AUNTY DELLUVIAN GIVES A PARTY.
We have a female relative whom we have playfully christened Aunty Delluvian—an old-fashioned person, who is particularly opposed to all "new-fangled notions," who loves the "good old times" and "good old ways;" who thinks there are no young men nowadays to compare with those of her day. She tells how straight they used to carry themselves, and she draws herself bolt upright and throws back her shoulders to give effect to her words, and "they didn't wear those nasty things—pshaw!—over their lips." She has never become reconciled to moustaches. She thinks, too, the girls are not so pretty nowadays as they used to be; then, their cheeks were so bright and red, "just like roses," and their eyes were so bright they fairly snapped and twinkled; "but now, my dear, it's all dough and boiled gooseberries—dough and boiled gooseberries!" She tells us, too, of many persons, long since gone, among whom stands, out in bold relief and heroic proportions one 'Squire Dexter. Then there is another person, Sally Mason, of whom we hear repeatedly, who must have been a very deceitful character, from what Aunty Delluvian tells us. But why does she take such pains to tell us so much about Sally Mason, and to convince us that she was not pretty "one mite," only "she had those forward, pushing ways with her, my dear, which men find out sooner or later, my dear, and 'Squire Dexter found her out at last, to his sorrow." Why does she tell us this, and ask our opinion as to whether getting into a seat in a gig, which had been expressly reserved for another person, was not conduct unworthy of a girl of proper modesty and self-respect? When we answer, as we invariably do, with feigned surprise that such conduct "would be unpardonable," she straightens herself up, saying: "Well, my dear, Sally Mason did just that thing!" Why does Aunty Delluvian consult us on this point, and many other trivial points concerning the proper conduct of a "modest, right-minded maiden?" It is hard to say. But, though we laugh and quizz Aunty Delluvian about many things, we feel that this is, somehow or another, sacred ground, and tread gently over the graves of her dead memories.
Aunty Delluvian is a great favorite in our circle. She has many stories to tell, popular legends in her girlhood, of General George Washington and the Hessians and Red-Coats; and though she does not understand the humor of the present day, she knows some very funny verses by George Coleman the Younger, and some riddles of the composite order of architecture.
Well, Aunty Delluvian has taken quite an interest in our theory on "Fireside Amusements." She thinks its tendency good, for, as she justly observes, "young people are far too stuck up nowadays; too stuck up, my dear." So, in the goodness of her heart, the other evening she gave a little party, built on our principle, which we herewith beg to report.
At the back of her old-fashioned country-house spreads a green lawn, surrounded by old apple and cherry-trees, with trunks as big round as the body of a horse. On this lawn she gave her party. When we arrived we found tables spread out with a goodly array of eatables and drinkables, the aroma of the tea mingled with the songs of the birds, whilst the perfume of the ripe strawberries, the grape-jelly, the steaming biscuits, and the hundred other country delicacies, blended harmoniously with the chirp of the crickets and the drone of the bees. It was a pretty, a very pretty sight; the long rows of snow-white table-cloth, the old china, the shining silver and steel, the glittering glass, the mountains of red strawberries surrounded by grape-leaves, and the innumerable nosegays of bright flowers. Not far off, in the little barn-yard, we heard the "peet-peet," of the young chickens, whilst the occasional double-bass of the family cow gave delightful assurance of the freshness of the milk and the purity of the cream. Aunty Delluvian, clad in brown silk with full sleeves and scanty skirt, was all bustle and smiles. Her old handmaiden, and hired boy from the farm-yard, and two women who were strangers in the land of Delluvian, aided with enthusiasm.
Between forty and fifty persons, little (some very little) and big (some very big), sat down to tea, and did generously by the repast. The meal concluded, dignity received informal notice to quit, and all pitched in to clear away the things. A circle of humanity formed itself, and behold the noble sport of "Oats, peas, beans, and barley grows." Leading moral philosophers, eminent divines, weather-beaten old vikings, gallant soldiers, and care-worn editors, sowed their seed, took their ease, stamped their feet, clapped their hands, viewed their lands, and, after waiting for a partner, became united in the bonds of juvenile matrimony with little curly-headed toddlers, and seemed to enjoy the fun just as much as though they had never looked into a Greek lexicon, heard the boom of cannon, or written a leader.
We would like to dwell long upon this merry-making under the sky, for there occurred enough pretty incidents and enough funny things out there to bear telling for a week; but our mission is to instruct our friends how to amuse others; so we must pass from the romps in the open air to the amusements which took place inside, after darkness had driven the merry-makers from the lawn.
First in order came a great duck, chiefly made out of a boy and a sheet. First of all we were requested to introduce the bird, and expatiate to the company on its qualities. For who, they said, could speak better on the virtues of a great canard than an editor? Some one, however, maliciously mentioned that the family doctor, Mr. Pillules, was the best person to show up a quack. Some one else argued that some lady would be better qualified to speak on Ducks; but no lady could be found with courage enough to attempt the task, so it was finally agreed that Dr. Pillules and ourself should deliver a double-barrelled speech. This novel idea was, of course, rapturously received, so the doctor and editor were compelled, nolens volens, to stand up and deliver, which we did something after the following manner:
Doctor. "This bird which you now see before you, ladies and gentlemen, is one of those detestable creatures known as the Canard. This specimen was recently captured down South by some of the brave soldiers in General Grant's army on the occasion of that gentleman's recent visit to Richmond. This bird was formally the property of several newspaper editors, and was used by them for the purpose of raising fowl for the English market, where—"
Editor. "They found a ready sale, being served up in the columns of the Times with peace-pudding, and subsequently rehashed with coal lies and bully sauce, to satisfy the cravings of the British public. This curious bird has, however—"
Doctor. "Fallen into disrepute of late, and the people of England will have to take a big dose of truth (a very unpleasant thing to an Englishman) to counteract the disease which their gross indulgence in the flesh of this foul bird has engendered; they will likewise—"
Editor. "Be obliged to confine their diet to the wholesome but unsavory humble pie. A kind of pie—"
Doctor. "We have often prescribed for them before. However, the cloud-capped summits of the mountains of Jehoshaphat—"
Editor (a little nonplussed). "May have summit to do with the question, and then again they may not. We are inclined to think that Jehoshaphat was not half so fat as John Bull, and would have scorned to eat a canard anyhow, particularly one raised by "niggers," and hatched by steam; a bird which Shakspeare justly remarked—"
Doctor (a little puzzled this time). "Didn't know beans, or at all events did not care about that wholesome and nutritious vegetable, preferring to pick up the sentiments falling from the lips of Bull Run Russell, or the revolting food provided for travellers at refreshment saloons on the Camden and Amboy Railway, which, as every one knows—"
Editor. "Are simply provided by that company to kill off transient citizens of loyal States, which they do as effectually as the greatest quack, even were he as large as the specimen now before us. I do not of course refer to our friend the——"
How long this double-barrelled speech might have continued, this chronicle cannot say, had not the duck at this moment declared, in very plain English, that "Oh thunder! he couldn't stand it any longer, he was getting tired," which terminated that part of the entertainment.
