of
neatness, cleanliness, and propriety, upon which I could have gazed for
ever. She was, indeed, most beautiful. I felt her beauty, her purity,
and I could have worshipped her as an angel. While I still had my eyes
fixed upon her exquisite features, she closed her book, and rising from
her chair, came to the side of the bed. That she might not be startled
at the idea of my having been watching her, I closed my eyes, and
pretended to slumber. She resumed her seat, and then I changed my
position and spoke, "Is any one there?"

"Yes, friend Newland, what is it that thou requirest?" said she,
advancing. "Wouldst thou see Cophagus or Ephraim? I will summon them."

"O no," replied I; "why should I disturb them from their amusements or
employments? I have slept a long while, and I would like to read a little
I think, if my eyes are not too weak."

"Thou must not read, but I may read unto thee," replied Susannah. "Tell
me, what is it that thou wouldest have me read? I have no vain books;
but surely thou thinkest not of them, after thy escape from death."

"I care not what is read, provided that you read to me," replied I.

"Nay, but thou shouldest care; and be not wroth if I say to thee, that
there is but one book to which thou shouldest now listen. Thou hast been
saved from deadly peril--thou hast been rescued from the jaws of death.
Art thou not thankful? And to whom is gratitude most due, but to thy
heavenly Father, who hath been pleased to spare thee?"

"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.

Chapter LXIII

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 sentiment