your hands (which are to represent feet); next, tie round your neck a
short coloured pinafore, reaching down to your hands (or rather the old
dame's feet)--this will represent a gown; now, place your shoed hands
upon a table, to see effect; gird the gown with a proportionate apron,
the strings of which will bind your arms and body together at the chest;
put on a false nose, a pair of spectacles, a lady's frilled night-cap,
and a comical conical hat; add a little red cloak, and draw the table up
to a window or recess, the curtains of which pin at the back of your
shoulders; and standing thus, with your hands (the old dame's feet) upon
the table, you will represent the most perfect little dwarf (without
arms) you can imagine; the hands are to be supplied by an accomplice,
behind the curtain, who is to suit the action of those hands to the
pleasantries you may invent. Thus, having given the necessary
instructions, we leave the rest to be supplied by the actor; who may,
if he pleases, render the old dame a medium of much merry conceit and
pleasant mirth. Well do we remember the impression made at this party;
for, as before stated, we performed the arms from behind the curtain,
through which we occasionally peeped, getting a good view over the
shoulders of Mr. Lark (the old dame), witnessing the astonished gaping
gaze of the servant, who happened to enter the apartment at the moment,
and stood transfixed to the spot, until the effigy had escaped. One
little boy was so impressed with the illusion, that he actually went
below, with some venturesome companions, in search of her; but soon
returned, rushing up stairs in a state of extreme terror, declaring to
us (as he kept his eyes towards the door, fearing every moment she would
appear), that he had seen the old dame, and heard her pig; the truth
being, one of the party had grunted in a dark corner of the lobby, and
frightened the youth, who eventually became a prey to intense mental
anxiety--a trembling fear we attempted to dispel, without success, until
we bore the little fellow below, he clinging tightly to us. In the lobby
Mr. Lark showed the scared youth our trick, piece-meal--in the end,
pacifying the young gentleman, though much do we think the old dame and
her pig will never be forgotten by him:--he may grow to manhood, have
children, loves and cares innumerable, traverse the seas, know war and
famine, yet do we think the old dame will stand boldly out, like a giant
image in the desert of the past--far more so than the Galanti show,
exhibited afterwards, because really alive, and capable of
reason!--Though, _we_ had more reason to remember the show; for, the men
who performed it hung their hats and coats beside Mr. Lark's, and our
own; which, upon leaving, they did not identify:--though, we think they
ought; as ours were considerably newer--one of their hats being a cap,
and the other of dirty white felt!
After the departure of the show, we got up some sport with the sheets
upon which it had been performed, exhibiting our eyes through a hole,
therein; those on the obverse trying to guess the proprietor of others
on the reverse--all the owners of bright eyes much enjoying the sport.
But to recount the many pranks played by youthful blood that evening,
would require a volume--everybody proposing everything; and everybody
else, disliking the thing proposed, suggests some other:--one wanting
Hunt the Whistle; a second, to act Charades; and a third, some practical
joke of the old school, such as the game we played with Mr. Lark, called
Porcelain Mesmerism, deceiving the little innocents into a belief that
men are simple--much more so than they will find them, upon arriving at
maturity!--There we sat (two full-grown fools) staring at each other,
with plates of water in our hands, the bottom of one sooty, the other
clean!--There we sat, face to face, alternately rubbing the bottoms of
the plates, and stroking our physiognomies, in mockery of each
other--Mr. Lark getting his face blacked like a sweep,--the youngsters
laughing at his silliness!--Oh, that a little smut should produce such
ecstatic mirth!
[Illustration]
There is Walter Merry, looking like an eel in convulsions--imagining he
has been here about an hour:--you should have seen the expression of the
little fellow, when Mrs. Brown gently tapped him on the shoulder,
saying, "Master Merry, you're fetched!" Time was annihilated, and memory
dumbfounded!--The entertainment that had been looked forward to for
days, counted by the hours, and put so many mammas in a pother, is
gone!--The hands of the hall-clock are almost perpendicular--it wants
but half-an-hour of midnight!--Several anxious mammas have sent several
times for their several little ones; and the several servants have been
sent away with several evasive answers--for "the little dears are
enjoying themselves so much!"--"Mrs. Brown's compliments to Mrs.
