University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

All the next day, I was strangely serious; melancholy,
at times, and rather petulent. Every thing
went wrong---I felt malicious---spiteful---struck one of
the clerks---went into the retail store, and deliberately
cheated a rascal, in the width of a cloth---and---stay, I
must tell that. It was a neat thing, for a fellow in love
to do; and may be a good lesson to the retail gentry,
who darken their windows and doors, under pretence
of showing their goods; dampen their cloths, that they
may feel softer to the touch; show one end of a piece of
goods, and sell the other; exhibit the coarsest stuff in
the whole warehouse, first; though one should ask for
mulled muslin, or Indian cambrick: dazzle your eyes
with garish colours; and overwhelm your ears with
counter gibberish—hurrying and confounding, teasing
and talking you into purchases, that you never
thought of making, and did know that you had made,
till you found yourself at home, angry and ashamed of
your own good nature, and of the rascal that made
such a fool of you---your purse exhausted, yourself,
or your husband in debt,---and your bundle made
up of trash, that you have not the slightest recollection
of having ever seen before!—so different do
the qualities, and colours, and materials appear at
home—when your mind is tranquil; the light, pure and
strong; from what they did in a shop like a prison, and
a noise that maddened you; to such men, this may
be an additional lesson:—and to them that sell “damaged
goods,” “cheap goods,” and “auction goods;”---or,
are all the time “selling off,” their stock, at “reduced
prices”—for, if you will believe them, altogether less
than nothing; less than it cost to black the shoes of the
importer; or grease the wheels of the manufactory; infinitely

less, than the raw material cost in th eseed---
twenty generations back; to them too, that are wise
enough, never to open a piece of linen---or, if they do,
never to show any but the outside fold; who, when
their white goods are smoked and yellow, always exhibit
them, alongside of brilliant silks; and, when they
show a piece of cambrick muslin, wet it, the agreeable
creatures! with their own spittle, and draw it
tightly over the tip end of the fore finger of the left hand;
thereby making it appear at least one hundred per cent.
better, than it really is;---or live by damaging goods,
when the demand for damaged goods---and goods that
have been shipwrecked---is at the highest; (for, such economy
will rage, like madness, at times, among the women;
whose maxim is, always to buy what is cheap, whether
they want it or not; forgetful of the truth, that nothing
is cheap which is not wanted; and who, when they
have brought their husbands or fathers to the brink of
bankruptcy, by their folly and extravagance, think to
make it all up, and re-establish themselves for ever, as
frugal housewives, by wearing a ruff once, that cost
only a shilling---or, a calico frock, of a morning, that
cost only a dollar--as if that were economy; that, which
makes it necessary to renew the wardrobe of a woman,
every morning; or, at least, every washing day)---to
them, and all that profit by this folly, in the sweet creatures
that rule over us---and take sound goods, untumbled,
unstained, and unwet, and convert them, by
a little simple legerdemain, into damaged and wet
goods!---and so, vice versa---this will be of advantage.
All these things are done. More than one fellow have
I seen employed, in converting a piece of British book
muslin, into an India book, by pulling and haling it
about, in the water, till the starch was discharged; and,
case after case of cambrick muslins, have I seen sold,
when wringing wet; and tumbled all up in a heap; and
trampled on; for higher prices, than they could have been
sold for, in a merchantable shape---while every woman
that bought of them, bought, as if she never expected to
see another piece of cambrick muslin, upon the earth.
And, after she was loaded with it, could be traced half
over town, by the trickling of bilge water, from it, on
her way to exhibit her prize. By heaven! I have known
women that have ruined their best friends, by the most
shameful and profligate expenditure, absolutely beside
themselves, at having bought a paper of pins, for half
price---from some chap, who knew enough, not to give
them away; for, there is no pleasure in bargaining adroitly
there---women are not satisfied with that---they
do not feel as if they have outwitted a man[1] then—
while he cheated them in something, the price of which,
they did not know. I am leaving the story; but, never
mind—the rascals deserve it, and they shall have it---
now that I have left off trade! It is one of their maxims
to sell to women—for, that saves advertising—
cotton balls, pins, needles and tape, and such things, as
all know the price of, at half price; but, tuck it on, say
they, upon the cloths, linens, and such matters, of
which they cannot so well judge. Women love to reason
in a lump. If the needles are cheap, the cloths
and linens are cheap, of course. There are some hundred
more, beautiful and gentlemanly tricks, of the
same kind; such as, always having a moveable price; and
never refusing the last offer—selling by false invoices—
giving old goods, new names—&c. and always falling
in your prices, before you are asked—or any complaint
is made; having no change at hand, so as to oblige
your customers to take toys—using short yardsticks—
(which is rather perilous) and slipping back your
thumb, while measuring;—cutting a piece of bandanna
handkerchiefs, into eight, instead of seven;—selling India
goods, by what they “came for,” and not by what they
measure; making an assortment, out of one and the same
piece, by cutting it up, and marking it at different prices—“
marking up” your calicoes, pins, cloths, &c. and
selling that which comes for 4-4, 5-4, 6-4, &c. whether
cottons or blankets, for one or two quarters more—
that is, what is invoiced 4-4, for 5-4; and a blanket,
that came for 12-4, for 14-4.—But, enough; you that
do not know the things, do not understand the very
alphabet of retailing; particularly in Cornhill, or Broadway,
or Market street. And now, for the trick. It
was rather a new one, as I take it. I found one of the
lads confoundedly bothered, with a male customer, who
kept running in and out, examining and re-examining;
measuring and taking patterns of a cloth. (By the way,
taking patterns, and samples, and shopping, is the common
daily occupation, in decent weather, of nine women
out of ten, in Boston and New York---who have
no money to spend, or no heart to spend it.)

