I rose at the dawn, and, without asking or bestowing a blessing, sallied
forth into the highroad to the city, which passed near the house. I left
nothing behind, the loss of which I regretted. I had purchased most of
my own books with the product of my own separate industry, and, their
number being, of course, small, I had, by incessant application, gotten
the whole of them by rote. They had ceased, therefore, to be of any
further use. I left them, without reluctance, to the fate for which I
knew them to be reserved, that of affording food and habitation to mice.
I trod this unwonted path with all the fearlessness of youth. In spite
of the motives to despondency and apprehension incident to my state, my
heels were light and my heart joyous. "Now," said I, "I am mounted into
man. I must build a name and a fortune for myself. Strange if this
intellect 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 cornfield
and threshing-floor, to which I shall always have access, and where I
shall always be happy."
I had proceeded some miles on my journey, when I began to feel the
inroads of hunger. I might have stopped at any farm-house, and have
breakfasted for nothing. It was prudent to husband, with the utmost
care, my slender stock; but I felt reluctance to beg as long as I had
the means of buying, and I imagined that coarse bread and a little milk
would cost little even at a tavern, when any farmer was willing to
bestow them for nothing. My resolution was further influenced by the
appearance of a signpost. What excuse could I make for begging a
breakfast with an inn at hand and silver in my pocket?
I stopped, accordingly, and breakfasted. The landlord was remarkably
attentive and obliging, but his bread was stale, his milk sour, and his
cheese the greenest imaginable. I disdained to animadvert on these
defects, naturally supposing that his house could furnish no better.
Having finished my meal, I put, without speaking, one of my pieces into
his hand. This deportment I conceived to be highly becoming, and to
indicate a liberal and manly spirit. I always regarded with contempt a
scrupulous maker of bargains. He received the money with a complaisant
obeisance. "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." So
saying, he walked away.
This proceeding was wholly unexpected. I conceived myself entitled to at
least three-fourths of it in change. The first impulse was to call him
back, and contest the equity of his demand; but a moment's reflection
showed me the absurdity of such conduct. I resumed my journey with
spirits somewhat depressed. I have heard of voyagers and wanderers in
deserts, who were willing to give a casket of gems for a cup of cold
water. 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 for
the same price, since I meant to content myself with the same fare. A
large company was just sitting down to a smoking banquet. The landlord
invited me to join them. I took my place at the table, but was furnished
with bread and milk. Being prepared to depart, I took him aside. "What
is to pay?" said I.--"Did you drink any thing, sir?"--"Certainly. I
drank 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 with
myself 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 entirely
exhausted. 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 my
abode; but I had not a farthing remaining to defray my charges. My
father had formerly entertained a boarder for a dollar per week, and, in
case of need, I was willing to subsist upon coarser fare and lie on a
harder bed than those with which our guest had been supplied. These
facts had been the foundation of my negligence on this occasion.
What was now to be done? To return to my paternal mansion was
impossible. To relinquish my design of entering the city and to seek a
temporary asylum, if not permanent employment, at some one of the
plantations within view, was the most obvious expedient. These
deliberations 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 now
within the precincts of the city, and night was hastening. It behooved
me to come to a speedy decision.
Suddenly I recollected that I had not paid the customary toll at the
bridge; neither had I money wherewith to pay it. A demand of payment
would have suddenly arrested my progress; and so slight an incident
would have precluded that wonderful destiny to which I was reserved. The
obstacle that would have hindered my advance now prevented my return.
Scrupulous honesty did not require me to turn back and awaken the
vigilance of the toll-gatherer. I had nothing to pay, and by returning I
should only double my debt. "Let it stand," said I, "where it does. All
that honour enjoins is to pay when I am able."
I adhered to the crossways, till I reached Market Street. Night had
fallen, and a triple row of lamps presented a spectacle enchanting and
new. My personal cares were, for a time, lost in the tumultuous
sensations with which I was now engrossed. I had never visited the city
at this hour. When my last visit was paid, I was a mere child. The
novelty which environed every object was, therefore, nearly absolute. I
proceeded with more cautious steps, but was still absorbed in attention
to 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 are
merely comparative; yet you may be prompted to smile when I tell you
that, in walking through this avenue, I, for a moment, conceived myself
transported to the hall "pendent with many a row of starry lamps and
blazing crescents fed by naphtha and asphaltos." That this transition
from my homely and quiet retreat had been effected in so few hours wore
the aspect of miracle or magic.
