PART II

CURIOSITIES

47. A choice Collection of Old China.

48. A fine Specimen of Local Quartz discovered in the Possession of a Workman during the Building of the New Town Hall.

49. The Skull of the Last of the Mohicans.

50. A Marble Group.

51. Bust.

52. The Puzzle.

53. The Instantaneous Kid Reviver.

54. The Earnest Entreaty.

EXPLANATION.

Any one not in the secret perusing the above catalogue would naturally conclude that the descriptions referred to pictorial art of some kind or other. But such is by no means the case. The visitor, on being admitted, finds, in place of the expected pictures, shelves or tables on which are arranged sundry very commonplace objects, each bearing a numbered ticket. On close examination he finds that the numbers correspond with those in the catalogue, and that No. 1, “Horse Fair” (_Fare_), is represented, after a realistic fashion, by a handful of oats and a wisp of hay. No. 2, which he expected to find a spirited marine sketch, is in reality only a tooth-brush lying beside a jack-plane; while the supposed companion picture, “Caught in a Squall off Yarmouth,” is represented by a red herring. No. 4, “The Last of Poor Dog Tray,” is a sausage, and the exhibitor particularly begs that no gentleman will on any account whistle while passing this picture. No. 5, “He will return, I know he will,” presumably the agonized cry of a forsaken maiden, is in reality a poor-rate collector’s paper, marked “Fifth application.” No. 6 is represented by a numbered ticket only, with no object attached to it. The exhibitor explains that “The Midnight Hour” has not yet arrived, but that any gentleman who likes to wait till it does (which will be at twelve o’clock punctually) is very welcome to do so. The “Heroes of Waterloo,” Wellington and Blucher, No. 7, are represented by a couple of the boots known by those distinguished names. 8, “True to the Core,” is a rosy-cheeked apple. 9 is a coil of watch-spring. 10, “Tears, Idle Tears,” on which the exhibitor feelingly expatiates as a noble example of the imaginative in art, is—an onion! The space dedicated to No. 11 is occupied by the numbered ticket only, the exhibitor explaining that “The Midnight Assassin” (who is stated to be a large and lively _flea_) has strolled away, and is wandering at large about the room; and he adds an entreaty that any lady or gentleman who may meet with him will immediately return him to his place in the collection. “The Dripping Well” (No. 12) proves to be of the description more usually known as a dripping-_pan_. “Family Jars,” by Potter, is found to consist of a pickle-jar and jam-pot. No. 14, “Never Too Late to Mend,” is a boot patched all over; while 15, “Past Healing,” is its fellow, too far gone to admit of like renovation. “The First Sorrow” is a broken doll. “Saved” is a money-box, containing twopence-halfpenny, mostly in farthings. The next is a vacant space, over which the exhibitor passes with the casual remark, “No. 18, as you will observe, is unfortunately _Lost_.” No. 19, “First Love,” is a piece of taffy. 20, “The Death of the Camel,” is a straw, labeled “The last,” and the exhibitor explains that this is _the_ identical straw that broke the camel’s back. “His First Cigar” is a mild Havana of brown paper. “A Good Fellow Gone” is suggested, rather than represented, by an odd glove. Nos. 23, 24 are represented by two small mirrors, which are handed to a lady and a gentleman respectively, with a few appropriate remarks as to the extreme success of the likenesses, coupled with critical remarks as to the “expression” in each case. “Our Churchwardens” are a pair of long clay pipes. No. 26, “Portraits of the Reigning Sovereigns of Europe,” are represented by a few cancelled foreign postage stamps. “The Monsters of the Deep,” in No. 27, are represented by a periwinkle and a shrimp. “The Last Man” (No. 28) is at present missing from his place in the collection, but the exhibitor explains that he will be seen going out just as the exhibition closes. The “Contribution from the Sheepshanks Collection” (29) is a couple of mutton-bones; while “The Light of Other Days” (30) is an old-fashioned lantern and tinder-box. “The Meet (_meat_) of Her Majesty’s Hounds” is a piece of dog-biscuit. No. 32 is a leaky can of water. “The Maiden’s Joy” (obviously) is a wedding-ring. “The Fall” is a lady’s veil. No. 35, “Motherhood,” is the gem of the collection, and should be kept carefully hidden (say by a handkerchief thrown over it) until the company have had time to read and appreciate Mr. Calverley’s graceful lines, when the veil is removed, and behold—an egg! No. 36, “A Friendly Party on Hampstead Heath,” is represented by three toy donkeys. “Borrowed Plumes” are represented by a lady’s false front. “Out for the Night” is an extinguished candle. “Something to Adore” is a rusty bolt. “The Wearied Grinder” is a back tooth of somebody’s, very much the worse for wear. “Repentance” (No. 41) is represented by a smashed hat and a bottle of soda-water. “Maggie’s Secret” is a gray hair, labeled “Her first.” No. 43, “Somebody’s Luggage,” consists of a broken comb and a paper collar. “Eusebius” is a pair of spectacles. “Happy Childhood” is indicated by a lithe and “swishy” cane. When the company arrive at No. 46, the corresponding object is apparently missing. The exhibitor refers to his notes, and says, “46—46? I see they have written down against No. 46, ‘The Exhibitor,’ but I don’t see quite what they mean. Suppose we pass on to the curiosities, ladies and gentlemen.” No. 47 is merely some smashed crockery, and No. 48 a pewter quart-pot. No. 49 is again a vacant space, and the exhibitor explains that ‘The Last of the Mohicans’ has just gone home to his tea, and has taken his skull with him. No. 50 is, as its name implies, a group of marbles (of the school-boy character). No. 51 is a paper bag of peas, and, being too full, has “bust.” “The Puzzle” (No. 52) is an old Guide-book. “The Instantaneous Kid Reviver” is a baby’s feeding-bottle; and “The Earnest Entreaty” is the request of the exhibitor that the visitors will recommend the collection to their friends.

If the “showman” be possessed of a good fund of talk and a dash of dry humor, the fun of the collection may be still further enhanced by his explanations and criticism of the various objects. Poor Artemus Ward’s celebrated lecture is an excellent model to copy; indeed, many of his “bits” may be stolen bodily with very satisfactory result. Even without the aid of a showman, the comparison of the poetical descriptions and the sober reality will produce a good deal of fun; but, in this case, the various _blanks_ or vacant spaces to be filled up by explanation must necessarily be omitted—a good many telling items being thereby sacrificed.

CONJURING WITH COIN.

Coin-conjuring, like card-conjuring, has its own peculiar sleights, which it will be necessary for the student to practice diligently before he can hope to attain much success in this direction.

The first faculty which the novice must seek to acquire is that of “palming”—_i. e._, secretly holding an object in the open hand by the contraction of the palm. To acquire this power, take a half-crown, florin, or quarter (these being the most convenient in point of size), and lay it on the palm of the open hand. Now close the hand very slightly, and if you have placed the coin on the right spot (which a few trials will quickly indicate), the contraction of the palm around its edges will hold it securely, and you may move the hand and arm in any direction without fear of dropping it. You should next accustom yourself to use the hand and fingers easily and naturally, while still holding the coin as described. A very little practice will enable you to do this. You must bear in mind while practicing always to keep the inside of the palm either downward or toward your own body, as any reverse movement would expose the concealed coin.

PASSES.

Being thoroughly master of this first lesson, you may proceed to the study of the various “passes.” All of the passes have the same object—viz., the apparent transfer of an article from one hand to the other, though such article really remains in the hand which it has apparently just quitted. As the same movement frequently repeated would cause suspicion, and possibly detection, it is desirable to acquire different ways of effecting this object. It should be here mentioned that the term “palming,” which we have so far used as meaning simply the act of _holding_ any article, is also employed to signify the act of _placing_ any article in the palm by one or other of the various passes. The context will readily indicate in which of the two senses the term is used in any given passage.

PASS 1.—Take the coin in the right hand, between the second and third fingers and the thumb, letting it, however, really be supported by the fingers, and only steadied by the thumb. Now move the thumb out of the way, and close the second and third fingers, with the coin balanced on them, into the palm. If the coin was rightly placed in the first instance, you will find that this motion puts it precisely in the position above described as the proper one for palming; and on again extending the fingers, the coin is left palmed. When you can do this easily with the hand at rest, you must practice doing the same thing with the right hand in motion toward the left, which should meet it open, but should close the moment that the fingers of the right hand touch its palm, as though upon the coin which you have by this movement feigned to transfer to it. The left hand must thenceforward remain closed, as if holding the coin, and the right hand hang loosely open, as if empty.

PALMING.

In the motion of “palming” the two hands must work in harmony, as in the genuine act of passing an article from the one hand to the other. The left hand must therefore rise to meet the right, but should not begin its journey until the right hand begins its own. Nothing looks more awkward or unnatural than to see the left hand extended, with open palm, before the right hand has begun to move toward it.

PASS 2.—This is somewhat easier than Pass 1, and may sometimes be usefully substituted for it. Take the coin edgeways between the first and third fingers of the right hand, the sides of those fingers pressing against the edges of the coin, and the middle finger steadying it from behind. Carry the right hand toward the left, and at the same time move the thumb swiftly over the face of the coin till the top joint passes its outer edge, then bend the thumb, and the coin will be found to be securely nipped between that joint and the junction of the thumb with the hand. As in the last case, the left hand must be closed the moment the right hand touches it; and the right must thenceforth be held with the thumb bent slightly inward toward the palm, so that the coin may be shielded from the view of the spectators. This is an especially quick mode of palming, and if properly executed the illusion is perfect.

PASS 3.—Hold the left hand palm upward, with the coin in position. Move the right hand toward the left, and let the fingers simulate the motion of picking up the coin, and instantly close. At the same moment slightly close the left hand, so as to contract the palm around the coin, and drop the hand, letting it hang loosely by your side.

THE VANISHING TRICK.

A word of caution may here be desirable. These “passes” must by no means be regarded as being themselves _tricks_, but only as processes to be used in the performance of tricks. If the operator, after pretending to pass the coin, say, from the right hand to the left, and showing that it had vanished from the left hand, were to allow his audience to discover that it had all along remained in his right hand, they might admire the dexterity with which he had in this instance deceived their eyes, but they would henceforth guess half the secret of any trick in which palming was employed. If it is necessary immediately to reproduce the coin, the performer should do so by appearing to find it in the hair or whiskers of a spectator, or in any other place that may suit his purpose, remembering always to indicate beforehand that it has passed to such a place, thereby diverting the general attention from himself. As the coin is already in his hand, he has only to drop it to his finger-tips as the hand reaches the place he has named, in order, to all appearance, to take it from thence.

The various passes may be employed not only to cause the disappearance of an article, as above described, but to secretly exchange it for a substitute of similar appearance. These exchanges are of continual use in conjuring; indeed, we may almost say that three parts of its marvels depend on them. Such an exchange having been made, the substitute is left in sight of the audience, while the performer, having thus secretly gained possession of the original, disposes of it as may be necessary for the purpose of the trick.

With this brief practical introduction, we proceed to describe a few of the simpler tricks with coins.

HEADS OR TAILS.

You borrow a quarter, and spin it, or invite some other person to spin it, on the table (which must be without a cloth). You allow it to spin itself out, and immediately announce, without seeing it, whether it has fallen head or tail upward. This may be repeated any number of times with the same result, though you may be blindfolded, and placed at the further end of the apartment.

