*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77028 ***





  UNCLE TWEAZY

  AND HIS

  QUIZZICAL NEIGHBOURS.




Plummer and Brewis, Printers, Love-lane, Eastcheap.




  UNCLE TWEAZY

  AND HIS

  QUIZZICAL NEIGHBOURS:

  _A COMI-SATIRIC NOVEL_.

  [Illustration]

  IN THREE VOLUMES.

  [Illustration]

  BY

  _The Author of the_ “_OBSERVANT PEDESTRIAN_,”
  &c. &c. &c.

  [Illustration]

  “Holds to the world a picture of itself,
  “And raises sly the fair impartial laugh.”

  _Thomson’s Winter._

  [Illustration]

  VOL. II.

  [Illustration]

  _LONDON_:
  PRINTED FOR W. SIMPKIN AND R. MARSHALL,
  STATIONERS’-COURT, LUDGATE-STREET.

  [Illustration]

  1816.




UNCLE TWEAZY




CHAP. I.


The next morning, as soon as we had finished breakfast, my uncle
proposed a visit to the Rectory, to take a peep at the paragon Doctor
Tonic was so lavish in praise of, and to pass our respective judgment
on his perspicuity.

It was a delightful walk to the Rectory, which stood most romantically
at the end of a beautiful shrubbery, shaded by the light foilage of a
double row of limes; the mansion was a low white building, luxuriantly
encircled by honeysuckles and roses, subjoined to a highly cultivated
vine, whose abundant clusters hung in rich purple fringe against the
Gothic windows, whose octagon panes gave it the appearance of some
venerable structure, while the beautiful surrounding prospect of richly
fertilized and diversified wood and water rendered it a little Elysian.

As we approached, we distinctly perceived the sylph-like form of a
female figure, who, with a basket of roses in one hand, was reclining
on the arm of the venerable pastor, exactly bringing to my remembrance
the _entree_ of Sterne and Maria to Moulines.

Dr. Markwell perceiving our approach, politely advanced to open the
gate and welcomed us in.

“Miss Fitzclarence,” said he, introducing the lady, who gracefully
curtsied, but the obtruding shade of a straw hat totally precluded my
curiosity, and compelled me to pass on the other side and offer my
services to carry the basket--but _such roses_ as struck my view _out_
of the basket, might have dazzled the eye of a basilisk; for in the
countenance of the lovely object who stood by my side, I beheld not
only the beautiful girl described by Dr. Tonic, but the chef-d’ouvre of
nature.

My uncle, who had merely stolen a sidelong glance, preceded us into
the house, whither we immediately followed; but never shall I forget
his expressive countenance as Miss Fitzclarence took her seat on an
opposite chair, his eyes were rivetted on her features, and he seemed
lost in astonishment, till roused by Dr. Markwell’s observing what a
charming proficient Miss Fitzclarence was on the harp.

“Rosa, if you please, my dear Sir,” replied the blooming angel; “by
that familiar title I shall feel myself completely at home.”

“Well, then, my charming, my amiable Rosa,” continued the Rector
(charmed with her affability) “will you treat my friends with the
dulcet sonnet you played this morning?”

Rosa caught up her harp, and, like a second Cecilia, all was silent
rapture; but, when her heavenly voice subjoined, my uncle melted into
tears, exclaiming, “I can’t bear it, sweet young lady: in compassion to
an old man’s feelings, pause one moment.”

The beauteous minstrel ceased, and the Rector, unperceived by my uncle,
gave her a significant wink not to continue the song; whilst I, lost
in amazement at my uncle’s conduct, replaced the harp in silence, and
various topics of conversation ensued; yet still his scrutinizing eye
was fixed on Rosa till the moment of our departure, when pressing her
beautiful hand respectfully to his lip, “young lady,” said he, “this
is a liberty I have not assumed these thirty years--accept it as the
sacred incense due _only_ to yourself.”

“Sir, sir,” said I. “am I unpriviledged to follow your example? surely
your gallantry ought not to eclipse mine, and, with Miss Fitzclarence’s
leave, thus I avail myself.”

One fervent kiss I pressed upon that hand, which, in the purest marble,
chisselled by a Tumerelli, never in symmetry was equalled; ask not,
then, gentle reader, when St. Albans left the Rectory, if he was
_victor_--No! he was the _captive_ of love, indissolubly bound in the
chains of Rosa Fitzclarence.

She escorted us to the gate, over which she reclined till we were out
of sight; but how many times my head mechanically turned to catch a
last glimpse, I won’t say.

“Victor!” cried my uncle, “where is your heart? the moment of trial is
arrived: be candid, be noble, where is your heart?”

“Gone!” exclaimed I, “irrecoverably, for ever; I adore Miss
Fitzclarence; and, if there is perfection in woman, ’tis combined in
her, for I never saw her equal.”

My uncle’s eye glanced fire, and he quickly replied, “But I have seen
her _model_, her most _perfect image_, her every _feature_, and her
_voice_--Oh, Victor, ’twas daggers to my soul.”

“As how, dear Sir?” I asked with much impatience.

“You shall know that to-night; at present I must drop a subject I feel
myself incapable to enlarge upon.”

We now strolled home, arm-in-arm. “You have done for me, Sir,” said I,
“completely.”

“And, indeed, Victor, I’ve done for myself,” replied he, as we ascended
the hall steps, when my uncle retired to his study, as was his constant
custom when his mind was ruffled or oppressed, and I threw my listless
form upon the sofa in all the tortures of love, hope, and despair, and
in this commixed rumination I lay, till roused by Geoffry coming in to
lay the cloth.

“Lack-a-daisey, Sir,” cried the garulous old fellow, “have you and
master called at the Rectory this morning? and did you see Miss
Fitzclarence? of all God’s creatures she’s the _beautifulest_. I’ve
seen a many fine girls in my days, but nobody never see nothing like
she I’ll swear; I happened this morning to go up with a drop of cream,
one of their _keows_ being dry, and who should I pop upon but an angel,
as I thought, for I declare I stood _putrified_ and _stagnated_ at her
uncommon beauty: I dare say she’s got a _thousand sweethearts_.”

Had Geoffry stuck the carving knife he was so dexterously handling into
the centre of my heart, I could not have leaped more precipitately from
my recumbent posture.

“Laws, Sir, how you made I jump,” exclaimed he; “I hope you beant
affronted at my boldness in axing you such a question?”

“Not at all, good fellow,” said I, recovering myself from that
lacerating word _sweetheart_.

“But don’t you think her handsome, Sir?” enquired Geoffry.

“Yes, very handsome,” replied I cautiously.

“She _clipses_ all the ladies in the _willage_, however,” said Geoffry,
“and if I was a rich handsome young gentleman, I know I should go mad
after her.”

At this moment my uncle opened the door, and his presence always being
the signal of taciturnity to Geoffry, he withdrew to serve up dinner;
doing which, little passed on either side; and, when the wine was
placed on the table by the side of a plate of beautiful peaches, my
uncle, examining them severally, declared there was not one with the
cheek of a Rosa; he then drew his chair close to mine, and, laying his
hand on my arm, to enforce attention, thus addressed me:--

“Victor, my dear, boy, I am in few words going to explain the mystery
of my conduct this morning at the Rectory, which was to you, of course,
enigmatical; but the moment my eye fixed on Rosa Fitzclarence, I beheld
the _polygraph_ of Cecilia Delmond----”

I started.

“Nay, start not,” continued my uncle, “my assertion is fact; for were
it even possible she was her _own child_, so strong a resemblance could
scarcely exist; I surely, then, need not repeat what sort of woman
she was whom I so fervently adored, for you have already her portrait
subjoined to every quality the human heart was capable of possessing;
we met by accident at an assembly, and one hour’s pleasure rendered us
reciprocally dear to each other. But, alas! the disparity of fortunes
precluded all hopes of our union, till time or circumstances should
ameliorate the rigid temper of her father; for she was an only child,
most duteous and obedient to his stern command; thus situated, our only
resource of correspondence or intercourse rested entirely on the basis
of juvenile duplicity, as occasion presented itself; but both young and
unpractised in the wiles of dissimulation, our bosoms were the mansions
of love, honour, and fidelity.”




CHAP. II.


At this important moment, in popped our perpetual interrupter, Dr.
Tonic.

“Psha, d--n it,” said my uncle, as he opened the door.

“How d’ye do, Sir, have you heard of the female levee at the Rectory
this morning?”

“Not I,” answered my uncle, peevishly, “nor do I want to know any thing
about it.”

“Oh, but I must tell you,” continued the doctor, “Mrs. Tonic, my
daughters, the widow Quiz, Mrs. Prolix, Mrs. Fungus, and Mrs. Deposit,
have all been up in a possee to pay their compliments.”

“And I dare say they passed a great many,” replied my uncle,
snappingly, the thread of his interesting theme having been so
unexpectedly broke.

“Why, Mrs. Tonic, and the girls, and Mrs. Prolix, think her very
handsome.”

“And pray who says otherwise?” interrupted my uncle.

“Why, Mrs. Fungus, and Mrs. Deposit, oppose the pretension.”

“I thought so,” rejoined my uncle; “I wish either of them would tell
_me_ so, that’s all; I’ll bet her little finger against the sense
of the whole parish; and, pray, what may their scandalous audacious
tongues take the liberty of saying.”

“Why, Mrs. Deposit calls her a little milk and water wax doll, who
strums the harp with just taste enough to please the old Rector.”

“S’death,” exclaimed my uncle, “she’s the female Weippart of the age;
her skill and taste are exquisite.”

“Well, I don’t know how it was,” continued the Doctor, “but Mrs. Fungus
could not allow her a single perfection, and declared she was never
more disappointed; she thought her just fit for the celebrated _heroine
of a romance_; a little insipid soul, a wild flower of nature, that
required the hand of _tonish cultivation_ to bring into perfection.”

“And if it flourishes in proportion to the _weeds_ of their own
_notoriety_, sprung from dunghill consequence, it will soon overspread
the village, and you may go back and tell them _I_ say so,” said my
uncle.

“Hey dey,” exclaimed the Doctor, “you’re warm--you’ve seen this little
paragon, then?”

“Yes, Sir, I am warm, and I have seen more than a paragon,” replied my
uncle.

“Why, why, you hav’nt fell in love; sure she ee’nt to be Mrs. Tweazy,
is she?” asked the Doctor, blinking his squiney eye, and bursting into
a laugh.

“What an old fool you must be,” cried my irritated uncle, “to talk such
idle jargon; are you going to carry that pretty idea over the village?
egad you’d better set the cryer to work; do step to Ladies Deposit
and Fungus, and give them the nut to crack, and I’ll take care of the
shell, I warrant me.”

The Doctor now began to draw in his horns, observing, he had merely
repeated what he had heard.

“Then don’t believe it,” continued my uncle, “it’s all lies and envy;
what the d--l, can’t you analyze woman?”

“No,” said the Doctor, “it is not possible in some cases.”

“I’ll bet a guinea, though I’m no physician,” replied my uncle, “that
I analyze both Mrs. Fungus and Mrs. Deposit, from the crowns of their
head to the soles of their feet.”

“You’re a clever man, we all know,” answered the Doctor, “I dare say
you could analyze the brain, now I should only attempt the corporeal
system, according to my own _discretional_ powers.”

“You’ll pardon me, Doctor,” resumed my uncle, “when I say that my
opinion of your _discretion_ does not extend beyond a _dose of
physic_, and a _game at cribbage_.”

“Hey! what,” cried the Doctor, “you’ve a high opinion of my abilities
at that rate, Squire; why, now, my son Bob entertains a very great
opinion of Mrs. Deposit.”

“Like enough,” resumed my uncle, “she may be one of his sort of
favourites; and I’ll be sworn there is not a man in the parish would
contend rivalship with him; God help his fancy: his own little wife’s
worth a hundred such.”

“There are more tempting trees than _one_ in an _orchard_,” said the
Doctor.

“There are,” reiterated my uncle, “and the finest tree in the Rectory
orchard is the _new planted nonpariel_.”

“There you go again,” cried the Doctor; “pray, Mr. Victor, what say
you of the charms of Miss Fitzclarence?”

I replied, “from what little I had seen of the young lady, she appeared
extremely sensible and agreeable; but, in regard to her musical
talents, I considered myself quite sufficient judge of the science to
know that there were few, very few, (if any) private performers, could
excel her abilities.”

“Indeed!” cried the doctor, “egad, if that’s the case, I must make my
girls scrape acquaintance, and try what they can do; my Elizetta is
reckoned a tight hand at the piano, I assure you: there are few girls
in the village _rattle_ the keys like her: she’s got the knack of it;
don’t you think so?”

Disgusted with his odious comparison, I merely observed, “the
instruments were so different, as well as the performance, that I
could not pass my judgment at present.”

“Well, well,” said my uncle, (willing to abolish the subject, lest the
crafty old fox should extract my sentiments, as he did his chemicals)
“now, pray let this parley cease, for as we don’t agree, we’ll adjourn
the subject, because I have some agricultural business demands
attention this morning; and, therefore, my moments are too precious to
waste in nonsense, and I’m sure many of your patients, Doctor, must be
anxiously waiting for your visits, and so for the present you’ll excuse
me.”

“Certainly, certainly,” hemm’d the Doctor, who, having no alternative
but to take his departure, brushed off, half grumpy, leaving my uncle
to laugh in his sleeve at his _agricultural fudge_, by which means
he had completely got rid of the Doctor; and thus again re-seating
ourselves, he continued the sequel of his story.




CHAP. III.


“Three months had flown on airy wing, and neither our interviews, or
correspondence, had been discovered, which, through the medium of a
bosom friend, we had mutually enjoyed; when, one morning, by mere
chance, in conversation with the father of Cecilia, he learnt, that he
meant to take immediately his passage in the first ship that sailed for
----, in Italy, where, having an extensive magazine that required his
inspection, he had apprised his partner of his intention, and also
that he meant to bring over his daughter with him as a companion to
himself, and to improve her for one twelve-months in the language and
musical science of that inimitable country.

“This intelligence, as my friend well knew, was instant annihilation to
our hopes and happiness, to lose her beloved society for so tedious a
period was distraction; and, when I reflected on the probability of an
Italian lover superceding my humble pretension, the world had no longer
any charms for me; this, Victor, I mused to madness, for I, like you,
was _young_, was _gay_, was _happy_; the impregnate cloud of sorrow had
never veiled the sunshine of my heart, and I dreamed but of bliss, nor
knew it was a vision, till I grasped the airy shade that flitted from
my touch.

“I sought Cecilia--we met: her beauteous eyes, suffused in sparkling
tears, proclaimed the fact; mutual we wept: we swore eternal constancy.
Alas! poor idle children of delusion, we little knew how inefficient
were our weak resolves opposed to wealth and power; to have declared my
sentiments to her inexorable father, would have made her a perpetual
exile; again, I suggested assuming the habit of a domestic, sailing
in the same vessel, and obtaining, on my arrival, a capacity in her
father’s household; but there, again, the negative predominated; and,
to be as brief possible in my relation, within ten days from the first
intelligence of the voyage, I saw the vessel recede from shore, which
contained my soul’s best treasure--yes, Victor, I kissed, I blessed
her; and, on my bended knee, invoked the blessings of heaven for her
safety and protection. She promised a regular correspondence by every
post; and, compelled to be satisfied with this mutual alleviation of
our sorrows, involved in all the agonies of love, we parted--_never to
meet again_. I saw her faint upon the deck--I saw her borne in the rude
arms of sailors to the cabin--but I saw no more: a temporary stupor
seized my brain, and I found myself waked from a lethargic dream,
and surrounded by officious strangers, one of whom calling a coach,
conveyed me to my father’s house, where a violent illness ensued, which
lasted many weeks, and caused me to explain to my parents the cause
of my disorder. My mother, all meekness and gentleness, soothed my
perturbed mind with the angelic balm of every comfort she could invent;
but my father ridiculed my boyish folly, laughed me to scorn, and
reprobated my daring presumption in fixing my ideas on an object so
eminently my superior.”

I sighed from the bottom of my soul--my uncle paused--looked stedfastly
in my face to perceive the effect of his narrative--shook his
head--wiped an intruding tear of recollection, and thus continued:

“The lingering day rolled on in solemn sadness, and the only
consolation I possessed, was in the valuable society and endearing
communion of heart, that reciprocally passed between me and my ever
lamented friend Victor Montalbert: ’twas to _him_, my noble boy, I
consecrated _your_ name, and may you ever be like him in benevolence,
friendship, and virtue; for his soul was the mansion of honour, and his
heart the realm of fidelity; but fate snatched him, like every other
blessing, from my embrace; and in his loss I never risked a substitute:
one sincere friend is all a man can ever dare expect; his loss was
another dagger to my soul, but I had yet an embryo grief in store.

“I had received only four faithful and affectionate letters from my
lovely exile, when, lo! the next packet from Italy brought me a letter
from the pen, the direful pen, of her exasperated father, informing me
he had discovered my audacious correspondence with his daughter, by
means of an Italian servant, on whose probity Cecilia had confided, and
dared me ever to address another to his daughter on peril of immediate
punishment to both parties; and concluded by asserting, he had engaged
her hand, not to a _pitiful pennyless puppy_, but a man of honour and
_fortune suitable_ to her own rank in life, which nuptials he should
instantly _enforce_ her _obedience_ to celebrate.