The latent principle, the motive power, the core, the occult substratum of the duck is, of course, as in the case of the vulgaris pueris—a small boy. The mode of transforming him into a duck needs scarcely any explanation; the illustrations save all that trouble. A board tied on the youth's back, a sufficiency of wadding in the way of rags, and a sheet properly arranged over all; then a ball of rags, with a couple of sticks for the bill, making the head, and a newspaper cut into strips representing the tail, and web-feet cut out of brown paper—and there is your duck! The next thing in order for the evening's entertainment proved to be a little dwarf, who was exhibited on a table. He made a speech, danced a jig, took snuff, and altogether made himself very amusing and entertaining. The mode of manufacturing this lusus naturæ is, as usual, with the substratum of small boy. The small boy paints a pair of moustaches on his upper lip and puts a pair of boots on his hands, resting his booted hands on a table, whilst a taller person stands behind him and reaches his arms over the first one's shoulders, as represented in the engraving; then a loose cloak or great-coat or shawl is arranged about the dwarf so as to allow the arms of No. 2 to project and appear as if they belonged to No. 1. This performance should take place in a window or doorway, where a curtain can be so arranged as to hide the head and body of No. 2. Then you have the dwarf all complete, as represented in the annexed sketch. It is almost impossible to describe this performance with precision, as much of the arrangement must be left to the intelligence of the exhibitor. The dwarf, however, we may state, is very easily made when you once get the idea.
Aunty Delluvian was very much amused with the dwarf; it reminded her of a trick that was played on her mother's father—who was once Governor of Massachusetts—and described by her uncle George, who was such a droll fellow, he always had some of his puns to get off. She did not remember the story exactly, but it was something about a dwarf being served up in a pie at the Governor's table, in such a way that the dwarf popped out when the Governor was about to carve the pie. "Oh! it was such a funny story; if you could only have heard her uncle George tell it," and Aunty Delluvian went into silent convulsions of laughter at the bare memory of the exquisite humor of uncle George's narration. "But that was before your time, my dear; and between you and me, the young men are very dull nowadays, with their cigars, and their moustaches, and their fiddle-faddle—but mum, mum, my dear," and Aunty Delluvian laid her fingers on her lips, as though she had been communicating a most important secret. As to the dwarf of this evening, having no control over his hands, for the reason that they belonged to the person behind him, he was subject to the most grievous annoyance from those members; they would persist in pulling his own nose to a fearful extent, and performing that manual evolution known as taking a sight in the middle of his prettiest speech to the ladies; he, however, enjoyed a limited revenge on one of these occasions by catching the extended thumb between his teeth and doing something to it, the nature of which could only be inferred from the howl of agony proceeding from the person immediately behind him, and a general dislocation and disintegration of his various members, which occurred amidst the shouts of the spectators.
A slight pause ensuing on the completion of the dwarf performance, afforded an opportunity to the young man in gold spectacles to come upon the stage. He had something very ingenious to show us. It was a trick performed with four small seeds, and was invented by a certain poor tutor at one of the English universities. Although exceedingly simple, no one had been able to discover the secret, when finally some English nobleman, whose name he mentioned, gave the poor tutor five hundred pounds to reveal the mystery. Having concluded this little introduction, the gentleman in gold spectacles turned to Aunty Delluvian, and asked her if she would be kind enough to let him have four grains of rice. "Lor' bless the man! to be sure I will, as much as ever you like!" exclaimed Aunty, in the fulness of her generous heart, as she turned round and called to the servant at the other end of the room: "Here, Katy, fetch up what was left of that cold rice-pudding we had yesterday." The gentleman in gold spectacles hastily explained that he did not wish the rice to be boiled, and four grains would be ample. However, Aunty Delluvian insisted upon all the rice in the establishment being produced. The gentleman in gold spectacles selected four grains, and throwing them on the table, challenged us to arrange them in such a manner that each grain should be precisely the same distance from every other grain, and yet the grains not touch each other. We all took our turn till we were tired, and then gave it up, save a couple of determined fellows, who requested they might have till their next meeting to find it out, which respite was accordingly granted.
We were now tumultuously beset with demands for the solution of two riddles in our last chapter. First came the question: "Why were Moses and the Jews the best bred people in the world?"
Answer. "Because they got their manna (manner) from heaven."
The second was: "Why meat should always be cooked rare?"
Answer. "Because what is done cannot be helped."
After this came cakes and nuts and cider. Aunty Delluvian thought nuts and cider could never come amiss, and we agree with her when the cider is such as she produced, clear, fruity, sparkling, which, as it courses down your gullet, seems like health incarnate, and as far superior to that bedevilled liquid which city boobies call champagne, and pay three dollars a bottle for, as faith is to smartness. So ended our evening at Aunty Delluvian's.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Highlanders are a hardy race, inhabiting the north of Scotland. They are brave, hospitable, and exceedingly fond of dancing.
When you reflect that a very moderate nigger used to fetch one thousand dollars, it will be exhilarating to know that you can have a Highlander, with all his natural characteristics, for nothing. Yet such is our proposition to you on the present occasion.
Will you have him for nothing?
We assume, of course, that you have at least one hand. A foot will not answer.
You have a hand?
Well!
Get an old glove and cut off the thumb and fingers to about the extent represented in the annexed diagram.
Place the glove on your hand, and then hold your hand in the position represented below. You will now have a general idea of what is to constitute the substratum of the Highlander.
Now make a pair of little socks to fit your first and second fingers. Here is a picture of the style in which they should be gotten up. These socks can be made of white linen or calico, and painted with water-colors of the desired pattern—the shoes black and the socks plaid. If the colors are mixed with very little water they will not run on the cloth. We suggest water-colors because the plaid can be very neatly represented by cross lines of red and green. If, however, you have no water-colors, you can stitch the stockings across with red and green thread. It will be well to bear in mind that as your second finger is longer than the first, the stocking for the first must be stuffed out with cotton or wool to make it equal in length to the second.
THE HIGHLANDER TRICK.—See page [101].
Now make a careful copy of our full-page picture opposite; stitch it on to the back of the glove; put the socks on your fingers, and your Highlander is ready to dance, as represented in the above cut.
You move about the fingers, simulating a man dancing the Highland-fling or double-shuffle, and the result will be very curious and eminently satisfactory.
Another variation of the same performance can be made, which will save the trouble of drawing a Highlander. It is done thus: You procure a kid glove, and cut it down as before. You will see by the subjoined cut how the hand looks with the glove on before it has been fixed up. A white kid glove is best, because on the white kid you can paint almost the entire dress with water-colors—blue vest, red sash, and black pantaloons. A little piece of some gay rag must, however, be stitched on each side to represent the jacket; the chief object of the jacket being to hide the knuckles of the third and fourth fingers.
Now, having fixed your glove and put it on, paint on your hand a face in the style of the following sketch, and your dancing Spaniard, or Terpsichorean Matadore, is ready for action. The glove forms a complete suit (barring the boots), which you can slip off and on with the greatest ease at pleasure.
If you have not a white kid glove wherewith to make the dress of the above-mentioned gentleman, you will have to sew a small piece of calico or paper in the proper place, for the shirt. You will also be obliged to make him a vest out of some little scrap of red or blue silk; in short, you must use your needle instead of your paint-brush. But this is plain enough and needs no further explanation.
There is one more item, however, which we must mention. It will be found rather difficult to paint moustaches on the hand so as to give them the right merry expression. The teeth, which lend so much life to the face, are troublesomely small to represent. We therefore think it best to draw a pair of moustaches exactly similar to the ones we subjoin, which can be made to stick in their place by the aid of a little diaclon or shoemaker's wax.
CHAPTER IX.
