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,--a portly 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--a crummy 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. [Illustration] Having characterised the Brown family, we will now introduce you to the first scene of this domestic drama. Victoria Villa--a dormitory--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:-- [Illustration: THE WAITS. "SOFTLY O'ER THE SENSES STEALING."] "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! I much 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."