Chapter 5

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, _à la Française_, 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 _paletôt_.

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.

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 _paletôt_ 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."

Victoria and Albert slumber late on the morning of the 5th:--Alphonso is the first up--or rather down, having rolled off his uncomfortable bed, constructed upon four chairs, in the drawing-room. Mrs. Brown, too, must have risen on the wrong side of her teaster, so testy is she this morning--thanking her stars that Twelfth-day has arrived, to put an end to the Christmas miseries!--Soon, now, will that little pest, Tom, be packed back to "Tortwhack House;" and the juvenile party, of to-day, it is hoped may appease some rampant mammas uninvited to the grand _réunion_--rendering any petty excuses that may be given the more feasible.

The day rolls rapidly away, though not with half the speed Master Brown could desire--the hands of the hall-clock appearing to creep so, that every time Tom passed it (and that was not seldom), he stopped to see if it was going, the day seeming most unusually long, and night as if it never would come; but it did!--firstly, bringing the little "Merrys," from Hope Cottage, the Tudor lodge, next-door-but-one--Master Walter Merry being the first to answer Tommy's nubbly note of invitation, in intoxicated text capitals, that appeared to be making a desperate effort to run off the paper, at the right-hand corner, leaving no room to "remain," and scarcely any to "please turn over;" so folded was it, to give the desired angular form, that the paper looked as if it had been used to make five hundred geometrical cocks and boats.

Tom met the Merrys with such fervent joy, that he never thought they had healths, or anything else to ask after; his only object, seeming to be the finding of his friend, who is rolled, like a mummy, in numberless boas and shawls:--during the process of unswathing, which was no easy job to one in a hurry, so artfully were the pins introduced, Master Tommy treats his friend Walter to a railroad retrospective review of the good things in store--recounting all the "lummy" things left yesterday;--telling about the "nobby" Christmas tree Captain de Camp gave them--though his ma' did say it was "a pretty give!"--it was stolen out of _his_ father's garden.--My father's a jolly sight richer than your's--he has more trees in his garden--ain't we got a "swag" of nuts, and a "plummy" twelfth-cake--my father won it at an _art-union_, in the city! I am to draw King--if I don't, just see how I'll cry!--Mercy Merry shall be Queen. You shall have Punch off the cake; and ma'says I shall have "Rule Britannia," as soon as the waves and ice have melted away.

Now a knock brings more visitors, the Masters Young, in all the ungainliness of hobbledyhoyhood--that transmigratory period when coat-tails are first developed:--they have come with their sister Flora, a lovely bud, expected "out" next season. Here are the Bells, the Petits, and the little Larks, with their big brother, the "jolly Lark," who made his _début_ over the top of the drawing-room-door, standing upon the shoulders of your humble servant; who felt the "jolly Lark" anything but light, and no joke--though the juveniles must have thought it so, for we could hear their merry peals of laughter ringing joyously, dispelling the silence that had hitherto prevailed, overturning the sage injunctions of _proper_ mammas, who teach their children to behave "pretty"--thinking _good_ and _quiet_ synonymous. Somehow, the little fellows, unfortunately, take the Lark for Mr. Spohf, who has hitherto done the funny in a refined style, scarcely to be imagined--an elegant, amiable, fun,--a mixture of the buffoon and gentleman, the sublime and the ridiculous, quite marvellous to behold,--making our little friend (who you are aware was moulded in one of Nature's odd freaks) appear, to tender imaginations, almost supernatural. The mistake and misplaced approbation is very galling to Mrs. Brown; so much so that she becomes angry with the tea-urn, and, in turn, burns her fingers--venting her ire in the shape of a box on the ears of Master Bold, who ventured to hint Mr. Spohf's absence a "jolly shame;" and, now vows to tell his mamma--a thing it is very evident Mrs. Brown does not wish, for she has shown a great deal of favour and contrition towards the young gentleman since.

The tea-tray having been removed, the burners of the chandelier heightened, and the Snuffle family had their row of little noses polished by the eldest sister, preparations begin:--Miss Jemima playing the pretty little "Hop o'my Thumb Polka," and Tom, who has been sitting very quietly beside Mercy Merry (vowing to marry her at fourteen, for "his father is so rich that he would give him five pounds a year to live upon"), leads off, much to the mortification of those boys who will not be "young gentlemen"--the many who won't, can't, and shan't dance! but, being bent upon mischief, dispose explosive spiders and chair-crackers about the carpet;--one little mischievous fellow wishing he had brought some pepper to strew on the floor, and make 'em sneeze; however, they get up a little excitement another way with the sofa-pillows, a sham fight, in which a parian Amazon falls beside Marian Bell, who "didn't go to do it;" so dancing is relinquished for games to suit all parties:--Hunt the Slipper, a sport carried on with great spirit, until it is found there are slippers enough for three--a thing everybody holds to be cheatery:--so that game is abandoned for Blind-man's-buff, the mere mention of which, carries us back to childhood; and, as authors often lug in their thoughts (bits of nature) very unceremoniously, and at odd times, we may, possibly, be pardoned or praised for so doing. Well, we never hear mention of this game but we think of a bump we once received during the sport, our blind ardour causing us to flounder in a fender, and bruise our head, the remains of which will be taken to the "long home." Well do we remember the spotted turban worn on that occasion--for we recollect, at the time, thinking "Belcher" a new term, just coined;--having our crown rubbed with brandy and taking a little internally, which appeared attracted by that externally, for it got in our head and made us very merry, causing the hiccups to such an extent, that we were called _Sir Toby Belch_ of "Twelfth Night; or, What you Will" notoriety (having drawn that character). Thus, brandy, Belchers, and Blind-man's-buff, hold an indissoluble partnership in our memory--a remnant of those days when we imagined a Jew incapable of dealing in other merchandise than old clothes; or of shaving like a Christian, or, if he did, would do other than expose a pendant chin, resembling the _vertebræ_ of a horse's tail. Oh! those days have flown--days when we imagined peas split by hand, and thought humanity fools for not making soup with whole ones--but we are sadly digressing!--"It's not fair!" cry twenty voices--"the blind man can see;" and so he could, for he always caught Miss Brown, who, afraid of the piano or pier-glass, would stand in the way:--so that sport is relinquished for cake and Characters; the former seeming to afford great gratification, and the latter little, save to the King and Queen--all other characters being, like the riddles, "given up,"--no one caring to know when a sailor is not a sailor?--when he's a-_board_: or to be bored with a door's being a-_jar_, and a man a-_shaving_.

