My situation in Philadelphia was now so disagreeable,
and my disgust and indignation were so great, that
I determined to quit the country. My real friend,
Mr. Croft, was absent all this time from town.
I am sure, if he had been at home, he would have done
me justice; for, though he never liked me, he was
a just, slow-judging man, who would not have been
run away with by the hurry of popular prejudice:
I had other reasons for regretting his absence:
I could not conveniently quit America without money,
and he was the only person to whom I could or would
apply for assistance. We had not many debts,
for which I must thank my excellent wife; but, when
every thing to the last farthing was paid, I was obliged
to sell my watch and some trinkets, to get money for
our voyage. I was not accustomed to such things,
and I was ashamed to go to the pawnbroker’s,
lest I should be met and recognized by some of my friends.
I wrapped myself up in an old surtout, and slouched
my hat over my face.
As I was crossing the quay, I met a party of gentlemen
walking arm in arm. I squeezed past them, but
one stopped to look after me; and, though I turned
down another street to escape him, he dogged me unperceived.
Just as I came out of the pawnbroker’s shop,
I saw him posted opposite to me: I brushed by;
I could with pleasure have knocked him down for his
impertinence. By the time that I had reached the
corner of the street, I heard a child calling after
me. I stopped, and a little boy put into my hands
my watch, saying, “Sir, the gentleman says you
left your watch and these thingumbobs by mistake.”
“What gentleman?”
“I don’t know, but he was one that said
I looked like an honest chap, and he’d trust
me to run and give you the watch. He is dressed
in a blue coat. He went toward the quay.
That’s all I know.”
On opening the paper of trinkets I found a card with
these words: “Barny—with
kind thanks.”
Barny! Poor Barny! The Irishman whose passage
I paid coming to America three years ago. Is
it possible?
I ran after him the way which the child directed,
and was so fortunate as just to catch a glimpse of
the skirt of his coat, as he went into a neat, good-looking
house. I walked up and down some time, expecting
him to come out again; for I could not suppose that
it belonged to Barny. I asked a grocer, who was
leaning over his hatch door, if he knew who lived
in the next house?
“An Irish gentleman, of the name of O’Grady.”
“And his Christian name?”
“Here it is in my books, sir—Barnaby
O’Grady.”
I knocked at Mr. O’Grady’s door, and made
my way into the parlour; where I found him, his two
sons and his wife, sitting very sociably at tea.
He and the two young men rose immediately to set me
a chair.
“You are welcome, kindly welcome, sir,”
said he. “This is an honour I never expected
any way. Be pleased to take the seat near the
fire. ’Twould be hard indeed if you would
[Footnote: Should.] not have the best seat that’s
to be had in this house, where we none of us never
should have sat, nor had seats to sit upon, but for
you.”