I was fretted and indignant, at the puppyish complaisancy
of the young men; and reproved them for it,
sharply. At last, while the customer was yet balancing
in his mind, between the cloth in “our store,” and
that, which he had seen at the next door, I found that,
the only question was about the width of the two. That
he thought, should decide it; whichever was the widest,
by a single thread, he determined to buy. I wanted
to punish him, for the trouble that he had given to the
boys; and knew no better, or safer way, than to do it,
by cheating him—conscientiously, I mean. I gave him
the yardstick, therefore; and begged him to go in, and
satisfy himself. He soon returned; holding it so, that,
our neighbour's cloth, it appeared, was a quarter of a
yard wider than ours. It was, I found. 1 & 5-8 wide; his
thumb nail was upon the mark of the 3-8. A thought
struck me; a pleasant one, I assure you. It was only
taking the yardstick out of his hand, without appearing
to turn it, and lo!—the width was converted, from
1, & 5-8, to 1, & 3-8!—It took---and he bought “our”
cloth.

I returned to the warehouse, in the same humour.
Nothing seemed to work rightly. Goods had been sold,
that were not packed; others were packed badly; and
no invoices made. In this disordered state of my mind,
and temper, (though I have the sweetest temper in the
world,) a thick headed gentleman, regularly educated
in an importing warehouse; one too, that was “not to be
imposed upon, in the sterling cost of an article, by any
body,” came to buy a bale of blankets. Our warehouse

