'did' the poetry in the Eatanswill GAZETTE, in the
garb of a sultana, leaning upon the arm of the young gentleman who
'did' the review department, and who was appropriately habited in a
field-marshal's uniform--the boots excepted. There were hosts of these
geniuses, and any reasonable person would have thought it honour enough
to meet them. But more than these, there were half a dozen lions from
London--authors, real authors, who had written whole books, and printed
them afterwards--and here you might see 'em, walking about, like
ordinary men, smiling, and talking--aye, and talking pretty considerable
nonsense too, no doubt with the benign intention of rendering themselves
intelligible to the common people about them. Moreover, there was a band
of music in pasteboard caps; four something-ean singers in the costume
of their country, and a dozen hired waiters in the costume of THEIR
country--and very dirty costume too. And above all, there was Mrs.
Leo Hunter in the character of Minerva, receiving the company, and
overflowing with pride and gratification at the notion of having called
such distinguished individuals together.

'Mr. Pickwick, ma'am,' said a servant, as that gentleman approached
the presiding goddess, with his hat in his hand, and the brigand and
troubadour on either arm.

'What! Where!' exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, starting up, in an affected
rapture of surprise.

'Here,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Is it possible that I have really the gratification of beholding Mr.
Pickwick himself!' ejaculated Mrs. Leo Hunter.

'No other, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. 'Permit me
to introduce my friends--Mr. Tupman--Mr. Winkle--Mr. Snodgrass--to the
authoress of "The Expiring Frog."' Very few people but those who have
tried it, know what a difficult process it is to bow in green velvet
smalls, and a tight jacket, and high-crowned hat; or in blue satin
trunks and white silks, or knee-cords and top-boots that were never
made for the wearer, and have been fixed upon him without the remotest
reference to the comparative dimensions of himself and the suit. Never
were such distortions as Mr. Tupman's frame underwent in his efforts
to appear easy and graceful--never was such ingenious posturing, as his
fancy-dressed friends exhibited.

'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'I must make you promise not to
stir from my side the whole day. There are hundreds of people here, that
I must positively introduce you to.'