Christmas Comes but Once A Year
L >>
Luke Limner >> Christmas Comes but Once A Year
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6
[Illustration: THE QUADRILLE.]
No sooner did the orchestra commence--barely having finished the
first eight bars of "the Martyrs",--than the guests came rushing up
from the coffee-room, like sheep through a hedge, one bolder than
the rest leading the way, causing Mrs. Brown to desert her partner in
_l'ete_--a figure the gentleman feels bound to execute twice, though he
would much rather have been excused either performance; and upon Mrs.
Brown's presenting a substitute he became so beside himself as to forget
the figure--a mishap rendered none the clearer by a wag's performing _la
pastorale_, when he ought to have done _trenise_, and moreover, not have
done it in such a facetious manner, as to render it a matter of doubt if
he himself could have recognized it; the audacity being accompanied by a
certain amount of shyness, that had to be hidden, altogether sadly
deranging our amiable youth's comprehension, he being led by his
partner, instead of leading _her_--to be left, alone, in a mental
pillory, a specimen of blushing mortification more diverting to behold
than to experience;--but, upon being kindly treated by his gentle
partner, he recovers, in the _galop finale_, feeling truly grateful to
the guardian spirit that has conducted him through the purgatory.
Ladies, be gentle with youthful bashfulness--it often arises from pure
feelings, modest diffidence, or unselfishness;--such, unlike many
proficient dancers, carry their brains in their hats, and not in their
boots:--weigh your "_fantastic-toes_" against them, and see which are
the most empty.
Somehow, the first quadrille is always unfortunate!--In the back room
they succeeded no better than in the front:--here, Miss Charmer was top
of the dance, as she always is, if it can be obtained; especially in the
_Lancers_ or _Caledonians_ (which, we dare say, are pleasant quadrilles
to those who know them, and the Charmer does). Well, she is top, with
young Hoy (heir to Sir Hobbedy), for a partner, a brave youth at quoits,
cricket, boxing, or boating--his hands, horny as a tortoise and large as
Polyphemus', over which he split three right-hand gloves:--a glance will
suffice to show how much he is _out_ of his, and she _in_ her,
element--Miss Charmer looking, Lark said, as if she would prefer
performing the "first _set_" (or sit) upon a vacant seat, beside Arthur
Beau, who has just arrived, and by whom, we know, she disliked to be
quizzed;--so, upon the completion of the first eight bars, the Charmer
flounced, bringing the flounces of her dress into contact with the bars
of the grate, causing the smoke to come out, and Arthur to come round,
that he might lean upon the shelf, engage himself for the next dance,
and stand behind the fair partner, a fire-guard of honour, unable to
keep from smiling at Mr. Hoy, who dances upon his heels, as though
enamoured of his large feet, and afraid of knocking his head against the
chandelier. Their _vis-a-vis_ is a lively lady, apparently taking stock
of a _bouquet_, but, in reality, joking an absent gentleman,
opposite:--it is Miss Gay, whom Lark (her partner) is making laugh, by
observing--the gentleman is not so _absent_ as he ought to be; causing
that lady to forget herself--making many mistakes and false starts;
which, being those of a person who knew better, were very diverting.
Miss Gay is voluble as volatile, no subject coming amiss--she is now
speculating as to how far the gentlemen will permit the buttons to
travel down their backs, or their skirts to be curtailed; and Mr. Lark,
unable to find a reason, must get up a contrary supposition--imagining
some middle-aged ladies to resemble a cork-screw, as they have at
different periods shifted the waist from the armpits downward;--_waists_
making us think of the short lady (in this set) with a very long
one--Miss Price, only child of Alderman Price, chandler and dry-salter,
of Candlewick ward--daughter and _hair_, as Mr. Lark jocosely observed,
in allusion to the luxuriant red tresses of that lady;--saying her papa
was the great crony of Sir Rich. Big, the free vintner, late of
Portsoken ward, who was found, or rather not found--having evaporated of
spontaneous combustion, before he could get to the civic chair,--leaving
all his money to Price; who has retired, with his fat and the gout, to
Bayswater. Miss Price is a lovely dancer, appearing hollow (a thing Miss
Gay did not doubt), like an India rubber ball in flounces; she is said
to have a beautiful hand, so small as to require only No. 6. gloves--as
if a pigmy hand could not be a deformity. She is invited, in a hope that
young Brown may make her a partner, for the dance of life; and is said
to be worth L150,000--not by the pound weight, as the envious Miss Gay
hinted.--No! No! naughty Miss Gay, be satisfied with Nature's gifts, and
do not covet lucre.