The scientific gentleman at our last meeting bewildered us all with four grains of rice. It will be remembered that he challenged us to arrange those four seeds in such a manner that each should be an equal distance from each, and yet not touch each other. Did we belong to the betting class, we would be willing to wager a moderately-sized cobble-stone that not one of our readers has yet solved the problem. It is explained thus: You lay three of the seeds on the table in the form of an equilateral triangle; then taking the fourth seed between the finger and thumb, you hold it above the other three, in the position represented in diagram on page 106. In this way, and this alone, can the objects be so arranged as to be each equidistant from each. It is a very simple matter when once explained, but we never yet knew any one to find it out.
Our friend Nix is in very fervid condition concerning a new picturesque trick he has learned. It is an old affair, but very funny, and consists in making an old woman's face with your fist, and is done as follows: You double your fist, as represented in the above diagram, and draw on it a face as also represented.
Then you make a species of hood something like a mitten, with a hole in the side, around which hole you sew a frill, to make it look like a cap, which we also illustrate with a diagram. The mitten is placed on the hand, and a shawl pinned carefully round it, as shown in our diagram on page 108, and you have the old woman complete.
Now, in order to make the old woman appear to speak, you must move the knuckle of the thumb up and down, at the same time simulate a cracked, squeaky old voice. By moving your thumb in time to your voice, the illusion becomes perfect. You can, of course, make the old woman say whatever you please; but the more emphatic the style of her conversation the better, as you can make the jaw more energetic, and the pauses more marked. The conversation might commence something in this style (you in your natural tone of voice): "Well, aunty, how are you to-day?"
Aunty Grummidge: "How am I? Ah! Hum! I'm well enough if it warn't for them plaguey boys! Drat the boys! Heavin' stones at my geese! I'll geese them, if I ketch 'em! Drat 'em! and tramplin' all over my string-beans! Drat 'em! I'll string-bean 'em, if I ketch hold of 'em! And then the pesky young warmints callin' me old Dot-and-go-one! I'll old Dot-and-go-one them, if I ketch hold of 'em."
It will require a little practice to keep time between the thumb and the voice; but by making the phrases short and emphatic, it will be soon learned. When the old woman has done talking, you can stick a pipe in her mouth, and make her look quite comfortable.
CHAPTER X.
"In those days there were giants." Those days were the days when our mother was a young lady, and, as we devoutly believe, the most beautiful woman of her period; when our father's side-whiskers were glossy black; when he wore his hat just a leetle bit on one side, and when they twain used now and then to go forth magnificently arrayed after the lamps were lit, to balls and parties, whilst we little ones sat up in our white beds to receive the parting kiss and injunction flavored with blessings and eau de cologne. In those days, we repeat, there were giants. Giants in our story-books, giants in our young imaginations, mere suckers from the parent stem of the story-books, but terrible in their proportions. There were giants, too, in our narrow path, springing out of our waywardness and evil passions, and the evil passions of others; there were giants, too, on the road to knowledge; oh, such monstrous giants all of them, far bigger and fiercer than any we ever met in after life. But there was another giant of a far different sort, who used to make his appearance at our little parties about Christmas-time, and in sustaining whose character we have over and over again sweltered and staggered and suffered martyrdom the most terrible. Still he was a pleasant giant (particularly to the upper-story boy), and welcome to the whole company. He had a very youthful look, in spite of his ferocious moustache; his hat had a tendency to drop over his eyes and his gait was erratic; though his proportions inspired awe in the hearts of the tiny portion of the audience. We have but rarely met this gentleman in later days, partially, we fancy, from a difficulty in procuring legs; we have observed a growing disinclination in persons to perform these members; indeed, we have ourself shrunk several times from the task. It is, indeed, an ordeal rather severe, after partaking heartily of Christmas dinner, and, perhaps, generously of wine, to walk about a hot room with a warm boy on your shoulders, and your entire person—head, face, and all—enveloped in a heavy cloak or overcoat, and not a breath of fresh air to be taken under penalty of spoiling the giant.
A small and cool boy is placed on the shoulders of a man or boy who is stout in the legs; a long military cloak or overcoat is thrown over the two, and the monster is made. You can embelish him with moustaches, a hat, and a long walking-cane, and then you will have the creature complete, as represented in the picture opposite.
HOW TO MAKE A GIANT.—See page [112].
CHAPTER XI.
Folly is better than physic. If no one ever made this aphorism before, we at once lay claim to and include it in our copyright; entered according to act of Congress in the clerk's office, and all the rest of it. A good old-fashioned time we had of it last Christmas evening at the house of our friend Nix. What a happy, merry, jolly crowd of noodles, ninnies, judies, tomfools, and undignified people we were to be sure! Nix gave himself unheard-of moustaches and eyebrows with India-ink, and then washed himself into the likeness of a boss chimney-sweep, in which condition he remained the whole evening, and came to business the next day with a faint tinge of the dusty pigment under his left ear, although he averred that he had parboiled himself over night with scalding soap and water in honest efforts to remove the oriental stain.
At this distance of time it would be hard to recall who were the guests at this tomfool's festival, even had we ever known them all; but a fluttering of little faces and pink sashes, and very bunchy frocks suggestive of new crinoline—indeed, now we think of it, one wee thing told us emphatically she had on a "noo hoop-stirt," and raised her short red frock to show us the inestimable treasure; and that again reminds us of another toddler, of the masculine persuasion, who thrice called our attention to his new boots, and once requested us to feel the soles where his mother had scratched them with her scissors to prevent his slipping on the carpets. But, as we were saying, a certain confused picture of fluttering pink sashes, bunchy crinoline, blue eyes, and flushed cheeks, is one of the chefs-d'œuvre in the private gallery of our memory, and was nearly all we carried away from that foolish Christmas carnival. We remember, though, Aunty Delluvian, in all the pomp, pride, and circumstance of a dress which might have been described by some fashionable modiste of fifty years ago, but before which the steel nibs of a modern pen grow parched and gape inkless in their course over the cream laid. We can state that it was of silk, and very thick, and rustled, and had an odor, not of myrrh—for that we have purchased at the drug stores as being good for the gums—though perhaps of frankincense, but certainly of some Eastern perfume; and there our descriptive capacity ends. Concerning certain gems and trinkets, also worn by that worthy lady, we are equally humble and bewildered; but if our memory serves us rightly, they were chiefly of pale and yellow stones surrounded by pearls, and of oval and slender forms, save one sombre brooch (she wore in the neck of her dress under a bow of ribbon), which has hair in it, and was shown us as a rare piece of workmanship and a great relic; indeed, Aunty Delluvian informed us, very confidentially, that a person by the name of Sally Mason would have given her ears to possess it once—from which we judged it to be of great value.
The scientific gentleman was there; and others "too numerous to mention," as the advertisements say. One of the company, whom we had never met before, left a particular impression on our mind, partly because he came from a far-off land, with a large budget of strange knowledge and exotic ideas, and partly because he showed us a quite curious and simple little toy. Among other things he expatiated on the dexterity of the Australasian savages in the use of the boomerang, which they would throw in such a way as to make it skim entirely around a house and return to their feet. He told us that one of these savages would seize his boomerang and send it whirling into a flock of parrots, bringing down half a dozen of the birds, and then return to his feet. He added that parrot-pie was excellent eating; a statement which sent a thrill of indignation through the juvenile portion of the company. The idea of cooking birds that say "Pretty Poll!" While the young were indignant, many of the elders felt incredulous, touching the boomerang; one person, indeed, delicately hinting that "throwing the boomerang" must be the Australasian equivalent of our expression "pulling the long bow;" but Aunty Delluvian, who had just heard the latter part of the discourse, came gallantly to the rescue (she had taken rather a notion to the young Australian). She assured the company that there could be no doubt of the existence of the boomerang, for an uncle of hers had on a certain occasion brought one from China, and that it grew so tame that it would come and feed out of your hand. This statement, as may be supposed, produced a profound sensation, which good breeding alone prevented from being an explosion. Several persons present tried to hush the matter up by suggesting that the good lady probably confounded the instrument in question with a baboon or orang-outang. But Aunty Delluvian would listen to nothing of the kind; no compromises for her. "Bless the child, she had seen it with her own eyes, and it went all round the house and came back to her feet, and caught the pigeon, and killed the parrot, just as the gentleman described." However, the young antipodean asserted his own veracity very effectively by offering to manufacture a model of the weapon then and there.
