The Art of Amusing

Mr. B. Pause, rash man! Did you say Puttyblow?

Artist. I did.

Mr. B. Have you a strawberry mark on your left arm?

Artist. Nature has ornamented me in the manner you describe.

Mr. B. Are you short-sighted in your left eye?

Artist. Such is my affliction.

Mr. B. Do you snore at nights?

Artist. So I have been informed by the people over the way, who have sent over several times to expostulate with me in the most offensive terms possible.

Mr. B. And sleep late in the morning?

Artist. I do.

Mr. B. (rushing forward.) My long-lost son!

Artist. Excuse me for one moment. Have you a gooseberry bush on your left arm?

Mr. B. Gooseberry? No – no – not specially.

Artist. Do you wear corns or paper collars?

Mr. B. Well, I've had chilblains.

Artist. Are you subject to hydrophobia?

Mr. B. Well, not precisely; but I've been run over by a Broadway omnibus.

Artist. Are you in the habit of committing suicide?

Mr. B. Well – I – I – don't know – I travel on the Hudson River Railroad sometimes.

Artist. Come to my arms, my long-lost father!

[They embrace.

Mr. B. Bless you, my boy – bless you! bless you!

Enter Lady. Artist sees her, and struggles to escape from Mr. B.'s grasp

Artist. Let go – let me go – drat it all, let go.

Mr. B. Bless you, my boy – bless you!

Lady. I have left my portemonnaie in your studio – will you be kind enough to let me have it?

Mr. B. Young woman, spare me!

Lady (to Artist). Pray protect me from this venerable ruffian.

Mr. B. (aside.) Venerable ruffian! Come, now, that is what the boys call rather rough. (Aloud.) Then you don't love me?

Lady. If you insult me further, I shall inform my father.

Mr. B. Then you have a father? – wonderful! Are you sure of it – no deception? What is his name? Where does he live? Tell me quick – quick – do not deceive me!

Lady. My father, sir, is General MacSlasher, who will not allow his daughter to be insulted with impunity.

Mr. B. MacSlasher! The brave MacSlasher, who married my half-cousin Columbia Ann, of Pickleville, Indiana?

Lady. Indeed, it is true.

Mr. B. Come to my arms, my long-lost niece! No, not niece; cousin – second cousin – oh, hang the relationship! Come to my arms, any way! But hold – you are the richest heiress in New York. I have the deeds in my pocket to prove it. By the will of your late grandfather Grampus you are the sole possessor of six blocks on Broadway, Trinity Church, Erie Railroad, two steamboats on the Hudson River that won't burst, and vast territories on Coney Island.

Artist. Good gracious!

Mr. B. Happy hour – auspicious moment! to have thus met my son and niece on the same day. Puttyblow, my son – no longer Puttyblow, but Bullywingle – this is the lady I have destined for you for ten long years, if I could only have found you. She is rich and beautiful. I know you love each other; and if you don't, make believe you do, or you'll spoil the play. Bullywingle, junior, embrace your bride! Take her and be happy! Bless you, my children – bless you!

Grand tableau. Mr. Puttyblow and Miss MacSlasher embrace. Mr. Bullywingle opens his umbrella, and, standing on one leg, holds it over them.

CHAPTER XVI

It may be remembered that in a recent chapter we mentioned being in a tranquil mood, and, while in that condition, calling on our friend Nix, and further, that Nix introduced us that same evening to some ladies with brown eyes.

Since that event the tranquil moods have come over us periodically, with rapidly increasing virulence. So much so that latterly we have found it desirable to dispense with the cumbrous ceremony of going round to call for Nix. The fact is we have taken a great fancy to that boy Little Pickle; he is certainly a very fine boy.

It occurs to us at this moment that we have not yet given a name to this family. Their real name is one of those which recall old revolutionary times directly it is uttered. One of those names which, to ourself at least, at once summons up a picture of marching ranks of men in three-cornered hats and yellow breeches, toiling forward with glistening muskets over their shoulders, past rows of quaint gabled houses. We cannot give the real name, of course – that is out of the question – so we will call them Adams, because that is not their name. Then we will subdivide them as follows: Mrs. Adams, Bud, Blossom, and Berry. We christen them thus because these were the titles they received in a little floral and pomological game we once played.

