I RECEIVE A LETTER FROM MY UNCLE, BY WHICH I NATURALLY EXPECT TO FIND
OUT WHO IS MY FATHER--LIKE OTHER OUTCASTS I AM WARNED BY A DREAM.
But I have omitted to mention a circumstance of great importance which
occurred at the inn the night before I placed Fleta at the
boarding-school. In looking over my portmanteau, I perceived the
present of Nattee to Fleta, which I had quite forgotten. I took it to
Fleta, and told her from whom it came. On opening the paper, it proved
to contain a long chain of round coral and gold beads, strung
alternately; the gold beads were not so large as the coral, but still
the number of them, and the purity of the metal, made them of
considerable value. Fleta passed the beads through her fingers, and
then threw it round her neck, and sat in deep thought for some minutes.
"Japhet," said she at last, "I have seen this--I have worn this before--
I recollect that I have; it rushes into my memory as an old friend, and
I think that before morning it will bring to my mind something that I
shall recollect about it."
"Try all you can Fleta, and let me know to-morrow."
"It's no use trying; if I try, I never can recollect anything. I must
wear it to-night, and then I shall have something come into my mind all
of a sudden; or perhaps I may dream something. Good night."
It immediately occurred to me that it was most probable that the chain
had been on Fleta's neck at the time that she was stolen from her
parents, and might prove the means of her being identified. It was no
common chain--apparently had been wrought by people in a state of
semi-refinement. There was too little show for its value--too much
sterling gold for the simple effect produced; and I very much doubted
whether another like it could be found.
The next morning Fleta was too much affected at parting with me, to
enter into much conversation. I asked whether she had recollected
anything, and she replied, "No; that she had cried all night at the
thoughts of our separation." I cautioned her to be very careful of the
chain, and I gave the same caution to the schoolmistress; and after I
had left the town, I regretted that I had not taken it away, and
deposited it in some place of security. I resolved to do so when I next
saw Fleta; in the mean time she would be able, perhaps, by association,
to call up some passage of her infancy connected with it.
I had inquired of a gentleman who sat near me on the coach, which was
the best hotel for a young man of fashion. He recommended the Piazza,
in Covent Garden, and to that we accordingly repaired. I selected
handsome apartments, and ordered a light supper. When the table was
said, Timothy made his appearance in his livery, and cut a very smart,
dashing figure. I dismissed the waiter, and as soon as we were alone, I
burst into a fit of laughter. "Really, Timothy, this is a good farce;
come, sit down, and help me to finish this bottle of wine."
"No, sir," replied Timothy; "with your permission, I prefer doing as the
rest of my fraternity. You only leave the bottle on the sideboard, and
I will steal as much as I want; but as for sitting down, that will be
making too free, and if we were seen, would be, moreover, very
dangerous. We must both keep up our characters. They have been plying
me with all manner of questions below, as to who you were--your name,
etcetera. I resolved that I would give you a lift in the world, and I
stated that you had just arrived from making a grand tour--which is not
a fib, after all--and as for your name, I said that you were all present
_incognito_."
"But why did you make me _incognito_?"
"Because it may suit you so to be; and it certainly is the truth, for
you don't know your real name."
We were here interrupted by the waiter bringing in a letter upon a
salver. "Here is a letter addressed to `I. or J.N., on his return from
his tour,' sir," said he; "I presume it is for you?"
"You may leave it," said I, with nonchalance.
The waiter laid the letter on the table, and retired.
"How very odd, Timothy--this letter cannot be for me; and yet they are
my initials. It is as much like a J as an I. Depend upon it, it is
some fellow who has just gained this intelligence below, and has written
to ask for a subscription to his charity list, imagining that I am flush
of money, and liberal."
"I suppose so," replied Tim; "however, you may just as well see what he
says."
"But if I open it he will expect something. I had better refuse it."
"Oh no, leave that to me; I know how to put people off."
"After all, it is a fine thing to be a gentleman, and be petitioned."
I broke open the seal, and found that the letter contained an enclosure
addressed to another person. The letter was as follows:--
"My dear Nephew--[`Bravo, sir,' said Timothy; `you've found an uncle
already--you'll soon find a father.'] From the great uncertainty of
the post, I have not ventured to do more than hint at what has come to
light during this last year, but as it is necessary that you should be
acquainted with the whole transaction, and as you had not decided when
you last wrote, whether you would prosecute your intended three
months' trip to Sicily, or return from Milan, you may probably arrive
when I am out of town; I therefore enclose you a letter to Mr
Masterton, directing him to surrender to you a sealed packet, lodged
in his hands, containing all the particulars, the letters which bear
upon them, and what has been proposed to avoid exposure, which you may
peruse at your leisure should you arrive before my return to town.
