Part 6

“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.