Japhet in Search of a Father

“That her husband wills it, as he does not like to walk out with her in her Quaker’s dress.”

“Is it not her duty to obey her husband, even as I obey my father, Susannah?—but I am not ashamed to walk out with you in your dress; so if you have no objection, let me show you a part of this great city.”

Susannah consented: we had often walked together in the town of Reading: she was evidently pleased at what I said. I soon escorted her to Oxford-Street, from thence down Bond Street and through all the most frequented parts of the metropolis. The dress naturally drew upon her the casual glance of the passengers, but her extreme beauty turned the glance to an ardent gaze, and long before we had finished our intended walk, Susannah requested that I would go home. She was not only annoyed but almost alarmed at the constant and reiterated scrutiny which she underwent, ascribing it to her dress, and not to her lovely person. As soon as we returned I sat down with her.

“So I understand that Mr Cophagus intends to reside altogether in London.”

“I have not heard so; I understood that it was business which called him hither for a few weeks. I trust not, for I shall be unhappy here.”

“May I ask why?”

“The people are rude—it is not agreeable to walk out.”

“Recollect, my dear Susannah, that those of your sect are not so plentiful in London as elsewhere, and if you wear a dress so different from other people, you must expect that curiosity will be excited. You cannot blame them—it is you who make yourself conspicuous, almost saying to the people by your garment, ‘Come, and look at me.’ I have been reflecting upon what Mr Masterton said to you at Reading, and I do not know whether he was not right in calling it a garb of pride instead of a garb of humility.”

“If I thought so, Japhet, even I would throw it off,” replied Susannah.

“It certainly is not pleasant that everyone should think that you walk out on purpose to be stared at, yet such is the ill-natured construction of the world, and they will never believe otherwise. It is possible, I should think, to dress with equal simplicity and neatness, to avoid gay colours, and yet to dress so as not to excite observation.”

“I hardly know what to say, but that you all appear against me, and that sometimes I feel that I am too presumptuous in thus judging for myself.”

“I am not against you, Susannah; I know you will do what you think is right, and I shall respect you for that, even if I disagree with you; but I must say, that if my wife were to dress in such a way as to attract the public gaze, I should feel too jealous to approve of it. I do not, therefore, blame Mr Cophagus for inducing his pretty wife to make some alteration in her attire, neither do I blame, but I commend her for obeying the wishes of her husband. Her beauty is his, and not common property.”

Susannah did not reply: she appeared very thoughtful.

“You disagree with me, Susannah,” said I, after a pause; “I am sorry for it.”

“I cannot say that I do, Japhet: I have learnt a lesson this day, and, in future, I must think more humbly of myself, and be more ruled by the opinions and judgment of others.”

Mr and Mrs Cophagus then came in. Cophagus had resumed his medical coat and waistcoat, but not his pantaloons or Hessians: his wife, who had a very good taste in dress, would not allow him. She was in her grey silk gown, but wore a large handsome shawl, which covered all but the skirts: on her head she had a Leghorn bonnet, and certainly looked very pretty. As usual, she was all good humour and smiles. I told them that we had been walking out, and that Susannah had been much annoyed by the staring of the people.

“Always so,” said Cophagus, “never mind—girls like it—feel pleased—and so on.”

“You wrong me much, brother Cophagus,” replied Susannah, “it pained me exceedingly.”

“All very well to say so—know better—sly puss—will wear dress—people say, pretty Quaker—and so on.”

Susannah hastily left the room after this attack, and I told them what had passed.

“Mrs Cophagus,” said I, “order a bonnet and shawl like yours for her, without telling her, and, perhaps, you will persuade her to put them on.”

Mrs Cophagus thought the idea excellent and promised to procure them. Susannah not making her re-appearance, I took leave, and arrived at the hotel in good time for dinner.

“Japhet,” said the general to me as we were at table, “you have mentioned Lord Windermear very often, have you called upon him lately?”

“No, sir, it is now two years and more since I have seen him. When I was summoned to town to meet you, I was too much agitated to think of anything else, and since that I have had too much pleasure in your company.”

“Say rather, my good boy, that you have nursed me so carefully that you have neglected your friends and your health. Take my carriage to-morrow, and call upon him, and after that, you had better drive about a little, for you have been looking pale these last few days. I hope to get out myself in a short time, and then we will have plenty of amusement together in setting up our establishment.”

Part 3—Chapter XXII

I renew old Ties of Friendship, and seek new ones of Love—Obliged to take my Father to Task once more—He receives his Lesson with proper Obedience.

