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[Illustration: JOHN BROWN ESQ.
AS HE APPEARED EVERY EVE]
CHRISTMAS
COMES
BUT
ONCE A YEAR
Showing What
Mr. Brown Did, Thought, And Intended To Do,
During That Festive Season.
Now First Edited From The Original MSS. (Mess).
With Notes and Illustrations
By LUKE LIMNER, Esq.
London:
William Tegg and Co., 85, Queen Street, Cheapside.
M.DCCC.L.
Prime Movers.
JOHN BROWN, Esq.-- _Citizen of London and Suburban Snob._
JOHN BROWN, Jun., Esq.-- _"Fast Gent;" Son and Heir to the above
"Brick!"-- I believe you, my boys, rather!_
Master THOMAS BROWN.-- _Apple of his Mother's eye-- "her Tommy-wommy"--
"her dear boy"-- "her jewel of a pet."_
Captain BONAVENTURE DE CAMP.-- _Officer, late of the Hon. E. I. Co's.
Service, but now at the service of any one._
LATIMER DE CAMP.-- _Master of (He) Arts; Elder Son of the above, of
Nobodynose College, Oxford._
WELLESLEY DE CAMP.-- _Cadet of Sandboys Military College._
SOAVO SPOHF.-- _Composer; Organist at St. Stiff's the Martyr;
Mr. Brown's ex-friend._
JOHN (BROWN).-- _Footman to John Brown, Esq.; late Private in the
44th foot._
TOBIAS STRAP.-- _Grocer in Greens, Landlord to Mr. Spohf, and
Supernumerary help to any body._
ICHABOD STRAP.-- _(Son of his sire) commonly called "Alphonso,"
but sometimes "Buttons."_
Mrs. BENIGMA BROWN.-- _Rib of John Brown, Esq.-- Ruler of his roast
and boiled._
Miss JEMIMA BROWN. } _Eligible Young Ladies-- very so--
to any one inclined to a
Miss ANGELINA BROWN. } matter-o'-money-all alliance._
Lady LUCRETIA DE CAMP.-- _Spouse of "the Captain;" Lady in her own
right (and wrong)._
DEBORAH STRAP.-- _(Consort of T. S. above) Pue-packer at St. Stiff's
the Martyr._
_Guests, Cooks, Maids, Lanthorn-bearers, extra Flunkeys, Police,
&c., &c., &c., &c._
SCENE.-- _Victoria and Albert Villas, Mizzlington, near London._
TIME.-- _Christmas._
List of Plates.
PAGE
John Brown, Esq., as he appeared every Evening _Frontispiece._
The Carol--"Tidings of Comfort and Joy!" 1
The Waits serenading Victoria and Albert Villas 5
Christmas Eve--The Market--Brown buying Holly 13
Christmas Dinners--Good Living, at least, Once a Year 18
The Pudding, as it ought to have appeared 23
Bringing in the Yule-log 25
Boxing-day--The Beadle offended 28
The Pantomime--"Here we are again!" 34
The Compliments of the Season (a cold) 40
The Quadrille--Cavalier seul 57
The Stair-case--Captain de Camp and the Wall-flower 63
Forfeits--The Double Toilet 80
The Christmas Tree--Presentation of Fruit 83
Mummery--Trick of the Old Dame 84
Kitchen Conversation 92
[Illustration: THE CAROL.
"TIDINGS OF COMFORT & JOY."]
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS
COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR]
Very cold, very bleak; the thermometer and snow are falling fast; eggs
and suet are rising faster; everything at this season is "prized," and
everybody apprizes everybody else of the good they wish them,--"A MERRY
CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Even the shivering caroller, for "it is
a poor heart that never rejoices," is yelling forth the "tidings of
comfort and joy." The snow that descends, making park and common
alike--topping palace and pigsty, now crowns the semi-detached villas,
Victoria and Albert. They were erected from the designs of John Brown,
Esq. and his architect (or builder), and are considered a fine specimen
of compo-cockney-gothic, in which the constructor has made the most of
his materials; for, to save digging, he sank the foundation in an
evacuated pond, and, as an antidote to damp, used wood with the
dry-rot--the little remaining moisture being pumped out daily by the
domestics. The floors are delightfully springy, having cracks to
precipitate the dirt, and are sloped towards the doorways, so that the
furniture is perpetually trying to walk out of the rooms; but those
apertures are ingeniously planned to prevent the evil--the doors
obstinately refusing to open at all, without force. That the whole may
not appear too light, few windows are introduced. By casual observers
the Victoria and Albert would be taken for one--so united are they;
and had we not seen the parting division, we should have doubted also.
Of the entrance lodges, we have noticed one of the chimneys smoking
periodically; and, from the mollient white vapour issuing over the
window at such times, presume Victoria is washing, whilst Albert is
locked up and doing nothing.
[Illustration]
Their lord and master is John Brown, Esq., Director of the Deptford
Direct, the Stag Assurance, and Churchwarden of this parish--St. Stiff
the Martyr,--a portly upright man; for had he not been so erect, to
balance a "fair round belly," he would have toppled on his nose.
Everybody said that he was clever, too--and, moreover, always thought
so; for luck had made our friend a rising man amongst the suburban
aristocracy of Mizzlington. Of Mrs. Brown, she is his match, and portly
too; though older and more crusty--a crummy dame, to whom her lord must
bow; for, upon his hinting at duty, and an obedient wife's _commanding_
her husband, she ordered him off, reading the adage as a woman _ought_.
