Christmas Comes but Once A Year
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Luke Limner >> Christmas Comes but Once A Year
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[Illustration: COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON.]
The first Sunday after Christmas is here:--Brown is in bed; the little
bell of St. Stiff's has stopped, and many another vibratory sound is
dying in the distance; flakes of snow are moodily descending--causing
the fire to spit angrily, and the face of heaven to look black--all
light appearing to come from the earth; sound is deadened, the carpet is
darker than usual, and the ceiling lighter; Mr. Brown's eyes are up
there, for he is lying, tracing amid the cracks and stains, vast palaces
like pictures by Martin, or aerial phantasmagorias by Turner. Brown is
lying, nursing his influenza according to the approved adage; though
some read the maxim thus, "Stuff a cold, and (have to) starve a fever."
Let us hope Brown has the right version. Captain de Camp has come to
read to the invalid, and drink his brandy and water--he has begun
"Blair's Sermons," or rather the life of Blair, prefixed to the volume,
in a full conviction of its religious tendency; whilst in the room above
is John, the footman, standing upon his bed, breathing on the single
pane of glass, inserted in the sloped roof, that he may melt the snow,
and see to read a mysterious document--a tumbled note,--not on the Bank
of England, but an epistolatory one, found in the trowsers pockets of
Mr. Latimer de Camp--the same cast off by that gentleman on
Christmas-day, when he stumbled over the strange dinner, in coming from
church, and so much deteriorated their appearance as to give them to
John;--who now, thinking he has found evidence,--thinks he always
thought he thought the De Camps scamps. John is perplexed at the purport
of the letter; and feeling a cold thrill run through him, he turns into
bed, there to reflect for ten minutes upon the downy pillow, pondering
with intensely closed eyes, considering before he puts himself in the
power of an enemy--for John had been a soldier once, and would have been
one now, had not his poor old mother starved and mangled together enough
to buy him off; he bore the stamp of military drill, took in "Tales of
the Wars," in penny numbers, and had a cheap print of the "Battle of
Waterloo" pasted to the sloping roof, above the bed, in which we left
him pondering. Having considered enough, he takes once more to the
document, folding and unfolding it, examining the thimble impress on the
seal, tasting a corner of it in his excitement, and reading it with
intense energy for the last time: it is directed to "Latimer de Camp,
Esq., M.A., Albert Villa, Mizzlington;" and was posted in the New Cut:--
No. 2, Grubb's Rents.
"DEAR EDWARD,
"I am anxiously awaiting the '_Conspiracy_,'--do not keep me in
suspense!--_do_ DO it, for my _benefit_.--I sadly want _money_. Is the
_plot_ too _horrible_ for you!--you know how to do for a '_Victoria_'
company!--make a _domestic tragedy_ of it--_shoot_ the _father_ and
_son_!--you know the rest. Pray communicate, or I shall think you in
trouble.
"Your forlorn--EMMA."
For this last perusal John appears none the wiser, being unable to
divine more than at first--murder and treachery seem the plot. John
thinks the Captain just like Gory, the murderer, in the Chamber of
Horrors, at the wax-works; and that Victoria Villa resembles "Greenacre
Hall," depicted in the pictorial newspaper. John is sadly perplexed as
to where he shall seek counsel--of course, thinking of every one foreign
to the case; until, happily, he remembers one that ought to have been
thought of first--to Mr. Spohf will he send the mysterious note, ask his
advice, and act upon it:--but, unfortunately, John sealed the envelope
with Mr. Brown's crest--a circumstance that made Mr. Spohf think the
letter from his old friend Brown; so he answers it as such--feeling much
pleasure that _his_ advice should be sought;--saying, the enclosed note
appeared to be about some drama some one had to write--a document of no
serious import. As to _strangers_, he should advise caution; for it is
the aim of a rogue to look as much like a trusty friend as possible;
quiet watchfulness is well, for that can harm no one. This answer from
Mr. Spohf was promptly delivered by the little tailor's daughter to the
expectant John; who naturally thought it for him. Curiously, John and
his master both owned the name of Brown--John Brown:--now John, the
servant, was conscientious; and would not, on any account, have opened
his master's letters--he drew the line of propriety much further
off,--it stopped at reading in at the ends. John felt sure _this_ letter
was for him--not that he liked being called an esquire; yet, for all
that, he felt safe, for there, extra-large and important, was the word
"_Private_"--a military distinction that made him doubly certain; so,
he bore away the letter, in great trepidation, to his quarters in the
tiles, there to be much relieved by its contents; vowing, as he lay on
his bed, to be watchful as the Duke on the look-out in his "Battle of
Waterloo," and dumb as a dead drummer in the foreground.
