Christmas Comes but Once A Year.

by Luke Limner.

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-c.o.c.kney-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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Their lord and master is John Brown, Esq., Director of the Deptford Direct, the Stag a.s.surance, 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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-sh.e.l.ls 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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, _Sat.u.r.day_.--That Albert was let:--whilst, the Waits were playing the "Phantom Dancers," and Captain de Camp busy, there, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 pa.s.sion 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 a 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 n.o.ble 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 Sat.u.r.days 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 part.i.tion 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 wa.s.sail-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 wa.s.sail-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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 "a.s.sociation 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 n.o.ble 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 antic.i.p.ate 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 gla.s.s 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 _debut_ 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 appet.i.tes 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Merry Thought]