The secret lies in the use of a quarter of your own, on one face of which (say on the “tail” side) you have cut at the extreme edge a little notch, thereby causing a minute point or tooth of metal to project from that side of the coin. If a coin so prepared be spun on the table, and should chance to go down with the notched side upward, it will run down like an ordinary coin, with a long continuous “whirr,” the sound growing fainter and fainter till it finally ceases; but if it should run down with the notched side downward, the friction of the point against the table will reduce this final whirr to half its ordinary length, and the coin will finally go down with a sort of “flop.” The difference of sound is not sufficiently marked to attract the notice of the spectators, but is perfectly distinguishable by an attentive ear. If, therefore, you have notched the coin on the “tail” side, and it runs down slowly, you will cry “tail;” if quickly, “head.”

If you professedly use a borrowed coin, you must adroitly change it for your own, under pretence of showing how to spin it, or the like.

ODD OR EVEN; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS ADDITION.

You take a handful of coins, and invite another person to do the same, and to ascertain privately whether the number he has taken is odd or even. You request the company to observe that you have not asked him a single question, but that you are able, notwithstanding, to divine and counteract his most secret intentions, and that you will, in proof of this, yourself take a number of coins and add them to those he has taken, when, if his number was odd, the total shall be even; if his number was even, the total shall be odd. Requesting him to drop the coins he holds into a hat, held on high by one of the company, you drop in a certain number on your own account. He is now asked whether his number was odd or even; and, the coins being counted, the total number proves to be, as you stated, exactly the reverse. The experiment is tried again and again, with different numbers, but the result is the same.

The secret lies in the simple arithmetical fact, that if you add an odd number to an even number, the result will be _odd_; if you add an odd number to an odd number, the result will be _even_. You have only to take care, therefore, that the number you yourself add, whether large or small, shall always be odd.

TO RUB ONE DIME INTO THREE.

This is a simple little parlor trick, but will sometimes occasion a good deal of wonderment. Procure three dimes of the same issue, and privately stick two of them with wax to the under side of a table, at about half an inch from the edge, and eight or ten inches apart. Announce to the company that you are about to teach them how to make money. Turn up your sleeves, and take the third dime in your right hand, drawing particular attention to its date and general appearance, and indirectly to the fact that you have no other coin concealed in your hands. Turning back the table-cover, rub the dime with the ball of the thumb backward and forward on the edge of the table. In this position your fingers will naturally be below the edge. After rubbing for a few seconds, say, “It is nearly done, for the dime is getting hot;” and, after rubbing a moment or two longer with increased rapidity, draw the hand away sharply, bringing away with it one of the concealed dimes, which you exhibit as produced by the friction. Leaving the waxed dime on the table, and again showing that you have but one coin in your hands, repeat the operation with the remaining dime.

THE CAPITAL Q.

Take a number of coins, say from five-and-twenty to thirty, and arrange them in the form of the letter Q, making the “tail” consist of some six or seven coins. Then invite some person (during your absence from the room) to count any number he pleases, beginning at the tip of the tail and traveling up the _left_ side of the circle, touching each coin as he does so; then to work back again from the coin at which he stops (calling such coin _one_), this time, however, not returning down the tail, but continuing round the opposite side of the circle to the same number. During this process you retire, but on your return you indicate with unerring accuracy the coin at which he left off. In order to show (apparently) that the trick does not depend on any arithmetical principle, you reconstruct the Q, or invite the spectators to do so, with a different number of coins, but the result is the same.

The solution lies in the fact that the coin at which the spectator ends will necessarily be _at the same distance from the root of the tail as there are coins in the tail itself_. Thus, suppose that there are five coins in the tail, and that the spectator makes up his mind to count eleven. He commences from the tip of the tail, and counts up the left side of the circle. This brings him to the sixth coin beyond the tail. He then retrogrades, and calling that coin “one,” counts eleven in the opposite direction. This necessarily brings him to the fifth coin from the tail on the opposite side, being the length of the tail over and above those coins which are common to both processes. If he chooses ten, twelve, or any other number, he will still, in counting back again, end at the same point.

The rearrangement of the coins, which is apparently only intended to make the trick more surprising, is really designed, by altering the length of the tail, to shift the position of the terminating coin. If the trick were performed two or three times in succession with the same number of coins in the tail, the spectators could hardly fail to observe that the _same_ final coin was always indicated, and thereby to gain a clue to the secret. The number of coins in the circle itself is quite immaterial.

THE WANDERING DIME.

Have ready two dimes, each slightly waxed on one side. Borrow a dime, and secretly exchange it for one of the waxed ones, laying the latter, waxed side uppermost, on the table. Let any one draw two squares of ordinary card-board. Take them in the left hand, and, transferring them to the right, press the second waxed dime against the centre of the undermost, to which it will adhere. Lay this card (which we will call _a_) on the table, about eighteen inches from the dime which is already there, and cover such dime with the other card, _b_. Lift both cards a little way from the table, to show that the dime is under card _a_, and that there is (apparently) nothing under card _b_. As you replace them, press lightly on the centre of card _a_. You may now make the dime appear under whichever card you like, remembering that, if you wish the dime _not_ to adhere, you must bend the card slightly upward in taking it from the table; if otherwise, take it up without bending.

THE MAGIC COVER AND VANISHING PENNIES.

For the purpose of this trick you require half a dozen cents, of which the centre portion has been cut out, leaving each a mere rim of metal. Upon these is placed a complete cent, and the whole are connected together by a rivet, running through the whole thickness of the pile. When placed upon the table, with the complete coin upward, they have all the appearance of a pile of ordinary pennies, the slight lateral play allowed by the rivet aiding the illusion. A little leather cap (shaped something like a fez, with a little button on the top, and of such a size as to fit loosely over the pile of cents), with an ordinary die, such as backgammon is played with, complete the necessary apparatus.

You begin by drawing attention to your magic cap and die, and in order to exhibit their mystic powers, you request the loan of half a dozen cents (the number must, of course, correspond with that of your own pile). While they are being collected, you take the opportunity to slip the little cap over your prepared pile, which should be placed ready to hand behind some small object on the table, so as to be unseen by the spectators. Pressing the side of the cap, you lift the pile with it, and place the whole together in full view, in close proximity to the die. The required cents having been now collected, you beg all to observe that you place the leather cap (which the spectators suppose to be empty) fairly over the die. Taking the genuine coins in either hand, you pretend, by one or other of the “passes,” to transfer them to the other. Holding the hand which is now supposed to contain the coins immediately above the cap, you announce that they will at your command pass under the cap, from which the die will disappear to make room for them. Saying, “One, two, three! Pass!” you open your hand, and show that the coins have vanished; and then, lifting up the cap by the button, you show the hollow pile, covering the die and appearing to be the genuine coins. Once more covering the pile with the cap, you announce that you will again extract the coins, and replace the die; and to make the trick still more extraordinary, you will this time pass the coins right through the table. Placing the hand which holds the genuine coins beneath the table, and once more saying, “One, two, three! Pass!” you chink the coins, and, bringing them up, place them on the table. Again picking up the cap, but this time pressing its sides, you lift up the hollow pile with it, and disclose the die. Quickly transferring the cap, without the pile, to the other hand, you place it on the table, to bear the brunt of examination, while you get rid of the prepared coins.

THE PEPPER-BOX, FOR VANISHING MONEY.

This is a small tin box, of the pepper-box or flour-dredger shape, standing three to four inches high. The “box” portion (as distinguished from the lid) is made double, consisting of two tin tubes sliding the one within the other, the bottom being soldered to the inner one only. By pulling the bottom downward, therefore, you draw down with it the inner tube, telescope fashion. By so doing you bring into view a slit or opening at one side of the inner tube, level with the bottom, and of such a size as to let a half-dollar pass through it easily. The lid is also specially prepared. It has an inner or false top, and between the true and false top a loose bit of tin is introduced, which rattles when the box is shaken, unless you at the same time press a little point of wire projecting from one of the holes at the top, and so render it, for the time being, silent. The box is first exhibited with the inner tube pushed up into its place, and the opening thereby concealed. A marked coin is borrowed, but either before or after the coin is placed therein, as may best suit his purpose, the performer secretly draws out the inner tube a quarter of an inch or so, thus allowing the coin to slip through into his hand. As he places the box on the table, a very slight pressure suffices to force the tube up again into its original position, and close the opening. Having made the necessary disposition of the coin, the performer takes up the box and shakes it, to show (apparently) that the coin is still there, pressing on the little point above mentioned when he desires it to appear that it has departed, and immediately opening the box to show that it is empty. The pepper-box will not bear minute inspection, and is in this particular inferior to the rattle box.

A NEST OF BOXES.

This consists of half a dozen circular wooden boxes, one within the other, the outer box having much the appearance, but being nearly double the size, of an ordinary tooth-powder box, and the smallest being just large enough to contain a quarter. The series is so accurately made that, by arranging the boxes in due order, one within the other, and the lids in like manner, you may, by simply putting on all the lids together, close all the boxes at once, though they can only be opened one by one.

These are placed, the boxes together and the lids together, anywhere so as to be just out of sight of the audience. If on your table, they may be hidden by any more bulky article. Having secretly obtained possession, by either of the means before described, of a coin which is ostensibly deposited in some other piece of apparatus, you seize your opportunity to drop it into the innermost box, and to put on the united lids. You then bring forward the nest of boxes (which the spectators naturally take to be one box only), and announce that the twenty-five cent piece will at your command pass from the place in which it has been deposited into the box which you hold in your hand, and which you forthwith deliver to one of the audience for safe keeping. Touching both articles with the mystic wand, you invite inspection of the first to show that the money has departed, and then of the box, wherein it is to be found. The holder opens the box, and finds another, and then another, and in the innermost of all, the marked coin. Seeing how long the several boxes have taken to open, the spectators naturally infer that they must take as long to close, and (apart from the other mysteries of the trick) are utterly at a loss to imagine how, with the mere moment of time at your command, you could have managed to insert the coin, and close so many boxes. If you desire to use the nest for a coin larger than a quarter, you can make it available for that purpose by removing beforehand the smallest box.

THE BALL OF BERLIN WOOL.

An easy and effective mode of terminating a money trick is to pass the marked coin into the centre of a large ball of Berlin wool or worsted, the whole of which has to be unwound before the coin can be reached. The _modus operandi_, though perplexing to the uninitiated, is absurdly simple when the secret is revealed. The only apparatus necessary over and above the wool (of which you must have enough for a good-sized ball), is a flat tin tube, three to four inches in length, and just large enough to allow a quarter or half-dollar (whichever you intend to use for the trick) to slip through it easily. You prepare for the trick by winding the wool on one end of the tube, in such manner that when the whole is wound in a ball, an inch or so of the tube may project from it. This you place in your pocket, or anywhere out of sight of the audience. You commence the trick by requesting some one to mark a coin, which you forthwith exchange by one or other of the means already described, for a substitute of your own, and leave the latter in the possession or in view of the spectators, while you retire to fetch your ball of wool, or simply take it from your pocket. Before producing it, you drop the genuine coin down the tube into the centre of the ball, and withdraw the tube, giving the ball a squeeze to remove all trace of an opening. You then bring it forward, and place it in a glass goblet or tumbler, which you hand to a spectator to hold. Taking the substitute coin, you announce that you will make it pass invisibly into the very centre of the ball of wool, which you accordingly pretend to do, getting rid of it by means of one or other of the “passes” already described. You then request a second spectator to take the loose end of the wool, and to unwind the ball, which, when he has done, the coin falls out into the goblet.

