“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.”