“Distracted by this unexpected stroke of misfortune, I again relapsed
into a paroxysm of despair. No letter arrived from Cecilia, by which I
concluded she was deprived of every resource of future correspondence,
well knowing the austere tyrant she had to deal with.

“Six months elapsed in the torments of cruel suspense, when one
day I met, by chance, the identical captain of the vessel in which
Cecilia left England; of him I enquired intelligence of the Delmond
family--but what words can express my horror and astonishment, when I
learned that my beloved Cecilia had been inhumanly sacrificed by her
barbarian parent, in a compulsatory marriage with an opulent merchant
residing at Florence, whose name was Lausanne. Thus ended my hopes
and happiness; for in vain my friends diverted my mind--in vain their
helpless pity soothed my grief, or roused my energies: all, all, were
dormant; and, though I was lead in the unceasing round of common-place
amusements, though I was introduced to the most accomplished and
lovely women, not one had power to extract a smile, or warm this icy
heart, for I had sworn I had abjured all women; and from that hour my
character and manner grew so misanthropical, that even _time_, that
leveller of good and evil, will ne’er irradicate the poisonous root
that still entwines the fibres of my heart; and so perfectly have I
cherished her image in my remembrance, that every feature of Cecilia
Delmond burst like a beam of sunshine on my soul, when first that
angelic girl, that Rosa Fitzclarence, met my eye. Do you now _wonder_,
Victor, at my agitation? can you pity an old man’s sorrows, and not
indicate feelings that ought perhaps to be extinct, after being a pupil
in the school of experience to the present age.”

He ceased; and, as he reclined back in his chair, I caught his hand.
“My dear, my revered uncle,” exclaimed I, “I never till this moment
knew the virtues of your heart--Why, ah! why have you concealed from
the world those principles which so justly ennoble the human heart;
was love a crime on your part! No, ’twas the voluntary effusions of a
soul replete with virtue, and crowned with honour, that bowed in silent
submission to the decree of fate.--Alas! good sir, while contemplating
your sorrows of the heart, how much may I one day experience of my
own; ah! should my destiny be consonant with your’s, where shall I find
an antidote?”

“Victor,” resumed my uncle, “heaven avert it--why look so serious? why
speak with so much energy, my boy?”

“Oh, sir,” replied I, “I cannot explain; make but Rosa Fitzclarence,
Cecilia Delmond, and search no farther the lacerated heart of St.
Alban: your own feelings must tell you what mine are at this moment,
equally, alas! hopeless as sincere.”

“My uncle started forward on his seat, “_hopeless_,” ejaculated he,“Oh!
heaven forbid; if my most sanguine wishes and endeavours can constitute
your felicity: but crush, I conjure crush, the impetuous flame, nor
let false hope, in cob-web guise, flit her visionary form before your
love-filmed eye to lead you to destruction. Rosa Fitzclarence is an
orphan heiress, in which case she is left in the power of her guardians
till she becomes of age, which I understand a few months will complete;
should the sentiments of those guardians be rigidly enforced, contrary
to the inclination and future happiness of their ward, it’s more than
probable she will adopt the system her own good judgment impels, and
give her hand where love and prudence best direct it, for she has no
stern father to oppose her happiness like her dear hapless polygraph:
but be very cautious how you proceed--you have won my heart by your
candour, and it shall not go unrewarded.”

He wept like an infant; I forced a glass of Madeira through his
trembling lips--nature wanted its revival.

“One word more,” continued he, “do not, I conjure you, drop the
slightest hint of your prepossession to Dr. Tonic; the mischief-making
imp would be a living chronicle of vexation: and, if a _shade_ could
cross your interest, in his _own behalf_, depend upon it you would rue
the result of such communication.”

I promised peculiar attention to his desire. “But, sir,” observed I,
“e’er the subject drops, did you never receive any further intelligence
of the fate, fortune, or family, of Madame Lausanne?”

“I learnt,” replied my uncle, “that she sunk into a state of apathy
almost immediately after her marriage, in which she ever expressed
herself extremely unhappy, and great doubts were entertained of
her life, for several years after, from the delicacy and impaired
state of her constitution, subjoined to the morose behaviour of her
husband, villain as he was; but thank heaven she was relieved from her
persecution five years after her marriage by the death of her hymenial
tyrant, soon after she had given birth to a daughter, a circumstance
wholly unexpected, after so long a series of indisposition acting on a
frame of such delicate texture, and I have been informed she quitted
Florence immediately, retired to the recluse shades of Italy, where she
soon after died a martyr to a broken heart, but whether her _child_ is
yet _living_, I know not.”




CHAP. IV.


Geoffry now entered, informing us Lady Lustre’s butler had just left
a basket of grapes, and a bottle of tokay, of which she requested
my uncle’s opinion next morning, being a present from London lately
received from a connoisseur in that article, who had imported it in its
native bag, considering it a choice present.

“And here, sir,” continued Geoffry, producing a most flourishing
envelope, emblazoned with a seal _three inches sexagon_, “here’s a
large sort of a letter Mrs. Fungus’s boy brought, but I thought you
and Mr. Victor seemed busy in conversation, and so I would not disturb
you to bring it in.”

Geoffry now laid his commissions on the table, and was leaving the
room, when my uncle re-called him to draw the tokay cork, whilst I
sat contemplating the enormous cachet, on which was inscribed, “_for
particulars enquire within_,” a motto much exciting my curiosity, as
I handed it to my uncle, who, pouting his under lip, observed, it
was no bad inscription for a lodging-house window, and supposed it a
pawnbroker’s relic that had escaped redemption.

“Sir,” said I, “are you not playing the severity a little too sharp?”

“Not at all,” replied my uncle, “it may be an instrument hired for the
purpose of consummate notoriety, a sort of _stop_ trinket belonging to
neighbour Deposit’s sanctorum.”

Geoffry had by this time bounced the tokay cork, declaring, “never
nothing smelt so fine, and it sparkled like Miss Fitzclarence’s eyes,
God bless her pretty beads.”

“Heyday!” exclaimed my uncle, “who made you a judge? who asked your
opinion?”

“I have been asked it all over the _willage_,” replied the honest
menial, “and nobody dares contradict me, big or little: I would not
give up my opinion to a king.”

“Do you understand the qualities of that wine?” said my uncle.

Geoffry shook his bald pate, poured out two glasses, and withdrew,
without daring to offer any further comment.

My uncle now broke the seal of Mrs. Fungus’s envelope, which contained,
what appeared to him, a painted and gold emblazoned valentine, so
strongly impregnated with musk, that extending it at arm’s length,
while he pinched his nostrils with the other finger and thumb, he
requested me to peruse the contents, which ran as follows:

“Mrs. Fungus at _home_, at a fete champetre, given next Thursday in
celebration of Miss Fungus’s birth-day to a select party of _masked_
friends.”

“And how many does the foolish women expect to find _unmasked_?”
exclaimed my uncle; “to be sure, when she expresses, “Mrs. Fungus _at
home_,” she is exactly telling us where she _ought_ to be, but is
seldom found; however, we’ll go, Victor--and, availing ourselves of
the proposed disguise, I’ll adopt a magician’s dress, and you may do as
you like.”

To this proposal I readily assented, and we sipped Lady Lustre’s
liquor, the flavour of which we found peculiarly fine.

“It’s like herself: it can’t be better,” said my uncle, “and it’s
as bright and sparkling as Rosa’s pretty beads, as master Geoffry
familiarly styled them just now: it’s well I was not in one of my
crabbish moods, or he’d have said less upon that subject, I assure him.”

“I believe the honest creature would die to serve her,” replied I, “he
thinks her the perfection of nature.”

“And so do I,” rejoined my uncle: “but we’ll quit the subject, and
advert to one less painful.”

We now strolled through the grounds, to enjoy the delightful breezes
of evening, and had just passed through a small private gate which led
into a green lane, when the mill cart of Cloddy Strut came rattling
along the road, drove by a plain masculine woman, of truly vulgar
appearance, supported in character by a birch broom on one side, with a
mop, pail, door-mat, and sundry turnery utensils, subjoined to a leg of
mutton, and a basket of fish, just landed from the London coach.

“Your most hum_ble_, sir,” said the female Jehu, with the gruff voice
of a boatswain, “I suppose you did’nt know me, clodhopping along in
this pretty trim: but I’ve been to market, you see, I don’t mind
trifles, I’m none of your fine London ladies, I’m Joan Blunt, I care
for nobody’s sneers.”

“Very true,” replied my uncle, “you’re the _plain_ domestic miller’s
wife, in every sense of the word, there’s nothing like buckling to
one’s station in life.”

“Aye; Lord, well, I did not always ride in a cart: I’ve been the gayest
of the gay in my time, till my _Cymon_ made a convert of me, somehow,
and metamorphosed me from the fine lady to poor humble _Nell_; well,
it can’t be helped: I’m contented while my _lump_ uses me kindly; the
brats are my greatest plague; I never loved children.”

“Why, then, did you marry?” asked my uncle.

Mrs. Strut attempted to blush, but it was only a sham tinge, the
practice or theory of which she had never practised, nor had she any
incitement in the obscure retreat of a water mill to call that power
into action.

My uncle, who only viewed women of that description in the most odious
light, had passed her with a silent inclination of the head, if her
loquacious tongue had not arrested his footstep, wished her good
evening, and closing the gate, left her to bump along, in full riggle,
with her cottage equipage of mops, brooms, and brushes.

Our walk was delightful; we marked the evening primrose close its
sombre leaf; the rose was weighed with diamond dew-drops--anon we
listened to the high poised sky-lark’s evening carrol; and again,
a secreted nightingale, in a hawthorn hedge, delighted us with the
exquisite melody of her vesper hymn; and, as the refulgent moon stole
through the branches of the elegant acacia, all nature seemed to say,
good night, the pillow of repose is sweet.




CHAP. V.


We now returned to the saloon, partook our evening sandwich, expatiated
on the qualities of Lady Lustre’s tokay, proposed visiting her next
morning, and then retired very early to rest; but, e’er the village
clock told seven, I left my sleepless pillow, and strolled the grounds
for two hours in converse with old Geoffry, who was arranging the
hothouse, and furnished me full exercise and employment, which being
quite novel to me, afforded a pleasant amusement, till my uncle’s
velvet night-cap made its appearance at the hall door, and his jocular
whew! hollo! summoned me to breakfast.

“Recollect we dine at Mrs. Henpeck’s to-day, Victor,” said he, “and
there again we shall meet a fresh squad of comicals, to whom you
have not been in introduced; but we shall find no Lady Lustres, or
Fitzclarences there; yet we shall meet with diversion and good cheer,
to pass the hour.”

“To-morrow, Sir,” said I, “I presume we shall attend church.”

“To be sure we shall; aye, and walk home with Rosa to the Rectory
afterwards,” replied my uncle smilingly.

“Ye Gods!” exclaimed I, leaping from my chair in a rhapsody of thought
most enchanting, “who would not go to church!”

“Not you, I fear, without the stimulus of Rosa’s presence--hey,
Victor,” cried my uncle.

I felt the truth flash my convictive cheek, but I made no reply, and
after our repast was finished, we set off for a gentle saunter through
the village to Lady Lustre’s; here, trotting along, smothered in dust,
we met the Doctor upon his old docked mare, returning from a distant
visit, puffing and foaming like a lime-kiln, enquiring where we took
our mutton, because, if at home, he’d help to play a knife and fork
with us, but my uncle assuring him we were engaged at Mrs. Henpeck’s,
silenced his self-in-vitation.

“Ho! ho!” cried he, “what, you dine at Henpeck’s, do you? very odd!
very odd! they should not have invited _me_ and my _family_--drank tea
there last night--never heard a syllable mentioned--d--d sly--can’t
make it out. Well, I wish you merry--it’s much if I don’t drop in in
the evening.”

“_Like enough_,” replied my uncle, nodding his head, “you can play
Harlequin, and introduce yourself any and every where; you’ve the happy
knack.”

“My profession authorizes me, in a great measure,” replied the Doctor.

“You mean to say, you are a sort of being one must be cautious how
one quarrels with,” answered my uncle, “because it’s as much as one’s
_life’s worth_ to bear enmity with a Doctor--for we all know you are
the necessary village evil.”

“Evil! evil!” muttered the Doctor, “I don’t comprehend you.”

“Well, well, we’ll explain it over a game at cribbage next time we
meet; good morning--I can’t stand broiling in the heat and dust any
longer,” said my uncle, and off we walked till we came in sight of a
small dwelling in the shape of a _baker’s shop_, into which my uncle
mechanically walked, to order some corn; and, as I stood tat-tooing my
cane upon the threshold, I espied the name of Sponge on the door-post;
oh! thought I, as the little bell tingled behind the shop-door to
announce us, as sure as I live this is the identical house my uncle
promised to shew me the master of, and e’er I had formed the idea,
out popped one of the _fat girls_ I had met in the chaise, not a
baker’s daughter as I expected to have seen, but a _half-naked_ girl,
whose _brawny_ limbs protruded through a dress something similar to
a miller’s _bolting-bag_, her hair was twisted and plaited after the
similitude of her father’s _twopenny loaves_ that lay scattered on
the counter, and her _tout-en-ensemble_ gave her the appearance of a
puppit-shew columbine.

She requested I would walk into the parlour while she went in search of
her father, whom, I presumed was, as my uncle observed, most probably
to be found in his _drawing-room_, but we were mistaken; for, at the
instant of our conjecture, in he came from the piggery, where he had
been _butchering_ a porker: a red worsted night-cap adorned his bald
head, while the sleeves of a dirty greasy shirt were tucked up under
his shoulder, exhibiting to the eye of horror, a pair of sinewy arms
covered in smeary gore, and round his waist was tied a flour sack,
drenched in blood, which, with the addition of an old blue pocket
handkerchief, bound round the grizzled chin of a week’s beard, and
a mouth crammed with tobacco, the essence of which _distilled_ from
each _corner_, completed Mister Sponge’s portrait, father to the young
_lady_ aforesaid, who came flying into the room with a clean white
apron, which she insisted her _par_ should tie on, “for he was quite a
fright.”

“What’s the use on’t,” said he.--“The pig beant cut up yet; mayhap
Mister Tweazy may like a joint,” and up he twitched his greasy leather
breeches with a _carpenter’s shrug_.

“Oh, by no means,” replied my uncle, “if I had not seen you in this
dreadful condition, I might have been tempted; but, to tell you the
truth, my appetite is mighty delicate, and I could not touch it now.”

“Eh, you’re mighty nice indeed,” replied the gruffy boor, whose innate
manners never exceeded the _bounds_ of his _piggery_, nor was it
possible ever to rub off the incrustation even with his own _rasp_.

“I thought you had given up pig-killing,” said my uncle, “since you got
your _unexpected fortune_.”

“Nah!” exclaimed he, (smearing a nasal chrystal on the back of his gory
_paw_, for it bore at the best of times very little similitude to a
hand; in fact it was merely a _grasping hook_, with five _claws_ at the
end, moulded into a sort of _clutch_, wherewith to handle the _loaves_
of his own family, and the _fishes_ of others). “Nah,” repeated he, “I
likes the _job_ and the _profit_ too well.”

“I don’t doubt that,” replied my uncle.

“My pigs ain’t like most other people’s,” cried the baker.

“True,” said my uncle, “your’s are _pye-house_ pigs, that’s the reason.”

Master Sponge not understanding the exact inuendo of my uncle,
snappishly replied, “As to their being _pious_ pigs, he did not
understand _that there_ sort of language: it _mought_ be _high church_
manners, but he recollected it was not the first time as Mister Tweazy
had called _his’n presbyterian pigs_, but that made no odds to a
_religious_ man like _hisself_.”

“Aye! aye! _practice_ what you _preach_, Master Sponge, there’s nothing
like _honor_ and _honesty_--we all know your _kind_ of _people talk_
enough about _both_, but I’m for _actions_,” said my uncle, “actions
want no trumpeter whether they are good or bad.”

The angry man of slaughter turned upon his heel, his fat fantastic
daughter tossed up her head, and we marched out of the shop, pursuing
our way to Lady Lustre’s.

“Did you ever see such a disgusting object?” cried my uncle.

“Never in my life,” said I.

“Then what would you think to see _such_ a man _making love_ to a
genteel well-educated woman, with a peel full of ‘_toad’s-in-a-hole_,’
and ‘_veal triangles_,’ smoking hot, balancing over his night-cap in
the consonant trim, (the bloody sack excepted) which we have beheld him
this day, and yet he had _charms_.”

“They must be hidden charms of the mind, or heart, I presume,” replied
I.