There is no doubt but that the affair may be hushed up, and we trust
that you will see the prudence of the measure; as, once known, it will
be very discreditable to the family escutcheon. [`I always had an
idea you were of good family,' interrupted Tim.] I wish you had
followed my advice, and had not returned; but as you were positive on
that point, I beg you will now consider the propriety of remaining
incognito, as reports are already abroad, and your sudden return will
cause a great deal of surmise. Your long absence at the Gottingen
University, and your subsequent completion of your grand tour, will
have effaced all remembrance of your person, and you can easily be
passed off as a particular friend of mine, and I can introduce you
everywhere as such. Take then any name you may please, provided it be
not Smith or Brown, or such vulgarisms; and on the receipt of this
letter, write a note, and send it to my house in Portman Square, just
saying, `_So and so_ is arrived.' This will prevent the servants from
obtaining any information by their prying curiosity; and as I have
directed all my letters to be forwarded to my seat in Worcestershire,
I shall come up immediately that I receive it, and by your putting the
name which you mean to assume, I shall know whom to ask for when I
call at the hotel.
"Your affectionate Uncle,
"Windermear."
"One thing is very clear, Timothy," said I, laying the letter on the
table, "that it cannot be intended for me."
"How do you know, sir, that this lord is not your uncle? At all events,
you must do as he bids you."
"What--go for the papers! most certainly I shall not."
"Then how in the name of fortune do you expect to find your father, when
you will not take advantage of such an opportunity of getting into
society? It is by getting possession of other people's secrets, that
you will worm out your own."
"But it is dishonest, Timothy."
"A letter is addressed to you, in which you have certain directions; you
break the seal with confidence, and you read what you find is possibly
not for you; but depend upon it, Japhet, that a secret obtained is one
of the surest roads to promotion. Recollect your position; cut off from
the world, you have to re-unite yourself with it, to recover your
footing, and create an interest. You have not those who love you to
help you--you must not scruple to obtain your object by fear."
"That is a melancholy truth, Tim," replied I; "and I believe I must put
my strict morality in my pocket."
"Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be moral; it's a very expensive
virtue that; a deficiency of it made you an outcast from the world; you
must not scruple at a slight deficiency on your own part, to regain your
position."
There was so much shrewdness, so much of the wisdom of the serpent in
the remarks of Timothy, that, added to my ardent desire to discover my
father, which since my quitting the gipsy camp had returned upon me with
twofold force, my scruples were overcome, and I resolved that I would
not lose such an opportunity. Still I hesitated, and went up into my
room, that I might reflect upon what I should do. I went to bed
revolving the matter in my mind, and turning over from one position to
the other, at one time deciding that I would not take advantage of the
mistake, at another quite as resolved that I would not throw away such
an opening for the prosecution of my search; at last I fell into an
uneasy slumber, and had a strange dream. I thought that I was standing
upon an isolated rock, with the waters raging around me; the tide was
rising, and at last the waves were roaring at my feet. I was in a state
of agony, and expected that, in a short time, I should be swallowed up.
The main land was not far off, and I perceived well-dressed people in
crowds, who were enjoying themselves, feasting, dancing, and laughing in
merry peals. I held out my hands--I shouted to them--they saw, and
heard me, but heeded me not. My horror at being swept away by the tide
was dreadful. I shrieked as the water rose. At last I perceived
something unroll itself from the main land, and gradually advancing to
the inland, formed a bridge by which I could walk over and be saved. I
was about to hasten over, when "Private, and no thoroughfare," appeared
at the end nearest me, in large letters of fire. I started back with
amazement, and would not, dared not, pass them. When all of a sudden, a
figure in white appeared by my side, and said to me, pointing to the
bridge, "Self-preservation is the first law of nature." I looked at the
person who addressed me; gradually the figure became darker and darker,
until it changed to Mr Cophagus, with his stick up to his nose.
"Japhet, all nonsense--very good bridge--um--walk over--find father--and
so on." I dashed over the bridge, which appeared to float on the water,
and to be composed of paper, gained the other side, and was received
with shouts of congratulation, and the embraces of the crowd. I
perceived an elderly gentleman come forward; I knew it was my father,
and I threw myself into his arms. I awoke, and found myself rolling on
the floor, embracing the bolster with all my might. Such was the vivid
impression of this dream, that I could not turn my thoughts away from
it, and at last I considered that it was a divine interposition. All my
scruples vanished, and before the day had dawned I determined that I
would follow the advice of Timothy. An enthusiast is easily led to
believe what he wishes, and he mistakes his own feelings for warnings;
the dreams arising from his daily contemplations for the interference of
Heaven. He thinks himself armed by supernatural assistance, and
warranted by the Almighty to pursue his course, even if that course
should be contrary to the Almighty's precepts. Thus was I led away by
my own imaginings, and thus was my _monomania_ increased to an impetus
which forced before it all consideration of what was right or wrong.