The only drawback to the trick is the tediousness of unwinding. To obviate this, some performers use a wheel made for the purpose, which materially shortens the length of the operation.

MISCELLANEOUS TRICKS.

THE RAISIN TORTOISE.

This noble animal is constructed as follows:—A muscatel raisin forms the body, and small portions of the stalk of the same fruit the head and legs. With a little judgment in the selection of the pieces of stalk and the mode in which they are thrust into the body, it is surprising what a lifelike tortoise may be thus produced. While the work of art in question is being handed round on a plate for admiration, the artist may further distinguish himself, if the wherewithal is obtainable, by constructing

THE LEMON PIG.

The body of the pig consists of a lemon. The shape of this fruit renders it particularly well adapted for this purpose, the crease or shoulder at the small end of the lemon being just the right shape to form the head and neck of the pig. With three or four lemons to choose from, you cannot fail to find at least one which will answer the purpose exactly. The mouth and ears are made by cutting the rind with a penknife, the legs of short ends of lucifer matches, and the eyes either of black pins, thrust in up to the head, or of grape-stones.

THE SEASICK PASSENGER.

The requirements for this touching picture are an orange, a pocket-handkerchief or soft table-napkin, and a narrow water goblet. The orange is first prepared by cutting in the rind with a penknife the best ears, nose, and mouth which the artist can compass, a couple of raisin-pips supplying the place of eyes. A pocket-handkerchief is stretched lightly over the glass, and the prepared orange laid thereon. The pocket-handkerchief is then moved gently backward and forward over the top of the glass, imparting to the orange a rolling motion, and affording a laughable but striking caricature of the agonies of a seasick passenger.

THE ENCHANTED RAISINS.

Take four raisins or bread-pills, and place them about a foot apart, so as to form a square on the table. Next fold a couple of table-napkins, each into a pad of five inches square. Take one of these in each hand, the fingers undermost and the thumb uppermost. Then inform the company that you are about to give them a lesson in the art of hanky-panky, etc., and in the course of your remarks bring down the two napkins carelessly over the two raisins farthest from you. Leave the right-hand napkin on the table, but, in withdrawing the hand, bring away the raisin between the second and third fingers, and at the same moment remarking, “You must watch particularly how many raisins I place under each napkin,” lift the left-hand napkin (as if merely to show that there is one raisin only beneath it), and transfer it to the palm of the outstretched right hand, behind which the raisin is now concealed. Without any perceptible pause, but at the same time without any appearance of haste, you replace the folded napkin on raisin No. 2, and in so doing leave raisin No. 1 beside it. Now take up raisin No 3 (with the right hand). Put the hand under the table, and in doing so get raisin No. 3 between the second and third fingers, as much _behind_ the hand as possible. Give a rap with the knuckles on the under-side of the table, at the same time saying, “Pass!” and forthwith pick up the left-hand napkin with the left hand, showing the raisins 1 and 2 beneath it. All eyes are drawn to the two raisins on the table, and as the right hand comes into sight from beneath the table the left quietly transfers the napkin to it, thereby effectually concealing the presence of raisin No. 3. The napkin is again laid over raisins 1 and 2, and No. 3 is secretly deposited with them. No. 4 is then taken in the right hand, and the process repeated, when _three_ raisins are naturally discovered; the napkin being once more replaced, and No. 4 left with the rest. There are now four raisins under the left-hand napkin, and none under that on the right hand, though the spectators are persuaded that there is _one_ under the latter, and only _three_ under the former. The trick being now practically over, the performer may please himself as to the form of the _dénouement_ and, having gone through any appropriate form of incantation, commands the imaginary _one_ to go and join the other three, which is found to have taken place accordingly.

THE DEMON LUMP OF SUGAR.

The performer commences by borrowing two hats, which he places, crown upward, upon the table, drawing particular attention to the fact that there is nothing whatever under either of them. He next demands the loan of the family sugar basin, and requests some one to select from it a lump of sugar (preferably one of an unusual and easily distinguished shape), at the same time informing them that, by means of a secret process, only known to himself, he will undertake to swallow such lump of sugar before their eyes, and yet, after a few minutes’ interval, bring it under either of the two hats they may choose. The company, having been prepared by the last trick to expect some ingenious piece of sleight-of-hand, are all on the _qui vive_ to prevent any substitution of another lump of sugar, or any pretence of swallowing without actually doing so. However, the performer does unmistakably take the identical lump of sugar chosen and crush it to pieces with his teeth. He then asks, with unabated confidence, under which of the two hats he shall bring it, and, the choice having been made, places the chosen hat on his own head, and in that way fulfills his undertaking.

THE MYSTERIOUS PRODUCTION.

This is another feat of the genus “sell,” and to produce due effect should only be introduced after the performer has, by virtue of a little genuine magic, prepared the company to expect from him something a little out of the common. He begins by informing the spectators that he is about to show them a great mystery, a production of nature on which no human being has ever yet set eye, and which, when they have once seen, no human being will ever set eyes on again. When the general interest is sufficiently awakened, he takes a nut from the dish and, having gravely cracked it, exhibits the kernel, and says, “Here is an object which you will all admit no human being has ever seen, and which” (here he puts it into his mouth and gravely swallows it) “I am quite sure nobody will ever see again.”

THE FAMILY GIANT.

A very fair giant, for domestic purposes, may be produced by the simple expedient of seating a young lad astride on the shoulders of one of the older members of the company, and draping the combined figure with a long cloak or Inverness cape. The “head” portion may, of course, be “made up” as much as you please, the more complete the disguise the more effective being the giant. A ferocious-looking moustache and whiskers will greatly add to his appearance. If some ready-witted and genial member of the party will undertake to act as showman, and exhibit the giant, holding a lively conversation with him, and calling attention to his gigantic idiosyncrasies, a great deal of fun may be produced. The joke should not, however, be very long continued, as the feelings of the “legs” have to be considered. If too long deprived of air and light they are apt to wax rebellious, and either carry the giant in directions he would fain avoid, or even occasionally to strike altogether, and bring the giant’s days to a sudden and undignified termination.

THE ANIMATED TELESCOPE.

This is a much more finished deception, and is not unfrequently seen exhibited at theatres and circuses. The figure is constructed as follows:—You procure a stout broomstick, four feet long, and on one end thereof fasten firmly a grotesque pasteboard head, with appropriate headdress. Next construct an extinguisher-shaped robe of some dark material (a coarse black muslin or canvas is the best, as allowing a reasonable amount of light and ventilation to the performer). It should be gathered in with a frill round the neck of the figure, and should be of such a length that when the performer stands beneath, with the stick extended at full length above his neck, it shall all but reach the ground. The robe should taper gradually outward, from a diameter of about eight inches at the top to about two feet six at the bottom. A cane hoop should be fastened horizontally within it at about the height of the performer’s knees, and another at about the level of his chin. These keep the garment distended, and give the operator much greater freedom of movement than he would otherwise enjoy. The lower hoop should be attached by four pieces of tape to a belt around the performer’s waist, this arrangement keeping it at a uniform height from the floor, and preventing the skirt getting under the performer’s feet in walking.

With a little practice the figure thus composed may be made to go through a variety of the most eccentric manœuvres. For instance, by gradually lowering the stick, and at the same time contracting the body into a crouching position, it may be made to sink to the dimensions of a dwarf.

By bending the body, and at the same time lowering the stick into a horizontal position, the figure will be made to salute. While in this position the head may be made to describe a circle of three or four feet in diameter, with inexpressibly comical effect. The stick may then be sloped backward. By way of finale, the figure may be made to pass its head between its legs, and in that position make its exit. Some little practice is required to work the “Nondescript” effectively.

“THE WHAT-DO-YOU-THINK?”

Our next three or four sections will be devoted to the description of the after-dinner menagerie. We will begin with the “What-do-you-Think?”

The exhibitor begins, in proper showman style, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the pleasure of exhibiting to your notice the celebrated ‘What-do-you-Think?’ or Giant Uncle-Eater. You have all probably heard of the Ant-Eater. This is, as you will readily perceive, a member of the same family, but more so! He measures seven feet from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail, eight feet back again, five feet round the small of his waist, and has four feet of his own, making twenty-four in all. In his natural state he lives chiefly on blue-bottle flies and mixed pickles, but in captivity it is found that so rich a diet has a tendency to make him stout, and he is now fed exclusively on old champagne corks and back numbers of some daily paper. His voice, which you may perhaps have an opportunity of hearing (here the ‘What-do-you-Think?’ howls dismally), is in the key of B flat, and is greatly admired. People come here before breakfast to hear it, and when they have heard it, they assure us that they never heard anything like it before. Some have even gone so far as to say that they never wish to hear anything like it again.” Etc.

The “What-do-you-Think?” is manufactured as follows:—The performer, who should have black kid gloves on, places on his head a conical paper cap, worked up with the aid of the nursery paint-box into a rough semblance of an animal’s head. This being securely fastened on, he goes down on his hands and knees and a shaggy railway rug (of fur, if procurable) is thrown over him, and secured round his neck, when the animal is complete.

THE GIRAFFE.

A grotesque head, as nearly approaching the required shape as possible, is securely fastened to the end of a long stick, which is held by the foremost of the two performers who form the body beneath. To this head is attached the cloth which is designed to form the body of the animal, and which should be pinned round the bodies of the two performers. A rope tail may be added.

A good deal of fun may be produced by the efforts of the animal to scratch his head with his hind leg, etc.

THE DWARF.

The Dwarf can scarcely be said to belong to the menagerie, but may appropriately follow in this place. He is constructed as follows:—A table, with cover, is placed just in front of the drawn curtains of a window. The performers, of whom there are two, place themselves behind the table, the one in front of the other. The foremost either stands, or kneels on a stool, as may be found most convenient, and rests his hands, which are encased in a pair of boots, upon the table. These form the feet of the Dwarf. The second performer stands behind the first, concealed by the curtain, and passes his arms, which are the only part of his person in view, over the shoulders of the first performer, to form the arms of the dwarf. The above arrangements are, of course, made before the company are admitted into the room. The dwarf then proceeds to make a speech or sing a song, which the arms accompany with (as a rule) singularly inappropriate gestures. Thus, at a very impressive portion of (say) Hamlet’s soliloquy, the right hand will be seen to tweak the nose violently, or even to “take a sight” at the assembled company. The arms have even been known to stop the eloquence of the mouth, by violently cramming a pocket-handkerchief into it. The legs are equally eccentric in their behavior, the Dwarf not hesitating, on an emergency, to scratch his nose with his foot, and so on.

The representation of the Dwarf demands a little practice, but, if it is well worked, the effect produced will fully repay the trouble expended in arranging it. A child’s pinafore will be found the most appropriate garment.

THE TWO HATS.

This is a modern version of the old “Game of Contraries.” The leader brings forward two hats; one he places on his own head, and hands the other to one of the company, with whom he enters into conversation. The person addressed must stand when the leader sits, and sit when he stands, take off his hat when the leader puts on his, and _vice versa_. A failure in any of these particulars is punishable by a forfeit. The conversation may be somewhat as follows:

Leader (standing and wearing his own hat). Allow me to offer you a hat, sir. (Sits down.)

