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Arthur Mervyn - Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 by Charles Brockden Brown
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I saw that the city was no place for me. The end that I had had in view,
of procuring some mechanical employment, could only be obtained by the
use of means, but what means to pursue I knew not. This night's perils
and deceptions gave me a distaste to a city life, and my ancient
occupations rose to my view enhanced by a thousand imaginary charms, I
resolved forthwith to strike into the country.

The day began now to dawn. It was Sunday, and I was desirous of eluding
observation. I was somewhat recruited by rest, though the languors of
sleeplessness oppressed me. I meant to throw myself on the first lap of
verdure I should meet, and indulge in sleep that I so much wanted. I
knew not the direction of the streets; but followed that which I first
entered from the court, trusting that, by adhering steadily to one
course, I should some time reach the fields. This street, as I
afterwards found, tended to Schuylkill, and soon extricated me from
houses. I could not cross this river without payment of toll. It was
requisite to cross it in order to reach that part of the country whither
I was desirous of going; but how should I effect my passage? I knew of
no ford, and the smallest expense exceeded my capacity. Ten thousand
guineas and a farthing were equally remote from nothing, and nothing was
the portion allotted to me.

While my mind was thus occupied, I turned up one of the streets which
tend northward. It was, for some length, uninhabited and unpaved.
Presently I reached a pavement, and a painted fence, along which a row
of poplars was planted. It bounded a garden into which a knot-hole
permitted me to pry. The enclosure was a charming green, which I saw
appended to a house of the loftiest and most stately order. It seemed
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