These are some of the ways in which we attempt to gouge nature. We overtax her in every way, until we drive the willing horse to death, and then our journey ends; all the load of fine goods we have been to market for, must be dumped into the mud for the next traveller coming along with a fresh horse.
Now, one great aim of this book on "Fireside Amusements," is to persuade people to let up on nature. We should all be so much healthier, so much kinder, so much better Christians, if we would only amuse ourselves and each other a good deal more. We should get such infinitely better work out of ourselves, and more of it, so that we should be richer into the bargain. No man can expect to win the race with a jaded horse. Suppose you owned Flora Temple, and in your eagerness to make money, should oblige her to run two or three races every day; why, the chances are you would lose every time, and soon be a beggar. But suppose you only match her at proper intervals, when she is fresh and in good condition; you don't run so many races, but you win every time. Why should you treat yourself so much worse than a horse? Is it because you are ——? No, you have simply adopted a bad national custom.
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: