Chapter 19

NEW-YEAR'S DAY.--CHARACTERS, OR WHO AM I?--QUOTATIONS.--ACTING CHARADES.--RIDDLES.

"A very happy New-Year to you, Aunt and Uncle!" "The same to you, dear children! and may each one in your lives be happier than the last!" "As the Spaniards say, 'May you live a thousand years!'" cried Charlie Bolton. "I feel glad that wish is an impossible one," answered Mr. Wyndham, with a smile. "How tired the world would be of seeing me, and how weary I should be of life! No, no, my boy--I hope when my season of active labor shall be closed, and I can no more be useful to my fellow-men, that my kind Father in Heaven will grant me a mansion above, where time is swallowed up in eternity."

There was service in the morning in the pretty little country church. Strange that this beautiful and appropriate mode of commencing the New-Year, which is so general in continental Europe, should be frequently neglected here! It appears so very natural, upon entering upon a new division of time, to consecrate its commencement by acknowledgments of our dependence upon the Great Creator. At least, so thought the family party assembled at The Grange; and they were amply rewarded for the effort it cost them by the joyful, hopeful nature of the services, which were intended to lead the soul to repose upon God with unshaken trust for all future time.

In the evening, it was agreed that there should be no story, but that games and conversation should fill up the time. Mary proposed a new game she had heard of, "_Characters, or Who am I?_" While one left the room, the rest agreed upon some historical personage who was to be represented by the absentee upon his return. When he re-entered, unconscious whether he was a Nero or a Howard, they addressed him in a manner suitable to his rank and character, and he replied in such a way as to elicit further information in regard to the important question, "Who am I?" As he grew more sure of his own identity with the illustrious person whose deeds they alluded to, his answers would become more unequivocal, until at last he could announce that he had solved that difficult problem, "know thyself." An amusing state of puzzle--a dreamy feeling that you might be anybody in the world, was found to pervade the first replies. Cornelia, who led the way in assuming a character, declared that she felt like the little woman in Mother Goose's Melodies,

"If I be's I, as I suppose I be, I have a little dog at home, and he knows me!"

and that when she found out who she really was, it was as grateful to her as was the little dog's joyous bark to the unfortunate woman, doubtful of her own identity.

When Cornelia entered, Mary said to her: "Does your majesty feel very sore from your fall?"

"Very little bruised, indeed."

"Physically, I presume that you feel nothing; but you must suffer mentally," remarked Ellen. "For a queen to be so disgraced, and for a moment's pride to be brought down to the rank of a subject, and of a divorced wife, is indeed a dreadful fate."

"A lofty mind," replied Cornelia, "can bear reverses."

"True," rejoined Charlie. "I rejoice to see your majesty bear up so nobly: it is well that pride can sustain you in adversity, since it occasioned your descent. And yet, do you know, most sovereign lady, I have always entertained the idea that the reason you refused, in obedience to your royal husband's command, to unveil your beauty to the court, was not so much modesty and pride, as the fact of an unfortunate pimple upon your nose, and a sty upon your eye, which had the effect of making you look uncommonly ugly."

"Shame, ungallant sir! never, unless my silver mirror deceived me, did I look more lovely. But if the laws of the Medes and Persians cannot be changed, neither can the modest customs of their women be altered, even at the command of the King, of Ahasuerus himself. I stand here, a martyr to the rights of my sex: I, Vashti, queen of Persia, and of all the ends of the earth, have proved myself to be strong in will, and the champion of womanhood. I shall appear before all eyes as the first asserter of woman's rights. But oh! that Jewish girl! that modest, shrinking, beauteous, hateful Esther! that _she_ should wear my crown!"

"Well done, Cornelia! you have entered into the spirit of the game. And now Charlie should go out, as you caught the idea from him."

Upon Charlie's re-entrance, Alice spoke: "Did Dante's genius inspire you, gifted mortal, or did you sit so long at the feet of Isaiah, that your harp caught up some of the tones of his?"

"Don't know, ma'am, indeed. Couldn't possibly give you any information on that subject. Scarcely knew I was much of a poet until you told me."

"A man like you," said Ellen, "did not write for the unthinking multitude, but for the select number who could appreciate. 'Fit audience, though few,' is what you ask for. How shameful is it that such worth and genius should languish in obscurity, in a pleasure-seeking age! And that, while court minions rolled in luxury, you should sell your glorious poem for the paltry sum of ten pounds!"

"It was really too bad," replied Charlie. "And the money went very fast, too."