"If you will only provide me," he said, "with a good stiff card—an old playing-card will do as well as anything—I will soon satisfy you that what I described can be done."
The card was produced, and in a couple of minutes he had with a pair of scissors clipped out a piece of the size and shape of the subjoined diagram. He then borrowed a book and a lead pencil, and placed the miniature boomerang on the former, with one end projecting over the edge of the book about an inch. He then took the book in his left hand, and holding it at a slight angle as represented in the diagram, page 119, struck the projecting end a smart blow with the pencil. This sent it whirling through the air towards the opposite corner of the ceiling, which it nearly though not quite reached—then it came fluttering back to the very feet of the performer. This operation was repeated several times with almost universal applause, the only dissentient voice being that of a little shaver of five, who wanted to see the parrots come down.
About this time it became evident that some mysterious preparations were being made outside. A good deal of whispering occurred, and Nix, with one or two others, disappeared from the apartment. We, in the meantime, amused ourselves with sundry time-honored experiments. First came an optical illusion-trick, the fun of which consisted in the futile efforts of several persons to knock a cork off a fork with the fore-finger; and is performed thus: A steel fork, or some other sharp instrument, is stuck in the door, and a cork placed on the end of it.
The person wishing to test his skill places himself in front of it; fixing his eyes on the cork, he then walks slowly backwards ten or twelve feet, his eyes still fixed on the cork; having done which, he extends his right hand, closes an eye, and advances towards the cork, till he thinks he has reached near enough to knock the cork from its position with one blow of the finger. Nine times out of ten the performers fail, as they did on the occasion in question. This experiment seemed to afford a good excuse to a certain little witch, with black eyes, to propose the performance of pinning a thimbleful of water to the wall. The thimble was filled with water, a pin borrowed, and mademoiselle, escorted by her cavalier—a young gentleman in patent-leather boots, and breathing incense from every curl of his hair, and from every part of his dress, to a degree calculated to drive Phalon mad and ruin the reputation of Arabia. Escorted by this exquisite being, the young lady repaired to the spot selected for the experiment; but, alas! just as she was about to fix the thimble to the wall the pin dropped to the floor. In an instant the perfumed gallant was on his knees searching for the lost article, and with equal promptitude the treacherous belle had emptied the water on his fragrant pate, amid the roars of laughter of those around—for in this consisted the trick.
While we were still laughing the door opened, and Nix entered, somewhat flushed, and with a comical frown on his brow.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have a serious complaint to make—really it is too bad. Upon my life it is. I think Miss Mary Fenn and Miss Julia Farley, and several of the other young ladies, ought to be spoken to" (the ladies mentioned and several others here colored up and looked rather scared). "I think they ought to be very seriously spoken to, going round in this reckless way. Why, upon my life, there's no knowing what may happen—and they don't care one bit. They care no more for a fellow-creature than I do for a fly. Ah! (with a sigh) there is one feller-creature which I wish they would think a little more of. In common honesty they ought to do something to their eyes—wear spectacles, or something of that sort; and for their lips, since nature has seen fit not to provide them with moustaches, they might use respirators or—or—or—well, something has to be done, or there won't be a sane man in the neighborhood. I myself have a severe pain in my left side; and here, when I go outside—I don't mean the left side, but outside the room—for a little temporary relief, I find a poor fellow maimed, probably for life—his head completely turned."
At this point a figure resembling the opposite sketch walks in, and declares that he would not have his head turned back for the world; on the contrary, he finds his present position far more comfortable than any other, etc., etc., etc.
The construction of this figure is so simple that it seems almost superfluous to explain it. The person performing it puts on a loose coat and vest, wrong side foremost, fastens a false face to the back of his head, and a wig over his face, and the whole is complete. The wig may be made of curled hair from an old mattress, sewed on to a black silk cap. By the way, while we are on the subject, we may as well say a word or two more concerning this curled hair, which will be found very useful for amateur theatricals. With a handful of this cheap material (the imitation or grass substitute will answer just as well), you can make beards, whiskers, and moustaches of any desired shape. All that is required is to twist, stretch, or mould the tangled mass into the desired shape, and then, in the proper place, stick on a small piece of diachylon, and the appendage is ready for use. The diachylon can be purchased in lump form of any druggist. In order to adhere it to the face, it should be slightly warmed before the fire.
"Why, bless my soul alive, if the poor fellow's head isn't turned!" exclaimed Aunty Delluvian, in unfeigned surprise. "Well, some foolish fellows do get their heads turned by the girls," and the good old lady laughed heartily, honestly believing she had made a joke. Indeed, she patted us on the knee to draw our attention, as she added, in an explanatory way:
"You know, when I was a girl, and any young fellow fell in love with one of the girls, we used to say his head was turned; so I say that young man's head is turned—don't you see!" and again the old lady went off in a transport of merriment at her own wit. But in a moment it was over, and when we turned there was something glistening in her eye, as she looked dreamily before her out of that Christmas-day away off, doubtless, to some other Christmas-day when young men had their heads turned by designing young women. But there was no time for reverie; for Nix, who had assumed the position of showman, now made himself heard, bellowing through his nose:
"Now, ladies and gentleman, I will proceed to show you a highly moral exhibition, some of the four-footed works of nature, or, as they are commonly called, quadrupedals. This exhibition, by calling the mind to contemplate the works of nature, elevates the soul to things above, and makes us all better fathers, husbands, wives, sweethearts, sons, and girls to do general housework. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I would ask you who, after contemplating the rhinoceros, would fail to return home a more dutiful parent or respectful sweetheart? But, to step from the realms of fancy to the practical regions of fact, I will proceed to interdooce to you that splendid anumile Saladin, the royal Bengal tiger, from Botteny Bay, in the West Injees. This wonderful creature measures sixteen feet from the tip of the tail to the tip of the snout, and sixteen feet from the tip of the snout to the tip of the tail, making in all thirty-two feet."
At this point of his oration the showman paused, opened the door, and gave a loud whistle, when in scampered a creature more easily sketched than described. At first we did not recognise the stub-tailed bull-terrier Snap, so completely was he disguised and bestriped with black paint, more to resemble a zebra, however, than a tiger. Snap, all unconscious of his new character, began frisking and capering round, wagging his tail vociferously, as Nix expressed it.
"This beautiful but terrible creature," continued Nix, "is exquisitely marked by nature. His, however, are not good-conduct marks, for, in his native wilds, his behavior is anything but proper. He will devour anything that comes in his way, having been known, when pressed by hunger, to eat even an alderman. Such being the nature of the beast, I will now proceed to show you a more amiable specimen of this moral exhibition. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the largest of all animals. It belongs to Asia and Africa. We have no elephants, naturally, in America, any more than we have Irishmen. They are all imported at great expense, two ships being required to bring over each creature, one for himself, and one for his trunk, I believe."
