Japhet, in Search of a Father | Page 2

demand for water or supplies, ran up the question
to her mast-head, 'Has Japhet found his father yet?'"
_Japhet, in search of a Father_, is here re-printed, with a few
corrections, from the first edition in 3 vols. Saunders & Otley, 1836.
On page 360 a few words, enclosed in square brackets, have been
inserted from the magazine version, as the abbreviated sentence, always
hitherto reproduced from the first edition, is unintelligible.
R.B.J.
* * * * *

Japhet, in Search of a Father

Chapter I

Like most other children, who should be my godfather is decided by
Mammon--So precocious as to make some noise in the world and be
hung a few days after I was born--Cut down in time and produce a
scene of bloodshed--My early propensities fully developed by the
choice of my profession
Those who may be pleased to honour these pages with a perusal, will
not be detained with a long introductory history of my birth, parentage,
and education. The very title implies that, at this period of my memoirs,
I was ignorant of the two first; and it will be necessary for the due
development of my narrative, that I allow them to remain in the same
state of bliss; for in the perusal of a tale, as well as in the pilgrimage of
life, ignorance of the future may truly be considered as the greatest
source of happiness. The little that was known of me at this time I will
however narrate as concisely, and as correctly, as I am able. It was on
the--I really forget the date, and must rise from my chair, look for a key,
open a closet, and then open an iron safe to hunt over a pile of
papers--it will detain you too long--it will be sufficient to say that it
was on a night--but whether the night was dark or moonlit, or rainy or
foggy, or cloudy or fine, or starlight, I really cannot tell; but it is of no
very great consequence. Well, it was on a night about the hour--there
again I'm puzzled, it might have been ten, or eleven, or twelve, or
between any of these hours; nay it might have been past midnight, and
far advancing to the morning, for what I know to the contrary. The
reader must excuse an infant of--there again I am at a nonplus; but we
will assume of some days old--if, when wrapped up in flannel and in a
covered basket, and, moreover, fast asleep at the time, he does not
exactly observe the state of the weather, and the time by the church
clock. I never before was aware of the great importance of dates in
telling a story; but it is now too late to recover these facts, which have
been swept away into oblivion by the broad wing of Time. I must
therefore just tell the little I do know, trusting to the reader's good
nature, and to blanks. It is as follows:--that, at the hour--of the
night--the state of the weather being also--I, an infant of a certain
age--was suspended by somebody or somebodies--at the knocker of the
Foundling Hospital. Having made me fast, the said somebody or
somebodies rang a peal upon the bell which made the old porter start

up in so great a hurry, that, with the back of his hand he hit his better
half a blow on the nose, occasioning a great suffusion of blood from
that organ, and a still greater pouring forth of invectives from the organ
immediately below it.
All this having been effected by the said peal on the bell, the said
somebody or somebodies did incontinently take to their heels, and
disappear long before the old porter could pull his legs through his
nether garments and obey the rude summons. At last the old man
swung open the gate, and the basket swung across his nose; he went in
again for a knife and cut me down, for it was cruel to hang a baby of a
few days old; carried me into the lodge, lighted a candle, and opened
the basket. Thus did I metaphorically first come to light.
When he opened the basket I opened my eyes, and although I did not
observe it, the old woman was standing at the table in very light attire,
sponging her nose over a basin.
"Verily, a pretty babe with black eyes!" exclaimed the old man in a
tremulous voice.
"Black eyes indeed," muttered the old woman. "I shall have two
to-morrow."
"Beautiful black eyes indeed!" continued the old man.
"Terrible black eyes, for sartain," continued the old woman, as she
sponged away.
"Poor thing, it must be cold," murmured the old porter.
"Warrant I catch my death a-cold," muttered the wife.
"But,