was full; and bought, at an extravagant price, on speculation.
I showed them: but, the man was difficult to please
—nothing would do, but the original cost---he must see
that. I must measure them too. In the course of the
conversation, I found that he had been looking at some
of the very same blankets, in the warehouse, from
which we had been supplied. I was vexed at his stupidity
and affectation; and, merely to convince him that
he could be cheated, with his eyes open, notwithstanding
all his precaution, and wisdom, and experience, I
cheated him. In the first place, I marked up the sterling
cost of the whole bale, about twenty five per cent.
I then advanced the blankets in the invoice 1-4, each
pair, by marking them 7-4, for instance, that came for
6-4. I then took the man, to a sort of invoice book; and
showed him the sterling cost---he was perfectly satisfied.
I then led him into the cellar, and insisted on his
measuring every blanket. He obeyed; and, as if there
could be but one way of estimating them, I took
their length alone; and thus demonstrated, that those
which were called 9-4, actually measured more than
two yards and a quarter, in length! Would it be believed,
that this man; a regular bred merchant too, actually
went away, and measured some of the same blankets;
and compared them, with pen and ink; and then,
came back, and bought ours---giving me nearly fifty
per cent. more for them. Yet, it is true.

This was all very well---very well indeed; but, I was
not satisfied with it, nevertheless. It was too like the
practice of advertising one hundred packages of goods,
when you have but forty or fifty. Yet, it was the way
of trade; and, people so well understand the trick; that,
if a man should be scrupulously honest, and say that
he had but forty or fifty packages to sell, they would
believe that he had only ten or a dozen; so, if he should
sell a piece of India goods, for just what it measured,
in length; or call a piece of British goods 5-4, when it
measured just that, it would be supposed, that the one
was twenty five per cent. less than it was, in reality;
and that the other was only 4-4, in truth. Thus, said
I, to myself, a shopkeeper is obliged lie, in his own defence.

Yet, this reasoning did not do, then. I had
cheated, in the sight of heaven; and my heart smote
me. I went home to my dinner, troubled. The afternoon
passed away; and my seriousness was taken notice
of; nay, something happened; I know not what, and
I spoke to Caroline, the dear suffering Caroline, in a tone
of bitter pleasantry; her eyes filled; and, had we been
alone, I could have gone down on my knees to her,
and kissed off the drops, if she would let me; but,
there were others near; and, to conceal my perturbation,
my tears even, for I wept a little; I was fain to
appear very cheerful. But the exertion was painful;
and, I was relapsing again, into thoughtfulness, and
sternness, I believe, when, on looking at Caroline, I
saw that she did not appear to observe it. I was about
rising to depart—angry, to the very soul, with myself;
and even having a slight, doubtful emotion of resentment,
toward her—a wrathful swelling of the heart.—
Could it be?—was I really so indifferent to her, that
she knew not, and cared not, child that she was, whether
I was in an evil or happy humour? I stood erect,
with my hand upon the mantle-piece; and, just on the
point of saying farewell, entirely, when Eunice, or mother,
as I always called her, when I was happy, and
at ease with myself, came near to me; and, laying her
hand upon my shoulder, said, kindly, “William, what
ails thee?”

What could I say? My heart was in my mouth.---
The accents of reproof I could bear, for ever and ever;
but not of kindness. No, no; I could not stand erect in
the tender rebuke of eyes that loved me, even in their
expostulation. I pressed her hand in silence. I could'nt
speak. I was utterly unmanned. If I opened my mouth,
I knew that the tears would follow; and that I might
even sob aloud, before I knew it.

Hezekiah had been very grave, all the evening. I
saw it, and I knew the reason. He was displeased with
me. This troubled my heart---but it offended my pride,
also; and I scorned to be sensible of the change in his
manner; but, at the sound of his wife's voice---he stopped---like
one listening. There was no answer---he

looked up in my face---and all his coldness gave way,
instantly.

“William,” said he, very kindly, “I am afraid thee
is unwell. What has happened to thee?”

