CHAPTER III.
I rose at the dawn, and, without asking or bestowing a blessing, salliedforth into the highroad to the city, which passed near the house. I leftnothing behind, the loss of which I regretted. I had purchased most ofmy own books with the product of my own separate industry, and, theirnumber being, of course, small, I had, by incessant application, gottenthe whole of them by rote. They had ceased, therefore, to be of anyfurther use. I left them, without reluctance, to the fate for which Iknew them to be reserved, that of affording food and habitation to mice.
I trod this unwonted path with all the fearlessness of youth. In spiteof the motives to despondency and apprehension incident to my state, myheels were light and my heart joyous. "Now," said I, "I am mounted intoman. I must build a name and a fortune for myself. Strange if thisintellect and these hands will not supply me with an honest livelihood.I will try the city in the first place; but, if that should fail,resources are still left to me. I will resume my post in the cornfieldand threshing-floor, to which I shall always have access, and where Ishall always be happy."
I had proceeded some miles on my journey, when I began to feel theinroads of hunger. I might have stopped at any farm-house, and havebreakfasted for nothing. It was prudent to husband, with the utmostcare, my slender stock; but I felt reluctance to beg as long as I hadthe means of buying, and I imagined that coarse bread and a little milkwould cost little even at a tavern, when any farmer was willing tobestow them for nothing. My resolution was further influenced by theappearance of a signpost. What excuse could I make for begging abreakfast with an inn at hand and silver in my pocket?
I stopped, accordingly, and breakfasted. The landlord was remarkablyattentive and obliging, but his bread was stale, his milk sour, and hischeese the greenest imaginable. I disdained to animadvert on thesedefects, naturally supposing that his house could furnish no better.
Having finished my meal, I put, without speaking, one of my pieces intohis hand. This deportment I conceived to be highly becoming, and toindicate a liberal and manly spirit. I always regarded with contempt ascrupulous maker of bargains. He received the money with a complaisantobeisance. "Right," said he. "_Just_ the money, sir. You are on foot,sir. A pleasant way of travelling, sir. I wish you a good day, sir." Sosaying, he walked away.
This proceeding was wholly unexpected. I conceived myself entitled to atleast three-fourths of it in change. The first impulse was to call himback, and contest the equity of his demand; but a moment's reflectionshowed me the absurdity of such conduct. I resumed my journey withspirits somewhat depressed. I have heard of voyagers and wanderers indeserts, who were willing to give a casket of gems for a cup of coldwater. I had not supposed my own condition to be, in any respect,similar; yet I had just given one-third of my estate for a breakfast.
I stopped at noon at another inn. I counted on purchasing a dinner forthe same price, since I meant to content myself with the same fare. Alarge company was just sitting down to a smoking banquet. The landlordinvited me to join them. I took my place at the table, but was furnishedwith bread and milk. Being prepared to depart, I took him aside. "Whatis to pay?" said I.--"Did you drink any thing, sir?"--"Certainly. Idrank the milk which was furnished."--"But any liquors, sir?"---"No."
He deliberated a moment, and then, assuming an air of disinterestedness,"'Tis our custom to charge dinner and club; but, as you drank nothing,we'll let the club go. A mere dinner is half a dollar, sir."
He had no leisure to attend to my fluctuations. After debating withmyself on what was to be done, I concluded that compliance was best,and, leaving the money at the bar, resumed my way.
I had not performed more than half my journey, yet my purse was entirelyexhausted. This was a specimen of the cost incurred by living at an inn.If I entered the city, a tavern must, at least for some time, be myabode; but I had not a farthing remaining to defray my charges. Myfather had formerly entertained a boarder for a dollar per week, and, incase of need, I was willing to subsist upon coarser fare and lie on aharder bed than those with which our guest had been supplied. Thesefacts had been the foundation of my negligence on this occasion.
What was now to be done? To return to my paternal mansion wasimpossible. To relinquish my design of entering the city and to seek atemporary asylum, if not permanent employment, at some one of theplantations within view, was the most obvious expedient. Thesedeliberations did not slacken my pace. I was almost unmindful of my way,when I found I had passed Schuylkill at the upper bridge. I was nowwithin the precincts of the city, and night was hastening. It behoovedme to come to a speedy decision.
Suddenly I recollected that I had not paid the customary toll at thebridge; neither had I money wherewith to pay it. A demand of paymentwould have suddenly arrested my progress; and so slight an incidentwould have precluded that wonderful destiny to which I was reserved. Theobstacle that would have hindered my advance now prevented my return.Scrupulous honesty did not require me to turn back and awaken thevigilance of the toll-gatherer. I had nothing to pay, and by returning Ishould only double my debt. "Let it stand," said I, "where it does. Allthat honour enjoins is to pay when I am able."
I adhered to the crossways, till I reached Market Street. Night hadfallen, and a triple row of lamps presented a spectacle enchanting andnew. My personal cares were, for a time, lost in the tumultuoussensations with which I was now engrossed. I had never visited the cityat this hour. When my last visit was paid, I was a mere child. Thenovelty which environed every object was, therefore, nearly absolute. Iproceeded with more cautious steps, but was still absorbed in attentionto passing objects. I reached the market-house, and, entering it,indulged myself in new delight and new wonder.
