Part 5

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

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

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

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

“Guilty! guilty!” replied I, emphatically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. IX.

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

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

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

“It is, however, a reality,” said I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know Miss Rosa?” asked I.

“Ees, Sir.”

“Have you seen her this morning?”

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

“Can you tell where she is?”

“Noa, Sir.”

“How long ago did you see her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. X.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You certainly have, Sir,” replied I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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