He shook my hand as he spoke this, so cordially, that
---curse it---the tears did---did---not fall---nor filled my
lids, perhaps, for I have always been ashamed to cry---
but they oozed out. I felt as if my eye-balls were
bleeding, for a moment---and they smarted;---tears
would have come; but---where was Caroline? I threw
aside my eyes. She had moved---a very little; and,
when I looked upon her, though her eyes were cast
down, she attempted, just as if she felt that I was looking
upon her, to regain the very same position and attitude.
By heaven, it is wonderful, what little things
will make our blood thrill sometimes. This trifle now,
made mine leap, so that you could have seen it through
my temples. Yet, she did not look up; and I was
ashamed to be overcome, while she, so much younger
and gentler, sat unmoved. Yet, I could not be gentle
and collected; my resource was more violent. It was
the repose of iron. I went to my room; but not to my
sleep. Never did I pass such a night. I took out my
own heart, and examined it; and, while I did, young
serpents lanced out of it, in every direction. Strange
thoughts—wicked thoughts—awoke. There was the
pressure of revenge, like a strong hand, upon my forehead.
And the thought of dominion, beat through all
my arteries, like a broken current. I felt oddly about
the head, too; and went and stood before the glass. I
was appalled at the sight of my own visage. My flesh
was livid; my lips ghastly; my teeth naked; my looks,
those of one troubled in mind; and the clear blood, I
could see, rippling over my forehead, as plainly as if
the skin had been transparent. It looked dark, too—
and melancholy; thick and turbid. I turned away, immediately.
I was afraid to look any longer.

I thought of that child, all night long. She had
humbled me—cruelly, cruelly; and my thought was one
that I dare not avow, even at this hour.

“Will she love me?” said I, to myself. “Can I not
make her love me? Aye, aye—I can. But how?—
There were many ways, I knew well; but there was
only one way, for her. It was to win her, by a lofty
and imperious carriage; with, here and there, a dash of
unpremeditated tenderness, that she might hope to be
nourished with, if she should ever give herself up to
me.”

The next day passed over—the next—a whole week;
and I was still in doubt. We were formal, and very
particular in our manner. And here, I ought to mention,
that Caroline had lately undergone a sort of
transfiguration. Within a year—one single year—she
had become a woman. Her tread; her tone; her manner:—they
were no longer those of a child. To what
should I attribute it? Her dress?—her age? No.—
What then? To love? It was, undeniably, love. But
for whom? I looked about me. I had never felt a
thought of uneasiness before; yet now, when I ran over
the young men that knew her; their beauty, and quality—and
their exquisite humility, and good temper; and
remembered my own haughty, cold, arrogant manner;
how likely it was to intimidate such a girl; and how
naturally a woman clings to what is lovely, rather
than terrible, I confess, that I trembled. My heart
grew fainter, and fainter—stopped; a sickening, death-like
sensation followed. What was it? Mortified vanity?—aye.
Jealousy?—yes; but jealousy in a new shape.

Still, there were some involuntary movements about
Caroline, that convinced me, at times, for a moment or
two, that I was dear to her; a strange infatuation—
mournful, but pleasant—followed. Why should I wound
her? Why jar the sweet instrument, till it was tuneless,
merely because it emitted no sound to my breathing?
Perhaps it might be—like the harp of the air—
only to be played upon by the sighing of heaven. A
tear fell upon my hand. My heart was better. Then
came a faint, delicate fluttering of hope. I remembered
how, when we had set together, and our feet touched,
accidentally, she had not withdrawn hers; and when
my arm, as it lay upon her chair, had been, accidentally

too, pressed upon her beautiful shoulder, as she leaned
back; but then—O, no; it were idle to dream of such
things. They were accidental. And then, too, when
we stood upon the bridge, of a sweet moonlight evening,
almost alone, with the blue water below it, rippling
thinly over the round, innumerable, shining pebbles,
like a flood of shattered starlight—and heaven,
with all its beauty, came down upon us—that, as her
arm lay upon mine—her hand, too; I had pressed my
cheek to it, in leaning over the rail—yet, she had not
withdrawn it. Nay, had we not embraced—all over,
once—and there, too, upon that very bridge.

Ah, Love! Love!—verily thou art a deceitful little
devil. My whole life hath been a ramble, after thee.

