Chapter II: Part 2

“_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.