Happily Victoria and Albert were ignorant of these despatches, or John
might have lost his commission and uniform. Confidence is
unshaken;--for, on December 30_th_, _Sunday_, Captain de Camp is
reported a "glorious oriental brick,"--he having kindly prescribed all
sorts of good things for his invalid friend, without the slightest
regard to expense; and, moreover, broken Brown's quinsy by administering
an extraordinary anecdote, or "crammer," that scarcely any one could
_swallow_; but Brown did, and laughed so much afterwards, that the
quinsy was gone; for the Captain had anecdotes suited to all times and
seasons--he only wanted listeners, and off he went like an alarum.
Sunday put him in mind of that day twelvemonths; and that day put him in
mind of Richard Spark, of the Native Infantry; Rich. Spark put him in
mind of how they got that Hindoo millionaire, Makemuchjee Catch-muchjee,
into a Christian church, by walking him between them, in a state of
ether; how he (the Hindoo) was mollified by the sermon, and went
home--melted the Idol, Boobobum, that had golden hair, diamond eyes,
pearly teeth, coral lips, a silver tongue, and a copper bottom; how he
handed her over in lumps to the church; and yet, with all these poetical
attributes she was the ugliest and most precious god he ever set eyes
on. She was the subscription of the district--the poor put the copper
and the rich the gold;--the Captain telling of how he made a posthumous
portrait of her, which is quite correct; only he forgot five bosoms in
the bust, and left out a right arm:--it is engraved in No. 365 of the
"Missionary Record."
This paragraph opens with the last day of the old year.--The cold that
stiffened Mr. Brown's neck, and choked up his throat has thawed; his
nose has resumed its accustomed hue; his temper is unusually good
in the prospect of vacating his room, and beginning the year with
redoubled energy. Mrs. Brown is preparing for something important;
and, from the delicate scented note you observed inserted in our
chimney-glass-frame--the one with the Brown crest, a rampant locomotive
proper, and motto of "Go-a-head" (which, between ourselves, was _found_
by a very subtle seal-engraver in Change Alley);--from that, and the
remarks of Master Brown, when we called this morning, you may pretty
well judge:--he said Jemy. wrote such a lot o' letters the other day;
that they have a pillow-case filled with oranges--quite a sack-full;
and, moreover, his Ma'. just was clever--for she said she could kill two
parties with one chandelier, and make rout-seats hold double! The fact
is, Mrs. Brown intends to give a ball on the 4th of January, and a
juvenile party on the 5th--the former to be extra-superb, on account of
the De Camps; who, of course, are expected--having received an
invitation by post. We wonder the Browns did not write to invite
themselves; for John passed the Albert door in taking the Captain's
letter to the post, and the preparations were as much under the guidance
of those worthies as of the Browns themselves. The boudoir is in a
litter--all cuttings of satin and book muslin,--in the midst of which
may be seen pretty Miss Bib and little Madame Tucker, very busily
employed--Lady Lucretia de Camp proffering advice; and superintending
the construction of an amber satin, covered with black lace--a dress
that Mrs. Brown thought to wear, but felt obliged to resign, so much did
her kind patron, Lady de Camp, dote upon it.
