When at the lowest spoke of Fortune's wheel, one is sure to rise
as it turns round--I recover my senses and find myself amongst
_Friends._
I think some people shook me by the hand, and others shouted as I walked
in the open air, but I recollect no more. I afterwards was informed that
I had been reprieved, that I had been sent for, and a long exhortation
delivered to me, for it was considered that my life must have been one
of error, or I should have applied to my friends, and have given my
name. My not answering was attributed to shame and confusion--my
glassy eye had not been noticed--my tottering step when led in by the
gaolers attributed to other causes; and the magistrates shook their
heads as I was led out of their presence. The gaoler had asked me
several times where I intended to go. At last, I had told him, _to seek
my father,_ and darting away from him, I had run like a madman down the
street. Of course he had no longer any power over me: but he muttered,
as I fled from him, "I've a notion he'll soon be locked up again, poor
fellow! it's turned his brain for certain."
As I tottered along, my unsteady step naturally attracted the attention
of the passers-by; but they attributed it to intoxication. Thus was I
allowed to wander away in a state of madness, and before night I was
far from the town. What passed, and whither I had bent my steps, I
cannot tell. All I know is, that after running like a maniac, seizing
everybody by the arm that I met, staring at them with wild and flashing
eyes; and sometimes in a solemn voice, at others in a loud, threatening
tone, startling them with the interrogatory, "Are you my father?" and
then darting away, or sobbing like a child, as the humour took me, I
had crossed the country, and three days afterwards I was picked up at
the door of a house in the town of Reading, exhausted with fatigue and
exposure, and nearly dead. When I recovered, I found myself in bed, my
head shaved, my arm bound up, after repeated bleedings, and a female
figure sitting by me.
"God in heaven! where am I?" exclaimed I, faintly.
"Thou hast called often upon thy earthly father during the time of thy
illness, friend," replied a soft voice. "It rejoiceth me much to hear
thee call upon thy Father which is in heaven. Be comforted, thou art in
the hands of those who will be mindful of thee. Offer up thy thanks in
one short prayer, for thy return to reason, and then sink again into
repose, for thou must need it much."
I opened my eyes wide, and perceived that a young person in a Quaker's
dress was sitting by the bed working with her needle; an open Bible was
on a little table before her. I perceived also a cup, and parched with
thirst, I merely said, "Give me to drink." She arose, and put a teaspoon
to my lips; but I raised my hand, took the cup from her, and emptied it.
O how delightful was that draught! I sank down on my pillow, for even
that slight exertion had overpowered me, and muttering, "God, I thank
thee!" I was immediately in a sound sleep, from which I did not awake
for many hours. When I did, it was not daylight. A lamp was on the table,
and an old man in a Quaker's dress was snoring very comfortably in the
arm-chair. I felt quite refreshed with my long sleep, and was now able
to recall what had passed. I remembered the condemned cell, and the
mattress upon which I lay, but all after was in a state of confusion.
Here and there a fact or supposition was strong in my memory; but the
intervals between were total blanks. I was, at all events, free, that I
felt convinced of, and that I was in the hands of the sect who denominate
themselves Quakers: but where was I? and how did I come here? I remained
thinking on the past, and wondering, until the day broke, and with the
daylight roused up my watchful attendant. He yawned, stretched his arms,
and rising from the chair, came to the side of my bed. I looked him in
the face. "Hast thou slept well, friend?" said he.
"I have slept as much as I wish, and would not disturb _you,"_ replied
I, "for I wanted nothing."
"Peradventure I did sleep," replied the man; "watching long agreeth not
with the flesh, although the spirit is most willing. Requirest thou
anything?"
"Yes," replied I, "I wish to know where I am?"
"Verily, thou art in the town of Reading in Berkshire, and in the house
of Phineas Cophagus."
"Cophagus!" exclaimed I; "Mr Cophagus, the surgeon and apothecary?"
"Phineas Cophagus is his name; he hath been admitted into our sect, and
hath married a daughter of our persuasion. He hath attended thee in thy
fever and thy frenzy, without calling in the aid of the physician,
therefore do I believe that he must be the man of whom thou speakest;
yet doth he not follow up the healing art for the lucre of gain."
"And the young person who was at my bedside, is she his wife?"
"Nay, friend, she is half-sister to the wife of Phineas Cophagus by a
second marriage, and a maiden, who was named Susannah Temple at the
baptismal font; but I will go to Phineas Cophagus and acquaint him of
your waking, for such were his directions."
