_In which I become a Printer, and am introduced into certain mysteries
of connubial life._
Having breakfasted to my entire satisfaction and also to my great bodily
refreshment, I entered the Park, seated myself upon the steps of the
City Hall, and thought "what is best to be done?"--It was Monday
morning, and the weather was excellently fine. It was an excellent time
to search for employment. A sign on an old building in Chatham street
attracted my notice; upon it were inscribed the words, "Book and Job
Printing."
"Good!" was my muttered exclamation, as I left the Park and crossed
over towards the old building in question--"I'll be a printer! Franklin
was one, and he, like myself, was fond of rolls, because he entered
Philadelphia with one under each arm. Yes, I'll be a printer."
Entering the printing office, I found it to be a very small concern,
containing but one press and a rather limited assortment of type. The
proprietor of the office, whom I shall call Mr. Romaine, was a rather
intellectual looking man, of middle age. Being very industrious, he did
the principal portion of his work himself, occasionally, however, hiring
a journeyman when work was unusually abundant. As I entered he looked up
from his case and inquired, with an air of benevolence--
"Well, my lad, what can I do for _you_ this morning?"
"If you please, sir, I want to learn to be a printer," replied I,
boldly.
"Ah, indeed! Well, I was just thinking of taking an apprentice. But give
an account of yourself--how old are you, and who are you?"
I frankly communicated to Mr. Romaine all that he desired to know
concerning me, and he expressed himself as being perfectly satisfied. He
immediately set me to "learning the boxes" of a case of type; and in
half an hour I had accomplished the task, which was not very difficult,
it being merely an effort of memory.
It having been arranged that I should take up my abode in the house of
Mr. Romaine, I accompanied that gentleman home to dinner. He lived in
William street and his wife kept a fashionable boarding-house for
merchants, professional men, &c. Several of these gentlemen were married
men and had their wives with them. Mrs. Romaine, the wife of my
employer, was one of the finest-looking women I ever saw--tall,
voluptuous, and truly beautiful. She was about twenty-five years of age,
and her manners were peculiarly fascinating and agreeable. She was
always dressed in a style of great elegance, and was admirably adapted
to the station which she filled as landlady of an establishment like
that. I will remark that although she had been the wife of Mr. Romaine
for a number of years, she had not been blessed with offspring, which
was doubtless to her a source of great disappointment, to say nothing of
the _chagrin_ which a married woman naturally feels when she fails in
due time to add to the population of her country.
Accustomed as I had been to the economical scantiness of my uncle's
table, I was both surprised and delighted with the luxurious abundance
that greeted me on sitting down to dinner at Mrs. Romaine's. I was
equally well pleased with the sprightliness, intelligence and good-humor
of the conversation in which the ladies and gentlemen engaged, and also
with their refined and courteous bearing towards each other. I
congratulated myself on having succeeded in getting not only into
business, but also into good society.
"If my dearly-beloved relatives," thought I, "could see me now, they
might not be well pleased at my situation and prospects. Let them go to
Beelzebub! I will get on in the world, in spite of them!"
In a few days I began to be very useful about the printing office, for I
had learned to set type and to _roll_ behind the press; I also performed
all the multifarious duties of _devil_, and was so fortunate as to
secure the good will of my employer, who generously purchased for me a
fine new suit of clothes, and seemed anxious to make me as comfortable
as possible. His wife, also, treated me very kindly; but there was
something mysterious about this lady, which for a time, puzzled me
extremely. One discovery which I made rather astonished me, young as I
was, and caused me to do a "devil of a thinking." Mr. Romaine and his
wife occupied separate sleeping apartments, and there seemed to be an
aversion between them, although they treated each other with the most
formal and scrupulous politeness. But my readers will agree with me that
mere _politeness_ is not the only sentiment which should exist between a
husband and his wife. There was evidently something "rotten in Denmark"
between Mr. and Mrs. Romaine, and I determined, if possible, to
penetrate the mystery.
Mr. Romaine, who was professedly a pious man, was particularly in favor
of "remembering the Sabbath day to keep it holy," and he therefore
directed me to be very punctual in attendance at church and Sunday
school, and I obeyed his praiseworthy request until visions of literary
greatness and renown began to dawn upon me, whereupon, prompted by
gingerbread and ambition, and being moreover aided and abetted by
another printer's devil of tender years and literary aspirations, I, one
Sunday morning, entered the printing office, (of which I kept the key,)
and assisted by my companion, set up and worked off one hundred copies
of a diminutive periodical just six inches square, containing a _very_
brief abstract of the news of the day, a _very_ indifferent political
leader, and a few _rather_ partial theatrical criticisms. This extensive
newspaper we issued on three successive Sundays, circulating it among
our juvenile friends at the moderate rate of one cent a copy. On the
fourth Sunday we were caught in the act of printing our journal by Mr.
