University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

NOW I was once more on public ground. By
so many anxious efforts had I disengaged myself from the
perilous precincts of private property. As many stratagems
as are usually made to enter an house, had been employed by
me to get out of it. I was urged to the use of them by my
fears; yet so far from carrying off spoil, I had escaped with
the loss of an essential part of my dress.

I had now leisure to reflect. I seated myself on the ground
and reviewed the scenes through which I had just passed. I
began to think that my industry had been misemployed.
Suppose I had met the person on his first entrance into his
chamber? Was the truth so utterly wild as not to have found
credit? Since the door was locked, and there was no other avenue;
what other statement but the true one would account
for my being found there? This deportment had been worthy
of an honest purpose. My betrayer probably expected that
this would be the issue of his jest. My rustic simplicity,
he might think, would suggest no more ambiguous or elaborate
expedient. He might likewise have predetermined to
interfere if my safety had been really endangered.

On the morrow the two doors of the chamber and the
window below would be found unclosed. They will suspect
a design to pillage, but their searches will terminate
in nothing but in the discovery of a pair of clumsy and
dusty shoes in the closet. Now that I was safe I could not

help smiling at the picture which my fancy drew of their
anxiety and wonder. These thoughts, however, gave place
to more momentous considerations.

I could not image to myself a more perfect example of
indigence than I now exhibited. There was no being in the
city on whose kindness I had any claim. Money I had none,
and what I then wore comprised my whole stock of moveables.
I had just lost my shoes, and this loss rendered my
stockings of no use. My dignity remonstrated against a
bare-foot pilgrimage, but to this, necessity now reconciled
me. I threw my stockings between the bars of a stable window,
belonging, as It hought, to the mansion I had just
left. These, together with my shoes, I left to pay the cost
of my entertainment.

I saw that the city was no place for me. The end that I
had had in view, of procuring some mechanical employment,
could only be obtained by the use of means, but what means
to pursue I knew not. This night's perils and deceptions gave
me a distaste to a city life, and my ancient occupations rose
to my view enhanced by a thousand imaginary charms. I resolved
forthwith to strike into the country.

The day began now to dawn. It was Sunday, and I was
desirous of eluding observation. I was somewhat recruited
by rest though the languors of sleeplessness oppressed me.
I meant to throw myself on the first lap of verdure I should
meet, and indulge in sleep that I so much wanted. I knew not
the direction of the streets; but followed that which I first
entered from the court, trusting that, by adhering steadily to
one course, I should sometime reach the fields. This street, as
I afterwards found, tended to Schuylkill, and soon extricated
me from houses. I could not cross this river without payment
of toll. It was requisite to cross it in order to reach that part
of the country whither I was desirous of going, but how
should I effect my passage? I knew of no ford, and the smallest
expence exceeded my capacity. Ten thousand guineas and a
farthing were equally remote from nothing, and nothing was
the portion allotted to me.

While my mind was thus occupied, I turned up one of the
streets which tend northward. It was, for some length, uninhabited
and unpaved. Presently I reached a pavement, and
a painted fence, along which a row of poplars was planted.
It bounded a garden into which a knot-hole permitted me to.
pry. The inclosure was a charming green, which I saw appended
to an house of the loftiest and most stately order. It
seemed like a recent erection, had all the gloss of novelty, and
exhibited, to my unpractised eyes, the magnificence of palaces.
My father's dwelling did not equal the height of one story,
and might be easily comprised in one fourth of those builddings
which here were designed to accommodate the menials.
My heart dictated the comparison between my own condition
and that of the proprietors of this domain. How wide and
how impassible was the gulf by which we were separated!
This fair inheritance had fallen to one who, perhaps, would
only abuse it to the purposes of luxury, while I, with intentions
worthy of the friend of mankind, was doomed to wield
the flail and the mattock.

