Japhet in Search of a Father Part 21

"Where is he, Timothy?" replied I, all my feelings in "search of my father" rus.h.i.+ng into my mind.

"Down below, sir, about to set off in a post-chaise and four, now waiting at the door."

I ran down with my breakfast napkin in my hand, and hastened to the portico of the hotel--he was in his carriage and the porter was then shutting the door. I looked at him. He was, as Timothy said, _very like_ me, indeed, the _nose_ exact. I was breathless, and I continued to gaze.

"All right," cried the ostler.

"I beg your pardon, sir,--" said I, addressing the gentleman in the carriage, who perceiving a napkin in my hand, probably took me for one of the waiters, for he replied very abruptly, "I have remembered you;"

and pulling up the gla.s.s, away whirled the chariot, the nave of the hind wheel striking me a blow on the thigh which numbed it so, that it was with difficulty I could limp up to our apartments, when I threw myself on the sofa in a state of madness and despair.

"Good heavens, Newland, what is the matter?" cried the major.

"Matter," replied I, faintly. "I have seen my father."

"Your father, Newland? you must be mad. He was dead before you could recollect him--at least so you told me. How then, even if it were his ghost, could you have recognised him?"

The major's remarks reminded me of the imprudence I had been guilty of.

"Major," replied I, "I believe I am very absurd; but he was so like me, and I have so often longed after my father, so long wished to see him face to face--that--I'm a great fool, that's the fact."

"You must go to the next world, my good fellow, to meet him face to face, that's clear; and I presume, upon a little consideration, you will feel inclined to postpone your journey. Very often in your sleep I have heard you talk about your father, and wondered why you should think so much about him."

"I cannot help it," replied I. "From my earliest days my father has ever been in my thoughts."

"I can only say, that very few sons are half so dutiful to their fathers' memories--but finish your breakfast, and then we start for London."

I complied with his request as well as I could, and we were soon on our road. I fell into a reverie--my object was to again find out this person, and I quietly directed Timothy to ascertain from the post-boys the directions he gave at the last stage. The major perceiving me not inclined to talk, made but few observations; one, however struck me.

"Windermear," said he, "I recollect one day, when I was praising you, said carelessly, 'that you were a fine young man, but a _little tete montee_ upon one point.' I see now it must have been upon this." I made no reply; but it certainly was a strange circ.u.mstance that the major never had any suspicions on this point--yet he certainly never had. We had once or twice talked over my affairs. I had led him to suppose that my father and mother died in my infancy, and that I should have had a large fortune when I came of age; but this had been entirely by indirect replies, not by positive a.s.sertions; the fact was, that the major, who was an adept in all deceit, never had an idea that he could have been deceived by one so young, so prepossessing, and apparently so ingenuous as myself. He had, in fact, deceived himself. His ideas of my fortune arose entirely from my asking him whether he would have refused the name of _j.a.phet_ for ten thousand pounds per annum. Lord Windermear, after having introduced me, did not consider it at all necessary to acquaint the major with my real history, as it was imparted to him in confidence. He allowed matters to take their course, and me to work my own way in the world. Thus do the most cunning overreach themselves, and with their eyes open to any deceit on the part of others, prove quite blind when they deceive themselves.

Timothy could not obtain any intelligence from the people of the inn at the last stage, except that the chariot had proceeded to London. We arrived late at night, and, much exhausted, I was glad to go to bed.

PART TWO, CHAPTER TWO.

IN FOLLOWING MY NOSE, I NARROWLY ESCAPED BEING NOSED BY A BEAK.

And as I lay in my bed, thinking that I was now nearly twenty years old, and had not yet made any discovery, my heart sank within me. My monomania returned with redoubled force, and I resolved to renew my search with vigour. So I told Timothy the next morning, when he came into my room, but from him I received little consolation; he advised me to look out for a good match in a rich wife, and leave time to develop the mystery of my birth; pointing out the little chance I ever had of success.

Town was not full, the season had hardly commenced, and we had few invitations or visits to distract my thoughts from their object. My leg became so painful, that for a week I was on the sofa, Timothy every day going out to ascertain if he could find the person whom we had seen resembling me, and every evening returning without success. I became melancholy and nervous. Carbonnell could not imagine what was the matter with me. At last I was able to walk, and I sallied forth, perambulating, or rather running through street after street, looking into every carriage, so as to occasion surprise to the occupants, who believed me mad; my dress and person were disordered, for I had become indifferent to it, and Timothy himself believed that I was going out of my senses.