Here comes young Brown, who has not danced before, to make arrangements
with Miss Gay, who has--and proved herself the _belle_ of the
room;--but, as gentlemen are now in the minority, she does not hint at
being "engaged for the next," or propose "the one after."
There is a temporary lull, after the dance:--and in comes Captain de
Camp, looking like a macaw in a dress-coat, leading Lady Lucretia de
Camp, who resembles an apoplectic canary--so glittering is the amber
satin,--followed by the sons, who meander amongst the beaux and bare
shoulders, in search of the Miss Browns--dancing with no one else all
the evening,--causing the gentlemen to think very little of the De
Camps, and the ladies less of the Miss Browns. Now, then, for a
polka!--the rattling "Post knock Polka!"--Off! away they go, after a
great deal of reluctance and playful diffidence as to who should lead
off--Miss Charmer with Arthur Beau, twirling round and round, in and out
(like an eel among skittles); followed by Mr. Latimer and Miss Jemima,
who evidently intended to do great things, but only cause confusions and
contusions, until they get knocked into the open space, in the centre of
the human vortex--the Charmer spinning, as a top that could not stop,
while the music continued, like the automata in front of a street organ.
There, there they go!--that is Lord Towney--he who came with Mr.
Serjeant Wideawake, the Honourable Member for Bloomsbury--the fellow who
got acquainted with Brown, as brother-director of the "Dodo Assurance,"
that didn't do, and was done up. His Lordship is son of the Marquis of
Mary-le-bone--he that is flying with the pink flounces,--the buoyant,
hollow, Miss Price, whose pretty button of a nose we do believe was
impressed with the basket-work on her partner's fourth shirt-stud. Round
and round they twist--backwards, forwards, and sideways,--between
parties parted, and openings that close again,--faster and
faster,--smiling, frowning, and apologizing,--growing swifter and
swifter,--until the floor snapped, and rebounded with an awful crash.
* * * *
[Illustration]
The visitors are in the room below--a scene of ruin and rueful
faces;--the supper that was displayed there, in all its state, is done
for. Alas!--the chandelier has been polked off the hook--a mishap in
which few sympathise, for the floor is said to be safe; Mr. Lark being
the first to propose their going above, as he jokingly observed--to
crack the _party_-wall. Now, for that vastly-relished valse, the
"Teetotum"--liked none the less for the late excitement!--_deux temps_
against _trois temps_--the latter getting worsted; and the Brown girls,
who danced every dance, with certain gentlemen, only, more and more
unpopular.
