Christmas Comes but Once A Year | Page 5

forget) out of old bottles, from Victoria's cellar; and telling a
tremendous Eastern story of a tiger captured in a jungle, after a chase of
ten hours--he should have said minutes, in a penny magazine!
Mr. Brown and the Captain soon became familiar--in twenty minutes
you would have thought them friends of twenty years:--so,--before the
last speculator had invested his last weekly sixpence in a goose-club,
and drawn the last adamantine old gander; or the last
Christmas-pudding-sweep swept away the chimerical puddings, that
ought to have been very rich, and everybody thought everybody else
had won; before the last trader, who had sold out, dared to mount a
notice, intimating that he had joined an "Association to suppress
Christmas-boxes,"--the Browns and De Camps had attained that state
denominated "thick"--an appellation that might, with propriety, have
been applied to Mr. Brown's brains;--for he had obliged Captain de
Camp by discounting a bill, due twelve days after date (Christmas), and
had invited him to dine on the morrow, to partake of the poultry, that
always came up at Christmas, from Plumpsworth; and was taken out in
a visit made by the worthy donor, Great-uncle Clayclod, during the
"May-meetings," when he does a dozen shilling exhibitions in a day,
and knocks up a fly-horse. So, rather late to bed; Mr. Brown making up
his Diary, as usual, on the dressing-table--a rule he always observed,
though, in some cases, it would have been better left until the morning;
for, against December 24th, Tuesday, we find his feelings richly
expressed in cramped caligraphy, upside down, bearing evident marks
of excitement;--having been penned--in a dream--with hair-dye,
mistaken for ink; pounced with carmine, and blotted with the
small-tooth-comb in lieu of paper; it is, moreover, curious for its
allegorical allusions--likening Captain de Camp to a "brick," a "downey
card," a "sharp file," and several other inanimate poetical images.
Of our mild friend, Spohf, he is sleeping soundly upon a light

supper--obtained from "St. Stiff's dairy"--some very thin milk, divested
of all unctuous quality--that having gone to an epicure Captain, at the
Albert Villa. Poor Spohf's talent has not put many talents in his
purse--these real racing times run over genius!--they would tunnel
Helicon, turn Hippocrene to flush a city's drains,--make Pegasus serve
letters by carrying a post-boy, and, in the end, sell the noble beast for
feline food:--everything now must be tangible. The little organist, who
had spent so many a Merry Christmas with the Browns--he has no
pleasure to anticipate on the morrow, except the performance of his
new hymn, "The Star of Bethlehem," a composition of which the little
tailor in the attic thought small things, for it did not compose him to
sleep.
[Illustration: "SAFE BIND--SAFE FIND."]
The 25th of December arrives.--The festival of the year has come.
Christmas-day commences with the rising of the cook, who finished the
evening, kneading and gaping over pies and puddings; and wakes with
the same operation, gaping and kneading her eyes, which do not fairly
open until she comes to look after her first care--the pudding:--the fire,
having been made up over night, is discovered a "beauty;" but,
behold,--within the copper, the pudding has dissolved!--there is nothing
to be found but a cloth, which must have been boiling all night in a rich
plum-soup,--the string having come untied; or rather, never been tied at
all, but popped in by Mrs. B. without attending to that operation:--a
piece of neglect, for which the cook gets "warning," and all the servants
rated--until the bells of St. Stiff's remind Mrs. B. that it is time to depart,
for the duties of a Christian, to eschew all the vanities of this wicked
world, in a rich purple Genoa velvet paletot and duck of a plum bonnet.
That day Mr. Churchwarden Brown's pue would not hold all, so Mrs.
Strap, the pue-opener, had to manoeuvre by appropriating part of
another to their use, losing her Christmas-box for the offence against its
owner, Mr. Din, the copper-smith.
Mr. Spohf's Christmas hymn is much liked, and is really so fine as to
make that essence of gentleness, himself, temporarily egotistical; he
wonders what impression it has made upon Miss Jemima, and the

strange gentleman who is so attentive to her--could he do as much? But
Mr. Latimer de Camp is heedless of other good things flying about him;
for, upon the walk home after service, among the savoury Christmas
dinners that are hurrying in every direction, he is so abstracted as to
find a sucking-pig in his stomach, and not a little gravy spilt upon his
trowsers, compelling him to change them, upon his arrival at home, for
a neat pair of young Brown's.
[Illustration: Good living at least once a year]
Mr. Spohf, having played all out of St. Stiff the Martyr, walks home
moodily:--instead