The Sun.
London, England, 1857-12-26 00:00:00

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C BRISTM AS-DA I

(From'' Huaut.)

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I cannot tell why I am. I am not lien, lam
not handsome. I have nothing to leave, and very
little to give away. I have no expectations. lan
not exactly young. I don't keep a carriage. 1;
have not the smallest label of a title stuck on to
name. Then why am I always invited out oz;

Christmas-day ? I have so many invitations that,

if I had the same number of heads as a -beet of
postage-stamps, I believe there would be a dinner
for every one of them on that clay.
How is it ? Why there's. Curmudgeon, the

- -
young Cur, as we call him. He is well-connekad.
He is so rich that he might sleep on a mattress
of bank-notes every night, and not feel the
pressure in the least. He has so many un&es and

aunts in the peerage that they are almost numer-
ous enough to fill a " ledger" by themselves.
There is a baronetcy at his feet, into which
he cannot help tumbling some day ; and he has
legs, and a nose, and a mouth, and a pair of eyes, as
regularly drawn as his salary at the Circumlocution
Office, and we all know what a handsome figure
that is. Well, notwithstanding all these attractions
—and he wears pegtop trousers into the bargain,
which, perhaps, are the very loudest pegtops about
London—it is as much as he can do to get an invite
on that universally dining-out day, the 25. h of
December. I did hear that last year be dined at
the Hercules Club in solitary grandeur all by him-
self. He was the only man in this monster-gran-
diose dining-room on thit day, and had the whol
corps of twenty-two servants and thirteen boys (all
of them in livery and crested buttons) to wait upon
him. lam told that it was a most affectingsight,
especially when his plate of plum pudding was
brought in. It was a thin slice, with a sickly blue
flame that seemed to be dancing in derision over it.
The butler had to leave the orom. It was too much
for him, poor fellow !

Now, when I go out on Christmas-day, I try to
make myself as happy as I can. I not only amuse
myself, but I try to amuse others. The children
meet me in the 101, and we are friends in a mi-
nute. • No necessity for an introduction. I may
have a whistle, or a lot of Bonaparte's ribs, or a
caricature, or an orange, or some friendly offering
in my pocket ; and the moment I hold out my
hand, they come to me as naturally as possible.
We romp, and play, and dance, and are as happy
as though there were no powders in the world, and
there was no chance of the doctor coming to see us
the next day. I make them rabbits• on the wall
that stand on their hind legs, and eat, and scratch
their long ears with their fore paws. I cut them
basket's, death's heads, &c., out of oranges, and
other patterns most curious and comical to behold.
I get my first and second fingers to represent the
legs of a Highlander, and in that capacity, and
with a handkerchief for a kilt, they scamper
round the tray, and dance a hornpipe—which, for
accuracy, could not be surpassed by Mr. T. P.
Cooke. With the simple aid of a napkin, my hand
conjures up an old woman's face that makes them
die of laughing ; and their astonishment knows no
bounds when, after superhuman efforts of strength,
I succeed in pushing half-a-crown through the
mahogany-table, and it is distinctly heard to drop
through on the opposite side.
They never tire of listening to my imitations of
Punch, and they ask me again and again to bark
like the dog Toby, which canine imitation is so
wonderfully life-like that pussy rounds her back
and takes up a defensive attitude on the hearth-rug
to resist any invasion of it.
Most zoologically curious are my assumption
of various animals—without pride or affectation.
I believe I have an entire poultry-yard in my
throat. My cock-crowing was, I tell them, the
very identical salute of the man that made the
sun in Kentucky rise by mistake a good hour
earlier than usual. They laugh, and their laugh-
ing makes me laugh, until we are told that grand-
papa cannot bear so much noise, and we had better
go into the passage and play by ourselves.
Here new games are started. We have coach
and horses up and down the hall, and all ove rth
house ; and then on the landing there is a shriek
raised for "Baste the Bear !" It falls to my lot to
be the bear, and I have a very negligent keeper,
for the youngster does not appear to be the least
on the look-out, nor attempt to catch any one, but
seems all the time to be doubled up with excess of
laughter, and, if I mistake not, at my expense too.
I only know I get a rare amount of basting, and
might be the bear up to the present moment, if the
landing, after tea, had not been wanted by the
young ladies for acting charades.
lam enlisted in the theatrical corps. Somehow,
to the great amusement of everybody the most ignoble
characters are allotted to me. The daughters of the
house (they are sweetly pretty)have a plersure in
dressing me up as grotesquely as they can. Their
greatest fun consists in smothering my face in old
ladies' caps and bonnets, and I have a shrewd sus-
picion that that particular style of head dress does
not tend much to increase my beauty, for I notice
that the effeLt my appearance produces on the com-
pany is always one of the most uproarious merri-
ment. The old people go into convulsiqns of
laughter, the boys clap their hands, and even the
servants put their aprons up to their mouths, and,
with a guttural effervescing sound, like the opening
of soda water botttles, disappear hurriedly down
the kitchen stairs. To give a sample of my general
treatment, I will mention that my first character
was Don-key. I was unanimously elected as the
most fitting representative of that unintelligent
animal, and the shouts that saluted my entrance
into the drawing-room, as I trotted in on all fours
with Miss Julia (aged five) on my back, and a pair of
fur gloves tied on each side of my head by way o f
donkey's ears, and a long bell rope hanging behind
me as the beat likeness of a tail, were, I must say,
most complimentary to my powers of imitation.
I don't know what it was that inspired me to bray,
but it sounded so natural, and it so clearly went
home to the hearts of everybody, that the loud
explosion of laughter that ensued would have done
poor Curmudgeon'stheart good to have heard it.
I am not going through each separate stage of a
Christmas party. I imagine Christmas parties are
very much the same, where good feeling binds all
hearts in happy unison together. There is a family
likeness, I fancy, that runs through such rejoicings.
The characters are very much alike, and the pro-
' gramme of time-honoured amusements does not
vary much in our honest English homes. I need
only refer, with becoming briefness, to what I do
on those happy occasions. If a song is wanted, I
sing. I have no voice, and so I make no fuss about
it but sing. I generally get to the end of the first
verse with tolerable success (and, entre nous, it is
something about the earth being a toper), and the
audience laugh ; but I am rarely asked to go on
with the second. If a hand is wanted for a game of
cards, I am your man ; and I can play without
losing my temper, or quarrelling with my partner
because he will not play the precise card I want. If
you want a good bowl of punch, ask me to brew it.
I compound it as conscientiously as I should draw
up my will. As in the latter no dear one should be
omitted that was worthy of remembrance, so in the
former not a single good ingredient should be left out