I need not remark that our ideas of magnificence and splendour aremerely comparative; yet you may be prompted to smile when I tell youthat, in walking through this avenue, I, for a moment, conceived myselftransported to the hall "pendent with many a row of starry lamps andblazing crescents fed by naphtha and asphaltos." That this transitionfrom my homely and quiet retreat had been effected in so few hours worethe aspect of miracle or magic.
I proceeded from one of these buildings to another, till I reached theirtermination in Front Street. Here my progress was checked, and I soughtrepose to my weary limbs by seating myself on a stall. No wonder somefatigue was felt by me, accustomed as I was to strenuous exertions,since, exclusive of the minutes spent at breakfast and dinner, I hadtravelled fifteen hours and forty-five miles.
I began now to reflect, with some earnestness, on my condition. I was astranger, friendless and moneyless. I was unable to purchase food andshelter, and was wholly unused to the business of begging. Hunger wasthe only serious inconvenience to which I was immediately exposed. I hadno objection to spend the night in the spot where I then sat. I had nofear that my visions would be troubled by the officers of police. It wasno crime to be without a home; but how should I supply my presentcravings and the cravings of to-morrow?
At length it occurred to me that one of our country neighbours wasprobably at this time in the city. He kept a store as well as cultivateda farm. He was a plain and well-meaning man, and, should I be sofortunate as to meet him, his superior knowledge of the city might be ofessential benefit to me in my present forlorn circumstances. Hisgenerosity might likewise induce him to lend me so much as wouldpurchase one meal. I had formed the resolution to leave the city nextday, and was astonished at the folly that had led me into it; but,meanwhile, my physical wants must be supplied.
Where should I look for this man? In the course of conversation Irecollected him to have referred to the place of his temporary abode. Itwas an inn; but the sign or the name of the keeper for some timewithstood all my efforts to recall them.
At length I lighted on the last. It was Lesher's tavern. I immediatelyset out in search of it. After many inquiries, I at last arrived at thedoor. I was preparing to enter the house when I perceived that my bundlewas gone. I had left it on the stall where I had been sitting. Peoplewere perpetually
passing to and fro. It was scarcely possible not tohave been noticed. No one that observed it would fail to make it hisprey. Yet it was of too much value to me to allow me to be governed by abare probability. I resolved to lose not a moment in returning.
With some difficulty I retraced my steps, but the bundle haddisappeared. The clothes were, in themselves, of small value, but theyconstituted the whole of my wardrobe; and I now reflected that they werecapable of being transmuted, by the pawn or sale of them, into food.There were other wretches as indigent as I was, and I consoled myself bythinking that my shirts and stockings might furnish a seasonablecovering to their nakedness; but there was a relic concealed within thisbundle, the loss of which could scarcely be endured by me. It was theportrait of a young man who died three years ago at my father's house,drawn by his own hand.
He was discovered one morning in the orchard with many marks of insanityupon him. His air and dress bespoke some elevation of rank and fortune.My mother's compassion was excited, and, as his singularities wereharmless, an asylum was afforded him, though he was unable to pay forit. He was constantly declaiming, in an incoherent manner, about somemistress who had proved faithless. His speeches seemed, however, likethe rantings of an actor, to be rehearsed by rote or for the sake ofexercise. He was totally careless of his person and health, and, byrepeated negligences of this kind, at last contracted a fever of whichhe speedily died. The name which he assumed was Clavering.
He gave no distinct account of his family, but stated, in loose terms,that they were residents in England, high-born and wealthy. That theyhad denied him the woman whom he loved and banished him to America,under penalty of death if he should dare to return, and that they hadrefused him all means of subsistence in a foreign land. He predicted, inhis wild and declamatory way, his own death. He was very skilful at thepencil, and drew this portrait a short time before his dissolution,presented it to me, and charged me to preserve it in remembrance of him.My mother loved the youth because he was amiable and unfortunate, andchiefly because she fancied a very powerful resemblance between hiscountenance and mine. I was too young to build affection on any rationalfoundation. I loved him, for whatever reason, with an ardour unusual atmy age, and which this portrait had contributed to prolong and tocherish.
In thus finally leaving my home, I was careful not to leave this picturebehind. I wrapped it in paper in which a few elegiac stanzas wereinscribed in my own hand, and with my utmost elegance of penmanship. Ithen placed it in a leathern case, which, for greater security, wasdeposited in the centre of my bundle. It will occur to you, perhaps,that it would be safer in some fold or pocket of the clothes which Iwore. I was of a different opinion, and was now to endure the penalty ofmy error.
It was in vain to heap execrations on my negligence, or to consume thelittle strength left to me in regrets. I returned once more to thetavern and made inquiries for Mr. Capper, the person whom I have justmentioned as my father's neighbour. I was informed that Capper was nowin town; that he had lodged, on the last night, at this house; that hehad expected to do the same to-night, but a gentleman had called tenminutes ago, whose invitation to lodge with him to-night had beenaccepted. They had just gone out together. Who, I asked, was thegentleman? The landlord had no knowledge of him; he knew neither hisplace of abode nor his name. Was Mr. Capper expected to return hither inthe morning? No; he had heard the stranger propose to Mr. Capper to gowith him into the country to-morrow, and Mr. Capper, he believed, hadassented.
