Christmas Comes but Once A Year | Page 3

with the gentleman--for he
curried favour by stroking only the way of the grain. So, with Lady
Lucretia, Captain de Camp, of the Hon. East India Company's Service,
from Madras--awaiting his luggage,--is at home in the Albert, having
given himself a character that satisfied Mrs. Brown; for, he omitted the
objectionable parts (fearing they might distress that good lady), like the

woman with a large family, who, finding it impossible to get lodgings,
sent her children among the graves; that, when asked, she might say,
with a sigh, "Alas! they are all in the churchyard."
[Illustration]
That evening Mrs. Brown's rich mellow snore commenced later than
usual--for she had been loud and long in the praise of their new
neighbours. Mr. Brown making entry against December 22nd,
Saturday.--That Albert was let:--whilst, the Waits were playing the
"Phantom Dancers," and Captain de Camp busy, there, screwing his
empty trunk to the floor, that it might appear heavy, and full of
valuables; and whilst, between the villas in the rear, there might be seen
a glimmering candle, and by that light be found--one not unknown to
Brown--a poor little musician, in a little second-floor room, containing
a little organ much too large for it, and a litter of dirty soft papers,--who
is not a little perplexed at a note, from Mrs. Brown, dispensing with his
services:--he, the poor little music-master, more amiable than
handsome, less symmetrical than serviceable;--who had, in less
favoured times, contracted friendship, and to teach the Misses Brown
music at thirty shillings per quarter--who had gotten so familiar as to
love--had dared to offer that person Nature had deformed, with that
mind Nature had adorned, to Miss Jemima Brown. There was a time
when his anecdotes had been prized, and his long, delicate, white
fingers kept playing to perpetual dancers; and that fine voice, Nature
had bestowed in lieu of symmetry, sang the merriest and most
sentimental songs for love:--the retrospect is too much for poor
Spohf--so he seeks refuge in his organ, much to the annoyance of a
little tailor in the attic, who has no soul in him--save the sole he had for
supper.
[Illustration]
Sunday.--The perpetual bell of St. Stiff the Martyr is calling to service,
as it is wont to do at all times and hours--for mysterious purposes but
little known:--it seems as if the bell disliked its little wooden cottage,
on the unfinished spire; or was inspired, or in a towering passion to live
in a tower, or saw no fun in waiting for funds; and so, continually

pealed an appeal to the public:--however, it was a puny, little, curious
bell, with a tongue of its own, now clacking for a charity sermon; and,
curiously, Mr. Brown thinks a charity sermon always edifies him with
the headache, and is doubtful about going, as they make him a reluctant
giver--for mere vain show; but he, curiously, wonders where the De
Camps go; and, curiously, Victoria and Albert meet at the gate; and,
curiously, the family pue, at St. Stiff's, seems capable of
accommodating them.
Mr. Spohf, the little organist, being perched up aloft, sees, through the
curtain, the Christmas holly and the Captain--taking care to mark that
individual with mental chalk. The musician's eyes are in the Brown pue;
but the eyes that used to meet them are turned another way--all favour
is centred upon their spurious exotic, who grows thicker, twines tighter,
and takes deeper root, the more he is encouraged:--of the species, or
genus, we cannot do better than quote Mr. B.'s own words, written
against December 23rd, Sunday--(whilst the Waits, as usual, were
serenading the semi-detached, in a full conviction of its being Monday,
and the possibility of "living and loving together," and "being happy
yet").--"To church with my new tenant, who is delightful company:
Lady Lucre. says he is a 'refined duck,' a 'gentlemanly angel,' and a
'manly poppet:' to which I made answer, that I thought so too; and that
she was a 'seraphine concert.' Sermon, by the Rev. Loyalla à Becket, 'in
aid of funds for supplying the poor, during this inclement but festive
season, with food for the mind.' Captain de Camp did borrow a
sovereign of me, to put in the plate; and I was told by my
fellow-churchwarden, Mr. Flyntflayer, that he did put in a bad shilling,
wrapt in paper, and did take out fifteen shillings in change:--this, I said
was untrue--as, of course, it was;--having lent him a sovereign myself,
for the express purpose. We are to have Captain de C.'s two noble sons
here, during the holidays; one, I believe, comes from Oxford, and the
other from Sandboys Military College:--now is the time--Jemy. and
Angel. must be on the alert, for
'There is a tide in the affairs of women, Which, taken at the flood,