“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.