Fidgets, and would she permit the little Fidgets to stay just ten
minutes longer?" No!--the Fidgety footman is only to depart _with_ them;
so he is sent to the servants' hall, there to wait, whilst snap-dragon
is being prepared in the library--that the evening may end with a grand
blue-fire _tableaux_. The room resembles the Black Hole of
Calcutta!--Hundreds of little itching fingers are longing to be amongst
that pound of raisins, in spirits--all eager, as imps, for the fiendish
sport; the darkness and suspense rendering it very exciting--causing
Master Jewel (a model boy), who is "wanted directly," to make no answer
from the sable mass; until, the summons being repeated, he says
something that sounds very like "shan't come!"--and, Master Jewel does
not come, until he has had his portion of the fiery food that is flying
about in every direction.
[Illustration: MASTER MERRY AS HE APPEARED WHEN HE WAS "FETCHED"!!!]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: END OF JUVENILE PARTY.
MASTER BROWN FEELS AS IF HE HAD HAD A GOOD MANY GOOD THINGS.]
During the last hour Cook and John have held a _soirée_ below, to all
the neighbouring domestics, who are awaiting to escort home their little
masters and mistresses--they are regaling upon ale and sandwiches, in
the servants' hall; whilst that most interesting topic, "every body's
business," is being discussed:--Mrs. Pest's maid assuring all, upon her
sacred word and honour, that Mrs. Pest is not a angel, or the
"Pest-house" a paradise, though it may look pretty over the garden-wall;
and, moreover, Mrs. P.'s maid said she were of opinion the public knowed
it, too; for t'other night some one painted out the fust letters, ag'in
our door-post--making the direction, at the corner of the lane, "Placid
Vale," read "_acid ale_" instead,--no compliment, as the maid said, to
Mr. "Pest, Pewter, and Co.'s Entire;"--at the same time observing, that
it sarved 'em right! And, "as I hope, afore next Heaster, to lose my
blessed Virgin Mary name, I'd go--if it wer'n't for the pale-ale-tory
circumstances, I'd warn Missus! It was only yesterday, jist arter Mr.
Pest had gone to Brewhus, in Liquorish St., that we had a scrimmage
about flounces; and jist as I was a-going to fling my resignation at
her--'tending to go out every evenin', till the month was up, in a gound
zactly like Missus' own (lilock, with seven flounces)--well, jist when I
was on the pint o' naming the word, I think'd o' little Ned Pest; and,
as I loved the dear little fellow more than a paltry frock,
I con'scended to stay!" Here the gardening-groom at the "Snuggery,"
opposite, grinned and winked horribly, observing something about little
Ned's being a "surfeit of finery"--finery that had to be shown and
aired,--airing begetting the society of aubun viskers and hofficer X,
50!--_officers_, making Mr. "Snuggery" chuckle amazingly, and grin
more--observing hofficers to be all the "kick" now!--At the same time,
jerking his thumb in the direction of the party-wall and the Albert,
saying, he knew the Captain,--met _Boultoff_ at Bath, where he stayed
last season, until the waters were too hot, when he "dried up" (we
suppose by drying up, the "Snuggery" meant departed). No one appeared to
notice the different name applied to the Captain--or, if they did, said
nothing,--except Cook, who observed--her master and the Capting to be as
thick as soup!--That she thought the former green and soft, as over-done
spinach, for the Capting cut it very fat at master's 'spense;--the
guvenor ought to save his bacon afore he be done to rags;--if missus ud
come in for all the grizzle, she (cook) said she would not stew and fry
herself about it.
[Illustration: "THE HYPOCRIPPLE! YOU DON'T SAY SO."
"YES, I PREDIGATE HIM TO BE AN HUMBUG."]
