The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, January 1844

‘No, my dear Madam, don’t, if you please. It ain’t this here fire in the hearth, but,’ striking his breast passionately, ‘it’s here, Madam.’

‘That’s just where Mrs. Jenkins is affected sometimes, and she says Madeira’s the best thing for it; and she has drank nearly all that last quart I got of you, Mr. Hardesty, and I don’t see as she gets any better.’

‘Madeira, indeed!’ said old Tom, scornfully. ‘Madeira, madam, instead of squenching, would only add fuel to the flame that is consuming me. There are men as takes to the bottle for it when they despair; but bless your soul!’ he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘I haven’t despaired.’

At this eloquent appeal, Mrs. Sidebottom looked at the fire and said nothing, until an audible snore from Belinda, who had fallen asleep in her chair, aroused her.

‘Bless me!’ exclaimed Miss Peggy, bouncing to her feet; ‘look at the child there! Belinda dear, wake up. Poor dear thing! you had better go up stairs to bed.’ And rubbing her eyes, the child took up a lighted candle, bowed politely to Mr. Hardesty, and disappeared behind the stair-door.

Miss Sidebottom resumed her seat and looked again at the fire, and Mr. Hardesty looked at Miss Sidebottom. Presently, that amiable lady turned her gaze, lighted as it was by an equivocal smile, full upon Tom. In the space of about fifteen seconds, after trying in vain to interpret that smile to his own satisfaction, Mr. Hardesty quailed, while his heart commenced vibrating against his ribs, as though it would burst their feeble barrier, and take refuge in his waistcoat-pocket. Miss Sidebottom, however, showed no such symptoms of alarm, and her courage rose as Tom’s fell. By the way, composure in such delicate epochs is like see-sawing; one ascends as the other descends, until perchance the weaker party fails to recover his equilibrium, and tumbles off the fence. Diffident young courtiers should remember this.

Mr. Hardesty was bewildered beyond endurance. How could a man speak more plainly? And yet he would try once more.

‘Let me tell you, my dear Miss Sidebottom, once for all, I’m–’

There was a noise of some one opening the front door, and as Mr. Hardesty turned his head, Dick entered the room.

‘Why, Dicky, where have you been this cold night?’ asked his aunt.

Dicky replied that he had been snow-balling, of which there were sufficient marks on his person. His countenance was flushed and heated, and he proceeded to say that he was tired, and wanted to go to bed.

At this Mr. Hardesty rose deliberately from his seat, saying it was time to go.

‘But, Mr. Hardesty,’ urged Miss Peggy, ‘it’s cold and snowing; stay all night there with Dicky,’ pointing to a comfortable bed in one corner. ‘I know you are delicate, and it’s snowing hard. I’ll go and see. Here Dicky,’ and she left the room followed by Dick. Mr. Hardesty looked around at the comfortable quarters offered him, and determined to remain. Scarcely had he come to this decision, when the affectionate aunt and nephew returned, the former telling him not to think of going out on such a night, and the latter assuring him it was snowing ‘like sixty.’

‘I’ll stay, Madam, and thank’ee too,’ said Mr. Hardesty, re-seating himself. Miss Peggy bade her guest a very good night, and, threatening to catch him for a Christmas gift next morning, disappeared up the stairs and locked the door after her. Tom watched her retreating figure until she disappeared, and then addressed himself to the boy.

‘Been snow-balling to-night, eh, Dicky? Fine sport, Dicky; fine sport.’

‘I should say it was, Sir, when your side toes the mark and don’t run,’ said Dick, placing his damp shoes on the hearth. ‘Them shoes’ll never run away with my feet in ’em, certain.’

‘Well, Dicky,’ continued Mr. Hardesty, stirring the fire, ‘you’re a brave boy.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ said Dick, ‘braver than you think for. Catch me napping when there’s work to do, and I am to get a pie for it in the bargain, will you?’ The bare suggestion amused Dick, and as he divested himself of his damp clothes, he laughed heartily.

‘That’s just what I was saying, Dicky, and was going on to add, that snow-balling and such like ain’t for me now, but the time was when none was better at them than I.’

‘P’raps not,’ said Dick, ‘but as I’m rather tired, and don’t mind the cold, I’ll get in and warm the bed, and you can come along when you like;’ and the light-hearted boy sprang into his nest, and in less than five minutes was snoring audibly.

Mr. Hardesty stirred the fire, and as the myriad sparks flew up the chimney, he wished he had just so many dollars; he would give them all if she would but love him. Growing weary of this delusive sport, he looked at his watch, compared it with Miss Sidebottom’s yankee clock, and finding his own time-piece was just five minutes the faster, concluded that both were wrong just two minutes and a half, and he would split the difference. He might be mistaken, but if he was he would consult the town clock to-morrow.

