A certain young lady with whom we are acquainted has discovered a new art, which seems to absorb a great portion of her being. It is a method by which almost anything may be transmuted into coral. The consequence of this discovery is that the English-basement house in which the maid in question dwells, is converted into a perfect mermaid's grotto. We told her so the other day, since which she has called us her Triton; and further intimated that in order to preserve the fitness of things, we might invite her to an oyster supper at Delmonico's. This hint we took with the avidity of a pickerel; but alas for the fickleness of woman, and our visions of marine happiness, the damsel changed her position and absolutely declined accepting our hospitality, even to the extent of a shrimp.

It is marvellous what very poor jokes afford rich amusement, when they are passed amongst intimate friends. When we called the lady in question, South Coral-ina, every one present seemed quite amused; indeed only one person, an obnoxious individual with large whiskers, seemed to resent it at all:—but now that the title by frequent repetition has assumed the character of a nickname, it is always received as an exquisite piece of humor. Numerous ramifications of this subject afford us endless themes for badinage.

We profess to ridicule the idea that involuntary servitude is abolished, when South Coral-ina holds ourselves and so many others in slavery. She retorts by calling us Neptune, and asking after the telegraph cable. When this badinage had been going on for some time, our friend Nix played quite a pretty hoax on the ladies. He arrived one evening with a somewhat dirty-looking basket on his arm filled with oysters. This was rather an inelegant thing to bring into the parlor, and naturally excited some surprise; but when he began to take out the grimy-looking bivalves, and one by one, hand them round to the ladies, there was a commotion bordering on indignation; the first lady declined to receive so plebeian a gift, whereupon Nix took a penknife from his pocket and opened it; revealing the inside lined with rich velvet, and bearing some trinket made of gold and pearls. This was in payment of a bet of an oyster supper which he had playfully made with and purposely lost to one of the ladies.

But to revert to our Coral. We often aided the fair mermaid in her manufactures, making sprays of coral nearly as large as in currant bushes, coral walking-canes, coral ear-rings, pen racks, paper weights, and other useful articles. We converted into coral—walnuts, small mud-turtles, birds' claws, sea-shells, and indeed almost everything on which we could lay our hands. Finally we took paterfamilias' felt hat one night and gave it a couple of coats of scarlet varnish, much to the astonishment of that good gentleman when he wished to put it on next morning.

The mode of making these coral ornaments is, of course, very simple; otherwise it would not find a place in this book:

RECEIPT.

To two drachms of fine vermilion, add one ounce of clear resin, and melt them together; paint the object with this mixture while hot, and then hold it over a gentle fire till it is perfectly covered and smooth.

To make sprays of coral you should procure some twigs of thorn; peel and dry, before painting with the varnish.

The Nix gift of pearls has set all the ladies to work on a new idea—painting pictures in oil-colors on the inside of oyster shells; these are mostly marine subjects where the natural hues of the shell supply the requisite tints for the clouds and water. One of these little works represented a fish, where the sheen of the mother-of-pearl gave a marvellously natural effect to the scales and gills.

They have also taken to making pictures on egg-shells in water-colors, which are very pretty. One egg they tattooed all over with pen-and-ink arabesque, and emblazoned with crimson and gold. It looks very handsome, though possibly of not quite so much practical use as a locomotive or a reaping-machine. Still, let us always remember that quotation from Goethe:

"Encourage the beautiful, the useful will take care of itself!"

To which we might add a paraphrase of our own:

"Encourage the amusing, the dreary will take care of itself."

For our own part we have serious ideas of organizing a SOCIETY FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF AMUSEMENT. We firmly believe that judicious and rational amusement tends more to make men healthy, wealthy, and wise, than ever did early rising, for which, nevertheless, we have profoundest respect.