We now returned to the saloon, partook our evening sandwich, expatiated
on the qualities of Lady Lustre’s tokay, proposed visiting her next
morning, and then retired very early to rest; but, e’er the village
clock told seven, I left my sleepless pillow, and strolled the grounds
for two hours in converse with old Geoffry, who was arranging the
hothouse, and furnished me full exercise and employment, which being
quite novel to me, afforded a pleasant amusement, till my uncle’s
velvet night-cap made its appearance at the hall door, and his jocular
whew! hollo! summoned me to breakfast.
“Recollect we dine at Mrs. Henpeck’s to-day, Victor,” said he, “and
there again we shall meet a fresh squad of comicals, to whom you
have not been in introduced; but we shall find no Lady Lustres, or
Fitzclarences there; yet we shall meet with diversion and good cheer,
to pass the hour.”
“To-morrow, Sir,” said I, “I presume we shall attend church.”
“To be sure we shall; aye, and walk home with Rosa to the Rectory
afterwards,” replied my uncle smilingly.
“Ye Gods!” exclaimed I, leaping from my chair in a rhapsody of thought
most enchanting, “who would not go to church!”
“Not you, I fear, without the stimulus of Rosa’s presence--hey,
Victor,” cried my uncle.
I felt the truth flash my convictive cheek, but I made no reply, and
after our repast was finished, we set off for a gentle saunter through
the village to Lady Lustre’s; here, trotting along, smothered in dust,
we met the Doctor upon his old docked mare, returning from a distant
visit, puffing and foaming like a lime-kiln, enquiring where we took
our mutton, because, if at home, he’d help to play a knife and fork
with us, but my uncle assuring him we were engaged at Mrs. Henpeck’s,
silenced his self-in-vitation.
“Ho! ho!” cried he, “what, you dine at Henpeck’s, do you? very odd!
very odd! they should not have invited _me_ and my _family_--drank tea
there last night--never heard a syllable mentioned--d--d sly--can’t
make it out. Well, I wish you merry--it’s much if I don’t drop in in
the evening.”
“_Like enough_,” replied my uncle, nodding his head, “you can play
Harlequin, and introduce yourself any and every where; you’ve the happy
knack.”
“My profession authorizes me, in a great measure,” replied the Doctor.
“You mean to say, you are a sort of being one must be cautious how
one quarrels with,” answered my uncle, “because it’s as much as one’s
_life’s worth_ to bear enmity with a Doctor--for we all know you are
the necessary village evil.”
“Evil! evil!” muttered the Doctor, “I don’t comprehend you.”
“Well, well, we’ll explain it over a game at cribbage next time we
meet; good morning--I can’t stand broiling in the heat and dust any
longer,” said my uncle, and off we walked till we came in sight of a
small dwelling in the shape of a _baker’s shop_, into which my uncle
mechanically walked, to order some corn; and, as I stood tat-tooing my
cane upon the threshold, I espied the name of Sponge on the door-post;
oh! thought I, as the little bell tingled behind the shop-door to
announce us, as sure as I live this is the identical house my uncle
promised to shew me the master of, and e’er I had formed the idea,
out popped one of the _fat girls_ I had met in the chaise, not a
baker’s daughter as I expected to have seen, but a _half-naked_ girl,
whose _brawny_ limbs protruded through a dress something similar to
a miller’s _bolting-bag_, her hair was twisted and plaited after the
similitude of her father’s _twopenny loaves_ that lay scattered on
the counter, and her _tout-en-ensemble_ gave her the appearance of a
puppit-shew columbine.
She requested I would walk into the parlour while she went in search of
her father, whom, I presumed was, as my uncle observed, most probably
to be found in his _drawing-room_, but we were mistaken; for, at the
instant of our conjecture, in he came from the piggery, where he had
been _butchering_ a porker: a red worsted night-cap adorned his bald
head, while the sleeves of a dirty greasy shirt were tucked up under
his shoulder, exhibiting to the eye of horror, a pair of sinewy arms
covered in smeary gore, and round his waist was tied a flour sack,
drenched in blood, which, with the addition of an old blue pocket
handkerchief, bound round the grizzled chin of a week’s beard, and
a mouth crammed with tobacco, the essence of which _distilled_ from
each _corner_, completed Mister Sponge’s portrait, father to the young
_lady_ aforesaid, who came flying into the room with a clean white
apron, which she insisted her _par_ should tie on, “for he was quite a
fright.”
“What’s the use on’t,” said he.--“The pig beant cut up yet; mayhap
Mister Tweazy may like a joint,” and up he twitched his greasy leather
breeches with a _carpenter’s shrug_.
“Oh, by no means,” replied my uncle, “if I had not seen you in this
dreadful condition, I might have been tempted; but, to tell you the
truth, my appetite is mighty delicate, and I could not touch it now.”
“Eh, you’re mighty nice indeed,” replied the gruffy boor, whose innate
manners never exceeded the _bounds_ of his _piggery_, nor was it
possible ever to rub off the incrustation even with his own _rasp_.
“I thought you had given up pig-killing,” said my uncle, “since you got
your _unexpected fortune_.”
