes perceptible
to the ladies, who pronounced them all for the better. Among
the young men he was soon found to be an excellent judge of
Chateau Margaux and Rüdesheimer; some also thought him
knowing in horse-flesh, while others doubted his qualifications
in that respect. His father, moreover, soon discovered
that he had become an adept in the art of spending money;
among his intimates, cards, and the billiard-table, with other
practices of that description, were hinted at, as the way in
which he got rid of his dollars. But as these were subjects
not mentioned in general society, it was as yet the initiated
only, who were aware of young Taylor's Paris habits of this
kind.

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,

“Good morning, Mr. Hazlehurst, you are exact at the
render-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 greybeards.
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,

“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.