The Adams family were going to give a party. We were called in as consulting engineer, to suggest attractions. We readily accepted the office. The reader knows our system and will easily guess our first order. Objects to provoke conversation!

Pig made out of lemon. Good! The pig was made and applauded.

"But," suggested Bud, "why confine ourselves to a pig; surely we can make something else."

"Surely," we assented. So all of us set our wits to work at zoology.

Bud made the first discovery. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I have found out something beautiful – a whole litter of little pigs to go with the lemon!"

And, indeed, 'twas true. In a few seconds she had some almonds soaking in a cup of boiling water. In a few seconds more she was peeling off their brown jackets, revealing the smooth white nut, as white as the tips of her own taper fingers. The almonds were soon converted into sucking-pigs, and were admitted on all hands to look quite cunning, and as natural as nature, with their little white bodies grouped round the maternal lemon – some running, some standing, and some seated on their haunches.

We need not explain to the gifted reader the modus operandi. It is much the same as with the lemon, only the eyes are dotted with a black lead pencil and the ears are made from small slips of wood.

Stimulated by the success of Bud, Blossom dived down into the depths of her imagination, and fished out a goat. The goat was unquestionably a triumph. The body consisted of a pear, the head of an unbleached almond, the legs, horns, and beard of raisin stalks.

On the same principle, and with wonderful celerity, Berry took up the idea, gracefully acknowledged her indebtedness to the original inventor, and produced a deer – a deer with wide-spreading antlers made of raisin stalks, and legs of the same material, which counterfeited nature even to the knee-joints. The neck cost some little mental exertion, but was finally triumphed over in the following shape, neatly cut out of wood.

The deer now appeared truly a monarch of the forest; a little weak in the shoulders perhaps, and rather full-chested behind, but still a noble animal.

Not to be outdone with her own idea, Blossom wrestled vigorously with her subject, and ere we had ceased admiring the deer, had very nearly completed a sheep – a sheep so fleecy and short in the legs that it was at once voted the greatest triumph of all, though WE personally and privately thought, and still think, that, for true genius, Bud's idea of the pigs far exceeded any of them. The white almond certainly made a most admirable sheep's head, but then apple, of which the body was made, grew rapidly rusty when once peeled – so much so that we had to scrape our sheep once or twice in the course of the evening to restore its fleeciness.

Having made large herds of deer, flocks of goats and sheep, not to mention litters of pigs, we disposed some of them on the mantel-piece and what-nots, while others were reserved to make a grand pastoral scene on the supper table. Having finished these, we devoted our energies to constructing scent-bags and mice, the latter made out of apple-seeds, as described in a previous chapter. Here the transcendent genius of Bud again asserted itself – she invented a rat; a rat made out of an unbleached almond. When grouped with the mice and flour-sacks the effect was truly grand.

What now?

"What shall we make next?" was the general inquiry.

"Oh, can't you make something that will jump up?" eagerly suggested Little Pickle, who had kept pretty quiet during our zoological researches.

"Can't you make something that will jump up?" This was so vague that we were fain to demand further light.

"Oh, you know at our school one of the boys made a kind of thing with a bit of wax that jumped up and frightened you."

This was still far from clear, but whatever it might be, it was evidently calculated to frighten somebody, and so was immediately voted down by the ladies.

"Oh, make that gorilla portrait, you know," again entreated Little Pickle; "that makes such fun."

This proposition, though received coolly, was, nevertheless, discussed at some length, till Blossom called her sister's attention to the fact that one of their invited guests would be a certain Dr. O'Tang, who really did resemble a gorilla, and should the glass fall into his hands, he would feel hurt at the joke; so Little Pickle's second proposition was voted down.

We now felt a heavy weight of responsibility hanging on our shoulders. Six brown eyes were resting upon us, each as deep and brown as a mountain pool.

"Can we not do something with paper?" suggested Bud, her exquisite genius again coming to our aid. This suggestion gave us the cue.