“Nah!” exclaimed he, (smearing a nasal chrystal on the back of his gory
_paw_, for it bore at the best of times very little similitude to a
hand; in fact it was merely a _grasping hook_, with five _claws_ at the
end, moulded into a sort of _clutch_, wherewith to handle the _loaves_
of his own family, and the _fishes_ of others). “Nah,” repeated he, “I
likes the _job_ and the _profit_ too well.”
“I don’t doubt that,” replied my uncle.
“My pigs ain’t like most other people’s,” cried the baker.
“True,” said my uncle, “your’s are _pye-house_ pigs, that’s the reason.”
Master Sponge not understanding the exact inuendo of my uncle,
snappishly replied, “As to their being _pious_ pigs, he did not
understand _that there_ sort of language: it _mought_ be _high church_
manners, but he recollected it was not the first time as Mister Tweazy
had called _his’n presbyterian pigs_, but that made no odds to a
_religious_ man like _hisself_.”
“Aye! aye! _practice_ what you _preach_, Master Sponge, there’s nothing
like _honor_ and _honesty_--we all know your _kind_ of _people talk_
enough about _both_, but I’m for _actions_,” said my uncle, “actions
want no trumpeter whether they are good or bad.”
The angry man of slaughter turned upon his heel, his fat fantastic
daughter tossed up her head, and we marched out of the shop, pursuing
our way to Lady Lustre’s.
“Did you ever see such a disgusting object?” cried my uncle.
“Never in my life,” said I.
“Then what would you think to see _such_ a man _making love_ to a
genteel well-educated woman, with a peel full of ‘_toad’s-in-a-hole_,’
and ‘_veal triangles_,’ smoking hot, balancing over his night-cap in
the consonant trim, (the bloody sack excepted) which we have beheld him
this day, and yet he had _charms_.”
“They must be hidden charms of the mind, or heart, I presume,” replied
I.
“Oh, you must ask his wife that question,” answered my uncle, “or
enquire at the Golden Lion tap, where _old smoakey_, as they call him,
lights the first pipe every evening since he pocketted his wife’s
bundle of _soft rags_, and there he harangues and boasts his _mushroom_
consequence to the diversion of his neighbours; drinks his best
_sarvices_ to the _miller_, who swallows them in a cup of _credulity_,
and after traducing the characters of his _best friends_, who snatched
him from the fangs of poverty, and the horrors of a _jail_, out of
_compassion_ to his _family_, he struts to _meetings_ where, under the
impervious cloak of fell hypocrisy, no dying magpie turns his eyes up
more completely sanctified, as the tip of his _snub_ grinds in close
contact with the sacred white wall, against which he _grunts_ out his
_self-made_ ejaculations.”
“Don’t say another word about him, Sir,” replied I, “the portrait _in
propria personæ_, and its attached explanation, have been sufficient
for me.”
My uncle smiled--I shrugged my shoulders, and we now found ourselves in
view of Lady Lustre’s park gate, which soon after gave us admission to
her presence.
“I have obeyed your ladyship’s injunction,” said my uncle, as he took
his seat, “and am come to tell you there is nothing in the village to
compare with your tokay.”
“I must beg leave to differ,” replied her ladyship, smiling.
“Indeed!” cried my uncle musing on his cane, “then I’m no judge, I
suppose.”
“Yes, yes, you are,” answered her ladyship, “what think you of our
Rectory nonpareil?”
“Ah, hah!” said my uncle, “there I yield the palm of decision.”
“Oh, Mr. Tweazy,” continued Lady Lustre, “what a charming angelic young
creature is that Miss Fitzclarence; oh, how I envy Dr. Markwell such
a treasure as her society; they both called on me last night, and
had you seen her bewitching form, and heard her edifying scientific
language on every subject, you would have been in raptures; for, though
I’m an old woman, I must confess she has made a complete conquest of
my heart: I am no novice in the school of science, but I feel I am
only a mere pupil in the hands of an inimitable tutor; she possesses
the abilities of the sage philosopher, and the juvenile Terpsichore;
in short, she is human perfection, and Dr. Markwell whispers me, her
principles of religion are no less eminent and admirable, and would do
honour to the head and heart of an arch-bishop.”
“I have seen her but once,” said my uncle.
“Then, Sir,” resumed her ladyship, “will you and Mr. St. Alban meet
her here on Monday, to tea, with a small select party?”
“With much pleasure,” answered my uncle, and the topic dropped, to
make way for others, amongst which her ladyship proposed accompanying
us over her grounds, to inspect some improvement lately arranged: and
here we found ourselves in Elysium; the grotto was beautiful, the
music rotunda superbly decorated with busts, bronzes, and stained
glass: the cascade was an enchanting production of art and nature,
that appeared a combination of magic, while various Gothic arches, of
exquisite sculpture, subjoined to Chinese bridges thrown geometrically
across the various canals, heightened the beauties of the surrounding
scenery, and beguiled our footsteps almost beyond the limited hour of
our return to dress for Mrs. Henpeck’s dinner, which was to be set
on table precisely at four o’clock, with the exactitude of the polar
needle, as Mrs. Henpeck never delayed her grace one moment to please
any body--punctuality was her table motto--and her _rule_ was _law_.