Chapter 2

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.

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.

Old Strap, who had taken "the pledge," but since introduced an exceptional clause in favour of feasts and festivals, gets out the black bottle for fraternity's sake. They take a pipe a-piece, and so softened is the little organist with their genuine unsophisticated kindness, that he sees all his cares fly, and nothing but joys in the wreathed curls of smoke betaking themselves up the chimney:--he sees Messrs. Blow and Grumble, the eminent organ-builders, making a fortune by his "new movement;" having purchased and patented it: he has found a publisher for his church music, and sold his old opera. Captain de Camp has vanished in smoke--he has exploded of spontaneous combustion,--they find him all deceit, leaving a glass eye and a cork leg. Mr. Latimer gets the Colonial Bishopric of Bushantee, in New Zealand, and cuts Miss Jemima. Mr. Wellesley having gone to India for glory, returns with it,--a hook, and a patch over his eye. Miss Angelina vows to die a virgin. Mr. Brown says to Mr. Spohf, "my son!"--Mr. Spohf says to Mr. Brown, "my father!" Mr. Strap is standing in triumph upon a pyramid of "carpets to beat," viewing a lesser one of "boots to brush;" having been entrusted with more "messages" than mortal ever could "deliver;" whilst innumerable vans, bearing the name of Strap, traverse innumerable roads in "Town and Country." Mrs. Strap, dressed in a plain plum silk, turns a mahogany mangle, and gets up nothing but "fine things." Ichabod has cut the choir, and made his _début_ in an opera as Herr Strapii, a perfect triumph.

But here we will leave Mr. Spohf's reverie--for Victoria and reality; where the company is arriving to the annual dinner, and sitting about the drawing-room, looking as happy as patients at a dentist's; or festive, as disappointed toadeaters at the funeral of an opulent relative, who had left all his property to found an asylum for decayed postboys--after leading everybody to expect the lion's share of it:--the guests, for want of more exciting topics, admiring the gimcracks they admired a year ago; thinking the portrait of Mr. Brown--"done," twenty years since, at a portrait club,--a splendid likeness, and that the original grows younger (query, richer?); stating truths and untruths about the weather; inquiring energetically after each other's health--not caring for the answers; with other homely pleasantries, too numerous to mention; until some of the juveniles--the only ones who really seem at home--espy from the window a loaded parcel-cart; this they observe as funny on a Sunday (little thinking, at that moment, it was Tuesday). Here Mr. Brown descends, to hold an altercation with the guard of that cart, who makes light of a huge hamper of game; whilst the guests at the windows above, speculate upon having to eat an uncooked turkey, or fancy their ravenous appetites waiting while it is cooked--the youngsters calculating upon a dinner all pudding. Mr. Brown returns, and tenders his arm to Lady Lucretia de Camp--in the excitement, leading her down the side where the stairs taper to nothing,--causing that lady to lose both equilibrium and temper.

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.

During this clatter, the ladies rise and depart, leaving the gentlemen to drown all disappointments in the wine. Mr. Brown, "feeling called upon," rises, apologizing for certain misfortunes, herein described--at the same time trusting that such events might never happen again; and, in the end, eulogizing Mrs. B., who is painted in glowing colours, by a painter who said he should not have painted it; or, as any one else might have observed, introduced two virtuously amiable daughters, so prominently in the foreground. After a noble reply by Captain de Camp, of the Hon. East India Company's service, from Madras, and much applause from the diners, they ascend, to join the ladies; forming, round the drawing-room-fire, a vast amphitheatre, in the centre of which, gladiatorial children contend for nuts and oranges--Captain de Camp filling the post of honour,--making himself at home in Mr. Brown's easy chair and slippers. Mr. Wellesley drags in the yule-log, much to the detriment of the Brussels, and the annoyance of the guests; for, upon placing it in the grate, it causes everything to be covered with black tadpoles, nearly extinguishing the fire--until it ignites, roasting the company, and making the pot a white-heat.

