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 sixpence." 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
description 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, cassimere pantaloons, stockings of variegated silk, and
shoes that in their softness, pliancy, and polished surface vied with
satin. I could scarcely forbear looking back to see whether the image in
the glass, so well proportioned, so gallant, and so graceful, did not
belong to another. I could scarcely recognise 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 sadness 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 my daughter. You must not notice any emotion she
may betray at the sight of you, nor expect her to converse with you; for
she does not understand your language."