Chapter III: Part 3

“_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.

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Transcriber’s note

Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.