I proceeded from one of these buildings to another, till I reached their
termination in Front Street. Here my progress was checked, and I sought
repose to my weary limbs by seating myself on a stall. No wonder some
fatigue was felt by me, accustomed as I was to strenuous exertions,
since, exclusive of the minutes spent at breakfast and dinner, I had
travelled fifteen hours and forty-five miles.
I began now to reflect, with some earnestness, on my condition. I was a
stranger, friendless and moneyless. I was unable to purchase food and
shelter, and was wholly unused to the business of begging. Hunger was
the only serious inconvenience to which I was immediately exposed. I had
no objection to spend the night in the spot where I then sat. I had no
fear that my visions would be troubled by the officers of police. It was
no crime to be without a home; but how should I supply my present
cravings and the cravings of to-morrow?
At length it occurred to me that one of our country neighbours was
probably at this time in the city. He kept a store as well as cultivated
a farm. He was a plain and well-meaning man, and, should I be so
fortunate as to meet him, his superior knowledge of the city might be of
essential benefit to me in my present forlorn circumstances. His
generosity might likewise induce him to lend me so much as would
purchase one meal. I had formed the resolution to leave the city next
day, 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 I
recollected him to have referred to the place of his temporary abode. It
was an inn; but the sign or the name of the keeper for some time
withstood all my efforts to recall them.
At length I lighted on the last. It was Lesher's tavern. I immediately
set out in search of it. After many inquiries, I at last arrived at the
door. I was preparing to enter the house when I perceived that my bundle
was gone. I had left it on the stall where I had been sitting. People
were perpetually passing to and fro. It was scarcely possible not to
have been noticed. No one that observed it would fail to make it his
prey. Yet it was of too much value to me to allow me to be governed by a
bare probability. I resolved to lose not a moment in returning.
With some difficulty I retraced my steps, but the bundle had
disappeared. The clothes were, in themselves, of small value, but they
constituted the whole of my wardrobe; and I now reflected that they were
capable 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 by
thinking that my shirts and stockings might furnish a seasonable
covering to their nakedness; but there was a relic concealed within this
bundle, the loss of which could scarcely be endured by me. It was the
portrait 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 insanity
upon him. His air and dress bespoke some elevation of rank and fortune.
My mother's compassion was excited, and, as his singularities were
harmless, an asylum was afforded him, though he was unable to pay for
it. He was constantly declaiming, in an incoherent manner, about some
mistress who had proved faithless. His speeches seemed, however, like
the rantings of an actor, to be rehearsed by rote or for the sake of
exercise. He was totally careless of his person and health, and, by
repeated negligences of this kind, at last contracted a fever of which
he 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 they
had 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 had
refused him all means of subsistence in a foreign land. He predicted, in
his wild and declamatory way, his own death. He was very skilful at the
pencil, 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, and
chiefly because she fancied a very powerful resemblance between his
countenance and mine. I was too young to build affection on any rational
foundation. I loved him, for whatever reason, with an ardour unusual at
my age, and which this portrait had contributed to prolong and to
cherish.
In thus finally leaving my home, I was careful not to leave this picture
behind. I wrapped it in paper in which a few elegiac stanzas were
inscribed in my own hand, and with my utmost elegance of penmanship. I
then placed it in a leathern case, which, for greater security, was
deposited 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 I
wore. I was of a different opinion, and was now to endure the penalty of
my error.
It was in vain to heap execrations on my negligence, or to consume the
little strength left to me in regrets. I returned once more to the
tavern and made inquiries for Mr. Capper, the person whom I have just
mentioned as my father's neighbour. I was informed that Capper was now
in town; that he had lodged, on the last night, at this house; that he
had expected to do the same to-night, but a gentleman had called ten
minutes ago, whose invitation to lodge with him to-night had been
accepted. They had just gone out together. Who, I asked, was the
gentleman? The landlord had no knowledge of him; he knew neither his
place of abode nor his name. Was Mr. Capper expected to return hither in
the morning? No; he had heard the stranger propose to Mr. Capper to go
with him into the country to-morrow, and Mr. Capper, he believed, had
assented.
This disappointment was peculiarly severe. I had lost, by my own
negligence, the only opportunity that would offer of meeting my friend.
Had even the recollection of my loss been postponed for three minutes, I
should have entered the house, and a meeting would have been secured. I
could discover no other expedient to obviate the present evil. My heart
began now, for the first time, to droop. I looked back, with nameless
emotions, on the days of my infancy. I called up the image of my mother.