"And yet," answered Amy, "you were never of prodigal habits. You lived simply, in the country: your supper was of bread and milk; your greatest pleasure, to play upon the organ, or to listen to the music of others. You retired early to rest: to be sure, you often awoke in the night, your brain so filled with visions of beauty that you felt obliged to arouse your daughter, that she might write them down, and so they were saved for the benefit of future ages."

"What do people think," said Charlie, "about my waking up my daughter, instead of taking the trouble to write down my poetry myself?"

"How could you, when you are stone-blind? And of what great consequence was it that one common-place girl should sleep an hour or two later in the morning, when such strains as yours were in question? A dutiful daughter would feel honored by acting as your amanuensis, even in the night season. True, the girl did grumble occasionally, being afflicted with some portion of human weakness; and those who do not love inspiring strains have called you cross, in consequence. But you should no more regard these things than Samson--your own Samson Agonistes--caved for the mockings of the Philistines."

"Of man's first disobedience"--began Charlie. "Hurrah! I feel quite elevated since I have become Miltonic. And yet, do you know, I would rather wear a strait-waistcoat than try long to sustain such a character as that. I couldn't do it, indeed."

"I think you could not," replied Tom. "Now tell us whose speech gave you the first impression of being Milton?"

"Oh, Amy's, to be sure. So go out, little Amy, and we'll try to find some very angelic character for you to fill."

When Amy returned, Anna spoke: "What remarkable worldly prosperity! And yet, though a strikingly handsome woman, with polished manners, and Italian craftiness, you do not look happy."

"I am not--my heart is not at ease."

"Nor your conscience either," rejoined Charlie. "Unless you have found some way to polish that, to make it match your face and manners, I should think your majesty might find your conscience rather a disagreeable companion."

"My majesty is not accustomed to rebuke."

"I know it--and if I were in France, I should fear that some of your Italian powders might be sprinkled in my food or wine, in consequence. But I wonder when I think of you--a simple duke's daughter--being raised to the throne; and not only that, but of your ruling so absolutely over the three kings, your sons. Mother-in-law to one of the greatest kings of France, and to the most renowned of beautiful, suffering queens, what more do you want to make you celebrated?"

"One thing only," answered Amy. "The Massacre of St. Bartholomew will carry my name down to posterity. My daughter-in-law, Mary, Queen of Scotts, was interesting, but I am great. She could kill one husband: I, Catharine de Medici, will not say how many men groaned out my name that night."

"And now," said Ellen, "let us play _Quotations_. One quotes a well-known passage from some book, and if another mentions the author, she is entitled to propose the next passage. It all depends for interest upon our cleverness; so brighten up your wits, cousins mine."

"As I'm a poet," said Charlie, "I'll give you this:

'The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven.'"

"Shakspeare!" cried Tom. "Now where does this come from: 'the better part of valor is--discretion.'"

"Shakspeare again," replied Alice. "And in what book do you find this passage, which corroborates that noble sentiment:

'He that fights and runs away, May live to fight another day.'"

"In Butler's Hudibras, I believe," rejoined Ellen. "And where may that truth be found, which evidently is intended only for boys and men--'Use every man after his desert, and who shall escape whipping?'"

"Of course it was said by no one else than Will Shakspeare, the deer-stealer--he knew it held good of himself, and was indulgent to others. And who was it that wrote this epitaph:

'Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as can die: Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than can live.'"

"That was 'rare Ben Jonson,' I am sure," replied Alice. "If her pale ghost could have blushed, I think it would, at such lofty and exquisite praise. For my part, I could say, 'Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.'"

"That's Shakspeare again," cried Charlie. "It is surprising how many passages come into one's head from that wonderful man's works. Where is this to be found: 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.'"

"In the Bible, of course--though I do not remember in what part," said Mary.

"Think again," replied Charlie, "for you are quite wrong: it can never be found in the Bible."

"Oh, but I'm sure it is there: I'll get a concordance and find the passage in a minute." Accordingly she did so, but was obliged to acknowledge herself defeated: it was nowhere to be discovered.

"Since you are at a loss, I can set you right, for once," said Mrs. Wyndham. "The passage is to be found in Sterne's works: I have myself heard it quoted in the pulpit as from the Bible, and many people really think that it is. Here's another:

'When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.'"

"That's from Shakspeare, I know," answered Tom.

"'Tis from Troilus and Cressida, I imagine--that is a Greek play."

"Then find it, my boy," said Mrs. Wyndham, handing him Mrs. Cowden Clarke's elaborate volume.