"I have it," we exclaimed; "I will teach you to make stained glass. To be sure, it is only a variation of your own beautiful art of making transparencies; still, if you have never heard of the process, it may afford some amusement, and help you to decorate your rooms."

One apartment in the house of Adams was of the kind known as extension room. The two windows which separated this apartment from the back parlor served admirably to exhibit the new art. The object of the process is to produce an effect somewhat similar to the heraldic painting on the casements of old European houses, and is done thus:

You procure several sheets of tissue paper of various colors, a pair of scissors, and some fine boiled paste. You fold a sheet of the paper twice, then cut out of the folded paper a form – say, for example, like the one on the left: so that when the sheet is open there will be two pieces like the one on the right.

Paste one of these in the centre of the window-pane you wish to decorate, then paste the other over it, only lapping over a little on one side and below, as represented in this diagram.

When this is dry it will have a very pretty effect. Of course you can cut the papers in any form you choose and have them in different colors – red over green, or yellow over blue. You may also stitch one pattern of a smaller size right in the centre of another, or paste three or four different patterns one above the other, as illustrated by our subjoined cuts.

Having delivered our short lecture (illustrated with examples) to the six brown eyes, and also to the six white ears – like quaint sea-shells from the shores of Elysium – we all proceeded to operate on the windows before mentioned, and we are glad to say with the most pleasing results.

Our scissorings with the colored paper brought to light an accomplishment of Little Pickle, which set us all to work anew with scissors and pen and ink for some time.

Master Adams's system was this: he took a small piece of writing paper, and dropping a minute quantity of ink in the centre, then folded it right across the blot and rubbed it over with his finger. When the paper was opened it displayed some curious form or another. This, with a few touches of the pen, we generally made to resemble some object in nature. Bud made an excellent stag's head on one occasion, which we subjoin.

But Little Pickle's course of instruction did not stop with blots. He folded bits of paper and cut them into grotesque patterns, and set us all to filling them up with pictures. The great art consisted in making your design conform to the outline of the paper. One of these, which we happened to have brought away by accident, we have here engraved. It was drawn by Bud, and is really very clever.

That was a very delightful evening we passed with the Adams's. Little Pickle is a very fine boy; guess we will call for him on our road up in the afternoon – to go skating.

That night, when we reached home, we found Nix had called and left us a very curious work —The Veda, or the Sacred Writings of the Hindoos. We slept sweetly, and dreamed we were reclining on the banks of the Ganges conversing pleasantly with Brahma. Singular dream, was it not?

CHAPTER XVII

Blue and white Christmas, with his henchman, Santa Claus, having come and gone, leaving behind him, however, for a while, his raiment of white and blue, with a host of dear memories for our hearts' nourishment through the next twelvemonth's stage in this journey of life, we think we cannot better show our appreciation of his goodness than by painting a portrait of that small fraction of the universal jollity which fell to our individual lot.

We have some friends who live in the country, a long way from sidewalks and gas and railroads, or at least far enough off to debar the dear souls from many tastes of city pleasures. So, as these friends cannot well go to town for amusement, and as they have a large love of fun and several small children, they try to bring amusements home on all festive occasions.

To this house, with a small party of mutual acquaintances, we went our way on the twenty-fifth of December last. Before starting there were great business operations to be performed, and such a time as we had of it! One item was easily managed, and caused no mental anxiety. We went en masse to Ridley's, and, after waiting in a crowd of crinoline for some time, came away each with his dexter coat-pocket swelled out with a pound package of mixed candies. That, of course, was simple enough; but when it came to buying something else – something of a more durable nature – then our ingenuity was, indeed, put to the test. It will be seen that our task was no ordinary one. There were three of us, and we each wished, according to our annual custom, to present each member of the family with some appropriate gift; and as there were five in the family, namely – papa, mamma, daughter aged eleven, son aged four, and another daughter aged two, and assuming that we each only gave one object to each of the individuals in the country house, it would make – three fives are fifteen – fifteen different objects to be purchased, every one of which ought to differ from the other, besides being unlike anything they would be already likely to possess. When we came to compare notes, we found that we had, to a man, privately and separately resolved to present papa with a meerschaum pipe; two out of the three had thoughts of giving mamma a dressing-case; while the unanimity on the subject of work-boxes, dolls, and jumping-jacks was really marvellous.