I reflected on the infatuation of my surviving parent, and the
usurpation of the detestable Betty, with horror. I viewed myself as the
most calamitous and desolate of human beings.
At this time I was sitting in the common room. There were others in the
same apartment, lounging, or whistling, or singing. I noticed them not,
but, leaning my head upon my hand, I delivered myself up to painful and
intense meditation. From this I was roused by some one placing himself
on the bench near me and addressing me thus:--"Pray, sir, if you will
excuse 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 be
very welcome to it." I fixed my eyes with some eagerness on the person
that spoke. He was a young man, expensively and fashionably dressed,
whose mien was considerably prepossessing, and whose countenance bespoke
some 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 meet
him here. He may lodge elsewhere, but he promised to meet me here at
half after nine. I have no doubt he will fulfil his promise, so that you
will meet the gentleman."
I was highly gratified by this information, and thanked my informant
with some degree of warmth. My gratitude he did not notice, but
continued: "In order to beguile expectation, I have ordered supper;
will you do me the favour to partake with me, unless indeed you have
supped already?" I was obliged, somewhat awkwardly, to decline his
invitation, conscious as I was that the means of payment were not in my
power. He continued, however, to urge my compliance till at length it
was, though reluctantly, yielded. My chief motive was the certainty of
seeing Capper.
My new acquaintance was exceedingly conversible, but his conversation
was chiefly characterized by frankness and good-humour. My reserve
gradually diminished, and I ventured to inform him, in general terms, of
my former condition and present views. He listened to my details with
seeming attention, and commented on them with some judiciousness. His
statements, however, tended to discourage me from remaining in the city.
Meanwhile the hour passed and Capper did not appear. I noticed this
circumstance to him with no little solicitude. He said that possibly he
might have forgotten or neglected his engagement. His affair was not of
the highest importance, and might be readily postponed to a future
opportunity. He perceived that my vivacity was greatly damped by this
intelligence. He importuned me to disclose the cause. He made himself
very merry with my distress, when it was at length discovered. As to the
expense of supper, I had partaken of it at his invitation; he therefore
should of course be charged with it. As to lodging, he had a chamber and
a bed, which he would insist upon my sharing with him.
My faculties were thus kept upon the stretch of wonder. Every new act of
kindness in this man surpassed the fondest expectation that I had
formed. I saw no reason why I should be treated with benevolence. I
should have acted in the same manner if placed in the same
circumstances; yet it appeared incongruous and inexplicable. I know
whence my ideas of human nature were derived. They certainly were not
the offspring of my own feelings. These would have taught me that
interest and duty were blended in every act of generosity.
I did not come into the world without my scruples and suspicions. I was
more apt to impute kindnesses to sinister and hidden than to obvious and
laudable motives.
I paused to reflect upon the possible designs of this person. What end
could be served by this behaviour? I was no subject of violence or
fraud. I had neither trinket nor coin to stimulate the treachery of
others. What was offered was merely lodging for the night. Was this an
act of such transcendent disinterestedness as to be incredible? My garb
was meaner than that of my companion, but my intellectual
accomplishments were at least upon a level with his. Why should he be
supposed to be insensible to my claims upon his kindness? I was a youth
destitute of experience, money, and friends; but I was not devoid of all
mental and personal endowments. That my merit should be discovered, even
on such slender intercourse, had surely nothing in it that shocked
belief.
While I was thus deliberating, my new friend was earnest in his
solicitations for my company. He remarked my hesitation, but ascribed it
to a wrong cause. "Come," said he, "I can guess your objections and can
obviate them. You are afraid of being ushered into company; and people
who have passed their lives like you have a wonderful antipathy to
strange faces; but this is bedtime with our family, so that we can defer
your introduction to them till to-morrow. We may go to our chamber
without being seen by any but servants."
I had not been aware of this circumstance. My reluctance flowed from a
different cause, but, now that the inconveniences of ceremony were
mentioned, they appeared to me of considerable weight. I was well
pleased that they should thus be avoided, and consented to go along with
him.
We passed several streets and turned several corners. At last we turned
into a kind of court which seemed to be chiefly occupied by stables. "We
will go," said he, "by the back way into the house. We shall thus save
ourselves the necessity of entering the parlour, where some of the
family may still be."
My companion was as talkative as ever, but said nothing from which I
could gather any knowledge of the number, character, and condition of
his family.