Victim (standing up). I am much obliged to you, but I already have one.

Leader. Scarcely so becoming as this one, I think. But won’t you try it on? (Stands up, and victim sits down.) Allow me to place it on your head.

Victim. Not at present, thank you, though I quite admit it is a very charming hat.

Leader (throwing himself into a chair, and fanning himself with his hat). Dear me, how very hot the room is! Pray don’t rise on my account. (Victim stands up, but omits to put on his hat, whereby he incurs a forfeit, and the leader passes on to endeavor to entrap some other player.)

THE KNIGHT OF THE WHISTLE.

This is a capital game for everybody but the victim, and produces much fun. Some one who does not know the game is chosen to be Knight of the Whistle, and is commanded to kneel down and receive the honor of knighthood, which the leader (armed with a light cane, the drawing-room poker, or other substitute for a sword) confers in due form.

While placing him in position, opportunity is taken to attach to his back, by means of a bent pin or otherwise, a piece of string about a foot in length, to which is attached a small light whistle. Having been duly dubbed, in order to complete his dignity, he is informed that he must now go in quest of the Whistle, which is in the hands of one of the company, and will be sounded at intervals, in order to guide him in his search. Meanwhile the other players gather in a circle round him, making believe to pass an imaginary object from hand to hand. The victim naturally believes that this imaginary object must be the long-lost Whistle, and makes a dash for it accordingly, when the player who happens to be behind his back blows the actual whistle, and instantly drops it again. Round flies the unhappy Knight, and makes a fresh dash to seize the Whistle, but in vain. No sooner has he turned to a fresh quarter than the ubiquitous Whistle again sounds behind his back.

If the game is played smartly, and care taken not to _pull_ upon the cord, the Knight may often be kept revolving for a considerable period before he discovers the secret.

Sometimes a lady is chosen to “dub” the intended Knight, and the following piece of doggerel is repeated, the leader prompting:—

Lady. Why do you kneel thus low to implore?

Gentleman. That I may remain a mere gent no more.

Lady. How can I help your being a gent?

Gentleman. Dub me a Knight—you shall not repent.

Lady. If I should yield to your request, What knightly duty will please you best?

Gentleman. To wait on ladies from morn till night, And meet their foes in deadly fight.

Lady. Will you promise to heed all I may say, And my will or whim henceforth to obey?

Gentleman. Yes, whatever you bid me do Shall be my law—I belong to you.

Lady. Go, then, and be no longer blind, And the troublesome Knight of the Whistle find.

The lady then strikes his shoulder with her fan or handkerchief, and says, “Rise up, Sir——”

In this case the victim is not told, but is left to discover that he himself is the Knight of the Whistle.

“HE CAN DO LITTLE.”

This is another “sell” of almost childish simplicity, but we have seen people desperately puzzled over it, and even “give it up” in despair.

The leader takes a stick (or poker) in his left hand, thence transfers it to his right, and thumps three times on the floor, saying, “He can do little who can’t do this.” He then hands the stick to another person, who, as he supposes, goes through exactly the same performance, but if he does not know the game, is generally told, to his disgust, that he has incurred a forfeit, his imitation not having been exact.

The secret lies in the fact that the stick, when passed on, is first received in the left hand, and thence transferred to the right before going through.

“THROWING LIGHT.”

Two of the company agree privately upon a word (which as before, should be one susceptible of two or three meanings), and interchange remarks tending to throw light upon it. The rest of the players do their best to guess the word, but when either of them fancies he has succeeded, he does not publicly announce his guess, but makes such a remark as to indicate to the two initiated that he has discovered their secret. If they have any doubt that he has really guessed the word, they challenge him, i. e., require him to name it in a whisper. If his guess proves to be right, he joins in the conversation, and assists in throwing light on the subject; but if, on the other hand, he is wrong, he must submit to have a handkerchief thrown over his head, and so remain, until by some more fortunate observation he shall prove that he really possesses the secret.

We will give an example. Mr. A. and Miss B. have agreed on “Bed” as the word, and proceed to throw light upon it; alternating upon its various meanings of a place of repose, a part of a garden, or the bed of a river.

Miss B. I don’t know what your opinion may be, but I am never tired of it.

Mr. A. Well, for my part, I am never in a hurry, either to get to it or to leave it.

Miss B. How delightful it is after a long tiring day!

Mr. A. Yes. But it is a pleasure that soon palls. The most luxurious person does not care for too much of it at a stretch.

Miss B. Oh! don’t you think so? In early spring for instance, with the dew upon the flowers!

Mr. A. Ah! you take the romantic view. But how would you like it beneath some rapid torrent, or some broad majestic river.

Miss C. (thinks she sees her way, and hazards a remark). Or in a _souché_!

Mr. A. I beg your pardon. Please tell me, in a whisper, what you suppose the word to be?

Miss C. (whispers). Fish! What! isn’t that right?

Mr. A. I am afraid you must submit to a temporary eclipse. (Throws her handkerchief over her face.)

Mr. A. to Miss B. You mentioned spring, I think. For my own part, I prefer feathers.

Mr. D. (rashly concludes, from the combination of “spring” and “feathers,” that spring-chickens must be referred to). Surely you would have them plucked?

Mr. A. (looks puzzled). I think not. May I ask you to name your guess? Oh, no, quite out. I must trouble you for your pocket-handkerchief.

Miss B. It is curious, isn’t it, that they must be made afresh every day?

Mr. A. So it is; though I confess it never struck me in that light before. I don’t fancy, however, that old Brown the gardener makes his quite so often.

Miss B. You may depend that he has it made for him, though.

Miss C. (from under the handkerchief). At any rate, according as he makes it, his fate will be affected accordingly. You know the proverb?

Mr. A. (removing the handkerchief). You have fairly earned your release. By the way, do you remember an old paradox upon this subject, “What nobody cares to give away, yet nobody wishes to keep?”

Miss E. Ah! now you have let out the secret. I certainly don’t wish to keep mine for long together, but I would willingly give it away if I could get a better.

Miss B. Tell me your guess. (Miss E. whispers.) Yes, you have hit it. I was afraid Mr. A.’s last “light” was rather too strong.

And so the game goes on, until every player is in the secret, or the few who may be still in the dark “give it up” and plead for mercy. This, however, is a rare occurrence, for, as the company in general become acquainted with the secret, the “lights” are flashed about in a rash and reckless manner, till the task of guessing becomes almost a matter of course to an ordinarily acute person.

MULTIPLYING SHADOWS.

Before quitting the subject of fireside amusements, we may give a passing mention to the subject of the curious optical illusion called “The Multiplying Shadows,” sometimes also known, from one form in which it is presented, as The Witches’ Dance. A dummy figure (suppose that of a witch, riding on the conventional broomstick) is suspended by fine threads or wires on the side of the screen remote from the spectators. Behind this are ranged, one behind the other, and at right angles to the screen, a row of lighted candles. Being all in the same line, they throw one shadow only on the screen. The figure is now made to oscillate slightly, so as to impart some little motion to the shadow. One of the candles is now removed from its place in the row, and waved gently about, now high, now low, the effect to the spectators being that a second shadow springs out of the first, and dances about it on the screen. A second and third candle is then removed, and waved up and down, each candle as it leaves its place in the line producing a separate shadow. It is well to have three or four assistants, each taking a candle in each hand.

THE VANISHING KNOTS.

For this trick you must use a silk handkerchief. Twisting it rope-fashion, and grasping it by the middle with both hands, you request one of the spectators to tie the two ends together. He does so, but you tell him he has not tied them half tight enough, and you yourself pull them still tighter. A second and a third knot are made in the same way, the handkerchief being drawn tighter by yourself after each knot is made. Finally, taking the handkerchief, and covering the knots with the loose part, you hand it to someone to hold. Breathing on it, you request him to shake out the handkerchief, when all the knots are found to have disappeared.

When the performer apparently tightens the knot, he in reality only strains one end of the handkerchief, grasping it above and below the knot. This pulls that end of the handkerchief out of its twisted condition and into a straight line, round which the other end of the handkerchief remains twisted; in other words, converts the knot into a slip-knot. After each successive knot he still straightens this same end of the handkerchief. This end, being thus made straight, would naturally be left longer than the other, which is twisted round and round it. This tendency the performer counteracts by drawing it partially back through the slip-knot at each pretended tightening. When he finally covers over the knots, which he does with the left hand, he holds the straightened portion of the handkerchief, immediately behind the knots, between the first finger and thumb of the right hand, and therewith, in the act of covering over the knots, draws this straightened portion completely out of the slip-knot.

THE DANCING SAILOR.

The Dancing Sailor is a figure cut out of cardboard, eight or nine inches in height, and with its arms and legs cut out separately, and attached to the trunk with thread in such a manner as to hang perfectly free. The mode of exhibiting it is as follows:—The performer, taking a seat facing the company, with his legs slightly apart, places the figure on the ground between them. As might be expected, it falls flat and lifeless, but after a few mesmeric passes it is induced to stand upright, though without visible support, and, on a lively piece of music being played, dances to it, keeping time, and ceasing as soon as the music ceases.

The secret lies in the fact that, from leg to leg of the performer, at about the height of the figure from the ground, is fixed (generally by means of a couple of bent pins), a fine black silk thread, of eighteen or twenty inches in length. This allows him to move about without any hindrance. On each side of the head of the figure is a little slanting cut, tending in a perpendicular direction, and about half an inch in length. The divided portions of the cardboard are bent back a little, thus forming two “hooks,” so to speak, at the sides of the head. When the performer takes his seat, as before mentioned, the separation of his legs draws the silk comparatively taut, though, against a moderately dark background, it remains wholly invisible. When he first places the figure on the ground, he does so simply, and the figure naturally falls. He makes a few sham mesmeric passes over it, but still it falls. At the third and fourth attempt, however, he places it so that the little hooks already mentioned just catch the thread, and the figure is thus kept upright. When the music commences, the smallest motion, or pretence of keeping time with the feet is enough to start the sailor in a vigorous hornpipe.

CONUNDRUMS AND RIDDLES.

These are by no means of modern origin: the Sphinx puzzled the brains of some of the heroes of antiquity, and even Alexander the Great, as it is written, made several essays to untie the knot (a practical riddle) with which Gordius, the Phrygian king, who had been raised from the plow to the throne, tied up his implements of husbandry in the temple, in so intricate a manner, that universal monarchy was promised to the man who could undo it: after having been repeatedly baffled, he, at length, drew his sword, considering that he was entitled to the fulfillment of the promise, by cutting the Gordian knot.

The modern riddle or conundrum, however, is a simpler affair, invented to amuse. We append a list of some that will keep the company in good humor. The key or solution appears on a later page.

CONUNDRUMS.