Romaine himself, who, although he with difficulty refrained from
laughing at the fun of the thing, gave us a long lecture on the crime of
Sabbath-breaking, and then made us distribute the type, forgetting that
we were breaking the Sabbath as much by taking our form to pieces as by
putting it together.
Mr. Romaine was also strongly opposed to theatres, but, nevertheless, I
visited the "little Frankin" four or five times every week, to see John
and Bill Sefton in the "Golden Farmer," and other thrilling melo-dramas,
a convenient ally, a garden and a shed enabled me to enter my chamber at
any hour during the night, without my employer's becoming aware of my
absence from home.
One night after having been to my favorite place of amusement, I
returned home about midnight. On entering the garden, I discovered to my
surprise a light streaming from the kitchen windows--a very unusual
occurrence. I crept softly up to one of the windows, and looking into
the kitchen, a scene met my gaze that filled me with astonishment.
Mrs. Romaine, arrayed in her night-dress only, was seated at a table,
and at her side was a young gentleman named Anderson, who boarded in the
house, and who was a prosperous merchant. His arm was around the lady's
waist, and her head rested affectionately upon his shoulder. She looked
uncommonly beautiful and voluptuous that night, I thought, young as I
was, I wondered not at the look of passionate admiration with which
Anderson regarded his fair companion, upon whose sensual countenance
there rested an expression of gratified love. Upon the table were the
remains of a supper of which they had evidently partaken; there were
also a bottle of wine and two glasses, partially filled. Mrs. Romaine
sipped her wine occasionally, as well as her paramour; and the guilty
pair seemed to be enjoying themselves highly. It was plain that the lady
was resolved to lose nothing by her estrangement from her husband; it
was equally plain that between her and Mr. Romaine there existed not the
smallest particle of love. I now ceased to wonder why the wedded pair
occupied separate apartments; and I came to the conclusion that
disappointment in the matter of children was the cause of their mutual
aversion. If I were writing a romance instead of a narrative of facts, I
would here introduce an imaginary tender conversation between the pair.
But as no such conversation took place I have none to describe.
"Well," said I to myself--"this is a pretty state of affairs, truly. I
guess that if Mr. Romaine suspected any thing of this kind, there would
be the very devil to pay, and no mistake. But it's no business of mine;
and so I'll climb into my window and go to bed."
My employer was a very good sort of a man, and I sincerely pitied him on
account of his unhappy connubial situation. I turned away from the
kitchen window, and began to mount the shed in order to reach my
chamber. I had nearly gained the roof of the shed, when a board gave way
and I was precipitated to the ground, a distance of about ten feet.
Fortunately I sustained no injury; but the noise aroused and alarmed the
loving couple in the kitchen. Mrs. Romaine, in her terror and dread of
discovery, gave utterance to a slight scream; while Mr. Anderson rushed
forth and seized me in a rather powerful grasp. I struggled, and kicked,
and strove to extricate myself, but it was all of no use. With many a
muttered imprecation Anderson dragged me into the kitchen, and swore
that if I did not remain quiet he would stab me to the heart with a
dirk-knife that he produced from his pocket.
"You young rascal," said he "who employed you to play the part of a spy?
Did Mr. Romaine direct you to watch us? Is he lurking outside, in the
garden? If so, let him beware, for I am a desperate man, one not to be
trifled with!"
I explained everything to the entire satisfaction of both the gentleman
and lady, whose countenances brightened when they found that matters
were far from being as bad as they expected.
"Now, my boy," said Anderson, "just do keep perfectly dark about this
business, and I'll make your fortune. You shall never want a dollar
while I live. As an earnest of what I may hereafter do for you, accept
this trifle, which will enable you to gratify your theatre-going
propensities to your heart's content."
The "trifle" was a ten dollar gold piece. I had never before possessed
so much money; and no millionaire ever felt richer than I did at that
moment. Delightful visions of dramatic treats arose before me, and I was
happy.
Mr. Anderson made me drink a couple of glasses of wine, which tasted
very good, and caused me to feel quite elevated. Then he told me that I
had better go to bed, and I fully agreed with him. So, bidding the
enamoured couple a patronizing good night and facetiously wishing them a
pleasant time together--the wine had made me bold and saucy--I left the
kitchen and began to ascend the stairs towards my own room with all the
silence and caution of which I was capable.
I was destined that night to make another astonishing discovery. Being
quite tipsy, I was deprived of my usual judgement, and suffered myself
to stumble against a table that stood upon one of the landings opposite
the chamber door of a young and particularly pretty widow named Mrs.
Raymond, who boarded in the house. She possessed a snug independent
fortune, and led a life of elegant leisure. Although demure in her looks
and reverend in her deportment, there was a whole troop of dancing
devils in her eyes that proclaimed the fact that her nature was not
exactly as cold as ice.
My collision with the table caused me to recoil, and I fell violently
against Mrs. Raymond's door, which burst open, and down I landed in the
very centre of the apartment.
