Part 48 (1/2)
”Thou must not read, but I may read unto thee,” replied Susannah. ”Tell me, what is it that thou wouldest have me read? I have no vain books; but surely thou thinkest not of them, after thy escape from death.”
”I care not what is read, provided that you read to me,” replied I.
”Nay, but thou shouldest care; and be not wroth if I say to thee, that there is but one book to which thou shouldest now listen. Thou hast been saved from deadly peril--thou hast been rescued from the jaws of death. Art thou not thankful? And to whom is grat.i.tude most due, but to thy heavenly Father, who hath been pleased to spare thee?”
”You are right,” replied I; ”then I pray you to read to me from the Bible.”
Susannah made no reply, but resumed her seat; and selecting those chapters most appropriate to my situation, read them in a beautiful and impressive tone.
PART THREE, CHAPTER NINE.
PRIDE AND LOVE AT ISSUE--THE LATTER IS VICTORIOUS--I TURN QUAKER, AND RECOMMENCE MY OLD PROFESSION.
If the reader will recall my narrative to his recollection, he must observe, that religion had had hitherto but little of my thoughts. I had lived the life of most who live in this world; perhaps not quite so correct in morals as many people, for my code of morality was suited to circ.u.mstances; as to religion, I had none. I had lived in the world, and for the world. I had certainly been well instructed in the tenets of our faith when I was at the Asylum, but there, as in most other schools, it is made irksome, as a task, and is looked upon with almost a feeling of aversion. No proper religious sentiments are, or can be, inculcated to a large number of scholars; it is the parent alone who can instil, by precept and example, that true sense of religion, which may serve as a guide through life. I had not read the Bible from the time that I quitted the Foundling Hospital. It was new to me, and when I now heard read, by that beautiful creature, pa.s.sages equally beautiful, and so applicable to my situation, weakened by disease, and humbled in adversity, I was moved, even unto tears.
Susannah closed the book and came to the bedside. I thanked her: she perceived my emotion, and when I held out my hand she did not refuse hers. I kissed it, and it was immediately withdrawn, and she left the room. Shortly afterwards Ephraim made his appearance. Cophagus and his wife also came that evening, but I saw no more of Susannah Temple until the following day, when I again requested her to read to me.
I will not detain the reader by an account of my recovery. In three weeks I was able to leave the room; during that time, I had become very intimate with the whole family, and was treated as if I belonged to it.
During my illness I had certainly shown more sense of religion than I had ever done before, but I do not mean to say that I was really religious. I liked to hear the Bible read by Susannah, and I liked to talk with her upon religious subjects; but had Susannah been an ugly old woman, I very much doubt if I should have been so attentive. It was her extreme beauty--her modesty and fervour, which so became her, which enchanted me. I felt the beauty of religion, but it was through an earthly object; it was beautiful in her. She looked an angel, and I listened to her precepts as delivered by one. Still, whatever may be the cause by which a person's attention can be directed to so important a subject, so generally neglected, whether by fear of death, or by love towards an earthly object, the advantages are the same; and although very far from what I ought to have been, I certainly was, through my admiration of her, a better man. As soon as I was on the sofa wrapped up in one of the dressing-gowns of Mr Cophagus, he told me that the clothes in which I had been picked up were all in tatters, and asked me whether I would like to have others made according to the usual fas.h.i.+on, or like those with whom I should, he trusted, in future reside. I had already debated this matter in my mind. Return to the world I had resolved not to do; to follow up the object of my search appeared to me only to involve me in difficulties; and what were the intentions of Cophagus with regard to me, I knew not. I was hesitating, for I knew not what answer to give, when I perceived the pensive, deep-blue eye of Susannah fixed upon me, watching attentively, if not eagerly, for my response.
It decided the point. ”If,” replied I, ”you do not think that I should disgrace you, I should wish to wear the dress of the Society of Friends, although not yet one of your body.”
”But soon to be, I trust,” replied Mrs Cophagus.
”Alas!” replied I, ”I am an outcast;” and I looked at Susannah Temple.
”Not so, j.a.phet Newland,” replied she, mildly: ”I am pleased that thou hast of thy own accord rejected vain attire. I trust that thou wilt not find that thou art without friends.”
”While I am with you,” replied I, addressing myself to them all, ”I consider it my duty to conform to your manners in every way, but by-and-by, when I resume my search--”
”And why shouldst thou resume a search which must prove unavailing, and but leads thee into error and misfortune? I am but young, j.a.phet Newland, and not perhaps so able to advise, yet doth it appear to me, that the search can only be availing when made by those who left thee.
When they wish for you they will seek thee, but thy seeking them is vain and fruitless.”
”But,” replied I, ”recollect that inquiries have already been made at the Foundling, and those who inquired have been sent away disappointed-- they will inquire no more.”
”And is a parent's love so trifling, that one disappointment will drive him from seeking of his child? No, no, j.a.phet; if thou art yearned for, thou wilt be found, and fresh inquiries will be made; but thy search is unavailing, and already hast thou lost much time.”
”True, Susannah, thy advise is good,” replied Mrs Cophagus; ”in following a shadow j.a.phet hath much neglected the substance; it is time that thou shouldst settle thyself, and earn thy livelihood.”
”And do thy duty in that path of life to which it hath pleased G.o.d to call thee,” continued Susannah, who with Mrs Cophagus walked out of the room.
Cophagus then took up the conversation, and pointing out the uselessness of my roving about, and the propriety of my settling in life, proposed that I should take an apothecary's shop, for which he would furnish the means, and that he could insure me the custom, of the whole Society of Friends in Reading, which was very large, as there was not one of the sect in that line of business. ”Become one of us, j.a.phet--good business--marry by-and-by--happy life--little children--and so on.” I thought of Susannah, and was silent. Cophagus then said, I had better reflect upon his offer, and make up my determination. If that did not suit me, he would still give me all the a.s.sistance in his power.
I did reflect long before I could make up my mind. I was still worldly inclined; still my fancy would revel in the idea of finding out my father in high life, and, as once more appearing as a star of fas.h.i.+on, of returning with interest the contumely I had lately received, and re-a.s.suming as a right that position in society which I had held under false colours.
I could not bear the idea of sinking at once into a tradesman, and probably ending my days in obscurity. Pride was still my ruling pa.s.sion. Such were my first impulses, and then I looked upon the other side of the picture. I was without the means necessary to support myself; I could not return to high life without I discovered my parents in the first place, and in the second, found them to be such as my warm imagination had depicted. I had no chance of finding them. I had already been long seeking in vain. I had been twice taken up to Bow Street--nearly lost my life in Ireland--had been sentenced to death--had been insane, and recovered by a miracle, and all in prosecuting this useless search. All this had much contributed to cure me of the monomania. I agreed with Susannah that the search must be made by the other parties, and not by me. I recalled the treatment I had received from the world--the contempt with which I had been treated--the heartlessness of high life, and the little chance of my ever again being admitted into fas.h.i.+onable society.
I placed all this in juxtaposition with the kindness of those with whom I now resided--what they had done already for me, and what they now offered, which was to make me independent by my own exertions. I weighed all in my mind; was still undecided, for my pride still carried its weight; when I thought of the pure, beautiful Susannah Temple, and-- my decision was made. I would not lose the substance by running after shadows.
That evening, with many thanks, I accepted the kind offers of Mr Cophagus, and expressed my determination of entering into the Society of Friends.