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.