Above this last-named apartment is Brown's bedchamber, where he and the
Captain are spending a quiet evening, reviewing their prospects and
relating their experiences:--the Captain stating his intention of living
retired upon his property, for all his friend Major Cant's trying to
persuade him to take an adjoining house in Belgravia. No! he was content
to stay where he was--Albert was snug; but if Mr. Brown thought of
removing to Mayfair or Tyburnia, why then, a house next such a capital
individual might be a desideratum:--_he_ said it--an Army Captain that
should not say it, but did not care,--stock-brokers and merchants were
men of bottom; though probably his friend Major Cant would say _that_
bottom meant the _baser_ stuff they were composed of--the joke was
better than the simile, and neither bad. After this opinion the
Captain paused to think, drink, and--with a blow that made
the table quiver,--demand, to know what a man without money was
_worth?_--answering the question, in the same breath, with an emphatic
_nothing!_--a man of wealth _was_ a man of worth! We know not if Mr.
Brown thought this logic or no;--but he, Captain de Camp, knew it, and
intended to let his friends know it also; for next season he would give
a grand entertainment, get Spread and Co. to throw a marquee over the
lawn, and see if Major Cant would come--the Captain rather thought _he_
would; or the Hon. Sam. Dummy--the coxcomb, who, when asked to dine with
Alderman Fig, in Bloomsbury Square, said _his_ horses never crossed
Tottenham Court Road--Stinkomalee and the Brutish Museum savouring too
much of the "people" for the exquisite;--but the Captain winked, and
said he knew how the Dummy would get out of the fix--he would come along
the New Road, as the Captain said he once knew him do, when in search of
an asthmatic poodle that had been stolen, and was at a dog-fancier's on
Pentonville Hill. Then should we have the lane filled with carriages,
like at a Chiswick fete; I would introduce my friend to the world, and
be at rest;--for we are a couple of old boys, willing to make sacrifices
for our dear children.
Having delivered himself of these lofty sentiments as the bells were
ringing out the old year--stopping to strike its knell;--the Captain
also stopped, to seize a glass and the hand of Brown--wishing him the
merriest, maniest, and happiest of New Years;--drinking eternal unity to
the B.'s and De C.'s--at the same time shedding a very visible tear,
that dropped into his brandy and water, like the pearl of Cleopatra,
to be sacrificed to self--to a very affectionate man--so _very_
affectionate, that he loved himself, we do believe.
The spirits and sentiment so overcame Brown, that he buried his emotion
in the bolster--a state of mind the Captain did not fail to observe, and
take advantage of; for--"he supposed Mr. Brown could _not_ spare L8,
until Saturday?"--An affirmation that gentleman repudiated; for he
granted the small favour with pleasure--presenting the leaf of an oblong
book, and his autograph, to the Captain; who retired with the same--by
an ingenious plan to render it of ten times the value--adding to the
_eight_ a letter _y_, making it eight_y_, and the figure to keep company
with a naught--L80.
The events of this day are chronicled in the Diary of Brown--all
_couleur de rose_,--the literal purport of which it would be tedious to
repeat; suffice it to say, the aphorisms on the demise of the year ran
foul of the "_occasional memoranda_," and were brought to a dead stop by
the "_general accounts_;" not that his ideas stopped on paper, for he
continued them in bed. Brown dreamed "his ship had come home;"--that he
dwelt in a Belgravian palace; that he was an M.P.;--that he was known as
_Brown_, the "King of 'Change"--that he ruled with an iron ruler--that
he was enthroned upon a cash-box--that he wore a crown of dollars--that
the four quarters of the globe adored him--that Great and Little Britain
worshipped him;--that the _world_ told his _wife_, Brown was a great
man:--but, alas!--trains of wild ideas, like locomotives that go too
fast, may run off the rail when least expected, or explode as a train of
gunpowder, without notice; so, in Mr. Brown's imagination, he feels as
if shot into the air, after being dreadfully scalded--Mrs. Brown, kind
soul, having applied a bottle of boiling water (forgetting the flannel)
to the feet of her spouse, before retiring, herself--that good lady
little thinking it was so warm. But there were other things Mrs. Brown
did not know of; for she little thought the servants were round the
kitchen-fire, quiet as mice, all deep in the "Mysteries of the Courts
and Sewers of London"--a work affording the greatest amount of horrible
excitement at the lowest rate,--a book in which Alphonso has discovered
a Captain de Camp; and cook, a Lady Thingamy, whom, she says, "ain't no
better than she should be"--a rather vague but significant truth, that
might as appropriately have been applied to a saint as to a sinner,
though cook intended it for the latter:--as to the Capting, the only
think she had agin him was a wish he wouldn't spile everythink with soy
and cayenne, for it got into the wash, and made the pigs sneeze. Mary,
too, must have her opinion--saying Wellesley wasn't no gentleman, for he
wiped his dirty boots on the towels, and would pull the plug out of the
wash-bason when there was nothing under to catch the soapy water. During
this scandal, John, whom all thought knew something, only said the
Captain was _an umbug_--as he noiselessly disappeared, bearing his shoes
in his hand; for it was considerably past midnight.
