"I search for lodgings—here’s the very thing,—
Though I’ve not got arap, I think I’llring;
For all I want is to betaken in,—
As I would otherstake—sure ’tis no sin
To do to others—only tit for tat—
So here goes—Rat—tat, tat—a tat!!!!!"
Here We Are Again!
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 amatch maker’s—appearing, himself,a perfectclown, 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, forHarlequin; who, the instant he is fitted, flies through the panel of a door, inscribed “cutting-outroom,” into the next house, aflorist’s, there to obtain his favourite flower, theColumbine, 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 Notorious Singer at the “Warren,” Singing His Celebrated Bits “The Drop” and “The Drain.”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.
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Drone’s fly is homeward bound, heavily laden. The young men of the party have dived into “The Welsh Rarebit Warren,” there to spend the early hours of the morning, listening to sentimental songs chanted amid fumes of tobacco and spirits, to hear sorry wit, and make vapid remarks. The great feature of the evening being a melodramaticdirge, supposed to be sung by a condemned felon—a triumphant lamentation and delineation of brutal character,—so eloquent and thrilling, in its monosyllabic groans of anguish, that it is a wonder the kidneys, consumed in such numbers, are ever digested. But, alas!—such is life—those most swayed by animal propensities see the least warning therein:—as, the thief combines business and pleasure at the gallow’s foot; so, with the frequenters of the “Warren”—they imbue their sentiment and supper,—only digesting the latter. Wellesley has devoured several “rabbits,” and Latimer disposed of numberless kidneys, whilst young Brown has had to wait the usual forty minutes for a steak; and, in the interim, had five “stouts,” four “goes,” and several cigars,i.e., with assistance from the De Camps; who have made free, ay, to order goblets of champagne, and, in the end, not having change to repair the “damage” (a mean, but true, term, as often applied), they get young Brown to pay the complicated sum added up by the waiter, upon a mahogany ditto, in lieu of a slate, with stale stout spilled in the corner, receipted with a wipe of the towel:—and so, home in the “safety” cab, with large wheels and a spanking grey,—lettered along the side “Nil desperandum,” thinking “handsome is asHansomdoes;” tumbling into bed just before the peep o’ day, and five hours after Mr. Brown had made up his Diary—writing against December the 27th., Thursday, that he had taken Tom and the girls to a pantomime; been agreeably surprised to find the De Camps there, especially the sons, who did sit in front, withJemy. and Angel., looking made as much for one another as he could desire:—Tom behaving very sadly; and, were it not for his mother, the boy should spend the vacations at a Yorkshire school;—twice every year—in the Dog-days and December—is the house turned topsy-turvy,—it may be sport to you, Master Tom, but ’tis death to us.
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Thus older grew the year, and fuller got the Diary—Mr. Brown graphically recounting the doings and disasters of “December28th,Friday.—Unpropitious, fatal, Friday! I never knew it lucky save once, and then itwas—I let the Albert. ‘Christmas comes but once a year,’ with a train of nasty bills, not to be bilk’d; and sorry consolation is it thinking you ‘paid at the time,’ when the receipt is not to be found. Miss-Fortune, that never came single, now visits with a large family of little pests—out of season and uninvited!—Here is Needy, the pianist, who, one would think, had married her; for he has children enough to fill a charity school. Needy, of No. 9, Brown Terrace, has absconded without paying the rent—sending the key, and £12. 10s., instead of £14., with a shabby excuse about hoping to be able to make up the difference some day:—this is the return for showing compassion to a poor devil!—I ought to have known, when I took the cottage-piano for last quarter, though Spohf did say it was a six-and-three-quarters, worth three times the money!—I am a good-natured fool, and ought, in justice to my family, to be a little more selfish—these mean professionals estimating their rubbish far beyond all reason!—My spirits are damped—and so are we all, for the water-pipesthat that rascal Plummer fixed, at the low contract, have burst with this evening’s thaw, and were discovered just as the water was coming in; having played, I know not how long, a fountain in the bathroom, tumbling down the stairs like the falls of the Niagara, obliging us to insert tobacco-pipes all over the drawing-room ceiling, to drain theinundation:—it has spoilt the watered paper, stained the aquatint of the Aqueduct, and ‘Wellington at Waterloo,’ done for the water-gilding, and saturated the ‘Momentous Question;’ the ‘Heart’s Misgivings’ is a sop; and the water-colour of the ‘Flood’ is washed away. Alphonso is sitting up in goloshes to empty the pots, and I doubt much if I shall sleep over the dropping-well.”