Poor John, now fully assured of the Captain's intention, is very
uncomfortable, indeed; experiencing the combined sensations
of goose-skin, fever, pins-and-needles, live-blood, and
intoxication--sensations that might have been relieved could they
have vanished at the extremities of his hair; but, unfortunately, that
would not stand erect, so plastered and powdered had it been since the
Captain's arrival. John ruminates upon what has been said, intending to
mention the "unmentionables," and break the awful mystery to Mr. Brown,
that very night. Now, you must know, Mr. Brown and his friend, the
Captain, condescended to grace the juvenile party:--they sat at
an occasional table, in the recess, drinking wine, as if for a
wager--trying to dispose of all the surplus decanted yesterday; so,
you may suppose, when John appeared with a melancholy face, to impart
melancholy news, Mr. Brown was too far gone to comprehend it--that night
he could not stand, much more understand; though, somehow, under the
inspiration of a draught of water and a damp towel, the Diary was made
up, as if by instinct:--
"January 5th, _Saturday_.--Christmas is dead!--Expired with the Juvenile
party--we have economically disposed of the scraps. 'A Merry
Christmas!'--All the _ill luck_ came upon Fridays--we can have no more
this season--altogether, a jolly Christmas, with a jolly friend, who is
to prove himself a _capital_ one to-morrow--owes me £350--bill due
Monday,--says he will _clear off all by then!_ If 'money' is said to be
a 'friend,' what must a _friend_ with _money_ be?--A golden treasure,
doubly dear--a companion that can never be a drag, because too well
off."
Thus closes the Christmas portion of the Brown Diary:--its author, as
customary on Saturday, dyeing his hair, before retiring to rest. But,
somehow, that eventful evening, Brown could not repose in peace; he
abused his best friends in sleep--dreaming the De Camps capable of
decamping, after the bridal breakfast, with the dowry, across the
sea--leaving Jemima and Angelina married vestals,--to make more money
and fresh conquests in _Virginia_ or _Marryland_:--whither old Brown
feels bound to follow, in his night shirt, but is incapacitated, being
tied to the earth by a pigtail springing from the organs of amativeness,
philoprogenitiveness, inhabitiveness, and adhesiveness! So exciting is
Brown's dream, that he fancies the De Camps escaping--now, the banging
door of the Albert fairly awakening the sleeper; who, on attempting to
rise, finds the pillow really a fixture to the back of his head; which
he tears away, in a rage, causing all the pleasing sensations that might
be experienced on the removal of a tail by the roots. Brown rushes
wildly to the window, opening the casement; and, upon looking into the
pitch-dark night, he receives a blow from without, that causes him to
stagger and reel backwards, falling to the floor, with a noise that
makes Mrs. Brown rise in a fright, obtain a light, and severely
reprimand her lord as a drunken fool--capable of any wild fancy!
The naked truth stands thus:--Poor Brown has mistaken a bottle of gum
for hair-dye, and a closet for the casement--bruising his forehead
against the shelf; so, he creeps back to bed--there to lie, moralizing
upon cause and effect!--Thinking, how trifling things, in themselves,
may lead to disastrous consequences--reflecting upon the rival
bottles:--one black--all deceit, the other white and trusty! "Be not
precipitate, nor trust to appearances only, lest you be
deceived!"--a maxim, Brown fears, he cannot apply to the Captain; for,
never did he know less of a man, of whom he ought to have known more.
