University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

I have lived to experience one of the most extraordinary
revolutions, in prejudice, that has, probably,
ever happened. When I was a young man, I was always
treated best, by them that knew least of me.—
Since then, it has been directly the reverse. Then, my
first appearance had, usually, a striking effect; (I speak
of my apprenticeship;) for, as I said before, I was tall
and manly: but I found a lamentable falling off, on every
day's acquaintance, in the consideration with which
I was treated. How different has it been since! My
acquaintances have hated me, and slandered me;—people
that I had met once, and only for a moment, never
could bear to hear, afterward, my name mentioned;
while there were a few, intimate with me—male and
female—a very few—who would; aye, and will yet,
spill their blood for me.

I remember when I went home, for the first time, to
the house of my new master;—the man who gave me
forty dollars a year, and cold dinners, for taking care
of a large establishment, under his great booby of a
son. It was to dine. Ben was my companion, for that
day; and, when I entered the room, there was an involuntary
movement of surprise in the women. They
were not prepared to expect a fellow of my size and appearance;
and I was not a little amused at their embarrassment.
There was a good deal of whispering,
and fidgetting; and an entire new arrangement of the
cloth. Ben and I, for that day, were seated at a side
table. That was by way of condescension toward me!
It was very ill-judged; for we could never occupy the
same level. It was not in the nature of things; and I
should have been happier then, to be beneath him, than

with him. You can have no idea of his obstinate, piteous,
money-making stupidity; and yet, he had no notion
that it was possible to be a greater man than he
expected to be. I remember a letter, that he once
wrote, to a little she cousin of his;—a fine girl, too, upon
my word—(I have often thought of her since, with
pleasure and respect.) A copy of it fell into my hands.
He talked very feelingly in it, I remember, about “the
leprosy, in which commerce had lain, for so long a time!”
Well!—for the first day, Ben was permitted to dine
with me; and I was permitted to dine at a side table;—
but the next, Ben, after some shuffling, went home with
his father, to dinner—leaving me to watch the store;
and when he came back, after some apologies, I took
my turn. But my turn continued to be—to go last, I
found—happen what would; and, after the first week, I
heard nothing more of apologies:—and all the involuntary
deference, which the mother—a notable, good, rational
sort of a woman, in her way—or the young lady,
above mentioned, had shown, at my entrance, soon
wore away, into quite a slip-shod kind of indifference.
But there it stopped. They were not quite willing to
yawn, or go to bed, in my face. Yet, why was this?
What had I done? Nothing. My deportment was
above my age; and, had I been a stranger to them, they
could not have forborn, for their souls, to rise, every
day, when I entered the room, as they did, the first day.
But, a worldly policy; that vulgar cunning, which is
constitutional with the vulgar, soon led them to another
course. They were afraid of setting me above my business.
Poor simpletons! And yet, I can look back,
with pleasure, upon that year's novitiate; and recal the
deep and continual mortification, that I endured, more
than once; with a sentiment of pride. Even then, I felt
that my destiny was not with them. I knew that I was
born to command better earth, than that, of which their
souls were made. I knew that the time must come,
when, even to be judged by me, as I now judge these
people, would be an honour to them, of which they
would speak boastingly:—and I used to go to my bed,
week after week, the moment that I left the tea-table;
and lie there; meditating upon the apparitions that
came out, and went back again, into the beautiful blue
darkness that was about me—like continual eruptions
of colour and brightness; while the heavens above me,
showered their stars upon the earth, like the blossoms
of a fig-tree, shaken by a great wind.—(Revelations,
iv. 13.)

Yet, the mother was kind to me, on more than one
occasion; and the father, never—I must say that for
him—never once wounded my feeling; but the son—he
was afraid of me—afraid as death—although he did
not know it, himself. And well that it was so. Once,
and once only, was he nigh putting his hand upon me;
he came round from the counter to do it; but he caught
my look; he heard my low voice; and he shook, from
head to foot. The cause I well remember. A young
brother of his—after ten thousand childish, but wicked
pranks; such as greasing my clothes, (for which his
mother cuffed him soundly once, all about the breakfast
room, in my presence—and for which, I imagine
that he never forgave me)—and thwarting me every
way that he could—he had the audacity to strike me.
This, I never could bear. I had born such things; but
that time had gone by;—and I whipped him—unwillingly,
I confess; but I whipped him, nevertheless. He
rushed upon me with brick-bats, until I was obliged to
let a little blood out for him. He complained to Ben;
and Ben began to bully and splutter—while the spittle
flew, in a shower, over the desk. But there it stopped.
He did not strike me; and I was retained in the store
till the year was up; and then, packed off, quite civilly.
I expected it.--A few words more, on this part of my apprenticeship.

Among the most severe and cutting of these mortifications,
were two or three, that I never shall forget.—
My blood boiled; and the tears that gushed out of my
eyes, when I was in bed, almost blistered my cheeks.
I wanted to go to church with them, once; but they
were ashamed to sit in the pew with me—and almost
said so. That was one. The second was worse. The
mother had often permitted me to come into the room,

when she had company; and, ugly and ungraceful as I
was, there was, even then, more of natural gentility, ten
thousand times over, in me, than in all her unlicked
cubs, together—not excepting Ben, who was, beyond
all comparison, the most truly ludicrous machine; the
most entirely awkward contrivance, that I ever met
with—in breeches.

On one occasion, she gave a ball. Two little junketting
rooms were thrown open—for the lady was fond,
very fond, of company; and cake and wine are plenty
enough—and cost nothing, you know, where the husband
of a woman is a grocer—and his wife, a good
manager. The people jumped, and stewed; and wriggled,
and shuffled; first, up the room—and then, down,
to my infinite astonishment. I had never seen any
dancing before; and I loved to look at the fools. In a
little time, without intending it, I had hustled myself
in among the patricians. Just then, the good lady
was kind enough to come, stuttering, up to me—(for she
stuttered a little, too)—her pretty, shining black eyes
snapping fire—and hint to me, that—that—it—it—
she—she—in short, that she had per—permitted me to
stand at the door; and look in; and—and—that—in
short—I had better be off. What a damper!

On another occasion,—the old man had too much
heart; and Ben, I suppose, too little, to speak to me of
it—after two or three family consultations—the old lady—no,
that's wrong—she is not old, yet—took me to
task, for a couple of new linen shirts, that had been
found in the wash—as if she would like to know how I
came by them. That was devilish hard. I had left
off stealing. The shirts were fairly mine. I had
charged the linen to myself, some months before; and—
and, in short, I made her, and all the family ashamed
enough of their suspicions.

Now, what had I to keep me honest? Suspect any
man of being a scoundrel; and it is the surest way in
the world, of making him one. Be careful how you
suspect; but never—never, betray your suspicion to one,
who is to remain in your service, unless you are prepared
to prove his guilt. I was greatly tempted to vengeance—yet,

I forbore. My own manhood kept me
honest—nothing else.—Pshaw! it was not manhood—it
was cowardice. The risk of stealing, then, had begun
to frighten me.

Here were other examples of folly, in the education
that I received. They tried to humble me. They could
not. They were ashamed of themselves—but they never
made me ashamed. I deserved to be treated with
respect and affection. I was not. They began, as
they could not continue. I smiled; for I saw the meaning
of it all. They were afraid to arouse me at once, by
the indignity of a cold dinner, at a second table. Nay,
they were ashamed. They had'nt the courage to offer
it to me, after seeing me. But, gradually, by contemplating
my salary, and forgetting me, they brought
themselves down to it; and I was treated with indignity,
by the very women that trembled before me, when
they first saw me.

I had a good heart; but I had no experience in the
ways of the world. I had a stout hand; but I knew not
the mischief that might be done with it. In proof of
the former, I would allude to the fact, that I lay awake
several hours, for an opportunity to bid a shop-keeping
brother of hers, (I mean the girl,) good bye, the
last night that he spent with the family; and that, when
I did—it seemed to be a liberty, that the blockhead could
not understand;—and, again, that when she was going
away, I remember standing an hour, in the cold and
darkness, for an opportunity to say farewell to her—
merely because, one evening, when we happened to be
alone together, she had the wisdom to treat me like a
companion. That—but no matter. I have seen her
since; and in a situation, when she charged me with
feeling no disposition to acknowledge the acquaintance.

I do not like these things. Begin, as you can hold out,
is my maxim; or, at least, never grow worse, or do
worse, as you grow older. If you take boarders, give
them, the first day, a worse dinner than usual; rather
than a better one. If you are newly married, remember
the maxim:—you may be ruined else—bankrupt—
without any credit to yourself. So, in all the business

of life:—husband your resources and friendship. If you
are lavish at first, your wife, your friend, and yourself,
will soon have to go to the side table; and then, to a cold
dinner. Beware!

A word more of myself, now—by way of a change.
One of my strongest peculiarities through life, has been
an incessantly active spirit of inquiry. In my boyhood,
it was little else than a meddling, curious, impertinent
inquisitiveness, without object or aim, beyond
a present momentary gratification;—but, as I grew up,
it took a more alarming shape.—It haunted me like
some unburied creature; it set me meditating upon forbidden
things—interrogatingGod—dissecting—analyzing,
and torturing into expression, whatever I came
near, that had life in it. It set wandering, with a scornful
step, through all the geography of heaven. For
this, I have been guilty—so guilty, that I have no hope
left, except in the infinite compassion of my Maker.—
Nay—this it is—an insatiable spirit of investigation,
which grew up out of my cowardice—and an anxiety
to protect myself in any way, from the common perils
of life—I was afraid to sin openly—to inquire, boldly
—as other men did;—to oppose, or resist, or retaliate
aggression upon the spot, like the brave-blooded:—and,
therefore, I became so active and intense, in my secret
searching after the means of defence—like them that
defend themselves, and attack others, by poison, because
they are not valiant enough, nor strong enough,
of arm or heart, to make battle openly—this it is, to which
I owe all that is good, as well as all that is evil in my
life. It has made me a husband and a father—a lover
of many women—the explorer of many hearts—a traveller
through all Europe—the spoiler of many a blessed
creature; many a shrine of purity—and left me—
blind and broken hearted—widowed, houseless, and
fatherless—nay, childless, even in my maturity—
but better, I believe; and wiser in my sorrow, and bereavement,
than I should have been, even, with a crown
upon my temples, and a sceptre in my hand—with
which I could break in pieces—whatever I smote;—and
smite, whatever I would. But let me not anticipate the

tale. It is one of much trial. May it be one of instruction!
It is one of much sorrow, and tribulation;
may they that meet with it, learn to be tender in their
administration of power! to deal gently, and dispassionately,
with whatever hath been made weaker, and
more delicate than themselves!— to repress an unhallowed
curiosity—and to love—more temperately—less
distractedly, than I have loved, either my wife, or my
children—I must pause. I must recollect myself.
There are incidents of my early life, which,
though apparently trivial in themselves, at the time
of their happening, have had a perpetual and continually
augmenting influence upon my destiny. They
ought to be told; and, whenever they occur to my memory,
they shall be told, although I have to go back every
moment, in my narrative.

I have spoken of my active, investigating spirit. Two
or three examples of my character, when it first appeared,
will be a clue to much that has taken place in my
history since. Whatever happened that was mysterious,
troubled me like a brain-fever, till I was at the
bottom of it. Whatever was difficult, yet possible, to
be done, I was sure to attempt, if left to the goading of
my own spirit. These principles of action are still at
full spring within me.

When about eight or nine years old, I was taken into
the counting-room—no, I may as well out with the
truth at once—taken into the back room of a retail
shop, where tape and pins were speculated upon, by the
merchants, with the solemnity of people engaged in a
South Sea; Tulip; or Mississippi scheme. I was of little
use—except in the summer time, when my chief employment
was stealing fruit from a fine garden, just in
the rear of our store—tearing out my corduroy trowers;
and rummaging the shop, from garret to cellar, whenever
I was left alone in it, for a moment. One day—I never
shall forget it—there was a big leathern trunk in the
store, to which I had seen one of the concern, go, so
often, and so regularly, that, I felt an immoderate desire
of imitating his example, on the very first opportunity.
It soon arrived. There was a cry of fire!—fire!—in

