"I must suppose by that observation, that you fully expect it, and otherwise will not stay?"

"I never had a thought of staying, general; you have told me that you have disinherited and discarded me for ever; no one with the feelings of a man would ever think of remaining after such a declaration."

"Upon what terms, then, sir, am I to understand that you will consent to remain with me, and forget all that has passed?"

"My terms are simple, general; you must say that you retract what you have said, and are very sorry for having insulted me."

"And without I do that, you will never come here again?"

"Most decidedly not, sir. I shall always wish you well, pray for your happiness, be sorry at your death, and attend your funeral as chief mourner, although you disinherit me. That is my duty, in return for my having taken your name, and your having acknowledged that I am your son; but live with you, or even see you occasionally, I will not, after what has passed this day, without you make me an apology."

"I was not aware that it was necessary for a father to apologise to his son."

"If you wrong a stranger, you offer an apology; how much more is it due to a near relation?"

"But a parent has claims upon his own son, sir, for which he is bound to tender his duty."

"I grant it, in the ordinary course of things in this life; but, General De Benyon, what claims have you as a parent upon me? A son in most cases is indebted to his parents for their care and attention in infancy—his education—his religious instruction—his choice of a profession, and his advancement in life, by their exertions and interest; and when they are called away, he has a reasonable expectation of their leaving him a portion of their substance. They have a heavy debt of gratitude to pay for what they have received, and they are further checked by the hopes of what they may hereafter receive. Up to this time, sir, I have not received the first, and this day I am told that I need not expect the last. Allow me to ask you, General De Benyon, upon what grounds you claim from me a filial duty? certainly not for benefits received, or for benefits in expectation; but I feel that I am intruding, and therefore, sir, once more, with every wish for your happiness, I take my leave."

I went out, and had half closed the door after me, when the general cried out, "Stop—don't go—Japhet—my son—I was in a passion—I beg your pardon—don't mind what I said—I'm a passionate old fool."

As he uttered this in broken sentences, I returned to him. He held out his hand. "Forgive me, boy—forgive your father." I knelt down and kissed his hand; he drew me towards him, and I wept upon his bosom.



Chapter LXXV

Father still dutifully submissive at home—Abroad, I am splitting a straw in arguments with Susannah about straw bonnets—The rest of the Chapter contains coquetry, courting, and costumes.

It was some time before we were sufficiently composed to enter into conversation, and then I tried my utmost to please him. Still, there was naturally a restraint on both sides, but I was so particular and devoted in my attentions, so careful of giving offence, that when he complained of weariness, and a wish to retire, he stipulated that I should be with him to breakfast on the next morning.

I hastened to Mr Masterton, although it was late, to communicate to him all that had passed; he heard me with great interest. "Japhet," said he, "you have done well—it is the proudest day of your life. You have completely mastered him. The royal Bengal tiger is tamed. I wish you joy, my dear fellow. Now I trust that all will be well. But keep your own counsel, do not let this be known at Reading. Let them still imagine that your father is as passionate as ever, which he will be, by-the-bye, with everybody else. You have still to follow up your success, and leave me to help you in other matters."

I returned home to the Piazza, and, thankful to Heaven for the events of the day, I soon fell fast asleep, and dreamt of Susannah Temple. The next morning I was early at the Adelphi hotel; my father had not yet risen, but the native servants who passed in and out, attending upon him, and who took care to give me a wide berth, had informed him that "Burra Saib's" son was come, and he sent for me. His leg was very painful and uncomfortable, and the surgeon had not yet made his appearance. I arranged it as before, and he then dressed, and came out to breakfast. I had said nothing before the servants, but as soon as he was comfortable on the sofa I took his hand, and kissed it, saying, "Good morning, my dear father; I hope you do not repent of your kindness to me yesterday."

"No, no; God bless you, boy. I've been thinking of you all night."

"All's right," thought I; "and I trust to be able to keep it so."

I shall pass over a fortnight, during which I was in constant attendance upon my father. At times he would fly out in a most violent manner, but I invariably kept my temper, and when it was all over, would laugh at him, generally repeating and acting all which he had said and done during his paroxysm. I found this rather dangerous ground at first, but by degrees he became used to it, and it was wonderful how it acted as a check upon him. He would not at first believe but that I exaggerated, when the picture was held up to his view and he was again calm. My father was not naturally a bad-tempered man, but having been living among a servile race, and holding high command in the army, he had gradually acquired a habit of authority and an impatience of contradiction which was unbearable to all around. Those who were high-spirited and sensitive shunned him; the servile and the base continued with him for their own interests, but trembled at his wrath. I had during this time narrated to my father the events of my life, and, I am happy to say, had, by attention and kindness joined with firmness and good temper, acquired a dominion over him. I had at his request removed to the hotel, and lived with him altogether. His leg was rapidly arriving to a state of convalescence, and he now talked of taking a house and setting up his establishment in London. I had seen but little of Mr Masterton during this time, as I had remained in-doors in attendance upon the general. I had written once to Mr Cophagus, stating how I was occupied, but saying nothing about our reconciliation. One morning, Mr Masterton called upon us, and after a little conversation with the general, he told me that he had persuaded Mr Cophagus and his wife to leave Reading and come to London, and that Susannah Temple was to come with them.