Young Brown and his two friends are at the "Planets" harmonic meeting,
stating their intention not to return till morning--an useless
proclamation, for it is impossible to do otherwise, now--they having
been at the Casino, "getting their feet in," for the hop on Friday,
as young Brown termed the practice of dancing.
Mr. Spohf is in bed, but cannot sleep--so great is his
pleasure,--Messrs. Blow and Grumble having patented "Spohf's new
organ-movement."
"A Happy New Year--and may you live to see many of them!"--The New Year
is born with every characteristic of its defunct sire--seeming no better
behaved (as some people would have little boys after a birthday or a
breeching):--the old year died with a drizzle; and the young one, that
everybody hoped promising, is born with the same attributes.
Mr. Brown is at his post again--the parish lamp-post at the corner of
the lane--awaiting the "Favourite" omnibus, that is to bear him to the
City. He is trying to arrange the thousand and one little commissions
he has to execute for Mrs. Brown. How many he remembered or forgot we
know not; but that day he purchased a fair blank Diary--the stationer
who sold it not only wishing him "a Happy New Year," but that he
might "live to fill fifty such:"--a wish that made Mr. Brown very
contemplative--thinking 18,250 entries no joke;--of many bright, bright
days of pleasure; two score and ten of birthdays; half a century of
weddings, anniversaries, and deaths--let us hope of peaceful, happy
deaths,--for clouds will sometimes gather, darkening the brightest sky;
but, thank Heaven, there is plenty of sunshine for those who seek
it--ay, to find it, too, though it be midnight and beside a
kitchen-fire. Of this new Diary the first page is penned with more care
than usual--as all first pages are:--there the De Camp dynasty reign in
confidence; and it is evident that Mr. Brown anticipates a glorious
future.
Young Time, we have often imagined, must be born fledged; for he can fly
quickly as his sire!--It is the 3rd of January--the day prior to Mrs.
Brown's ball.--Thus thought we, wending our way to Victoria Villa;
having promised the Miss Browns to step in and practise the
"_deux-temps_" with them; but, as we have since heard, it is another new
double-shuffle that is turning the brains of the dancing world just
now;--however, we went, and found Victoria in a pretty pickle--a perfect
mixed pickle, we may say,--our dear young friends being much too busy to
remember the appointment:--for there was the "Broadwood" standing upon
the landing; and Master Tom cutting out slides upon the bare boards in
the drawing-room, the carpet being taken to St. Stiff's Union, that it
might be beaten--a thing we exceedingly rejoiced in; for last year the
guests were obliged to beat it with their feet, and afterwards to carry
the dust home upon their shoulders--the first polka being performed as
if in the Great Desert, during a sand-storm. There was the chandelier
(that looked all the year like a giant pear enveloped in holland) being
removed to the parlour, and a much more splendid one suspended in its
stead. We peeped into the drawing-room, and had our dignity compromised
by a man on some steps; who directed us to "look alive and bring that
hammer." So, it being very evident we were in the way, we withdrew,
tumbling over a barricade of fenders and other furniture in the hall,
raised during our absence by the insurgent housemaids; who, we are sorry
to say, seemed rather diverted at the mishap, for we heard them giggle,
though of course we appeared not to notice, and tried to walk away with
a joyous air; at the same time vowing never to visit, even our best
friends, on the day prior to a party.