How Mr. Brown slept we do not know, but can imagine, for here is the Diurnal Record, made up in bed:—“December29th,Saturday.—Dreamed Victoria Villa turned into a hydropathic establishment—that I was being frozen, thawed, and suffocated; did wake, this day, with an enlarged cheek—the influenza compelling me to keep my bed, bathe my chilblains, and anoint my nose; I take slops internally, and wear a heart upon the outside of my chest. The kind, considerate Captain called, smoking a cigar, that made me cough, and think his visit a visitation.”
Compliments of the Season.
The first Sunday after Christmas is here:—Brown is in bed; the little bell of St. Stiff’s has stopped, and many another vibratory sound is dying in the distance; flakes of snow are moodily descending—causing the fire to spit angrily, and the face of heaven to look black—all light appearing to come from the earth; sound is deadened, the carpet is darker than usual, and the ceiling lighter; Mr. Brown’s eyes are up there, for he is lying, tracing amid the cracks and stains, vast palaces like pictures by Martin, or aërial phantasmagorias by Turner. Brown is lying, nursing his influenza according to the approved adage; thoughsome read the maxim thus, “Stuff a cold, and (have to) starve a fever.” Let us hope Brown has the right version. Captain de Camp has come to read to the invalid, and drink his brandy and water—he has begun “Blair’s Sermons,” or rather the life of Blair, prefixed to the volume, in a full conviction of its religious tendency; whilst in the room above is John, the footman, standing upon his bed, breathing on the single pane of glass, inserted in the sloped roof, that he may melt the snow, and see to read a mysterious document—a tumbled note,—not on the Bank of England, but an epistolatory one, found in the trowsers pockets of Mr. Latimer de Camp—the same cast off by that gentleman on Christmas-day, when he stumbled over the strange dinner, in coming from church, and so much deteriorated their appearance as to give them to John;—who now, thinking he has found evidence,—thinks he always thought he thoughtthe De Camps scamps. John is perplexed at the purport of the letter; and feeling a cold thrill run through him, he turns into bed, there to reflect for ten minutes upon the downy pillow, pondering with intensely closed eyes, considering before he puts himself in the power of an enemy—for John had been a soldier once, and would have been one now, had not his poor old mother starved and mangled together enough to buy him off; he bore the stamp of military drill, took in “Tales of the Wars,” in penny numbers, and had a cheap print of the “Battle of Waterloo” pasted to the sloping roof, above the bed, in which we left him pondering. Having considered enough, he takes once more to the document, folding and unfolding it, examining the thimbleimpress on the seal, tasting a corner of it in his excitement, and reading it with intense energy for the last time: it is directed to “Latimer de Camp, Esq., M.A., Albert Villa, Mizzlington;” and was posted in the New Cut:—
No. 2, Grubb’s Rents.
“Dear Edward,
“I am anxiously awaiting the ‘Conspiracy,’—do not keep me in suspense!—doDOit, for mybenefit.—I sadly wantmoney. Is theplottoohorriblefor you!—you know how to do for a ‘Victoria’ company!—make adomestic tragedyof it—shootthefatherandson!—you know the rest. Pray communicate, or I shall think you in trouble.
“Your forlorn—Emma.”