"On a visit?" inquired I. "No, not on a visit. I have seen Cophagus, and he is determined to cut the Quakers, and reside in London altogether."

"What! does he intend to return to the pomps and vanities of this wicked world?"

"Yes, I believe so, and his wife will join him. She has no objection to decorate her pretty person."

"I never thought that she had—but Susannah Temple—"

"When Susannah is away from her friends, when she finds that her sister and brother-in-law no longer wear the dress, and when she is constantly in your company, to all which please to add the effect I trust of my serious admonitions, she will soon do as others do, or she is no woman. This is all my plan, and leave it to me—only play your part by seeing as much of her as you can."

"You need not fear that," replied I.

"Does your father know of your attachment?" inquired Mr Masterton.

"No, I passed her over without mentioning her name," replied I. "It is too soon yet to talk to him about my marrying; in fact, the proposal must, if possible, come from him. Could not you manage that?"

"Yes, I will if I can; but, as you say, wait awhile. Here is their address—you must call to-morrow, if you can; and do you think you can dine with me on Thursday?"

"Yes, if the general continues improving; if not, I will send you word."

The next day I complained of a headache, and said, that I would walk out until dinner-time. I hastened to the address given me by Mr Masterton, and found that Mr Cophagus and his wife were out, but Susannah remained at home. After our first questions, I inquired of her how she liked London.

"I am almost afraid to say, Japhet, at least to you; you would only laugh at me."

"Not so, Susannah; I never laugh when I know people are sincere."

"It appears to me, then, to be a vanity fair."

"That there is more vanity in London than in any other city, I grant," replied I; "but recollect, that there are more people and more wealth. I do not think that there is more in proportion than in other towns in England, and if there is more vanity, Susannah, recollect also that there is more industry, more talent, and I should hope a greater proportion of good and honest people among its multitudes; there is also, unfortunately, more misery and more crime."

"I believe you are right, Japhet. Are you aware that Mr Cophagus has put off his plain attire?"

"If it grieves you, Susannah, it grieves me also; but I presume he finds it necessary not to be so remarkable."

"For him, I could find some excuse; but what will you say, Japhet, when I tell you that my own sister, born and bred up to our tenets, hath also deviated much from the dress of the females of our sect?"

"In what hath she made an alteration?"

"She has a bonnet of plaited straw with ribbons."

"Of what colour are the ribbons?"

"Nay, of the same as her dress—of grey."

"Your bonnet, Susannah, is of grey silk; I do not see that there is vanity in descending to straw, which is a more homely commodity. But what reason has she given?"

"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 every one 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 learned 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."



Chapter LXXVI

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 chequered 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," replied 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."

As we drove along, leaning against the back of the carriage, my hand happened to touch that of Susannah, which lay beside her on the cushion, I could not resist taking it in mine, and it was not withdrawn. What my thoughts were, the reader may imagine; Susannah's I cannot acquaint him with; but in that position we remained in silence until the carriage stopped at Cophagus's door. I handed Susannah out of the carriage, and went up stairs for a few moments. Mrs Cophagus and her husband were out.

"Susannah, this is very kind of you, and I return you my thanks. I never felt more happy than when seated with you in that carriage."

"I have received both amusement and instruction, Japhet, and ought to thank you. Do you know what passed in my mind at one time?"

"No—tell me."

"When I first knew you, and you came among us, I was, as it were, the guide, a presumptuous one perhaps to you, and you listened to me—now it is reversed—now that we are removed and in the world, it is you that are the guide, and it is I who listen and obey."

"Because, Susannah, when we first met I was much in error, and had thought too little of serious things, and you were fit to be my guide: now we are mixing in the world, with which I am better acquainted than yourself. You then corrected me, when I was wrong: I now point out to you where you are not rightly informed: but, Susannah, what you have learnt of me is as nought compared with the valuable precepts which I gained from your lips—precepts which, I trust, no collision with the world will ever make me forget."

"Oh! I love to hear you say that; I was fearful that the world would spoil you, Japhet; but it will not—will it?"

"Not so long as I have you still with me, Susannah: but if I am obliged to mix again with the world, tell me, Susannah, will you reject me?—will you desert me?—will you return to your own people and leave me so exposed? Susannah, dearest, you must know how long, how dearly I have loved you:—you know that, if I had not been sent for and obliged to obey the message, I would have lived and died content with you. Will you not listen to me now, or do you reject me?"

I put my arm round her waist, her head fell upon my shoulder, and she burst into tears. "Speak, dearest, this suspense is torture to me," continued I.

"I do love you, Japhet," replied she at last, looking fondly at me through her tears; "but I know not whether this earthly love may not have weakened my affection towards Heaven. If so, may God pardon me, for I cannot help it." After this avowal, for a few minutes, which appeared seconds, we were in each other's arms, when Susannah disengaged herself.

"Dearest Japhet, thy father will be much displeased." "I cannot help it," replied I, "I shall submit to his displeasure."

"Nay, but, Japhet, why risk thy father's wrath?"

"Well, then," replied I, attempting to reach her lips, "I will go."