Of the Misses Brown, Jemima and Angelina, they are decidedly getting
old--for young ladies, having been "out" for some time; and, like the
back numbers of an old periodical, are not the more interesting or
marketable for it. Of the sons, the elder, John Brown, jun., is spoiling
himself by patronising all that is "fast;" whilst the younger is being
educated for a faster age, being spoilt first by his mother.
[Illustration]
Having characterised the Brown family, we will now introduce
you to the first scene of this domestic drama. Victoria Villa--a
dormitory--midnight; in the back ground may be seen and heard a lady
in a rich mellow snore, whilst distant music--the Christmas Waits,
is "softly o'er the senses stealing," and loud in the promise of "a good
time coming," provided you will "wait a little longer." Mr. Brown is
seated at the dressing-table, making up his Diary, or rather trying to
cram the events of twenty-four hours into the leaf of a pocket-book,
five and a half inches by three and a quarter--his usual custom before
rest:--
[Illustration: THE WAITS.
"SOFTLY O'ER THE SENSES STEALING."]
"December 21st, _Friday_.--Advertised in this day's 'Times,' to let
Albert, furnished, from the 25th, with use of servants, if required
(double-house and household at half-price--grand effect united with
economy). Tommy came home from Dr. Tortem's, with holiday-letter, bill,
and wonderful crop of hair--considering it costs me five shillings per
quarter to cut; brimstone and treacle, under head--medicine, charged ten
and six; firing and broken windows, two pounds; &c.:--what most unlucky
things turn up on a Friday! I much wish I had not advertised Albert
to-day--no one will come." With these observations, and a consolatory
grumble about Christmas coming but once a year, Mr. Brown seeks repose
beside his consort; whilst the Waits make the lowing wind, the frigid
vegetation, and the rattling shutters, dance again to the "Bridal
Polka."
Sweet sleep--and morning dawns.--The Browns depart, as is their daily
custom, by the omnibus--the elder to chat inside, the younger to smoke
out;--and both to business in the city. Whilst, at home, Master Tommy
displays the "advancement made in his studies"--as the holiday-letter
states,--by practising writing in the "Book of Beauty;" his knowledge of
natural history, by attempting to rear gold-fish (like eels) in sand;
searching for the tick in an eight-day clock; setting bits of raw beef
in the back garden, that the portion (like potatoes) might grow to young
bullocks; filling the bellows' snout with gunpowder, that they may blow
the fire up; putting the cat in walnut-shells upon the icy pond, and
himself in the middle of it; playing racket in the drawing-room; and
constructing a snow man against the back-door to fall in upon Sarah,
almost frightening her to death; and many other experimental,
philosophical tricks, too numerous to mention.
[Illustration]
During this day the semi-detached is besieged by a lady and gentleman in
search of a home. The gentleman, dressed in a very tight frock-coat,
dusty and worn; a highly-glazed cap, the strap of which dangled above a
tuft of hair, that graced his chin, its peak resting upon the tip of his
nose, affording him little more than a view of his boots, with a portion
of the hose protruding therefrom; his tightly-strapped trowsers carrying
a broad stripe, of which he appeared proud, being engaged in the
manufacture of many more in other parts, by knocking the dust out of
them with a slight cane; of his gloves, they seemed determined to end
their days in their normal state, and to produce neither mits nor
finger-stalls. The couple looking very limp and tumbled;--a thing duly
apologised for, and not to be wondered at--having just arrived from
abroad. Mrs. Brown being much taken with the gentleman--for he curried
favour by stroking only the way of the grain. So, with Lady Lucretia,
Captain de Camp, of the Hon. East India Company's Service, from
Madras--awaiting his luggage,--is at home in the Albert, having given
himself a character that satisfied Mrs. Brown; for, he omitted the
objectionable parts (fearing they might distress that good lady), like
the woman with a large family, who, finding it impossible to get
lodgings, sent her children among the graves; that, when asked, she
might say, with a sigh, "Alas! they are all in the churchyard."
[Illustration]
That evening Mrs. Brown's rich mellow snore commenced later than
usual--for she had been loud and long in the praise of their new
neighbours. Mr. Brown making entry against December 22nd,
_Saturday_.--That Albert was let:--whilst, the Waits were playing the
"Phantom Dancers," and Captain de Camp busy, there, screwing his empty
trunk to the floor, that it might appear heavy, and full of valuables;
and whilst, between the villas in the rear, there might be seen a
glimmering candle, and by that light be found--one not unknown to
Brown--a poor little musician, in a little second-floor room, containing
a little organ much too large for it, and a litter of dirty soft
papers,--who is not a little perplexed at a note, from Mrs. Brown,
dispensing with his services:--he, the poor little music-master, more
amiable than handsome, less symmetrical than serviceable;--who had,
in less favoured times, contracted friendship, and to teach the Misses
Brown music at thirty shillings per quarter--who had gotten so familiar
as to love--had dared to offer that person Nature had deformed, with
that mind Nature had adorned, to Miss Jemima Brown. There was a time
when his anecdotes had been prized, and his long, delicate, white
fingers kept playing to perpetual dancers; and that fine voice, Nature
had bestowed in lieu of symmetry, sang the merriest and most sentimental
songs for love:--the retrospect is too much for poor Spohf--so he seeks
refuge in his organ, much to the annoyance of a little tailor in the
attic, who has no soul in him--save the sole he had for supper.