The Captain has repeated last evening's brew, upon a larger scale, in the "little bason," or wassail-bowl. Master Wellesley has kissed Angelina under the misletoe, suspended from the chandelier, and placed in the centre of the amphitheatre, for that purpose. Mr. Latimer has "taken the opportunity," as Jemima turned up a refractory burner; and everybody kissed everybody else they liked, or could catch there. The entertaining Captain has narrated an effective anecdote of an enraged elephant, and a precious big boar speared in a savage jungle--to which he might have added, with no more personal risk than Mrs. Brown may experience when hunting for a boa in her wardrobe. And, Mr. Mouldy, the city merchant, who dealt in rags, sang about a little excitable pig, and "Mac Mullin's Lament;" whilst Mr. Snobbins--who it was hoped would sit and be silent,--has broken the spell, dared to remember old times, sleeping under a counter, and the pugnacity of Brown, when they were in a _mess_ at the _blues_--making Captain de Camp think more of a military repast than Christ's Hospital;--until the "_blues_" were dispelled by Mr. Snobbins singing "The gallant 'prentice boy:"--not that the company would have lacked a military man, had the Captain been absent, for there was Cowed, the meek Bermondsey tanner, by livery a hatter, and withal a soldier--a member of the Hon. Artillery Company,--he who sang about God blessing the old cow's hide, and a

"Wish that his soul in heaven might dwell, Who first invented the leather bottel;"

--and, Mrs. Brown's brother, Mr. Barthe Brick, familiarly known as _the_ "Brick," who had just commenced a song, a parody upon Fra Diavolo,--a something very, very low, supposed to be sung by a dealer in hearth-stones; who, at the end of each verse, vociferates "who'll buy," heightening the illusion by trundling a chair, on its back, round the family circle, to represent a barrow.

No one knows where the barbarous atrocities would have ended, and all before the refined strangers, too, had not the olive-branches--disposed for rest by their several mammas in the room above--all awoke at once, tumbled out of bed, and joined in a combined cry; this breaks the family circle--mothers fly to pack their turbulent innocents for travel; the candles flare, and carriages clatter, grinding the flints in the lane. John, the footman, finds he has a dozen half-crowns, and Mary seven. The last fly has departed with the little Bricks; lights appear and disappear in the bed-chambers; and the Christmas-day--that comes but once a year--has vanished, like a dream!

Mr. Brown has jotted the events, in his Diary, in a hand scarcely legible. It must have been penned in a somnambulistic fit--thinking he was at a meeting of St. Stiff's vestry, in the union board-room,--for, after a list of member's present (the names of his guests), Captain de Camp in the chair, follow these minutes of proceedings:--Firstly, that one Spohf be dismissed as organist of St. Stiff's, confined in the idiot-ward, fed on water gruel, and handed over to his own parish (Vienna); proposed by Latimer, and seconded by Wellesley de Camp. The second proposition appears to be to the effect that a vagrant named Brick, dealer in hearth-stones, be confined in the refractory-ward, and fed upon bread and water.

The morning after the festivities London oversleeps itself:--and, awaking, finds it boxing-day. Variegated dips are being disseminated among delighted, dirty, juveniles; whilst the boys seem chagrined at notices for "the extinction of abuses," or "suppression of Christmas-boxes;" which seems only to make them the more pertinacious at Victoria Villa: for an irregular dustman has chalked the post, and the Postman vowed to mark Mr. Brown; the Turncock is turned off; the Waits have to "wait a little longer;" and the Beadle, who declared Mr. Brown no generous churchwarden, has, withal, found enough alcohol to make him stupid before night--causing that dignitary to cry a lost boy instead of a girl, and to see twice as many posts round St. Stiff's as usual; taking half of them to be boys about to vault over the other half, he rushes on to disperse them, soundly chastising the granite.

All the little boys secure their mites before mid-day; taking their posts at the gallery-door of a popular theatre, five hours before opening, to practise that rare virtue, patience, at the shrine of "Hot Codlings," and "George Barnwell."