"Nay, nay—indeed, Japhet, you exact too much—it is not seemly."

"Then I won't go."

"Recollect about thy father."

"It is you who detain me, Susannah."

"I must not injure thee with thy father, Japhet, it were no proof of my affection—but, indeed, you are self-willed."

"God bless you, Susannah," said I, as I gained the contested point, and hastened to the carriage.

My father was a little out of humour when I returned, and questioned me rather sharply as to where I had been. I half pacified him by delivering Lord Windermear's polite message; but he continued his interrogations, and although I had pointed out to him that a De Benyon would never be guilty of an untruth, I am afraid I told some half dozen on this occasion; but I consoled myself with the reflection, that, in the code of honour of a fashionable man, he is bound, if necessary, to tell falsehoods where a lady is concerned; so I said I had driven through the streets looking at the houses, and had twice stopped and had gone in to examine them. My father supposed that I had been looking out for a house for him, and was satisfied. Fortunately they were job horses; had they been his own I should have been in a severe scrape. Horses are the only part of an establishment for which the gentlemen have any consideration, and on which ladies have no mercy.

I had promised the next day to dine with Mr Masterton. My father had taken a great aversion to this old gentleman until I had narrated the events of my life, in which he had played such a conspicuous and friendly part. Then, to do my father justice, his heart warmed towards him.

"My dear sir, I have promised to dine out to-day."

"With whom, Japhet?"

"Why, sir, to tell you the truth, with that 'old thief of a lawyer.'"

"I am very much shocked at your using such an expression towards one who has been such a sincere friend, Japhet; and you will oblige me, sir, by not doing so again in my presence."

"I really beg your pardon, general," replied I, "but I thought to please you."

"Please me! what do you think of me? please me, sir, by showing yourself ungrateful?—I am ashamed of you, sir."

"My dear father, I borrowed the expression from you. You called Mr Masterton 'an old thief of a lawyer' to his face: he complained to me of the language before I had the pleasure of meeting you. I feel, and always shall feel, the highest respect, love, and gratitude towards him. Have I your permission to go?"

"Yes, Japhet," replied my father, looking very grave, "and do me the favour to apologise for me to Mr Masterton for my having used such an expression in my unfortunate warmth of temper—I am ashamed of myself."

"My dearest father, no man need be ashamed who is so ready to make honourable reparation:—we are all a little out of temper at times."

"You have been a kind friend to me, Japhet, as well as a good son," replied my father, with some emotion. "Don't forget the apology at all events: I shall be unhappy until it be made."



Chapter LXXVII

Treats of apologies, and love coming from church—We finesse with the nabob to win me a wife—I am successful in my suit, yet the lawyer is still to play the cards to enable me to win the game.



I arrived at Mr Masterton's, and walked into his room, when whom should I find in company with him but Harcourt.

"Japhet, I'm glad to see you: allow me to introduce you to Mr Harcourt—Mr De Benyon," and the old gentleman grinned maliciously, but I was not to be taken aback.

"Harcourt," said I, extending my hand, "I have to apologise to you for a rude reception and for unjust suspicions, but I was vexed at the time—if you will admit that as an excuse."

"My dear Japhet," replied Harcourt, taking my hand and shaking it warmly, "I have to apologise to you for much more unworthy behaviour, and it will be a great relief to my mind if you will once more enrol me in the list of your friends."

"And now, Mr Masterton," said I, "as apologies appear to be the order of the day, I bring you one from the general, who has requested me to make one to you for having called you an old thief of a lawyer, of which he was totally ignorant until I reminded him of it to-day."

Harcourt burst into a laugh.

"Well, Japhet, you may tell your old tiger, that I did not feel particularly affronted, as I took his expression professionally and not personally, and if he meant it in that sense, he was not far wrong. Japhet, to-morrow is Sunday; do you go to meeting or to church?"

"I believe, sir, that I shall go to church."

"Well, then, come with me:—be here at half-past two—we will go to evening service at St James's."

"I have received many invitations, but I never yet received an invitation to go to church," replied I.

"You will hear an extra lesson of the day—a portion of Susannah and the Elders."

I took the equivoque, which was incomprehensible to Harcourt: I hardly need say, that the latter and I were on the best terms. When we separated, Harcourt requested leave to call upon me the next morning, and Mr Masterton said that he should also pay his respects to the tiger, as he invariably called my most honoured parent.

Harcourt was with me very soon after breakfast, and after I had introduced him to my "Governor," we retired to talk without interruption.

"I have much to say to you, De Benyon," commenced Harcourt: "first let me tell you, that after I rose from my bed, and discovered that you had disappeared, I resolved, if possible, to find you out and induce you to come back. Timothy, who looked very sly at me, would tell me nothing, but that the last that was heard of you was at Lady de Clare's, at Richmond. Having no other clue, I went down there, introduced myself, and, as they will tell you, candidly acknowledged that I had treated you ill. I then requested that they would give me any clue by which you might be found, for I had an opportunity of offering to you a situation which was at my father's disposal, and which any gentleman might have accepted, although it was not very lucrative."

"It was very kind of you, Harcourt."