For this last perusal John appears none the wiser, being unable to divine more than at first—murder and treachery seem the plot. John thinks the Captain just like Gory, the murderer, in the Chamber of Horrors, at the wax-works; and that Victoria Villa resembles “Greenacre Hall,” depicted in the pictorial newspaper. John is sadly perplexed as to where he shall seek counsel—of course, thinking of every one foreign to the case; until, happily, he remembers one that ought to have been thought of first—to Mr. Spohf will he send the mysterious note, ask his advice, and act upon it:—but, unfortunately, John sealed the envelope with Mr. Brown’s crest—a circumstance that made Mr. Spohf think the letter from his old friend Brown; so he answers it as such—feeling much pleasure thathisadvice should besought;—saying, the enclosed note appeared to be about some drama some one had to write—a document of no serious import. As tostrangers, he should advise caution; for it is the aim of a rogue to look as much like a trusty friend as possible; quiet watchfulness is well, for that can harm no one. This answer from Mr. Spohf was promptly delivered by the little tailor’s daughter to the expectant John; who naturally thought it for him. Curiously, John and his master both owned the name of Brown—John Brown:—now John, the servant, was conscientious; and would not, on any account, have opened his master’s letters—he drew the line of propriety much further off,—it stopped at reading in at the ends. John felt surethisletter was for him—not that he liked being called an esquire; yet, for all that, he felt safe, for there, extra-large and important, was the word “Private”—a military distinction that made him doubly certain; so, he bore away the letter, in great trepidation, to his quarters in the tiles, there to be much relieved by its contents; vowing, as he lay on his bed, to be watchful as the Duke on the look-out in his “Battle of Waterloo,” and dumb as a dead drummer in the foreground.
Happily Victoria and Albert were ignorant of these despatches, or John might have lost his commission and uniform. Confidence is unshaken;—for, onDecember30th,Sunday, Captain de Camp is reported a “glorious oriental brick,”—he having kindly prescribed all sorts of good things for his invalid friend, without the slightest regard to expense; and, moreover, broken Brown’s quinsy by administering anextraordinary anecdote, or “crammer,” that scarcely any one couldswallow; but Brown did, and laughed so much afterwards, that the quinsy was gone; for the Captain had anecdotes suited to all times and seasons—he only wanted listeners, and off he went like an alarum. Sunday put him in mind of that day twelvemonths; and that day put him in mind of Richard Spark, of the Native Infantry; Rich. Spark put him in mind of how they got that Hindoo millionaire, Makemuchjee Catch-muchjee, into a Christian church, by walking him between them, in a state of ether; how he (the Hindoo) was mollified by the sermon, and went home—melted the Idol, Boobobum, that had golden hair, diamond eyes, pearly teeth, coral lips, a silver tongue, and a copper bottom; how he handed her over in lumps to the church; and yet, with all these poetical attributes she was the ugliest and most precious god he ever set eyes on. She was the subscription of the district—the poor put the copper and the rich the gold;—the Captain telling of how he made a posthumous portrait of her, which is quite correct; only he forgot five bosoms in the bust, and left out a right arm:—it is engraved in No. 365 of the “Missionary Record.”
This paragraph opens with the last day of the old year.—The cold that stiffened Mr. Brown’s neck, and choked up his throat has thawed; his nose has resumed its accustomed hue; his temper is unusually good in the prospect of vacating his room, and beginning the year with redoubled energy. Mrs. Brown is preparing for something important; and, from the delicate scented note you observed inserted in ourchimney-glass-frame—the one with the Brown crest, a rampant locomotive proper, and motto of “Go-a-head” (which, between ourselves, wasfoundby a very subtle seal-engraver in Change Alley);—from that, and the remarks of Master Brown, when we called this morning, you may pretty well judge:—he said Jemy. wrote such a lot o’ letters the other day; that they have a pillow-case filled with oranges—quite a sack-full; and, moreover, his Ma’. just was clever—for she said she could kill two parties with one chandelier, and make rout-seats hold double! The fact is, Mrs. Brown intends to give a ball on the 4th of January, and a juvenile party on the 5th—the former to be extra-superb, on account of the De Camps; who, of course, are expected—having received an invitation by post. We wonder the Browns did not write to invite themselves; for John passed the Albert door in taking the Captain’s letter to the post, and the preparations were as much under the guidance of those worthies as of the Browns themselves. The boudoir is in a litter—all cuttings of satin and book muslin,—in the midst of which may be seen pretty Miss Bib and little Madame Tucker, very busily employed—Lady Lucretia de Camp proffering advice; and superintending the construction of an amber satin, covered with black lace—a dress that Mrs. Brown thought to wear, but felt obliged to resign, so much did her kind patron, Lady de Camp, dote upon it.