[Illustration]
Sunday.--The perpetual bell of St. Stiff the Martyr is calling to
service, as it is wont to do at all times and hours--for mysterious
purposes but little known:--it seems as if the bell disliked its little
wooden cottage, on the unfinished spire; or was inspired, or in a
towering passion to live in a tower, or saw no fun in waiting for funds;
and so, continually pealed an appeal to the public:--however, it was a
puny, little, curious bell, with a tongue of its own, now clacking for a
charity sermon; and, curiously, Mr. Brown thinks a charity sermon always
edifies him with the headache, and is doubtful about going, as they make
him a reluctant giver--for mere vain show; but he, curiously, wonders
where the De Camps go; and, curiously, Victoria and Albert meet at the
gate; and, curiously, the family pue, at St. Stiff's, seems capable of
accommodating them.
Mr. Spohf, the little organist, being perched up aloft, sees, through
the curtain, the Christmas holly and the Captain--taking care to mark
that individual with mental chalk. The musician's eyes are in the Brown
pue; but the eyes that used to meet them are turned another way--all
favour is centred upon their spurious exotic, who grows thicker, twines
tighter, and takes deeper root, the more he is encouraged:--of the
species, or genus, we cannot do better than quote Mr. B.'s own words,
written against December 23rd, _Sunday_--(whilst the Waits, as usual,
were serenading the semi-detached, in a full conviction of its being
Monday, and the possibility of "living and loving together," and "being
happy yet").--"To church with my new tenant, who is delightful company:
Lady Lucre. says he is a 'refined duck,' a 'gentlemanly angel,' and a
'manly poppet:' to which I made answer, that I thought so too; and that
she was a 'seraphine concert.' Sermon, by the Rev. Loyalla à Becket, 'in
aid of funds for supplying the poor, during this inclement but festive
season, with food for the mind.' Captain de Camp did borrow a sovereign
of me, to put in the plate; and I was told by my fellow-churchwarden,
Mr. Flyntflayer, that he did put in a bad shilling, wrapt in paper, and
did take out fifteen shillings in change:--this, I said was untrue--as,
of course, it was;--having lent him a sovereign myself, for the express
purpose. We are to have Captain de C.'s two noble sons here, during the
holidays; one, I believe, comes from Oxford, and the other from Sandboys
Military College:--now is the time--Jemy. and Angel. must be on the
alert, for
'There is a tide in the affairs of _women_,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to _matrimony_;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in _spinsterhood_.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.'"
Monday, the 24th December's sun rises in a fog:--everybody has lost the
day of the week, and come upon what appears an infinity of Saturdays
rolled into one--beginning the week with a grand end,--for it is the
advent of Christmas!
The Masters de Camp arrive as was expected.--Cadet Wellesley exhibiting
his military accomplishments by surveying the back field; all the holes
and corners; riddling the sty and pigs with Mr. Brown's blunderbuss;
bivouacking in the pantry at Victoria's expence; and, when remonstrated
with, for mere sport knocking the plaster Albert off the garden wall
into the lane. Mr. Latimer de Camp introduces himself more civilly,
as Miss Jemima is playing and singing (of course for practice), by
accompanying "How happy could I be with either," on the wooden partition
with his thumb, after the fashion of a tambarine.
This is the annual busy day.--Packets and parcels are being delivered
unceasingly by uncommonly civil butcher-boys, graceful grocers, and
urbanic green-grocers, who are near enough to boxing-day to know that
silver on the tongue is necessary to charm silver from the pocket. The
Captain has sent to learn if any consignments are for him, to ask the
loan of a pack of cards, and Victoria's company to spend the evening at
the Albert--which invitation is graciously accepted.
It is eve--Christmas-eve.--Mrs. Brown's candied mixture, the pudding, is
simmering in the copper; the turkey, chine, and hundred etceteras are on
their way from Plumpsworth; while Captain de Camp's baggage is at the
very wildest verge of that gentleman's imagination, and its appearance
would have surprised him more than any one else, so speculative was it.
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS EVE.
THE FOOD IN PERSPECTIVE.]
Mr. Brown is in the City, homeward bound by the omnibus, intending to
realize "a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year." It is so foggy that
he finds he is going at an invisible pace, obliging him to abandon the
invisible vehicle in an invisible street, paying an invisible fare.
[Illustration]
He ties a handkerchief round his foot to prevent slipping; and has
something "short" to keep out the cold; and a little brandy-punch to
keep out the fog; and a little egg-flip to keep him warm; and a link
that he may see the way, for his vision is not very distinct;--his head
is delightfully buoyant, his optics inclined to multiply, and his legs
very refractory, having a great desire to dance or go sideways, but
obstinately refusing, in their eccentricity, to proceed in a straight
line; for Mr. Brown is more merry than particular--taking Newgate Market
in his way home to Mizzlington from the 'Change. Having a great
veneration for old customs, he buys a boar's head there and boy to carry
it; next, being taken with a crockery-shop-sign, "The Little Bason"
(which, by-the-bye, was a very large one), he purchases that also,
thinking it will do for a wassail-bowl; likewise some holly; and an old
butcher's-block to serve as the yule-log; not forgetting the last new
Christmas book of sympathy and sentiment, "The Black Beetle on the Hob,"
a faery tale of a register-stove, by the author of the "Old Hearth Broom
and the Kettle-Holder:"--With these articles Mr. Brown and his retinue
reach home in safety--a miracle, considering the toast and ale they have
consumed,--the Holly being jolly, the Bason groggy, the Log stupid, and
the Boar pig-headed. They find Victoria deaf; for Mr. Brown has made her
little gothic door to shiver, and the bolts to chatter with the blows,
yet none respond; for the servants are very jovial over boiled ale in
the crypt--little thinking or caring about their master; who, after
having rung all the bells singly, walked backwards, surveyed the
windows, tumbled over the block, and endangered the wassail-bowl, tries
ringing all the bells at once without avail; so enters by the back
window, and performs a dexterous summerset down the stairs, in company
with some evergreens and a flower-stand, ending in a series of double
knocks performed upon the inside of the door with the back of his head,
and a cuffing from Mr. Brown junior, who happens to be coming in with
the key, taking his respected governor for a burglar.
