The Christmas Books of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh | Page 6

rather a pretty foot, which she always manages to stick out.
She is forty-seven, the youngest of three sisters, who live a mouldy old
house, near Middlesex Hospital, where they have lived for I don't know
how many score of years; but this is certain: the eldest Miss Meggot
saw the Gordon Riots out of that same parlor window, and tells the
story how her father (physician to George III.) was robbed of his queue
in the streets on that occasion. The two old ladies have taken the brevet
rank, and are addressed as Mrs. Jane and Mrs. Betsy: one of them is at
whist in the back drawing-room. But the youngest is still called Miss
Nancy, and is considered quite a baby by her sisters.
She was going to be married once to a brave young officer, Ensign
Angus Macquirk, of the Whistlebinkie Fencibles; but he fell at Quatre
Bras, by the side of the gallant Snuffmull, his commander. Deeply,

deeply did Miss Nancy deplore him.
But time has cicatrized the wounded heart. She is gay now, and would
sing or dance, ay, or marry if anybody asked her.
Do go, my dear friend--I don't mean to ask her to marry, but to ask her
to dance.--Never mind the looks of the thing. It will make her happy;
and what does it cost you? Ah, my dear fellow! take this counsel:
always dance with the old ladies--always dance with the governesses. It
is a comfort to the poor things when they get up in their garret that
somebody has had mercy on them. And such a handsome fellow as
YOU too!
MISS RANVILLE, REV. MR. TOOP, MISS MULLINS, MR.
WINTER.
Mr. W. Miss Mullins, look at Miss Ranville: what a picture of good
humor.
Miss M.--Oh, you satirical creature!
Mr. W.--Do you know why she is so angry? she expected to dance with
Captain Grig, and by some mistake, the Cambridge Professor got hold
of her: isn't he a handsome man?
Miss M.--Oh, you droll wretch!
Mr. W.--Yes, he's a fellow of college--fellows mayn't marry, Miss
Mullins--poor fellows, ay, Miss Mullins?
Miss M.--La!
Mr. W.--And Professor of Phlebotomy in the University. He flatters
himself he is a man of the world, Miss Mullins, and always dances in
the long vacation.
Miss M.--You malicious, wicked monster!
Mr. W.--Do you know Lady Jane Ranville? Miss Ranville's mamma. A

ball once a year; footmen in canary-colored livery: Baker Street; six
dinners in the season; starves all the year round; pride and poverty, you
know; I've been to her ball ONCE. Ranville Ranville's her brother, and
between you and me--but this, dear Miss Mullins, is a profound
secret,--I think he's a greater fool than his sister.
Miss M.--Oh, you satirical, droll, malicious, wicked thing you!
Mr. W.--You do me injustice, Miss Mullins, indeed you do.
[Chaine Anglaise.]
MISS JOY, MR. AND MRS. JOY, MR. BOTTER.
Mr. B.--What spirits that girl has, Mrs. Joy!
Mr. J.--She's a sunshine in a house, Botter, a regular sunshine. When
Mrs. J. here's in a bad humor, I . . .
Mrs. J.--Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Joy.
Mrs. B.--There's a hop, skip, and jump for you! Why, it beats Ellsler!
Upon my conscience it does! It's her fourteenth quadrille too. There she
goes! She's a jewel of a girl, though I say it that shouldn't.
Mrs. J. (laughing).--Why don't you marry her, Botter? Shall I speak to
her? I dare say she'd have you. You're not so VERY old.
Mr. B.--Don't aggravate me, Mrs. J. You know when I lost my heart in
the year 1817, at the opening of Waterloo Bridge, to a young lady who
wouldn't have me, and left me to die in despair, and married Joy, of the
Stock Exchange.
Mrs. J. Get away, you foolish old creature.
[MR. JOY looks on in ecstasies at Miss Joy's agility. LADY JANE
RANVILLE, of Baker Street, pronounces her to be an exceedingly
forward person. CAPTAIN DOBBS likes a girl who has plenty of go in
her; and as for FRED SPARKS, he is over head and ears in love with

her.]
MR. RANVILLE RANVILLE AND JACK HUBBARD.
This is Miss Ranville Ranville's brother, Mr. Ranville Ranville, of the
Foreign Office, faithfully designed as he was playing at whist in the
card-room. Talleyrand used to play at whist at the "Travellers'," that is
why Ranville Ranville indulges in that diplomatic recreation. It is not
his fault if he be not the greatest man in the room.
If you speak to him, he smiles sternly, and answers in monosyllables he
would rather die than commit himself. He never has committed himself
in his life. He was the first at school, and distinguished at Oxford. He is
growing prematurely bald now, like Canning, and is quite proud of it.
He rides in