Japhet in Search of a Father

“I greet thee in all kindness, and all sincerity, Japhet Newland,” replied Susannah, holding out her hand. “Yet did I not imagine that, in so short a time, thou wouldst have dismissed the apparel of our persuasion, neither do I find it seemly.”

“Miss Temple,” interposed Mr Masterton, “it is to oblige those who are his sincere friends, that Mr Newland has laid aside his dress. I quarrel with no creed—everyone has a right to choose for himself, and Mr Newland has perhaps not chosen badly, in embracing your tenets. Let him continue steadfast in them. But, fair young lady, there is no creed which is perfect, and, even in yours, we find imperfection. Our religion preaches humility, and therefore we do object to his wearing the garb of pride.”

“Of pride, sayest thou? hath he not rather put off the garb of humility, and now appeareth in the garb of pride?”

“Not so, young madam: when we dress as all the world dress, we wear not the garb of pride; but when we put on a dress different from others, that distinguishes us from others, then we show our pride, and the worst of pride, for it is the hypocritical pride which apes humility. It is the Pharisee of the Scriptures, who preaches in high places, and sounds forth his charity to the poor; not the humility of the Publican, who says, ‘Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.’ Your apparel of pretended humility is the garb of pride, and for that reason have we insisted that he discards it, when with us. His tenets we interfere not with. There can be no religion in dress; and that must indeed be weak in itself, which requires dress for its support.”

Susannah was astonished at this new feature of the case, so aptly put by the old lawyer. Mrs Cophagus looked at her husband, and Cophagus pinched my arm, evidently agreeing with him. When Mr Masterton had finished speaking, Susannah waited a few seconds, and then replied, “It becomes not one so young and weak as I am, to argue with thee, who art so much my senior. I cannot cavil at opinions which, if not correct, at least are founded on the holy writings; but I have been otherwise instructed.”

“Then let us drop the argument, Miss Susannah, and let me tell you, that Japhet wished to resume his Quaker’s dress, and I would not permit him. If there is any blame, it is to be laid to me; and it’s no use being angry with an old man like myself.”

“I have no right to be angry with anyone,” replied Susannah.

“But you were angry with me, Susannah,” interrupted I.

“I cannot say that it was anger, Japhet Newland: I hardly know what the feeling might have been; but I was wrong, and I must request thy forgiveness;” and Susannah held out her hand.

“Now you must forgive me too, Miss Temple,” said old Masterton, and Susannah laughed against her wishes.

The conversation then became general. Mr Masterton explained to Mr Cophagus what he required of him, and Mr Cophagus immediately acceded. It was arranged that he should go to town by the mail the next day. Mr Masterton talked a great deal about my father, and gave his character in its true light, as he considered it would be advantageous to me so to do. He then entered into conversation upon a variety of topics, and was certainly very amusing. Susannah laughed very heartily before the evening was over, and Mr Masterton retired to the hotel, for I had resolved to sleep in my own bed.

I walked home with Mr Masterton: I then returned to the house, and found them all in the parlour. Mrs Cophagus was expressing her delight at the amusement she had received, when I entered with a grave face. “I wish that I had not left you,” said I to Mrs Cophagus; “I am afraid to meet my father; he will exact the most implicit obedience. What am I to do? Must not I obey him?”

“In all things lawful,” replied Susannah, “most certainly, Japhet.”

“In all things lawful, Susannah! now tell me, in the very case of my apparel: Mr Masterton says, that he never will permit me to wear the dress. What am I to do?”

“Thou hast thy religion and thy Bible for thy guide, Japhet.”

“I have; and in the Bible I find written on tablets of stone by the prophet of God, ‘Honour thy father and thy mother;’ there is a positive commandment: but I find no commandment to wear this or that dress. What think you?” continued I, appealing to them all.

“I should bid thee honour thy father, Japhet,” replied Mrs Cophagus, “and you, Susannah—”

“I shall bid thee good night, Japhet.”

At this reply we all laughed, and I perceived there was a smile on Susannah’s face as she walked away. Mrs Cophagus followed her, laughing as she went, and Cophagus and I were alone.

“Well, Japhet—see old gentleman—kiss—shake hands—and blessing—and so on.”

“Yes, sir,” replied I; “but if he treats me ill I shall probably come down here again. I am afraid that Susannah is not very well pleased with me.”