Enter elephant (adjoining page).
"The elephant lives chiefly on ginger-snaps, sugar, rice, and cayenne pepper, which, at the present price of groceries, makes his board come rather heavy. You have all heard of the sagacity of the elephant—how he squirted the dirty water over that injudicious tailor who ran his needle into the elephant's trunk. But, ladies and gentlemen, I was witness to a more singular instance of intelligence on the part of this elephant here, which is, perhaps, the largest of its kind ever imported to this country. While passing through the streets of one of our inland towns during the late election, this very anumile seized a slip of paper from one of the crowd, rushed up to the polls, and actually voted the Union ticket before we knew what he was about."
HOW TO MAKE AN ELEPHANT. See page [126].
In this strain Nix continued for some time, while the elephant walked round the room. Little boys were mounted on his back for a ride, and enjoyed the fun hugely.
The scientific gentleman with gold spectacles threw a temporary damper on the merriment by asking, in a sombre voice, whether we knew how many times round the elephant's foot was equal to his height, and then equally solemnly informing us that it was "Twice." Having said "twice!" very emphatically, he became silent, and the fun went on.
Now comes the question—How was the elephant made? A glance at the annexed picture will throw considerable light on the subject at once.
Here we have the usual human substratum. Two gentlemen, wearing rubbers, place themselves in the position represented, while the foremost one holds something in his hands. This is a grey shawl or table-cover, rolled up to represent the elephant's trunk, which the performer swings about to produce a life-like effect. All that now remains to be done is to procure another grey shawl and spread it over the united operators, fastening two pieces of round paper, with black dots on them, in the proper places, for eyes, and a couple of rags or old gloves for ears. The elephant is now complete, save the tusks. These can be made out of long pieces of twisted white paper, pinned to the inside of the shawl, and there you have a first-rate elephant for a small tea-party. Dish, and serve up with lots of sass, as the cookery books say. But let us listen to Nix; he is spouting some more nonsense:
"Ladies and gentlemen: This elephant was captured and imported into this country by a Bengal officer, Colonel Gurramuchy, whom I shall have much pleasure in introducing to you. You have all heard of Cumming—well, he is coming."
Here entered the most extraordinary being we had ever beheld; a very military-looking person, with a very small head and an exceedingly long neck. However, refer to the illustration, where you see him faithfully portrayed. Following him was an equally singular person, who was presented to us as Captain Dawk, a particular friend of the Colonel's, whose portrait we likewise subjoin. These gentlemen chatted with Nix, and told us one or two of their hunting adventures—the most extravagant yarns. We have only space for one, which we shall condense as much as possible. Captain Dawk once, while hunting the wild boar in India, had the misfortune to have his horse ripped open by the tusks of the infuriated beast. His horse of course fell heavily, and died almost immediately. While he was standing at the side of the poor creature, deploring his loss, and wondering how he should ever reach home, he beheld at some distance from him, on the open plain, a huge tiger approaching. There was no tree within miles; to run away would have been useless; he at once bethought himself of an idea. Seizing his hunting-knife, he rapidly removed the internals of the horse, and crept into the cavity himself. The tiger, on coming up, seized the horse by the neck, and dragged it several miles to its den in the jungle, where it commenced at once to feast upon the carcass. Watching a favorable opportunity, when the tiger had eaten a hole in the horse's side, Captain Dawk drew a small revolver from his pocket, and shot the animal dead. He was just in the act of crawling from his place of concealment when he beheld five more tigers approaching. Four of these he shot one after the other from inside the horse, and then all his ammunition was exhausted, and one tiger was left alive; but, drawing his knife, he resolved to sell his life dearly. Here the Captain gave us a most harrowing account of his encounter with the last tiger, which was larger than any of the others. First it broke both his legs, then his arms, then his back, and finally the ferocious beast got the officer's head into its mouth—but to conclude in his own words: "I felt the hot breath in my face, the sharp teeth pressing both sides of my skull. In another instant I felt all would be over, and my worst fears were realized. With one gripe the wretched brute bit off my head, and then tearing me limb from limb, devoured me on the spot." This story was pronounced a stunner.
But how were these extraordinary faces produced? First, we will refer our readers to the diagram, which will explain a good deal, and then throw what light we can on the subject with words.
The face of the Colonel was made by painting an entire set of features on the forehead with India-ink. The white of the eyes in both cases was effected by wetting the finger and rubbing it on an enamelled visiting-card; by this means you take a good deal of the white from the card which can be transferred to the proper place on the forehead. In the case of the Colonel, if the performer moves his eyebrows up and down as he is speaking, it will communicate a motion to the pointed moustaches, and a most comical expression to the entire face.
To make the second face, you must, if possible, get some one with very light eyebrows and no moustaches; then paint eyes and eyebrows on the forehead, which must be done artistically, shadows and all, and connect them, as represented, with the bridge of the nose, paint heavy black moustaches, and your performer will have the appearance of possessing an immensely long face; he must, however, keep his eyes shut, or the illusion will be dispelled.
After this performance, the scene, as painted on our memory, resolves itself into blue eyes, pink ribbons, bunchy skirts, oranges, candies, lemonades, wax-lights, Christmas-trees, Aunty Delluvian, and endless smiling faces.
May all good people have as foolish, merry a Christmas as we had at Aunty Delluvian's!
CHAPTER XII.
Hanky-panky is the name of a certain art practised by pantomimists of the clown and harlequin school, and is the subject of no little study and practice. We do not think it within our power to define hanky-panky, composed as it is of fictitious whackings and kickings and smackings, unless, indeed, that be a definition. We can, however, give a couple of illustrations of the art as it may be practised in the family circle. We may look further into the matter at some future day, and possibly issue a volume of Parlor hanky-panky, beautifully illustrated by the author.
The first example we shall now give is how to knock your knuckles on the edge of a marble mantel-piece or other hard substance without hurting them. It is done thus: You raise your clenched fist high in the air, hold it poised there some seconds for all the audience to see, and then bring it swiftly down; but just before your hand reaches the object, open your fingers quickly, so they will strike the object with a sharp slap, then close them quickly; if this is neatly done, it will appear as if you had struck your knuckles a violent blow. This will make the ladies scream, and every one else thrill of horror.
The second feat of hanky-panky consists in knocking your head against the edge of a door with such apparent force as to break your skull, provided it be anything under an inch thick.
This you do by holding your hand which is farthest from the audience on a level with your face, as represented in the annexed picture. At the moment your forehead touches the edge you must give the side of the door a good smart bang with the palm of your hand. To the audience on the other side of the door, who do not see this motion of the hand, you appear to have given your poor head a terrific blow.
Another piece of hanky-panky frequently practised on the stage requires two performers. No. 1 aims a blow at the head of No. 2; No. 2, just as the blow reaches him, raises both hands as though to guard the blow, managing, however, as he does so to slap them smartly together so as to produce a loud report. If the blow and the report occur simultaneously, No. 1 will appear to have given No. 2 a most vicious box on the ear.
This is all we have to say about hanky-panky.
CHAPTER XIII.
Being in a tranquil mood the other evening, and indisposed for the rollicking fun and tomfoolery in which, we are glad to say, we have so often indulged, we called upon our friend Nix to pass a quiet hour or two. When we had explained the object of our visit, Nix replied that it was well, for although he could not entertain us himself in the character of host, he could introduce us to a family to whom he happened to be engaged himself that evening.