that was dear to our recollection, and all should
have their full quantities meted out to them, ac-
cording to their true deserts. If a dance is afoot, I
am ready to dance until the house shakes again,
the floor jerking up and down as though the room
were a big bottle that was beingcleaned, and we were
the shot inside that were cleaning it. You will
never see me leaning against the door, standing on
my dignity, waiting for a partner worthy of my in-
ferior self, but I s art off instantly, either with the
eldest of the youngest of the party. lam not
above offering my hand even to a poor deserted

" wallflower." The musicians tire- before I do.
I can keep it up with the nimblest of them, and
during the intervals of repose I can flirt, or joke,
or ask conundrums, or take off popular actors, or
imitate bricks tumbling down the chimney, or do a
little bit of conjuring with the cards to amaze the
young ones, or drawing one's chair up to the fire,
can listen patiently to the pleasant chatter of the
old dames talking affectionately about their grand-
children, and even if a cab is wanted I flatter myself
I can fetch it in quicker time than anybody. The
time flies gaily as a butterfly on its first day from
the crypalis.
I don't think—l don't do much more than I
have described. Somehow, friends seem pleased
-to Pee my face, plain as it is. Christmas-day is a
day of extreme happiness to me ; I enjoy it with all
my heart, and re,,ret that it does not cc me oftener
than °lieu a year. Perhaps it is this sen- eof en-
joyment that makes me an acceptable guest with
others. I laugh, I eat, I drink, I cut my capers,
I enter con anion into every passing fun, and am
a perfect victim at forfeits. There is no folly
that I am not ready to be a partner in. Cork-
ing my face does not make me angry. If I can
oblige every one I am only too happy
to do it.
Laugh at me as you will, you cannot offend me. From
snap dragon to kissing under the mistletoe, there
is nothing that conies amiss to me. I love chil-
dren. Their society has the effect for the time
being of making me feel younger myself ; as for
old
behave kindly to those who can only; for a limited
people, the mere feeling of reverence makes me
period be our guests and companions. Call me easy,
simple,
weak, goodnatured, childish, if you
will, foolish,
don't mind. After all they are not bad.
qualities, perhaps, since they contribute so largely
to my own enjoyment • , and who knows but they
may be the very reasons why I am always invited
lout on Christmas-day ? And, perhaps, the absence
of those same qualities is also the reason why Cur-
mudgeon, with his means and superior recommen-
dations is so rarely invited out on the same day.