“Pooh, nonsense—wife knows all—die for you—Japhet, do as you please—dress yourself—dress her—any dress—no dress like Eve—sly puss—won’t lose you—all right—and so on.”

I pressed Mr Cophagus to tell me all he knew, and I found from him that his wife had questioned Susannah soon after my departure, had found her weeping, and that she had gained from her the avowal of her ardent affection for me. This was all I wanted, and I wished him good night, and went to bed happy. I had an interview with Susannah Temple before I left the next morning, and, although I never mentioned love, had every reason to be satisfied. She was kind and affectionate; spoke to me in her usual serious manner, warned me against the world, acknowledged that I should have great difficulties to surmount, and even made much allowance for my peculiar situation. She dared not advise, but she would pray for me. There was a greater show of interest and confidence towards me than I had ever yet received from her: when I parted from her I said, “Dear Susannah, whatever change may take place in my fortunes or in my dress, believe me, my heart shall not be changed, and I shall ever adhere to those principles which have been instilled into me since I have been in your company.”

This was a phrase which admitted of a double meaning, and she replied, “I should wish to see thee perfect, Japhet; but there is no perfection now on earth; be therefore as perfect as you can.”

“God bless you, Susannah.”

“May the blessing of the Lord be on you always, Japhet,” replied she.

I put my arm round her waist, and slightly pressed her to my bosom. She gently disengaged herself, and her large eyes glistened with tears as she left the room. In a quarter of an hour I was with Mr Masterton on the road to London.

“Japhet,” said the old gentleman, “I will say that you have been very wise in your choice, and that your little Quaker is a most lovely creature: I am in love with her myself, and I think that she is far superior in personal attractions to Cecilia de Clare.”

“Indeed, sir!”

“Yes, indeed; her face is more classical, and her complexion is unrivalled; as far as my present knowledge and experience go, she is an emblem of purity.”

“Her mind, sir, is as pure as her person.”

“I believe it; she has a strong mind, and will think for herself.”

“There, sir, is, I am afraid, the difficulty; she will not yield a point in which she thinks she is right, not even for her love for me.”

“I agree with you that she will not, and I admire her for it; but, Japhet, she will yield to conviction, and depend upon it, she will abandon the outward observances of her persuasion. Did you observe what a spoke I put in your wheel last night, when I stated that outward forms were pride. Leave that to work, and I’ll answer for the consequences: she will not long wear that Quaker’s dress. How beautiful she would be if she dressed like other people! I think I see her now entering a ball-room.”

“But what occasions you to think she will abandon her persuasion?”

“I do not say that she will abandon it, nor do I wish her to do it, nor do I wish you to do it, Japhet. There is much beauty and much perfection in the Quaker’s creed. All that requires to be abandoned are the dress and the ceremonies of the meetings, which are both absurdities. Recollect, that Miss Temple has been brought up as a Quaker; she has, from the exclusiveness of the sect, known no other form of worship, and never heard any opposition to that which has been inculcated; but let her once or twice enter the Established Church, hear its beautiful ritual, and listen to a sound preacher. Let her be persuaded to do that, which cannot be asking her to do wrong, and then let her think and act for herself, and my word for it, when she draws the comparison between what she has then heard and the nonsense occasionally uttered in the Quaker’s conventicle, by those who fancy themselves inspired, she will herself feel that, although the tenets of her persuasion may be more in accordance with true Christianity than those of other sects, the outward forms and observances are imperfect. I trust to her own good sense.”

“You make me very happy by saying so.”

“Well, that is my opinion of her, and if she proves me to be correct, hang me if I don’t think I shall adopt her.”

“What do you think of Mrs Cophagus, sir?”

“I think she is no more a Quaker in her heart than I am. She is a lively, merry, kind-hearted creature, and would have no objection to appear in feathers and diamonds to-morrow.”

“Well, sir, I can tell you that Mr Cophagus still sighs after his blue cotton net pantaloons and Hessian boots.”

“More fool he! but, however, I am glad of it, for it gives me an idea which I shall work upon by-and-by; at present we have this eventful meeting between you and your father to occupy us.”

We arrived in town in time for dinner, which Mr Masterton had ordered at his chambers. As the old gentleman was rather tired with his two days’ travelling, I wished him good night at an early hour.

“Recollect, Japhet, we are to be at the Adelphi hotel to-morrow at one o’clock—come in time.”