But we must not linger around fancy-stores, and over candy counters, and in city streets. We have a long evening before us away off in the country, over miles of snowy roads. It is enough that, by the aid of a steaming locomotive, which whizzed and buzzed and thundered us through the lonely snow-clad cuttings, as though it were saying: "Come along! come along! come along! Hurry up! Pish! phew! Here's another stoppage! Clear the track! Don't keep us waiting!" stopping only now and then, stock still, to brighten up the mean way-station into a glow of mysterious grandeur, with fitful flashes of light, as though it were some monster fire-fly of the season. By means of this lusty bug at first, and afterwards by a rickety, ramshackle, old shandradan of a hack, tortured along by two horses, one of which was balky, we reached the house of our entertainers, where the light streamed out through the red curtains to meet us, and glorified the snow in our path long before we pulled up at the hospitable door.

Mr. and Mrs. Merryweather both greeted us heartily before we had kicked the snow from our boots; while the former, with a celerity equally creditable to his head and legs, dashed into the kitchen, and reappeared with three smoking glasses of hot brandy-punch.

"Here, boys," he cried, "take this. It will keep the cold out. Come, I insist upon it."

Mr. Greeley and other good people tell us that it is all wrong to drink spirituous liquors, and we are not quite clear ourself as to the propriety of the practice. But there was something genial in the thoughtful attention of our friend Merryweather, and something else grateful in the aroma of the brandy-punch, that certainly made us all feel more truly welcome and happy than had we been politely shown up-stairs to wash our hands in a cold bedroom, with the prospect of two doughnuts and a cup of weak tea to follow.

Aunty Delluvian was of the party, being a very old friend of the family. With regard to the company generally, it may be defined as mixed. Some of the children, whose parents were neighbors, betrayed their status by the excess of starch and bright colors which characterized their dresses; while others from the city displayed all the ostentatious simplicity of cultivated taste.

Mr. Merryweather opened the entertainment with an exceedingly well intentioned, though rather transparent, display of prestidigitation (if that is the way to spell the abominable word); but as most of his tricks depended upon the use of a new and complete set of conjuring apparatus he had purchased for the occasion, we will not linger over his magic rings and dice and cups. Two items, however, in his performance being attainable by very simple means, we will describe.

At one stage in the entertainment it seemed absolutely necessary that he should have the aid of a small boy, in order to make six copper cents pass from under a hat to the top of a bird-cage. Making known his want, a red-faced youth with black curly hair volunteered his services. The juvenile, be it observed, had rendered himself somewhat conspicuous by declaring at the end of every trick that he knew how it was done, and by inquisitively desiring to inspect the interior of goblets and the bottoms of boxes. Merryweather's eyes twinkled as this gentleman tendered his assistance.

"Here," he said, producing a small trumpet, "this is my magic horn. Take it in your right hand, till I say: 'Heigh! presto! pass!' Then, if your lungs are strong enough, and you blow with sufficient force, those six cents will pass from under the hat to the top of that cage yonder."

The youth took his stand firmly, looked knowingly, and placed the trumpet to his lips confidently.

"Are you ready?" asked Mr. Merryweather. "Then, heigh! presto! pass!"

In an instant the face of the bold volunteer, black hair, red cheeks, and all, were white as the driven snow; and comic enough he looked, as he gaped round with a chap-fallen expression, puzzled beyond measure to know into what condition he had blown himself. He had, in truth, blown himself all over flour, the trumpet being constructed for that special purpose.