[Illustration]
As the evening progresses, the Wall-flowers become bolder;--some finding
partners for quadrilles; others edging up to the vacant recesses,
rendering it now possible to get out at the door, and obtain air on the
landing--where several young fellows are congregated:--there young Lark
was laughing, we knew, at the Rev. Jewel St. Jones, the clerk in orders
at St. Stiffs, doing the _cavalier seul_--for we heard him say something
about early missal, or primitive Christian style,--joking the reverend
gentleman's partner, Miss what's-her-name, the "lamp-post," from No. 4,
Bury Court, St. Mary Axe--that washed-out, faint, fair creature,--she,
that looks as if you could see the back buttons of her dress through
from the front--that lady--well, do you see her?--It is said her mother
keeps her in a dark closet, that she may look like a consumptive
geranium:--however, Mr. Lark said _he_ did not believe it; and, as no
one said they did, the matter ended. The stairs soon become a popular
observatory--several Wall-flowers joining the knot; one of whom mildly
remarks something about three silver-grey silks, in the fore-ground, and
their being "much worn;" which Mr. Lark fully agreed in, as, he said,
they appeared to have been _turned_ several times--a joke, at which the
Wall-flower faintly smiles, for the three silver-greys are his
sisters:--however, nothing daunted, he is at it again, remarking upon
marriage, and people that look married; illustrating his theory by
pointing out the juvenility of an aunt, who he says is a virgin:--Lark
retorting--"_virging_ on fifty!"--a notification that begets much
laughter, making the Wall-flower feel at a discount, and more than ever
desire to say something smart; so, he pitches upon a gentleman with
parenthetical (bowed) legs, observing that Brown has invited his tailor;
moreover, wagering two to one, that if the gentleman, so libelled, were
asked to look at the splashes on the calf of his leg, he would take it
up in front, and examine it in his hand, like a nabob or tailor, used to
sit upon the floor; were he a Christian, he would look at it over his
shoulder:--here the Wall-flower turned for applause, looking over his
own shoulder to illustrate the anecdote--there to discover, Captain de
Camp, the gentleman who introduced "Parenthesis," a staff doctor, from
Woolwich (at least so the Captain said). But here we will leave them to
proceed below, and see how matters progress in the supper-room:--
The chandelier, the treacherous culprit, that would not swing or hang in
chains, is being borne away, clanking along the lower hall; the broken
glass has been picked out of the pastry, and the oily odour overcome
with _esprit de bouquet_--presenting, withal, a very effective
_coup-d'oeil_:--though, we could fancy the tipsy-cake, in the form
of a leaning-tower, if anything, a little more groggy; and that the
composite Corinthian temple looked as if it had suffered from an
earthquake--but there it was, for all the intense remorse of the cook,
who thought the exhibition of so mutilated a work of art would injure
his reputation for ever--but it did not!--Neither did any one notice the
loss of the frail effeminate brigand, that formerly tenanted the rotunda
of barley-sugar; nor was it known that a treadmill had given place to a
locomotive and tender--in sweets.
The first portion of this banquet disappears merrily; there
being no lack of the usual conserves, pasties, and geometrical
bread-envelopes--supposed to contain something, but consumed without the
slightest knowledge of their contents.
After the ladies have supped and withdrawn, the gentlemen lay to, with
immense energy, as if to make up for the time they have been kept in
suspense, creating great havoc amongst ruined fowls, or anything they
can lay hands upon--in the excitement, particularity having given place
to mirth. One gentleman has planted a spoon in his button-hole, after
the fashion of a flower; and, of course, for his pains, got called a
"Spooney," by an unknown voice behind Mr. Potts, the tame apothecary,
who is pouring, or rather measuring out, some champagne, _himself_,
catching the final drop on the edge of the glass, as if it were
castor-oil:--the "Spooney," thinking it Potts' voice, must make a joke
in return; so begins with the rather hackney'd, but, as he thought,
appropriate one, of _cham_pagne being better than _real_ pain or quinine
wine; and, upon Mr. P.'s essaying to answer, our "Spoon" diverted to
some tongue he was consuming, saying he liked it better than _Pott_ed
_tongue_--an observation that made the apothecary's face flush, and the
"Spoon" liken it to an article before them, a _claret-mug_. At this last
allusion the "Pott" got red-hot, and there is no knowing what would have
been the consequences, had not the "Spoon" terrified the "Pott" by
proclaiming "silence!"--in a stentorian voice;--and a gentleman risen,
Dr. Portbin, the author of that elaborate essay on "Dribbling Babies,"
in one thick volume, royal octavo--a work that nobody read, but
everybody thought a great deal of, for it gained its author a
vast infantine practice:--so, when the M.D. rose, the "Pott"
trembled--feeling greatly relieved to find the doctor only did so to
propose the "ladies"--"health and long life to Mrs. Brown and the
ladies!"--a toast that was drunk with great enthusiasm, Mr. Lark
vociferously applauding; at the same time stating, in an under
tone--"the doctor meant a long life of ills and bills." Dr. Portbin's
sentiment is echoed by Mr. Brown, who returns thanks in a
stereotype-speech, almost as original as a royal one; to which, in
some points, it bore slight resemblance, the ideas being very much
generalized--there was an "alliance with foreign powers," "acquisition
of territory," and "friendly relations:"--altogether a prosperous
allegory, which causes Captain de Camp to be "called upon;" and, in that
style of speech usually denominated "neat," give very visible vent to
his inexpressible feelings--sketching several scenes, commencing at
Victoria Villa and ending at St. Stephen's,--with a verse, intended to
look as if composed for the nonce; but, in reality, a work of much
study:--it was delivered with great emphasis--a composition for which we
had to blush, though, as faithful chroniclers, feel bound to insert--it
ran as follows:--
"Victoria and Albert's big
With city's wealth and soldier's glory:
To Army, Queen, and Country swig:
Improve, my friends, and prove the Tory!"
