Part 3

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

“Oh, monstrous!” exclaimed the ladies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The brebi’s, the petite agneau’s.”

Mrs. Coniac shook her head in non-comprehension.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yes, frequently,” replied Munchausen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. VII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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