1. He loved her. She hated him, but, woman-like, she would have him, and she was the death of him. Who was he?

2. Why is life the greatest of riddles?

3. If a church be on fire, why has the organ the smallest chance of escape?

4. Why should a sailor be the best authority as to what goes on in the moon?

5. What does a cat have that no other animal has?

6. When is a man behind the times?

7. What is the difference between a baby and a pair of boots?

8. Use me well, and I’m everybody; scratch my back, and I’m nobody.

9. What word becomes shorter by adding a syllable to it?

10. If a stupid fellow was going up for a competitive examination, why should he study the letter P?

11. Why is buttermilk like something that never happened?

12. Why is the letter O the noisiest of all the vowels?

13. Why is a Member of Parliament like a shrimp?

14. Why is a pig a paradox?

15. Why is a bad half-dollar like something said in a whisper?

16. Why do black sheep eat less than white ones?

17. Why is a barn-door fowl sitting on a gate like a halfpenny?

18. Why is a man searching for the Philosopher’s Stone like Neptune?

19. What is the difference between a much-worn fourpennypiece and a halfcrown?

20. Why is the nose placed in the middle of the face?

21. What is most like a hen stealing?

22. What is worse than “raining cats and dogs?”

23. When is butter like Irish children?

24. Why is a chronometer like thingumbob?

25. Of what color is grass when covered with snow?

26. Name in two letters the destiny of all earthly things?

27. What is even better than presence of mind in a railway accident?

28. What word contains all the vowels in due order?

29. Why is a caterpillar like a hot roll?

30. What is that which occurs twice in a moment, once in a minute, and not once in a thousand years?

31. What is that which will give a cold, cure a cold, and pay the doctor’s bill?

32. What is that which is neither flesh nor bone, yet has four fingers and a thumb?

33. What is the difference between a rhododendron and a cold apple-dumpling?

34. Why has man more hair than woman?

35. What is that which no one wishes to have, yet no one cares to lose?

36. Why is the letter G like the sun?

37. Why is the letter D like a wedding-ring?

38. What sweetens the cup of life, yet, divested of its end, embitters the most grateful draught?

39. Why should ladies not learn French?

40. Which tree is most suggestive of kissing?

41. What act of folly does a washerwoman commit?

42. Why should a cabman be brave?

43. What is the most difficult surgical operation?

44. Why is it difficult to flirt on board the P. and O. steamers?

45. What letter made Queen Bess mind her P’s and Q’s?

46. Why is it an insult to a cock-sparrow to mistake him for a pheasant?

47. What is that from which the whole may be taken, and yet some will remain?

48. Why is blind-man’s buff like sympathy?

49. When may a man be said to have four hands?

50. Why is it easy to break into an old man’s house?

51. Why should you not go to London by the 12.50 train?

52. Why should the male sex avoid the letter A?

53. When does a man sneeze three times?

54. What relation is the doormat to the scraper?

55. Why does a piebald pony never pay toll?

56. When does a steamboat captain say that he is what he is not?

57. Why is the letter S like a sewing-machine?

58. Why need France never fear an inundation?

59. What is the difference between a cow and a rickety chair?

60. What flower most resembles a bull’s mouth?

61. What does a stone become in the water?

62. If the alphabet were invited out to dine, what time would U, V, W, X, Y, and Z go?

63. Why are sailors bad horsemen?

64. When was beef-tea first introduced into England?

65. What letter is the pleasantest to a deaf woman?

66. Why are ladies like churches?

67. When is love a deformity?

68. Why is a mouse like hay?

69. Why is a madman equal to two men?

70. Why are good resolutions like ladies fainting in church?

71. Which is the merriest letter in the alphabet?

72. Why is a horse like the letter O?

73. What is the difference between a bankrupt and a feather-bed?

74. What is that word of five letters from which, if you take away two, only one remains?

75. Why is the letter B like a fire?

76. What word is pronounced quicker by adding a syllable to it?

77. Which animal travels with the most, and which with the least, luggage?

78. How many sticks go to the building of a crow’s-nest?

79. Which is the best-behaved food, cake or wine?

80. Which member of Congress wears the largest hat?

81. Why are bakers the most self-denying people?

82. Which of the constellations reminds you of an empty fireplace?

83. What relation is that child to its own father who is not its own father’s own son?

84. When does a pig become landed property?

85. Which is the heavier, the full or the new moon?

86. What is the best way to make a coat last?

87. Why is an alligator the most deceitful of animals?

88. Why are fowls the most profitable of live stock?

89. What is that which comes with a coach, goes with a coach, is of no use whatever to the coach, and yet the coach can’t go without it?

90. If your uncle’s sister is not your aunt, what relation is she to you?

91. Why does a duck put its head under water?

92. Why does it take it out again?

93. What vegetable products are the most important in history?

94. Why is the letter W like a maid of honor?

95. What letter is always invisible, yet never out of sight?

96. What is an old lady in the middle of a river like?

97. Why are E and I the happiest of the vowels?

98. Why is the letter F like a cow’s tail?

99. On which side of a pitcher is the handle?

100. What is higher and handsomer when the head is off?

101. Why is a pig in a parlor like a house on fire?

102. What is the keynote to good breeding?

103. What is the best thing to make in a hurry?

104. What Queen Mary, of England, had before, poor thing! what King William had behind, poor thing! what Queen Anne never had at all, poor thing!

105. What do you add to nine in order to make it three less?

106. Why is a tallow-chandler like a villain exposed?

107. What is it that walks with its head downwards?

108. Why could not Lord Beaconsfield insure his life?

109. Why is a lame dog like a schoolboy adding six and seven together?

110. Why is the Brooklyn Bridge like merit?

111. What we all require, what we all give, what we occasionally ask for, yet very seldom take?

112. A man remarks, looking at a portrait, “Uncles and brothers have I none, but that man’s father is my father’s son.” What relation is the original of the portrait to the speaker?

113.

Formed long ago, yet made to-day; Employed while others sleep; What few would wish to give away, Yet no one cares to keep?

114. What did Adam first plant in the Garden of Eden?

115. Four men went to sea on a marble slab. The first had no eyes, the second had no hands, the third had no legs, and the fourth was naked. The first saw a bird, the second shot it, the third ran and picked it up, and the fourth put it in his pocket. What is that?

116. What is Majesty, deprived of its externals?

117. If you saw an egg on a music-stool, what great poem would it remind you of?

118.

Can you tell me why A hypocrite’s eye Could better descry Than you or I On how many toes A pussy-cat goes?

119. How would you make a thin man fat?

120. What is the difference between a young maid of sixteen and an old maid of sixty?

121. When was fruit known to use bad language?

122. If a man gets up on a donkey, where should he get down?

123. Why were Adam and Eve a grammatical anomaly?

124. What is lengthened by being cut at both ends?

125. Why are men like gooseberries?

126. Why should you never write a secret with a quill-pen?

127. “I am what I am; I am not what I follow. If I were what I follow, I should not be what I am.” What is it?

128. Which is the most cautious of birds?

129. Which is the strongest day of the week?

130. If a pig wanted to build himself a house, how would he set about it?

131. Why does a donkey prefer thistles to oats?

132. Where can you always find sympathy?

133. What is the difference between a lady and a looking-glass?

134. Why need a man never starve in the desert?

135. Why are oysters the best food for dyspeptic people?

136.

If by chance a man falls From the top of St. Paul’s, What does he fall against?

137. What was Joan of Arc made of?

138. Why is a kitten biting her own tail like a good manager?

139. Why is the figure 9 like a peacock?

140. Why did Adam bite the apple when Eve gave it to him?

141. Which are the most contented birds?

142. What animals have only one leg between them?

ENIGMAS.

143. In my _first_ my _second_ sat; my _third_ and _fourth_ I ate.

144.

Cut off my head, and singular I seem; Cut off my tail, and plural I appear; Cut off both head and tail, and—wondrous to relate!— Although my middle’s left, there’s nothing there.

What is my first? It is a sounding sea, What is my last? It is a noble river, And in their mingling depths I sportive play, Parent of sweetest sounds, though mute for ever.

145.

Cato and Chloe, combined well together, Make a drink not amiss in very cold weather.

146.

My _first’s_ the joy of every cozy dame, And in my _second_ o’er to England came. My _whole_ of every household forms a part. Thou art not Science, but thou teachest art.

147.

My _first_ is won, and never lost, Reversed, it’s now before ye; My _next_, reversed, is red as blood In veins of Whig or Tory.

My _whole’s_ so wond’rous strange, that I Must candidly confess it, Though you’re ingenious, it will be A wonder if you guess it.

148.

If I had been in Stanley’s place, When Marmion urged him to the chase, A thing you quickly would espy Would bring a tear to many an eye.

149.

You eat me, you drink me, deny it who can, I’m sometimes a woman and sometimes a man.

150.

The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, The beginning of every end, and the end of every place.

151. My _first_ I hope you are; my _second_ I see you are; my _whole_ I know you are.

152. My _first_ is French, my _second_ English, and my _whole_ Latin.

153.

My _first_ the fair Ophelia gave the Queen; My _next_ a steed, as ancient legends make it; If fair Ophelia’s gift my _whole_ had been, Pray, would her majesty do right to take it?

The following fine example of the charade is from the facile pen of W. M. Praed:

154.

“The canvas rattled on the mast As rose the swelling sail, And gallantly the vessel passed Before the cheering gale. And on my _first_ Sir Florice stood, As the far shore faded now, And looked upon the lengthening flood With a pale and pensive brow. ‘When I shall bear thy silken glove Where the proudest Moslems flee, My ladye-love, my ladye-love, Oh, waste one thought on me!’

“Sir Florice lay in a dungeon-cell, With none to soothe or save, And high above his chamber fell The echo of the wave; But still he struck my _second_ there, And bade its tones renew Those hours when every hue was fair, And every hope was true. ‘If still your angel footsteps move Where mine may never be, My ladye-love, my ladye-love, Oh, dream one dream of me!’

“Not long the Christian captive pined, My whole was round his neck, A sadder necklace ne’er was twined So white a skin to deck. Queen Folly ne’er was yet content With gems or golden store; But he who wears this ornament Will rarely sigh for more. ‘My spirit to the heaven above, My body to the sea, My heart to thee, my ladye-love, Oh, weep one tear for me!’”

We cannot better conclude than with the beautiful, though hackneyed, enigma on the letter H, one of the most perfect ever written. The honor of its authorship belongs to Miss Ferrier.

155.

“’Twas whispered in Heaven, ’twas muttered in Hell, And Echo caught faintly the sound as it fell; On the confines of Earth ’twas permitted to rest, And the depths of the Ocean its presence confessed. ’Twill be found in the sphere when ’tis riven asunder, Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder; ’Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath, Attends at his birth, and awaits him in death; Presides o’er his happiness, honor and health, Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth. In the heaps of the miser ’tis hoarded with care, But is sure to be lost by his prodigal heir. It begins every hope, every wish it must bound; With the husbandman toils, with the monarch is crowned; Without it the soldier, the sailor may roam, But woe to the wretch who expels it from home! In the whisper of conscience its voice will be found, Nor e’en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned. ’Twill not soften the heart; but, though deaf to the ear, ’Twill make it acutely and instantly hear. In shade let it rest—like a delicate flower, Or breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour!”

ANSWERS TO CONUNDRUMS, ENIGMAS, ETC.