We do not think the Captain quite liked the word "swig," but he could
find no better in "Walker's Rhyming Dictionary;" or the last
expression--but _Conservative_ could not be lugged in any how:--however,
we must say, this ostensible improvisatorial effort produced a grand
effect, and a greater noise; which had scarcely subsided, when Mr.
Serjeant Wideawake, the Honourable Member for Bloomsbury, and author of
"Lays of a Liberal," rose to retort, saying,--
"We beg to doubt your precious rig,
And I'll tell you another story:
To _improve_ is to be a _whig_;
But not to _improve-is-a-tory_!"
[Illustration]
The effect of this latter burst of poetic fire was truly electric; it
completely extinguished the Captain's impromptu glimmer, lighting up
that gallant bosom with a passion of another kind--he feels miserably
"put out;"--and, like a dying rush-light in its last moments, seemed
determined to end with a spark of unusual brightness. The Captain stood
erect, awaiting his opportunity; but, alas!--it was one that never came;
for the ventriloquist, that caused the rupture between Mr. Potts and the
"Spooney," made the "Lion" wince, by observing, "he hoped there would be
no cruelty to animals"--a remark that made our "Lion" roar
contemptuously, and call the company "bears and monkeys"--he growling,
with blood-thirsty pugnacity, about "satisfaction" and "Chalk
Farm,"--the declamatory mania causing the irascible monster to mount a
projection in the recess, covered with a curtain, bringing down an
avalanche of fenders, fire-irons, and other stowage, with a fearful
crash--crowning the "king of beasts" with a helmet-scuttle,--thus
permitting the meaner animals to escape; leaving, as Mr. Lark (who came
out last) said, between frightful gusts of laughter oozing from his
handkerchief, Jackall Brown, the lion's provider, pacifying the enraged
brute with claret or soda water; and John in such an extreme fit of awe,
that he has taken the state jug, with the hole in the bottom stopped
with sealing-wax--only intended to hold cold water, into use, for hot;
and, being unable to stop the orifice with his finger, drops the
article--to the scalding of the already enfuriated "Lion."
* * * * * *
Feet were pattering above as we left this scene of strife--no time
seeming to have been lost during the consumption of the supper; for the
hands of the clock, in the hall, pointed to an earlier hour than they
did when we descended:--the truth being, Lark, though rather fast
himself, thought Time too much so, and put him back a little. The
Wall-flower is comparing the clock with his repeater. Lark is
reprimanding him, saying--it is not _etiquette_ to do so; and that
really some one ought to tell the vulgar thing, in green satin, who wore
her button of a watch-face outward (fearing lest it should be taken for
a locket), to turn the bauble round, for it is time she was in bed.
Having been absent for a short period, we were informed by the Lark that
we had _not_ lost a treat--for Jemima had been singing, "Memory, be thou
ever true!"--whilst Lark (perpetrating a dreary pun) said, he every
moment wished the music-stool would prove a _fall setto_, and
precipitate the lady to the ground; for it was a sad pity to hear poor
Spohf's songs so murdered.
