We have observed that Tableaux and Charades run in some families, and that these families are always ready to spend any amount of time and money to carry out their favorite ideas; we cannot help feeling considerable admiration for any one having some honest enthusiasm for any amusement in this toiling age of ours. But our mission is not to deal much with the costly or complicated. Those who wish to produce tableaux from Waverley or the Bride of Abydos, who desire to attire themselves as Mary Queen of Scots, Di Vernon, or Dolly Varden, we leave to their own devices, giving only our best wishes. There are, however, charades to be got up on the spur of the moment, which are not less entertaining than the more elaborate performances to which we allude. We will mention one or two which have come under our observation during a chequered existence; they may serve to give the key-note, if nothing more.

On the occasion of a certain impromptu party, the lady of the house begged some of her guests to get up something which would entertain the rest, some charades, or what not. Two gentlemen consulted for a moment, and then took up their positions in the back of the parlor, which represented the stage. One sat down to read, whilst the other crept up slyly behind him, and much to his dismay turned off the gas. They then both rose and declared the charade completed, leaving it to the audience to divine the answer. Whether any one guessed it or not we do not know—but the answer was Gastric—Gas-trick.

Another gentleman then stepped into the stage, with a large hat at the back of his head, and began calling—"Mooley, mooley, mooley; com, com, mooley. Where kin that keow a poked herself now? she's allers a concealing of herself somewheres or another—mooley," etc.,

His riddle was now concluded, and he desired the audience to give him the answer.

The answer was Cow-hiding.

A famous physician and wit was the next to come forward, accompanied by a friend. They took positions in opposite corners of the room, advanced towards each other, and as they passed, the friend said to the doctor, "How do, Doctor?" To the surprise of all, they declared the charade completed. No one could guess it, of course; the answer was metaphysician, met-a-physician.

Again they took their positions precisely as before, announcing that they were about to give another charade. Again they walked across the room, and as they passed, one said to the other, "How do, again?" This was the conclusion of the second charade; quite as puzzling as the first, only more so. The answer was metaphor—met-afore. This absurdity was received with roars of laughter and thunders of applause.

Charades of this kind, we are inclined to think, give more real pleasure after all, than the studied, costly elaborations. They are perhaps not so pretty; but, ye gods! where there are pretty women, what else could mortal man desire in the way of beauty!