“Oh, you must ask his wife that question,” answered my uncle, “or
enquire at the Golden Lion tap, where _old smoakey_, as they call him,
lights the first pipe every evening since he pocketted his wife’s
bundle of _soft rags_, and there he harangues and boasts his _mushroom_
consequence to the diversion of his neighbours; drinks his best
_sarvices_ to the _miller_, who swallows them in a cup of _credulity_,
and after traducing the characters of his _best friends_, who snatched
him from the fangs of poverty, and the horrors of a _jail_, out of
_compassion_ to his _family_, he struts to _meetings_ where, under the
impervious cloak of fell hypocrisy, no dying magpie turns his eyes up
more completely sanctified, as the tip of his _snub_ grinds in close
contact with the sacred white wall, against which he _grunts_ out his
_self-made_ ejaculations.”

“Don’t say another word about him, Sir,” replied I, “the portrait _in
propria personæ_, and its attached explanation, have been sufficient
for me.”

My uncle smiled--I shrugged my shoulders, and we now found ourselves in
view of Lady Lustre’s park gate, which soon after gave us admission to
her presence.

“I have obeyed your ladyship’s injunction,” said my uncle, as he took
his seat, “and am come to tell you there is nothing in the village to
compare with your tokay.”

“I must beg leave to differ,” replied her ladyship, smiling.

“Indeed!” cried my uncle musing on his cane, “then I’m no judge, I
suppose.”

“Yes, yes, you are,” answered her ladyship, “what think you of our
Rectory nonpareil?”

“Ah, hah!” said my uncle, “there I yield the palm of decision.”

“Oh, Mr. Tweazy,” continued Lady Lustre, “what a charming angelic young
creature is that Miss Fitzclarence; oh, how I envy Dr. Markwell such
a treasure as her society; they both called on me last night, and
had you seen her bewitching form, and heard her edifying scientific
language on every subject, you would have been in raptures; for, though
I’m an old woman, I must confess she has made a complete conquest of
my heart: I am no novice in the school of science, but I feel I am
only a mere pupil in the hands of an inimitable tutor; she possesses
the abilities of the sage philosopher, and the juvenile Terpsichore;
in short, she is human perfection, and Dr. Markwell whispers me, her
principles of religion are no less eminent and admirable, and would do
honour to the head and heart of an arch-bishop.”

“I have seen her but once,” said my uncle.

“Then, Sir,” resumed her ladyship, “will you and Mr. St. Alban meet
her here on Monday, to tea, with a small select party?”

“With much pleasure,” answered my uncle, and the topic dropped, to
make way for others, amongst which her ladyship proposed accompanying
us over her grounds, to inspect some improvement lately arranged: and
here we found ourselves in Elysium; the grotto was beautiful, the
music rotunda superbly decorated with busts, bronzes, and stained
glass: the cascade was an enchanting production of art and nature,
that appeared a combination of magic, while various Gothic arches, of
exquisite sculpture, subjoined to Chinese bridges thrown geometrically
across the various canals, heightened the beauties of the surrounding
scenery, and beguiled our footsteps almost beyond the limited hour of
our return to dress for Mrs. Henpeck’s dinner, which was to be set
on table precisely at four o’clock, with the exactitude of the polar
needle, as Mrs. Henpeck never delayed her grace one moment to please
any body--punctuality was her table motto--and her _rule_ was _law_.




CHAP. VI.


At ten minutes, therefore, before the appointed time, my uncle and I
found ourselves ushered into Mrs. Henpeck’s drawing-room, where all was
gaudy and profuse, while the ruddy mistress of the feast introduced
us to her guests already arrived; but to give you her portrait as she
met our view, I must describe her dress, which consisted of a cambric
_bolster-case_ bedizened with lace, into which she had crammed her
uncouth, ill-shaped figure, _a la swab_; her copper-coloured neck was
adorned with an enormous necklace of _barley-sugar_ appearance; and her
trout skin, morphew-wrinkled unprepossessing visage, was encircled by
the straggling ringlets of a black wig, which ever and anon tormented
her gooseberry-coloured crowfooted blinkers.

Mr. Henpeck was as clean scraped up and powdered as lovey could make
him appear: she had plaited his frill and tied his neckcloth as nice
as a new pin, and no doubt deputed his seat behind the door, where he
seemed fixed like one of Punch’s puppets, till the word of command from
his wife twitched the wire of liberty, and set the poor automaton in
motion.

“Mr. Henpeck!” shrieked his lady, “how you sit _glued_ to your chair,
_my love_: why don’t you introduce the company: pray, who so proper as
the master of the house.”

The placid man obeyed the mandate, and thus announced the group: “Mr.
and Mrs. Coniac; Major Pea-Chick; Mr. Munchausen; Mrs. Wau-Wau; Miss
Bleary Wau-Wau; Lady Flam;” he then continued--“Ladies and gentlemen,
this is Mr. Tweazy, this Mr. Victor St. Alban: now, my love, I’ve done
my duty,” and down he sat.

“Lord! Mr. Henpeck,” exclaimed his wife, “you’ll never be _Sir Clement_
the _Second_--but what, in the name of wonder, my dear, have you
resumed your seat for? why don’t you ring the bell for dinner?”

Mr. Henpeck obeyed: but somehow stumbled, and his glossy shoe, of
Fawcett brilliance, coming in contact with the ancle of his clean silk
stocking, left an indelible mark, and highly provoked the lady of the
house.

“My God, Mr. Henpeck, you’re worse than a child: see what a condition
your stocking is in, and you know I always _wash_ them myself--I’m the
most particular _nice_ woman living--you know I am.”

“Well, well, my love, never mind,” said the timid man.

“But I do mind,” rejoined Mrs. Henpeck, “I hate to be put out of temper
when I’ve my friends about me, I love _peace_ and _mildness_;” then
elevating her voice to a pitch of _violence_, “ring the bell again, Mr.
Henpeck: if the servants don’t answer, ring it _down_, and don’t sit
like a statue.”

Again Mr. Henpeck agitated the wire, and the servant appeared.

“Is dinner served?” asked Mrs. Henpeck with visible impatience.

“No, Ma’am,” said the foot-boy, “cook’s had an _accidency_ with the
fish _sarse_, and it’s like to have set the chimbly on fire.”

“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Henpeck, “all my rich lobster sauce wasted--a
nasty careless hussy!” and up she jumped, like an enraged tygress, to
bolt off to the scene of action.

“You can’t get into the kitchen, ma’am,” continued the boy, “it’s all
of a swim of water in trying to put the fire out, and cook’s washing
the soot off the ducks.”

“Gracious heaven! I shall run mad,” cried Mrs. Henpeck, darting out of
the room, without any interruption from her quiet husband, who knew
he did not dare interfere in kitchen fracas, till his wife’s sonorous
squall from the bottom of the stairs roused his obedience in the
following words:

“Mr. Henpeck! Mr. Henpeck! _put on my pattens_, and come down into the
floating kitchen, this moment.”

“Dear me,” said Lady Flam, “I hope the chimney is not on fire: the very
idea makes me tremble.”

“Never fear, madam,” replied Mr. Munchausen, “there’s plenty of us to
put it out; now I entertain no fears of conflagration, for I have very
often a fire in every room in the house at my Staffordshire villa, and
I think we compute _fifteen rooms, en suite, three stories high_--for
it’s a d--d cold place, I do assure you, in the hunting season; why,
would your ladyship believe it, that the poultry and spring chickens in
my hennery, to the tune of about 750 of them, were actually so cramped
with cold, that I was compelled to erect a Buzaglo stove in the centre,
guarded with gold wire work to prevent accident, and have a large
_turkey carpet_ to cover the floor, so that you’ll observe, they could
use exercise over their woollen parterre, or huddle round the fire at
pleasure; and then as to my pigs, no man so particular! Why it cost
me 75 _guineas_ in _chestnuts_ for them last winter, beside a hundred
weight of _Pistachio nuts_! I assure you my expences are not trifling.”

“Bless me,” said Lady Flam, “I’m astonished--I really never heard of
such things as _carpets_ in a _hennery_, and _pigs_ fed on a _Pistachio
nuts_.”

“My dear lady,” resumed Mr. Munchausen, “perhaps you have never visited
Italy?”

“Never,” replied her ladyship.

“Ah! then I don’t wonder at your surprise; because it’s a very common
thing with people of distinction in Italy to give their choice pigs
Pistachio’s,” replied the bombastic narrator; “my sow, for instance,
was a present to me from the emperor of China, for some trivial
services I had rendered myself conspicuous in at his court, and a most
valuable beautiful creature she is--she was one of _five and thirty
at a litter_! and, therefore, as I before said, no man in England
possessing such a sow as myself, I don’t mind what expence I incur to
maintain her.”

“What a shame, Mr. Munchausen,” cried Miss Bleary Wau Wau, (hanging
her head on one shoulder, and leering her non-descript eye in every
direction of vacancy towards the object addressed) “what an extravagant
creature to feed pigs with such delicious rarities--’pon honour, I
don’t believe it.”

“’Pon honor, Miss Bleary,” replied he, turning his eye in the exact
direction of her’s, “you really, my dear young lady, expose your want
of knowledge very much; _I_, who have visited the Continent, and been
in most parts of the known world, must know what I’m talking about; as
well you might deny, that when I was in France, the dog that was made
me a present at the Palais Royale, did’nt have a dish of Ortolans every
day provided for his dinner.”

“Oh, monstrous!” exclaimed the ladies.

“Pray, Sir,” said Major Pea-Chick (with his _white pig-tail_, and his
_scarlet rimmed_ eyes, who wished to play off a little of his witty
artillery), “pray, Sir, where may this famous sow of yours be? I should
like mightily to see her munch the Pistachio’s: I suppose she has a
peculiar method of cracking them--or do you _crack_ for _her_?”

Mr. Munchausen aware of the little military punster’s sarcasm,
replied, “he occasionally employed an _old disabled soldier_ to
crack them.”--This silenced the witticism which no one could parry
more adroitly than Munchausen, the pupil of effrontery, who secretly
determined to retaliate on the Major the first opportunity.

“What colour is your famous sow, Mr. Munchausen?” drawled Mrs. Wau Wau,
through her nose.

“It’s brindle, ma’am,” replied he, “with a short curly white tail,
about the length of _Major Pea-Chick’s queue_.”

“I should rather have expected to hear it was _nine yards long_, like
the Bengal tyger’s that attacked a friend of mine, who positively swore
to the dimension,” cried the Major, bursting into a teh he!

“I presume,” said my uncle, very gravely, “your friend _stretched_ it
to that length in his way home--it was an elastic tail, I imagine.”

“Exactly so,” replied the Major, “for after we had _roasted_ it well,
it shrunk to a common size.”

“Do you keep pigeons, Sir?” resumed Miss Bleary.

“No, ma’am, not always--I occasionally make them _keep me_.”

“What, you make them into pies,” I suppose, snuffled Mrs. Wau-Wau; “we
are very fond of _pigeons_ at _our_ house.”

“So am I, ma’am,” replied Mr. Munchausen, with a very serious face, “I
generally _pot_ all pigeons--its an excellent way, I assure you.”

“You’ve a peculiar receipt, perhaps, for the article,” cried Major
Pea-Chick, “though potted pigeons are no great rarity now, as they
used to be.”

“When you was in the _Turkey-line_, you mean,” replied Munchausen;
“d--me how you cropped and scragged them; I remember it well, though I
was but a lad--aye! aye! you’ve been the sort, Major, you tamed your
pigeons into goldfinches, netted them snug, and then turned over a new
_leaf_.”

“Where, I believe, you’ll find few blots,” interrupted the little
Major, reddening with passion, till his ears looked like the scarlet
wattles of a dunghill cock; at which moment of snip-snap, Mr. Henpeck
re-entered the room, announcing dinner on the table, which quietly
ended the controversy.

Here we found Mrs. Henpeck seated, with a face like scarlet, with
passion and culinary exertions, apologizing to her company for the
carelessness of her cook in destroying the fish sauce, and spoiling the
delicious ducks--add to which, the baker had broke her a fine pigeon
pye, which from its mutilated state could not make its appearance, and
the fruit tarts were scorched to a cinder; “but here does not end my
perplexity,” continued the auditress (who looked the picture of Medusa,
with black snakes hanging over her fiery cheek) “for my beautiful
blamange swan has entirely melted into a mass of cream owing to the
heat of the weather.”

“Never mind, madam, here’s a very good dinner still left to gratify our
appetites,” said Munchausen.

“I think so, too,” cried little Mr. Coniac, leering his _sneaking eyes_
all round the table, and biting his _spite-puckered_ lips, “we’d a pig
of the same sow at _our_ house the other day.”

“No such a thing, Mr. Coniac,” replied his contradicting wife, “you
know nothing of the matter; I beg you’ll never trouble your head with
my domestic concerns for the pleasure of retailing them in company;
I want no mol-codling husband at my heels--I always chose to be
directress of my own house, from the garret to the cellar.”

“No, my dear, no;” replied Mr. Coniac, “not directress of the _cellar_
neither, that is _my_ department, Mrs. Coniac, women have no business
in cellars for fear of ----” and he winked his eye at Mr. Henpeck.

“Aye, for fear of the _rats_,” interrupted Mr. Munchausen, “d--n the
rats--I had one in my cellar the other day as big as a rabbit, gnawed
me a dozen of Madeira corks; but, as luck would have it, never touched
those of a _pipe_ of _port_ I had just bottled and laid down.”

“Aye, well,” continued Mr. Coniac, “I don’t know how it is, but I’d
rather have four-legged rats than two-legged ones; there’s no vermin
in our cellars, but a devilish lot of spirits, that vanish whenever
the door opens; it matters not who turns the key, for when you come to
look, egad they are all off.”

“Lord! Mr. Coniac,” exclaimed his wife, foaming at the mouth with
_anchovy froth_, “your disagreeable conversation is quite brutal and
disgusting.”

“Don’t quarrel with fish-bones in your mouth, Mrs. Coniac,” replied her
aggravating husband, “take a little drop of brandy, my dear, or you’ll
be sick presently.”

“Not I, indeed,” replied Mrs. Coniac, tossing her head in a terrible
rage.

“Aye, do, madam,” cried Mr. Henpeck, “and I’ll pledge you--fish is very
apt to _rise_ in my stomach.”

“Then I’m sure fish is likely to _fall_ in your stomach,” replied
Mrs. Henpeck--“Good God, Mr. Henpeck, touch a drop of brandy if you
dare--what would Dr. Tonic say? hemph, brandy indeed! _I’ll_ take some
with Mrs. Coniac, with _pleasure_; but as to you, it’s out of the
question.”

She then ordered the servant to fill out four _thimbles_ full, one of
which was handed to Lady Flam, another to Mrs. Wau Wau (who always sat
with her mouth _open_ for the ready convenience of any consequences
that might arise from a _surcharge_) a third to Mrs. Coniac, (who never
used such _small_ glasses at _home_), and the remaining one she tossed
off herself.

“What a pretty dance, ‘Drops of Brandy’ is,” said Miss Bleary Wau Wau.

“Yes,” replied the Baron’s great-grandson, _alias_ Mr. Munchausen, “I
have seen many capital _reels_ danced to that _tune_.”

“Ma’r and I are very fond of reels,” continued Miss Bleary.

“Not _brandy reels_, I hope,” whispered Munchausen.

“O you brute! no, to be sure;” answered she, “I mean Scotch reels,
danced with skipping-ropes; you should see my _Ma’r_ skip: Commodore
_Grapple_, Captain _Flash pan_, and Lieutenant _Powder-proof_, all
India folks of our acquaintance, declared she skipped scientifically,
about two or three years ago, when it was such a fashionable
amusement.”

“_Nar, now_, Bleary, _now_! you make a body blush; consider I’m an old
_duman_, you should not talk about such nonsense now,” drawled the lady
mother, grinning like a turnip-ghost upon the head of a mischievous
school-boy’s crab stick, decked in the Eastern presents of Messrs.
Grapple, Flash-pan, and Powder-proof, ornamented by _Indian pigeon_
feathers, highly _perfumed_: while Miss Bleary, a mere composition of
musk and otto, was the quintessence of affectation.

“Pray,” said Mr. Coniac, sneeringly, “who might be the upholsterer that
furnished your Staffordshire villa?”

“Who,” replied Munchausen, “why that stilish dog _George Oakley_ to be
sure, one of the most tasty fellows in England; I left it all to his
management: even the _carpet_ and _curtain_ of the _buttery_ were his
choice; every suite of rooms carries you into a different country, we
have the Chinese, the Grecian, the Parisian, and the Russian costume,
with transparent blinds attached, to correspond, with the scenery of
the various countries; so that I can breakfast in China, dine at Paris,
and drink tea in Russia, every day of my life; and then there’s the
grounds, the successive houses, the forcing tables for my nectarine
and peaches, where you may sit round, and by taking the trouble to
raise the leaf, every person has the pleasure to pluck his own fruit.
I mean to take Mrs. Munchausen, and my family, down, in the course of
a fortnight, with a few select friends; for, to say the truth, I can’t
well go earlier on account of my new landau-barouche, the springs of
which are so infernal stiff, that I have lent it to a friend to give
it a fortnight’s rattle; but, observe you, I don’t lend him my set of
greys--no, no, they are training in high condition--cost me a cool five
hundred, and four more for the barouche--I’m a sad extravagant dog, but
I can’t help it: it’s a _knack_ I was _born_ with.”

“Well,” cried the Major, “I can content myself with my humble marine
cottage.”