1. A flea.

2. Because we must all give it up.

3. Because the engine cannot play upon it.

4. Because he has been to sea (see).

5. Kittens.

6. When he’s a weak (week) back.

7. One I was and the other I wear.

8. A looking-glass.

9. Short.

10. Because P makes “ass” “pass.”

11. Because it hasn’t a curd (occurred).

12. Because all the rest are in-audible.

13. Because he has M. P. at the end of his name.

14. Because it is killed first and cured afterward.

15. Because it is uttered, but not allowed (aloud).

16. Because there are fewer of them.

17. Because its head is on one side and its tail on the other.

18. Because he is a-seeking (sea-king) what never was.

19. Two-and-twopence.

20. Because it’s the scenter (centre).

21. A cock robbing (cock-robin).

22. Hailing omnibuses.

23. When it is made into little pats.

24. Because it’s a watch-you may-call-it.

25. Invisible green.

26. D K.

27. Absence of body.

28. Facetiously.

29. Because it’s the grub that makes the butterfly.

30. The letter M.

31. A draught (draft).

32. A glove.

33. The one is a rhododendron and the other is a cold apple-dumpling. (You surely wouldn’t wish for a greater difference than that.)

34. Because he’s naturally her suitor (hirsuter).

35. A bald head.

36. Because it is the centre of light.

37. Because _we_ cannot be _wed_ without it.

38. Hope—hop.

39. Because one tongue is enough for any woman.

40. Yew. (This is a riddle which should be used with due precaution.)

41. Putting out tubs to catch soft water when it rains hard.

42. Because none but the brave deserve the fair (fare).

43. To take the jaw out of a woman.

44. Because all the mails (males) are tied up in bags.

45. R made her (Armada).

46. Because it is making game of him.

47. The word “wholesome.”

48. Because it is a fellow feeling for another.

49. When he doubles his fists.

50. Because his gait (gate) is broken and his locks are few.

51. Because it is ten to one if you catch it.

52. Because it makes men mean.

53. When he cannot help it.

54. A step farther (step-father).

55. Because his master pays it for him.

56. When he says he’s a bacca’-stopper (ease her, back her, stop her).

57. Because it makes needles needless.

58. Because in France all the water is “l’eau.”

59. The one gives milk and the other gives whey (way).

60. A cowslip.

61. Wet.

62. They would go after tea (T).

63. Because they ride on the main (mane).

64. When Henry VIII. dissolved the Pope’s bull.

65. A, because it makes her hear.

66. Because there is no living without them.

67. When it is all on one side.

68. Because the cat’ll (cattle) eat it.

69. Because he is one beside himself.

70. Because the sooner they are carried out the better.

71. U, because it is always in fun.

72. Because Gee (G) makes it Go.

73. The one is “hard up” and the other soft down.

74. Stone.

75. Because it makes oil boil.

76. Quick.

77. The elephant the most, because he never travels without his trunk. The fox and the cock the least, because they have only one brush and comb between them.

78. None; they are all carried to it.

79. Cake, which is only occasionally “tipsy,” while wine is always drunk.

80. The one who has the largest head.

81. Because they sell what they knead (need) themselves.

82. The Great Bear (grate bare).

83. His daughter.

84. When he is turned into a meadow.

85. The new moon; because the full moon is a great deal lighter.

86. Make the waistcoat and trousers first.

87. Because he takes you in with an open countenance.

88. Because for every grain they give a peck.

89. Noise.

90. Your mother.

91. For divers reasons.

92. For sun-dry reasons.

93. Dates.

94. Because it is always in waiting.

95. The letter I.

96. Like to be drowned.

97. Because they are in happiness, while all the rest are in purgatory.

98. Because it is the end of beef.

99. The outside.

100. Your pillow.

101. Because the sooner it is put on the better.

102. B natural.

103. Haste.

104. The letter M.

105. The letter S. S(IX).

106. Because his wicked works are brought to light.

107. A nail in a shoe.

108. Because no one was clever enough to make out his policy.

109. Because he puts down three and carries one.

110. Because it is very often passed over.

111. Advice.

112. His son.

113. A bed.

114. His foot.

115. A lie, of course.

116. A jest.

117. “The Lay of the Last Minstrel.”

118.

A man used to deceit. Can best counterfeit (count her feet); And so, I suppose, He could best count her toes.

119. Throw him out of a second-story window, and let him come down plump.

120. The one is happy and careless the other cappy and hairless.

121. When the first apple cursed the first pair (pear).

122. From a swan’s breast.

123. Because they were two relatives without an antecedent.

124. A ditch.

125. Because women make fools of them.

126. Because it is apt to split.

127. A footman.

128. The dove, because she minds her peas and coos (p’s and q’s).

129. Sunday, because all the others are _weak_ days.

130. Tie a knot in his tail, and call it a pig’s tie (pig-stye).

131. Because he’s an ass.

132. In the dictionary.

133. The one speaks without reflecting, the other reflects without speaking.

134. Because he can always eat the sand which is (sandwiches) there.

135. Because they die just (digest) before they eat them.

136. Against his inclination.

137. Maid of Orleans, of course.

138. Because she makes both ends meet.

139. Because without a tail it is nothing.

140. Because he had no knife.

141. Rooks, because they never complain without caws.

142. A pair of post-horses (which have only the postilion’s leg between them).

143. Insatiate.

144. Cod.

145. Chocolate.

146. Tea-chest.

147. Won-der.

148. On! Stanley! on!—On-i-on.

149. A toast.

150. The letter E.

151. Wel-come.

152. La-tin.

153. Rhu-barb.

154. Bow-string.

155. The letter H.

REBUSSES.

THE FOLLOWING ARE REBUSSES ON THE NAMES OF BIRDS.

1. A child’s plaything.

2. What we all do at every meal.

3. A disorder incident to man and horse.

4. Nothing, twice yourself, and fifty.

5. What we should always be ready to do to persons fighting, and the top of a house.

6. Equality and decay.

7. A celebrated English architect.

8. A tailor’s implement.

9. A lever.

10. An instrument for raising weights.

11. Three-eighths of a monthly publication, with a baked dish.

12. A valuable species of corn, and a very necessary part of it.

13. A cheated person.

14. A distant country.

15. Spoil half a score.

16. The defence of a bridge.

17. An instrument of diversion for men and boys.

18. A piece of wood, and a fashionable name for a street.

19. To cut off, and a vowel.

20. A piece of land, and a good thing which it produces.

21. What we say a person has got when he falls into the water.

22. An Animal which a Jew must not eat, a vowel, and a preposition.

23.

I am found in a jail; I belong to a fire; And am seen in a gutter abounding in mire: Put my last letter third, and then ’twill be found I belong to a king, without changing my sound.

24.

Ye rebus wits, Now mind your hits; For your’s the task My name to unmask: A fruit we eat, As sauce to meat; And with fish too, That wants a _gout_; One letter, pray, Take quite away; A point of land You’ll understand Which sailors dread Too near their lead, But when embay’d, Enjoy its shade: One more letter Then unfetter The thing that’s left, When thus bereft, Is worn by all, Both great and small, From king and queen To beggar mean.

ANAGRAMS.

1. Ten tea pots.

2. Sly Ware.

3. It’s in charity.

4. Golden land.

5. Great helps.

6. Rare mad frolic.

7. Honor est a Nilo.

8. Hard case.

9. Claims Arthur’s seat.

10. No, appear not at Elba.

11. No more stars.

12. O poison Pitt.

13. I hire parsons.

14. Got as a clue.

15. To love ruin.

16. Best in prayer.

17. Nay, I repent it.

18. Veto. Un corse la finira.

19. Comical trade.

20. Spare him not.

21. Real fun.

22. In Magic tale.

23. Evil fast.

24. Yes Milton.

25. ’Tis ye govern.

26. See a pug dog.

27. A just master.

28. Made in pint pots.

29. A hot pen.

30. I call many sot.

31. A nice Pet.

32. The bar.

33. The law.

34. Truly he’ll see war.

35. I send into Siam.

36. True, I am in.

37. Hire a prison.

38. There we sat.

LOGOGRIPHS.

1.

A creature was formerly seen in England, which has lately been expelled from it, and which has some very peculiar properties appertaining to it. It stands upon one leg,—on which, without any body, is seen a great square head. It has three eyes, of which the centre is by far the largest; indeed so much so, that it has before now contained two more. The head is of a very peculiar construction, but exactly suited to its design: whenever it is about to be used, it is separated in halves, and, when reconnected, is held up to the gaze of an insolent rabble. All the notice, however, which it generally attracts, results from its being the effectual means of exhibiting another to the gaze of a hostile crowd. Such is this when entire; but when divided, and cut to pieces, a curious and careful observer may collect all that follows, by a selection and appropriate arrangement of its fragments.

A dose of medicine conveyed in a very agreeable manner, as, however nauseous its ingredients may have originally been, it is quite tasteless. Such a state of the physical powers as requires such a dose. A part of the face, of a color quite different from the rest, and the more handsome, the greater the difference. A public record on which many are very anxious to get their names entered; or, to descend from great things to small, a substance that is devoured every morning for breakfast. A river which flows through a very delightful and agreeable part of Europe. What curious people are very fond of doing. What a candidate, for your vote at the next general election, if he should think it worth his while, will demand. A very poetical portion of the watery element, which murmurs and meanders in the description of many a poetaster. A quality of resinous substances. A female nickname. What is very necessary to be done occasionally in your shrubbery. An exclamation of surprise. A flower displaying more to admire than Solomon in all his glory. To tear. The expressed juice of olives,—and its adjective. A conjunction. And two initial letters, whose reiterated sounds have drowned the voices of strutting monarchs and ephemeral heroes.

2.

Ye who in mystic lines delight, Unveil and bring me forth to light, Nor deem me tiresome, if my song Should, like myself, prove wondrous long. It may perhaps excite your mirth, That animals to me give birth; Yet vegetables oftener claim The honor to produce the same. One time as white as snow I’m seen, Another, red, blue, yellow, green; The friendly brown I also wear, Or in a sable garb appear: The rhetorician owns my power, For though well dressed with many a flower His florid speech would gain no praise, But, losing me, contempt would raise. But now my name you surely know, Dissected in the lines below. That power to which we all must bend; And what we call a valued friend; A goddess of revengeful fame; And Abram’s near relation’s name; Two articles in common use; And what we oft complain of news; A weed which grew upon the plain, Suffer’d till harvest to remain; Two quadrupeds will next appear, Which both conduce to sport and cheer; A third, a noxious little creature; And what adds charms to simple nature; A fruit; a color; and a date A firm support of Britain’s state; What high, yet low, we wish to be; A term for one who goes to sea; One thing another oft put over; Two things by this you may discover,— To make my hint somewhat more plain, One keeps the other from the rain; The vital spring of every woe; And every pleasure that we know; What’s always done whene’er we walk; And what we do when others talk; With what we’ve done when they give o’er Two notes in music next explore; What, join’d to _home_, is sent about, As invitation to a rout; What oft we see upon the plain; Two little words denoting pain, Or quick surprise, or laughter vain A sign of sorrow; mark of spirit; What envy bears superior merit; A fragrant shrub we oft infuse: Two pronouns in most frequent use; A passion which the envious feel; A weapon pointed oft with steel; One of the properties of stone; A term for misanthrope well known; What oft in summer months we feel; What aids when secrets you reveal; What sinful deeds should ever be; What’s daily done by you and me. If all these meanings you expound, Just five and forty will be found.

3.