Above this last-named apartment is Brown’s bedchamber, where he and the Captain are spending a quiet evening, reviewing their prospectsand relating their experiences:—the Captain stating his intention of living retired upon his property, for all his friend Major Cant’s trying to persuade him to take an adjoining house in Belgravia. No! he was content to stay where he was—Albert was snug; but if Mr. Brown thought of removing to Mayfair or Tyburnia, why then, a house next such a capital individual might be a desideratum:—hesaid it—an Army Captain that should not say it, but did not care,—stock-brokers and merchants were men of bottom; though probably his friend Major Cant would saythatbottom meant thebaserstuff they were composed of—the joke was better than the simile, and neither bad. After this opinion the Captain paused to think, drink, and—with a blow that made the table quiver,—demand, to know what a man without money wasworth?—answering the question, in the same breath, with an emphaticnothing!—a man of wealthwasa man of worth! We know not if Mr. Brown thought this logic or no;—but he, Captain de Camp, knew it, and intended to let his friends know it also; for next season he would give a grand entertainment, get Spread and Co. to throw a marquee over the lawn, and see if Major Cant would come—the Captain rather thoughthewould; or the Hon. Sam. Dummy—the coxcomb, who, when asked to dine with Alderman Fig, in Bloomsbury Square, saidhishorses never crossed Tottenham Court Road—Stinkomalee and the Brutish Museum savouring too much of the “people” for the exquisite;—but the Captain winked, and said he knew how the Dummy would get out of the fix—he would come along the New Road, as the Captain said he onceknew him do, when in search of an asthmatic poodle that had been stolen, and was at a dog-fancier’s on Pentonville Hill. Then should we have the lane filled with carriages, like at a Chiswick fête; I would introduce my friend to the world, and be at rest;—for we are a couple of old boys, willing to make sacrifices for our dear children.
Having delivered himself of these lofty sentiments as the bells were ringing out the old year—stopping to strike its knell;—the Captain also stopped, to seize a glass and the hand of Brown—wishing him the merriest, maniest, and happiest of New Years;—drinking eternal unity to the B.’s and De C.’s—at the same time shedding a very visible tear, that dropped into his brandy and water, like the pearl of Cleopatra, to be sacrificed to self—to a very affectionate man—soveryaffectionate, that he loved himself, we do believe.
The spirits and sentiment so overcame Brown, that he buried his emotion in the bolster—a state of mind the Captain did not fail to observe, and take advantage of; for—“he supposed Mr. Brown couldnotspare £8, until Saturday?”—An affirmation that gentleman repudiated; for he granted the small favour with pleasure—presenting the leaf of an oblong book, and his autograph, to the Captain; who retired with the same—by an ingenious plan to render it of ten times the value—adding to theeighta lettery, making it eighty, and the figure to keep company with a naught—£80.
The events of this day are chronicled in the Diary of Brown—allcouleur de rose,—the literal purport of which it would be tedious torepeat; suffice it to say, the aphorisms on the demise of the year ran foul of the “occasional memoranda,” and were brought to a dead stop by the “general accounts;” not that his ideas stopped on paper, for he continued them in bed. Brown dreamed “his ship had come home;”—that he dwelt in a Belgravian palace; that he was an M.P.;—that he was known asBrown, the “King of ’Change”—that he ruled with an iron ruler—that he was enthroned upon a cash-box—that he wore a crown of dollars—that the four quarters of the globe adored him—that Great and Little Britain worshipped him;—that theworldtold hiswife, Brown was a great man:—but, alas!—trains of wild ideas, like locomotives that go too fast, may run off the rail when least expected, or explode as a train of gunpowder, without notice; so, in Mr. Brown’s imagination, he feels as if shot into the air, after being dreadfully scalded—Mrs. Brown, kind soul, having applied a bottle of boiling water (forgetting the flannel) to the feet of her spouse, before retiring, herself—that good lady little thinking it was so warm. But there were other things Mrs. Brown did not know of; for she little thought the servants were round the kitchen-fire, quiet as mice, all deep in the “Mysteries of the Courts and Sewers of London”—a work affording the greatest amount of horrible excitement at the lowest rate,—a book in which Alphonso has discovered a Captain de Camp; and cook, a Lady Thingamy, whom, she says, “ain’t no better than she should be”—a rather vague but significant truth, that might as appropriately have been applied to a saint as to a sinner, though cook intended it for the latter:—as to the Capting,the only think she had agin him was a wish he wouldn’t spile everythink with soy and cayenne, for it got into the wash, and made the pigs sneeze. Mary, too, must have her opinion—saying Wellesley wasn’t no gentleman, for he wiped his dirty boots on the towels, and would pull the plug out of the wash-bason when there was nothing under to catch the soapy water. During this scandal, John, whom all thought knew something, only said the Captain wasan umbug—as he noiselessly disappeared, bearing his shoes in his hand; for it was considerably past midnight.