So we took care to keep away until the memorable evening arrived; but
being particularly requested to come early, and bring our amiable
sisters, we wished to do so. The Brougham was waiting, as were
we--thinking to do so for some time:--having made up our mind and the
study-fire--diving deep into the first book handy--an "Essay upon Light
and Shade in Painting." Well, we were in the dark--with Rembrandt;--when
the room appeared to fill with odoriferous vapour, and a blonde fairy
stealthily touched our shoulder, making a mock salutation, that startled
us very much:--it was our playful sister, whom we complimented upon
appearance and expedition; well knowing ladies to be unable to dress in
a given time for a ball, whatever they may do for an opera!
[Illustration]
However, we had no cause for umbrage on this occasion; for the carriage
rumbled over the hard, dry, ground, just as St. Stiff's was striking
nine--the stars above, twinkling, as they only can, upon a clear, frosty
night. Having knocked mildly, for fear of frightening Mrs. Brown thus
early, and been kept waiting some time, we were admitted; after being
taken for Mr. Strap, the help, by John, whom we surprised in his fustian
jacket and the middle of a fugitive tea. The ladies soon disappeared
into an upper region, not soon to return, leaving us to find amusement
as we best could:--to examine the tiger-skin, ingeniously sewn upon a
form to resemble a living animal (which, by the bye, it did not); to
peep into the parlour, and discover the supper, looking mysteriously
vast, by the light of one burner, very much turned down; to pace the
hall; warm our kids at the Arnott; and, standing upon the mat, listen to
the unsophisticated talk without--speculating as to what a foreign
traveller could divine the conversation to mean, or the diurnal
occupation of the lanthorn-men to be:--
1st voice. "_Droves_, did yer say, in _Mad-ox_ Street?"
2nd do. "Yes, _herds_; I got eight _bulls_ and a _hog_ out of
_Bullstrode_ Street."
1st do. "See to that _bull's-eye_, _calf_; and, as there ain't no _kids_
a-coming, I'll _toss_ yer for a _tanner_."
Here "the noblest study of mankind" was broken off--Alphonso appearing.
We left our men, to pace the hall--abandoning character for a slow
march,--whilst the page constructed a scaffold of clothes-horses and
table-covers, forming a repository for hats, over the back
kitchen-stairs; the lobby beyond which, we discovered had been
metamorphosed into a still-room, and was now presided over by two
pretty, plump damsels, in the finest cobweb caps--mere blond buttons, of
no earthly use, but, withal, very becoming:--one of these maids being in
converse with a young "gent.," who, it appears, has been forgotten in
the excitement, and discovered here--his face very sticky with candy and
cream. Master Thomas Brown, fearing that such search might be instituted
for him, has taken a great affection to the leg of the still-room table;
from which he is coaxed by more attractive substances, seized, and borne
up to bed--his yells becoming "small by degrees and beautifully less,"
until lost altogether.
[Illustration]
Now comes Mr. Strap, to help and wait at table--in his huge white
cravat, yellow vest, and new pair of second-hand plush smalls,
disappearing below to develope his calves, which are enveloped in
gaiters,--gingerly beckoning the man with the bad hat, who had been
tuning the piano, and Mr. Palaver, the Mizzlington Artist in hair,
to follow, that they may escape by the back door.
