The Art of Amusing / Being a Collection of Graceful Arts, Merry Games, Odd Tricks, Curious Puzzles, and New Charades. Together with Suggestions for Private Theatricals, Tableaux, and All Sorts of Parlor and Family Amusements.

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.

THE HEADLESS BODY. THE HEADLESS BODY.—See page 209.

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.

For painting the moustaches and eyebrows, Indian-ink or burnt cork will answer.

There is one advantage which the spectacle can boast of: it affords the ladies an opportunity for giving those sweet little musical shrieks which are so charming, and of being frightened generally—some ladies look very bewitching when they are frightened—besides giving ladies an excuse for clinging to gentlemen's arms, which is very pleasant for the gentlemen.

Mr. Merryweather now introduced to our notice a young gentleman who was detailed to amuse us with some specimens of ventriloquism. We had no notion before this time, when our attention was particularly drawn to the subject, how much suitable action has to do with ventriloquial illusions. As performed before us by the young gentleman in question, whose name was Noddles, the deception was capital; but when the sounds were reproduced in a private room, without action, for our special instruction, we marvelled that any one could have been deluded by them. First of all, Mr. Noddles imitated the drawing of a cork. To give effect to this, he turned his back to the audience, and feigned to have a bottle between his knees. The method of doing this is so simple that we think we can almost describe it in words. First you make three or four chirps in succession, such as people are in the habit of making to birds; this sounds like driving in the corkscrew. Then you place your fore-finger in your mouth, and force it out so as to make a loud pop, which signifies that the cork is drawn. Then you smack your lips together, producing a sound something like "Pop—pop—pop—pop—pop—pop" rapidly, to imitate the wine bubbling from the bottle. VoilÀ tout!

After that, Mr. Noddles pretended to call to a mason up the chimney, the mason answering in a husky voice from above, and finally proceeding with his work of knocking out a brick. The knocking was produced much in the same way as the pouring out the wine, by parting the lips suddenly; only, in the case of the brick, the note was in a deeper key, more resembling "Bubp—bubp—bubp—bubp." We noticed particularly that when the performer addressed the person up the chimney, he spoke with especial clearness, delivering the words, as much as possible, from the lips. This was in order to produce a strong contrast to the tones of the man up the chimney, which were produced far down in his own throat.

Another of his performances was to pretend that a dog was under the lounge, which refused to come out, and finally bit him when he tried to drag it out by the leg.

Still another consisted in imitating a man outside the door trying to force it open. Sometimes the supposed man would succeed in forcing the door a short way, when a gush of his loud voice would rush in, to be immediately cut short by the sudden closing of the door.

Mr. Noddles concluded his part of the entertainment by the performance of the jumping rabbit—the rabbit on this occasion being made out of a lady's fur cuff tied up with a piece of string. This crude counterfeit of bunny he laid on the palm of his left hand, with one end resting against his fingers, as represented in the cut, while with the other hand he stroked and caressed it, saying at the same time, "Be still, bunny—don't run away; if you run away the dogs will catch you, and you will be made into chicken-pie, and your skin will be made into a fur cap and sold in the Bowery to—hallo! hold on! hi!" the latter exclamations being elicited by the rabbit jumping up his arm, while he struggled to capture it and bring it back with his right hand. The first jump made by the rabbit was produced by a sharp jerk of the fingers, which sometimes sends him flying into the middle of the room with a most lifelike effect.

But now a more imposing portion of the programme claims our attention. A subdued jingling of bells is heard at the door, a few spasmodic bumps, and in trots the patron saint of the day—good Santa Claus, sleigh, reindeer, red cap, and all. (See next page.) It may not have been polite, but we could not help it, and greeted the good saint with an unrestrained roar of laughter. Surely never before was seen out of Noah's Ark such a comical steed, such legs, such proportions, and such a dislocated style of locomotion. No matter, he amused us more than a whole troop of the veritable article from Spitzbergen; and, as a simple act of justice between man and beast, we must admit that he propelled Santa Claus and his turn-out in a most efficient, not to say intelligent, style around the room. This was the Merryweather substitute for a Christmas-tree. Santa Claus came to distribute the Christmas-gifts—a task he performed with a discretion beyond his years. It is pleasing to record that no one, not even the dullest in the company, recognised Master Georgy in his disguise; but one and all, with admirable tact, feigned to be completely taken in, and fully believed that they were receiving a visit from the good saint himself.

THE ARRIVAL OF SANTA CLAUS. THE ARRIVAL OF SANTA CLAUS.—See page 214.

After the vulgaris pueris, the elephant, and other specimens of zoology, it is almost needless to explain how the reindeer was constructed. Our illustration seems almost superfluous; still, something may be made a little clearer by them; and to them we refer the reader who wishes to learn how to build a reindeer. In the case before us, the hide of the deer was made out of a pair of army blankets, purchased by Merryweather for five dollars in Chambers street—about the best material that could possibly be selected for the purpose. These he cut out and fitted himself, and had them sewed on his wife's sewing-machine. The head and horns were made of thick brown paper, and here is the most difficult part of the animal to describe—not the most difficult to make, bear in mind. We hate long explanations, and yet we feel puzzled now, as we have often been before, to tell you how to make this reindeer mask. However, here goes: You require two or three sheets of thick brown paper, a bowl of paste (flour and water boiled), and a block of wood, from the wood-pile, of about six or seven inches in diameter. (See annexed cut.) You moisten one sheet of the paper slightly, and then mould it over the block; having done this, you smear the entire surface with paste, and mould another sheet of paper over that; then you smear the second sheet over with paste, and mould a third sheet over all; then let them stand till dry. This, when dry, can be removed from the block, and will give you a hollow cone on which you can paint the eyes and mouth of the deer, and to which you can likewise paste the horns, as indicated in this diagram. It may strike you that the diagram looks more like a bottle-nosed shark than the face of any denizen of the forest. You must not, however, be discouraged on this account; it will look all right when you get it in its proper place.

Need we add, that after this we had supper; when good-humor culminated in the grand old song of "Auld Lang Syne," all singing and joining hands round the table, down even to the little two and a half year old Dolly, whose auld lang syne dated no further back than two strawberry seasons. The idea of taking a "richt gude wully wut" with such a wee mite of a thing was so very comic that we all laughed right merrily, while Mrs. Merryweather, with tears in her eyes, clasped the child to her bosom as though she would protect it from some impending danger, possibly the approach of the monster "richt gude wully wut."

The ladies and children retired. And we gentlemen soothed our excited nerves with a quiet cigar in Mr. Merryweather's library.

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