the street. Away went my masters—locking me up, as
usual. I waited just long enough to get my breath;
flew at the trunk,—wrenched it open,—emptied it all
over the floor;—and proceeded to distribute, and arrange
for inspection, a heap of tattered billet-doux—
old clothes—pattern cards—torn books—fishing tackle
—scraps of drawing—&c. &c. &c. They were, where
I sat, about as high as my ears, on each side of
me. I looked at the whole, with the eyes of an Alchymist.
My ancient curiosity was about to be thoroughly
gratified. I was almost afraid to begin the search;
I paused, and held back—to indulge myself with looking
at the treasure before me—like a glutton, or a miser
—who feeds all his senses; but, only one of them at a
time;—or, rather, like the voluptuary—touching and
tasting—till his appetite is all on fire. At last, I broke
the spell. I rose from my knees, and fell to work.—
The first things, that I laid my hand on, were some three
pronged fish hooks;—with leaden sinkers—these, I appropriated
to myself, at once, without further ceremony;
merely on account of their workmanship; for, I
did'nt know what they were; and had no idea of their
use. The next thing, that underwent examination, was
a drawing, coloured most shamefully, in imitation of a
landscape, upon a waiter, borrowed by my junior master,
from our next door neighbour; of whom, more, by and
by. To this, was attached the picture of a house—
painted upon a card—with a pretty, little, white railing
in front, which had mightily tickled me, I knew, some
weeks before; for, as soon as my said master had completed
it, I had asked him for it, in vain. The temptation
was hard to resist. It was a paltry thing, to be
sure; and, as well I can remember now, so badly contrived,
that, if my little boy had painted so wretchedly, at
seven years old, I would have had him impaled alive,
for it; still, it was the house that I had asked for, and been
refused. It was hard to leave it—and yet, if I took it,
I must be prepared for a stout examination, and denial;
for, it was, next to his own finger nails, upon which he
spent half his time, the dearest thing under heaven,
probably, to my young master. I could'nt determine
—I had a great mind to put it by, along with the fish
hooks and sinkers; and then, again, I resolved to leave
it; but somehow or other, I always found it in my hand
again; at the end of every soliloquy; and so, I laid it by,
with the fish hooks; for future consideration. In the
mean time, the fire was all out—the bells had stopped
ringing, and the people were tramping home, in every
direction; but, I heard nothing of them, and saw nothing,
except the house. By and by, I had the courage
to break a string, that bound up a packet of neatly folded
paper, written all over. That was a treat indeed.
It was the daily journal of a man, for years, who never
had more than one idea in his head, at a time; nor, any
other experience in the ways of the world; or, in the adventures
and vicissitudes of life, than any shop-boy
may learn, who has grown old, in travelling from one
counter to another; to dinner, and bed, and supper; and
back again. Yet there were some precious secrets to
be found some, that my fingers itch to relate; even at
this late day; and, a multitude of such weighty incidents,
as the following:—“Monday, June 3, 18—.
Bought a new pair of gloves.—Saw Miss A. B....—
Tuesday, 4—discovered an improvement in egg blacking.—Took
tea at Mrs. C..d's.—Letter from home.
Wednesday, 5—had my top boots mended, by Gage, so
that it appeared, as if a bullet had gone through them.
Thursday, 6—bad cold. Friday, 7—running away, at
the nose. Saturday, 8—can't keep up with it.” &c. &c.

My profane hand next fell upon a love letter.—I had
just opened it— saw the words “Dear Timothy”—and
turned toward the light, that—curse it,—was
there a sudden eclipse?—I looked up. There was my
master, standing over me—with the pleasantest countenance
in the world. How long he had been there,
heaven only knows; but I know that I never felt so like
a fool, in all my life.

“Bill,” said he, at last—going into the next room,
“will you be kind enough to put the letters and things
back into the trunk, when you have done with them?”

“That I will!” thought I—quaking like delicate
machinery, with some wild animal in it;—and in, I tumbled

all the rubbish, pellmell, neads and points; and,
prepared myself for being spitted and roasted, alive,
at least. But, God help the fool!—I never heard
another word about it.

And yet—mark me, reader—the shame that I felt on
that occasion, was worth a dozen whippings. Had the
man, who was really amiable, called me to him, when
he was alone; put his hand upon my head, and spoken
to me, as I would speak to a child now, whom I had so
caught among my trumpery, I should never have sinned
again, upon this earth. But no—nothing was said
about it; and I was left to imagine—either, that some
tremendous punishment was brewing for me; or that
my transgression was quite too trivial for remembrance,
or notice. It was not. I should have been made to
feel that it was not—by a whip, not of substantial scorpions—but
by one, that I should have felt, to my dying
days—one, that would have left a young serpent in
every wound—and, every wound upon my brain.