Master Ichabod Strap, in his richest yellow breeches, and burnished badge of St. Stiff the Martyr, is perambulating the parish with his gay phylactery, or Christmas-piece--"The History of Joseph," painted, like the coat, in many colours:--he shows it to Mrs. Brown, who approves the performance; "stroking the head of modest and ingenuous worth that blushed at its own praise;" measuring the boy at a glance, and proffering him promotion in the shape of an uniform, of buttons, just vacated by a youth--called by his peers "Nobby Jones," but by his mistress "Alphonso;"--who, having grown to the great risk of buttons and stitches, was dispossessed of his regimentals, being sent home one dark night in his bed-gown. "Ichabod" promises to resign that title and all connection with the dirty boys, to reign as Alphonso the second page; being missed by Mr. Spohf, for whom he used to blow the organ, in the little second floor--a bereavement Mrs. B. enjoyed, saying, she wondered how the unworthy little animal would raise the wind now.

There is an universal adage about risking sprats to capture herrings--a sport not unknown to our cosmopolite Captain, for he had fished in troubled waters, and hunted for a dinner many a time;--he knew the traps and snares to secure game, the days and seasons; so, on Boxing-day, he baits the servants with crowns; Tommy with a sovereign; Angelina with "The Keepsake;" Jemima with a modern-ancient missal, or portion of Scripture made dear and difficult to read; presenting Mrs. B. with the last new art manufacture--"The Knowing Blade, a brazen-faced sharper, to remove blunt;" and procuring for Mr. B. the skin of the identical Bengal tiger he killed, as may be seen from a legend running up the back bone--though an inscription on the tip of the tail states it to be sold by Fitch of Regent Street. The bait secures its amount of flat-fish; for that evening, Captain de Camp was more than usually lucky--he caught enough at _ecarté_ to clear himself;--a freak of fortune that caused no asperity in the noble breast of Brown; for here are his own thoughts in his own words:--"December 26_th_, _Wednesday_ (Boxing-day).--My dear friend, De Camp, has this day given us all tokens of the warmest attachment--sadly wanting to do something for me--'Colonial,' 'War,' or 'Admiralty.' Not requiring anything just now, this will form an admirable reserve; I must, in the meantime, profit by his refined society, as I hope and trust the girls will by his sons'. If there be any drawback to the delight I feel, it is the non-arrival of his luggage; for I am personally inconvenienced by his wearing my best coat. I may be over-scrupulous in wishing he would return the books he devours with such avidity:--Mrs. B. says, she thinks, the paragon of knowledge swallows them; for they are not to be found."

Next morning Ichabod enters the Brown suit and service, having spent Boxing-night and the proceeds of the Christmas-piece at the play, where he saw "Jane Shore" and "Harlequin House that Jack built;" the plot and tricks of which he recounted to Master Tommy, as he took that young gentleman for a walk, inoculating him with a great desire to go and behold it. So, after having coaxed his mother, teased his father, and cried his lovely blue eyes into a good imitation of red veined marble, the youth triumphed; for on Thursday evening, they all went to the play in the fusty fly from Drone's yard, driven by old Drone, in his pepper-and-salt suit of pseudo livery, that looked as if he always brushed it with the currycomb; and so tindery about the breast, from the number of marriage-favours annually pinned there, that it is a wonder it holds together. Alphonso rode upon the box, giving the vehicle a certain amount of smartness. On their arrival under the dirt-embrowned portico of the theatre, they are cordially recognised by the De Camps; who, thinking it a pity the box should not be filled, have just dropped down to see "London Assurance"--intending to quit before the pantomime, but forgetting to do so after all.

