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.
“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.”