[Illustration]
The Browns are next door:--Victoria is fraternizing with Albert, and
both are exceedingly happy, although the latter has won greatly at the
game of _speculation_--having played his cards well; so, Mr. Brown,
after being packed in brown paper, steeped in vinegar, and well
soda-watered, joins the social party;--finding Captain de Camp busy
concocting an extraordinary oriental mixture (the name of which we quite
forget) out of old bottles, from Victoria's cellar; and telling a
tremendous Eastern _story_ of a tiger captured in a jungle, after a
chase of ten hours--he should have said minutes, in a penny magazine!
Mr. Brown and the Captain soon became familiar--in twenty minutes
you would have thought them friends of twenty years:--so,--before
the last speculator had invested his last weekly sixpence in a
goose-club, and drawn the last adamantine old gander; or the last
Christmas-pudding-sweep swept away the chimerical puddings, that ought
to have been very rich, and everybody thought everybody else had won;
before the last trader, who had sold out, dared to mount a notice,
intimating that he had joined an "Association to suppress
Christmas-boxes,"--the Browns and De Camps had attained that state
denominated "thick"--an appellation that might, with propriety, have
been applied to Mr. Brown's brains;--for he had obliged Captain de Camp
by discounting a bill, due twelve days after date (Christmas), and had
invited him to dine on the morrow, to partake of the poultry, that
always came up at Christmas, from Plumpsworth; and was taken out in a
visit made by the worthy donor, Great-uncle Clayclod, during the
"May-meetings," when he does a dozen shilling exhibitions in a day, and
knocks up a fly-horse. So, rather late to bed; Mr. Brown making up his
Diary, as usual, on the dressing-table--a rule he always observed,
though, in some cases, it would have been better left until the morning;
for, against December 24th, Tuesday, we find his feelings richly
expressed in cramped caligraphy, upside down, bearing evident marks of
excitement;--having been penned--in a dream--with hair-dye, mistaken
for ink; pounced with carmine, and blotted with the small-tooth-comb
in lieu of paper; it is, moreover, curious for its allegorical
allusions--likening Captain de Camp to a "brick," a "downey card,"
a "sharp file," and several other inanimate poetical images.
Of our mild friend, Spohf, he is sleeping soundly upon a light
supper--obtained from "St. Stiff's dairy"--some very thin milk, divested
of all unctuous quality--that having gone to an epicure Captain, at the
Albert Villa. Poor Spohf's talent has not put many _talents_ in his
purse--these real racing times run over genius!--they would tunnel
Helicon, turn Hippocrene to flush a city's drains,--make Pegasus serve
letters by carrying a post-boy, and, in the end, sell the noble beast
for feline food:--everything now must be tangible. The little organist,
who had spent so many a Merry Christmas with the Browns--he has no
pleasure to anticipate on the morrow, except the performance of his new
hymn, "The Star of Bethlehem," a composition of which the little tailor
in the attic thought small things, for it did not _compose_ him to
sleep.
[Illustration: "SAFE BIND--SAFE FIND."]
The 25th of December arrives.--The festival of the year has come.
Christmas-day commences with the rising of the cook, who finished the
evening, kneading and gaping over pies and puddings; and wakes with the
same operation, gaping and kneading her eyes, which do not fairly open
until she comes to look after her first care--the pudding:--the fire,
having been made up over night, is discovered a "beauty;" but,
behold,--within the copper, the pudding has dissolved!--there is nothing
to be found but a cloth, which must have been boiling all night in a
rich plum-soup,--the string having come untied; or rather, never been
tied at all, but popped in by Mrs. B. without attending to that
operation:--a piece of neglect, for which the cook gets "warning," and
all the servants rated--until the bells of St. Stiff's remind Mrs. B.
that it is time to depart, for the duties of a Christian, to eschew all
the vanities of this wicked world, in a rich purple Genoa velvet paletot
and duck of a plum bonnet. That day Mr. Churchwarden Brown's pue would
not hold all, so Mrs. Strap, the pue-opener, had to manoeuvre by
appropriating part of another to their use, losing her Christmas-box for
the offence against its owner, Mr. Din, the copper-smith.
Mr. Spohf's Christmas hymn is much liked, and is really so fine as to
make that essence of gentleness, himself, temporarily egotistical; he
wonders what impression it has made upon Miss Jemima, and the strange
gentleman who is so attentive to her--could he do as much? But Mr.
Latimer de Camp is heedless of other good things flying about him; for,
upon the walk home after service, among the savoury Christmas dinners
that are hurrying in every direction, he is so abstracted as to find a
sucking-pig in his stomach, and not a little gravy spilt upon his
trowsers, compelling him to change them, upon his arrival at home, for a
neat pair of young Brown's.
[Illustration: Good living at least once a year]
Mr. Spohf, having played all out of St. Stiff the Martyr, walks home
moodily:--instead of finding his dinner as usual, the chop and potato,
he learns that his landlord, Mr. Strap, the greengrocer, has stopped the
supplies. It is quarter-day!--Strap thinks of the five weeks' arrears,
and Mr. Spohf's inability to pay for his lodgings; so, Mr. and Mrs.