"Do not say that, I beg. It was thus that I formed an acquaintance with Lady de Clare and her daughter, whose early history, as Fleta, I had obtained from you, but who I little imagined to be the little girl that you had so generously protected; for it was not until after I had deserted you, that you had discovered her parentage. The extreme interest relative to you evinced by both the mother and the daughter surprised me. They had heard of my name from you, but not of our quarrel. They urged me, and thanked me for proposing, to follow you and find you out: I did make every attempt. I went to Brentford, inquired at all the public-houses, and of all the coachmen who went down the road, but could obtain no information, except that at one public-house, a gentleman stopped with a portmanteau, and soon afterwards went away with it on his shoulders. I returned to Richmond with the tidings of my ill-success about a week after I had first called there. Cecilia was much affected and cried very bitterly. I could not help asking Lady de Clare why she took such a strong interest in your fortunes. 'Who ought,' replied Cecilia, 'if his poor Fleta does not?' 'Good Heavens! Miss de Clare, are you the little Fleta whom he found with the gipsies, and talked to me so much about?' 'Did you not know it?' said Lady de Clare. I then explained to her all that had latterly passed between us, and they in return communicated your events and dangers in Ireland. Thus was an intimacy formed, and ever since I have been constantly welcome at their house. I did not, however, abandon my enquiries for many months, when I thought it was useless, and I had to console poor Cecilia, who constantly mourned for you. And now, Japhet, I must make my story short: I could not help admiring a young person who showed so much attachment and gratitude joined to such personal attractions, but she was an heiress and I was a younger brother. Still Lady de Clare insisted upon my coming to the house, and I was undecided how to act when the unfortunate death of my elder brother put me in a situation to aspire to her hand. After that my visits were more frequent, and I was tacitly received as a suitor by Lady de Clare, and had no reason to complain of the treatment I received from Cecilia. Such was the position of affairs until the day on which you broke in upon us so unexpectedly, and at the very moment that you came in, I had, with the sanction of her mother, made an offer to Cecilia, and was anxiously awaiting an answer from her own dear lips. Can you therefore be surprised, Japhet, at there being a degree of constraint on all sides at the interruption occasioned by the presence of one who had long been considered lost to us? Or that a young person just deciding upon the most important step of her life should feel confused and agitated at the entrance of a third party, however dear he might be to her as a brother and benefactor?"

"I am perfectly satisfied, Harcourt," replied I: "and I will go there, and make my peace as soon as I can."

"Indeed, Japhet, if you knew the distress of Cecilia you would pity and love her more than ever. Her mother is also much annoyed. As soon as you were gone, they desired me to hasten after you and bring you back. Cecilia had not yet given her answer: I requested it before my departure, but, I presume to stimulate me, she declared that she would give me no answer, until I re-appeared with you. This is now three weeks ago, and I have not dared to go there. I have been trying all I can to see you again since you repulsed me at the Piazza, but without success, until I went to Mr Masterton, and begged him to procure me an interview. I thank God it has succeeded."

"Well, Harcourt, you shall see Cecilia to-morrow morning, if you please."

"Japhet, what obligations I am under to you! Had it not been for you I never should have known Cecilia; and more, were it not for your kindness, I might perhaps lose her for ever."

"Not so, Harcourt; it was your own good feeling prompting you to find me out, which introduced you to Cecilia, and I wish you joy with all my heart. This is a strange world—who would have imagined that, in little Fleta, I was picking up a wife for a man whose life I nearly took away? I will ask my governor for his carriage to-morrow, and will call and take you up at your lodgings at two o'clock, if that hour will suit you. I will tell you all that has passed since I absconded, when we are at Lady de Clare's; one story will do for all."

Harcourt then took his leave, and I returned to my father, with whom I found Lord Windermear.

"De Benyon, I am happy to see you again," said his lordship. "I have just been giving a very good character of you to the general; I hope you will continue to deserve it."

"I hope so too, my lord; I should be ungrateful indeed, if I did not, after my father's kindness to me."

Mr Masterton was then introduced: Lord Windermear shook hands with him, and after a short conversation took his leave.

"Japhet," said Mr Masterton aside, "I have a little business with your father; get out of the room any way you think best."

"There are but two ways, my dear sir," replied I, "the door or the windows: with your permission, I will select the former, as most agreeable;" so saying, I went to my own room. What passed between the general and Mr Masterton I did not know until afterwards, but they were closeted upwards of an hour, when I was sent for by Mr Masterton.

"Japhet, you said you would go with me to hear the new preacher; we have no time to lose: so, general, I shall take my leave and run away with your son."

I followed Mr Masterton into his carriage, and we drove to the lodging of Mr Cophagus. Susannah was all ready, and Mr Masterton went up stairs and brought her down. A blush and a sweet smile illumined her features when she perceived me stowed away in the corner of the chariot. We drove off, and somehow or another our hands again met and did not separate until we arrived at the church door. Susannah had the same dress on as when she had accompanied me in my father's carriage. I went through the responses with her, reading out of the same book, and I never felt more inclined to be devout, for I was happy, and grateful to Heaven for my happiness. When the service was over, we were about to enter the carriage, when who should accost us but Harcourt.