This instrument is very simple. You first procure a tube of tin, or wood, or card-board, of about two inches in diameter. A box of the desired shape can be found in the store of almost any druggist, or in default of that, a wide-mouthed vial can be made to answer. The next thing required is a thin tube, for which a piece of elder or a stick of maccaroni will answer. These, with a large cork or bung, are all the materials that are required. Having cut a slice off the cork of about half an inch in thickness, you fit it tightly into the centre of the large tube; then cut another slice of the cork to fit into one end of the tube; but, before fixing it, cut some notches round the edge, and make a hole in the centre large enough to hold firmly the smaller tube. Now fix the smaller tube in the second cork, so that it will extend about two-thirds of the way down one of the compartments in the larger tube; fix the second cork (the one with the notches in it) in the mouth of the large tube, and the trumpet is made. By referring to the diagram, you will probably get a better idea of the construction of this weapon than from our description.

When you wish to use the instrument, pour flour through the notches you have cut in the cork, and it is ready. Any one blowing sharply through the small tube will, of course, blow all the flour in his own face.

The second item in Mr. Merryweather's entertainment we propose to describe is still more simple. One of his feats consisted in burning a hole in a pocket-handkerchief. To do this he required fire, so he ordered his assistant to bring in a candle, which was accordingly done, the candle being already lighted. As soon as Mr. Merryweather cast his eyes upon the luminary, he feigned to fly into a terrible passion, roundly rating the unfortunate attendant for presenting him with such a miserable fag-end of an old kitchen dip. Then taking the candle from the candlestick, he held the wretched stump up to the audience, and appealed to them whether it was not disgraceful that he, the great Wizard of the Western World, should be presented with such a paltry luminary.

"Why," he exclaimed, "I could eat a dozen such for lunch!"

And, suiting the action to the word, blew out the light, and popped the offending morsel in his mouth, and quietly munched it up.

A subdued cry of horror echoed through the apartments, above which was heard the exclamation of Aunty Delluvian:

"If the man isn't crunching his candle!"

To those not familiar with it, this trick is certainly startling. The truth is that the candle in question is made out of a piece of apple, with a small peg cut from a nut or almond for a wick. The almond wick will light readily, and burn brightly for some time, so that the deception is perfect. These diagrams will show the form in which to cut the candle and the wick, No. 1 representing the candle in its completed state, and No. 2 the wick before it is inserted.

The great wizard having completed his performances and retired into private life, even to the extent of handing cake round to the ladies and drinking a glass of wine himself, he mingled freely with the throng, but did not, however, unbend immediately, but smiled condescendingly when the ladies expressed admiration and surprise at the supernatural powers he had just displayed.

Aunty Delluvian continued to evince considerable disgust at our friend for eating the tallow candle, a feeling which found vent in utterance of the monosyllables:

"Finn! The Finn! The Finn!"

This good Aunty favored us with a narrative concerning an uncle of hers, who was a sea-captain, and once made a voyage to "Moscow!" It was a peculiarity, be it observed, of Aunty Delluvian, that she appeared to have uncles ready at hand for all emergencies. She told us that this uncle, when at the Sclavonic capital, invited some Russian officers on board his ship to dine. The dinner was of the most sumptuous description, but the Muscovites seemed to take but little interest in the repast, until something on deck happened to call the host up-stairs; on his return he found all the guests looking more cheerful. They chatted pleasantly until the party broke up; and then, and not till then, he discovered that his friends, during his absence, had drunk all the oil out of the lamps, eaten six boxes of candles stowed away under the table, and had even devoured the shaving-soap off his dressing-table.

We had a faint recollection of having heard this story before, and quite pleased Aunty Delluvian by telling her so; she considered it quite a tribute to her uncle's popularity.

The second feature of the evening's programme was of a less cheerful character than the first, consisting of the display of a no more pleasing object than a bodyless head. Our illustration on next page will at once place the scene before our readers, bereft, however, of some of the grim features of the real spectacle; for, as we beheld it, there was the real flesh tint, and the eyes rolled fearfully.

Startling and complete as is the illusion in this case, it is very simply managed. Get some person with a high forehead and tolerably long hair, and paint under the eyes a pair of eyebrows, and on the forehead a nose and pair of moustaches, as represented in the annexed cut. Then make the person lie down on his back under a table, in such a way that you can arrange a curtain so as to conceal all the body and half the face. Brush the hair out to resemble a beard, and you have a perfect representation of a bodyless head.