"It is not in the whole book," replied Tom, after a diligent search, laying down the volume, with a face as blank as the leaves at the end. "If it is not in Shakspeare, I give up."

"'How poor are they, that have not patience!'" cried Cornelia. "Can you tell us where that piece of wisdom may be found?"

"Yes--in Shakspeare--the same author who writes 'This was the most unkindest cut of all!'"

"I thought of that passage concerning the Greek, which seems to have baffled you all," rejoined Mrs. Wyndham, "because I was once a whole year on the watch to discover it. It happened to be quoted at a little literary gathering, and none of us could tell the author, although it was 'familiar in our mouths as household words.' We agreed to search for it, but it was full a year before I found it, in looking over the play--quite a celebrated one--entitled 'The Rival Queens,' by poor Nat. Lee, commonly called the 'crazy poet.' Alexander the Great is the hero."

"We know so many quotations at second-hand," said Mrs. Wyndham, "that I like this game: it will set us to hunting up the original passages, and seeing their connections. If people would act upon this principle, of going to head-quarters, with regard to history--and in private life too--how many mistakes might be saved."

"And now, just to keep us from becoming too wise," Cornelia chimed in, "I propose that we act charades. A group of us will arrange the plot in the library, and when we open the door, the rest of you must guess from our actions what word we intend to depict. We'll choose one of several syllables, so that there will be repeated opportunities given you to sharpen your wits. And if you should conjecture the whole word before we are through, please not to spoil sport by telling it."

"We are all obedience," was the reply: and Cornelia, Charlie, and George, after a whispered consultation, and a foraging expedition into the housekeeper's room, shut themselves up in the library. Soon the door was thrown open, and the three were seen gravely seated at a small table, sipping imaginary tea, while Cornelia, as hostess, was anxious to fill her part by replenishing their cups. "Tea," "tea," sounded from every part of the room, and the door was closed. When again opened, the three cousins were disclosed in the very height of enjoyment: Charlie's mirth-provoking face, Cornelia's gay laugh, and George's loud and long haw-haw, quite upset the gravity of the spectators, and peal after peal of laughter rewarded the trio. "How merry we are!" said Aunt Lucy. As she spoke the word, the door was shut, showing that the right expression had been used. When re-opened, Cornelia was discovered carefully arranging Charlie's cravat. "Shall I make a sailor's knot, or how shall I fix it?" "Give it a plain tie, if you please." There was little difficulty in discovering that the word was _temerity_; and to make "assurance doubly sure," the whole of it was acted out. George and Cornelia stood up, holding hands, while Charlie, who had in a marvellously short time metamorphosed himself into a minister, with gown, bands, and book, put to the former the question, "Will you take this woman to be your lawful wife?" "I will," responded George. "Will you take this man to be your lawful husband?" "No, I will not," answered Cornelia, hysterically. "You will not? What, madam, is the reason of this change of purpose? Have you not well considered the matter?" "No, I have not--I have been very rash--I never saw him till yesterday!" "What _temerity_!" exclaimed the clergyman reprovingly, and the door was closed, amid great laughter.

When it was re-opened, George was found seated in the centre of the room, under the hands of the Doctor, who was examining his eye; while Cornelia, with an appearance of great anxiety, held the light. "Is it out yet?" "No, Doctor: I feel it still--how it hurts!" Thereupon the Doctor produced a formidable instrument from his pocket, and appeared about to gouge out the eye by way of curing it; and the door was closed amid cries of "eye!" "eye!" "eye!"--quite parliamentary, as Charlie said. The second scene disclosed Cornelia apparently engaged in household avocations, which were interrupted by a rap at the door. She gave admittance to a man and boy who were peddling tin wares, and there ensued such a sounding of tin-pans, and such a chaffering about tins, that no doubt could exist in the minds of the spectators as to the word. To act out the third syllable, Cornelia and George were seated at a table, with lamp and books, when a knock was heard, and a traveller, with carpet-bag and umbrella, entered the room. He had lost his way--he was going to the town of Certainty, in the land of Theoretical Speculation, and wanted some plain directions. "Oh, I can tell you exactly how to get there," cried Cornelia. "Keep along this road, the highway of Inquiry, until you find it bends off to the left into the path of Metaphysics. The path becomes narrower and more difficult continually, and many side-walks lead off to other spots: one, to the wilderness of Atheism; another, to the populous city of Thinkasyouplease; still another, to the dangerous bog of Alldoubt. But if you follow the right road, you cannot possibly err." "Much obliged: I'll try to keep the path." Presently, the traveller returned, in a battered condition: he had wandered from the right track; his cloak of philosophical reason had been torn by the briers of difficulty; his feet pierced, through the shoes of intellectual pride, by the sharp stones of suffering: he could not hear of any town of Certainty in the whole country of Theoretical Speculation. "I believe we have all made a mistake," replied George. "We erred in giving you a wrong direction: you erred in following it. Certainty is situated in the land of Truth: follow this highway of Inquiry in the opposite direction, until it leads you to a well-trodden road formed by the juncture of Faith and Facts; and then you cannot fail to reach Certainty. My sister Fancy misled you into error." And when the company in the sitting-room cried out "err," "err," the shutting of the door showed they were not mistaken. For the last scene, Aunt Lucy was called into requisition, and formed the central object of the exhibition. But little wit was required to make, of the whole, the word _Itinerant_.