"You are surprised to see me here," said he to Mr Masterton, "but I thought there must be something very attractive, that you should make an appointment with Japhet to go to this church, and as I am very fond of a good sermon, I determined to come and hear it."

Harcourt's ironical look told me all he would say.

"Well," replied Mr Masterton, "I hope you have been edified—now get out of the way, and let us go into the carriage."

"To-morrow at two, De Benyon," said Harcourt, taking another peep at Susannah.

"Yes, punctually," replied I, as the carriage drove off.

"And now, my dear child," said Mr Masterton to Susannah, as the carriage rolled along, "Tell me, have you been disappointed, or do you agree with me? You have attended a meeting of your own persuasion this morning—you have now, for the first time, listened to the ritual of the Established Church. To which do you give the preference?"

"I will not deny, sir, that I think, in departing from the forms of worship, those of my persuasion did not do wisely. I would not venture thus much to say, but you support me in my judgment."

"You have answered like a good, sensible girl, and have proved that you can think for yourself; but observe, my child, I have persuaded you for once, and once only, to enter our place of worship, that you might compare and judge for yourself; it now remains for you to decide as you please." "I would that some better qualified would decide for me," replied Susannah, gravely.

"Your husband, Susannah," whispered I, "must take that responsibility upon himself. Is he not the proper person?"

Susannah slightly pressed my hand, which held hers, and said nothing. As soon as we had conveyed her home, Mr Masterton offered to do me the same kindness, which I accepted.

"Now, Japhet, I dare say that you would like to know what it was I had so particular to say to the old general this morning."

"Of course I would, sir, if it concerned me."

"It did concern you, for we had not been two minutes in conversation, before you were brought on the tapis; he spoke of you with tears in his eyes—of what a comfort you had been to him, and how happy you had made him; and that he could not bear you to be away from him for half an hour. On that hint I spake, and observed, that he must not expect you to continue in retirement long, neither must he blame you, that when he had set up his establishment, you would be as great a favourite as you were before, and be unable, without giving offence, to refuse the numerous invitations which you would receive. In short, that it was nothing but right you should resume your position in society, and it was his duty to submit to it. The old governor did not appear to like my observations, and said he expected otherwise from you. I replied 'that it was impossible to change our natures, and the other sex would naturally have attractions which you would not be able to resist, and that they would occupy a large portion of your time. The only way to ensure his company, my dear sir, is to marry him to a steady, amiable young woman, who, not having been thrown into the vortex of fashion, will find pleasure in domestic life. Then her husband will become equally domestic, and you will be all very happy together.' Your father agreed with me, and appeared very anxious that it should take place. I then very carefully introduced Miss Temple, saying, that I knew you had a slight partiality in that quarter, highly commending her beauty, prudence, &c. I stated, that feeling an interest about you, I had gone down into the country where she resided, and had made her acquaintance, and had been much pleased with her; that since she had come up to town with her relations, I had seen a great deal, and had formed so high an opinion of, and so strong an attachment to her, and had felt so convinced that she was the very person who would make you happy and domestic, that having no family myself, I had some idea of adopting her. At all events, that if she married you, I was determined to give her something very handsome on the day of the wedding."

"But, my dear sir, why should you not have said that Susannah Temple was left an orphan at seven years old, and her fortune has accumulated ever since? it is by no means despicable, I understand, from Mr Cophagus; and moreover, Mr Cophagus intends to leave her all his property."

"I am very glad to hear it, Japhet, and will not fail to communicate all this to your father; but there is no reason why I may not do as I please with my own money—and I love that girl dearly. By-the-bye, have you ever said anything to her?"

"O yes, sir, we are pledged to each other."

"That's all right; I thought so, when I saw your fingers hooked together in the carriage. But now, Japhet, I should recommend a little indifference—not exactly opposition, when your father proposes the subject to you. It will make him more anxious, and when you consent more obliged to you. I have promised to call upon him to-morrow, on that and other business, and you had better be out of the way."

"I shall be out of the way, sir; I mean to go with Harcourt to Lady de Clare's. I shall ask for the carriage."

"He will certainly lend it to you, as he wishes to get rid of you; but here we are. God bless you, my boy."



Chapter LXXVIII

The Bengal tiger taken in the toils, which promise a speedy end to mine—I kindly permit my father to insist upon the marriage that I have set my heart upon.

I found my father, who had now completely recovered from his accident, walking up and down the room in a brown study. He did not speak to me until after dinner, when he commenced with asking some questions relative to Cecilia de Clare. I replied, "that I intended, if he did not want the carriage, to call there to-morrow with Mr Harcourt."

"Is she very handsome?" inquired he.

"Very much so, sir. I do not think I ever saw a handsomer young person. Yes, I do recollect one."

"Who was that?"

"A young lady with whom I was slightly acquainted, when living in the country."

"I have been thinking, my dear boy, that with the competence which you will have, it is right that you should marry early; in so doing you will oblige your father, who is anxious to see his grandchildren before he dies. My health is not very good."

I could not help smiling at this pathetic touch of the old governor's, who, if one could judge from appearances, was as strong as a lion, and likely to last almost as long as his dutiful son. Moreover, his appetite was enormous, and he invariably finished his bottle every day. I did not therefore feel any serious alarm as to his health, but I nevertheless replied, "Matrimony is a subject upon which I have never thought"—(ahem! a De Benyon never tells an untruth!), "I am very young yet, and am too happy to remain with you."