I was before the world begun, Before God made the rising sun; Before He made the lesser lights To drive the darkness from the nights. I’m at the bottom of the sea, And I am in immensity; The daily motion of the earth Dispels me, and to me gives birth; You cannot see me if you try, Although I’m oft before your eye. Such is my whole. But for one part You’ll find in taste I’m rather tart;— Now I become th’ abode of men,— And now for meaner things, a pen; I am a man who lives by drinking,— Anon I keep a weight from sinking; To take me, folks go far and near, I am what children like to hear; I am a shining star on high, And I’m its pathway through the sky; I take the strength from iron and steel,— Am sometimes left behind a wheel; I am a term of due respect,— Am used in English to connect; I’m made to represent a head,— Am found on every loaf of bread. Such are the many forms I take, All these, and many more I make; Yet, after all, so strange am I, Soon as you know me, then I die.

4

The man of letters finds me in his books; The angler by the side of babbling brooks; The sportsman seeks me with his dog and gun; In foreign lands the traveler thinks I’m won; The spendthrift hopes to buy me with his gold; And childhood has me when a tale is told; The love of me decoys the giddy youth, From useful studies, till he learns this truth, “All those who seek me _only_, most I fly;” Lastly, when you my hidden sense descry, You’ll own that for my sake you pondered long The countless changes, that to me belong. Such am I as a whole—but for _one_ part,— The youth invokes me when he feels love’s dart; The Swiss, when exiled from his native vales, Hears me with anguish, and his fate bewails; New zest I add to scandal’s busy hour; And adverse winds and tides confess my power; I am the dazzling source whence colors flow; The sluggard’s teacher; and your equal now; Without me sails were useless; then a word Expressing like; and now meek woman’s lord; To measure next; anon to add; to vex; The gentle office of the weaker sex; I’m flesh, not fish—I’m silent ever; Sought by all ranks, on earth found never; Your near relation, and the squirrel’s food; What you would keep when in a lazy mood; Neptune’s abode; the forest monarch’s pride; A term to the departed souls applied; What you possess, but others oftener use; Your coat must have me, spite of what you choose; Now the soft clime of “the cedar and vine;” And last, a short word importing new wine. More could I tell, but I bid you adieu, Lest by prating I cause my own loss to you.

SOLUTIONS TO REBUSSES.

1. Kite.

2. Swallow.

3. Thrush.

4. OWL.

5. Partridge.

6. Parrot.

7. Wren.

8. Goose.

9. Crow.

10. Crane.

11. Magpie.

12. Wheatear.

13. Gull.

14. Turkey.

15. Marten.

16. Starling.

17. Bat.

18. Sparrow.

19. Snipe.

20. Fieldfare.

21. Duck.

22. Pigeon.

23. Grate; great.

24. Caper; cape; cap.

SOLUTIONS TO ANAGRAMS.

1. Potentates.

2. Lawyers.

3. Christianity.

4. Old England.

5. Telegraphs.

6. Radical reform.

7. Horatio Nelson.

8. Charades.

9. Charles James Stuart.

10. Napoleon Bonaparte.

11. Astronomers.

12. The opposition.

13. Parishioners.

14. Catalogues.

15. Revolution.

16. Presbyterian.

17. Penitentiary.

18. La Revolution Française.

19. Democratical.

20. Misanthrope.

21. Funeral.

22. Enigmatical.

23. Festival.

24. Solemnity.

25. Sovereignty.

26. Pedagogues.

27. James Stuart.

28. Disappointment.

29. Phaeton.

30. Monastically.

31. Patience.

32. Breath.

33. Wealth.

34. Arthur Wellesley.

35. Dissemination.

36. Miniature.

37. Parishioner.

38. Sweetheart.

SOLUTIONS TO LOGOGRIPHS.

1. Pillory: in which may be found pill; ill; lip; roll; Po; pry; poll; rill; ropy; Polly; lop; lo; lily; rip; oil; oily; or; O. P.

2. Thread: in which may be found, death; dear; Ate; Terah; the; dearth; tare; hare; hart; rat; art; a; date; red; era; trade; rated; tar; hat; head; heart; tread; hear; heard; re; da; at, herd; ah; ha; tear; dare; hate; tea; her; eh; hated; dart; hard; hater; heat; ear; hatred; eat.

3. Obscurity: in which may be found, sour; city; sty; sot; buoy; tour; story; orb: orbit; rust; rut; sir; or; bust; crust.

4. Amusement: in which may be found, Muse; tea; stream; sun; ant; mate; mast; as; man; mete; sum; tease; amuse; meat; mute; ease; aunt; nut; seat; sea; mane; manes; name; seam; east; strum.

Some persons cannot, without considerable difficulty, find the proper answer to an enigma or a rebus; while others, of no greater general acuteness, do so with ease. It is no proof, therefore, of inferiority, not to be able to reply to a quaint conundrum, so quickly as another. Many young people have displayed much ingenuity in the construction of different sorts of riddles in rhyme,—they are, in general, the most happy in solving those of others. The admirers of these frequently amusing trifles, consider opposition in their component parts, or curious combinations, to be most essential in the construction of good riddles.

CHARADES.

In some form or other, the game of charades is played in almost every country under the sun. The most popular form is as follows:

Send one-half the company out of the room, the others remaining as audience. Rooms separated by double doors or portières are best for the scene of action.

The party outside thinks of some word which can be represented entire, in pantomime or tableau. Thus, the door opening, discloses a half dozen young girls standing in a line, while one of the acting party announces that this striking tableau represents the name of a famous orator. The audience failing to guess, is told that Cicero (Sissy-row) is the man.

Again just as the clock strikes ten, the doors opening, reveal a lady eating an apple or any convenient edible, while a gentleman who stands near, points to the clock and then at her. This being correctly guessed to represent “attenuate,” (at ten you ate) the other side goes from the room and the previous performers become the audience.

There are a host of words which, with a little ingenuity and the aid of a dictionary, may be turned to account. For example:

Ingratiate. (In grey she ate.)

Catering. (Kate. Her ring.)

Hero. (He row.)

Tennessee. (Ten, I see.)

And so on. Clever players will devise new and amusing combinations in the game.

Charades may be performed after a variety of different fashions. First is the highly finished charade, with speech and action carefully prepared and duly rehearsed. Secondly, the spoken charade, got up on the spur of the moment, words and action alike _ex tempore_. We have seen a good deal of fun got out of charades of this description; but unless the actors are of more than average ability, and have some little dramatic experience, the chances are much against any very satisfactory result. On the whole, we should strongly recommend, that where a charade is got up _ex tempore_, it should be acted in pantomime only. It is of course understood that, whatever be the particular mode of performance, a charade always represents a “word” to be guessed, with one scene to each syllable (or group of consecutive syllables), and a final scene representing the whole word. The successive scenes are sometimes wholly independent of each other, but in the more finished class of charades are made parts of a complete drama. The following are good charade words:—

Knighthood, Penitent, Looking-glass, Hornpipe, Necklace, Indolent, Light-house, Hamlet, Pantry, Phantom, Windfall, Infancy, Snow-ball, Definite, Bowstring, Carpet, Sunday, Shylock, Earwig, Matrimony, Cowhiding, Welcome, Sweepstake, Sackcloth, Antidote, Antimony, Pearl-powder, King-fisher, Football, Housekeeping, Friendship, Horsemanship, Coltsfoot, Bridegroom, Housemaid, Curl-papers, Crumpet.

It will be obvious that in some of these instances, as, for instance, “Sweepstake,” “Housekeeping,” two syllables must be taken together to supply the _motif_ for a single scene.

We will take the word “Windfall,” as affording a ready illustration of the pantomime charade, and be it remembered that, in charades of this description, the shorter and simpler the action the better. Thus the scene, “Wind,” may be represented by a German Band, puffing away at imaginary ophicleides and trombones, with distended cheeks and frantic energy, though in perfect silence. The next scene, “Fall,” may be a party of boys on a slide, who “keep the pot-a-boiling” for a moment or two, and then _exeunt_. Enter an elderly gentleman, with umbrella up; walks unsuspectingly on to the slide, and falls. It should be mentioned, that the expedient adopted in the _very_ early days of the drama, of putting up a placard to notify, “This is a street.” “This is the quarter-deck of the _Baltimore_,” is quite correct in the case of a pantomime charade. The complete word, “Windfall,” may be represented by a young man sitting alone, leaning his elbows on his hands, and having every appearance of being in the last stage of impecuniosity. To produce this effect, he may go through a pantomime of examining his purse and showing it empty, searching his pockets, and turning them one by one inside out, shaking his head mournfully, and sitting down again, throwing into his expression as much despair as he conveniently can. A letter carrier’s whistle is heard; a servant enters with a legal-looking letter. The impecunious hero, tearing it open, produces from it a roll of bank-notes (these, if a due supply of the genuine article does not happen to be readily obtainable, may be of the “Bank of Elegance” description), and forthwith gives way to demonstrations of the most extravagant delight, upon which the curtain falls.

A very absurd, but not the less meritorious, charade of this class is represented as follows:—The curtain rises (_i. e._, the folding-doors are thrown open), and a placard is seen denoting, “This is Madison Square,” or any other place where professional men most do congregate. Two gentlemen in out-door costumes cross the stage from opposite sides, and bow gravely on passing each other, one of them saying, as they do so, “Good-morning, doctor.” The curtain falls, and the audience are informed that the charade, which represents a word of six syllables, is complete in that one scene. When the spectators have guessed, or been told that the word is “met-a-physician,” the curtain again rises on precisely the same scene, and the same performance, action for action, and word for word, is repeated over again. The audience hazard the same word “metaphysician,” as the answer, but are informed that they are wrong,—the word now represented having only three syllables, and they ultimately discover that the word is “metaphor” (met afore).

In another charade of similar character, if the audience be classically inclined, when the curtain rises, nothing is seen but a little toy wooden horse, such as can be bought for fifty cents. The spectators are told that this forms a word of two syllables, representing an island in the Ægean Sea. If the spectators are well up in ancient geography, they may possibly guess that Delos (deal ’oss) is referred to. The curtain falls, and again rises on the same contemptible object, which is now stated to represent a second island in the same part of the world. The classical reader will at once see that Samos (same ’oss) is intended. Again the curtain rises on the representation of another island. _Two_ little wooden horses now occupy the scene, Paros (pair ’oss) being the island referred to. Once more the curtain rises, this time on a group of charming damsels, each reclining in a woe-begone attitude, surrounded by pill-boxes and physic-bottles, and apparently suffering from some painful malady. This scene represents a word of three syllables, and is stated to include all that has gone before. Cyclades (sick ladies), the name of the group to which Delos, Samos, and Paros belong, is of course the answer.

Another comical charade is a performance representing the word “imitation.” The spectators are informed that the charade about to be performed can only be exhibited to one person at a time. One person is accordingly admitted into the room in which the actors are congregated. The unhappy wight stares about him with curiosity, not unmingled with apprehension, fearing to be made the victim of some practical joke; nor is his comfort increased by finding that his every look or action is faithfully copied by each person present. This continues until he has either guessed or given up the word, when a fresh victim is admitted, and the new initiate becomes in turn one of the actors. Sometimes, however, the victim manages to turn the laugh against his persecutors. We have known a young lady, seeing through the joke, quietly take a chair, and remain motionless, reducing the matter to a simple trial of patience between herself and the company.

Acted charades, to be successful, demand much care and preparation. There are numerous printed collections of charades of this kind, obtainable from any bookseller. Whatever be the charade selected, we cannot too strongly impress upon the reader the advantage of frequent and careful rehearsal.