"Now for a few puzzles and conundrums," cried Charlie, "I have one which I think none of you can guess. Who are the most immoral of manufacturers? Do you give it up?"

"I have heard the answer--we could not guess it, as it consists of puns," replied Mary. "Those who make you _steel_ pens, and then say they do _write_."

"Here's another. Why is the clock the most humble of all things?"

"Because it covers its face with its hands, and is continually running itself down."

"When is it in a passion?"

"When it is ready to strike one."

"Pray, what can be the difference between Joan of Arc and Noah's ark?"

"One was made of gopher-wood--the other was Maid of Orleans."

"Two persons met in the street, and one of them said, 'I am _your_ son, but you are not _my_ father.' How could that be?"

"It could not be, Charlie!--how could it?" said Lewis.

"It might be, if the person happened to be his mother," answered Mary, with a laugh.

"It is that, of course--how silly we all are!"

"My first is on the table, and under the table; my second is a kind of grain; my third and fourth combined, form what the most romantic people cannot well dispense with; and my whole is one of the United States."

"Let us see--California? no. Massachusetts will not do, nor Connecticut. Oh, I have it: it is _Matrimony_--not always a united state, however!"

"You think not, Ellen? Then here is a piece of advice for you, and to make it more emphatic and intelligible, I will write it upon a card."

Be [A] meddling man family wife.

"I have it! _eureka_!" cried Tom Bolton. "Be above meddling in a family between man and wife."

"Why are pens, ink, and paper like the fixed stars?"

"They are stationary."

"A gentleman visited a prisoner; and, pointing to him, said to the bystanders,

"'Brothers and sisters have I none; But this man's father was my father's son.'

What relationship was there between them?"

"A slight one--only that of father and son," answered Cornelia.

"What glorious fun we have had this week!" cried George. "It will be hard work to go back again to _hic, hæc, hoc_--I wish Christmas holidays could come once a week!"

"So do not I, much as I love them," replied Mr. Wyndham, smiling. "It is the alternation of grave and gay, of diligent study and active duty with lively social intercourse, which will make you complete men and women. I would not have you to be mere drudges, in the most useful work; nor book-worms at home, only in the library, and unfit for mingling with your fellow-men. But much less would I like to see you triflers--butterflies--living only for amusement. I hope you will become earnest men and women: choosing great and good aims in life, and working your way upward continually to greater usefulness, and to a higher moral elevation. But amusement is not wasted time: it may be so indulged as to be improving to the wits, and never to transgress the line of innocency. I have often felt the benefit of a hearty laugh, when my brain has been overtasked: it is recreation, in the strict meaning of the term--it gives new life to the exhausted spirits. Yes, I approve of entertainment, in its place."

"So do I, heartily, my dear sir!" chimed in Cornelia. "And its place is everywhere, I think. I never heard uncle make so long a speech before!"

"Beware, or I will punish you by making another!" replied Mr. Wyndham, drawing the mischievous girl towards him. "But I have news for you all, which I think will scarcely disturb your slumbers. I received a note this afternoon, informing me that the united wisdom of your parents had concluded to prolong your holiday by one day; and so your 'Week's Delight,' as Amy calls it, must be counted by Long Measure--a week and a day."

"Glorious!" cried George. "Let's pack the day as full of fun as ever it will hold. I never shall forget the jolly time we have had this year at The Grange!"

"Not even the ice-bath at the pond, George?" said Cornelia.

"No, indeed; nor my kind deliverance; nor my brave rescuer," answered George.

"That might, indeed, have turned our laughter into weeping," replied Mr. Wyndham, lighting his lamp. "And now, Good-night, and happy dreams!"