I took the carriage the next day, and drove to Lord Windermear’s. He was at home, and I gave my name to the servant as Mr De Benyon. It was the first time that I had made use of my own name. His lordship was alone when I entered. He bowed, as if not recognising me, and waved his hand to a chair.

“My lord, I have given my true name, and you treat me as a perfect stranger. I will mention my former name, and I trust you will honour me with a recognition. I was Japhet Newland.”

“My dear Mr Newland, you must accept my apology; but it is so long since we met, and I did not expect to see you again.”

“I thought, my lord, that Mr Masterton had informed you of what had taken place.”

“No; I have just come from a visit to my sisters in Westmoreland, and have received no letters from him.”

“I have, my lord, at last succeeded in finding out the object of my mad search, as you were truly pleased to call it, in the Honourable General De Benyon, lately arrived from the East Indies.”

“Where his services are well known,” added his lordship, “Mr De Benyon, I congratulate you with all my heart. When you refused my offers of assistance, and left us all in that mad way, I certainly despaired of ever seeing you again. I am glad that you re-appear under such fortunate auspices. Has your father any family?”

“None, my lord, but myself; and my mother died in the East Indies.”

“Then, I presume, from what I know at the board of control, that you may now safely be introduced as a young gentleman of large fortune; allow me, at least, to assist your father in placing you in your proper sphere in society. Where is your father?”

“At present, my lord, he is staying at the Adelphi Hotel, confined to his room by an accident; but I trust that in a few days he will be able to come out.”

“Will you offer my congratulations to him, and tell him, that if he will allow me, I will have the honour of paying my respects to him. Will you dine with me on Monday next?”

I returned my thanks, accepted the invitation, and took my leave, his lordship saying, as he shook hands with me, “You don’t know, how happy this intelligence has made me. I trust that your father and I shall be good friends.”

When I returned to the carriage, as my father had desired me to take an airing, I thought I might as well have a companion, so I directed them to drive to Mr Cophagus’s. The servant knocked, and I went in as soon as the door was opened. Susannah and Mrs Cophagus were sitting in the room.

“Susannah,” said I, “I know you do not like to walk out, so I thought, perhaps, you would have no objection to take an airing in the carriage: my father has lent it to me. Will you come?—it will do you good.”

“It is very kind of you, Japhet, to think of me; but—”

“But what?” replied Mrs Cophagus. “Surely thou wilt not refuse, Susannah. It would savour much of ingratitude on thy part.”

“I will not then be ungrateful,” replied Susannah, leaving the room; and in a short time she returned in a Leghorn bonnet and shawl like her sister’s. “Do not I prove that I am not ungrateful, Japhet, since to do credit to thy carriage, I am content to depart from the rules of our persuasion?” said Susannah, smiling.

“I feel the kindness and the sacrifice you are making to please me, Susannah,” replied I; “but let us lose no time.”

I handed her down to the carriage, and we drove to the Park. It was a beautiful day, and the Park was filled with pedestrians as well as carriages. Susannah was much astonished, as well as pleased. “Now, Susannah,” said I, “if you were to call this Vanity Fair, you would not be far wrong; but still, recollect that even all this is productive of much good. Reflect how many industrious people find employment and provision for their families by the building of these gay vehicles, their painting and ornamenting. How many are employed at the loom, and at the needle, in making these costly dresses. This vanity is the cause of wealth not being hoarded, but finding its way through various channels, so as to produce comfort and happiness to thousands.”

“Your observations are just, Japhet, but you have lived in the world and seen much of it. I am as one just burst from an egg-shell, all amazement. I have been living in a little world of my own thoughts, surrounded by a mist of ignorance, and not being able to penetrate farther, have considered myself wise when I was not.”

“My dear Susannah, this is a checkered world, but not a very bad one—there is in it much of good as well as evil. The sect to which you belong avoid it—they know it not—and they are unjust towards it. During the time that I lived at Reading, I will candidly state to you that I met with many who called themselves of the persuasion, who were wholly unworthy of it, but they made up in outward appearance and hypocrisy what they wanted in their conduct to their fellow creatures. Believe me, Susannah, there are pious and good, charitable and humane, conscientious and strictly honourable people among those who now pass before your view in such gay procession; but society requires that the rich should spend their money in superfluities, that the poor may be supported. Be not deceived, therefore, in future, by the outward garments, which avail nothing.”

“You have induced me much to alter my opinions already, Japhet; so has that pleasant friend of thine, Mr Masterton, who has twice called since we have been in London; but is it not time that we should return?”

“It is indeed later than I thought it was, Susannah,” lied I, looking at my watch, “and I am afraid that my father will be impatient for my return. I will order them to drive home.”