MR. BROWN DID, THOUGHT, AND INTENDED TO DO,

DURING THAT FESTIVE SEASON.

NOW FIRST EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL MSS. (MESS).

With Notes and Illustrations

By LUKE LIMNER, Esq.

LONDON:

WILLIAM TEGG AND CO., 85, QUEEN STREET, CHEAPSIDE.

M.DCCC.L.

Prime Movers.

Scene.—Victoria and Albert Villas, Mizzlington, near London.

Time.—Christmas.

List of Plates.

ERY cold, very bleak; the thermometer and snow are falling fast; eggs and suet are rising faster; everything at this season is “prized,” and everybody apprizes everybody else of the good they wish them,—“A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” Even the shivering caroller, for “it is a poor heart that never rejoices,” is yelling forth the “tidings of comfort and joy.” The snow that descends, making park and common alike—topping palace and pigsty, now crowns the semi-detached villas, Victoria and Albert. They were erected from the designs of John Brown, Esq. and his architect (or builder), and are considered a fine specimen of compo-cockney-gothic, in which the constructor has made the most of his materials; for, to save digging, he sank the foundation in an evacuated pond, and, as an antidote to damp, used wood with the dry-rot—the little remaining moisture being pumped out daily by the domestics. The floors are delightfully springy, having cracks to precipitate the dirt, and are sloped towards the doorways, so that the furniture is perpetually trying to walk out of the rooms; but those apertures are ingeniously planned to prevent the evil—the doors obstinately refusing to open at all, without force. That the whole may not appear too light, few windows are introduced. By casual observers the Victoria and Albert would be taken for one—so united are they; and had we not seen the parting division, we should have doubted also. Of the entrance lodges, we have noticed one of the chimneys smoking periodically; and, from the mollient white vapour issuing over the window at such times, presume Victoria is washing, whilst Albert is locked up and doing nothing.

Their lord and master is John Brown, Esq., Director of the Deptford Direct, the Stag Assurance, and Churchwarden of this parish—St. Stiff the Martyr,—aportly upright man; for had he not been so erect, to balance a “fair round belly,” he would have toppled on his nose. Everybody said that he was clever, too—and, moreover, always thought so; for luck had made our friend a rising man amongst the suburban aristocracy of Mizzlington. Of Mrs. Brown, she is his match, and portly too; though older and more crusty—acrummy dame, to whom her lord must bow; for, upon his hinting at duty, and an obedient wife’s commanding her husband, she ordered him off, reading the adage as a woman ought. Of the Misses Brown, Jemima and Angelina, they are decidedly getting old—for young ladies, having been “out” for some time; and, like the back numbers of an old periodical, are not the more interesting or marketable for it. Of the sons, the elder, John Brown, jun., is spoiling himself by patronising all that is “fast;” whilst the younger is being educated for a faster age, being spoilt first by his mother.

Having characterised the Brown family, we will now introduce you to the first scene of this domestic drama. Victoria Villa—adormitory—midnight; in the back ground may be seen and heard a lady in a rich mellow snore, whilst distant music—the Christmas Waits, is “softly o’er the senses stealing,” and loud in the promise of “a good time coming,” provided you will “wait a little longer.” Mr. Brown is seated at the dressing-table, making up his Diary, or rather trying to cram the events of twenty-four hours into the leaf of a pocket-book, five and a half inches by three and a quarter—his usual custom before rest:—

“December 21st, Friday.—Advertised in this day’s ‘Times,’ to let Albert, furnished, from the 25th, with use of servants, if required (double-house and household at half-price—grand effect united with economy). Tommy came home from Dr. Tortem’s, with holiday-letter, bill, and wonderful crop of hair—considering it costs me five shillings per quarter to cut; brimstone and treacle, under head—medicine, charged ten and six; firing and broken windows, two pounds; &c.:—what most unlucky things turn up on a Friday! Imuch wish I had not advertised Albert to-day—no one will come.” With these observations, and a consolatory grumble about Christmas coming but once a year, Mr. Brown seeks repose beside his consort; whilst the Waits make the lowing wind, the frigid vegetation, and the rattling shutters, dance again to the “Bridal Polka.”

Sweet sleep—and morning dawns.—The Browns depart, as is their daily custom, by the omnibus—the elder to chat inside, the younger to smoke out;—and both to business in the city. Whilst, at home, Master Tommy displays the “advancement made in his studies”—as the holiday-letter states,—by practising writing in the “Book of Beauty;” his knowledge of natural history, by attempting to rear gold-fish (like eels) in sand; searching for the tick in an eight-day clock; setting bits of raw beef in the back garden, that the portion (like potatoes) might grow to young bullocks; filling the bellows’ snout with gunpowder, that they may blow the fire up; putting the cat in walnut-shells upon the icy pond, and himself in the middle of it; playing racket in the drawing-room; and constructing a snow man against the back-door to fall in upon Sarah, almost frightening her to death; and many other experimental, philosophical tricks, too numerous to mention.

During this day the semi-detached is besieged by a lady and gentleman in search of a home. The gentleman, dressed in a very tight frock-coat, dusty and worn; ahighly-glazed cap, the strap of which dangled above a tuft of hair, that graced his chin, its peak resting upon the tip of his nose, affording him little more than a view of his boots, with a portion of the hose protruding therefrom; his tightly-strapped trowsers carrying a broad stripe, of which he appeared proud, being engaged in the manufacture of many more in other parts, by knocking the dust out of them with a slight cane; of his gloves, they seemed determined to end their days in their normal state, and to produce neither mits nor finger-stalls. The couple looking very limp and tumbled;—athing duly apologised for, and not to be wondered at—having just arrived from abroad. Mrs. Brown being much taken 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.”

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—apoor 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.

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, Isaid 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, Ibelieve, 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, leads on to matrimony;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

spinsterhood