CHAP. XIII.

“Well, Victor,” cried my uncle, as we entered the parlour, “how stands your heart? You have not left it behind you, I hope, with the “Beautiful Maid.”

“No, on my honour, Sir, it’s perfectly safe,” replied I.

“And if it had been entrapped, I suppose you would not have had candour enough to acknowledge it—hey!”

“Indeed, I would, Sir: I always estimate the truth too highly to disgrace it,” answered I.

“Have a care, my boy, I don’t try the reality of that profession some day, when you least suspect it.”

“I’ll give you leave, Sir,” resumed I; “for, I trust, the person who ensnares my heart, captivates it, or whatever you please to term it, will never disgrace my choice, or your consequence.”

“Time will prove it, Victor! Good night; pleasant dreams. In the morning, we’ll talk over the visit we have made. We are engaged, to-morrow, at Mr. Macfriz’s; where we shall have plenty of subject matter to amuse us: but, you’ll remember, you must not raise your ideas above par; we shall be in the mediocrity squad, and, therefore, suit our manners to our company. You’ll not have Mrs. Calypso Deposit at your elbow, Master Telemachus; old Mentor knows better than to train his pupil in the den of a hyena: we go none to her cottage: you don’t want a microscope to inspect the motives of her crocodilic civility, I’ll be bound.”

“Oh, no! I’d rather view them through a telescope,” said I.

My uncle had now reached his chamber door, and we parted for the night.

The next morning, while we were taking breakfast, another invitation card made its appearance from Mrs. Henpeck, requesting our company to dinner the following day.

“Egad! we shall live cheap,” exclaimed my uncle: “our parties flow in so fast, that our own bread and cheese will grow mouldy. But, I suppose, I must give a grand gala in return; and you can assist in the duties of the table, by anchovyising the apple-dumpling.”

“My dear Sir,” said I, “I feel the heat of one this moment on my cheek; the convictive crimson of which must, I’m sure, be evident proof.”

“Why, you do look cherry-cheeked,” rejoined he.

“There, again, Sir, I feel a retort,” not forgetting the espalier and the pane of glass, thought I.

“A truce, a truce, to old grievances!” cried my uncle. “Before I answer Mrs. Henpeck’s cards, I want your opinion of our companions last night. In the first instance, what think you of Mrs. Deposit?”

“A complete woman of the world, whose husband ought to correct her vices, and improve his own virtues, however slender.”

“You’re right! she’s the weakest of mortals, a composition of vanity and extravagance, and, by aping her superiors, renders herself truly ludicrous and disgusting, which her manners and converse must have evinced. But what say you of Mrs. Fungus?”

“I think her the counterpart of her neighbour Deposit, extremely affected, self-consequential, and a countenance so replete with disdain, as to induce one to devote one’s attention to some more smiling and fascinating object.”

“But do you know the reason of this lately assumed arrogance?” rejoined my uncle.

“Reason can never justify arrogance, Sir.”

“But what reason could not effect, fortune has,” replied my uncle; “for a legacy of two thousand pounds, left her by a distant relative, has so elevated her consequence, that the power of gold acted like electricity: it impaired her eye-sight, whenever she met an old friend in the street (though a hundred times her superior); it caused a defalcation of memory, so great, she forgot her best and real friends, and, in a very short time, she forgot herself completely. She furnished a fashionable city drawing-room; oh! how superior to her former smoky parlour, decked with markettings, a littering cradle containing a squalling baby, a clothes-horse of wet linen, and a basket of ragged stockings, baby’s etceteras, and other family repairs; in which style Mrs. Fungus mucked on, and entertained her friends, en famille; though, were such things now whispered in her ear, it would horrify her gentility. Her husband, as times go, is a phœnix, and never contradicts her extravagant whims; because his deary’s legacy has raised him from obscurity, and made him a common-councilman, strutting, at a Guildhall dinner, by the side of his white and gold wife; while Miss Minerva Fungus, mama’s little image and darling pet, is bringing up, under her intuitive wing, a rival goddess: she reads with the fluency and emphasis of a Siddous, recites theatrical speeches with the grace and action of a Roscius, sings à la Catalani, dances like Angeolini; in short, if you heard Mrs. Fungus’s description of her little daughter’s accomplishments, you have only to add to the panegyric, by informing the world, she owes all her abilities to the instructions of her mama. We shall, no doubt, be invited to her fête; and then you will see how to dash, when your old uncle leaves you a brace of thousands.”

“I hope I shall expend them consistently,” said I.

“If you don’t, it will make no odds to me: I shan’t be alive to witness your folly; you’ll feel its effects, not me, my boy,” said my uncle, as he sipped his cocoa.

We hadn’t cleared the table many minutes, before our regular morning visitor, the Doctor, popp’d in.

“How d’ye do? Have you heard the news? Miss Fitzclarence is arrived at the Rectory. By G—d, she’s the loveliest girl in England, a perfect Venus, beautiful as an angel, meek as a dove, and as rich in mind as in pocket, I don’t doubt.”

“Heyday! heyday!” cried my uncle. “Why, Doctor, you’re an enthusiast. Zounds! I must take care of Victor.”

“Ah! I wish I’d a son with an unengaged heart,” resumed the Doctor; “I’d break every bone in his body, I’d kick the rascal out of doors, if he did not make himself agreeable to such a woman.”

“But that might not be in his power, perhaps,” said my uncle.

“Why, indeed, if she looked for beauty, we might fall short in that essential, to be sure.”

“Perhaps, also,” continued my uncle, “she might require equal sensibility, and equal or superior fortune. What then, Doctor—hey? how would you come on thereabouts?”

“Oh! perseverance, perseverance, is every thing with a woman! coax first, bluster afterwards, and then rouse their energies by talking of pistols, swords, ropes, or poison; and that settles the business.”

“Without making use of either,” interrupted my uncle. “A very pretty mode of making love à la Tonic. You’ve the family receipt, I suppose; so that you could prepare the prescription for Victor, if it should be necessary. We’ll try the effect to-morrow morning, when the young lady’s a little more settled.”

“Oh! Markwell’s family’s in high bustle, I assure you. There’s half a cart-load of goods at the door; there’s a fine gold harp, a beautiful piano, a most elegant work-table, a large portfolio, of drawings I suppose, with a curious writing-desk, and three large trunks of apparel. Such a bustle! they were running about like scalded magpies!”

“Then how could you think of intruding in such a busy moment?” said my uncle.

“Curiosity impelled me, and I could not resist the temptation.”

“Temptation!” echoed my uncle: “what have such old fellows as you and I to do with temptation? The very idea ought to be tartar emetic to you.”

“Well; we shall hear your opinion of her,” continued the Doctor.

“And it shall be an impartial one, depend upon it; not founded on the basis of momentary curiosity,” said my uncle. “Why, Mrs. Deposit and Mrs. Fungus will go crazy.”

“I’m just going to call on the identical ladies, to impart the news,” rejoined the Doctor; “and so, gentlemen, I’m your most obedient;” and off he swaggered.

“Victor! Victor!” exclaimed my uncle, as the door closed, “can you possibly exist till to-morrow, without gratifying your curiosity? If you can, I’ll order my horses, and we’ll amuse ourselves with a morning’s ride: I want to treat you with a few of our beautiful prospects, as well as our beautiful maids. Egad! methinks the two songs selected last night by you and Elizetta Tonic, were extremely applicable to this said divinity, Miss Fitzclarence; not that I estimate the Doctor’s judgment of beauty with that of a Paris; add to which, he looks through very defective optics.”