“It’s according to the taste you possess, or was bred up in, probably,”
replied Munchausen, “for my part, a _Pleb_ cottage would have nothing
but the horrors for me; I should imagine myself transported to a
Dyot-street attic, where the pigs, poultry, jack-asses, family and Co.
independent of the live-stock they enjoy gratis, all exist in the same
enclosure, graced with a garden of wall-flowers, stuck in a broken
tea-pot to conceal the ventilator of the shattered crockery casement,
and make it look _rural_: or, what think you, by way of a _cooler_
prospect, of a _canal_ in a _red dish_ full of _tittle-bats_.”

The company set up a loud laugh; but Mr. Munchausen did not smile:
it was no laughing matter, in his opinion, for he had _visited such
scenes_, and _coloured_ them to the _life_.

“Talking of fish-ponds,” resumed he, “I have some of the first in
England: I sent down three waggons of Portland stone to dam the
banks with--one I have fitted up in a peculiar style of elegance for
gold-fish, where, by this time, I suppose I have about _five hundred
brace_ under the good management of my steward, who has stocked two
extensive canals with every description of curious and delicious fish,
reserving a certain snug corner for the accommodation of a pair of
turtles during their appropriate residence in this country, according
to the statute of their existence, that they may enjoy their _lives_,
and I their _deaths_, devoting an elegy to their perfection from the
pen of the _jaw-worker’s_ company, some men of _taste_ belonging to
which I should invite for the express purpose.”

“What a funny man you are,” exclaimed Miss Bleary; “is it possible you
can ever be grave, blessed with such a share of spirits as you possess.”

“Indeed,” replied Munchausen, “I should have no objection to become
possessor of a much more _eminent share_ of _spirits_, and make you my
pretty bar-maid, the cordial drops you would retail would revive every
expiring cockle in a poissard’s basket, and then the world would be
justified in calling me a _rum_ fellow, while your situation would be
constituted the _mart_ of _universal comfort_, supported by men and
women of _taste_.”

“But I should not be thought a girl of taste--I thank you kindly, Sir,”
answered Miss Bleary with much resentment, “I’d have you to know, Sir,
my ideas soar to a palanquin.”

“Oh! the sweetest lounge upon earth--don’t mention such an uncomattable
luxury: I’ve been carried in the most superb stile in one the emperor
lent me, covered with musical bells, that played fifty different
successive tunes; the mattrass was eider down, covered with pink
embroidered silk, and the curtains were fringed with gold--and, egad,
the slaves scampered along with me at the rate of ten miles an hour!”

“Delightful,” exclaimed Lady Flam, “how I should like a trip to the
East, to be waited on by slaves, and actually lulled to repose in the
cradle of luxury, if my time was to come over again.”

“Aye, madam,” replied Major Pea-Chick, “but _you_ and _I_ e’ent
_chick-a-biddies_ now.”

“D----n it,” said Munchausen, “you can’t forget _trade_, the old
_Guinea-hen concern_ seems to stick in your stomach; I’ll thank you to
amputate me a limb of that duck--ah, if you could see my _Staffordshire
duckery_, you’d say they exceeded all the ’Change-alley waddlers, for
we hatch them in such abundance, that half an acre which I ordered to
be sowed with onions and sage, is not sufficient to season them with,
so that my cottagers and menials are literally _gorged_ with them.”

“I wish I was your neighbour,” cried Mr. Henpeck, “for ducks are a
terrible price in London.”

“Pray, Mr. Henpeck, hold your tongue; you’ve no business, my dear,
to trouble yourself with market expences; we a’nt going to exact so
much a-head from our friends after dinner, as to explain the various
prizes like an inn-keeper,” said the indignant Mrs. Henpeck, seizing a
beautiful bowl of sallad, which she unmercifully devoured before any
of the company had partaken of it; and after having half bolted it
down, observing it to be an article in much requisition, she actually
re-called the servant, and returned the remaining particles off her
plate into the bowl, _pro bono publico_, which vegetable was not again
demanded at table, for Mr. Munchausen observing the circumstance,
immediately enlarged on the qualities of his spring cucumbers.

“My gardiner,” said he, “cut me _six brace_ of patagonian cucumbers
last _Valentine’s day_.”

“_Natives_ of _Brodinag_, I presume,” replied Major Pea-Chick, “for
I’ll be bound they were the _only_ ones in England at that _period_ of
the season.”

My uncle, who had been a mere eating automaton during the retaliating
snip-snap of Messrs. Munchausen and Pea-Chick, and who well knew the
rhodomontade principles of the former, proposed a general bumper of
Madeira, to wash down the patagonian cucumbers, which caused another
laugh at the expence of the credulous.

“You shall not drink Madeira, Mr. Henpeck, I assure you,” exclaimed
his observant wife, just as he had raised the bewitching glass to his
lips, the contents of which he, with a brisk mechanical chuck, gulped
down, before the sentence of forbearance reached his ears, the lady not
having been quick enough in her commands, which were never delivered in
the mildest terms.

This breach of non-conformity encreased Mrs. Henpeck’s anger. “If
you choose to kill yourself, Mr. Henpeck, I have no fears of getting
a third husband, depend upon it--there _are_ men who would take my
advice, and _value_ it too: so play your own game, and see who’ll
suffer for it in the end.”

“Madam,” cried Mr. Munchausen, “it was only an accidental slip over
the tongue, I declare Mr. Henpeck was making _full charge_, when your
mandate to _halt_ vibrated on his ear, and had he stopped at the
moment, strangulation had made you a widow in the midst of your gala.”

“Aye, you’re a good hand to help a lame dog over a stile, we well
know,” replied Mrs. Henpeck, helping the floating remains of her
vanished blamange swan, which so reminded Lady Flam of a dish of cream,
that she asked Mr. Munchausen if he kept cows?

“O, yes, ma’am,” replied he, “and some extraordinary _bulls_ of my
own breed; I have likewise half a score choice buffalos, about five
and twenty couple of deer, and three score of Merino sheep, all the
children of liberty in my park.”

“Oh, the lovely brebi’s,” exclaimed Lady Flam; then turning to Mrs.
Coniac, “Oh how I doat on the brebi’s.”

“The what?” enquired Mrs. Coniac, to whom Mrs. Flam might as well have
talked Greek or French: “the what, did your ladyship say?”

“The brebi’s, the petite agneau’s.”

Mrs. Coniac shook her head in non-comprehension.

“What, don’t you know what I mean?” resumed her pedantic ladyship.

“No,” said Mrs. Coniac, very ignorantly.

Lady Flam, astonished, drew up her lips to the dimension of a
buttonhole, exclaiming, “impossible!” then dilating them on equal
stretch, and curving her arched eye brows into a frown of incredulity,
“incroya’ble,” continued she, staring Mrs. Coniac from head to foot.

“He! he! he!” sniggered Mr. Coniac, “my wife don’t understand the
_parley-woo’s_--she don’t understand French but when I order soup and
_bully_ of a washing-day. Mrs. Coniac never loved school, though she
was at it the first twenty years of her life, but somehow she could
never learn French.”

“No, not I,” answered Mrs. Coniac (with cheek of scarlet indignation,
who, well knowing the origin of Lady Flam was no other than an
_Abcedarian_ at a London school, from whence she eloped in the
character of _chere amie_ to Lord Flam, who afterwards married her).
“As I was neither bred, or intended for a _teacher_, it was a science
of no consequence where my _livelihood_ was not _dependant_ upon my
abilities.”

Lady Flam, who felt the _retort uncourteous_, instantly replied, “it
was very fortunate where people’s bread was ready buttered to their
appetites, particularly if they were deficient in ability to earn it.”

“Aye, aye,” replied little Coniac, “We’ve plenty of bread well buttered
in my _wife’s family cupboard_: but the _lock’s rusty_ at present, and
the _hinges_ are creaky, so you see we only take a peep through the
keyhole.”

“Yes, yes,” cried the vulgar pleb Major, “we all know you fell with
your nose in a butter-tub when you married.”

“To be sure I did,” replied Mr. Coniac, “but I took care not to
_butter_ my _fingers_ as _some folks_ do.”

The Major coloured from the effect of his private feelings on that
score, but made no reply.

“Egad,” said Munchausen, “I should have no objection to fall with
my nose into a tub of tallow, but the chance is gone by I believe;
I’ve played many harlequin manœuvres in my time, skipped out of the
frying-pan into the fire, leaped from thence on to the grid-iron, and
been soaked in boiling-water, by way of stewing out my troubles, have
been roasted like a red-herring on a fork, and picked to pieces, so
that all the grease I ever possessed, melted away in torrents like a
pound of rush-lights in the dog-days, and now the sweat of my brow
must make up for’t, that’s all I know--I must look sharp after my
Staffordshire tenantry, and save my bacon--yes, yes, they sha’nt gammon
me.”

“Do you play _back gammon_?” asked Lady Flam.

“Oh, yes, frequently,” replied Munchausen.

“He is an adept, madam, I assure you,” said the Major, “and more
particularly in the science of _face gammon_: may be that’s a game you
never heard of, if you are not very intimate with Mr. Munchausen.”

“La! what is _face gammon_?” cried Miss Bleary.

“A very deep game, I assure you,” replied Munchausen; “extremely
difficult to attain, because there are one hundred different ways of
playing it, there being no established rule or prescription, so that
each party plays it according to his own judgment and benefit.”

“Is it played with cards or dice?” enquired Mrs. Coniac, (whose husband
was a dab at _back gammon_ in more senses of the word than one.)

“Madam,” replied Munchausen gravely, “it is played only with _brass_
instruments, such as arrows, lancets, shuttlecocks, &c.; in short, it’s
by no means a lady’s game, tho’ I have seen some attempt it.”

“Well, I can’t comprehend it,” replied Mrs. Coniac.

“I can only say, it’s a pity you should, madam--it ill suits your sex,”
answered Munchausen, laughing in her face.

“Come, come,” cried Mrs. Henpeck, “you gentlemen seem to be at cross
purposes--pray don’t measure swords, while we ladies adjourn to make
your coffee. Mr. Henpeck, my dear, remember your restrictions: help
your friends liberally, but don’t exceed three glasses yourself--now
mind what I say, don’t play the baby in my absence--we shall expect you
in the drawing-room to cards in half an hour;” so saying, the ladies
following in train, withdrew.

Mr. Henpeck assumed his wife’s chair, requesting Mr. Munchausen to
officiate as vice-president: no one better calculated to push the
bottle, fabricate a story, or confound an argument as long as a
Chancery suit; and, suffice it to say, he completely kept the company
in a roar, till Mrs. Henpeck’s patience being quite exhausted, her card
table all arranged, and her coffee cold, rushed into the room like an
unexpected hurricane, insisting Mr. Henpeck was an invalid, and should
drink no longer.

“Mr. Vice,” cried she, “pray oblige me by doing the duties of the
chair, and supplying every gentleman’s glass--but as to my dear Mr.
Henpeck, he shall not take poison before my face--he must and shall
retire with me to the drawing-room,” saying which, she linked her arm
within his, and led the placid soul out of the room in triumph, thereby
setting an example we all felt compelled to follow; and, therefore, as
he had marched off under the flying colours of petticoat government, we
had only to bring up the rear, which we immediately did, each digesting
his own opinion upon the transaction.

Coffee having been cleared away, Mrs. Henpeck arranged us at the
card-table, as follows:

My uncle and Lady Flam, with Mrs. Coniac and Munchausen; Mr. Coniac and
Mrs. Wau-Wau, versus Major Pea-Chick and Mrs. Henpeck. Miss Bleary and
Mr. Henpeck, and myself, were seated at three handed cribbage.




CHAP. VII.


No sooner had the whist group taken their seats than an exclamation
from Mr. Munchausen roused every body’s attention.

“D----n it,” said he, “I’m neatly dished:” searching his pocket nearly
as low as his knees, “changed my small clothes before I came out, and
egad the d----l a sous have I got. Who’ll be so kind to lend me half
a guinea, or five shillings? I’ll give it them again to-morrow. Mr.
Tweazy, Sir, may I beg the favour of you?”

“Sir,” said my uncle, very deliberately, “I have no more in my pocket
than the exigencies of my own game may demand, neither has my nephew,
for we were obliged to have recourse to the housekeeper’s purse for all
the silver we could collect.”

This was a glorious hint to me, which, from my uncle’s manner, I
plainly perceived had some peculiar inuendo inexplicable at the moment,
or I had most readily complied with Mr. Munchausen’s request.

He next applied to Major Pea-Chick, who declared he had only a solitary
seven shilling piece and a five pounder in his pocket.

Well, that wouldn’t do, and Munchausen bit his nails.

“Coniac, my dear fellow, can you assist me?” continued he; but Coniac
too was poor, and must take care of himself, so what was to be done.

“Why give your draft,” said the Major, “it will be _honour_, at the
_pump_.”

“What by washing away his debts of honour, I suppose you mean,” cried
Mr. Coniac.

“True,” replied Munchausen, nothing daunted, “I can give my note.”

“Ah, you’re a _noted_ dog we all know,” said Mr. Henpeck. “Here I’ll
lend you five shillings.”

Mrs. Henpeck looked _unutterable_ things, but for once she did not
reprove, and in the sequel of the game Mr. Munchausen left off half a
crown winner; and, gentleman-like, politely returned Mr. Henpeck’s loan.

Sandwiches and fruit succeeded; and at twelve we took our respective
leaves: Miss Wau-Wau and her mama were escorted home by Major
Pea-Chick: Mrs. Coniac _sailed_ out of the house like a full _furled
man of war_, and her husband leering under his deep slouched beaver,
sneaked after, while Lady Flam, to mortify Mrs. Coniac, offered my
uncle and self seats in her chariot, the acceptance of which she would
take no denial to; which, though extremely averse to the principles
of my uncle, politeness compelled him to comply with, and we actually
drove off before Mrs. Coniac could make the _clogs fit_ at all, while
a carriage stood at the door, to her a convenience at all times most
desirable; and of which she still anticipated the possession when her
old rich aunt resigned it for one of _Jarvis’s patent_ accommodations.

Thus ended our medley visit, and much rejoiced was I to press my
pillow, and dream of meeting Rosa at the sacred fane of piety next
morning.

My uncle’s hour of breakfast on the Sabbath was nine precisely, that
he might have time to dress for church without hurrying himself,
for no man alive was more punctual to religious duties; and as the
church tinkled its triple chime, off we set, followed by Geoffry with
the books, who escorted Mrs. Esther Rebecca Susanna Rangewell, the
house-keeper, on his arm, dressed in rich brocade lutestring, and her
stiff starched book-muslin apron and handkerchief, bedecked with her
master’s old point ruffles--oh, what a swell she cut as she waggled out
of the gate, full dressed, to see old Geoffry’s _village angel_, alias
Miss Fitzclarence, on whose beauty and accomplishments Geoffry had rung
such a peal in Mrs. Esther Rebecca Susanna’s ears, that the antiquated
dame was absolutely half _jealous_ to think he could prefer any body to
herself, after living together, as they had done, in love and harmony
for thirty years. But Geoffry was a man of _taste_, superior to a
_French cook_--and though his knowledge did not extend much beyond the
best peach, or the finest rose in the garden, he had perspicuity to
discern, that neither excelled the _cheek_ of Miss Fitzclarence.

Arrived at the pew-door, we reverently took our seats, amidst the
assembly of the whole village, for curiosity, like a summer sun, had
drawn every snail from its shell, and even Messrs. Fungus and Deposit,
had supported the fatigue of a fag, in the broiling heat, above a mile,
_to see_ this divine creature.

My uncle nudged my elbow, and by the direction of his intelligent eye,
directed mine to the opposite pew, where sat the amiable Mrs. Markwell
and her lovely protegee--a reciprocal bow passed between us--but such a
radiance of sublimity as illuminated the countenance of Rosa, I never
beheld--her devotion was fervent, her eye never wandered; Eloise in
her confessional was not more recluse from the incitement of public
gaze, unconscious that every eye benignant, or malicious, levelled its
scrutiny on her most minute action.

There was no organ--an uncouth rustic sounded the pitch pipe, and
Rosa’s seraph voice caught every ear--’twas melody extatic--’twas
harmony divine--I could have leaped the pew and pressed her to my heart.

Five different times had Mrs. Deposit changed her seat from one corner
to the other, but still a protruding pillar precluded a full view, and
a sidelong glance was the most she could possibly obtain.

The service ended, the congregation (peasantry excepted) drew up in the
church porch to make their reverent obeisances to the Rector, and enjoy
a full stare at Rosa, who stood by his side, whilst my uncle and I
remained silent spectators in the back-ground, to avoid the malevolence
of satirical observers; and thanks to heaven, the worthy rector, aware
of the impertinent curiosity her reported beauty had excited, led her
from the rude gaze of her surrounding complimenters.

The throng dispersing, we followed, unnoticed, to the Rectory, where
the smiles of benignity welcomed us in every countenance.

I took my seat beside Rosa--I gazed in rapture, and my uncle’s eyes
glistened in tears, as he thanked the good Rector for his excellent
sermon, observing, he had never favoured his congregation with it
before.