Young Brown and his two friends are at the “Planets” harmonic meeting, stating their intention not to return till morning—an useless proclamation, for it is impossible to do otherwise, now—they having been at the Casino, “getting their feet in,” for the hop on Friday, as young Brown termed the practice of dancing.
Mr. Spohf is in bed, but cannot sleep—so great is his pleasure,—Messrs. Blow and Grumble having patented “Spohf’s new organ-movement.”
“A Happy New Year—and may you live to see many of them!”—The New Year is born with every characteristic of its defunct sire—seeming no better behaved (as some people would have little boys after a birthday or a breeching):—the old year died with a drizzle; and the young one, that everybody hoped promising, is born with the same attributes.
Mr. Brown is at his post again—the parish lamp-post at the cornerof the lane—awaiting the “Favourite” omnibus, that is to bear him to the City. He is trying to arrange the thousand and one little commissions he has to execute for Mrs. Brown. How many he remembered or forgot we know not; but that day he purchased a fair blank Diary—the stationer who sold it not only wishing him “a Happy New Year,” but that he might “live to fill fifty such:”—a wish that made Mr. Brown very contemplative—thinking 18,250 entries no joke;—of many bright, bright days of pleasure; two score and ten of birthdays; half a century of weddings, anniversaries, and deaths—let us hope of peaceful, happy deaths,—for clouds will sometimes gather, darkening the brightest sky; but, thank Heaven, there is plenty of sunshine for those who seek it—ay, to find it, too, though it be midnight and beside a kitchen-fire. Of this new Diary the first page is penned with more care than usual—as all first pages are:—there the De Camp dynasty reign in confidence; and it is evident that Mr. Brown anticipates a glorious future.
Young Time, we have often imagined, must be born fledged; for he can fly quickly as his sire!—It is the 3rd of January—the day prior to Mrs. Brown’s ball.—Thus thought we, wending our way to Victoria Villa; having promised the Miss Browns to step in and practise the “deux-temps” with them; but, as we have since heard, it is another new double-shuffle that is turning the brains of the dancing world just now;—however, we went, and found Victoria in a pretty pickle—a perfect mixed pickle, we may say,—our dear young friends beingmuch too busy to remember the appointment:—for there was the “Broadwood” standing upon the landing; and Master Tom cutting out slides upon the bare boards in the drawing-room, the carpet being taken to St. Stiff’s Union, that it might be beaten—a thing we exceedingly rejoiced in; for last year the guests were obliged to beat it with their feet, and afterwards to carry the dust home upon their shoulders—the first polka being performed as if in the Great Desert, during a sand-storm. There was the chandelier (that looked all the year like a giant pear enveloped in holland) being removed to the parlour, and a much more splendid one suspended in its stead. We peeped into the drawing-room, and had our dignity compromised by a man on some steps; who directed us to “look alive and bring that hammer.” So, it being very evident we were in the way, we withdrew, tumbling over a barricade of fenders and other furniture in the hall, raised during our absence by the insurgent housemaids; who, we are sorry to say, seemed rather diverted at the mishap, for we heard them giggle, though of course we appeared not to notice, and tried to walk away with a joyous air; at the same time vowing never to visit, even our best friends, on the day prior to a party.
So we took care to keep away until the memorable evening arrived; but being particularly requested to come early, and bring our amiable sisters, we wished to do so. The Brougham was waiting, as were we—thinking to do so for some time:—having made up our mind and the study-fire—diving deep into the first book handy—an "Essay upon Lightand Shade in Painting." Well, we were in the dark—with Rembrandt;—when the room appeared to fill with odoriferous vapour, and a blonde fairy stealthily touched our shoulder, making a mock salutation, that startled us very much:—it was our playful sister, whom we complimented upon appearance and expedition; well knowing ladies to be unable to dress in a given time for a ball, whatever they may do for an opera!