I had been intirely unaccustomed to this strain of reflection.
My books had taught me the dignity and safety of the
middlepath, and my darling writer abounded with encomiums
on rural life. At a distance from luxury and pomp I viewed
them, perhaps, in a just light. A nearer scrutiny confirmed
my early prepossessions, but at the distance at which I now
stood, the lofty edifices, the splendid furniture, and the copious
accommodations of the rich, excited my admiration and
my envy.

I relinquished my station and proceeded, in an heartless
mood, along the fence. I now came to the mansion itself.
The principal door was entered by a stair-case of marble. I
had never seen the stone of Carrara, and wildly supposed this
to have been dug from Italian quarries. The beauty of the
poplars, the coolness exhaled from the dew-besprent bricks,
the commodiousness of the seat which these steps afforded,
and the uncertainty into which I was plunged respecting my

future conduct, all combined to make me pause. I sat down
on the lower step and began to meditate.

By some transition it occurred to me that the supply of
my most urgent wants might be found in some inhabitant of
this house. I needed at present a few cents; and what were
a few cents to the tenant of a mansion like this. I had an
invincible aversion to the calling of a beggar, but I regarded
with still more antipathy the vocation of a thief; to this alternative,
however, I was now reduced. I must either steal or
beg; unless, indeed, assistance could be procured under the
notion of a loan. Would a stranger refuse to lend the pittance
that I wanted? Surely not, when the urgency of my
wants were explained.

I recollected other obstacles. To summon the master of
the house from his bed, perhaps, for the sake of such an application,
would be preposterous. I should be in more danger of
provoking his anger than exciting his benevolence. This request
might, surely, with more propriety be preferred to a
passenger. I should, probably, meet several before I should
arrive at Schuylkill.

A servant just then appeared at the door, with bucket and
brush. This obliged me, much sooner than I intended, to
decamp. With some reluctance I rose and proceeded._ This
house occupied the corner of the street, and I now turned
this corner towards the country. A person, at some distance
before me, was approaching in an opposite direction.

“Why,” said I, “may I not make my demand of the first
man I meet? This person exhibits tokens of ability to lend.
There is nothing chilling or austere in his demeanour.”

The resolution to address this passenger was almost formed;
but the nearer he advanced, my resolves grew less firm.
He noticed me not till he came within a few paces. He
seemed busy in reflection, and had not my figure caught his
eye; or had he merely bestowed a passing glance upon me,
I should not have been sufficiently courageous to have detained
him. The event however was widely different.

He looked at me and started. For an instant, as it were,
and till he had time to dart at me a second glance, he checked
his pace. This behaviour decided mine, and he stopped on
perceiving tokens of a desire to address him. I spoke, but my
accents and air sufficiently denoted my embarrassments.

“I am going to solicit a favour, which my situation makes
of the highest importance to me, and which I hope it will
be easy for you, Sir, to grant. It is not an alms but a loan
that I seek; a loan that I will repay the moment I am able
to do it. I am going to the country, but have not wherewith
to pay my passage over Schuylkill, or to buy a morsel of
bread. May I venture to request of you, Sir, the loan of six
pence? As I told you, it is my intention to repay it.”

I delivered this address, not without some faltering, but
with great earnestness. I laid particular stress upon my intention
to refund the money. He listened with a mose inquisitive
air. His eye perused me from head to foot.

After some pause, he said, in a very emphatic manner.
“Why into the country? Have you family? Kindred?
Friends?”

“No,” answered I, “I have neither. I go in search of
the means of subsistence. I have passed my life upon a
farm, and propose to die in the same condition.”

“Whence have you come?”

“I came yesterday from the country, with a view to earn
my bread in some way, but have changed my plan and propose
now to return.”

“Why have you changed it? In what way are you capable
of earning your bread?”

“I hardly know,” said I. “I can, as yet, manage no tool,
that can be managed in the city, but the pen. My habits
have, in some small degree, qualified me for a writer. I
would willingly accept employment of that kind.”

He fixed his eyes upon the earth, and was silent for some
minutes. At length, recovering himself, he said, “Follow

me to my house. Perhaps something may be done for you.
If not, I will lend you six-pence.”

It may be supposed that I eagerly complied with the invitation.
My companion said no more, his air bespeaking him
to be absorbed by his own thoughts, till he reached his house,
which proved to be that at the door of which I had been
seated. We entered a parlour together.

Unless you can assume my ignorance and my simplicity,
you will be unable to conceive the impressions that were
made by the size and ornaments of this apartment. I shall
omit these impressions, which, indeed, no descriptions could
adequately convey, and dwell on incidents of greater moment.
He asked me to give him a specimen of my penmanship. I
told you that I had bestowed very great attention upon this
art. Implements were brought and I sat down to the task.
By some inexplicable connection a line in Shakspeare occurred
to me, and I wrote.

“My poverty, but not my will consents.”

The sentiment conveyed in this line powerfully affected
him, but in a way which I could not then comprehend. I collected
from subsequent events that the inference was not
unfavourable to my understanding or my morals. He questioned
me as to my history. I related my origin and my
inducements to desert my father's house. With respect to
last night's adventures I was silent. I saw no useful purpose
that could be answered by disclosure, and I half suspected
that my companion would refuse credit to my tale.

There were frequent intervals of abstraction and reflection
between his questions. My examination lasted not much
less than an hour. At length he said, “I want an amanuensis
or copyist: On what terms will you live with me?”

I answered that I knew not how to estimate the value of
my services. I knew not whether these services were agreeable
or healthful. My life had hitherto been active. My
constitution was predisposed to diseases of the lungs and the

change might be hurtful. I was willing, however, to try and
to content myself for a month or a year, with so much as
would furnish me with food, clothing, and lodging.

“'Tis well,” said he, “You remain with me as long and
no longer than both of us please. You shall lodge and eat in
this house. I will supply you with clothing, and your task
will be to write what I dictate. Your person, I see, has not
shared much of your attention. It is in my power to equip
you instantly in the manner which becomes a resident in this
house. Come with me.”

He led the way into the court behind and thence into a neat
building, which contained large wooden vessels and a pump:
“There,” said he, “you may wash yourself, and when that
is done, I will conduct you to your chamber and your wardrobe.”

This was speedily performed, and he accordingly led the
way to the chamber. It was an apartment in the third story,
finished and furnished in the same costly and superb style
with the rest of the house. He opened closets and drawers
which overflowed with clothes and linen of all and of the best
kinds. “These are yours,” said he, “as long as you stay with
me. Dress yourself as likes you best. Here is every thing
your nakedness requires. When dressed you may descend to
breakfast.” With these words he left me.

The clothes were all in the French style, as I afterwards,
by comparing my garb with that of others, discovered. They
were fitted to my shape with the nicest precision. I bedecked
myself with all my care. I remembered the style of dress
used by my beloved Clavering. My locks were of shining
auburn, flowing and smooth like his. Having wrung the wet
from them, and combed, I tied them carelessly in a black
riband. Thus equipped I surveyed myself in a mirror.

You may imagine, if you can, the sensations which this
instantaneous transformation produced. Appearances are
wonderfully influenced by dress. Check shirt, buttoned at
the neck, an awkward fustian coat, check trowsers and bare

feet were now supplanted by linen and muslin, nankeen coat
striped with green, a white silk waistcoat elegantly needle-wrought,
casimer pantaloons, stockings of variegated silk,
and shoes that in their softness, pliancy, and polished surface
vied with sattin. I could scarcely forbear looking back to
see whether the image in the glass, so well proportioned, so
galant, and so graceful, did not belong to another. I could
scarcely recognize any lineaments of my own. I walked to
the window. “Twenty minutes ago,” said I, “I was traversing
that path a barefoot beggar; now I am thus.” Again
I surveyed myself. “Surely some insanity has fastened on
my understanding. My senses are the sport of dreams. Some
magic that disdains the cumbrousness of nature's progress,
has wrought this change.” I was roused from these doubts
by a summons to breakfast, obsequiously delivered by a black
servant.