Mr. Hardesty resumed the poker and stirred the fire until its bright blaze threw a broad glare over the chamber; and out of the glowing coals he built strange towers and castles, and saw them change by turns into ashes, and grow dim like his own recent dreams of love. This being a melancholy contemplation, he lent his ear to a solitary cricket that was cheerily singing its household song, though the winds were wild without. Presently the cricket ceased its chirrup, and Mr. Hardesty growing tired of sitting, yawned, stretched himself, and walked to the window.

Outside, the ground was covered with a wild waste of snow, and the heavy flakes were still falling. Suddenly it occurred to him that somebody might accidentally pass that way and recognize him; so he let fall the curtain and walked across the room. Here, lifting his eyes from the floor, a looking-glass stared him in the face, and he started back. He turned again and walked to the bed-side where Dick was sleeping. The boy, he thought, might one day be his nephew, and he revolved in his mind a thousand schemes for advancing him in the world and making him a clever fellow.

Mr. Hardesty left the bed-side and looked up at the ceiling. Beyond that, he thought, was the adored Miss Sidebottom. What a narrow space sundered them! He walked to the fire-place and looked on the mantel for a book. He selected an old copy of Burns, and opened at the pathetic ballad of ‘John Anderson.’ Mr. Hardesty sat down and read it once aloud. Then he read it to himself over and over again, until he had gotten it by heart. And then by degrees the room swam dizzily before him, the fire glowed like a pale meteor, his eyes closed heavily, the open book fell from his hand, and Mr. Hardesty was asleep.

He slept and dreamed. Smiles like those of sleeping infancy stole over his venerable features. In one short moment he was the happiest man alive; his love had been crowned with success; and putting forth his hand to grasp the dear shadow, he lost his balance and fell from his chair.

Mr. Hardesty looked around him, wondering. He resumed his seat and rubbed his eyes. The fire had almost gone out. The wick was long and dim. He looked at the clock; it wanted just twenty minutes of midnight.

Mr. Hardesty snuffed the candle and commenced divesting himself of his apparel; placed his boots beside Dicky’s shoes on the hearth; threw his upper garments on the back of a chair, and his nether ditto on the seat thereof. But his extremities were cold, he thought, and placing a chair bottom upward on the floor, he put his feet to the fire.

For some minutes Mr. Hardesty stared steadily at the ceiling, beyond which Miss Sidebottom was sleeping in virgin security; and whether from the magnetic effect of his constant gaze, or the slumbrous air that pervaded the room, his eyelids soon closed, and he was again soundly asleep. The candle burned dimly on; coal after coal was turned to ashes; at last both went out, and still Mr. Hardesty slept.

Presently there was a stir in the bed occupied by Dick. The boy rose on his pillow and looked cautiously around him. He called Mr. Hardesty, but there was no answer. At this Dick put one leg out of bed, and then the other, and stood firmly on the floor. Gliding cautiously over the carpet, he stooped over the sleeper, whose deep breathing assured him that all was safe. Then stepping softly to the chair on which Mr. Hardesty’s clothes were lying, he selected that gentleman’s nether garment, then went to the hearth and lifted the boots, and slipping on his own shoes, glided cautiously out of the room with his booty. Returning in a few minutes he again stooped over the sleeper, and then stole to bed, where, after laughing immoderately yet quietly, he was soon as fast asleep as Mr. Hardesty himself.

When Mr. Hardesty awoke he found himself still reclining on the back of the chair. Not a little vexed with himself for lying there all night, he rose to his feet, and looking around, found that Dick had risen before him, and the bed was empty. ‘Why didn’t he wake me, I wonder?’ said Mr. Hardesty.

Mr. Hardesty walked to the window, lifted the curtain, and looked out. The mists and clouds had cleared away, and left the sky all bright and blue. The sun had just risen, and was shedding his early splendor on the myriad snow-drops as brightly as if to atone for the darkness and gloom of yesterday. It was a cheerful and beautiful view; but Mr. Hardesty heard the sound of shuffling footsteps overhead; so he turned shivering from the window to dress himself for the day. ‘It’ll never do to be caught in this fix,’ said Mr. Hardesty.

His first search was for his boots, but these had been taken out, as he supposed, to be polished. He would put on his breeches and wait for his boots. He cast his eye on the pile of clothes, but the breeches were not there. Then he looked on the floor, and in all the corners of the room, and then on the bed and under the bed—but in vain. ‘What the d–l has become of my breeches!’ said Mr. Hardesty.

It occurred to him at length that by some mysterious power of locomotion the garment had gotten into the drawer of a bureau that stood in one corner. He pulled at this drawer most lustily, but it was locked, and Miss Sidebottom had the key. To add to his discomfiture, he again heard the sound of footsteps overhead. He had but a moment to spare, and looking around for a place of retreat, his eye fell on a closet-door that opened beneath the stairs. Putting on hastily the remnant of his apparel, he presented altogether an appearance the like of which the writer has never seen, and will not attempt to describe, and managed to effect his retreat into the closet just as Miss Sidebottom and Belinda entered the room from above.

