to Susannah, I could not perceive that I was farther advanced in her affections than after I had known her two months.  She was always kind and considerate, evidently interested in my welfare, always checking in me anything like levity—­frank and confiding in her opinions—­and charitable to all, as I thought, except to me.  But I made no advance that I could perceive.  The fact was, that I dared not speak to her as I might have done to another who was not so perfect.  And yet she smiled, as I thought, more kindly when I returned than at other times, and never appeared to be tired of my company.  If I did sometimes mention the marriage of another, or attentions paid which would, in all probability, end in marriage, it would create no confusion or blushing on her part, she would talk over that subject as composedly as any other.  I was puzzled, and I had been a year and nine months constantly in her company, and had never dared to tell her that I loved her.  But one day Mr Cophagus brought up the subject when we were alone.  He commenced by stating how happy he had been as a married man, that he had given up all hopes of a family, and that he should like to see Susannah Temple, his sister-in-law, well married, that he might leave his property to her children; and then he put the very pertinent question—­“Japhet—­ verily—­thou hast done well—­good business—­money coming in fast—­settle, Japhet—­marry, have children—­and so on.  Susannah—­nice girl—­good wife—­pop question—­all right—­sly puss—­won’t say no—­um—­what d’ye say?—­and so on.”  I replied that I was very much attached to Susannah, but that I was afraid that the attachment was not mutual, and therefore hesitated to propose.  Cophagus then said that he would make his wife sound his sister, and let me know the result.

This was in the morning just before I was about to walk over to the shop, and I left the house in a state of anxiety and suspense.  When I arrived at the shop, I found Tim there as usual; but the colour in his face was heightened as he said to me, “Read this, Japhet,” and handed to me the “Reading Mercury.”  I read an advertisement as follows:—­

“If Japhet Newland, who was left at the Foundling Asylum, and was afterwards for some time in London, will call at No. 16, Throgmorton Court, Minories, he will hear of something very much to his advantage, and will discover that of which he has been so long in search.  Should this reach his eye, he is requested to write immediately to the above address, with full particulars of his situation.  Should anyone who reads this be able to give any information relative to the said J.N., he will be liberally rewarded.”

I sank down on the chair.  “Merciful Heaven! this can be no mistake—­’he will discover the object of his search.’  Timothy, my dear Timothy, I have at last found out my father.”

“So I should imagine, my dear Japhet,” replied Timothy, “and I trust it will not prove a disappointment.”