"But, my dear boy, I propose that you shall remain with me—we will all live together. I do not intend that we shall part. I really wish, Japhet, you would think seriously of it."

"My dear father, allow me to observe, that at present I am not in a situation to support a wife, and I should be sorry to be a tax upon you, at your age; you require many comforts and luxuries, and I presume that you live up to your income."

"Then, my dear fellow, you are under a great mistake. I can lay down one hundred thousand pounds on the day of your marriage, with any lady whom I approve of, and still not spend half my remaining income."

"That, sir," replied I, "certainly removes one difficulty, at the same time that it proves what a generous and indulgent father I am blessed with; but, sir, with such a fortune, I have a right to expect that the lady will also bring a handsome addition. Miss De Clare is engaged, I believe, to Mr Harcourt, or I might have made strong interest in that quarter."

"Something, my dear boy; but a moderate fortune now-a-days is all that we expect with wives, and the best wives are those who are not born to too much wealth; still she should bring something; but tell me, Japhet, who is that young lady whom you thought handsomer than Miss De Clare?"

"A Miss Temple, sir."

"Temple—it is a very good name. I think girls brought up in the country make the best wives."

"They do, sir, most certainly; they are more domestic, and make their husbands more content and happy at home."

"Well, my dear boy, I have mentioned the subject, and wish you would think of it. You will please me much."

"My dear father, I shall be most happy to obey in everything else, but in so serious a point as uniting myself for life, I think you must allow that a little discretionary power should be given to a son. All I can say is this, show me a young person who is eligible, and if I find that I can love her, I will not refuse to obey your wishes."

"Well, sir, do as you please," replied my father, very angrily; "but I think, sir, when I desire you to fall in love, it is your duty to obey."

"Suppose I was to fall in love with a person you did not like, would you allow me to marry her?"

"Most certainly not, sir."

"Then, sir, is it reasonable to expect me to marry without being in love?"

"I did not marry for love, sir."

"No," replied I, forgetting myself a little; "and a pretty mess you made of it."

"I did," rejoined my father in a rage, "by begetting an undutiful, good-for-nothing, graceless, insolent, ungrateful son."

"My dear father, I was not aware that I had a brother."

"I mean you, sir."

"To prove to you how unjust you are, sir, and how little I deserve what you have called me, I now promise you to marry as soon as you wish."

"Thank you, my boy, that's kind of you; but I will say that you are a comfort and a treasure to me, and I bless the day that brought you to my arms. Well, then, look about you."

"No, sir, I leave it all to you; select the party, and I am willing to obey you."

"My dear boy! Well, then, I'll talk the matter over with Mr Masterton to-morrow," and the general shook me warmly by the hand.

The next day I picked up Harcourt, and proceeded to Park Street. A note from him had informed them of our intended visit, and other visitors had been denied. "All has been explained, Cecilia," said I, after the first greeting: "I was very wrong, and very foolish."

"And made me very miserable. I little thought that you, Japhet, would have made me cry so much; but I forgive you for it, as I would a thousand times as much more. Now sit down and tell us all that has happened since you left us."

"Not yet, my dear Cecilia. You, as well as I, owe a reparation to poor Harcourt, whom, I think, you have treated cruelly. You were about to answer a question of vital moment when I broke in upon you, and you have since kept him in a state of cruel suspense for more than three weeks, refusing him an answer until he brought me into your presence. An hour of such suspense must be dreadful, and before we sit down, I wish everyone should feel comfortable and happy."

"It was not altogether to stimulate Mr Harcourt to bring you back, which induced me to refuse to answer his question, Japhet. I considered that your return had rendered it necessary that it should be deferred until I saw you. I have not forgotten, Japhet, and never shall forget, what I was when you rescued me; and when I think what I might have been had you not saved me, I shudder at the bare idea. I have not forgotten how you risked, and nearly lost your life in Ireland for my sake—neither has my mother. We are beholden to you for all our present happiness, and I am eternally indebted to you for rescuing me from ignorance, poverty, and, perhaps, vice. You have been more, much more than a father to me—more, much more than a brother. I am, as it were, a creature of your own fashioning, and I owe to you that which I never can repay. When, then, you returned so unexpectedly, Japhet, I felt that you had a paramount right in my disposal, and I was glad that I had not replied to Mr Harcourt, as I wished first for your sanction and approval. I know all that has passed between you, but I know not your real feelings towards Mr Harcourt; he acknowledges that he treated you very ill, and it was his sincere repentance of having so done, and his praise of you, which first won my favour. And now, Japhet, if you have still animosity against Mr Harcourt—if you—"

"Stop, my dear Fleta, I will answer all your questions at once." I took Harcourt's hand, and placed it in her's. "May God bless you both, and may you be happy!"

