Chapter 61

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 Pheneas Cophagus."

"Cophagus!" exclaimed I; "Mr Cophagus, the surgeon and apothecary?"

"Pheneas 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 Pheneas Cophagus by a second marriage, and a maiden, who was named Susannah Temple at the baptismal font; but I will go to Pheneas 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