“Don’t thank me, my dear Sir,” replied Dr. Markwell, “it is Miss
Fitzclarence who selected it from her library, as the composition of
the celebrated Blair-’tis therefore to her taste and judgment your
thanks are due.”

“I then fervently acknowledge the favour and satisfaction I have
received from hearing so excellent a discourse,” replied my uncle,
“though I much fear,” continued he, “it made very little impression on
Mrs. Fungus, or Mrs. Deposit, their curiosity seemed to me to be more
prevalent than their devotion.”

“We received a visit from them very unexpected--and, I must say,
unwished,” answered the Rector, “my sweet Rosa contributed every thing
in her power to entertain them, but their flippant mock consequence was
so evident and disgusting, that necessity compelled me to ask them if
they eat nettles, as I had been told there was a species of them that
_envenomed_ the tongue, but that Miss Fitzclarence had favoured my
family with an antidote superior to my recipe in the Pharmacopia: and
should such an effect ever attack them, she would administer it with
pleasure; they burst into an effected laugh--and when they did us the
_favour_ to take their departure, I believe Rosa did not regret it.”

Rosa nodded assent; but as calumny had never parched her coral lip,
she would not contaminate it now.

“My dear Sir,” said she, “strangers are not prepossessing; and though I
had the happiness to captivate _you_ at first sight (when your extended
arm clasped me to your bosom, and your benignant voice hailed me as
your child); those ladies might consider me in a very different point
of view--young and unpractised as I am in the school of modern life, I
am, I hope, the harmless child of nature.”

“And they are the vile pupils of art,” exclaimed the Rector,
interrupting her, “the corruption of the village--and glad shall I be
when the voluptuous scenes of London recalls their hateful company
from our valley of peace and contentment; and I don’t doubt but Mrs.
Deposit’s Loo club will, in the course of next winter be established
every _Sunday_ evening, where their adoration will be paid at the
shrine of Pam.”

“Sir, sir, you make me tremble,” exclaimed Rosa; “is it possible such
conduct can be countenanced or suffered in a christian country.”

“Alas! my child, too possible--’tis even in some instances become
habitual, though I grieve to acknowledge it even in my closet, that the
infection may never produce the direful contagion in any circle of my
connexion.”

“My father, alas! was too much addicted to its baneful influence, I
have heard say,” sighed the beauteous Rosa, “and caused my beloved and
excellent mother much grief on the occasion, but all her prudential
remonstrances were vain, he played deep, but in general very
successful. Yet, with all his excess of folly he never profaned the
sabbath with that dreadful innovation of its laws, though many other
vices were attached to the unhappy principles he possessed.”

The soft tear of sensibility fell from the eye of Rosa--it flowed from
the spring of nature, and in its fall rested on the string of coral
suspended round her alabaster bosom.

“My sweet Rosa,” observed Dr. Markwell, who had so unknowingly touched
the chord of sympathy in her susceptible heart. “If I have roused a
dormant and unpleasing recollection in your bosom, banish it at the
shrine of my contrition, resume your charming wonted gaiety of heart,
and by way of diverting the subject, will you shew Mr. St. Alban my
prize carnation bed.”

Rosa instantly caught up her parasol, and I followed her, like a
second Adam; for, blessed with her society, that little spot of
ground was paradise, and never shall I forget the combination and
excess of feeling I at that moment experienced, as taking her soft
hand, I pressed it to my lip, and drew it with familiar fond and timid
perturbation through my proffered arm.

Rosa led me to the blooming parterre, and here I soon discovered she
was _mistress_ of _botany_, while I in return would have given worlds
to convince her I was an equal _adept_ in the science of _love_. Her
expatiation, which would have charmed a naturalist, was to me logic,
whilst my head and heart were replete with a subject so different.

I admired the carnations--but I admired the fair narratress of their
beauties much more.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” said I, pointing (I confess with a
roguish intent) to a bed of heart’s-ease, one of which my innocent, my
unsuspecting, companion stooped to gather and present me with.

“Examine minutely the brilliant velvet of that purple leaf, Mr. St.
Alban,” said she, “it’s a simple little flower, but it ranks high in my
estimation.”

“What, then, must it do in mine, charming Rosa, as a present from you?”
replied I.

“Oh, if you really admire them,” resumed the innocent Rosa, unconscious
of my fallacious metaphor, “I’ll have a plot dug up, and send them you
to-morrow morning, with pleasure.”

At this portentous moment, a vagrant rose bush caught the robe of Rosa,
and made her its momentary prisoner.

“You are caught, Miss Fitzclarence,” said I, laughingly, “give me leave
to extricate you, and I’ll punish the offender by divesting it of part
of its beauty;” saying which, I cropped a beautiful rose, and placed it
in her bosom.

This badinage d’amour had, perchance, explained all I wished, if the
appearance of my uncle, and the Rector, had not interfered.

“Come, come, are you taking lessons on botany from your fair tutoress?”
said my uncle, “if so, you may resume your studies at tea-time, as
we shall pass our evening here by Dr. Markwell’s kind invitation--at
present we’ll walk home.”

“Adieu, Miss Fitzclarence,” said I, “we shall meet again e’er sun-set,
and renew our pleasing and instructive theme.”

“Come early,” said the soft voice of Rosa, as she closed the gate
after us: nor was her look less inviting than her words, “come early,
that we may renew our botanical researches e’er the shades of evening
closes the flowers, if my worthy monitor does not deem it an improper
amusement: for sure in _contemplating_ the sublimity of nature, we must
at the same moment _adore_ the Creator of it.”

“What sentiments that lovely girl possesses,” exclaimed my uncle, “she
not only steals my heart, but my very soul--I love her already as a
darling child, and I begin to feel every hour languid that is not
passed in her company.”

“Hold, Sir,” cried I, “don’t make me more enthusiastic than I am. If
you behold her with _admiration_, what must I do?”

“Why, love her most sincerely, no doubt,” said my uncle, “what more
would you do?”

“And what less can any mortal do who beholds her?” replied I, “but what
will Dr. Markwell say?”

“What will your father say, more likely,” answered my uncle.

“Ah, my God,” cried I, “in consulting my own choice, I never thought of
his dissent.”

“But you don’t know he will dissent,” continued my uncle.

“Alas! I fear it--and then again my prescribed fortune, subjoined to
his caprice, makes me shudder at the reflection of my temerity--Rosa,
too, an heiress, rich, beautiful, accomplished: may not her ideas
soar to equal, or superior, possessions? she who might command a
coronet--she, whom eastern idolators might worship, will she prefer and
accept the humble St. Alban! No, no, there’s folly in the thought; I
have no pretension--I feel I have none--nor dare I reveal them to my
father, who would instantly crush my presumptive hopes.”

“He shan’t crush them, by G--d,” said my uncle, vehemently, striking
his stick against a cottage paling with such force, that a little
yelping dog flew furiously to the gate, followed by a pretty little
girl, who endeavoured to pacify the animal.

“Fury! Fury!” cried she, “how dare you bark at his honour,” and she
dropped a low curtsey.

“What’s that you, Cicely?” said my uncle, “how is your mother, and the
twins?”

“Brave and charming, please your honour.”

“And have you been to church?”

“Yes, your honour.”

“And where was the text?”

Cicely repeated it fluently.

“Good girl,” said I, giving her a shilling; the child’s bright eyes
glistened, and she dropped me half a dozen curtseys. My uncle gave her
something for her mother, with which Cicely and Fury re-entered the
cottage.

“Mark the effects of fidelity, civility, and truth, how each attain
their own reward. The fidelity of the dog in retaliating the noise
I made, thereby to preserve the property of which he knew himself
guardian, caused the civil interference of Cicely, who by demonstrating
the truth, in repeating the text, was rewarded by you, and thus,”
continued my uncle, “out of evil cometh good, sure enough.”

We soon after reached home, where Alice opened the hall-door to us,
Geoffry being in the garden gathering our desert.

“Lack-a-daisey! stars alive!” cried she, “Sir, what a heavenly-looking
young lady Miss _Fitzthingembob_ is, surely: I knows no more about the
sermont then if I’d been at Jericho, for I could attend to nothing, God
forgive me--I never was so _onpious_ in my life; but Geoffry says I
have committed no sin, for looking at, and admiring, a godly person is
like unto being in an angel’s company, and that’s no harm.”

“Alice,” cried my uncle, “you’re a woman of discernment: and I can tell
you Miss Fitzclarence is as good as she is handsome; but don’t let the
contemplation of her virtues make you forget your own--therefore, go
and inspect my dinner concerns.”

Alice withdrew.

“The whole village is infected with the mania of admiration: men,
women, and children,” said my uncle, “and as to you and I, I believe we
are incurables.”

“It’s a complaint that will bring few grist to Dr. Tonic’s mill,
though,” replied I.

“I shall banter him, however, upon it, you may depend,” said my uncle.

Dinner was now served up; during which, it was a constant rule of my
uncle’s never to enlarge on _family topics_, politics, or any private
conversation, before _servants_, whom he always styled “telegraphs of
mischief;” our topics, therefore, were confined to common occurrences,
such as the wind and weather.




CHAP. VIII.


As soon as our desert was placed on table, Dr. Tonic, the formidable,
rang at the gate: and, as usual, stalked into the room.

“Fine day! hem--hem--how dy’e do?” and down he sat, wiping his bronze
countenance.

“Its excessive hot,” continued he; “I called to look at your
barometer--mine’s up to ninety-two--how stands yours, eh, squire, eh?”

“It hangs in the corner, I have not consulted it to-day, I have had
better amusement,” replied my uncle; “what think you of our sermon this
morning?”

“Oh, very fair! very fair!--_long enough_, in all conscience.”

“But not _so long_ as your _consience_, Mr. Doctor,” said my uncle, “it
was one of Miss Fitzclarence’s I understand.”

“Hey! what! hem, hem--one of Miss Fitzclarence’s _making_, did you
say?” asked the Doctor, eagerly.

“No,” replied my uncle, in the key F sharp, “I did not say any such
thing: I said it was one of _her sermons_--but it does not follow that
she _composed_ it; why, you’re mad: I only meant to observe, it was one
of her choosing, and a finer or more sublime discourse, to the heart, I
never heard: I won’t pretend to say how you might _feel_ it.”

“Well, I hope he won’t tip us such a long one next Sunday: for I can
assure you my beef was boiled to rags in consequence of it.”

“Then I hope _as_ you fasted you prayed,” said my uncle.

“I did,” replied the doctor, “for the _end_ of the sermon, but it did
not avail.”

“I don’t wonder at that,” said my uncle, “you know the _adage_ without
explanation, I’m sure.”

“How demure our new visitor sat, and how _loud_ she sung,” continued
the doctor; “did you see Mrs. Deposit laughing behind her? for, egad,
she’s kicked the skin off my wife’s shin, she was so diverted with the
little girl’s piety.”

“Poor _idiot_!” exclaimed my uncle taking a pinch of snuff, “unhappy
lunatic!”

“Idiot! lunatic!” repeated Dr. Tonic with astonishment, “who dy’e mean?
what dy’e mean? how dy’e mean?”

“I mean,” answered my uncle fiercely, “that Mrs. Deposit is an _idiot_
to ridicule the pious deportment of the exemplary Miss Fitzclarence;
and a _lunatic_ to expose her impious folly by laughing in a church:
I’ll tell you what, Doctor, if you don’t blister her distemper, I shall
turn physician _extraordinary_, _without fee_, and apply one myself the
first time I see occasion.”

“Hah! hah! hah!” chuckled the Doctor, “will you accept of a pot of my
Spanish flies?”

“No, thank you, I am already provided,” answered my uncle, looking very
grave, “you may have occasion for all your stock to counteract the
epidemic fever that reigns so contagious in the village.”

“Fever! fever! what fever? I’ve heard of none,” cried the Doctor.

“Poh!” cried my uncle, “how you attend to business: if you send your
son Bob to feel Mrs. Deposit and Mrs. Fungus’s pulse, he’ll find
them scorching alive with the _fever_ of _envy_--they’ll be good
customers for your saline mixtures. Then there’s Mrs. Coniac, and Mrs.
Henpeck, they must have _extra draughts_: likewise Mrs. Windfall, Mrs.
Wau-Wau, Lady Flam, Widow Quiz, and Mrs. Dashwell, must all go on the
_yellow_ sick list--aye, and even your daughters, Miss Wau-Wau, and
Miss Macfriz, will be obliged to swallow pills in consequence of the
infection; for, depend upon it, they’ve all caught the distemper--I
give you joy, you’ll have a long job of it, for it’s a devilish
incurable complaint.--Now, as to Lady Lustre, Mrs. Downright, Mrs.
Prolix, Mrs. Markwell, the Rector, myself, Victor, Alice, Rangewell,
Geoffry, and all the villagers, must have a different remedy, for the
whole squad are affected with an extreme opposite attack, stiled a
sort of _love_ fever, no ways prejudicial to the female sex, but very
curable in most males. Now, Doctor, if you can exert your skill by
curing these _yellow fever_ gentry, you’ll establish your celebrity for
ever.”

The Doctor could only laugh, for he had no words to invalidate the
argument.

“I’ll tell you what,” said my uncle, filling the Doctor a bumper of
bucelis, “if Miss Fitzclarence could but innoculate us all with her
virtues, as you vaccinate the parish, what a new and happy set of
beings we should appear--come, drink her health, “Fitzclarence for
ever!”

“Oh, Lord no,” said the Doctor, “Fitzclarence as long as she pleases,
but not _for ever_--consider she’s a d--d fine girl, she must not die
an old maid.”

“Not for the world,” replied my uncle, “though sometimes there’s little
difference between a woman’s _driving monkies_, or leading apes.”

“You’re satirical, Sir--you’re too severe, upon my soul,” cried the
Doctor.

“England’s motto for that, Doctor,” replied my uncle, “I said no
harm--I aimed no arrow, fly as it might; you grow touchy in your old
age, high mettled chicks have quick pulses, they tell me.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, “and old game cocks have _spurs_, I’ll assure
you, that can strike pretty _home_ occasionally; talking of game
cocks, by the bye, puts me in mind of that _old game dorking_ mother
Henpeck--you passed the day there, I heard, yesterday--you was _well
entertained_, no doubt; mice don’t starve in that cupboard, hem!
hem! I’m going up to the Rectory this afternoon, with my daughter
Elizetta, just by way of introduction so as to establish an intimate
footing between her and Miss Fitzclarence, charming clever girl--an
acquaintance worth cultivating--gain something by it, perhaps.”

“Why, you’re sure you can _lose nothing_,” cried my uncle, peevishly,
and much vexed to hear of his intended visit to the Rectory. “I dare
say,” continued he, “Dr. Markwell and the ladies will be out: we were
to have taken tea, and a walk together.”

“What, here! taken tea here?” enquired the Doctor.

“_Here_, or _there_, no matter which,” replied my uncle, “but at all
events it was a reciprocal engagement, which makes me say I think
you’ll not find them at home.”

“Well, we can but go and see,” said the Doctor, nothing dismayed, “if
we don’t find them at home, we shall conclude they are here, and we can
_join_ your walk in the evening, you know.”

“No: I don’t know any such thing,” answered my uncle, “it’s an equal
chance we don’t walk at all; I may not be inclined, perhaps: and they,
I’m sure, will have too much good manners to leave me at home alone.”

“Of course, of course,” rejoined the Doctor, looking very foolish
at not receiving an expected invitation to join the tea party, as he
imagined, and rising precipitately from his chair, “we’ll set off and
try our luck, however,” cried he, “so, good day, gentlemen,” and away
he went.

“Deuce take the man,” exclaimed my uncle, “how he perplexes and
counteracts all my plans: now I won’t go to Markwell’s: I’ll send
Geoffry to say so: all the delightful and edifying converse I
anticipated will be marred by his scandalous babbling larum, and before
breakfast to-morrow the whole village will know what we all _said_,
_did_, and even _thought_, with a correct catalogue of how many pieces
of bread and butter each person eat, and the precise attitude in which
Miss Fitzclarence sipped her tea: therefore, I won’t go, Victor--I
can’t bear it--I shall be out of temper all night.”

“I shall be greatly disappointed, Sir,” said I--“don’t send Geoffry:
let us take a walk up, at all risks.”

“Well! well! have your own way,” replied my uncle, “but as Tonic and
his chit are gone off, full tilt, I shan’t stir this hour to come.”

“Rosa will _expect_ to see us, at all events,” said I in the mildest,
humblest, tone I could assume.

“Most likely,” rejoined my uncle, “and _you_ expect to see Rosa--yes,
yes--I comprehend.”

I now dared not say another word about it, and different topics took
their turn, till the irksome hour had elapsed; and, as I began to
fidget on my chair, and draw my watch, my uncle caught the hint of my
impatience, and calling for his hat and cane, instantly set off for
the Rectory, where we expected to find the Tonics, but to our great
satisfaction Dr. Markwell informed us, they had called and left their
card in the absence of the family; for, as there was no afternoon
service, they had strolled with Rosa to shew her the adjacent prospects
that bounded the village, and make some calls of cottage benevolence,
in the Rector’s usual way; and in one of these visits the Tonics missed
them, and no doubt returned very sullenly home again, keeping an
Argus’s eye on my uncle’s gate, to see the expected tea-visitors, while
we were most happily employed in the romantic seclusion of the Rectory:
my uncle and Dr. Markwell commenting over Macklin’s superb bible, with
which a certain bishop had presented him, and Rosa and I botanizing
till the evening dews compelled us to decline our amusement, and
commence another theme.