During the play, Master Tommy disposes of a vast quantity of oranges and sponge-cakes--vanishing between each act to obtain a fresh supply;--making butterflies of the bill, and causing the double-barrelled _lorgnette_ (which was hired for the occasion from an adjacent oyster-shop) to slip off the cushion, falling upon a bald gentleman in the pit:--the excited little pest remarking everything, and fairly shouting at the discovery of Alphonso below, until chid by his mother. Oh! that we could participate in thy youthful enthusiasm, or feel pleased at that hotch-potch--the overture; or, a thrill when the muffin-bell tinkles, causing the lovely drop-scene--that combined the grandeur of the pretty Parthenon with the sublimity of Virginia Water--to vanish into its own intensely blue sky; disclosing the "Harlequin House that Jack built," and Mr. John Bull's huge paste-board thick head, snoring like thunder, in a "property" summer-house--an elephantine blue-bottle on his proboscis, and a sleeping bull-dog, the size of an Alderney steer, at his feet;--here Master Brown, with a grin, calls the house Victoria Villa, and the paste-board mask his papa. Now enters the rat, to eat the good things that lay in the house that John built, represented by a stealthy seedy gentleman, who, after reading a board intimating that apartments were to let, crept slyly past the sleepy Bull, to mount the house-steps; and there deliver himself of the following doggerel, in a mellifluous voice:--

"I search for lodgings--here's the very thing,-- Though I've not got a _rap_, I think I'll _ring_; For all I want is to be _taken in_,-- As I would others _take_--sure 'tis no sin To do to others--only tit for tat-- So here goes--Rat--tat, tat--a tat!!!!!"

The orchestra, loud in wishing to know "who's dat knocking at de door?" and Master Tom, deep in the bill, with Mr. Rat, who is there described as a "scamp"--an unknown term to Tom, for he asked its meaning; observing that Uncle Brick said Captain de Camp was a scamp. This question remained unanswered; for no one heard it except the Captain, who felt a great itching to pull a young monkey's ears, but did not. The cat (a sort of Puss in Boots, with a short stick and strip of paper) entering, to catch the rat, is worried by the dog; who is tossed by a cow with a very crumpled horn; who was milked by a maid said to be very forlorn; who is kissed by a sweet-looking beggar, all tattered and torn--the loving pair being likened to Jemima and Latimer, by Master Tom, causing his sister's face to redden as a furnace, that heightened the more it was fanned; and when the priest, all shaven and shorn (whom Tom called the Rev. Loyalla à Becket), commenced marrying the couple, then Miss Jemima entertained serious notions of fainting; and, probably, would, had not the solemnization of matrimony been violated by the priest, who shed his sack-cloth surplice, vaulting over the rails of the altar, between the astonished couple, leaving that sanctuary to change into a _match maker's_--appearing, himself, a perfect _clown_, stating that sublime, veritable, truth--"_here we are again!_"--working his geometric, chromatic, physiognomy into endless contortions, extending his arms like the sails of contrary windmills, twiddling his legs like a fly,--and when called upon, by unearthly voices, for "Tippytiwitchet," appears so scared that he tumbles through the big drum, to oblige them with the song from the slips; instantly afterwards presenting himself upon the stage, dilating his spotted inexpressibles, until they put him in mind of a friend, _Pantaloon_, that, by a curious coincidence, resides at a tailor's, in the back-ground, having just completed a patch-work skin, for _Harlequin_; who, the instant he is fitted, flies through the panel of a door, inscribed "_cutting-out_ room," into the next house, a _florist's_, there to obtain his favourite flower, the _Columbine_, with whom he has a long dance in the centre of a very solitary street; whilst Clown and Pantaloon arrange a partnership concern, which they carry on in the middle of the road, in front of the shop, until Clown renders himself more plague than profit, by warming his partner's lumbar region with a very red-hot goose, basting him with the sleeve-board, and sticking him to the road with wax--Clown dissolving partnership by walking off, in a new wrap-rascal, with the cash-box, that no one may rob them. The best things must come to an end!--and so does the Pantomime--with a gorgeous display of red fire, tinsel and gold, real water and the electric light--all chopped off in the middle by the descending curtain. The box-fronts have been enveloped in their night-gowns; the Columbine is clattering, in pattens, to her lodgings; the Harlequin has been bolted out, unable to vault through the fan-light; and the Clown is running in his painted face, having forgotten to wash it, for at home he left a dear wife seriously ill, to come and be funny in sadness.