Discords and evil smells, unsavoury
food, unwholesome labour, and irksome companions, were, in my opinion,
the unavoidable attendants of a city. My best clothes were of the homeliest texture and shape. My whole stock
of linen consisted of three check shirts. Part of my winter evenings'
employment, since the death of my mother, consisted in knitting my own
stockings. Of these I had three pair, one of which I put on, and the
rest I formed, together with two shirts, into a bundle. Three
quarter-dollar pieces composed my whole fortune in money. CHAPTER III. I rose at the dawn, and, without asking or bestowing a blessing, sallied
forth into the highroad to the city, which passed near the house. I left
nothing behind, the loss of which I regretted. I had purchased most of
my own books with the product of my own separate industry, and, their
number being, of course, small, I had, by incessant application, gotten
the whole of them by rote. They had ceased, therefore, to be of any
further use. I left them, without reluctance, to the fate for which I
knew them to be reserved, that of affording food and habitation to mice. I trod this unwonted path with all the fearlessness of youth. In spite
of the motives to despondency and apprehension incident to my state, my
heels were light and my heart joyous. "Now," said I, "I am mounted into
man. I must build a name and a fortune for myself. Strange if this
intellect and these hands will not supply me with an honest livelihood. I will try the city in the first place; but, if that should fail,
resources are still left to me. I will resume my post in the cornfield
and threshing-floor, to which I shall always have access, and where I
shall always be happy." I had proceeded some miles on my journey, when I began to feel the
inroads of hunger. I might have stopped at any farm-house, and have
breakfasted for nothing. It was prudent to husband, with the utmost
care, my slender stock; but I felt reluctance to beg as long as I had
the means of buying, and I imagined that coarse bread and a little milk
would cost little even at a tavern, when any farmer was willing to
bestow them for nothing. My resolution was further influenced by the
appearance of a signpost. What excuse could I make for begging a
breakfast with an inn at hand and silver in my pocket? I stopped, accordingly, and breakfasted. The landlord was remarkably
attentive and obliging, but his bread was stale, his milk sour, and his
cheese the greenest imaginable. I disdained to animadvert on these
defects, naturally supposing that his house could furnish no better. Having finished my meal, I put, without speaking, one of my pieces into
his hand. This deportment I conceived to be highly becoming, and to
indicate a liberal and manly spirit. I always regarded with contempt a
scrupulous maker of bargains. He received the money with a complaisant
obeisance. "Right," said he. "_Just_ the money, sir. You are on foot,
sir. A pleasant way of travelling, sir. I wish you a good day, sir." So
saying, he walked away. This proceeding was wholly unexpected. I conceived myself entitled to at
least three-fourths of it in change. The first impulse was to call him
back, and contest the equity of his demand; but a moment's reflection
showed me the absurdity of such conduct. I resumed my journey with
spirits somewhat depressed. I have heard of voyagers and wanderers in
deserts, who were willing to give a casket of gems for a cup of cold
water. I had not supposed my own condition to be, in any respect,
similar; yet I had just given one-third of my estate for a breakfast. I stopped at noon at another inn. I counted on purchasing a dinner for
the same price, since I meant to content myself with the same fare. A
large company was just sitting down to a smoking banquet. The landlord
invited me to join them. I took my place at the table, but was furnished
with bread and milk. Being prepared to depart, I took him aside. "What
is to pay?" said I.--"Did you drink any thing, sir?"--"Certainly. I
drank the milk which was furnished." --"But any liquors, sir?"---"No." He deliberated a moment, and then, assuming an air of disinterestedness,
"'Tis our custom to charge dinner and club; but, as you drank nothing,
we'll let the club go. A mere dinner is half a dollar, sir." He had no leisure to attend to my fluctuations. After debating with
myself on what was to be done, I concluded that compliance was best,
and, leaving the money at the bar, resumed my way. I had not performed more than half my journey, yet my purse was entirely
exhausted. This was a specimen of the cost incurred by living at an inn. If I entered the city, a tavern must, at least for some time, be my
abode; but I had not a farthing remaining to defray my charges. My
father had formerly entertained a boarder for a dollar per week, and, in
case of need, I was willing to subsist upon coarser fare and lie on a
harder bed than those with which our guest had been supplied. These
facts had been the foundation of my negligence on this occasion. What was now to be done? To return to my paternal mansion was
impossible. To relinquish my design of entering the city and to seek a
temporary asylum, if not permanent employment, at some one of the
plantations within view, was the most obvious expedient. These
deliberations did not slacken my pace. I was almost unmindful of my way,
when I found I had passed Schuylkill at the upper bridge. I was now
within the precincts of the city, and night was hastening. It behooved
me to come to a speedy decision. Suddenly I recollected that I had not paid the customary toll at the
bridge; neither had I money wherewith to pay it. A demand of payment
would have suddenly arrested my progress; and so slight an incident
would have precluded that wonderful destiny to which I was reserved. The
obstacle that would have hindered my advance now prevented my return. Scrupulous honesty did not require me to turn back and awaken the
vigilance of the toll-gatherer. I had nothing to pay, and by returning I
should only double my debt. "Let it stand," said I, "where it does. All
that honour enjoins is to pay when I am able." I adhered to the crossways, till I reached Market Street. Night had
fallen, and a triple row of lamps presented a spectacle enchanting and
new. My personal cares were, for a time, lost in the tumultuous
sensations with which I was now engrossed. I had never visited the city
at this hour. When my last visit was paid, I was a mere child. The
novelty which environed every object was, therefore, nearly absolute. I
proceeded with more cautious steps, but was still absorbed in attention
to passing objects. I reached the market-house, and, entering it,
indulged myself in new delight and new wonder.