As we approached the parlour-window, we distinctly heard the gentlemen
in earnest conversation; and, in order not to interrupt them, we
returned to a little romantic sort of hermitage, on which the
resplendent moon-beams played in full lustre through the acacia boughs,
lightly waving in the evening breeze, as the dulcet nightingale twitted
her sombre lullaby, in cadence broken, or irregularly sinking to repose
within her foilaged nest.

The hour, the scene, the opportunity, was most auspicious; we took a
seat--my arm encircled the waist of Rosa, whose soft blue eyes were
fixed upon the beauteous evening star.

“Behold,” cried she, “yon glorious planet--lovely resplendent gem of
heaven--’tis Venus.”

“Queen of love,” answered I, abruptly, “whose _celestial shadow_ I
_there_ behold, whilst I _here_ clasp the _terrestrial substance_”--and
what effervent rhapsody followed, I shall suppress, and leave to the
reader’s imagination, merely observing, before Rosa Fitzclarence, and
Victor St. Alban, quitted the hermitage, he had sworn eternal love
by the light of the moon, and sacred fidelity, pure as the lustre of
the evening star, the celestial witnesses of his fervent vows scarce
breathed in whisper, e’er the voice of Dr. Markwell broke upon our ear,
and hastening from the seat, the beauteous Rosa, whose trembling hand
rested on my arm, close to her palpitating heart, entered the room,
suffused in blushes, to which I rapturously felt I had given birth, as
the candles beamed full upon her face, where love’s temerity did not
permit him to discern a frown of disapproval.

Dr. Mark well now requested Rosa to favour us with some of the
exquisite airs from the Messiah, which she executed on the piano in
such masterly style, that Handel might have stood entranced with
admiration.

“Rosa makes her piano talk, positively,” said the amiable and charming
Mrs. Markwell.

“Yes, indeed, it speaks to the heart pretty eloquently,” replied my
uncle: “I’ll tell you what, young lady,” continued he, “you have a
great deal to answer for; it is not clear to me, but all the epidemics
in the village will be laid to your charge: you are a very _dangerous_
young lady--you rob us of our hearts”--my uncle paused, leered at me,
and Rosa’s cheek was scarlet with hermitage conviction, as he thus
continued: “Yes, you make us invalidate our understanding, by your
superior knowledge and perfections; you kill all the women with envy,
and you deal daggers among the men;” then, turning jocosely to myself,
and looking earnestly at Dr. Markwell, “guilty, or not guilty, what say
you both? behold the culprit smiling at her crimes.”

“Guilty! guilty!” replied I, emphatically.

“And am I not allowed to make my defence?” asked Rosa, “unconscious as
I am of conviction.”

“Your condemnation is general--your actions speak for themselves,”
cried my uncle, who had fixed himself at her elbow, and was
enthusiastically pressing her hand between his.

“Then I must bow to the decision of my jurors,” continued Rosa, “but
I hope, if I should hereafter be accused of that heinous crime called
vanity, I shall find friends in court to allow every lenity for the
offence, when they reflect on the source from whence it could alone
originate: I have never been used to adulation from my birth, and it’s
a science I cannot inculcate.”

“Pardon me, my child, it’s a baneful weed that does not grow in our
village,” said the Rector, “suffer me, for the first time, to correct
your opinion on that head as erroneous, for I am bold to say, those
friends you now behold are no adulators.”

“No, by heavens,” replied my uncle, “and I trust _time_ and
circumstance will convince Miss Fitzclarence of it.”

“It’s in vain to contend the point,” answered Rosa, extending a lilly
hand to my uncle and the Rector, “thus, thus, accept my grateful thanks
for your good opinion, which I shall hope ever to cherish and deserve
in a still more eminent degree.”

“And won’t you subjoin mine, Miss Fitzclarence?” asked I, extending my
hand.

“Could Mr. St. Alban suppose himself excluded in those sentiments of
gratitude? ah, if he did, he little knew the heart of Rosa.”

At this unguarded moment I seized her hand, I pressed it to my daring
lip, but Rosa gently withdrawing it, awaked my reverie, as did the
reprehension of my uncle, who observed I was a more gallant fellow than
he supposed me to be.

We soon after partook sandwiches, and at the sober hour of ten left
Rosa, and the worthy family, to their private and regular system of
evening prayer.




CHAP. IX.


“You had a fine long chat with Rosa, in the garden,” said my uncle, as
we walked home.

“Yes,” replied I, “such a one as will _never_ be forgotten by me.”

“That’s a mighty emphatical _never_,” repeated my uncle.

“It is, however, a reality,” said I.

“Why, what conversation can have made so deep an impression on your
mind?” continued he.

“The language of the heart, the extacies of the soul, which in the
moment of impulse, I revealed to Rosa.”

“You have?” said my uncle, grasping my arm tighter.

“Yes, Sir, most solemnly, I swear it--and never will I for a moment be
guilty of duplicity to you--by your counsel I will ever abide; and, if
I attain the accomplishment of my hopes, ’tis to you _only_ I shall be
indebted for the earthly bliss I may enjoy.”

“Noble boy,” exclaimed my uncle; “I blame no part of your conduct but
the precipitancy of your explanation.”

“But do you reflect on the torments of suspence, to counterbalance
that precipitancy? do you consider the priority of _rivalship_? do you
think it possible any man can behold Rosa Fitzclarence with a heart of
indifference? and may not that heart be devoted in a moment, whilst I,
through the idle prepossession of diffidence, became its unalterable
victim, and lead a life of despair.”

My uncle uttered one of his deepest groans, but made no reply--and by
this time we reached home.

“Success and happiness attend you, my boy,” said my uncle, as he closed
the door of his apartment, with his eyes suffused in tears. “Don’t be
too sanguine, I’ll make a point of conversing with Dr. Markwell on the
subject, from whom I shall gain much information, as he is the intimate
friend of the guardian who consigned Rosa to his protection, at the
period of whose return from the continent all her concerns will be
settled, and she becomes her own mistress, if with a disengaged heart,
vive l’amour, and Victor St. Alban, if----”

“For heaven’s sake, not another word, that _if_ is dagger sufficient,”
cried I, closing my door to press my pillow, and ruminate on hopes
and fears, for certainty of her sentiments I had none; Dr. Markwell’s
interruption had precluded even the most faultering syllable from
escaping her lips--time, and patience, were the only alternatives, and
I was compelled to abide by them.

With sleepless eyes, and feverish anxiety, I left my thorny restless
pillow the moment I heard the domestics arranging the house, and
without knowing why, directed my wandering footsteps to the Rectory,
without reflecting on the impropriety of such an early intrusion--but
rosy-footed love would not be checked in his career, though the path
had been strewn with thorns, and I found myself at the gate before I
knew I was half way there.

I gazed earnestly around: Rosa’s chamber-window was thrown open, but
the closed shutters of the good Rector denoted he was still in the
embraces of Morpheus. My heart beat high--no Rosa made her appearance.
A cow-boy advanced towards the spot--’twas little Peter, the gardner’s
son, who worked for Dr. Markwell: the boy was alternately whistling the
cows along, and munching a handful of cold suet pudding.

“Do you know Miss Rosa?” asked I.

“Ees, Sir.”

“Have you seen her this morning?”

“Ees, Sir,” and he took another mouthful of pudding.

“Can you tell where she is?”

“Noa, Sir.”

“How long ago did you see her?”

“A main good bit,”--and down went another piece of pudding, which Peter
regarded more than my enquiry.

“Tell me,” continued I, taking out all the halfpence I had, and putting
them in his spare hand, “tell me where to find her.”

Peter stuffed the last morsel of pudding into his mouth, eyed the
halfpence, which he pocketted, and half choaking, with a variety of
faces to clear his mouth, and pointing with his smutty finger down the
opposite lane, exclaimed, “yonder be’es leady a-coming.”

Away I flew, and met her in a moment; she had been herberising on the
heath that bounded one extremity of the village, and had collected in a
little willow basket, a variety of wild blossoms, which she smilingly
told me were for her pupil, St. Alban’s edification.

We soon entered into a more interesting conversation, for I persuaded
her to return to the heath, where, unheard and unseen, our intercourse
was sacred, and in this sequestered spot I again renewed the subject of
my thoughts.

Rosa heard me with attention: her ingenuous lip avowed her heart had
no prior prepossession, neither had her guardian any dominion over her
at the moment of her coming of age, but that the high estimation in
which she held Dr. Markwell, from the character represented of him by
her guardian, would never permit her to dispose of her hand without his
approbation, as she beheld him with parental love and reverence.

“Allow me time,” said she, with one of her angelic smiles, “to learn
the virtues of St. Alban, that I may assure myself my heart is no
truant to his precepts, and by that means experience, in various
shapes, will convince him if the _bauble_ he seeks is _worthy_ his
acceptance.”

I was now the happiest of human beings, and when I parted with Rosa, at
the Rectory gate, I learned with rapture we were to meet again at Lady
Lustre’s in the evening, where Rosa extorted a faithful promise I would
not render myself particular, as the embarrassment would cause her much
displeasure, for the observant eye of my uncle, on such occasion, would
expose what she most wished to conceal, “for I know not why,” said she,
“but whenever he looks at me my heart _trembles_, and my _burning_
cheek seems to indicate some _unfathomable reason_.”

“And is it not equally strange,” said I, “that the sight of you always
creates _similar_ sensations in him; but I can in some measure account
for his perturbation, by your _similitude_ to a lady to whom he once
paid his addresses in the early part of life, and whom he loved with
that degree of fervour, that he never suffered any other women to
supplant her: thus, when he gazes on your polygraphic form, wonder no
longer at his starting tear, his heart-felt sigh, for he loves you as
his child.”

“Good heavens,” said Rosa, “how singular; I almost wish you had’nt told
me, I shall now feel doubly embarrassed--good old gentleman, how much I
pity him; his sensibility must be exquisite, and I am the unfortunate
cause of perpetually rousing its dormant tranquillity.”

The village clock struck nine--we bade each other a hasty adieu--and
in a few minutes I reached home, just as my uncle had descended to
breakfast, who, like myself, had passed a sleepless night. Disdaining
an iota of duplicity towards my uncle, I frankly told him where, and
with whom, I had been; the topic of our conversation, the surprise of
Rosa at the explanation of her resemblance; and, in short, all that had
past, soliciting his advice how to proceed towards the attainment of
my hopes, as I felt as much awe in the presence of Dr. Mark well, as
Rosa did in that of my uncle; he, however assured me, I had nothing to
fear, if the worthy Rector was the only impediment: “but I advise you
to write to your father,” continued he, “explain the affair, dutifully
implore his consent to your happiness, and tell him, if liberality has
not power to draw _his_ purse-strings, love and nature have sufficient
influence with your _churlish old misanthropical_ uncle, to induce him
to reward virtue, and constitute happiness, with the contents of _his_,
even to his last shilling; or, though he died a bankrupt, you now know
my sentiments Victor, therefore express your own to your father in what
terms you think proper, and if he disproves your choice, lay the blame
at _my_ door.”

“My gratitude, Sir,” replied I--but my voice faultered, I felt the
momentary sensation of strangulation seize my throat--I burst into
tears like an infant--nor could I have finished the sentence for
worlds, had even the loss of Rosa, at that moment, been the consequence
of my silence.

“Keep your gratitude, my boy, till it is more requisite--it’s always a
current coin in every country, and when you forget to enrich yourself
by its possession, you will be _poor_ indeed; liberally disburse what
you can spare, but reserve a portion for the hour of exigence; retire
after breakfast to my study, and dispatch your letter to London.”

“Not till you have perused its contents, Sir,” replied I.

“That as you please,” answered he, “but here comes Mr. Prolix, on some
tenantry business, I will give him audience while you retire.”

Away I brushed, and never pen glided smoother on such a subject. My
uncle highly approved its effusions, and the portentous letter was
dispatched two hours after in the postman’s bag, much to my joy and
anticipated hope.




CHAP. X.


We had scarce sat half an hour talking over the pleasure we expected
in our afternoon visit, when Dr. Tonic called to inform us his family
had received an invitation from Lady Lustre, to meet Miss Fitzclarence,
assuring us Mr. Earwig, and Mr. Munchausen were to be of the party.

“Humph!” ejaculated my uncle, “I hope Mrs. Deposit won’t be there also.”

“Oh, no, Lady Lustre and her don’t set their horses,” replied the
Doctor.

“I should think not,” said my uncle; “sin and innocence, black and
white, snow and sunshine, are not more opposite.”

“Mrs. Deposit’s a devilish clever woman, though,” continued Dr. Tonic.

“_Devilish_ enough, I’ll allow,” rejoined my uncle; “but if, like Sir
Andrew Analize, you search your dictionary for the explanation of the
word _clever_, you’ll trace no analogy to Mrs. Deposit’s perfections;
but, if you look to the word _craft_, there you have it in full force.”

“Oh! oh!” said the Doctor, “she must not come here for a character, I
find.”

“O, yes, she may,” answered my uncle, “I’d give her a _just_ one at
any time.”

“Well,” continued the Doctor, “I can only say, your nephew ranks
high in her estimation--she talks of nobody else, calls him the
Apollo Belvidere in every company, and makes him the constant theme
of her discourse, and is to my knowledge now filling up her cards of
invitation for a grand route, on purpose to sport your paragonized
nephew.”

“She may spare herself that trouble,” replied my uncle, “my nephew
won’t sport himself in the _Calypsian_ grotto, you may depend upon it.”

“What, not go?” fiercely answered the Doctor, “Oh, fie! fie! you can’t
refuse--consider your nephew is on his preferment.”

“No such thing,” said my uncle, “he’s already _preferred_.”

“What?” resumed the Doctor, sharply, “you don’t presume to tell us,
Mr. Victor bids defiance to the fascinating charms of all our village
belles, and has brought down a heart in chains?”

“Yes, I do,” cried my uncle, “I pronounce it a _captive_; tell the
girls from me, though Victor St. Alban’s form is free, his heart is
fettered, in indissoluble links, which even the all powerful charms of
Miss Fitzclarence can _never break_.”

“Ah! ah! say you so--hem, hem! I have my doubts you’re playing the
rogue with us,” said the Doctor, visibly chagrined; “at that rate
_my_ daughters have no hopes, and I promise he’s no small favourite
of Elizetta’s: I’m afraid we shall have a sad female contest when
this comes to be known; you’ll have much to answer for, squire, by
introducing such a dangerous object.”

“Like enough,” cried my uncle, “if girls will build castles in the
air, and grasp at shadows, they must thank themselves for their
disappointment.”

“Well, but at all events, you will certainly go to Deposit’s gala?”
said the Doctor.

“I _pledge_ you my word I will not,” resumed my uncle, “I’ll _pawn_
my honour, unredeemable, if you catch me there; and as those are
very comprehensive expressions to the lady in question, you may make
the town larum of your tongue, if you like it, and disburse the news
wholesale, retail, or for exportation.”

“Hah! hah! hah!” cried the Doctor, “I can win a high bet at the Three
Pigeons to-night, if I choose to take in the knowing ones: what dy’e
think, now, was the odds at the Dolphin on Saturday night, that your
nephew was in love with Miss Fitzclarence? egad, Sir, I was laid
twenty guineas to five--but dam’me I had my doubts, I little thought
how the game stood.”

“Aye, aye! you’re _gammoned_, sure enough, Doctor--e’ent he,
Victor?--have I not spoke the truth?”

“You certainly have, Sir,” replied I.

“Then I’m dumb: I have not a word to offer; but I suppose I may
_advance_ what I’ve heard, from such undoubted authority?” said the
Doctor.

“O yes, you may _advance_ it on _full speed_ round the village,
we shan’t _retreat_, depend upon it,” replied my uncle; “you may
administer it as you please to the men, and make it into _boluses_ for
the _ladies_.”

“Uncle,” said I, laughing, “why, at that rate, you’ll physic the whole
parish.”

“So much the better for the Doctor, he knows how to dose’em: it’s
an ill wind that blows nobody good, and I’ll bet a hundred, that
in consequence of this unexpected gust, Mrs. Deposit’s weathercock
principles will shift completely opposite, and the Apollo of Belvidere
be transformed, in a twinkling, to a dæmon of abhorrence.”

“Never talk of the devil with a _doctor_ at your elbow,” exclaimed
Tonic, rising from his chair.

“You’re right, Tonic! you’re right!” said my uncle, “I forgot myself at
the moment; I did not intend it as a lancet touch, I assure you, so if
it made an incision, it must have been on your conscience.”

The Doctor forced a hah, hah! and, wishing us good morning, bundled
off with his budget of news.

“Now, where’s your flying colours, Victor?” asked my uncle, “now,
what’s the price of _gudgeons_? who says an old sportsman can’t net
game?”

“And not only _net_, but dexterously _make game_ that nets itself,”
replied I.