Strap have surprised him, by preparing a huge leg of mutton and pudding;
for they know he does not, as of old, go to the "Willer." After this
humble repast, which was relished as much as any could be, and was far
less likely to leave unpleasant sensations than if it had been more
costly, they draw round the fire; and master Ichabod Strap, one of the
choristers of St. Stiff the Martyr, is playing with a shilling,
polishing the coin upon his sleeve--it is the identical one said to have
been put in the plate by Captain de Camp, and given by Mr. Flyntflayer
(the gentleman who held the gothic platter) to Mrs. Strap, the
pue-opener, advising her at the same time to nail it to the
counter--a counterfeit to deter "smashers." But, somehow, the coin
seemed doomed to remain unholy, for no orifice or artifice could have
rendered it a _lucky_ one; it was shown to Mr. Spohf, who thought it
bad, and that it might have gotten into the plate by mistake; Mrs. Strap
knew it bad--an intentional perpetration,--and, like the giver, not
worth a dump; Mr. Strap not only thought it bad, but proved it so; for,
after having spun, sounded, and eaten a portion of it, he cast the coin
into the glowing fire, where the silver quickly changed, dropping, like
quick-silver, among the ashes, to be picked out by Ichabod, very unlike
a sterling coin.
[Illustration]
Old Strap, who had taken "the pledge," but since introduced an
exceptional clause in favour of feasts and festivals, gets out the black
bottle for fraternity's sake. They take a pipe a-piece, and so softened
is the little organist with their genuine unsophisticated kindness, that
he sees all his cares fly, and nothing but joys in the wreathed curls of
smoke betaking themselves up the chimney:--he sees Messrs. Blow and
Grumble, the eminent organ-builders, making a fortune by his "new
movement;" having purchased and patented it: he has found a publisher
for his church music, and sold his old opera. Captain de Camp has
vanished in smoke--he has exploded of spontaneous combustion,--they find
him all deceit, leaving a glass eye and a cork leg. Mr. Latimer gets the
Colonial Bishopric of Bushantee, in New Zealand, and cuts Miss Jemima.
Mr. Wellesley having gone to India for glory, returns with it,--a hook,
and a patch over his eye. Miss Angelina vows to die a virgin. Mr. Brown
says to Mr. Spohf, "my son!"--Mr. Spohf says to Mr. Brown, "my father!"
Mr. Strap is standing in triumph upon a pyramid of "carpets to beat,"
viewing a lesser one of "boots to brush;" having been entrusted with
more "messages" than mortal ever could "deliver;" whilst innumerable
vans, bearing the name of Strap, traverse innumerable roads in "Town and
Country." Mrs. Strap, dressed in a plain plum silk, turns a mahogany
mangle, and gets up nothing but "fine things." Ichabod has cut the
choir, and made his _début_ in an opera as Herr Strapii, a perfect
triumph.
But here we will leave Mr. Spohf's reverie--for Victoria and reality;
where the company is arriving to the annual dinner, and sitting about
the drawing-room, looking as happy as patients at a dentist's; or
festive, as disappointed toadeaters at the funeral of an opulent
relative, who had left all his property to found an asylum for decayed
postboys--after leading everybody to expect the lion's share of it:--the
guests, for want of more exciting topics, admiring the gimcracks they
admired a year ago; thinking the portrait of Mr. Brown--"done," twenty
years since, at a portrait club,--a splendid likeness, and that the
original grows younger (query, richer?); stating truths and untruths
about the weather; inquiring energetically after each other's
health--not caring for the answers; with other homely pleasantries, too
numerous to mention; until some of the juveniles--the only ones who
really seem at home--espy from the window a loaded parcel-cart; this
they observe as funny on a Sunday (little thinking, at that moment, it
was Tuesday). Here Mr. Brown descends, to hold an altercation with the
guard of that cart, who makes light of a huge hamper of game; whilst the
guests at the windows above, speculate upon having to eat an uncooked
turkey, or fancy their ravenous appetites waiting while it is
cooked--the youngsters calculating upon a dinner all pudding. Mr. Brown
returns, and tenders his arm to Lady Lucretia de Camp--in the
excitement, leading her down the side where the stairs taper to
nothing,--causing that lady to lose both equilibrium and temper.
[Illustration: THE PUDDING.
AS IT OUGHT TO HAVE APPEARED.]
In the hall they are introduced to the viands, all thought to partake
of;--which have arrived too late, and are now displayed in their
primitive state--a picture of still life; whilst the guests--a picture
of disappointment--have to put up with odds and ends, concocted to meet
the emergency, ending with a series of plum-dumplings, in place of the
legitimate large pudding. However, the indigent relatives, who prefer
the cold corners, and take "any part," declare themselves well
satisfied:--all partaking of everything, and brandy afterwards, as if
the viands were rich. Master Brown does justice to everything, of
course--that sweet child is now pulling the _merry thought_ with his
maiden aunt; he is victor, and, as no one wishes to know his _thoughts_,
seems determined to tell them,--_wishing_ "Jemy. and Mr. Latimer would
look sharp, and knock up the match Mamma spoke of; as then he should be
breeched, have pockets, and money:" here the little dear turned to the
Captain, saying, "You'll give me a crown, won't you?"--a question at
which the maiden aunt blushed intensely, as did Mrs. Brown, who
attempted to hide her emotion by saying, "What strange things children
do think of!"--at the same time helping a gentleman who had had
enough--the bashful gentleman, who sat at the junction of the tables,
and appeared so incommoded by the table-land of one being higher than
the table-land of the other--causing his plate to oscillate in a very
remarkable manner, and discharge its contents in his lap,--the conjoined
legs compelling him either to sit at a fearful distance, and spill the
gravy, or to split his kerseymeres, by extending them too much for their
frail make:--however, he has at last succeeded in thrusting one knee
between them, and the shorter leg of the two off Bunyan's "Pilgrim's
Progress"--used to stilt it;--letting the unfortunate gentleman's
pudding down, and his plate travel, until at last it stops, performing a
gyration, all to itself, under the sideboard.
