et well--set up shop--and so on."

I was tired with talking so much, and having taken some nourishment,
again fell asleep. When I awoke in the evening, friend Cophagus and his
wife were not in the room; but Susannah Temple, whom I had first seen,
and of whom I had made inquiry of Ephraim, who was Cophagus's servant.
She was sitting close to the light and reading, and long did I continue
to gaze upon her, fearful of interrupting her. She was the most
beautiful specimen of clear and transparent white that I ever had
beheld--her complexion was unrivalled--her eyes were large, but I could
not ascertain their colour, as they were cast down upon her book, and
hid by her long fringed eyelashes--her eyebrows arched and regular, as
if drawn by a pair of compasses, and their soft hair in beautiful
contrast with her snowy forehead--her hair was auburn, but mostly
concealed within her cap--her nose was very straight but not very large,
and her mouth was perfection. She appeared to be between seventeen and
eighteen years old, as far as I could ascertain: her figure was
symmetrically perfect. Dressed as she was in the modest, simple garb
worn by the females of the Society of Friends, she gave an idea 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 anyone 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 tho