This disappointment was peculiarly severe. I had lost, by my ownnegligence, the only opportunity that would offer of meeting my friend.Had even the recollection of my loss been postponed for three minutes, Ishould have entered the house, and a meeting would have been secured. Icould discover no other expedient to obviate the present evil. My heartbegan now, for the first time, to droop. I looked back, with namelessemotions, on the days of my infancy. I called up the image of my mother.I reflected on the infatuation of my surviving parent, and theusurpation of the detestable Betty, with horror. I viewed myself as themost calamitous and desolate of human beings.
At this time I was sitting in the common room. There were others in thesame apartment, lounging, or whistling, or singing. I noticed them not,but, leaning my head upon my hand, I delivered myself up to painful andintense meditation. From this I was roused by some one placing himselfon the bench near me and addressing me thus:--"Pray, sir, if you willexcuse me, who was the person whom you were looking for just now?Perhaps I can give you the information you want. If I can, you will bevery welcome to it." I fixed my eyes with some eagerness on the personthat spoke. He was a young man, expensively and fashionably dressed,whose mien was considerably prepossessing, and whose countenance bespokesome portion of discernment. I described to him the man whom I sought."I am in search of the same man myself," said he, "but I expect to meethim here. He may lodge elsewhere, but he promised to meet me here athalf after nine. I have no doubt he will fulfil his promise, so that youwill meet the gentleman."
I was highly gratified by this information, and thanked my informantwith some degree of warmth. My gratitude he did not notice, butcontinued: "In order to beguile expectation, I have ordered supper;will you do me the favour to partake with me, unless indeed you havesupped already?" I was obliged, somewhat awkwardly, to decline hisinvitation, conscious as I was that the means of payment were not in mypower. He continued, however, to urge my compliance till at length itwas, though reluctantly, yielded. My chief motive was the certainty ofseeing Capper.
My new acquaintance was exceedingly conversible, but his conversationwas chiefly characterized by frankness and good-humour. My reservegradually diminished, and I ventured to inform him, in general terms, ofmy former condition and present views. He listened to my details withseeming attention, and commented on them with some judiciousness. Hisstatements, however, tended to discourage me from remaining in the city.
Meanwhile the hour passed and Capper did not appear. I noticed thiscircumstance to him with no little solicitude. He said that possibly hemight have forgotten or neglected his engagement. His affair was not ofthe highest importance, and might be readily postponed to a futureopportunity. He perceived that my vivacity was greatly damped by thisintelligence. He importuned me to disclose the cause. He made himselfvery merry with my distress, when it was at length discovered. As to theexpense of supper, I had partaken of it at his invitation; he thereforeshould of course be charged with it. As to lodging, he had a chamber anda bed, which he would insist upon my sharing with him.
My faculties were thus kept upon the stretch of wonder. Every new act ofkindness in this man surpassed the fondest expectation that I hadformed. I saw no reason why I should be treated with benevolence. Ishould have acted in the same manner if placed in the samecircumstances; yet it appeared incongruous and inexplicable. I knowwhence my ideas of human nature were derived. They certainly were notthe offspring of my own feelings. These would have taught me thatinterest and duty were blended in every act of generosity.
I did not come into the world without my scruples and suspicions. I wasmore apt to impute kindnesses to sinister and hidden than to obvious andlaudable motives.
I paused to reflect upon the possible designs of this person. What endcould be served by this behaviour? I was no subject of violence orfraud. I had neither trinket nor coin to stimulate the treachery ofothers. What was offered was merely lodging for the night. Was this anact of such transcendent disinterestedness as to be incredible? My garbwas meaner than that of my companion, but my intellectualaccomplishments were at least upon a level with his. Why should he besupposed to be insensible to my claims upon his kindness? I was a youthdestitute of experience, money, and friends; but I was not devoid of allmental and personal endowments. That my merit should be discovered, evenon such slender intercourse, had surely nothing in it that shockedbelief.
While I was thus deliberating, my new friend was earnest in hissolicitations for my company. He remarked my hesitation, but ascribed itto a wrong cause.
"Come," said he, "I can guess your objections and canobviate them. You are afraid of being ushered into company; and peoplewho have passed their lives like you have a wonderful antipathy tostrange faces; but this is bedtime with our family, so that we can deferyour introduction to them till to-morrow. We may go to our chamberwithout being seen by any but servants."
I had not been aware of this circumstance. My reluctance flowed from adifferent cause, but, now that the inconveniences of ceremony werementioned, they appeared to me of considerable weight. I was wellpleased that they should thus be avoided, and consented to go along withhim.
We passed several streets and turned several corners. At last we turnedinto a kind of court which seemed to be chiefly occupied by stables. "Wewill go," said he, "by the back way into the house. We shall thus saveourselves the necessity of entering the parlour, where some of thefamily may still be."
My companion was as talkative as ever, but said nothing from which Icould gather any knowledge of the number, character, and condition ofhis family.
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