The flame of love went suddenly out in my
bosom; or was extinguished by overwhelming shame. How I got down the
room I know not; I fancied every one tittering at me. Just as I reached
the door, I caught a glance of my mistress and her aunt, listening to
the whispers of my poetic rival; the old lady raising her hands and
eyes, and the face of the young one lighted up with scorn ineffable. I
paused to see no more; but made two steps from the top of the stairs to
the bottom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat; and did
not feel the blushes cool from my tingling cheeks until I had lost
sight of the old towers of the cathedral.
I now returned to town thoughtful and crestfallen. My money was nearly
spent, for I had lived freely and without calculation. The dream of
love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an end. I determined to
retrench while I had yet a trifle left; so selling my equipage and
horses for half their value, I quietly put the money in my pocket and
turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great expectations,
I could at any time raise funds, either on usury or by borrowing; but I
was principled against both one and the other; and resolved, by strict
economy, to make my slender purse hold out, until my uncle should give
up the ghost; or rather, the estate.
I stayed at home, therefore, and read, and would have written; but I
had already suffered too much from my poetical productions, which had
generally involved me in some ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a
rusty look, and had a straightened, money-borrowing air, upon which the
world began to shy me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with the
world for its conduct. It has always used me well. When I have been
flush, and gay, and disposed for society, it has caressed me; and when
I have been pinched, and reduced, and wished to be alone, why, it has
left me alone, and what more could a man desire? - Take my word for it,
this world is a more obliging world than people generally represent it.
Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retirement, and my
studiousness, I received news that my uncle was dangerously ill. I
hastened on the wings of an heir's affection to receive his dying
breath and his last testament. I found him attended by his faithful
valet, old Iron John; by the woman who occasionally worked about the
house; and by the foxy-headed boy, young Orson, whom I had occasionally
hunted about the park.
Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered the
room, and received me with something almost like a smile of welcome.
The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the bed; and the foxy-headed
Orson, who had now grown to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in stupid
vacancy at a distance.