“Yes,” said my uncle, “I’m mistaken if my opthalmic invention has not
blinded the whole parish, and annihilated all suspicion from your
attentions to Rosa, which was the baneful village hydra I wanted to
crush, and I think my plan will now repel all the arrows of sarcasm
that were flying against you: so that you’ll neither be plagued by the
women, nor bantered by the men.”

I confessed myself highly indebted to his ingenuity, and the remainder
of the day passed on without any peculiar occurrence, till the
appointed hour of Lady Lustre’s engagement called our most willing
attendance, save the mortifying idea of meeting the Tonic family.

“Be cautious, Victor,” said my uncle, as we entered the park gate, “be
cautious and reserved--remember ’tis the request of Rosa--yonder, I
descry, the Tonic’s watching our approach from the window.”

My heart bounded as we entered the drawing room--but the Rector’s
family were not arrived; Munchausen was playing off his artillery with
Misses Tonic’s and Lady Lustre, who had never been in his company but
once, and was not aware of his rhodomontade: thought him a pleasant,
entertaining, well-read man, and in consequence of her encouraging
politeness, subjoined to his own brazen effrontery, he was now paying
his adulative respects, _self-invited_ by an accidental call of
convalescent enquiry; king of the company, and carbonading the poor
doctor into a stew, one moment while he wound him round his little
finger the next, in the most ludicrous style; and Mr. Earwig was
buzzing in Lady Lustre’s ear an account of the successful progress of
a certain charity, to which most respectable institution he had the
honour to belong, and on which establishment he was setting down her
ladyship’s name as a new member of that laudable society--“charity
covereth a multitude of sins,” exclaimed he, putting his tablet and
pencil into his pocket.

“The mantle of charity ought to be elastic, in my opinion,” said
Munchausen, “for if it was as large as the flag of Victory, that
reached from the Old Bailey to St. Paul’s, as the covering of Lord
Nelson’s virtues, it would not be half big enough to cover _some folk’s
sins_.”

“Probably you mean your own,” said the pedantic man of charity, “shall
I lend you my Dutch wrapper, as an additional covering? he! he! he!”

“No, thank you! thank you! you want it yourself,” replied Munchausen;
“beside, to tell you the truth, I don’t like the _lining_, it’s too
light and _flimsey_, the outside is a _specious sample_, but the
_inside part_ won’t answer my purposes--_seem warm_, and _be warm_, I
don’t admire gauze blankets--it’s also got a _double facing_, and that
I dislike.”

“That is the very reason why I offered it,” answered Mr. Earwig, “I
thought it would suit you exactly.”

At this moment of controversy, Rosa and Mrs. Markwell, on the arm of
the Rector, approached through the elm vista.

Munchausen, rushing to the window, on the intelligence, and applying
his glass to his quizzical eye, exclaimed, “there comes beauty, and
divinity--ye Gods preserve me from corruption! what a charming girl.”

“What a speech from a married man,” observed the Doctor.

“Poh,” replied Munchausen, “it was a public invocation to the gods: if
any married man makes _no worse speech_ in _private_, than I have done
publicly, he need not ask _you_ to blush for him, Doctor.”

By this time Rosa entered the room, and the exercise of walking had
suffused such a roseate blush on her angelic countenance, I never saw
her look so enchanting.

Lady Lustre received her with her usual engaging urbanity, and placed
her by her side on the same sopha. Oh, how I contemplated her lovely
form, reclining its elegant symmetry full on my opposite gaze, one
blooming rose adorned (if possible) her beauteous bosom, whilst another
was pinned into a chip hat that shaded one of the finest faces nature
ever moulded; her robe was the vesture of simplicity, formed of plain
white sarsnet.

“Dam’me,” exclaimed Munchausen, in a whisper to me, “I can’t sit it,
by G--d--I never saw such a d--d fine girl in my life--what a dog-day
picture of contemplation--are you, for God’s sake, transfixed in silent
adoration? or are you an inhabitant of Mont-Blanc, whom nothing but
a salamander could melt into feeling? Zounds, man, the famous Mirza
Abdallah has not such a woman in his Haram; look how the old Doctor
_screws_ his _funny_ eye at her: do also observe the swelling envy of
the daughters, Tonics, _versus_ Hygiæ--hey, my good fellow, did you
ever see such an angel?--I’m sure I, who am in the constant habits
in London of seeing and gallanting thousands at your _ram-cram_ city
balls, never! no, never! saw her equal!”

“She is extremely handsome,” replied I, non-chalantely, “and I dare
say you will presently be as much charmed with her conversation as her
person.”

“Oh! that I was five and twenty,” exclaimed Munchausen.

“Why, then,” replied Mr. Earwig (who had stuck himself by the side
of Rosa, peering close in her face, and offering her his _mocaba
tabatiere_) “you would be just half your age.”

“Is there any occasion to remind a man of his most formidable enemy?
the personal innovation of that hoary monarch, _Mister Time_, are quite
mortifying enough, without talking of _winter_ while the tree is in
_bloom_,” said Munchausen.

“I say, Earwig,” cried the witty Doctor, “Munchausen’s a pretty
_full grown blossom_, methinks; I suppose he’s German cousin to the
_evergreen_ family--hah! hah! hah!”

“No, no, he is the _genuine hereditary_ great-great-great grandson to
the celebrated Baron Munchausen--an absolute descendant, in every sense
of the word, his matchless polygraph in thought, _word_, and deed.”

“Pray, Sir, who might furnish you with my pedigree?” asked Munchausen.

“Yourself, Sir--you explore it to every body.”

Lady Lustre smiled, and so did Rosa, but Munchausen remained silent.

“I had a visit from Mr. Faddle this morning,” observed her ladyship.

“What,” interrupted the Doctor, “did he bring your ladyship a receipt
to make a plumb-pudding?--hem! hem! hem!”

“No, indeed, he did not,” replied Lady Lustre, “he called only with a
polite enquiry after my health--I invited him to join our party, and
meet Miss Fitzclarence, but he’s so wonderfully bashful, he declined.”

“I don’t wonder he’s a _coward_, where there’s such an object of
_danger_,” said Munchausen; “what think you, Mr. Victor?”

“Oh,” rejoined the Doctor, “I won’t allow Mr. Victor any judgment
in the business; Mr. Faddle might feel himself in eminent danger;
Munchausen has a heart to _lose_, but Mr. Victor has ne’er a one to
_lose_ or _find_ in this village--he is no longer the ladies’ Apollo
Belvidere, but their invulnerable Achilles; some London _elegante_ has
purloined the treasure, it seems, and sent us the casket.”

At this speech, Rosa, whose eyes had been fixed on Dr. Tonic, reverted
them on me, with such a glance of enquiry, as I would have given worlds
to explain, as the Doctor thus continued his ill-timed aggravating
discourse.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Victor, we shall be aware how you play the rogue amongst
us--shield your hearts, ladies--beware of the archer--I’m not in
joke--Nunkey will vouch for the truth--won’t you Mr. Tweazy?”

“I never suffer any body to catechise me but the _parson_,” replied my
uncle, “if Dr. Markwell asks me that question to-morrow morning, I
shall reveal the _truth_: but as private concerns should be privately
discussed, we’ll drop the subject, as I’m no pupil of buffoonery,
and I presume my nephew does not mean to obtain a wife by _public_
election--but in case it should be necessary, you’ll give him your
vote, and canvass for him, into the bargain, won’t you, Doctor?”

“It depends upon the object in view,” replied Tonic (leering at Rosa,
whose cheek had actually lost its roseate tint, and appeared much
embarrassed) “if Miss Fitzclarence was the point of contention, I’d
hold up both hands.”

“Oh, Miss Fitzclarence’s charms will canvass for her, without your
assistance,” replied Mr. Earwig; “when she stands candidate, it will
be a hollow election, without bribery or corruption, depend upon it.”

“Oh, don’t turn match-maker, Doctor Tonic, it’s a very unthankful
office,” said Lady Lustre; “I dare say,” continued she, “if Mr. St.
Alban has lost his heart, those who possess it will guard it with great
care and fidelity.”

“Of that your ladyship, I am well convinced,” replied I, fixing my
stedfast eye on that of Rosa, which at the instant meeting, spoke
eloquent for the beauteous blush remantled on her cheek.

“Come, come, gentleman, a truce to what don’t concern the moment;
general love is as nauseating as an emetic, while mutual love belongs
only to the disquisition of two, and is a palatable potion of _syrup of
roses_ mixed with _extract of thorns_,” said Lady Lustre.

“I wish to my soul, parson Faddle was here to pop down that receipt,”
cried Munchausen, “I’ll invent a few _nong-tong-paw_ dishes the next
time I see him; I’ll furnish him with a natty collection, I warrant me,
if he loves receipts: pray, what sort of a sermon does he dish up as
he’s so clever at cooking?”

“Oh, a very digestable one,” replied Dr. Markwell, “but, my dear Sir,
no reflections on the cloth, I can’t allow that, we must call another
topic.”

“We have discussed the two most divine upon earth, viz. Love and
Religion,” answered Munchausen.

“Suppose we drop both, and call another,” said Lady Lustre, “satirical
subjects are always dangerous.”




CHAP. XI.


A walk round the grounds was now proposed, and most readily assented
to by me, who longed to speak to Rosa; but having no hopes of
accomplishing it, evasive of the argus eyes of the Misses Tonics, I
remained in the rear of the pedestrian group, and hastily scribbling
the following lines with my pencil, I determined giving them to her as
the moment of opportunity served: the billet run thus:--“Doubt all
you hear from Tonic relative to St. Alban’s _engaged_ heart--’tis only
Rosa’s, imperviously veiled to mislead the babbler, by the ingenuity
of my uncle; meet me at the Rectory gate, to-morrow morning, at seven,
where I will explain all.” I now mixed with the group, and crossing one
of the Chinese bridges, over which a willow hung in rich profusion, and
occasioned us to pass singly, I slipped it into her hand, and she as
dexterously consigned it to her pocket.

Willing to unfold the secret to her inspection, I turned the
conversation on epigrams, charades, enigmas, &c. observing I was
certain Miss Fitzclarence could favour the company with some, either of
her own production or selection. This roused the mettle of Miss Tonic,
who drew out her pocket-book, and read several.

I touched the elbow of Rosa, requesting her to search her’s.

“As a proof I have no such thing,” replied she, “here’s my repository,
you’re welcome to convince yourself, it retains no secrets.”

“But some scrap of paper, in your pocket, may contain a thing of the
kind?” and I looked so earnestly in her face, that she instantly
comprehended me, and taking the arm of Miss Tonic, I lead her away for
a moment, to facilitate the inspection of Rosa, whose eye glanced over
the contents of the billet in a moment, and she joined us instantly,
enquiring if I had solved the enigma.

“Have you?” said I, “as you stood musing under that tulip tree?”

“O, yes,” replied she smiling, “I think I _have_--but if Miss Tonic
will favour we with another sight of it, I shall be more competent.”

I was now satisfied the telegraph had answered in unison, and all was
right--Rosa gave the proper solution to Miss Tonic, who declared she
was a witch.

Munchausen had by this time arrived at the famous tulip tree, (under
which Rosa had perused my billet), on the curious shaped leaf of
which, he was holding an elaborate argument, observing, that those
leaves he saw in Italy were so _large_, that he always made use of
them for _saddle-cloths_, being a cool and elegant ornament for his
thorough-bred filly; he had also, in very hot weather, caused some
of them to be sown together with _vine tendrils_, to form him a
_counterpane_, which had a very novel effect.

“Novel enough:--hem!--hem!” cried the Doctor.

“It was an _invention_ of _my own_,” resumed Munchausen.

“Nobody doubts it,” said Mr. Earwig, “you’re one of the unaccountables.”

“Oh, hang the fool who has no invention,” replied Munchausen, “I would
not give a farthing for a man who could not hoax a whole parish--aye,
and make them treat him with a rump, and dozen, for his ingenuity
afterwards, without finding it out.”

“That must be no easy task,” observed Dr. Markwell.

“Nothing more easy, begging your reverence’s pardon, than to take in
the _flats_,” answered Munchausen: “it’s nothing, when you’re used to
it, it really becomes natural, and familiar.”

“To constant practitioners it may,” assumed Dr. Markwell, who began
to suspect he had an adept at his elbow, towards whom it would be
nesessary to keep a very reserved conduct, to prevent those glaring
impositions on his understanding, which he perceived Munchausen was
practising on the credulity of others.

Munchausen next peeped into the music rotunda, a most spacious
and elegant structure lately finished, and here he spied, Miss
Fitzclarence, on bended knee, in the whimsical attitude of an imploring
statue, to favour the company with a song, with which the dulcet
warbler instantly complied, diffusing universal admiration, and
throwing Munchausen into extatics; he swore by every heathen divinity,
that the Mara, the Billington, the Catalani, were a trio of _ravens_,
compared to her melody; that she lived upon nightingale’s eggs, and
that Apollo only could have been her music-master.

Rosa laughed at his panegyric, and we strolled on to the Gothic arch,
which Munchausen pretending to measure with his cane, pronounced the
one lately erected in his park to be five feet higher, supporting on
its summit a colossal statue, in highly preserved bronze.

“Why, not your own image _executed_ in _brass_?” asked Mr. Earwig.

“Ah, why not, indeed,” said the Doctor.

“Because that would be no novelty--but if either of _you gentlemen_
will sit to my statuary, for a _cast_, the composition may be brass, or
bronze, which ever best suits _your complexions_, I care not which, for
whether it’s Colossus, Dr. Tonic, or a Colossial Earwig--an _object’s_
an OBJECT.”

This speech, uttered with the most sanctified appearance of reality,
caused a hearty laugh between Lady Lustre, Rosa, and Dr. Markwell,
while Dr. Tonic, and Mr. Earwig, completely caught in their own net,
walked silently on towards the cascade.

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the ever-ready Munchausen, “here we are at Tivoli,
sure enough; now, I’ll tell you how I have arranged my Staffordshire
grotto, exact in the Tivolian similitude, observe, because I have added
a transparent painting of Macenæ’s villa, upon a curious construction,
so as pleasingly to delude the senses of the spectator, and make him
imagine himself actually at the extreme of that beautiful perspective
ruin.”

“Who the d--l is to imagine what they never saw?” cried the Doctor, “I
know nothing about _Miss Senna’s_ villa, not I.”

“Then you’ve no conceptive ideas beyond _senna tea_,” said Munchausen,
laughing at the Doctor’s stupidity; “who the d--l is _Miss Senna_, as
you call her, I never heard of her at Tivoli?”

“Nor I, neither,” said Rosa, smiling, “but I have contemplated
with rapture the picturesque scenery of the celebrated ruins and
cascade--indeed I have a sketch I made on the spot, in my portfolio.”

“Now are you satisfied, Doctor,” exclaimed Munchausen.

“Not perfectly,” replied old Tonic; “you learned people are too refined
in your ideas, to be at all times comprehensible.”

“But there _are_ enlightened beings--there are souls of congenial
sentiment--heaven forbid we should all be the offspring of the
Dunderhead family, though it’s an immense numerous one, I allow,” cried
Munchausen.

“Your birth-day’s the _fourth_ of November, I presume,” said Mr. Earwig.

“Thereabouts, I believe,” replied Munchausen, “I know you and I
both came into the world time enough for a Guildhall dinner, on the
_ninth_--you for the _toast_, and I for the _crumbs_.”

Having now strolled over the principal part of the grounds that excited
admiration, we returned to the house, where tea awaited our arrival,
which was succeeded by a merry game at loo, and a whist table, till the
hour of ten, when a genteel and elegant little cold collation completed
our evening’s hospitable entertainment, and treated me with a moonlight
walk home, by the side of Rosa, to whom, in a whisper, I related the
substance of Dr. Tonic’s conversation, by repeating the excellent
expedient my uncle had used, to promote his taciturnity, and quell
suspicion.




CHAP. XII.


It now wanted but three days to Mrs. Fungus’s fete champetre, to which
the Markwell family had received individual cards of invitation; but
as it was a species of amusement dissonant to the principles of Dr.
Markwell, and not agreeable to his wife, it was agreed Rosa should
return an excuse, to elude suspicion, and go _incog_, under the
protection of my uncle and self; but what character to assume was the
puzzle, for either as ballad-singer, or minstrel, she would instantly
be discovered; it was therefore agreed, after much discussion, she and
my uncle should go as “Sterne and Maria,” precisely habited in costume,
whilst I dressed in Alice’s old clothes, determined to enjoy a little
sport as an old gypsey fortune-teller, my uncle having promised to
furnish me with a private tablet of the dresses of each parties I most
wished to torment, which by going half an hour previous to my entrance,
and enclosing the list in a small purse, as a reward for my occult
abilities, would have it amply in his power to accomplish; and further
to carry on the joke, I proposed sending to London for _false noses_,
to wear during supper.

This was a scheme highly approved by my uncle; Rosa and Mrs. Markwell
undertook the superintendance of my habiliment, and her own, while the
Rector furnished my uncle with a bushy white wig, cocked hat, and cane,
which was all the character required, subjoined to a black suit.

On the evening preceding the fete, while Alice and the house-keeper
were patching and gypsyeizing a ragged gown and petticoat, to render
me appropriate, in bounced Dr. Tonic, red hot with village news of
the intended characters he had been able to collect, a piece of
intelligence very acceptable to me.