[Illustration: The Merry Thought]
During this clatter, the ladies rise and depart, leaving the gentlemen
to drown all disappointments in the wine. Mr. Brown, "feeling called
upon," rises, apologizing for certain misfortunes, herein described--at
the same time trusting that such events might never happen again; and,
in the end, eulogizing Mrs. B., who is painted in glowing colours, by a
painter who said he should not have painted it; or, as any one else
might have observed, introduced two virtuously amiable daughters, so
prominently in the foreground. After a noble reply by Captain de Camp,
of the Hon. East India Company's service, from Madras, and much applause
from the diners, they ascend, to join the ladies; forming, round the
drawing-room-fire, a vast amphitheatre, in the centre of which,
gladiatorial children contend for nuts and oranges--Captain de Camp
filling the post of honour,--making himself at home in Mr. Brown's easy
chair and slippers. Mr. Wellesley drags in the yule-log, much to the
detriment of the Brussels, and the annoyance of the guests; for, upon
placing it in the grate, it causes everything to be covered with black
tadpoles, nearly extinguishing the fire--until it ignites, roasting the
company, and making the pot a white-heat.
[Illustration]
The Captain has repeated last evening's brew, upon a larger scale,
in the "little bason," or wassail-bowl. Master Wellesley has kissed
Angelina under the misletoe, suspended from the chandelier, and placed
in the centre of the amphitheatre, for that purpose. Mr. Latimer has
"taken the opportunity," as Jemima turned up a refractory burner; and
everybody kissed everybody else they liked, or could catch there. The
entertaining Captain has narrated an effective anecdote of an enraged
elephant, and a precious big boar speared in a savage jungle--to which
he might have added, with no more personal risk than Mrs. Brown may
experience when hunting for a boa in her wardrobe. And, Mr. Mouldy, the
city merchant, who dealt in rags, sang about a little excitable pig, and
"Mac Mullin's Lament;" whilst Mr. Snobbins--who it was hoped would sit
and be silent,--has broken the spell, dared to remember old times,
sleeping under a counter, and the pugnacity of Brown, when they were in
a _mess_ at the _blues_--making Captain de Camp think more of a military
repast than Christ's Hospital;--until the "_blues_" were dispelled by
Mr. Snobbins singing "The gallant 'prentice boy:"--not that the company
would have lacked a military man, had the Captain been absent, for there
was Cowed, the meek Bermondsey tanner, by livery a hatter, and withal a
soldier--a member of the Hon. Artillery Company,--he who sang about God
blessing the old cow's hide, and a
"Wish that his soul in heaven might dwell,
Who first invented the leather bottel;"
--and, Mrs. Brown's brother, Mr. Barthe Brick, familiarly known as _the_
"Brick," who had just commenced a song, a parody upon Fra
Diavolo,--a something very, very low, supposed to be sung by a dealer in
hearth-stones; who, at the end of each verse, vociferates "who'll buy,"
heightening the illusion by trundling a chair, on its back, round the
family circle, to represent a barrow.
No one knows where the barbarous atrocities would have ended, and all
before the refined strangers, too, had not the olive-branches--disposed
for rest by their several mammas in the room above--all awoke at once,
tumbled out of bed, and joined in a combined cry; this breaks the family
circle--mothers fly to pack their turbulent innocents for travel; the
candles flare, and carriages clatter, grinding the flints in the lane.
John, the footman, finds he has a dozen half-crowns, and Mary seven. The
last fly has departed with the little Bricks; lights appear and
disappear in the bed-chambers; and the Christmas-day--that comes but
once a year--has vanished, like a dream!
Mr. Brown has jotted the events, in his Diary, in a hand scarcely
legible. It must have been penned in a somnambulistic fit--thinking he
was at a meeting of St. Stiff's vestry, in the union board-room,--for,
after a list of member's present (the names of his guests), Captain de
Camp in the chair, follow these minutes of proceedings:--Firstly, that
one Spohf be dismissed as organist of St. Stiff's, confined in the
idiot-ward, fed on water gruel, and handed over to his own parish
(Vienna); proposed by Latimer, and seconded by Wellesley de Camp. The
second proposition appears to be to the effect that a vagrant named
Brick, dealer in hearth-stones, be confined in the refractory-ward, and
fed upon bread and water.
The morning after the festivities London oversleeps itself:--and,
awaking, finds it boxing-day. Variegated dips are being disseminated
among delighted, dirty, juveniles; whilst the boys seem chagrined at
notices for "the extinction of abuses," or "suppression of
Christmas-boxes;" which seems only to make them the more pertinacious at
Victoria Villa: for an irregular dustman has chalked the post, and the
Postman vowed to mark Mr. Brown; the Turncock is turned off; the Waits
have to "wait a little longer;" and the Beadle, who declared Mr. Brown
no generous churchwarden, has, withal, found enough alcohol to make him
stupid before night--causing that dignitary to cry a lost boy instead of
a girl, and to see twice as many posts round St. Stiff's as usual;
taking half of them to be boys about to vault over the other half,
he rushes on to disperse them, soundly chastising the granite.