The man then quitted the room, leaving me quite astonished with the
information he had imparted. Cophagus turned Quaker! and attending me
in the town of Reading. In a short time Mr Cophagus himself entered in
his dressing-gown. "Japhet!" said he, seizing my hand with eagerness,
and then, as if recollecting, he checked himself, and commenced in a
slow tone, "Japhet Newland--truly glad am I--hum--verily do I
rejoice--you, Ephraim--get out of the room--and so on."
"Yea, I will depart, since it is thy bidding," replied the man, quitting
the room.
Mr Cophagus then greeted me in his usual way--told me that he had found
me insensible at the door of a house a little way off, and had
immediately recognised me. He had brought me to his own home, but without
much hope of my recovery. He then begged to know by what strange chance
I had been found in such a desolate condition. I replied, "that although
I was able to listen, I did not feel myself equal to the exertion of
telling so long a story, and that I should infinitely prefer that he
should narrate to me what had passed since we had parted at Dublin,
and how it was that I now found that he had joined the sect of Quakers."
"Peradventure--long word that--um--queer people--very good--and so on,"
commenced Mr Cophagus; but as the reader will not understand his
phraseology quite so well as I did, I shall give Mr Cophagus's history
in my own version.
Mr Cophagus had returned to the small town at which he resided, and,
on his arrival, he had been called upon by a gentleman who was of the
Society of Friends, requesting that he would prescribe for a niece of his,
who was on a visit at his house, and had been taken dangerously ill.
Cophagus, with his usual kindness of heart, immediately consented, and
found that Mr Temple's report was true. For six weeks he attended the
young Quakeress, and recovered her from an imminent and painful disease,
in which she showed such fortitude and resignation, and such
unconquerable good temper, that when Mr Cophagus returned to his
bachelor's establishment, he could not help reflecting upon what an
invaluable wife she would make, and how much more cheerful his house
would be with such a domestic partner.
In short, Mr Cophagus fell in love, and like all elderly gentlemen who
have so long bottled up their affections, he became most desperately
enamoured; and if he loved Miss Judith Temple when he witnessed her
patience and resignation under suffering, how much more did he love her
when he found that she was playful, merry, and cheerful, without being
boisterous, when restored to her health. Mr Cophagus's attentions could
not be misunderstood. He told her uncle that he had thought seriously
of wedding cake--white favours--marriage--family--and so on; and to the
young lady he had put his cane up to his nose and prescribed, "A dose of
matrimony--to be taken immediately." To Mr Cophagus there was no
objection raised by the lady, who was not in her teens, or by the uncle,
who had always respected him as a worthy man, and a good Christian; but
to marry one who was not of her persuasion, was not to be thought of.
Her friends would not consent to it. Mr Cophagus was therefore dismissed,
with a full assurance that the only objection which offered was, that he
was not of their society.
Mr Cophagus walked home discomforted. He sat down on his easy chair, and
found it excessively uneasy--he sat down to his solitary meal, and found
that his own company was unbearable--he went to bed, but found that it
was impossible to go to sleep. The next morning, therefore, Mr Cophagus
returned to Mr Temple, and stated his wish to be made acquainted with
the difference between the tenets of the Quaker persuasion and those of
the Established Church. Mr Temple gave him an outline, which appeared to
Mr Cophagus to be very satisfactory, and then referred him to his niece
for fuller particulars. When a man enters into an argument with a full
desire to be convinced, and with his future happiness perhaps depending
upon that conviction; and when, further, those arguments are brought
forward by one of the prettiest voices, and backed by the sweetest of
smiles, it is not to be wondered at his soon becoming a proselyte. Thus
it was with Mr Cophagus, who in a week, discovered that the peace,
humility, and good-will, upon which the Quaker tenets are founded, were
much more congenial to the true spirit of the Christian revelation than
the Athanasian Creed, to be sung or said in our Established Churches;
and with this conviction, Mr Cophagus requested admission into the
fraternity, and shortly after his admission, it was thought advisable by
the Friends that his faith should be confirmed and strengthened by his
espousal of Miss Judith Temple, with whom, at her request--and he could
refuse her nothing--he had repaired to the town of Reading, in which her
relations all resided; and Phineas Cophagus, of the Society of Friends,
declared himself to be as happy as a man could be. "Good people,
Japhet--um--honest people, Japhet--don't fight--little stiff--spirit
moves--and so on," said Mr Cophagus, as he concluded his narrative, and
then shaking me by the hand, retired to shave and dress.