Mr. Hardesty applied his eye to the key-hole, but saw nothing save the form of either lady as it flitted from time to time across the limited range of his vision. Presently a conversation began between the two, of which, however, he could hear nothing except a confused murmur, and occasionally a most uproarious fit of laughter. Before long the merry tones of the elder lady were changed to those of anger. Miss Sidebottom was evidently scolding one of the servants, and then came reiterated sounds of castigation, interspersed with tongue-lashings, by far the most terrible of the two. Mr. Hardesty resigned himself to his fate, and was willing to endure a confinement that revealed to him the evil spirit that reigned within a form of so much loveliness.

After a while came the indescribable sounds of breakfast; the rattling of knives and forks, and cups and saucers, suggestive to Mr. Hardesty’s mind of coffee, hot biscuits, and butter. Presently the table was cleared away, and he caught a glimpse through his key-hole of the two ladies, dressed in their cloaks and bonnets. In a moment they departed, leaving Mr. Hardesty sole proprietor.

Each moment of this time was one of intense agony to Mr. Hardesty. Exposed to hunger and thirst, and cold and insult, what had he done to deserve such misfortunes? And that was Christmas, too; what a merry day to all the world without; and in what a contemptible plight was he! What would little Master John think of his absence; and how much would be sold at his little store before night? These reflections only enhanced the agony of his imprisonment; so wrapping himself tightly in the folds of his cloak, he crouched down in a corner of the closet, and soon fell fast asleep.

Mr. Hardesty slept on until night-fall. So soon as he realized his situation, he determined to be a prisoner no longer, but to emerge from his confinement, whatever might be the danger of an exposure. Fortunately for him, the room was deserted. The ladies had not yet returned from their visit. Mr. Hardesty approached the window and found it quite dark without. He had little time left for deliberation, for he heard the sound of a key turning in the street-door lock, and recognized the well-known voice of Miss Sidebottom; so hoisting the window, he crawled rapidly through it, and leaped on the ground.

Mr. Hardesty breathed once more like a freeman; and muttering deep anathemas against the inhospitable house and all its inmates, he stole quietly along, with his bootless feet buried at each step in the snow. Leaving the more frequented streets, and worming his way through bypaths and dark alleys; now turning a corner, under the direful apprehension of meeting some acquaintance, and now darting this way or that to avoid a random snow-ball, he pursued his painful way until he reached home, where he knocked and was admitted by Master John.

The grocer bolted in, rushed into his counting-room, and throwing off his cloak, stared wildly at the bewildered boy. ‘What do you think of that, John?’ pointing to his denuded extremities. ‘How does that become your old master, Sir?’

Master John, frightened partly at the anomalous appearance of the grocer, and partly at the sternness of his voice and manner, started back to the remotest corner of the room, but said nothing.

‘What’s the matter now, you little fool?’ said his master. ‘Are you afraid of old Tom Hardesty? If you are, you needn’t be; nobody need be afraid of such an old coward as I am—darned if they need!’ And feeling that he was growing melancholy, he determined to subdue the propensity, and to that end commenced cutting the complicated figure entitled a pigeon-wing. This exhilarating sport soon restored the grocer’s good humor, and he laughed heartily and made such a racket altogether, that the boy gradually approached him to inquire what it all meant, how he had spent his Christmas, what had become of his breeches, and all about it.

‘Here, John,’ said Mr. Hardesty, seating himself by the fire, ‘sit here and I’ll tell you all about it. But what an old fool I am! Here’s twenty-four blessed hours gone, and the d–l a bit or a drop have I had since last night at supper. Is this my house or not, John? for I’ve forgot every thing except one, and wouldn’t swear I ain’t dreaming, and haven’t been all day.’

The boy gave him every assurance that he was at home.

‘Well, John,’ pursued the master, ‘I think the last time I was here—it may be a year, or it may be more—I’ll be hanged if I know—but I rather think there was a lot of prime cheese, and a few barrels of crackers. You haven’t sold ’em all, John?’

John smiled, and answered negatively.

‘I rather think, too, there were several casks of best three-year-old whiskey, prime lot; any of that left, John?’

John pointed, in reply, to a row of casks in one corner that answered the description.

‘No! stop, Sir!’ said Mr. Hardesty, soliloquizing; ‘I think she said Madeira was good for it. Yes, John, I’ll take a little of the Madeira, if you’ve any on hand.’

John opened a cupboard door, and producing a black quart-bottle, assured Mr. Hardesty it was nearly full.

‘That’ll do, Sir,’ said the grocer. ‘Set the table; never mind the cloth. Crackers and cheese and old Madeira, and ‘away with melancholy.’’