[Illustration]
All the little boys secure their mites before mid-day; taking their
posts at the gallery-door of a popular theatre, five hours before
opening, to practise that rare virtue, patience, at the shrine of "Hot
Codlings," and "George Barnwell."
[Illustration: BOXING DAY.
AN OFFENDED DIGNITARY OF THE CHURCH.
'BOLISH THE BOXES, INDEED: 'SPECT NEXT THEY'L 'BOLISH THE BISHOPS.--
WHAT'S A SEASON WITHOUT COMPLIMENTS?]
Master Ichabod Strap, in his richest yellow breeches, and burnished
badge of St. Stiff the Martyr, is perambulating the parish with his gay
phylactery, or Christmas-piece--"The History of Joseph," painted, like
the coat, in many colours:--he shows it to Mrs. Brown, who approves the
performance; "stroking the head of modest and ingenuous worth that
blushed at its own praise;" measuring the boy at a glance, and
proffering him promotion in the shape of an uniform, of buttons, just
vacated by a youth--called by his peers "Nobby Jones," but by his
mistress "Alphonso;"--who, having grown to the great risk of buttons and
stitches, was dispossessed of his regimentals, being sent home one dark
night in his bed-gown. "Ichabod" promises to resign that title and all
connection with the dirty boys, to reign as Alphonso the second page;
being missed by Mr. Spohf, for whom he used to blow the organ, in the
little second floor--a bereavement Mrs. B. enjoyed, saying, she wondered
how the unworthy little animal would raise the wind now.
There is an universal adage about risking sprats to capture
herrings--a sport not unknown to our cosmopolite Captain, for he had
fished in troubled waters, and hunted for a dinner many a time;--he knew
the traps and snares to secure game, the days and seasons; so, on
Boxing-day, he baits the servants with crowns; Tommy with a sovereign;
Angelina with "The Keepsake;" Jemima with a modern-ancient missal, or
portion of Scripture made dear and difficult to read; presenting Mrs. B.
with the last new art manufacture--"The Knowing Blade, a brazen-faced
sharper, to remove blunt;" and procuring for Mr. B. the skin of the
identical Bengal tiger he killed, as may be seen from a legend running
up the back bone--though an inscription on the tip of the tail states it
to be sold by Fitch of Regent Street. The bait secures its amount of
flat-fish; for that evening, Captain de Camp was more than usually
lucky--he caught enough at _ecarté_ to clear himself;--a freak of
fortune that caused no asperity in the noble breast of Brown; for here
are his own thoughts in his own words:--"December 26_th_, _Wednesday_
(Boxing-day).--My dear friend, De Camp, has this day given us all tokens
of the warmest attachment--sadly wanting to do something for
me--'Colonial,' 'War,' or 'Admiralty.' Not requiring anything just now,
this will form an admirable reserve; I must, in the meantime, profit by
his refined society, as I hope and trust the girls will by his sons'.
If there be any drawback to the delight I feel, it is the non-arrival of
his luggage; for I am personally inconvenienced by his wearing my best
coat. I may be over-scrupulous in wishing he would return the books he
devours with such avidity:--Mrs. B. says, she thinks, the paragon of
knowledge swallows them; for they are not to be found."
Next morning Ichabod enters the Brown suit and service, having spent
Boxing-night and the proceeds of the Christmas-piece at the play, where
he saw "Jane Shore" and "Harlequin House that Jack built;" the plot and
tricks of which he recounted to Master Tommy, as he took that young
gentleman for a walk, inoculating him with a great desire to go and
behold it. So, after having coaxed his mother, teased his father, and
cried his lovely blue eyes into a good imitation of red veined marble,
the youth triumphed; for on Thursday evening, they all went to the play
in the fusty fly from Drone's yard, driven by old Drone, in his
pepper-and-salt suit of pseudo livery, that looked as if he always
brushed it with the currycomb; and so tindery about the breast, from the
number of marriage-favours annually pinned there, that it is a wonder it
holds together. Alphonso rode upon the box, giving the vehicle a certain
amount of smartness. On their arrival under the dirt-embrowned portico
of the theatre, they are cordially recognised by the De Camps; who,
thinking it a pity the box should not be filled, have just dropped down
to see "London Assurance"--intending to quit before the pantomime, but
forgetting to do so after all.
[Illustration]
During the play, Master Tommy disposes of a vast quantity of oranges and
sponge-cakes--vanishing between each act to obtain a fresh
supply;--making butterflies of the bill, and causing the
double-barrelled _lorgnette_ (which was hired for the occasion from an
adjacent oyster-shop) to slip off the cushion, falling upon a bald
gentleman in the pit:--the excited little pest remarking everything, and
fairly shouting at the discovery of Alphonso below, until chid by his
mother. Oh! that we could participate in thy youthful enthusiasm, or
feel pleased at that hotch-potch--the overture; or, a thrill when the
muffin-bell tinkles, causing the lovely drop-scene--that combined the
grandeur of the pretty Parthenon with the sublimity of Virginia
Water--to vanish into its own intensely blue sky; disclosing the
"Harlequin House that Jack built," and Mr. John Bull's huge paste-board
thick head, snoring like thunder, in a "property" summer-house--an
elephantine blue-bottle on his proboscis, and a sleeping bull-dog, the
size of an Alderney steer, at his feet;--here Master Brown, with a grin,
calls the house Victoria Villa, and the paste-board mask his papa. Now
enters the rat, to eat the good things that lay in the house that John
built, represented by a stealthy seedy gentleman, who, after reading a
board intimating that apartments were to let, crept slyly past the
sleepy Bull, to mount the house-steps; and there deliver himself of the
following doggerel, in a mellifluous voice:--
"I search for lodgings--here's the very thing,--
Though I've not got a _rap_, I think I'll _ring_;
For all I want is to be _taken in_,--
As I would others _take_--sure 'tis no sin
To do to others--only tit for tat--
So here goes--Rat--tat, tat--a tat!!!!!"