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However, we had no cause for umbrage on this occasion; for the carriage rumbled over the hard, dry, ground, just as St. Stiff’s was striking nine—the stars above, twinkling, as they only can, upon a clear, frosty night. Having knocked mildly, for fear of frightening Mrs. Brown thus early, and been kept waiting some time, we were admitted; after being taken for Mr. Strap, the help, by John, whom we surprised in his fustian jacket and the middle of a fugitive tea. The ladies soon disappeared into an upper region, not soon to return, leaving us to find amusement as we best could:—to examine the tiger-skin, ingeniously sewn upon a form to resemble a living animal (which, by the bye, it did not); to peep into the parlour, and discover the supper, looking mysteriously vast, by the light of one burner, very much turned down; to pace thehall; warm our kids at the Arnott; and, standing upon the mat, listen to the unsophisticated talk without—speculating as to what a foreign traveller could divine the conversation to mean, or the diurnal occupation of the lanthorn-men to be:—
1st voice. “Droves, did yer say, inMad-oxStreet?”
2nd do. “Yes,herds; I got eightbullsand ahogout ofBullstrodeStreet.”
1st do. “See to thatbull’s-eye,calf; and, as there ain’t nokidsa-coming, I’lltossyer for atanner.”
Here “the noblest study of mankind” was broken off—Alphonso appearing. We left our men, to pace the hall—abandoning character for a slow march,—whilst the page constructed a scaffold of clothes-horses and table-covers, forming a repository for hats, over the back kitchen-stairs; the lobby beyond which, we discovered had been metamorphosed into a still-room, and was now presided over by two pretty, plump damsels, in the finest cobweb caps—mere blond buttons, of no earthly use, but, withal, very becoming:—one of these maids being in converse with a young “gent.,” who, it appears, has been forgotten in the excitement, and discovered here—his face very sticky with candy and cream. Master Thomas Brown, fearing that such search might be instituted for him, has taken a great affection to the leg of the still-room table; from which he is coaxed by more attractive substances, seized, and borne up to bed—his yells becoming “small by degrees and beautifully less,” until lost altogether.
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Now comes Mr. Strap, to help and wait at table—in his huge white cravat, yellow vest, and new pair of second-hand plush smalls, disappearing below to develope his calves, which are enveloped in gaiters,—gingerly beckoning the man with the bad hat, who had been tuning the piano, and Mr. Palaver, the Mizzlington Artist in hair, to follow, that they may escape by the back door.
We had been promenading the hall for some time, having become pretty well acquainted with the pattern of the encaustic tiles withwhich it was paved; and were going towards the entrance for the last time, pluming ourself that we might appear to the greatest advantage—for we felt assured the ladies were descending, having heard a rustling and tittering;—when, just turning by the door, we were electrified by three distinct bangs, that subsided into a sharp rat, with an infinity of tail, causing the lid of the letter-box to look as if it had the palsy, and ourself to retreat like a shot—feeling alternately hot and cold; whilst Strap, who, upon hearing Mrs. Brown’s footsteps, began to be very busy, performing a feat of strength with seven waiters, a copper scuttle and an ice-pail, is put in such trepidation that he loses his grip—all coming to the flags; causing the greatest amount of clamour at the smallest amount of sacrifice—Mrs. Brown saying she is happy it is not glass, and hoping Strap hasn’t been drinking. The effect having annihilated the cause, the door is not opened; so the dose gets repeated, with similar gusto, by Fred. Lark—for it was he that gave the “stunner,” and witnessed the commotion through the attenuated windows at either side the door,—a piece of pleasantry for which he got stigmatised by Mrs. B. as a naughty, noisome, noisy man; and for which he himself proposed thestill-room, as an antidote. Now, Mr. Lark is one of those funny little men, rather liked, because not over given to sarcasm, and quite capable of laughing at his own jokes; or rather the jokes he has picked up and disseminates—such whimsies in their place being very well, but out of it intolerable nuisances. Mr. Lark commenced his vagaries in the still-room, when we were taking coffee,placing the toast on the table, and the buttered bread to the fire; proffering the sugar to Miss Angelina; inquiring of that lady if shelikedher tea—because, if not, she mightlumpit; and upon our observing some cracknels, as hard, the Lark said—it washarderwhere there were none; and that evening he completely confounded Mr. Brown, by informing the worthy gentleman—he had not seen him this year!—nothing very remarkable, considering it only three days’ old; but enough, withal, to make Mr. Brown think of three hundred and sixty-five—doubting the statement.
