“You are right,” replied I; “then
I pray you to read to me from the Bible.”
Susannah made no reply, but resumed her seat, and
selecting those chapters most appropriate to my situation,
read them in a beautiful and impressive tone.
Pride and love at issue—the
latter is victorious—I turn Quaker
and recommence my old
profession.
If the reader will recall my narrative to his recollection,
he must observe, that religion had had hitherto but
little of my thoughts. I had lived the life of
most who live in this world; perhaps not quite so
correct in morals as many people, for my code of morality
was suited to circumstances; as to religion, I had
none. I had lived in the world, and for the world.
I had certainly been well instructed in the tenets
of our faith when I was at the Asylum, but there, as
in most other schools, it is made irksome, as a task,
and is looked upon with almost a feeling of aversion.
No proper religious sentiments are, or can be, inculcated
to a large number of scholars; it is the parent alone
who can instil, by precept and example, that true
sense of religion, which may serve as a guide through
life. I had not read the Bible from the time
that I quitted the Foundling Hospital. It was
new to me, and when I now heard read, by that beautiful
creature, passages equally beautiful, and so applicable
to my situation, weakened with disease, and humbled
in adversity, I was moved, even unto tears.
Susannah closed the book and came to the bedside.
I thanked her: she perceived my emotion, and
when I held out my hand she did not refuse hers.
I kissed it, and it was immediately withdrawn, and
she left the room. Shortly afterwards Ephraim
made his appearance. Cophagus and his wife also
came that evening, but I saw no more of Susannah Temple
until the following day, when I again requested her
to read to me.
I will not detain the reader by an account of my recovery.
In three weeks I was able to leave the room; during
that time, I had become very intimate with the whole
family, and was treated as if I belonged to it.
During my illness I had certainly shown more sense
of religion than I had ever done before, but I do
not mean to say that I was really religious.
I liked to hear the Bible read by Susannah, and I liked
to talk with her upon religious subjects; but had
Susannah been an ugly old woman, I very much doubt
if I should have been so attentive. It was her
extreme beauty—her modesty and fervour,
which so became her, which enchanted me. I felt
the beauty of religion, but it was through an earthly
object; it was beautiful in her. She looked an
angel, and I listened to her precepts as delivered
by one. Still, whatever may be the cause by which
a person’s attention can be directed to so important
a subject, so generally neglected, whether by fear
of death, or by love towards an earthly object, the
advantages are the same; and although very far from
what I ought to have been, I certainly was, through
my admiration of her, a better man.
