The Christmas Books of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh | Page 2

to all her friends, my kind patroness had
addressed me privately as follows:--
MY DEAR MR. TITMARSH,--If you know any VERY eligible young
man, we give you leave to bring him. You GENTLEMEN love your
CLUBS so much now, and care so little for DANCING, that it is really
quite A SCANDAL. Come early, and before EVERYBODY, and give
us the benefit of all your taste and CONTINENTAL SKILL.
"Your sincere
"EMILY PERKINS."

"Whom shall I bring?" mused I, highly flattered by this mark of
confidence; and I thought of Bob Trippett; and little Fred Spring, of the
Navy Pay Office; Hulker, who is rich, and I knew took lessons in Paris;
and a half-score of other bachelor friends, who might be considered as
VERY ELIGIBLE--when I was roused from my meditation by the slap
of a hand on my shoulder; and looking up, there was the Mulligan, who
began, as usual, reading the papers on my desk.
"Hwhat's this?" says he. "Who's Perkins? Is it a supper-ball, or only a
tay-ball?"
"The Perkinses of Pocklington Square, Mulligan, are tiptop people,"
says I, with a tone of dignity. "Mr. Perkins's sister is married to a
baronet, Sir Giles Bacon, of Hogwash, Norfolk. Mr. Perkins's uncle
was Lord Mayor of London; and he was himself in Parliament, and
MAY BE again any day. The family are my most particular friends. A
tay-ball indeed! why, Gunter . . ." Here I stopped: I felt I was
committing myself.
"Gunter!" says the Mulligan, with another confounded slap on the
shoulder. "Don't say another word: I'LL go widg you, my boy."
"YOU go, Mulligan?" says I: "why, really--I--it's not my party."
"Your hwhawt? hwhat's this letter? a'n't I an eligible young man?-- Is
the descendant of a thousand kings unfit company for a miserable
tallow-chandthlering cockney? Are ye joking wid me? for, let me tell
ye, I don't like them jokes. D'ye suppose I'm not as well bawrun and
bred as yourself, or any Saxon friend ye ever had?"
"I never said you weren't, Mulligan," says I.
"Ye don't mean seriously that a Mulligan is not fit company for a
Perkins?"
"My dear fellow, how could you think I could so far insult you?" says I.
"Well, then," says he, "that's a matter settled, and we go."

What the deuce was I to do? I wrote to Mrs. Perkins; and that kind lady
replied, that she would receive the Mulligan, or any other of my friends,
with the greatest cordiality. "Fancy a party, all Mulligans!" thought I,
with a secret terror.
MR. AND MRS. PERKINS, THEIR HOUSE, AND THEIR YOUNG
PEOPLE.
Following Mrs. Perkins's orders, the present writer made his
appearance very early at Pocklington Square: where the tastiness of all
the decorations elicited my warmest admiration. Supper of course was
in the dining-loom, superbly arranged by Messrs. Grigs and Spooner,
the confectioners of the neighborhood. I assisted my respected friend
Mr. Perkins and his butler in decanting the sherry, and saw, not without
satisfaction, a large bath for wine under the sideboard, in which were
already placed very many bottles of champagne.
The BACK DINING-ROOM, Mr. P.'s study (where the venerable man
goes to sleep after dinner), was arranged on this occasion as a tea- room,
Mrs. Flouncey (Miss Fanny's maid) officiating in a cap and pink
ribbons, which became her exceedingly. Long, long before the arrival
of the company, I remarked Master Thomas Perkins and Master Giles
Bacon, his cousin (son of Sir Giles Bacon, Bart.), in this apartment,
busy among the macaroons.
Mr. Gregory the butler, besides John the footman and Sir Giles's large
man in the Bacon livery, and honest Grundsell, carpet-beater and
green-grocer, of Little Pocklington Buildings, had at least half a dozen
of aides-de-camp in black with white neck-cloths, like doctors of
divinity.
The BACK DRAWING-ROOM door on the landing being taken off
the hinges (and placed up stairs under Mr. Perkins's bed), the orifice
was covered with muslin, and festooned with elegant wreaths of
flowers. This was the Dancing Saloon. A linen was spread over the
carpet; and a band--consisting of Mr. Clapperton, piano, Mr. Pinch,
harp, and Herr Spoff, cornet-a-piston arrived at a pretty early hour, and
were accommodated with some comfortable negus in the tea- room,

previous to the commencement of their delightful labors. The boudoir
to the left was fitted up as a card-room; the drawing-room was of
course for the reception of the company,--the chandeliers and yellow
damask being displayed this night in all their splendor; and the
charming conservatory over the landing was ornamented by a few
moon-like lamps, and the flowers arranged so that it had the appearance
of a fairy bower. And Miss Perkins (as I took the liberty of stating to
her mamma) looked like the fairy of that bower. It is