Let us make a slight sketch of our amiable friend, Mr.Felix Nixon.We are strongly disposed to think, that if we put him in this place, he will answer our purpose without another word of comment.
Felix, then, is a young gentleman who lives at home with his mother, just within the twopenny-post office circle of three miles from St.Martin- le-Grand.He wears Indiarubber goloshes when the weather is at all damp, and always has a silk handkerchief neatly folded up in the right- hand pocket of his great-coat, to tie over his mouth when he goes home at night; moreover, being rather near- sighted, he carries spectacles for particular occasions, and has a weakish tremulous voice, of which he makes great use, for he talks as much as any old lady breathing.
The two chief subjects of Felix's discourse, are himself and his mother, both of whom would appear to be very wonderful and interesting persons.As Felix and his mother are seldom apart in body, so Felix and his mother are scarcely ever separate in spirit.If you ask Felix how he finds himself to-day, he prefaces his reply with a long and minute bulletin of his mother's state of health; and the good lady in her turn, edifies her acquaintance with a circumstantial and alarming account, how he sneezed four times and coughed once after being out in the rain the other night, but having his feet promptly put into hot water, and his head into a flannel- something, which we will not describe more particularly than by this delicate allusion, was happily brought round by the next morning, and enabled to go to business as usual.
Our friend is not a very adventurous or hot-headed person, but he has passed through many dangers, as his mother can testify: there is one great story in particular, concerning a hackney coachman who wanted to overcharge him one night for bringing them home from the play, upon which Felix gave the aforesaid coachman a look which his mother thought would have crushed him to the earth, but which did not crush him quite,for he continued to demand another sixpence, notwithstanding that Felix took out his pocket-book, and, with the aid of a flat candle, pointed out the fare in print, which the coachman obstinately disregarding, he shut the street-door with a slam which his mother shudders to think of; and then, roused to the most appalling pitch of passion by the coachman knocking a double knock to show that he was by no means convinced, he broke with uncontrollable force from his parent and the servant girl, and running into the street without his hat, actually shook his fist at the coachman, and came back again with a face as white, Mrs.Nixon says, looking about her for a simile, as white as that ceiling.She never will forget his fury that night, Never!