At last, after we had been in town about five weeks, I saw the very object of my search, seated in a carriage, of a dark brown colour, arms painted in shades, so as not to be distinguishable but at a near approach; his hat was off, and he sat upright and formally. "That is he!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed I, and away I ran after the carriage. "It is the nose,"

cried I, as I ran down the street, knocking everyone to the right and left. I lost my hat, but fearful of losing sight of the carriage, I hastened on, when I heard a cry of "Stop him, stop him!"--"Stop him,"

cried I, also, referring to the gentleman in black in the carriage.

"That won't do," cried a man, seizing me by the collar; "I know a trick worth two of that."

"Let me go," roared I, struggling; but he only held me the faster. I tussled with the man until my coat and s.h.i.+rt were torn, but in vain; the crowd now a.s.sembled, and I was fast. The fact was, that a pickpocket had been exercising his vocation at the time that I was running past, and from my haste, and loss of my hat, I was supposed to be the criminal. The police took charge of me--I pleaded innocence in vain, and I was dragged before the magistrate at Marlborough Street My appearance, the disorder of my dress, my coat and s.h.i.+rt in ribands, with no hat, were certainly not at all in my favour, when I made my appearance, led in by two Bow Street officers.

"Whom have we here?" inquired the magistrate.

"A pickpocket, sir," replied they.

"Ah! one of the swell mob," replied he. "Are there any witnesses?"

"Yes, sir," replied a young man, coming forward. "I was walking up Bond Street, when I felt a tug at my pocket, and when I turned round, this chap was running away."

"Can you swear to his person?"

There were plenty to swear that I was the person who ran away.

"Now, sir, have you anything to offer in your defence?" said the magistrate.

"Yes, sir," replied I; "I certainly was running down the street; and it may be, for all I know or care, that this person's pocket may have been picked--but I did not pick it. I am a gentleman."

"All your fraternity lay claim to gentility," replied the magistrate; "perhaps you will state why you were running down the street."

"I was running after a carriage, sir, that I might speak to the person inside of it."

"Pray who was the person inside?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Why should you run after a person you do not know?"

"It was because of his _nose_."

"His nose?" replied the magistrate angrily. "Do you think to trifle with me, sir? You shall now follow your own nose to prison. Make out his committal."

"As you please, sir," replied I; "but still I have told you the truth; if you will allow anyone to take a note, I will soon prove my respectability. I ask it in common justice."

"Be it so," replied the magistrate; "let him sit down within the bar till the answer comes."

In less than an hour, my note to Major Carbonnell was answered by his appearance in person, followed by Timothy. Carbonnell walked up to the magistrate, while Timothy asked the officers in an angry tone, what they had been doing to his _master_. This rather startled them, but both they and the magistrate were much surprised when the major a.s.serted that I was his most particular friend, Mr Newland, who possessed ten thousand pounds per annum, and who was as well known in fas.h.i.+onable society as any young man of fortune about town. The magistrate explained what had pa.s.sed, and asked the major if I was not a little deranged; but the major, who perceived what was the cause of my strange behaviour, told him that somebody had insulted me, and that I was very anxious to lay hold of the person who had avoided me, and who must have been in that carriage.

"I am afraid, that after your explanation, Major Carbonnell, I must, as a magistrate, bind over your friend, Mr Newland, to keep the peace."

To this I consented, the major and Timothy being taken as recognisances, and then I was permitted to depart. The major sent for a hackney-coach; and when we were going home he pointed out to me the folly of my conduct, and received my promise to be more careful for the future.

Thus did this affair end, and for a short time I was more careful in my appearance, and not so very anxious to look into carriages; still, however, the idea haunted me, and I was often very melancholy. It was about a month afterwards, that I was sauntering with the major, who now considered me to be insane upon that point, and who would seldom allow me to go out without him, when I again perceived the same carriage, with the gentleman inside as before.

"There he is, major," cried I.

"There is who?" replied he.

"The man so like my father."

"What, in that carriage? that is the Bishop of E--, my good fellow.

What a strange idea you have in your head, Newland; it almost amounts to madness. Do not be staring in that way--come along."