JUVENILE GAMES.

“WHAT D’YE BUY?”

This game may be played by any number from three to thirteen. There are a dozen good-sized pieces of cardboard, each bearing a colored illustration of one of the “trades” following: viz., a milliner, a fishmonger, a greengrocer, plumber, a music-seller, a toyman, mason, a pastrycook, a hardware-man, a tailor, a poulterer, and a doctor. Besides these there are a number of smaller tickets, half a dozen to each trade. Each of these has the name of the particular trade and also the name of some article in which the particular tradesman in question may be considered to deal. A book accompanies the cards, containing a nonsense story, with a blank at the end of each sentence.

One of the players is chosen as leader, and the others each select a trade, receiving the appropriate picture, and the six cards containing the names of the articles in which the tradesman deals. He places his “sign” before him on the table, and holds the remainder of his cards in his hand. The leader then reads the story, and whenever he comes to one of the blanks, he glances towards one of the other players, who must immediately, under penalty of a forfeit, supply the blank with some article he sells, at the same time laying down the card bearing its name. The incongruity of the article named with the context make the fun of the game, which is heightened by the vigilance which each player must exercise in order to avoid a forfeit. Where the number of players is very small, each may undertake two or more trades.

We will quote a small portion of the story, by way of illustration. The concluding words indicate the trade of the person at whom the leader glances to fill up a given hiatus.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I propose to relate some curious adventures which befell me and my wife Peggy the other day, but as I am troubled with a complaint called ‘Non mi ricordo,’ or the ‘Can’t remembers,’ I shall want each of you to tell me what you sell: therefore when I stop and look at one of you, you must be brisk in recommending your goods. Whoever does not name something before I count ‘three’ must pay a forfeit. Attention!

“Last Friday week I was awoke very early in the morning by a loud knocking at my door in Humguffin Court. I got up in a great fright, and put on”—(looks at Toyman, who replies, “a fool’s cap and bells,” and lays down that card).

“When I got downstairs, who should there be but a fat porter, with a knot, on which he carried”—(Poulterer) “a pound of pork sausages.”

“‘Hallo!’ said I, ‘my fine fellow, what do you want at this time of day?’ He answered”—(Fishmonger) “A cod’s head and shoulders.”

“‘Get along with you,’ I said; ‘there’s my neighbor, Dr. Drenchall, I see, wants’”—(Butcher) “a sheep’s head.”

“I now went up to shave, but my soap-dish was gone, and the maid brought me instead”—(Milliner) “a lady’s chip hat.”

“My razor had been taken to chop firewood, so I used”—(Greengrocer) “a cucumber.”

“I then washed my face in”—(Doctor) “a cup of quinine,” “cleaned my teeth with”—(Fishmonger) “a fresh herring,” and “combed my hair with”—(Pastrycook) “a jam tart.”

“My best coat was taken possession of by pussy and kittens, so I whipped on”—(hardware-man) “a dripping pan.”

“The monkey, seeing how funny I looked, snatched off my wig, and clapped on my head”—(Poulterer) “a fat hen.”

“I now awoke my wife, and asked her what she had nice for breakfast; she said”—(Doctor) “a mustard plaster.”

“Then I scolded Sukey, the servant, and called her” (Poulterer) “a tough old turkey.”

“But she saucily told me I was no better than”—(Music-seller) “an old fiddle.”

“I soon had enough of that, so I asked my wife to go with me to buy”—(Tailor) “a pair of trousers.”

“But she said she must have her lunch first, which consisted of——” etc., etc., through half a dozen pages, the tradesmen supplying more or less appropriate articles to fill up the gaps in the discourse.

“A TRIP TO PARIS.”

There is another game on the same principle, known by the somewhat ambitious title of “The most Laughable Thing on Earth; or A Trip to Paris.” The tickets for this game are nearly 150 in number, each containing name and grotesque sketch of some article or articles, as “a hod of mortar,” “a guinea-pig,” “a basin of gruel,” “a wheelbarrow,” “a jar of pickles,” “a tub of soft soap,” “two dozen eggs,” “Jemima’s new bonnet,” “some castor-oil,” “a penny whistle,” “a peck of peas,” etc., etc. The game is full of innocent nonsense and played precisely as in the last case (save that there is no reference to any particular trades). The story to be read by the leader commences as follows:

“Brown, Jones, and Robinson were walking together in the streets of Boston, when Brown suddenly exclaimed, ‘I will go to Paris, and return the personification of ——’

“‘I, too,’ said Jones, ‘should like to see Paris, but I have not got ——’

“‘And I should like to accompany you,’ said Robinson, ‘if I knew ——’

“‘Go with us then,” said Brown, ‘and we’ll have ——’

“‘There’s an excursion train to New York in the morning; we can see the “lions” there on our way, and then take ——’

“It was now ‘Pack and off!’ Brown went to bid his friends good-bye, giving to each a parting gift. To an old schoolfellow he gave ——

“To Matilda Jane, a young lady who laid claim to his heart, he gave, with a kiss, ——

“Now, Matilda Jane would not be outdone, so she kissed him twice, and begged him to accept of ——

“Brown was perplexed, but he took the gift, and going home was saluted by the children, who shouted, ‘There goes a man with ——’

“That night he had wonderful dreams; he thought he was chased by ——

“And that he was trying to crowd into his carpetbag ——

“When a man came along and charged him with stealing ——

“He was enraged at this, and was about to pitch into the man, when he awoke, and found it all a dream, caused by his having eaten for supper ——

“He was early at the station, and on asking for a ticket, the clerk gave him ——”

And so on, in like manner. These last games, as a change from graver recreations, make a good deal of fun, particularly with young players.

THE COOK WHO DOESN’T LIKE PEAS.

The fun of this game depends on a fair proportion of the players not being acquainted with it. The leader begins, addressing the first player, “I have a cook who doesn’t like peas (_p’s_); what will you give her for her dinner?” The person addressed, if acquainted with the secret, avoids the letter _p_ in his answer, and, for example, says, “I will give her some walnuts.” The question is then asked of the second person, who, if unacquainted with the trick, is likely enough to offer some delicacy which contains the letter _p_; _e. g._, potatoes, asparagus, pork, apple-pie, pickled cabbage, peanuts, etc., etc. When this occurs, the offender is called upon to pay a forfeit, but the precise nature of his offence is not explained to him. He is simply told, in answer to his expostulations, that “the cook doesn’t like _p’s_.” When a sufficient number of forfeits has been extracted, the secret is revealed, and those who have not already guessed it are aggravated by being told over and over again that the cook did not like _p’s_, and if they would persist in giving them to her, they must, of course, take the consequences.

WORD-MAKING.

It is surprising what a fund of amusement may be derived by the children from four or five alphabets, printed on card-board, and then cut up into, say, half-inch squares, with a single letter on each. A double supply of vowels will be found an advantage. The most simple mode of using the alphabets is for one person to pick out the letters forming some word, _e. g._, “nevertheless,” and then hand them, well mixed together, to another player, who endeavors to discover what word they form.

Another game is played as follows.—The players, each of whom is supplied with paper and pencil, are divided equally into two sides, and the leader having selected a word, suppose “notwithstanding,” each party sets to work to see how many different words they can make of the same letters. (Thus from the word above suggested may be made “not, with, stand, standing, gin, ton, to, wig, wit, his, twit, tan, has, had, an, nod, tow, this, sat, that, sit, sin, tin, wing, what, who, wish, win, wan, won,” and probably a host of others.) A scrutiny is then taken, all words common to both parties being struck out. The remainder are then compared, and the victory is adjudged to the one having the largest number of words.

Sometimes the division into sides is dispensed with, and each player depends on himself. Another purpose for which the alphabets in question is used is that of forming _anagrams_, in the composition of which they are a very great assistance, but this is hardly simple enough for children. We are inclined to doubt whether the results obtained in this game bear a fair proportion to the labor involved; though it is unquestionable that once in a way an anagram is produced that is curiously appropriate. We may instance the following:

Telegraph, Great help, Florence Nightingale, Flit on, cheering angel, Astronomers, Moon starers.

A fourth Spelling Game is played by each person drawing, say twenty letters hap-hazard, and trying to form them into a sentence, the palm of merit being awarded to the player who at the same time produces the most coherent phrase, and also succeeds in using the greatest proportion of the letters assigned to him.

THE “YOUNG FOLKS’ CONCERT.”

The little players sit or stand round the room in a circle. The leader assigns to each some musical instrument, as harp, flute, violoncello, trombone, etc., and also selects one for himself. Some well-known tune is then given out, say “Yankee Doodle,” and the players all begin to play accordingly, each doing his best to imitate, both in sound and action, the instrument which has been assigned to him, the effect being generally extremely harmonious. The leader commences with his own instrument, but without any warning suddenly ceases, and begins instead to perform on the instrument assigned to one or other of the players. Such player is bound to notice the change, and forthwith to take to the instrument just abandoned by the leader, incurring a forfeit if he fails to do so.

MARY’S LITTLE LAMB.

This is a great favorite with the young folks. When everything else has become tiresome, some one starts the first line of the verse,

Mary had a little lamb, Fleece as white as snow, etc.

All sing, and on the second verse being reached the last syllable _of the first line_ is dropped, then the next to the last, the third, the fourth and so on, until the line is totally omitted. The aim of the singers is to keep exact time, counting a beat for each omitted syllable, and any one whose voice breaks in when all should be silent, pays a forfeit. The same can be done with “John Brown’s Body,” repeating the first verse and omitting syllable after syllable at the end of the first line until there is nothing left to sing but the chorus.

FUNNY OUTLINES.

The artistic faculty of the young folks is in this case brought into requisition. Slips of paper being distributed, each young player marks on his slip a crooked line of any shape he or she pleases. The papers are then exchanged, and each has to draw some sort of figure, working in as part of the outline the crooked line already drawn by his neighbor.

The best plan in this game is to allow the line already drawn, if possible, to suggest some figure, and to work out that idea. It is of course understood that the works of art to be produced are only expected to be of the very roughest description. If there is a difficulty in dealing with the outline as it stands, the player is entitled to place it on its side, or even upside down, if he prefers it.

Thus a curve may suggest a swan, a square may give a hint of a house, a wave-line of a snake or an eel, a long sweeping curve may fit in as a horse’s back, or an irregular outline may afford an idea for a comical face. The sketches produced with strict regard to the conditions of the game will be found full of fun and novelty, if not characterized by any high degree of art.

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 64, “initals” changed to “initials” (of their initials)

Page 65, for the text version the superscripted “d” was changed to “’d” (S’d be glad)

Page 67, repeated word “the” removed from text. Original read (If the the sermon has begun)

Pages 99 and 103, the illustration caption is the section header for the next problem.

Page 134, “Where” changed to “Were” (Were you very sorry)

Page 170, “villian” changed “villain” (leaves of the villain)

Page 173, “o” changed to “to” (adapted to the cone)

Page 205, “gallaries” changed to “galleries” (and other galleries)

Page 230, “quart” changed to “quarter” (to contain a quarter)

Page 250, “noisest” changed to “noisiest” (O the noisiest of all)

Page 274, “liftle” changed to “little” (noxious little creature)

Page 287, “surrround” changed to “surround” (surrounded by pill-boxes)

End of Project Gutenberg's How to Behave and How to Amuse, by G. H. Sandison