But, what was the consequence? My infernal appetite
for meddling was not to be quenched. I ransacked,
whatever I found hidden, or locked, without mercy; spoiling,
as if it were lawful, whatever were shut up from me.

Not long after this, I had just such another escape.
I had been sent, with a small portmanteau, to the stage-office.
It belonged to a gentleman, whom I left talking,
at the store. I ran as fast as I could, to gain a
little time, for my purpose; I then turned a corner; and
popped down, behind a pile of shingles, to examine the
portmanteau. I had just got my right hand thoroughly
to the bottom, when I heard some one sing out
—“Halloa, there!”—just above me. I had half
a mind to vanish on the spot, without looking up, to
see what the noise came from; for, I remembered the
trunk; and it always had been my cursed fate, on such
occasions, to be intruded upon. “Providence had always
set itself against me, face and eyes”—but, I could'nt
get my hand out. At length, I succeeded; and stammered
out a lamentable story, about having dropped a
knife into it, which—but, no matter, it was a clumsy
lie for me to tell, young as I was. But, alas!—the

cruellest thing of all, was, that I had to continue the
walk, side by side, with the owner—for half an hour
longer; and truly, I never suffered so much in my life.
—At a yet later period, I suffered in a similar way.—

I had made up my mind once, to appropriate to myself,
a pair of blue cloth pantaloons, to which I had taken
a fancy, in a gentleman's wardrobe; for whom I had
been writing—and who had been very civil to me. I
knew that they would fit me; for he was a well made
fellow; and I had already worn out one pair for
him. I knew when he was not there. I entered boldly;
and went directly toward the closet.—What could I say
for myself? There he was! just where I had left him,
the night before—as if he had'nt stirred since. Indeed!
indeed!—it was very disagreeable. It was like finding
your conscience or courser restive, just in the wrong
place, after a deal of training.

The same unhallowed curiosity, hath since led me
into matters of a more frightful seriousness. I have
done rummaging trunks and portmanteaus; but—heaven
forgive me!—I have ransacked hearts and bed-chambers;
intruded upon the holiest places of the holiest
temples—paid midnight visits—of darkness and
death—and—but they are past. Heaven, I hope, hath
pardoned me; and the fierce instinct of my being; this
old, sleepless spirit of investigation, trial, fear, and experiment,
is now employed upon higher and holier offices,
—I hope.

Was it unwisely given?—this investigating disposition?
No. But it was suffered to run to waste; and,
what had been a fountain of immortality, watched over,
visited, and purified, reflecting the magnificence of
heaven—the setting and the rising sun—the starry annals
of the sky, at midnight;—untouched, unguided,
had well nigh stagnated to a deadly poison. So it is,
with all our blessings. They, that are the most powerful—when
abused, are the most terrible. It is safer to
trifle with many inferiour faculties; to profane many
an ordinary endowment—than to darken, or stay the
revolution, for one instant, of the greater luminaries of
the mind. It is they, that, suddenly quenched, drop

darkness and mildew upon men! It is they, that, if
they shed not light, shed pestilence!

That spirit of inquiry—that, which led Newton into
heaven, and set him walking with the twenty-four ancients,
familiarly, among the stars;—that, which, unannounced,
and unprepared, set the blind Milton, face
to face, with Jehovah;—that, which led Bacon and
Locke, unharmed, unappalled, into the darkest habitations
of the human heart—till they were able to trace
out the burning path-way of every passion—the route
to dominion, of every habit—the secret operation of every
hidden, and lurking spirit, that haunted them;—
even that is it, which, unheeded or mocked at, hath led
to the commission of more atrocities, than almost any
other propensity, in the nature of man. You may estimate
the virtue of every thing, by its malignity and
destructiveness, when perverted.

Parents!—Beware how you stifle this early curiosity.
You had better take out the brains of your children,
at once. Beware, too, how you look with indifference
upon its first movements. They may make your
heart swell with thankfulness; or bring down your
grey hairs, with sorrow, to the grave. Hearken to
me; and you will soon learn, of what tremendous efficacy
it is, when rightly directed; and how deadly, and
terrible, when abused.