Now arrive the musicians, with a gentle knock:—up goes the harp (like a huge blade-bone in baize), followed by the cornet, violin, and pianist. We ascend:—Mrs. Brown popping and firing her parting injunctions in every direction—at Alphonso, in the (library) coffee-room; at Mr. Strap, by the door; at John, by the foot of the stairs;—and, I was going to say, at the listless supernumerary footman, lolling over the banisters; who appeared in, or rather out of, character, by especial desire, for this night only, being lent with the rout-seats at a sure salary. As Mrs. Brown passed this latter gentleman in silence, we could not help smiling—hoping she might have to think as well of his powers as he did himself, and that all titles entrusted to his care might be safely delivered; for we knew Mrs. Bramston would not be calledBrimstone, without turning fiery; or Mr. Reynard Sly put up with anything butSlée, though he may write it Sly, himself.
Having gained the drawing-room, and got fairly through the muslin-barrierin the doorway, which made the staircase look as if in a fog, we found the appearance within very gratifying—everything well out of the way, and no stinting of wax-lights:—altogether exhibiting a clearer stage than is often to be met with—some antique people inviting you to polk in an old curiosity shop;—as, the other evening, at the Dowager Lady Oldbuck’s, young Whisk, of the Heavies, brought down abuhltable, covered with porcelain gimcracks; a thing that Lark observed—ought to cure itself, if people wished to save theirSèvres. Evening parties are not the slow things they used to be:—here the back balcony is all evergreens and tissue-paper blossoms, lit up with a Chinese lanthorn—looking like a fairy bower, tenanted by four gaping gold-fish and a dissipated canary; the little boudoir, beyond, so snug in sage and silver, seeming but small accommodation for card-players. We thought of Lady Oldbuck’s—the valuable space occupied bychaperonesand corpulent cronies,—blessing the new mode;—dances now being given to dancers, not to dowagers and matrimonial slave-dealers, as heretofore. Mrs. Brown calculates her company; and thinking there is enough for a quadrille in either room, she commences to form them—pouncing, from time to time, upon timid young men by the door, who are led forward, like lambs from a flock, to sacrifice,—until the sets are completed—all but one couple—Mrs. Brown stating herself “distressed for ladies;”—a combination of suffering by no means acute, for she stood up herself, having engaged the amiable young Slowcoach to fill the gap.
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 inl’éte—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 performingla pastorale, when he ought to have donetrenise, 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 leadingher—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 thegalop 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 backroom 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 theLancersorCaledonians(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 isoutof his, and sheinher, element—Miss Charmer looking, Lark said, as if she would prefer performing the “firstset” (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. Theirvis-à-visis a lively lady, apparently taking stock of abouquet, 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 soabsentas 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 comingamiss—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;—waistsmaking 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 andhair, 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 £150,000—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 thebelleof 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 dobelieve waspictureimpressed 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.
****
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 theparty-wall. Now, for that vastly-relished valse, the “Teetotum”—liked none the less for the late excitement!—deux tempsagainsttroistemps—the latter getting worsted; and the Brown girls, who danced every dance, with certain gentlemen, only, more and more unpopular.
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 thecavalier 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 saidhedid 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 beenturnedseveral 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 avirgin:—Lark retorting—“virgingon 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 Stair-case—Captain de Camp and the Wall-flower
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 withesprit de bouquet—presenting, withal, a very effectivecoup-d’œil:—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 fraileffeminate 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, ofchampagne being better thanrealpain 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 thanPottedtongue—an observation that made the apothecary’s face flush, and the “Spoon” liken it to an article before them, aclaret-mug. At this last allusion the “Pott” got red-hot, and there is no knowingwhat 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:—