They are now at a waltz--"the Olga,"--which is carried on with spirit,
lasting a very long while--young Lark saying he does not waltz, for it
makes his head swim; and that he has an objection to stand holding by
the shelf, experiencing a sensation delightful as standing upon one's
head in a swing, before a lady that ought to have your best
attention;--however, for all Lark's protestations, we saw some one-sided
smiles, as much as to say, _his_ vulnerable part, like that of Achilles,
lay in the heels--an insinuation Lark could well afford to allow, for he
does not live to _dance_, alone, like some sage, perfect, performers.
After the "Caledonians" and another polk (which, for diversion, young
Brown has danced to the tune of the "College-hornpipe"--a pleasing
eccentricity), followed a quadrille, _a la Francaise_, danced without
sides, in two very long lines--a style reported to have been imported
from a Casino, and not held to be proper by sober people. So, Potts got
a disgust for the polka, and thought _it_ improper--a dance he never
patronised or wished to--it being too _fast_ for the dull
apothecary!--he hated it, because once an inveterate polkist nearly
knocked his _patella_, or knee-pan, off, with some hard substance in the
flying tails of the dancer's dress-coat--a huge street-door key, that
ought to have been left in the _paletot_.
Our evening is drawing to a close:--the mouths in the boudoir are
assuming the shape of elongated O's--an epidemic that has extended to
the Wall-flowers; the "harp" has accompanied his instrument with fitful
snores; the "violin" scarcely knows the back from the front of his
fiddle, or the "cornet" which end to blow into;--yet, upon being asked
for "Roger de Coverley," they make a desperate effort to awake, for they
know it to be the last dance--which is supported by the whole strength
of the company,--Captain de Camp leading off with Mrs. Brown, and Mr.
Brown with Lady Lucretia. Thus ends the Christmas Ball!
The still-room is being besieged for coffee; and there is a great
difficulty in obtaining hats and coats--unfortunately few of the tickets
corresponding,--for Alphonso's ward was precipitated down the kitchen
stairs, it having been too heavily laden. Lady and Miss Highbury are
seen to their carriage by Mr. Lark, who departs in Lord Towney's cab,
with a "_Gibus_" hat, mechanically deranged--all wrinkles, like a
jockey's boot. Upon being asked, by a lanthorn-bearer, "if his Honor has
such a thing as a pint o' beer in his pocket?" Mr. Lark, with playful
irony, informs the supernumerary that malt liquor is not a solid,
neither is it to be obtained at evening parties.
To and fro, flit the Jack-o'-lanthorns, respectfully touching the
binding of their battered hats, covering the tiers of muddy wheels with
their coat-tails, that the _tulle_ and _tartelaine_ may not be
spoiled--hoping your Honour will "remember" them!--as they cast
uncertain shadows upon the icy pavement--ice that has been rendered none
the less slippery by their cutting out a slide upon it, with the
assistance of the police, during the evening:--such a banging of doors,
clashing of steps, and stopping up the way, under the little awning,
over the carriage-sweep--a pretty pass, so narrow that, we are sorry to
say, the hackney-drivers instituted a private road amongst the hardy
shrubs, choking up the gates, to the great distress of pedestrians, who
are looked upon by the "lanthorns" as "shabby gents,"--paying nothing
for the privilege of walking;--they (the "lanthorns") viewing the
immunity, in the light of parsimony. However, we think walking home,
after a party, under the influence of champagne, a dangerous
experiment:--the clear free streets seeming to court a "lark," and the
very bells to invite pulling--"Visitors'," and "Night," "Knock and
Ring," (and run) also.