"They are," said he, "the most charming people in the world—all ladies, excepting a little pickle of a boy, a child after your own heart, by the way; not one of your impulsive, high-spirited humbugs, who does all sorts of vicious things for twelve hours, and is sorry for them for five minutes; not one of your easy penitents, who is never ashamed of owning himself in the wrong, and at the same time never too proud to do wrong; but a stubborn, sensitive, ingenuous, affectionate, fun-loving little fellow. Do you know I like people who, when they are mad, get sulky? I have found they make the best of friends, the best servants, and the best members of society generally. I wonder who started the admiration of impulsive people? 'Oh!' you hear a young lady say, who never really gave the subject five minutes' thought in her life, and is quite unconscious that she is repeating a hackneyed sentiment which has been knocking about the world for the last fifty years; 'oh!' you hear her say, 'I like quick-tempered people, who get into a passion and are over it in a minute.' Then you hear some one else: 'Oh, yes, he does wrong, but he is full of fine impulses!' For my part, I think these impulsive folks are the greatest humbugs in the world. In the first place, there is scarcely any villany which cannot be perpetrated in a moment, if you have only the necessary impulse; but then, to look into the origin of this impulsiveness, it arises altogether from a lack of self-control, a violent, self-indulgent spirit. Then, as to ready repentance and confession, that, to my mind, is the worst sign man, woman, or child can show; it simply shows they do not fully appreciate the seriousness of their offence, or are so devoid of pride that they do not care in what estimation they are held by others; or, as is often the case, it is a cheap way of squaring accounts and starting afresh, perhaps on better terms than before, with people who like impulsive characters. Bah! Confession and repentance ought to come out of a man with tears of blood, and——"
"But about the ladies?" we broke in. "Your dissertation on character is very good, but I think you made use of the adjective charming in connection with the noun ladies."
"Oh, yes," answered Nix, suddenly changing his manner, for he had grown quite fierce and enthusiastic in his tirade against impulsive persons. "The ladies—'that man who would lay his hand on a lady in aught save kindness, is unworthy the name of a British officer and a gentleman.'
"'A wife, a dog, and a walnut-tree,
The more you lick 'em, the better they be.'
"Arguments pro and con. But you said something about the ladies. Well, this family comprises a widow, three daughters, and little pickle aforementioned. These ladies, I may tell you, are not only ladies, but gentlewomen—a very, very rare article, I can assure you."
"True," we responded; "painfully true."
"These ladies have found out—no, there I am wrong; they never gave the subject a thought. But they are illustrations of the fact, though they are ignorant of it, for their good-breeding came to them partly by nature and partly by careful, motherly, Christian training. They are illustrations of the fact, that to be gentlewomen it is necessary to be gentle women."
"Women do not appear to be generally aware of that fact," we chimed in.
"These ladies, although full of intelligence and esprit, besides being highly educated and accomplished, could not, I believe, give a smart retort to—to—to save their eyes; and when you see their eyes you will be able to judge of the value of the stake. If any one were to make a rude or impertinent speech to them they would not understand him. As they never wound the feelings of others, they cannot imagine any one else doing so."
"But," said we, "there are certain forms of words which no one could possibly mistake—not even the simplest of human beings."
"Oh, of course, I don't refer to such cases as those! Under such circumstances, my friends would feel deeply grieved, and even rebuke the offender. But as to making one of those sharp retorts in which underbred young women so greatly delight, why, they could no more do it than fly!"
Fortunately, at this point in Nix's harangue, we reached the door of the ladies under discussion; for be it understood that most of our conversation had occurred on our way thither.
We doubt whether it is a good plan to praise one's friends too highly before an introduction; it is calculated to produce a reaction. At least, we felt just the least shade of disappointment on being ushered into the presence of the subject of our companion's eulogy. Four plainly-dressed, oval-faced, soft-eyed ladies, seated round a large centre-table, on which were strewn water-colors, albums, scissors, and scraps of paper.
"Mr. Nix has told us all so much about you," said the eldest, "that I feel as though we were old friends. My daughters are now enthusiastic on the subject of transparencies, and I've no doubt your ingenuity will enable them to solve many knotty points beyond their amateur capacity."
We soon found, however, that we were the one to learn, for the work on which the white fingers were engaged was something entirely new to us. There were beautiful transparencies, mostly representing landscapes, and cut out of writing-paper. We immediately became a devoted student of the art of transparent picture-making, with a single eye, of course, to the amusement of our readers. The soft, brown eyes, the taper fingers, and the gentle manners, had nothings to do with our assiduity, upon which we pledge our sacred honor, as a Calmuc Tartar.
PAPER TRANSPARENCIES.—See page [143].
We will now proceed to explain, if those white fingers do not get in the way, how these pictures are produced; and first, according to our custom, we refer the reader to the annexed diagram (No. 1)—a diagram is a good basis to start upon. Before you look at the diagram, it would be well to collect the necessary materials, which are as follows:
Several sheets of writing-paper.
One piece, say four inches square, of thick paper or card.
A pair of small fine-pointed scissors.
A sharp-pointed penknife.
A small piece of charcoal. Burnt grape-vine or cedar makes the best.
A piece of transparent tracing-paper. A black lead-pencil.
Pen and ink.
A thick pasteboard, or thin pine board, about the thickness of an ordinary book-cover, and at least two inches longer and wider than the picture you are about to make. A sheet of glass will answer as well, perhaps better.
A small quantity of thin, fine paste, free from lumps, made of flour and water boiled. Mind that it is boiled and free from lumps.
Now see the diagram No. 1. This is the picture you wish to produce in the transparency. Take your tracing-paper, and with a pen and ink make an outline of this picture, having done which, rub the charcoal over the back of the tracing, then lay the tracing-paper on a sheet of letter-paper, take your lead-pencil in your hand; now, every mark you make on the tracing-paper with the pencil will leave a corresponding charcoal mark on the paper beneath it. Bearing this in mind, you will draw your pencil carefully round the outline of the moon, the window of the old castle, and the bright light in the water. Now carefully remove the tracing-paper, and you will find the forms of these objects faintly marked in charcoal lines on the writing-paper. Now, with the fine point (it must have a fine point) of your lead-pencil, travel over the charcoal lines, so as to make them distinct and permanent. You do so because the charcoal easily brushes off. You will then proceed to brush off the charcoal with a soft rag as soon as you have made your pencil outline. You will now, with the scissors or penknife, whichever is most convenient for the purpose, cut out the parts you have traced—that is to say, a round hole for the moon, a small square patch for the castle window, and a few irregular slits for the water. Then you will have a piece of paper like diagram No. 2 (page 152).
There now, we think we managed to keep the white fingers out of that pretty well, though it was pretty hard work, rest assured. So far so good. Now you want to cut a piece of paper, which shall be your second tint, to represent the clouds and water. To this end you again lay your outline tracing on the white paper, and trace the shape of the clouds, the castle window, and the lights on the water, which will give you a form similar to that represented in diagram No. 3 (page 153). This you will cut out as before.
Now you wish for a tint to represent the distant mountains and the reflection of the old castle; therefore, trace and cut out as before directed a piece of paper corresponding with the outlines of these forms, which piece will correspond exactly with diagram No. 4 (page 154). Now you will cut out a piece of paper to represent the nearer mountains and the castle, which will correspond with diagram No. 5 (page 155). After which you will cut a piece to represent the castle alone; and lastly, you cut out of your card the form of the fir-tree and old railing in the foreground, and the chief part of your labor is done.