We had been promenading the hall for some time, having become pretty
well acquainted with the pattern of the encaustic tiles with which it
was paved; and were going towards the entrance for the last time,
pluming ourself that we might appear to the greatest advantage--for we
felt assured the ladies were descending, having heard a rustling and
tittering;--when, just turning by the door, we were electrified by three
distinct bangs, that subsided into a sharp rat, with an infinity of
tail, causing the lid of the letter-box to look as if it had the palsy,
and ourself to retreat like a shot--feeling alternately hot and cold;
whilst Strap, who, upon hearing Mrs. Brown's footsteps, began to be very
busy, performing a feat of strength with seven waiters, a copper scuttle
and an ice-pail, is put in such trepidation that he loses his grip--all
coming to the flags; causing the greatest amount of clamour at the
smallest amount of sacrifice--Mrs. Brown saying she is happy it is not
glass, and hoping Strap hasn't been drinking. The effect having
annihilated the cause, the door is not opened; so the dose gets
repeated, with similar gusto, by Fred. Lark--for it was he that gave the
"stunner," and witnessed the commotion through the attenuated windows at
either side the door,--a piece of pleasantry for which he got
stigmatised by Mrs. B. as a naughty, noisome, noisy man; and for which
he himself proposed the _still_-room, as an antidote. Now, Mr. Lark is
one of those funny little men, rather liked, because not over given to
sarcasm, and quite capable of laughing at his own jokes; or rather the
jokes he has picked up and disseminates--such whimsies in their place
being very well, but out of it intolerable nuisances. Mr. Lark commenced
his vagaries in the still-room, when we were taking coffee, placing the
toast on the table, and the buttered bread to the fire; proffering the
sugar to Miss Angelina; inquiring of that lady if she _liked_ her
tea--because, if not, she might _lump_ it; and upon our observing some
cracknels, as hard, the Lark said--it was _harder_ where there were
none; and that evening he completely confounded Mr. Brown, by informing
the worthy gentleman--he had not seen him this year!--nothing very
remarkable, considering it only three days' old; but enough, withal,
to make Mr. Brown think of three hundred and sixty-five--doubting the
statement.
Now arrive the musicians, with a gentle knock:--up goes the harp (like a
huge blade-bone in baize), followed by the cornet, violin, and pianist.
We ascend:--Mrs. Brown popping and firing her parting injunctions in
every direction--at Alphonso, in the (library) coffee-room; at Mr.
Strap, by the door; at John, by the foot of the stairs;--and, I was
going to say, at the listless supernumerary footman, lolling over the
banisters; who appeared in, or rather out of, character, by especial
desire, for this night only, being lent with the rout-seats at a sure
salary. As Mrs. Brown passed this latter gentleman in silence, we could
not help smiling--hoping she might have to think as well of his powers
as he did himself, and that all titles entrusted to his care might be
safely delivered; for we knew Mrs. Bramston would not be called
_Brimstone_, without turning fiery; or Mr. Reynard Sly put up with
anything but _Slee_, though he may write it Sly, himself.
Having gained the drawing-room, and got fairly through the
muslin-barrier in the doorway, which made the staircase look as if in a
fog, we found the appearance within very gratifying--everything well out
of the way, and no stinting of wax-lights:--altogether exhibiting a
clearer stage than is often to be met with--some antique people inviting
you to polk in an old curiosity shop;--as, the other evening, at the
Dowager Lady Oldbuck's, young Whisk, of the Heavies, brought down a
_buhl_ table, covered with porcelain gimcracks; a thing that Lark
observed--ought to cure itself, if people wished to save their _Sevres_.
Evening parties are not the slow things they used to be:--here the back
balcony is all evergreens and tissue-paper blossoms, lit up with a
Chinese lanthorn--looking like a fairy bower, tenanted by four gaping
gold-fish and a dissipated canary; the little boudoir, beyond, so snug
in sage and silver, seeming but small accommodation for card-players. We
thought of Lady Oldbuck's--the valuable space occupied by _chaperones_
and corpulent cronies,--blessing the new mode;--dances now being
given to dancers, not to dowagers and matrimonial slave-dealers, as
heretofore. Mrs. Brown calculates her company; and thinking there
is enough for a quadrille in either room, she commences to form
them--pouncing, from time to time, upon timid young men by the door, who
are led forward, like lambs from a flock, to sacrifice,--until the sets
are completed--all but one couple--Mrs. Brown stating herself
"distressed for ladies;"--a combination of suffering by no means acute,
for she stood up herself, having engaged the amiable young Slowcoach to
fill the gap.
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