I found Welbeck, (for I shall henceforth call him by his
true name) at the breakfast table. A superb equipage of
silver and china was before him. He was startled at my
entrance. The change in my dress seemed for a moment to
have deceived him. His eye was frequently fixed upon me
with unusual steadfastness. At these times there was inquietude
and wonder in his features.

I had now an opportunity of examining my host. There
was nicety but no ornament in his dress. His form was of
the middle height, spare, but vigorous and graceful. His face
was cast, I thought, in a foreign mould. His forehead receded
beyond the usual degree in visages which I had seen. His
eyes large and prominent, but imparting no marks of benignity
and habitual joy. The rest of his face forcibly suggested the
idea of a convex edge. His whole figure impressed me with
emotions of veneration and awe. A gravity that almost
amounted to sadnees invariably attended him when we were
alone together.

He whispered the servant that waited, who immediately
retired. He then said, turning to me, “A lady will enter

presently, whom you are to treat with the respect due to me
daughter. You must not notice any emotion she may betray
at the sight of you, nor expect her to converse with your; for
she does not understand your language.” He had scarcely
spoken when she entered. I was seized with certain misgivings
and flutterings which a clownish education may account
for. I so far conquered my timidity, however, as to snatch
a look at her. I was not born to execute her portrait. Perhaps
the turban that wreathed her head, the brilliant texture and
inimitable folds of her drapery, and nymphlike port, more
than the essential attributes of her person, gave splendour to
the celestial vision. Perhaps it was her snowy hues and the
cast, rather than the position of her features, that were so
prolific of enchantment: or perhaps the wonder originated
only in my own ignorance.

She did not immediately notice me. When she did she
almost shrieked with surprise. She held up her hands, and
gazing upon me, uttered various exclamations which I could
not understand. I could only remark that her accents were
thrillingly musical. Her perturbations refused to be stilled.
It was with difficulty that she withdrew her regards from me.
Much conversation passed between her and Welbeck, but I
could comprehend no part of it. I was at liberty to animadvert
on the visible part of their intercourse. I diverted some
part of my attention from my own embarrassments, and fixed
it on their looks.

In this art, as in most others, I was an unpractised simpleton.
In the countenance of Welbeck, there was somewhat
else than sympathy with the astonishment and distress of the
lady; but I could not interpret these additional tokens.
When her attention was engrossed by Welbeck, her eyes
were frequently vagrant or downcast; her cheeks contracted
a deeper hue; and her breathing was almost prolonged into
a sigh. These were marks on which I made no comments
at the time. My own situation was calculated to breed confusion
in my thoughts and awkwardness in my gestures.

Breakfast being finished, the lady, apparently at the request
of Welbeck, sat down to a piano forte.

Here again I must be silent. I was not wholly destitute
of musical practice and musical taste. I had that degree of
knowledge which enabled me to estimate the transcendent
skill of this performer. As if the pathos of her touch were
insufficient, I found after some time that the lawless jarrings
of the keys were chastened by her own more liquid notes.
She played without a book, and though her base might be
preconcerted, it was plain that her right-hand notes were
momentary and spontaneous inspirations. Meanwhile Welbeck
stood, leaning his arms on the back of a chair near her,
with his eyes fixed on her face. His features were fraught
with a meaning which I was eager to interpret but unable.

I have read of transitions effected by magic: I have read
of palaces and deserts which were subject to the dominion of
spells: Poets may sport with their power, but I am certain
that no transition was ever conceived more marvellous and
more beyond the reach of foresight, than that which I had
just experienced. Heaths vexed by a midnight storm may
be changed into an hall of choral nymphs and regal banqueting;
forest glades may give sudden place to colonnades and
carnivals, but he whose senses are deluded finds himself still
on his natal earth. These miracles are contemptible when
compared with that which placed me under this roof and gave
me to partake in this audience. I know that my emotions
are in danger of being regarded as ludicrous by those who
cannot figure to themselves the consequences of a limitted and
rustic education.