I need not remark that our ideas of magnificence and splendour are
merely comparative; yet you may be prompted to smile when I tell you
that, in walking through this avenue, I, for a moment, conceived myself
transported to the hall "pendent with many a row of starry lamps and
blazing crescents fed by naphtha and asphaltos." That this transition
from my homely and quiet retreat had been effected in so few hours wore
the aspect of miracle or magic. I proceeded from one of these buildings to another, till I reached their
termination in Front Street. Here my progress was checked, and I sought
repose to my weary limbs by seating myself on a stall. No wonder some
fatigue was felt by me, accustomed as I was to strenuous exertions,
since, exclusive of the minutes spent at breakfast and dinner, I had
travelled fifteen hours and forty-five miles. I began now to reflect, with some earnestness, on my condition. I was a
stranger, friendless and moneyless. I was unable to purchase food and
shelter, and was wholly unused to the business of begging. Hunger was
the only serious inconvenience to which I was immediately exposed. I had
no objection to spend the night in the spot where I then sat. I had no
fear that my visions would be troubled by the officers of police. It was
no crime to be without a home; but how should I supply my present
cravings and the cravings of to-morrow? At length it occurred to me that one of our country neighbours was
probably at this time in the city. He kept a store as well as cultivated
a farm. He was a plain and well-meaning man, and, should I be so
fortunate as to meet him, his superior knowledge of the city might be of
essential benefit to me in my present forlorn circumstances. His
generosity might likewise induce him to lend me so much as would
purchase one meal. I had formed the resolution to leave the city next
day, and was astonished at the folly that had led me into it; but,
meanwhile, my physical wants must be supplied. Where should I look for this man? In the course of conversation I
recollected him to have referred to the place of his temporary abode. It
was an inn; but the sign or the name of the keeper for some time
withstood all my efforts to recall them. At length I lighted on the last. It was Lesher's tavern. I immediately
set out in search of it. After many inquiries, I at last arrived at the
door. I was preparing to enter the house when I perceived that my bundle
was gone. I had left it on the stall where I had been sitting. People
were perpetually passing to and fro. It was scarcely possible not to
have been noticed. No one that observed it would fail to make it his
prey. Yet it was of too much value to me to allow me to be governed by a
bare probability. I resolved to lose not a moment in returning. With some difficulty I retraced my steps, but the bundle had
disappeared. The clothes were, in themselves, of small value, but they
constituted the whole of my wardrobe; and I now reflected that they were
capable of being transmuted, by the pawn or sale of them, into food. There were other wretches as indigent as I was, and I consoled myself by
thinking that my shirts and stockings might furnish a seasonable
covering to their nakedness; but there was a relic concealed within this
bundle, the loss of which could scarcely be endured by me. It was the
portrait of a young man who died three years ago at my father's house,
drawn by his own hand. He was discovered one morning in the orchard with many marks of insanity
upon him. His air and dress bespoke some elevation of rank and fortune. My mother's compassion was excited, and, as his singularities were
harmless, an asylum was afforded him, though he was unable to pay for
it. He was constantly declaiming, in an incoherent manner, about some
mistress who had proved faithless. His speeches seemed, however, like
the rantings of an actor, to be rehearsed by rote or for the sake of
exercise. He was totally careless of his person and health, and, by
repeated negligences of this kind, at last contracted a fever of which
he speedily died. The name which he assumed was Clavering. He gave no distinct account of his family, but stated, in loose terms,
that they were residents in England, high-born and wealthy. That they
had denied him the woman whom he loved and banished him to America,
under penalty of death if he should dare to return, and that they had
refused him all means of subsistence in a foreign land. He predicted, in
his wild and declamatory way, his own death. He was very skilful at the
pencil, and drew this portrait a short time before his dissolution,
presented it to me, and charged me to preserve it in remembrance of him. My mother loved the youth because he was amiable and unfortunate, and
chiefly because she fancied a very powerful resemblance between his
countenance and mine. I was too young to build affection on any rational
foundation. I loved him, for whatever reason, with an ardour unusual at
my age, and which this portrait had contributed to prolong and to
cherish. In thus finally leaving my home, I was careful not to leave this picture
behind. I wrapped it in paper in which a few elegiac stanzas were
inscribed in my own hand, and with my utmost elegance of penmanship. I
then placed it in a leathern case, which, for greater security, was
deposited in the centre of my bundle. It will occur to you, perhaps,
that it would be safer in some fold or pocket of the clothes which I
wore. I was of a different opinion, and was now to endure the penalty of
my error. It was in vain to heap execrations on my negligence, or to consume the
little strength left to me in regrets. I returned once more to the
tavern and made inquiries for Mr. Capper, the person whom I have just
mentioned as my father's neighbour. I was informed that Capper was now
in town; that he had lodged, on the last night, at this house; that he
had expected to do the same to-night, but a gentleman had called ten
minutes ago, whose invitation to lodge with him to-night had been
accepted. They had just gone out together. Who, I asked, was the
gentleman? The landlord had no knowledge of him; he knew neither his
place of abode nor his name. Was Mr. Capper expected to return hither in
the morning? No; he had heard the stranger propose to Mr. Capper to go
with him into the country to-morrow, and Mr. Capper, he believed, had
assented. This disappointment was peculiarly severe. I had lost, by my own
negligence, the only opportunity that would offer of meeting my friend. Had even the recollection of my loss been postponed for three minutes, I
should have entered the house, and a meeting would have been secured. I
could discover no other expedient to obviate the present evil. My heart
began now, for the first time, to droop. I looked back, with nameless
emotions, on the days of my infancy. I called up the image of my mother. I reflected on the infatuation of my surviving parent, and the
usurpation of the detestable Betty, with horror.