I heard a scream, and then a curse. The scream was the performance of
the fair widow; the curse was the production of Mr. Romaine, my pious,
Sabbath-venerating and theatre-opposing employer, who, springing up from
the sofa upon which he had been seated by the side of the widow, seized
me by the throat and demanded how the devil I came there?
My wits had not entirely deserted me, and I managed to tell quite a
plausible story. I candidly confessed that I had been to the theatre and
stated that I had got into the house through the kitchen window. Of
course I said nothing about Anderson and Mrs. Romaine.
"You have been drinking," said Mr. Romaine, in a tone that was by no
means severe, "but I forgive you for that, and also for having disobeyed
me by going to the theatre. Be a good boy in future, and you shall never
want a friend while I live."
While he was speaking, I looked about the room. It was exquisitely
furnished with the most refined and elegant taste. Mrs. Raymond, who
still sat upon the sofa, blushed deeply as her eyes encountered mine.
She was _en deshabille_, and looked charming. I could not help admiring
the divine perfections of her form, as _revealed_ by the deliciously
careless attire which she wore. I did not wonder that my respected
presence confused her, for she had always held herself up as the very
pink and pattern of female propriety, and besides, she often lectured me
severely upon the enormity of some of my juvenile offences, which came
to her knowledge.
Mr. Romaine continued to address me, thus:
"If you will solemnly promise to say nothing about having seen me in
this room, I will reward you handsomely."
I readily gave the required promise, whereupon my pious employer
presented me with a five-dollar bill, which I received with all the
nonchalance in the world. I then withdrew, and reached my own room
without encountering any more adventures. Sleep did not visit me that
night, for my thoughts were too busily engaged with the discoveries
which I had made; and besides, the blissful consciousness of being the
possessor of the princely sum of fifteen dollars, would have kept me
awake, independent of anything else.
A day or two after these occurrences, while looking over one of the
morning newspapers, I saw an advertisement signed by my uncle, in which
that worthy man offered a reward for my apprehension. The notice
contained a minute description of my personal appearance and the clothes
which I had on when I "ran away." Although my garments had been
entirely changed, I was fearful that some one might recognize my person,
and carry me back to my uncle's house, where I had every reason to
expect far worse treatment than I had ever received before. But Mr.
Romaine, to whom I showed the advertisement, told me not to be at all
alarmed, as he would protect me at any risk. This assurance made me feel
much easier. I was never molested in consequence of that advertisement.
After the night on which I had detected the intrigue of my employer and
his wife, I began to live emphatically "in clover," and accumulated
money tolerably fast. All the parties concerned treated me with the
utmost consideration and respect. Mr. Romaine suffered me to do pretty
much as I pleased in the printing office, and so I enjoyed a very
agreeable and leisurely time of it, doing as much Sunday printing on my
own account as I desired, and going to the theatre as often as I wished.
Mr. Anderson would occasionally slip a five dollar note into my hand, at
the same time enjoining me to "keep mum;" Mrs. Romaine, with her own
fair hands, made me a dozen superb shirts, supplied me with
handkerchiefs, stockings and fancy cravats innumerable, and so arranged
it that when I returned from the theatre at night, a nice little supper
awaited me in the kitchen. These repasts she would sometimes share with
me, for, like a sensible woman, she was fond of all the good things of
this life, including good eating and drinking. Anderson would join us
occasionally, and a snug, cosy little party we made. Mrs. Raymond, the
pretty widow, was not backward in testifying to me how grateful she was
for my silence with reference to her frailty. She made me frequent
presents of money, and gave me an elegant and valuable ring, which I
wore until the "intervention of unfortunate circumstance" compelled me
to consign it to the custody of "my uncle"--not my beloved relative of
Thomas street, (peace to his memory, for he has gone the way of all
pork,)--but that accommodating uncle of mine and everybody else, Mr.
Simpson, who dwelleth in the _Rue de Chatham_, and whose mansion is
decorated with three gilded balls. Kind, convenient Uncle Simpson!
Ah! those were my halcyon days, when not a single care cast its shadow
o'er my soul. As I think of that season of unalloyed happiness, I
involuntarily exclaim, in the words of a fine popular song--
"I would I were a boy again!"
Three years passed away, unmarked by the occurrence of any event of
sufficient importance to merit a place in this narrative. When I reached
my fifteenth year, the fashionable boarding-house of Mrs. Romaine became
the scene of a tragedy so bloody, so awful and so appalling, that even
now, while I think and write about it, my blood runs cold in my veins.
That terrible affair can no more be obliterated from my memory than can
the sun be effaced from the arch of heaven; and to my dying day, its
recollection will continue to haunt me like a hideous spectre.
But I must devote a separate chapter to the details of that sanguinary
event. I would gladly escape from the task of describing it; but, of
course, were I to omit it, this narrative would be incomplete. Therefore
the unwelcome duty must be performed.