Japhet in Search of a Father
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“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 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 hers. “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.
Part 3—Chapter XXV
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, etcetera, 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 apiece, 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.