Cecilia threw her arms round me and wept; so did everybody else, I believe. It was lucky for Harcourt that I was in love with Susannah Temple. As soon as Cecilia had recovered a little, I kissed her, and passed her over to her right owner, who led her to the sofa. Lady de Clare and I went out of the room on important business, and did not return for a quarter of an hour. When we returned, Cecilia went to her mother and embraced her, while Harcourt silently squeezed my hand. We then all sat down, and I gave them an account of all that had passed during my second excursion—how I had nearly been hanged—how I had gone mad—how I had turned Quaker and apothecary—which they all agreed, with what had happened to me before, made up a very eventful history.

"And, Japhet, if it be a fair question about one so fair, was that Miss Temple who was at church with you yesterday?"

"It was."

"Then, Cecilia, if ever she appears in the same circle, except in my eyes, your beauty will stand in some danger of being eclipsed."

"How can you say, except in your eyes, Mr Harcourt," replied Cecilia, "the very observation proves that it is eclipsed in your eyes, whatever it may be in those of others. Now, as a punishment, I have a great mind to order you away again, until you bring her face to face, that I may judge myself."

"If I am again banished," replied Harcourt, "I shall have a second time to appeal to De Benyon to be able to come back again. He can produce her, I have no doubt."

"And perhaps may, some of these days, Cecilia."

"Oh! do, Japhet. I will love her so."

"You must wait a little first. I am not quite so far advanced as you and Harcourt. I have not received the consent of all parties, as you have to-day. But I must now leave you. Harcourt, I presume you will dine here. I must dine with my governor."

On my return, I found that the table was laid for three, and that the general had asked Mr Masterton, from which I augured well. Masterton could not speak to me when he arrived, but he gave me a wink and a smile, and I was satisfied. "Japhet," said my father, "you have no engagement to-morrow, I hope, because I shall call at Mr Masterton's on business, and wish you to accompany me."

I replied, that "I should be most happy," and the conversation became general.

I accompanied my father the next day to Lincoln's Inn, and when we went up, we found Mr Masterton at the table with Mr Cophagus, and Susannah sitting apart near the window. "The plot thickens," thought I. The fact was, as I was afterwards told by Mr Masterton, he had prevailed upon Cophagus to pretend business, and to bring Susannah with him, and appointed them a quarter of an hour before our time. This he had arranged, that the general might see Miss Temple, as if by accident; and also allow me, who, my father supposed, was not aware of Miss Temple being in town, to meet with her. What a deal of humbug there is in this world! Nothing but plot and counterplot! I shook hands with Cophagus, who, I perceived, had, notwithstanding his wife's veto, put on his blue cotton net pantaloons and Hessian boots, and he appeared to be so tight in both, that he could hardly move. As far as I could judge, his legs had not improved since I had last seen them in this his favourite dress.

"Mr De Benyon, I believe that you have met Miss Temple before," said Mr Masterton, winking at me. "In Berkshire, was it not? Miss Temple, allow me to introduce General De Benyon."

I went up to Susannah, who coloured and trembled at the sight of my father, as I expressed my hope that she had been well since we last met. She perceived that there was some planned scheme, and was so puzzled that she said nothing. My father then spoke to her, and after a short time took a chair, and seated himself close to her. I never knew her make herself so agreeable. He asked her where she was staying, and when he heard that it was with Mr Cophagus, he said that he should have the pleasure of calling upon Mr Cophagus, and thank him for his kind information relative to me. Shortly afterwards Cophagus took his leave, and Susannah rose to accompany him, when my father, hearing that they had walked, insisted upon putting Miss Temple down in his carriage. So that Mr Cophagus had to walk home one way, and I the other.



Chapter LXXXI

Poor Cophagus finds an end to his adventures by the means of a mad bull; I, of mine, by matrimony—Father is prettily behaved, and my Quaker wife the most fashionably dressed lady in town—verily! hum!

Alas! little did Mr Cophagus know how fatal to him would be the light cotton nets when he put them on that day. He had proceeded, as it appears, about two-thirds of his way home (he lived in Welbeck Street), when he perceived a rush from up a street leading into Oxford Street. He looked to ascertain the cause, when to his horror he perceived—what to him was the greatest of all horrors—a mad bull. If anything could make Mr Cophagus run, it was a sight like that, and he did run; but he could not run fast in his cotton nets and tight Hessians, which crippled him altogether. As if out of pure spite, the bull singled him out from at least one hundred, who exerted their agility and again was poor Mr Cophagus tossed far behind the animal, fortunately breaking his fall by tumbling on a large dog who was in full chase. The dog, who was unable to crawl from beneath the unfortunate Cophagus, was still in a condition to bite, which he did most furiously; and the butcher, who had an affection for his dog, when he perceived its condition, also vented his fury upon poor Cophagus, by saluting him with several blows on his head with his cudgel. What between the bull, the dog, and the butcher, poor Mr Cophagus was taken into a shop in a very deplorable condition. After some time he recovered, and was able to name his residence, when he was taken home.

It was late in the evening when I received a note from Susannah, informing me of that unfortunate accident. My father had just finished a long story about filial duty, country girls, good wives, &c, and had wound up by saying, that he and Mr Masterton both considered that Miss Temple would be a very eligible match, and that as I had requested him to select, he had selected her accordingly. I had just proved how truly dutiful I was, by promising to do all I could to love her, and to fulfil his wishes, when the note was put in my hands. I read it, stated its contents to my father, and, with his permission, immediately jumped into a hackney-coach, and drove to Welbeck Street.