[Illustration: HERE WE ARE AGAIN!]
The orchestra, loud in wishing to know "who's dat knocking at de door?"
and Master Tom, deep in the bill, with Mr. Rat, who is there described
as a "scamp"--an unknown term to Tom, for he asked its meaning;
observing that Uncle Brick said Captain de Camp was a scamp. This
question remained unanswered; for no one heard it except the Captain,
who felt a great itching to pull a young monkey's ears, but did not. The
cat (a sort of Puss in Boots, with a short stick and strip of paper)
entering, to catch the rat, is worried by the dog; who is tossed by a
cow with a very crumpled horn; who was milked by a maid said to be very
forlorn; who is kissed by a sweet-looking beggar, all tattered and
torn--the loving pair being likened to Jemima and Latimer, by Master
Tom, causing his sister's face to redden as a furnace, that heightened
the more it was fanned; and when the priest, all shaven and shorn (whom
Tom called the Rev. Loyalla à Becket), commenced marrying the couple,
then Miss Jemima entertained serious notions of fainting; and, probably,
would, had not the solemnization of matrimony been violated by the
priest, who shed his sack-cloth surplice, vaulting over the rails of the
altar, between the astonished couple, leaving that sanctuary to change
into a _match maker's_--appearing, himself, a perfect _clown_, stating
that sublime, veritable, truth--"_here we are again!_"--working his
geometric, chromatic, physiognomy into endless contortions, extending
his arms like the sails of contrary windmills, twiddling his legs like a
fly,--and when called upon, by unearthly voices, for "Tippytiwitchet,"
appears so scared that he tumbles through the big drum, to oblige them
with the song from the slips; instantly afterwards presenting himself
upon the stage, dilating his spotted inexpressibles, until they put him
in mind of a friend, _Pantaloon_, that, by a curious coincidence,
resides at a tailor's, in the back-ground, having just completed a
patch-work skin, for _Harlequin_; who, the instant he is fitted, flies
through the panel of a door, inscribed "_cutting-out_ room," into the
next house, a _florist's_, there to obtain his favourite flower, the
_Columbine_, with whom he has a long dance in the centre of a very
solitary street; whilst Clown and Pantaloon arrange a partnership
concern, which they carry on in the middle of the road, in front of the
shop, until Clown renders himself more plague than profit, by warming
his partner's lumbar region with a very red-hot goose, basting him with
the sleeve-board, and sticking him to the road with wax--Clown
dissolving partnership by walking off, in a new wrap-rascal, with the
cash-box, that no one may rob them. The best things must come to an
end!--and so does the Pantomime--with a gorgeous display of red fire,
tinsel and gold, real water and the electric light--all chopped off in
the middle by the descending curtain. The box-fronts have been enveloped
in their night-gowns; the Columbine is clattering, in pattens, to her
lodgings; the Harlequin has been bolted out, unable to vault through the
fan-light; and the Clown is running in his painted face, having
forgotten to wash it, for at home he left a dear wife seriously ill,
to come and be funny in sadness.
[Illustration: THE NOTORIOUS SINGER AT THE "WARREN," SINGING HIS
CELEBRATED BITS "THE DROP" AND "THE DRAIN."]
Drone's fly is homeward bound, heavily laden. The young men of the party
have dived into "The Welsh Rarebit Warren," there to spend the early
hours of the morning, listening to sentimental songs chanted amid fumes
of tobacco and spirits, to hear sorry wit, and make vapid remarks. The
great feature of the evening being a melodramatic dirge, supposed to be
sung by a condemned felon--a triumphant lamentation and delineation of
brutal character,--so eloquent and thrilling, in its monosyllabic groans
of anguish, that it is a wonder the kidneys, consumed in such numbers,
are ever digested. But, alas!--such is life--those most swayed by animal
propensities see the least warning therein:--as, the thief combines
business and pleasure at the gallow's foot; so, with the frequenters of
the "Warren"--they imbue their sentiment and supper,--only digesting the
latter. Wellesley has devoured several "rabbits," and Latimer disposed
of numberless kidneys, whilst young Brown has had to wait the usual
forty minutes for a steak; and, in the interim, had five "stouts," four
"goes," and several cigars, _i.e._, with assistance from the De Camps;
who have made free, ay, to order goblets of champagne, and, in the end,
not having change to repair the "damage" (a mean, but true, term, as
often applied), they get young Brown to pay the complicated sum added up
by the waiter, upon a mahogany ditto, in lieu of a slate, with stale
stout spilled in the corner, receipted with a wipe of the towel:--and
so, home in the "safety" cab, with large wheels and a spanking
grey,--lettered along the side "_Nil desperandum_," thinking "handsome
is as _Hansom_ does;" tumbling into bed just before the peep o' day, and
five hours after Mr. Brown had made up his Diary--writing against
December the 27th., Thursday, that he had taken Tom and the girls to a
pantomime; been agreeably surprised to find the De Camps there,
especially the sons, who did sit in front, with Jemy. and Angel.,
looking made as much for one another as he could desire:--Tom behaving
very sadly; and, were it not for his mother, the boy should spend the
vacations at a Yorkshire school;--twice every year--in the Dog-days and
December--is the house turned topsy-turvy,--it may be sport to you,
Master Tom, but 'tis death to us.
[Illustration]