d to her--and the
moment afterwards, hid her face behind the album which had been lying on
her knee, and which she had been showing to the ladies on each side of
her; for, in fact, neither she nor any one else could, without the
greatest difficulty, refrain from laughing at the monkeyfied appearance
of Titmouse. The alderman was a stout, stupid little man--a fussy old
prig--with small angry-looking black eyes, and a short red nose; as for
his head, it seemed as though he had just smeared some sticky fluid over
it, and then dipped it into a flour-tub, so thickly laden was it with
powder. Mr. Deputy Diddle-daddle was tall and thin, and serious and slow
of speech, with the solemn composure of an undertaker. Mr. Bluster was a
great Old Bailey barrister, about fifty years old, the leader constantly
employed by Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and was making at least a
thousand a-year. He had an amazingly truculent-looking countenance,
coarse to a degree, and his voice matched it; but on occasions like the
present--_i. e._ in elegant society--he would fain drop the successful
terrors of his manner, and appear the mild, dignified gentleman. He
therefore spoke in a very soft, cringing way, with an anxious smile; but
his bold insolent eye and coarse mouth--what could disguise or mitigate
their expression? Here he was, playing the great man; making himself,
however, most particularly agreeable to Messrs. Quirk and Gammon. Slang
was of the same school; fat, vulgar, confident, and empty; telling
obscene jokes and stories, in a deep bass voice. He sang a good song,
too--particularly of that class which required the absence of
ladies--and of _gentlemen_. Hug (Mr. Toady Hug) was also a barrister; a
glib little Jewish-looking fellow, creeping into considerable criminal
practice. He was a sneaking backbiter, and had a blood-hound scent after
an attorney. See him, for instance, at this moment, in close and eager
conversation with Mr. Flaw, who, rely upon it, will give him a brief
before the week is over. Viper was the editor of the _Sunday Flash_; a
cold, venomous little creature. He was a philosopher--and of opinion
that everything was wrong--moral, physical, intellectual, and social;
that there was really no such thing, or at least ought not to be, as
religion; and, as to political rights, that everybody was equal, and if
any were uppermost, all ought to be! He had failed in business twice,
and disreputably; then had become an Unitarian