On my arrival I found poor Mrs Cophagus in a state of syncope, and Susannah attending her. I sent for the surgeon who had been called in, and then went up to Mr Cophagus. He was much better than I expected—calm, and quite sensible. His wounds had been dressed by the surgeon, but he did not appear to be aware of the extent of the injury he had received. When the surgeon came I questioned him. He informed me that although much hurt, he did not consider that there was any danger to be apprehended; there were no bones broken; the only fear that he had was, that there might be some internal injury; but at present that could not be ascertained. I thanked him, and consoled Mrs Cophagus with this information. I then returned to her husband, who shook his head, and muttered, as I put my ear down to hear him, "Thought so—come to London—full of mad bulls—tossed—die—and so on."

"O no!" replied I, "the surgeon says that there is no danger. You will be up in a week—but now you must keep very quiet. I will send Mrs Cophagus to you."

I went out, and finding her composed, I desired her to go to her husband, who wished to see her, and I was left alone with Susannah. I told her all that had passed, and after two delightful hours had escaped, I returned home to the hotel. My father had waited up for some time, and finding that I did not return, had retired. When I met him the next morning I mentioned what the surgeon had said, but stated that, in my opinion, there was great cause for alarm in a man of Mr Cophagus's advanced age. My father agreed with me, but could not help pointing out what a good opportunity this would afford for my paying my attentions to Miss Temple, as it was natural that I should be interested about so old a friend as Mr Cophagus. My filial duty inclined me to reply, that I should certainly avail myself of such a favourable opportunity.

My adventures are now drawing to a close. I must pass over three months, during which my father had taken and furnished a house in Grosvenor Square; and I, whenever I could spare time, had, under the auspices of Lord Windermear, again been introduced into the world as Mr De Benyon. I found that the new name was considered highly respectable, my father's hall tables were loaded with cards, and I even received two dinner invitations from Lady Maelstrom, who told me how her dear nieces had wondered what had become of me, and that they were afraid that Louisa would have fallen into a decline. And during these three months Cecilia and Susannah had been introduced, and had become as inseparable as most young ladies are, who have a lover a-piece, and no cause for jealousy. Mr Cophagus had so far recovered as to be able to go down into the country, vowing, much to the chagrin of his wife, that he never would put his foot in London again. He asked me whether I knew any place where there were no mad bulls, and I took some trouble to find out, but I could not; for even if he went to the North Pole, although there were no bulls, yet there were bull bisons and musk bulls, which were even more savage. Upon which he declared that this was not a world to live in, and to prove that he was sincere in his opinion, poor fellow, about three months after his retirement into the country, he died from a general decay, arising from the shock produced on his system. But before these three months had passed, it had been finally arranged that Harcourt and I were to be united on the same day; and having renewed my acquaintance with the good bishop, whom I had taxed with being my father, he united us both to our respective partners. My father made over to me the sum which he had mentioned. Mr Masterton gave Susannah ten thousand pounds, and her own fortune amounted to as much more, with the reversion of Mr Cophagus's property at the decease of his widow. Timothy came up to the wedding, and I formally put him in the possession of my shop and stock in trade, and he has now a flourishing business. Although he has not yet found his mother, he has found a very pretty wife, which he says does quite as well, if not better.

Let it not be supposed that I forgot the good services of Kathleen—who was soon after married to Corny. A small farm on Fleta's estate was appropriated to them, at so low a rent, that in a few years they were able to purchase the property, and Corny, from a leveller, as soon as he was comfortable, became one of the government's firmest supporters.

I am now living in the same house with my father, who is very happy, and behaves pretty well. He is seldom in a passion more than twice a-week, which we consider as miraculous. Now that I am writing this, he has his two grandchildren on his knees. Mrs Cophagus has married a captain in the Life Guards, and as far as fashion and dress are concerned, may be said to be "going the whole hog." And now, as I have no doubt that my readers will be curious to know whether my lovely wife adheres to her primitive style of dress, I shall only repeat a conversation of yesterday night, as she came down arrayed for a splendid ball given by Mrs Harcourt de Clare.

"Tell me now, De Benyon," said she, "is not this a pretty dress?"

"Yes, my dear," replied I, looking at her charming face and figure with all the admiration usual in the honeymoon, "it is indeed; but do you not think, my dear Susan," said I, putting the tip of my white glove upon her snowy shoulder, "that it is cut down a little too low?"

"Too low, De Benyon! why it's not half so low as Mrs Harcourt de Clare or Lady C—— wear their dresses."

"Well, my dear, I did not assert that it was. I only asked."

"Well, then, if you only asked for information, De Benyon, I will tell you that it is not too low, and I think you will acknowledge that on this point my opinion ought to be decisive; for if I have no other merit, I have at least the merit of being the best-dressed woman in London."

"Verily thou persuadest me, Susannah," replied I.

"Now, De Benyon, hold your tongue."

Like a well-disciplined husband, I bowed, and said no more. And now, having no more to say, I shall also make my bow to my readers, and bid them farewell.

THE END.