“So,” cried he, “the whole village is in a bustle; I understand there
won’t be an unmasked face at the supper, except the hostess, and her
daughter; it’s a d--d good plan; we shall have rare fun, my girls are
half mad--Mrs. Tonic goes as a _blind woman_, and my son Bob’s wife is
to lead her as a beggar-girl--Elizetta a _ballad-singer_--Georgiana a
_flower-girl_--Bob, as a noisy _watchman_, for it’s easy enough to cry
the hour.”

“Yes,” replied my uncle, “he can’t have any great task in doing that.”

“Why, you know, squire,” rejoined the Doctor, “we country Puts
don’t understand masquerading like you Londoners; we have therefore
but little inclination to expose our deficiencies on the score of
witticism: for my part, I have not fixed upon any character yet--how do
you mean to go?”

“Perhaps as Dr. Slop,” answered my uncle.

“Egad!” exclaimed Tonic, “that character will exactly suit me--I’ll
go home and study it directly--it’s the very thing--but have you
heard of Lady Lustre’s intention? she means to go as _Charity_, with
Dame Margery’s three little brats, on a plan of beneficence; she’s
a wonderful strange woman; then, again, let me consider; I can tell
you half the characters in the parish; Major Pea-Chick goes as a
_sultan_; Mrs. Deposit, a _sultana_; Lady Flam, a _virgin of the sun_;
Mrs. Macfriz, a _chair-woman_; Mr. Windfall, a _sweep_; Mr. Prolix,
the _devil on two sticks_; his wife, a _quaker_; Mr. Deposit, an _old
clothes man_; Mr. Faddle, a _tiddy-dol_, with hot plumb-pudding; widow
Quiz, a _cabbage-woman_; Mr. Undermine, a mole-skin dress; and, his son
Simon, a _Patagonian_ goose; Mr. Consequence, a _common-councilman_;
Mrs. Coniac, a _bar-maid_; Mr. Coniac, _Jerry Sneak_; Mrs. Downright,
a _landlady_; Mr. Strut, two faces under one hat, and his coat turned
wrongside outwards; Mr. Downright, an _old woman_; Mrs. Wau-Wau, a
_house-maid_, with mop and pail; Miss Bleary, a _lady doll-snip_;
Mrs. Henpeck, in male attire, as a _slave driver_ with her husband in
chains; Mrs. Dashwell, as _nobody_; Mr. Dashwell, as a _dust-man_.”

“Are you correct in your information?” asked my uncle.

“O yes, perfectly,” answered the Doctor; “there are various other
characters which I don’t immediately recollect--but of these I am
positive: but for the soul of me I can’t find out Munchausen, though I
hear he has sent to London for some particular habit; he’ll be the life
of the cause--but how shall you go, hey, Mr. Victor? every body’s dying
to know your character.”

“Then, tell them I go an _Achilles_ in complete armour.”

“But where did you get it from?” asked the credulous Doctor.

“A friend has furnished me.”

“The Markwells are not to be there, I understand,” resumed old Tonic;
“every body thought Miss Fitzclarence would at least have represented
Venus--by the bye, it’s a bit of a hoax upon us, for she was fully
expected--it’s a devilish disappointment to Mrs. Fungus--I wonder
what’s the reason--some say she did’nt choose to _hide_ her pretty
face, others assert she was not _competent_ to support a character.”

“And I’ll bet a wager both suggestions are erroneous,” cried my uncle,
“particularly the latter.”

“You are partial,” answered the Doctor; “we make no phenomenon of her
in our family, as you do--you absolutely magnify the very atoms of
merit into enormous objects of admiration.”

“And you, by peering at them through the diminishing optics of envy,
imagine them lessened in proportion to your wishes; but, recollect,
Doctor, it is not every body sees with the _black_ eyes you do,”
replied my uncle.

“Poh!” cried Tonic, “I allow her to be a very fine girl, handsome,
accomplished, rich, and so forth: but, like most people, possessed of
those endowments, she knows it, for she carries her head high enough to
my daughters; she’s not familiar enough to please them.”

“Overfamiliarity is truly contemptuous,” said my uncle; “a modest,
elegant, degree of reserve is so much more fascinating, that I don’t
wonder a young lady brought up in the refined style Miss Fitzclarence
has been educated, should not suit your daughters’ ideas; a common
village education, and a continental one in the bosom of science, and
the school of genius, must form pupils of as different a class as St.
Giles’s and St. James’s.”

“I don’t see that,” returned the Doctor, highly piqued--“good day, good
day, Mr. Achilles, we shall look sharp for you to-morrow.”

“Aye, _look sharp_, and _be sharp_, is the order of masquerading, and
Victor won’t be deficient, I’m sure,” said my uncle.

Away went the Doctor; and highly elate at the discovery I had made of
the various characters, we augured much amusement from our intended
quiz, not doubting we should hear a pretty budget of village skits, at
the expense of Rosa and ourselves, which was, in fact, the sole motive
of our attendance, as my uncle most heartily despised Mrs. Fungus’s
principles, which he was now willing to put to the test, as the only
opportunity of obtaining their genuine knowledge.




CHAP. XIII.


Now as it was totally impossible Rosa could dress at the Rectory
without detection, the village not affording a supply of carriages
to accommodate one quarter part, it was agreed Lady Lustre should be
informed of the scheme, and fetch her privately in her carriage from
the Rectory to our house, from whence she would be escorted by my uncle.

At nine o’clock therefore on the following evening Rosa alighted from
the carriage of Lady Lustre, the most perfect “Mouline’s Maria”
possible; for Yorick might have mistaken the original and admitted the
polygraph. Her luxuriant ringlets were confined by a green silk net,
and braided with a wreath of olive, a flageolet was depended across her
shoulder by a pale green ribbon, over a white jacket, and the symmetry
of her elegant shape was displayed by another fastened round her waist,
at the end of which, a little spaniel, she had procured of a cottager,
was made prisoner, and completed the costume; my uncle, though not so
tall or thin as Yorick, looked the respectable representative of that
celebrated character, and Rosa was so completely at home in recital and
circumstance, as actually to have placed Sterne’s handkerchief in her
bosom, wrapped and tied in the vine leaves, “But with which I shall not
part till I find the owner you may depend,” said she smiling, “for
not knowing how I may be attacked I was determined to be armed at all
points.”

I had not yet equipped myself and therefore left her tete-à-tete with
my uncle, whilst the house-keeper slipped on my ragged black petticoat,
old brown stuff gown, and a shabby red cloak, well patched, which, with
a tattered blue pocket handkerchief, tied over the mutilated rim of
a dirty straw hat, completed my metamorphose, at which Rosa actually
started as I entered the room.

“What an Apollo Belvidere,” said she laughing.

“Rather what an _Achilles_,” replied I, placing myself before the
looking glass, by which means I discovered I was incompleat, my arms
being naked; I therefore begged Alice to supply me with the legs of a
pair of black worsted stockings, which made me a pair of gypsey mitts,
and after presenting a few bob curtseys, we jumped into a post chaise,
we had previously ordered, and off we set.

The distance was about a mile, which brought us to the romantic cottage
of Mrs. Fungus (who seated in the drawing room beside her little
daughter Miss Minerva, mama’s darling image), was receiving the company
as they entered, who respectively paid their birth-day compliments to
the fairy queen of the gala, who was enquiring of her Lady mother who
every body was, and receiving the constant negative “I don’t know.”

The room was decorated most fantastically with artificial flowers,
coloured lamps, and a chalked floor, which the scientific skill of
Mama and Miss Minerva had scrawled over in non-descript emblems of
nothing.

The lawn at the back of the cottage was appropriated for dancing, the
music was placed in the shrubbery, and a platform erected for the
“fantastic toe” was shaded by a famous Chinese awning, lined with
rose-colour calico, and decorated with bunches of palm and laurel,
intermixed with a numerous blaze of lamps, many of which encircled the
trees in a stile of magic brilliance, such as Mrs. Fungus had read of
in her favourite novels, and from which she had copied the present
display.

A numerous assemblage was crowding in, which compelled as many to
throng out, for better accommodation on the lawn, but willing to remain
as long as possible in the receiving room, to reconnoitre my game, we
took our seats near the throne of audience, where a general buz was in
circulation to discover who Rosa could possibly be.

We had not stood long (for to sit was impossible), when in sailed
Mrs. Deposit as a sultana, loaded with all the jewels her apprentice
could spare from the fangs of _redemption_, and one of the richest
dresses the _repository_ could furnish, that had not yet come under the
_hammer_. Most unmercifully did she quiz, through an enormous glass set
with brilliants, the form of our Mouline’s Maria.

“I can’t trace who she can be for the soul of me,” cried she, lolling
on the arm of Major Pea-Chick, who, audaciously snatching the
handkerchief from her bosom, told her if she would give it him he’d
_throw_ her a better in exchange.

“That’s impossible,” said Rosa, angrily snatching it from his rude
grasp, “for it’s consecrated with the tear of sensibility, and as it
belongs to a wise man I shall never part with it to a fool.”

“’Pon honour, that’s a dashy little mad speech,” resumed the Major;
then turning on his heel “the girl don’t want wit, we’ll teaze her
again bye and bye,” and off he strutted with his sultana.

Mr. Undermine, in his mole-skin dress, next approached to pay his
respects, followed by his Patagonian goose, who, after making a
reverential bend of his long neck, set up three loud _quacks_, much to
the diversion of the company.

“If that young goose has not _learnt_ how to hiss yet, send him to me
for a few lessons,” said a city alderman, who was regaling himself with
a large _cheesecake_, which he carried in his hand, a bite of which he
offered a _flower_ girl for old acquaintance-sake.

The devil upon two sticks now attacked the virgin of the sun, declaring
he remembered the time when _he_ was her greatest favourite, which so
perplexed her _purity_ that she dashed out of the room without giving
him an answer.

Farmer Strut with his _two faces_ was very busy looking about for his
_old friends_, but nobody knew him from having _turned his coat_, he
had therefore nothing to amuse and comfort him but a feast upon his
_nails_, which he trimmed unmercifully.

“Sweep! sweep! sweep!” bawled Mr. Windfall in the ear of the widow
Quiz, who was wheeling a barrow of cabbages.

“Lard, don’t make such a noise, we all know you are a sweeper,”
exclaimed the cabbage woman.

“And the best trade going,” replied he; “you ought to know that, you
served three _apprenticeships_ to it, though you haven’t _sacked_ the
_soot_ out of the _last old family_ chimney yet.”

“Past twelve o’clock,” yelped Bob Tonic, tossing the cabbages over,
“you’d better _shut shop_ and _go home_ mistress.”

“What and leave such a noisy fellow as you heir to my cabbages? No! no!
I’ll make you a present of one for your little family, but the _young
caterpillars of my own_ must divide the remainder.”

“Any thing to be given away here?” asked old Tonic, in the character of
a fisherman, with a net of gudgeons.

“Yes,” answered Jerry Sneak, “a cabbage as hard hearted as yourself.”

“I suppose if it had been a _sop in the pan_ you’d have seized it,”
replied the doctor.

“Oh I’ll make him a present of one as well as his son, for the trouble
of distributing my remaining stock,” said the cabbage woman; during
which speech Mr. Prolix at her elbow exclaimed, “Don’t forget a few
leaves for me.”

“You need not tell me, lawyers can look as sharp for a cabbage as
a tailor; you’ll take care of yourself no doubt, only mind the
caterpillars don’t blight your share of the pickings,” resumed the
widow, and away she trundled.

“Any old cloaths! cloaths! cloaths!” cried Mr. Deposit, catching hold
of Mr. Undermine’s mole-skin domino, “any _common counshil_ men’s
_cowns_ to _shell_?”

“No,” replied Undermine, surlily, “don’t bother me, I never traffic
with Jews, I like open dealing.”

“Ah, but you _tont teal open_ wit you neighbours, you trick dem in
de dark; _haf_ you _cot_ any quantity of mole’s skins in you _pack
cround_, I’ll puy dem all, I vont some for a pair of _couty shoes_ for
an _owlt frint_ vot can _pay_ you vell.”

“Sirrah, begone!” exclaimed Mr. Simon, who was waddling behind his
_par_ forgetting he was a goose.

“Oh, my cot vat _you_ talk; vel I vos never! no never, hear de like;
how much you ax for your feathers? come, I make a _pargain_ wit you.”

“Hiss him! hiss him!” exclaimed Alderman Cheesecake, en passant.

“Vell! vell! I’ll go tell all my peoplish about de wonderful _coose_
vat I heard talk; I tink now you voud look very stilish wit a sage
nosegay, and a necklace of onions hung round your _neak_.”

“You deserve a d--d good thrashing for making me the sport of the
company,” replied the goose.

Hah! hah! hah! laughed the jew, most immoderately, “_You_ make de sport
not me. Shall I treat you wit a slish of hot plum-pudding? Titly Tol,
where are you, here’s de talking _coose_ in a passion for her supper,”
and off he slipped in search of the walking cupboard.

A huge bear now rushed in, who throwing his paws round Mrs. Deposit’s
neck, moosled her most violently, and caused her to utter a loud shriek
for the assistance of the watchman to take the Bear into custody before
the sitting Alderman, who jocosely replied he was not _sitting_, nor
was he in office. Bob Tonic took aim at the bear with his staff, and
the shaggy animal, in revenge, served Bob’s wife the same trick; which
in fact he practised on every female not excepting Rosa, whom it was
remarked he sniffed at and surveyed with seeming sagacity, and saluted
as politely as any bear could possibly do.

He next seized hold of Mrs. Henpeck’s cat-o-ninetails and rearing
himself on his hind legs gave her a sharp lash over the shoulders and
threw it down; he then seized Lady Dol-snip, encircling her waist with
one paw and escorting her with the other all round the room for a
promenade, to the terror of some and diversion of others; for little
Miss Minerva was so frightened that the bear should touch her, that
her mama had much trouble to convince her it was not a real animal,
and when he approached to pay his quadrupedical respects Mrs. Fungus
assured Mr. Bruin she should feel herself much obliged if he would
lay aside or exchange his dress, as it much annoyed her company, and
she was astonished any _gentleman_ should assume so unprepossessing a
character.

This rebuff in some measure restricted the liberties of the bear, who
paced off to the dancers, where he caused much confusion by chiming in
between every couple and turning every body the wrong way, and in going
hand across with the goose catched him fast by the beak and set the
whole group in a roar of laughter.

He next upset the devil-upon-two sticks; by resuming his quadrupedical
march twitched off Mrs. Coniac’s shoe, by which he discovered a large
hole in her stocking, which he took great pains to display to the
company, by gripping her foot fast in his paw and growling fiercely
over it to cause attention, much to the dismay of the lady; and poor
Tiddy Tol’s plum pudding basket was overturned with as little ceremony,
a slice from which he snatched away and walked off with it in his mouth
towards charity and her three children, to whom he dropped the piece
of pudding as his mite, much to her ladyship’s amusement, for in this
well assumed character Lady Lustre collected near ten pounds for dame
Margery’s twins.

Having now practised innumerable antics, and tormented the people
almost beyond bearing, Bruin was retiring from the busy scene to
re-dress when he accidentally popped upon Major Pea-Chick, the sultan,
to whom giving a cornish brotherly hug till the little man cried for
mercy, he hoisted him dexterously upon his back and returned with
him mounted á la Mamoset, into the drawing room, where at the feet
of the terrified Miss Minerva he shook off his burthen, by tipping
the Major heels over head; he vowed to be revenged on the _audacious
brute_, be who he would; but his ursine majesty could make no reply,
he growled ludicrously and made a precipitate retreat out of the house
into a little back cottage, where he had previously conveyed a change
of dress to avoid detection, and returned to the company e’er he was
well missed, as Captain Allclack, equipped in costume, with an immense
snuff box, the macaba of which he had plentifully impregnated with
Cayenne, this in the quickest succession he presented to every body,
enlarging with rapid volubility on its excellent properties, protesting
“It would rouse their energies, clear their understanding,” &c. &c.
the unwary of this scheme to the tune of nine out of ten, became
instant victims of credulity, and the whole room was in one incessant
sneeze, some stamping with the agony of their noses, others compelled
to unmask to wipe the involuntary tears that flowed from their eyes
and half blinded them, during which tumult Captain Allclack had found
his way into the garden and well plied the musicians, who dropping
their instruments sneezed a complete concerto, while the captain still
dexterously employed in the circulation of his “Tabac Mystique” was
execrating them as a set of _hoaxing rascals_, who did not choose to
play; by which confusion and stoppage of the music, the dance was
totally interrupted for near half an hour.

This stratagem having had the desired effect (particularly on Major
Pea-Chick, who was nearly strangled) Captain Allclack suddenly
disappeared and retiring again to his rustic toilet, equipped himself
in a long flannel dressing gown and cap, and supporting the character
of a pantaloon most ably, he kicked, boxed, hissed, danced, and hoaxed
every body the remainder of the evening.


END OF VOL. II.


Plummer and Brewis, Printers, Love Lane, Little Eastcheap.

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber’s note


Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77028 ***