The Christmas Books of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh | Page 5

the scenes of many of his exploits; and I
have seen this good-natured fellow performing figure-dances at
Notting-hill, at a house where I am ashamed to say there was no supper,
no negus even to speak of, nothing but the bare merits of the polka in
which Adolphus revels. To describe this gentleman's infatuation for
dancing, let me say, in a word, that he will even frequent
boarding-house hops, rather than not go.
He has clogs, too, like Minchin: but nobody laughs at HIM. He gives
himself no airs; but walks into a house with a knock and a demeanor so
tremulous and humble, that the servants rather patronize him. He does
not speak, or have any particular opinions, but when the time comes,
begins to dance. He bleats out a word or two to his partner during this
operation, seems very weak and sad during the whole performance, and,
of course, is set to dance with the ugliest women everywhere.
The gentle, kind spirit! when I think of him night after night, hopping
and jigging, and trudging off to Kentish Town, so gently, through the
fogs, and mud, and darkness: I do not know whether I ought to admire
him, because his enjoyments are so simple, and his dispositions so
kindly; or laugh at him, because he draws his life so exquisitely mild.
Well, well, we can't be all roaring lions in this world; there must be
SOME lambs, and harmless, kindly, gregarious creatures for eating and
shearing. See! even good- natured Mrs. Perkins is leading up the
trembling Larkins to the tremendous Miss Bunion!
MISS BUNION.
The Poetess, author of "Heartstrings," "The Deadly Nightshade,"

"Passion Flowers," &c. Though her poems breathe only of love, Miss B.
has never been married. She is nearly six feet high; she loves waltzing
beyond even poesy; and I think lobster-salad as much as either. She
confesses to twenty-eight; in which case her first volume, "The Orphan
of Gozo," (cut up by Mr. Rigby, in the Quarterly, with his usual
kindness,) must have been published when she was three years old.
For a woman all soul, she certainly eats as much as any woman I ever
saw. The sufferings she has had to endure, are, she says, beyond
compare; the poems which she writes breathe a withering passion, a
smouldering despair, an agony of spirit that would melt the soul of a
drayman, were he to read them. Well, it is a comfort to see that she can
dance of nights, and to know (for the habits of illustrious literary
persons are always worth knowing) that she eats a hot mutton-chop for
breakfast every morning of her blighted existence.
She lives in a boardinghouse at Brompton, and comes to the party in a
fly.
MR. HICKS.
It is worth twopence to see Miss Bunion and Poseidon Hicks, the great
poet, conversing with one another, and to talk of one to the other
afterwards. How they hate each other! I (in my wicked way) have sent
Hicks almost raving mad, by praising Bunion to him in confidence; and
you can drive Bunion out of the room by a few judicious panegyrics of
Hicks.
Hicks first burst upon the astonished world with poems, in the Byronic
manner: "The Death-Shriek," "The Bastard of Lara," "The Atabal,"
"The Fire-Ship of Botzaris," and other works. His "Love Lays," in Mr.
Moore's early style, were pronounced to be wonderfully precocious for
a young gentleman then only thirteen, and in a commercial academy, at
Tooting.
Subsequently, this great bard became less passionate and more
thoughtful; and, at the age of twenty, wrote "Idiosyncracy" (in forty
books, 4to.): "Ararat," "a stupendous epic," as the reviews said; and

"The Megatheria," "a magnificent contribution to our pre- Adamite
literature," according to the same authorities. Not having read these
works, it would ill become me to judge them; but I know that poor
Jingle, the publisher, always attributed his insolvency to the latter epic,
which was magnificently printed in elephant folio.
Hicks has now taken a classical turn, and has brought out "Poseidon,"
"Iacchus," "Hephaestus," and I dare say is going through the mythology.
But I should not like to try him at a passage of the Greek Delectus, any
more than twenty thousand others of us who have had a "classical
education."
Hicks was taken in an inspired attitude regarding the chandelier, and
pretending he didn't know that Miss Pettifer was looking at him.
Her name is Anna Maria (daughter of Higgs and Pettifer, solicitors,
Bedford Row); but Hicks calls her "Ianthe" in his album verses, and is
himself an eminent drysalter in the city.
MISS MEGGOT.
Poor Miss Meggot is not so lucky as Miss Bunion. Nobody comes to
dance with HER, though she has a new frock on, as she calls it, and