We have since heard the fate of a rash expedition undertaken at this
season, the band of adventurers consisting mostly of those gentlemen who
had passed the last half-hour dying for a cigar; and yet, by some
unknown attractive power, felt bound to stay the entertainment
out--probably it was that such kindred souls might depart _en masse_;
however, be it what it might, their first care was to obtain a light--at
some sacrifice, for the lamp-post had been newly painted; and, secondly,
happening to pass Mr. Spohf's, they must serenade that gentleman with
pathetic negro-melodies--about the loss of one "Mary Blane," and an
injunction to "Susannah" not to sob,--until driven by the police into
another beat, there to lose one of their band, who fell a victim to an
inquiring spirit;--for, seeing an inscription on a door, to intimate
that its owner, a surgeon, gave "advice, gratis, between the hours of
four and five, every Saturday," he rang to demand the same (having the
head-ache), as it was just that time by St. Stiff's; but, unfortunately
falling into the clutches of No. 8, of the A division, he had to receive
the advice, from a magistrate, between eleven and twelve, at a fee of
five shillings.
[Illustration]
We left Mr. Lark in Lord Towney's cab--again to take up with him, being
put down at the end of Bloomsbury Buildings, fearing the rattle of
wheels in that quiet _cul-de-sac_ would disturb the old Larks. Having
found the door, and spent five minutes by the hinges--searching for the
key-hole, he gets within; and spends five more--trying to ignite an
extinguisher;--cautiously stealing to bed, throwing his _paletot_ over
the top banister, and the contents of its pockets down the
well-staircase, to the awakening of the whole house.
At Victoria Villa the last guest has gone:--the De Camps have
gone--departed with cordiality and love for all that is Brown, at the
same time sadly mortified with the impression made on that worthy
gentleman's friends. Mrs. Brown, worn out and exhausted, has given a
parting glance round, with her night-lamp, and panted up to-bed; the
Misses Brown have retired to their chambers; John feels very much
inclined to proclaim his opinion of the Captain, but is fearful of the
consequences; and Mr. Strap, who has fallen a victim to his weak
point--strong drink, is rendered thereby quite incapable of making
either a base to his person, or a fluent speech, as it seems he wished;
for, upon meeting Mr. Brown by the stairs, he made a rush at the
esteemed proprietor of that name, prophetically bidding him to
"B-B-Beware of Captings in w-w-w-wolf's clo-o-othing, fur all isn't
gug-gug-gold as gl-l-l-litters, as the Rev-rind Miss-s-s-ster B-B-Bucket
observes, in the Proverbs of Sol'mon's songs." Mr. Strap, after having
delivered these sentiments, in what might have been called a _sotto_
voice, to an imaginary Mr. Brown (for the reality had withdrawn to bed),
performs an unsuccessful backward movement upon his heels--as if to
survey his victim,--coming to the ground; where he lay until borne off
by John, who thinks him a valiant fool.
The persevering Brown, though much fatigued, does not postpone the
Diary:--"January 4_th_, _Friday_--_Execrable_ Friday!--We this day gave
our Annual Ball--_we_, indeed!--why I knew nothing about it until all
the cards had been despatched. Mrs. Brown asks--just as Tom does, if he
may have the sugar, when it is half consumed:--_It was Mrs. Brown's
ball_ in every sense. I did hope to have experienced more enjoyment for
the money. I have many a time been happier at half the price;--ay,
happier when I was clerk at Chizzle and Filch's, in Aldermanbury; but,
somehow, I suppose a man must make sacrifices for his friends, as
penurious old Chizzle did, when he paid the debt of nature, and left to
me _that_ he could not take away! Not that I ever made any sacrifices
for Spohf--no, _he_ never asked it;--cheap trusty friendship is
_something_!--I must own to feeling, all the evening, as if my collar
had too much starch therein; and more out of place in my own house than
the 'white neckerchiefs' that waited at supper. I am like a fish out of
water, and that fish, a flat-fish--caught with a bit of red rag;
however, there must be a great deal in use--another element may be
delightful, when used to it. There is no doubt my old friend Wideawake's
attack upon the Captain was mere envy; and as to his insinuating that I
should never eat a peck of salt with _that_ man--to say I shall never
know _that_ man, is preposterous!--as to eating the literal peck, no
man, probably, will do that; for the Captain has an aversion to saline
food, saying it makes the bones soft. I wonder if it has the same effect
upon brains!--We shall see, Wideawake--we _shall_ see:--let this page
bear testimony! I hope the briny ocean may not swallow up the Captain's
luggage."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6