the sky; so, after having danced a hornpipe; deplored the loss of her carriage (broom); demanded the grunting pig, behind the curtain, to be quiet; and scraped an infinity of courtseys, she vanishes:—the sharpest boy in the room, Master Bold, rushing down stairs to catch a glimpse of her, but only seeing us, in our shirt sleeves, wonders the more!—par parenthèse—we were one of the performers, escaping, to make room for the Galanti show. So, whilst we leave the company to be amused thereby, we will, with the kind permission of Mr. Lark, instruct you how to construct an old dame; and afterwards tell the effect it had upon our audience:—
Firstly, procure a pair of small shoes and stockings—these place upon your hands (which are to represent feet); next, tie round your neck a short coloured pinafore, reaching down to your hands (or rather the old dame’s feet)—this will represent a gown; now, place your shoed hands upon a table, to see effect; gird the gown with a proportionate apron, the strings of which will bind your arms and body together at the chest; put on a false nose, a pair of spectacles, a lady’s frilled night-cap, and a comical conical hat; add a little red cloak, and draw the table up to a window or recess, the curtains of which pin at the back of your shoulders; and standing thus, with your hands (the old dame’s feet) upon the table, you will represent the most perfect little dwarf (without arms) you can imagine; the hands are to be supplied by an accomplice, behind the curtain, who is to suit the action of those hands to the pleasantries you may invent. Thus, having given
the necessary instructions, we leave the rest to be supplied by the actor; who may, if he pleases, render the old dame a medium of much merry conceit and pleasant mirth. Well do we remember the impression made at this party; for, as before stated, we performed the arms from behind the curtain, through which we occasionally peeped, getting a good view over the shoulders of Mr. Lark (the old dame), witnessing the astonished gaping gaze of the servant, who happened to enter the apartment at the moment, and stood transfixed to the spot, until the effigy had escaped. One little boy was so impressed with the illusion, that he actually went below, with some venturesome companions, in search of her; but soon returned, rushing up stairs in a state of extreme terror, declaring to us (as he kept his eyes towards the door, fearing every moment she would appear), that he had seen the old dame, and heard her pig; the truth being, one of the party had grunted in a dark corner of the lobby, and frightened the youth, who eventually became a prey to intense mental anxiety—a trembling fear we attempted to dispel, without success, until we bore the little fellow below, he clinging tightly to us. In the lobby Mr. Lark showed the scared youth our trick, piece-meal—in the end, pacifying the young gentleman, though much do we think the old dame and her pig will never be forgotten by him:—he may grow to manhood, have children, loves and cares innumerable, traverse the seas, know war and famine, yet do we think the old dame will stand boldly out, like a giant image in the desert of the past—far more so than the Galanti show, exhibited afterwards,
because really alive, and capable of reason!—Though, we had more reason to remember the show; for, the men who performed it hung their hats and coats beside Mr. Lark’s, and our own; which, upon leaving, they did not identify:—though, we think they ought; as ours were considerably newer—one of their hats being a cap, and the other of dirty white felt!
After the departure of the show, we got up some sport with the sheets upon which it had been performed, exhibiting our eyes through a hole, therein; those on the obverse trying to guess the proprietor of others on the reverse—all the owners of bright eyes much enjoying the sport. But to recount the many pranks played by youthful blood that evening, would require a volume—everybody proposing everything; and everybody else, disliking the thing proposed, suggests some other:—one wanting Hunt the Whistle; a second, to act Charades; and a third, some practical joke of the old school, such as the game we played with Mr. Lark, called Porcelain Mesmerism, deceiving the little innocents into a belief that men are simple—much more so than they will find them, upon arriving at maturity!—There we sat (two full-grown fools) staring at each other, with plates of water in our hands, the bottom of one sooty, the other clean!—There we sat, face to face, alternately rubbing the bottoms of the plates, and stroking our physiognomies, in mockery of each other—Mr. Lark getting his face blacked like a sweep,—the youngsters laughing at his silliness!—Oh, that a little smut should produce such ecstatic mirth!
There is Walter Merry, looking like an eel in convulsions—imagining he has been here about an hour:—you should have seen the expression of the little fellow, when Mrs. Brown gently tapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Master Merry, you’re fetched!” Time was annihilated, and memory dumbfounded!—The entertainment that had been looked forward to for days, counted by the hours, and put so many mammas in a pother, is gone!—The hands of the hall-clock are almost perpendicular—it wants but half-an-hour of midnight!—Several anxious
mammas