Again we must congratulate ourself on keeping those little fingers out of our description, though they have been playing about like white mice among our ideas all the time. We only trust we have made the process clear to our readers.
We will now presume you wish to mount your transparency on a sheet of glass. First take the piece of white paper corresponding with diagram No. 2, and cover it with a thin coat of paste, being careful that it is free from lumps, and lay it on the glass, pressing it evenly all over with a soft handkerchief. Over this, in its proper place, paste No. 3, over that No. 4, and so on, one over the other, till they are all on. You can now hold it up to the light to see if the reflected lights in the water are correct; if not, wait till the transparency is dry, and brighten them up by cutting the necessary pieces out with the sharp point of a penknife. All that needs doing now is to paste over all a thin sheet of white paper. This need only be pasted round the edges just enough to make it keep its place. To give the picture a finish, it should either be put in a frame or have a border of gilt paper or other untranslucent material pasted round it to conceal the ragged edges of the picture. Now your picture is complete. Hold it once more up to the light, and you will be surprised what a beautiful effect is produced.
If the transparency be not to be mounted in glass, the process is as follows: Cut a square hole, a trifle smaller than the picture, in the board you have provided; cut a piece of white paper of the same shape as the hole, only about one inch larger each way; moisten it slightly with a wet rag, then put some paste all round the edges of the paper, and paste it over the square hole in the board; keep the paper slightly moistened till the paste has thoroughly dried; then you can allow the paper to dry, when it will become smooth and tight like the head of a drum. On this you can paste the transparency in the same way you did on the glass.
Our young lady friends had a number of wonderful things produced in this way, into some of which they had introduced color with remarkable effect. In the design we have given as an example, being one of the simplest in their collection, the light in the castle window was red, and threw long rays of red light across the rocks, with a red reflection in the water. This was easily done with a little water-color (crimson lake); but we refrained from introducing it into our description, for fear of complicating the matter and puzzling the reader. However, when you have made the one we have described, you will soon see a number of other effects which can be produced—sunsets with a moving sun, rain-storms, floating clouds; skies and water painted blue, and trees green, etc., etc.
Little Pickle did not take any active part in the transparency business, though he looked on admiringly, occasionally throwing in a few words of applause or advice, something in this style:
"Oh! I say, Lucy, couldn't you put a cow in there; it would look fust-rate. I can draw a cow, all but the feet, and you can hide them behind the rocks, you know."
Or:
"Yes—ah—yes—that snow is pretty good, only that feller has only got one runner to his sled!"
It is strange that boys will always say feller and fust-rate.
Little Pickle was not, however, idle in his way. While we were studying white fingers, brown eyes, and transparencies, he had cut out a sled, a wheel-barrow, and manufactured a dancing-pea. The latter he made by running a pin half way through a pea, one end of which he stuck into a broken piece of tobacco-pipe. He then threw his head back till the tobacco-pipe attained a perpendicular position, when he commenced blowing, which made the pea dance in the air in the most amusing manner for nearly a minute. The mode of arranging the pea, as well as of using it, is illustrated in the accompanying sketch.
He likewise horrified us all by suddenly appearing with a hideous double row of protruding yellow teeth, which he coolly dropped into the palm of his hand, when he thought our feelings had been sufficiently outraged.
"They are only made of orange-peel," he explained. "You just cut a slit there, and notch them along like that, and then put them into your mouth."
Now, in order to convey to your mind, dear reader, the method of constructing this ornament, shall we tell you to cut an elliptical piece of orange, and then make a longitudinal incision here, with transverse incisions there, etc., etc.? No, we will not; we will fall back to our old friend the diagram, and if you cannot make yourself a set of false teeth after that, then remain in heathen darkness on all matters of dentistry, as you deserve. Cut a piece of orange-peel in the shape represented, and at the foot of the preceding diagram you will see how they look when you put them on.
Diagram No. 2.
Diagram No. 3.
Diagram No. 4.
Diagram No. 5.
Diagram No. 6.
Diagram No. 7.
CHAPTER XIV.
A friend of ours, who is an ardent admirer of that great humorist of the plains, Artemus Ward, has recently been edifying a large circle of private friends with imitations of the celebrated showman. He has had a wig and false nose made expressly for this entertainment, by the aid of which adjuncts he succeeds in establishing quite a respectable resemblance to the grand original, as may be seen by his portrait, which we have taken the trouble to get engraved.
Most of the jokes are those of Artemus repeated from memory. The more sober ones, we fancy, are original. The lecture runs thus:
"Ladies and Gentlemen:—Having recently paid a visit to Salt Lake City, the great Mormon capital, I think a short lecture on the subject may prove instructive as well as amusing. Although I appear before you with the cap and bells, I would have you understand that when I speak of matters of fact I shall confine myself strictly to the truth. You may, therefore, rely upon all I shall tell you concerning the Mormons as being strictly true.
"When on the dock preparatory to start on my voyage, I found myself surrounded by a large concourse of people, who seemed perfectly willing that I should go. 'Go along,' they said, 'old feller, and stay as long as you please.' I would like you to take a good look at the noble vessel in which I sailed (pointing to a crude delineation of a steamship), because, if you ever go to California, travel by some other boat.
"When we were fairly out at sea, I observed that many of the passengers ran frequently to look over the side of the vessel—to see if there were any dolphins alongside, I presume. One young couple sitting near me, newly married and very haggard, talked earnestly together. I could not avoid hearing a part of their conversation.
"'Oh, Julia,' said the gentleman, 'you are very noble; you have thrown up society, friends, everything for me.'
"'Do not say a word, Alfred,' replied the young lady; 'you have thrown up more than I have.'
"It was very touching, for they certainly threw up a great deal between them.
"In San Francisco I delivered an oration. It was not, perhaps, equal to Cicero's, but still I think—I don't know—but I think if old Cis had heard it he would have been astonished. I delivered an oration to the soldiers once. They were much delighted—very much delighted indeed—so delighted, in fact, that they come dooced near shooting me.
"The hotels on the road to Salt Lake City are, as a rule, inferior to our leading ones in New York. At one of them they gave me a sack of oats for a pillow. That night I had nightmares. I suppose they were attracted by the oats. The next morning the landlord asked me how I was, old hoss! I replied that I felt my oats!
"After travelling several days, more or less, we reached Utah, and put up at this hotel (here a rude picture is produced). It is a temperance hotel. The only objection I have to temperance hotels is that—that—they keep such dooced poor licker. In the front of the hotel may be seen the coach in which we had been confined for the last eight days. Those among my audience who have served a term in the State prison will understand our feeling when we escaped from that vehicle.
"Utah is a beautiful city, laid out in broad streets, with avenues of fine trees. Brigham Young is the big injun of the place, next to whom comes Heber Kimball. Brigham has the largest number of wives—two hundred in all. He says his only hope now is to have his dying pillow smoothed by the hands of his family. Under the circumstances, it strikes me he'd have to go out of doors to die if he wishes to accomplish it.
"The number of his children is unknown, though, if you multiply two hundred wives by fifteen, you will get a rough estimate. We mentioned this to Briggy, and he seemed to think it rather rough. Perhaps so. Brig is very exact in his calculations; he knows to a ton of beef what is consumed in his household daily. As an illustration of his exceeding accuracy in little matters, we may mention a fact. On one occasion one of his wives was missing. Five weeks had not elapsed before Brigham had discovered the fact. Those of my audience who have mothers-in-law will appreciate the advantage of two hundred wives. There must be a good deal of mother-in-law to that number; an amount highly calculated to keep things lively. Possibly Brigham is fond of excitement.
"On one occasion Briggy took a fancy to a certain young lady, and proposed for her hand. She replied that she could not accept his offer unless he also married her elder sister. To this he readily assented—went to her—the proposition was made—the sister said she should be obliged to decline unless he married her mother also. After some deliberation he proposed to the mother, but she refused unless he would also propose to her old grandmother. Finally he married the whole crowd.
"Of course Brigham cannot attend personally to the amount of courting necessary—that is to say, in our old-fashioned style. No, he has his form of love done up in pamphlet form, which he sends to any lady to whom he wishes to be united. This saves trouble.
"Though the Mormons generally are a very steady people, they still have loose fish among them. On one occasion a gay Mormon Lothario gained access to a young ladies' seminary. In the morning it was found he had eloped with the entire establishment.
"I, even I did not escape without some difficulty. Just before my departure, a worthy gentleman in the pickle business died, leaving fourteen wives. They sent for me. When I called I found them all in tears.
"'Why is this thus?' I inquired.
"'Art going?' inquired they.
"'I ist,' I replied.
"'Oh, why! oh, why goest thou?'
"'Because when I gettest ready to doest a thing, I generally doest it,' replied I.
"'Wilt marry us?' said they.
"'I rather think not,' I replied.
"'Oh, this is too much!' cried they.
"'That's where it is,' rejoined myself. 'It's precisely on account of its being too much that I object to it.'
"My lectures were very popular at Salt Lake, and always well attended. On one occasion I incautiously gave a family ticket to a certain Elder. That night my house was crowded to overflowing. It was entirely filled with the Elder's family. There was not room for a single paying visitor to come in. The next day they called to say they were very much pleased, and gave me their photograph in a very pretty pocket-case, something like a wallet. Subsequently it was taken out of my pocket by a young man on Broadway, but I detected him in the act and seized him by the collar. He at once acknowledged the deed, but said he did it in the name of the Confederate government in retaliation for outrages committed by our troops in the Shenandoah Valley."
Here the lecture ended. It generally received nearly as much applause as that of the great original, for my friend had studied Ward's peculiar manner and quaint enunciation till he had got it to a nicety.
CHAPTER XV.
This chapter we shall devote exclusively to a little play, written expressly for parlor performance. The characters are so few, and the materials—in the way of dress and scenery—so simple, that it can be easily gotten up in any household. In the full-page picture you will see our idea of the "make-up" of the Artist, but as Mr. Bullywingle does not come out so well on so small a scale, we annex a picture of his head and shoulders as a guide to the reader. We feel disposed, however, to allow the largest latitude to the performers as to make-up. They can modify the dress of the characters according to circumstances. Another reason we have for giving the portrait of Mr. Bullywingle is, that a large copy of it is required in the performance of the piece. In copying this it is no matter how ludicrously inaccurate your performance is, provided you make the face fiery red, the hair white, and the spectacles green. Indeed, the worse the picture the funnier the effect.
Mr. Bullywingle.—Hat—white, with black band. Face very red, culminating in a bright crimson on the nose. The face should be colored with vermilion, which can be procured in a powdered state at any color store. If you get it in this state mix it with water, to which add a very small quantity of gum or glue. The best plan, however, is, if convenient, to purchase a cake of vermilion such as is used for water-colors.
Hair, eyebrows, and moustache must be very white. The hair and moustache can be made white by dressing with plenty of pomatum, and then sprinkling them liberally with flour from the flour dredger. The imperial and eyebrows should be painted on the face with flake-white. Procure two ounces of flake-white (in powder) in any paint store; mix it carefully with water till it is about as thick as molasses. A small piece of glue, about the weight of two beans, should be dissolved in the water before it is added to the flake-white.
Spectacles—green, which you can either borrow from a friend, buy at a store, or steal anywhere. If, however, you are too proud to steal, and you cannot get the specs any other way, you may cut them out of card-board and paint the proper color. As Mr. Bullywingle wears his specs on the end of his nose, never using them to look through, it is of little consequence whether they be transparent or not.
Cravat—large and white.
Shirt collar—large; can be cut out of writing-paper.
Coat—blue, with gilt buttons.
Vest and pants—light; the latter short in the legs.
Shoes—low.
Mr. Puttyblow (the artist).—Nose red; eyebrows black, and painted above the natural eyebrows. This gives the eyebrows a continued elevated appearance, which is very comical in effect.
The moustache and beard can either be painted with burnt cork or India-ink, or, which is far better, made out of curled hair and a little diachylon, as described in a previous chapter. If you wish to make the character very comic, you can turn up the nose with a piece of thread and stick a patch of court-plaster over one of your teeth, all of which has been described in earlier chapters.
Cap—something fancy, of bright color if possible.
Coat—anything comical and shabby. The young man is poor.
Pants—short in the legs.
Miss MacSlasher must be attired in walking costume, and make herself look as elegant and pretty as possible. Or in case the ladies won't act, or you happen to be out of pretty girls, you can get Miss MacSlasher up as an old lady, and make her look as comical as you can. You see our play is on a compensating, self-adjusting principle. Now we will give you a list of all the things you will require in the way of "properties," as they are called in stage parlance. Before doing so, however, we must impress upon you the necessity of having a stage manager, otherwise you will surely get into a state of confusion and spoil the play. It is the duty of the stage-manager to collect the properties together and see that they are all in their right places. He will arrange the stage, and, if desirable, act as prompter.
Vermilion—To be procured at a paint store.
Flake-white and green paint—paint store.
Card-board for imitation spectacles, and glue—paint store.
Three or four camel's-hair pencils—paint store.
India-ink or burnt cork.
Pomatum, butter or lard for hair.
Ten cents' worth of diachylon (in lump form, not plaster—remember this; also remember that the diachylon must be warmed before the fire to make it stick), which can be had at any drug store.
Flour for hair can be procured from the kitchen, if the barrel ain't gin' out.
Green spectacles.
White cravat and large shirt-collar.
Blue or green coat, with bright buttons.
Vest and pantaloons, light in color.
Small piece of court-plaster or black silk, for tooth.
Curled hair from stuffing of mattresses.
Cap for artist, of bright color.
Coat for artist.
Slippers for ditto.
Large portrait of Mr. Bullywingle.
Easel or stand for portrait.
Palette (the palette should be cut out of pasteboard, the cover of a large book, or something of that kind—a wooden palette would break when sat upon); a maul-stick and brushes, pictures, casts, etc., to give the artist's studio an artistic appearance.
Stale hard loaf of bread.
Knife—palette knife if possible.
Tray with two cups.
Tea-pot containing very weak tea.
Plates, butter, and pieces of crockery, to make a clatter.
Sheets, comfortable, shawls, or Turkey-red, to make proscenium and drop-curtain.
Several sheets of tissue-paper, red and blue, to ornament proscenium.
Lamps to light the stage.
Deeds and legal documents for Mr. Bullywingle.
Umbrella for Mrs. Bullywingle.
White hat with black band.
Towels, or rags, to cover and conceal artist's breakfast on a chair.
Slice of bread prepared with diachylon or hooked pins to stick to Mr. Bullywingle's coat-tail.