The 5th of January seemed to Brown as if it would never dawn!--The bump
that took away and restored his senses, or, rather, sobered that
gentleman, feels like an egg placed in the centre of his forehead--he
longs for daylight, to examine it:--daylight, that comes, and reduces
the egg to a walnut-shell!--Poor Brown's hat will not go on, for the
excrescence, so he cannot go to church. At breakfast he recounts his
dream--which is voted fudge by Mamma, stuff by Angelina, and rubbish by
Jemima; for they are in no very good humour after the excitement of last
week. Little Tom is in bed, having broken his fast upon jalap,
administered to counteract the baneful effects of the sweets consumed
yesterday--the youth being full as a sack of sand; and, we think, could
an anatomist have given a section of the different strata of food that
body contained, in the spirit of a geologist, he would have presented a
remarkable series of deposits. But, away with scientific speculations,
to the Browns, who are at breakfast--a meal that has been intruded upon
by John; who has recounted enough of a certain story to put Jemima in
hysterics, and Angelina in a fainting fit--bringing down a hurricane of
abuse upon him--John, the impertinent menial--John, the venomous viper,
that has recoiled upon its benefactor--John, the dark villain, that has
plotted with the unworthy man, Spohf, who, of course, out of mere envy,
mere spite, mere jealousy, would try to overturn that harmony that is
not to be broken so easily--that unity that is not to be severed, no,
not for a hundred Spohfs! "Go--go, sir, to your fiddling
garret-friend--go and blow his hurdigurdy!--Go, sir!--Tell him the
affections of innocent females are not to be played upon like a _base
vile_!--Tell him there are ears to pull, horsewhips to be had, ay, and
noble gentlemen ever ready to lay on in defence of those scandalously
reviled! You may tremble, sir, for menials can be discharged, and have
characters to lose! Sir, I give you warning!--Sir, you may go!--Go,
sir!"
Now, this is the very thing John much wished to do:--he had been
imperceptibly backing, for the last five minutes, towards the door,
fearing to turn tail upon the enemy--the choleric Mr. and Mrs. Brown;
who appeared, in their very fierceness, to counteract each other's
fire--each pulling the other back, seeming to get more and more
ferocious the nearer their victim gained the door,--for, when the baited
John reached it, he turned the handle of the lock behind him, still
facing his antagonists, intending to escape by a side lurch; but, just
at that critical point, there came a knock of great importance at the
outer door, as if the chimney were on fire, or a baby half out of
window:--the enemy fell back--John opened the door, and, lo!--There
discovered an officer of the Police Force, who wanted a word with John
Brown!--John, feeling himself the Brown wanted, retreats into the
kitchen, where he faints away, in a plate-basket, and stops the Dutch
clock.
[Illustration]
* * * * * *
The Police Officer has had his word, or rather, word of words, with Mr.
Brown:--news, said to be important, but of the wildest and most
improbable character--news, appearing to that gentleman beyond all
belief--news, that he will not, can not, put faith in!--Allegations, so
preposterous, that they may be disproved in a moment--"Captain de Camp,
_alias_ Boultoff, &c., &c., and three other persons, names unknown,
now incarcerated in Dover Jail, for the robbery of John Brown, of
Mizzlington"--a mistake--a foul plot--a base fiction!--At least, so
thought the worthy gentleman, who was as ignorant of any wrong done
him as the lunatic that resides in the moon. Had the sea-serpent been
discovered in the back pond, a gold-mine been found in the dust-bin, or
a Sphinx and Centaur been captured in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Mr. Brown
could not have been more astounded!--He knows it to be an imputation
that can be disproved in a twinkling, if Mr. Police Inspector will just
step next door with him; but, alas!--There the fox's tail is left in the
trap--the skirt of the very coat, borrowed of Mr. Brown, a fortnight
since, hangs in the door,--the very door that slammed, when the
affrighted gentleman awoke in a dream, last night.
* * * * * *
The concluding facts of these eventful sixteen days are simply as
follows:--to Mr. Spohf is the issue due--he was bound to spend the
sabbath at Canterbury, with the cathedral and organ; upon the journey
thither, he happened to recognise some fellow-travellers, better known
to him than he was to them. From a slight conversation that transpired,
he learned their destination to be Boulogne, or rather, Dover; so he
stopped at Ashford, telegraphing their persons to Dover, where, upon
arrival, they were provided with lodging free of expense; from that
place news was instantly sent to Mizzlington. Little did Mr. Brown
think, that morning, as he combed out his matted, gummy, locks, that his
friend Captain de Camp had lost _his_, under the cruel shears, in Dover
Jail!