And then I would lie, and set traps for her, in my
heart. “I will go to such a place to-morrow evening,”
said I; “and she will be sure to go there. I know she
will; because she cannot be happy, but with me.” I
would go; but Caroline would not be there! “What
kept her away?” I would ask myself. “Her sense of
propriety? Her love? She could not be happy to meet
me, as she must, before strangers, formally. She could
not abide it. I must have a reconciliation. Well;—
when shall it be? To-morrow; yes, to-morrow. She
feels very tenderly, I am sure; and is deeply solicitous
for an explanation. She will assuredly seek it. To-morrow,
therefore, we shall be happy; and to-morrow
night—O, heaven—I shall sit by her again, in the dim
foliage over the water; and tell her all my meditation,
just as it has been, during this long season of doubt and
separation. She will smile then—dear Caroline—dear,
dear Caroline!—and we shall agree then, never to fall
out, while we have breath in us, without a full understanding
upon the subject.” And then, I would go to
sleep—sleep quietly—and dream of Caroline.

The next day came; and, contrary to all my expectations,
instead of seeking an opportunity for an explanation,
I found her avoiding it, with a delicate, but incessant
solitude. A new pang! It must be, that she did
not love me; that I had been cheating myself, all the
while; that he foresaw my purpose, and would defeat

it; spare me the mortification of—of—the devil!—
I am choking! What hath she done? What said?—
Nothing!---nothing! She does not love me. Nay, more;
suppose that she should tell me so? What could I say?
Can I complain? Shall I call her a coquette?---and for
what? Because she looked, and spoke to me, as to other
men? A coquette?---thus it is. He, whose own
vanity hath led him to the precipice, is the first to
charge the woman with it; merely because she had the
humanity to treat him with a refuse smile, now and
then.

This was not to be born. But, might it not be? Was
it not possible to explain this conduct of hers by a more
soothing hypothesis? Suppose that she really loved me,
passionately, devoutly? What else could she have done
to me, than she had done, of late? Would she not avoid
me? She would. The conclusion was irresistible.—
It was like musick to the deaf man, when his ears are
first unstopped; the touch of soft lips, to a bruised heart.
Thus are we the sport of our imagination. I remember
once, when Caroline wore her hair in a particular
way, which I had praised a long time before, that I felt
flattered by it, and told her so. She did'nt appear to
understand me; and I had the mortification to find that
she had forgotten it entirely. Yet, hardly was I in my
own bed, and alone, (I always sleep alone, in my own
bed,[2] ) than I contrived to imagine a theory, infinitely
more delightful, out of this very reply. I persuaded
myself that, forgetful of the source, she had learnt to
love that fashion of wearing her hair, solely because I
had once recommended it, and had followed it, long and
long after, from the choice of her own heart, without
recollecting the original source of that choice! Yes,
that was it. She was too delicate; too bashful, by far,
to pay me so direct a compliment.[3]

And once, too, I remember, when I had given Caroline,
herself, a pretty quaker-coloured shawl, she had
worn it for some time—and I had been not a little
pleased by her wearing it; but she left it off, finally,
and then I was more pleased; for it was a proof to me,
that she began to be sensible of appearances, and alive
to many things, that, in the heedlessness of childhood,
with an untouched heart, she had laughed at—or never
thought of, at all. Yet, soon after, the shawl re-appeared,
and I saw in it, a new proof of her affection, which
made her diregard appearances. Thus it is, when we
hope; every thing gives confirmation to our hope. And
when we fear, all that may happen, is wrested and distorted
to our purpose. Happen what will, there is sure
to be an appositeness in it---as to the events that follow
a dream, or an omen. When the heart is light, the
whole world about, is an atmosphere of sunshine---
the heaven, a vault of molten sapphire---dropped with
fire; but, when it is heavy---O, there is an unutterable
dullness, even in the melody of birds; the sweet star-light;
the green turf; and even the eyes of woman,
are misty and afar---like what we worship in distraction---dim
and uncertain, but beautiful, very beautiful
apparitions; but, let me leave this chapter.