I called upon Mr Masterton at the time appointed on the ensuing day, and we drove to the hotel in which my father had located himself. On our arrival, we were ushered into a room on the ground floor, where we found Mr Cophagus and two of the governors of the Foundling Hospital.

“Really, Mr Masterton,” said one of the latter gentlemen, “one would think that we were about to have an audience with a sovereign prince, and, instead of conferring favours, were about to receive them. My time is precious: I ought to have been in the city this half hour, and here is this old nabob keeping us waiting as if we were petitioners.”

Mr Masterton laughed and said, “Let us all go up stairs, and not wait to be sent for.”

He called one of the waiters, and desired him to announce them to General De Benyon. They then followed the waiter, leaving me alone. I must say, that I was a little agitated; I heard the door open above, and then an angry growl like that of a wild beast; the door closed again and all was quiet. “And this,” thought I, “is the result of all my fond anticipations, of my ardent wishes, of my enthusiastic search. Instead of expressing anxiety to receive his son, he litigiously requires proofs, and more proofs, when he has received every satisfactory proof already. They say his temper is violent beyond control, and that submission irritates instead of appeasing him: what then if I resent? I have heard that people of that description are to be better met with their own weapons:—suppose I try it;—but no, I have no right:—I will however be firm, and keep my temper under every circumstance: I will show him, at least, that his son has the spirit and the feelings of a gentleman.”

As these thoughts passed in my mind the door opened, and Mr Masterton requested me to follow him. I obeyed with a palpitating heart; and when I had gained the landing-place up stairs, Mr Masterton took my hand and led me into the presence of my long-sought-for and much-dreaded parent. I may as well describe him and the whole tableau. The room was long and narrow, and, at the farther end, was a large sofa, on which was seated my father with his injured leg reposing on it, his crutches propped against the wall. On each side of him were two large poles and stands, each with a magnificent macaw. Next to the macaws were two native servants, arrayed in their muslin dresses, with their arms folded. A hookah was in advance of the table before the sofa; it was magnificently wrought in silver, and the snake passed under the table, so that the tube was within my honoured father’s reach. On one side of the room sat the two governors of the Foundling Hospital, on the other was seated Mr Cophagus in his Quaker’s dress; the empty chair next to him had been occupied by Mr Masterton. I looked at my father: he was a man of great size, apparently six feet three or four inches, and stout in proportion, without being burdened with fat: he was gaunt, broad-shouldered and muscular, and I think, must have weighed seventeen or eighteen stone. His head was in proportion to his body, and very large; so were all his features upon the same grand scale. His complexion was of a brownish-yellow, and his hair of a snowy white. He wore his whiskers very large and joined together under the throat, and these, which were also white, from the circle which they formed round his face, and contrasting with the colour of his skin, gave his tout ensemble much more the appearance of a royal Bengal tiger than a gentleman. General De Benyon saw Mr Masterton leading me forward to within a pace or two of the table before the general.—“Allow me the pleasure of introducing your son, Japhet.”

There was no hand extended to welcome me. My father fixed his proud grey eyes upon me for a moment, and then turned to the governors of the hospital.

“Is this the person, gentlemen, whom you received as an infant and brought up as Japhet Newland?”

The governors declared I was the same person; that they had bound me to Mr Cophagus, and had seen me more than once since I quitted the Asylum.

“Is this the Japhet Newland whom you received from these gentlemen and brought up to your business?”

“Yea, and verily—I do affirm the same—smart lad—good boy—and so on.”

“I will not take a Quaker’s affirmation—will you take your oath, sir?”

“Yes,” replied Cophagus, forgetting his Quakership; “take oath—bring Bible—kiss book—and so on.”

“You, then, as a Quaker, have no objection to swear to the identity of this person?”

“Swear,” cried Cophagus, “yes, swear—swear now—not Japhet!—I’m damned—go to hell—and so on.”

The other parties present could not help laughing at this explosion from Cophagus, neither could I. Mr Masterton then asked the general if he required any more proofs.

“No,” replied the general discourteously; and speaking in Hindostanee to his attendants, they walked to the door and opened it. The hint was taken, Mr Masterton saying to the others in an ironical tone, “After so long a separation, gentlemen, it must be natural that the general should wish to be left alone, that he may give vent to his paternal feelings.”