[Illustration]
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Captain de Camp, as you may suppose, after these lucky _stars_, again
entered upon foreign service; being ordered to New South Wales, for
fourteen years--he sailed in the same transport with his two sons. Lady
Lucretia stayed at home, leading a very retired life--she resided in a
vast mansion at the "West-end," a castle at Millbank.
Mr. Spohf, of course, taking advantage of his rival's absence, wins upon
Miss Jemima Brown--in the end, marrying her, to live happy ever
afterwards?--No, such was not the case! Mr. Spohf espoused Miss Cecilia
Lark, who blessed him with a large family and everything else that woman
can. Spohf's means have increased, annually, with his family:--all are
musical, and the eldest girl is to be an "English Lark," that will
surpass the "Swedish Nightingale," or any other foreign bird--the
continentalists attribute it to the southern origin of her papa; and,
accordingly, claim Cecilia Spohf as their own.
The Misses Brown still remain open to offers, and are reported to be
well _worth_ having. Mr. John Brown, Junr., is married to Miss Gay;
a better _match_ there could not be--they both pull one way; but,
unfortunately the wrong one--rumour says they are extravagant. Tom is at
Westminster School; he has not distinguished himself in any particular
study, unless it be boating:--they say he would have won in the last
race had he not broken his scull--a mishap that sadly terrified Mrs.
Brown; for the note, intimating the catastrophe, said nothing about the
_sculls_ being more wooden than her son's. Mr. and Mrs. Brown are really
very happy!--Victoria and Albert are now united--the party-wall is
removed. Mr. B. has retired from business, not even discounting
bills:--he does not go to the city now; or at least if he does, it is
behind Mr. Strap, who makes an important coachman, having filled out
amazingly--may be, thinking, "he who drives fat cattle should himself be
fat;" for the bays are too corpulent to kick, and take the journeys at
their own pace. John--John Brown, "_private_," now keeps a public
house--"the Brown Arms," "the Rampant Locomotive," "Noted Brown Stout
House," at the corner of Brown Terrace:--it was a beer-shop when John
first took it, but he has since obtained a _licence_, and married Mary,
the house-maid.
Mr. Brown is notorious for keeping up the festive Christmas season!--He
now makes it a rule to invite only those he loves or respects--not
because they are well-to-do in this world, but because he likes or
admires them;--seeming fully assured of Time's progress, and that--
CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR!
The End.
The Cuts, inserted in the text, are
engraved by the Brothers DALZIEL;
the Plates (from zinc) printed
by LEIGHTONS & TAYLOR;
and the Letter-press by
BENTLEYS & FLEY,
Bangor House,
Shoe Lane.
[Decoration]
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
Notes and Errata:
De Camp : de Camp
_variation as in original_
Pue-packer at St. Stiff's
_spelling "pue" used consistently_
"December 21st, Friday"
_the days of the week fit the year 1850_
cramped caligraphy
_spelling unchanged_
under the misletoe
_spelling unchanged_
a list of member's present
_apostrophe in original_
[Picture caption]
'SPECT NEXT THEY'L 'BOLISH THE BISHOPS.
_spelling "THEY'L" unchanged_
thinks he always / thought he thought the De Camps scamps
_text unchanged_
causing Mrs. Brown to desert her partner in / _l'éte_
_text unchanged, but illustration reads "l'eté"_
assuming the shape of elongated O's
_capital "O" elongated in print_
and ma'says I shall / have "Rule Britannia,"
_spacing unchanged_
Hop o'my Thumb Polka
_spacing unchanged_
[Picture caption]
"THE HYPOCRIPPLE! YOU DON'T SAY SO."
"YES, I PREDIGATE HIM TO BE AN HUMBUG."
_text reads "DO'NT" ("don't" appears elsewhere in text)_
_second-line open quotation mark missing_
End of Project Gutenberg's Christmas Comes but Once A Year, by Luke Limner