The rich cake is soon a ruin; so much is every part of it relished, that one young gentleman has consumed the head and shoulders of Madame Alboni, under a delusion of her being sugar, and not "plaster of parish," as Mrs. Brown afterwards said it was. The little fellows soon get very mirthful on the ginger-wine; keeping up a continual buzz, like a colony of bees, sadly itching to be at something--a wish that is not to be realized at once, for little Miss Newsoince is going to do that eternal tattoo, the "_Rataplan_:"--yes, there she is, in Tom's felt-hat and polonaise, as "_La Vivandière_," thumping upon an empty band-box with two knitting-pins, singing, as some of the mammas say, very prettily; but as the boys, who have heard it many times before, designate it "a jolly bother!"--"a great big shame!"--"a precious dummy set out!"--and so on,--there being no _fun_ in it.

This hum-drum over, a great cry is raised for _Forfeits_!--and a desire that _a lady_ should _go out in a very great hurry_, as it would appear, almost in a state of destitution; for every young lady and gentleman proffers to stand for some article of dress. Having settled what they will give, all sit round upon chairs, ready to hear the _lady's_ demands:--spin goes the trencher, and she wants her _Stockings_!--forward fly the hose, personated by a little fellow, with mottled legs, who had never stood in other than socks, but for all that can catch the revolving waiter, look slyly at _Bonnet_, make him think it his turn, and impudently call out "_Cap!_!"--so _Bonnet_ and _Cap_ knock head to head, tumble on the trencher, and get fined. _Bonnet_ shouts "_Boots!_"--_Boots_ begets "_Bustle!_"--and _Bustle_ begets a grand stir, by calling "_Double Toilet!_"--causing the whole wardrobe to leap from every chair, in every direction, a general confusion,--in which the _Boa_ slips off his seat, and forfeits a twenty-bladed knife. The _Boa_, spinning the tray again, calls "_Muff!_"--who, not being on the alert, arrives when the waiter has wabbled its last, so the _Muff_ has to pay a forfeit; but having nothing eligible upon his person, is found a substitute, in a very ugly China pug-dog, afterwards called "_a very pretty thing_" by Miss Angelina to Miss Jemima, who awarded the penalties, like a blind Justice saying her prayers, passing sentence, in the lap of the judge, who demands--"_Here's a pretty thing, a very pretty thing; and what is the owner of this very pretty thing to be done to?_"

Angelina sentencing the owner of the pretty pug to take a very pretty young lady into the corner, and spell "_op-por-tu-ni-ty_"--a spell the _Muff_ does not seem to know lies in taking the _opportunity_ to kiss the fair one, though he has all the evening been admiring her vastly, and would have given anything for such a chance; but next, having to "_lie the length of a looby, the breadth of a booby_," _&c._, he is eminently successful--yet, who shall say the ungainly cub may not one day be an ornament to society! Poor _Muff_! he has no mother or sisters--the only specimens of girlhood known to him are the maids at home, and the school-master's daughter, that dines with the parlour-boarders at Addle House:--brave boy, thou art clever, but semi-civilized! More "_pretty things_" are being redeemed--fans, gloves, lockets, handkerchiefs, and chatelaines,--all their owners being appropriately "done to:"--the _Boa_ condemned to "bite a yard off the poker;" and the _Visite_ to "salute the one he likes best"--which _Garters_ fancies will be her; so, she embraces the table-pillar, and he the _Berthe_, instead--kissing her, sadly to the mortification of _Garters_, who did think the honour worth some trouble. Jemima and Angelina, having disposed of the judicial pawn-brokering establishment, stroke down their skirts, and send round the currant-wine; whilst Master Tom and a few other daring youths consume lighted candle-ends, made of turnip, with almond wicks; and the merry little man, Lark, who can no more be quiet than a robin in a rat-trap, is now hopping with a paper tail, composed of this evening's "_Sun_"--a sun that seems to be incombustible, for the boys are trying to ignite it, but cannot,--only waxing Mr. Lark's pantaloons very much in the rear, and putting the candles out--a trick that caused no end of diversion, not only to the performers, but to every one; who laughed immoderately, more particularly when Mr. Lark led down Mrs. Brown to supper, the antimacassar adhering to his trowsers--the wax, upon sitting down, causing it to stick there.