Part 4

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.”