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Mr. Nix's party concluded, after several other games and amusements, with a neat but inexpensive entertainment, consisting of sandwiches, sardines, cold chicken, cakes, oranges, apples, nuts, candies, punch, negus, and lemonade. But everything was good of its kind; the sandwiches were sandwiches, and not merely two huge slices of bread plastered with butter, concealing an irregular piece of sinew and fat, which in vain you try to sever with your teeth, till you find yourself obliged to drop the end out of your mouth, or else to pull the whole piece of meat out from between the bread, and allow it to hang on your chin till you cram it all into your mouth at once. His were not sandwiches of that kind, but, as we said before, sandwiches; the cakes had plenty of sugar in them, and so had the lemonade. But, above all, what made these little trifles the most enjoyable was the taste displayed by some one in the decoration of the table with a few evergreens, some white roses made out of turnip, and red roses out of beets, not to mention marigolds that once were carrots, nor the crisp frills of white paper which surrounded the large round cakes, nor the green leaves under the sandwiches, the abundance of snowy linen, shining knives and forks, and spoons. But we must conclude; what we wish particularly to impress upon the minds of our readers by thus dwelling on sandwiches and fine linen is, that you cannot afford to ignore one sense while you propose to gratify another; they are all intimately related and bound together like members of a fire company; if you offend one, all the others take it up.

CHAPTER IV

In our last chapter we promised to explain the nature of the little instrument by which the Night-Howler produced those "hideous and unearthly noises" to which we alluded. We will now proceed to do so; and as this instrument is the same as that used by showmen in the play of Punch and Judy, we cannot do better, while we are about it, than instruct our readers how to get up a Punch and Judy show.

First, with regard to the instrument. It is a very simple affair: get two small pieces of clean white pine, and with a sharp knife cut them of the shape and size of the diagram marked 1. Then put these two pieces together as represented in Figure 2, having previously slipped between them a piece of common tape, also represented in the diagram (the tape must be just the same width as the wood); then wind some thread round the whole thing lengthwise (to keep the bits of wood together and the tape taut), and the Punch-trumpet is made, as represented in figure 3. Place the instrument between your lips and blow; if you cannot produce noise enough to distract any well-regulated family in three-quarters of an hour, we are very much mistaken.

To produce variety of notes and tones, as well as to speak through it, after the manner of the Punch showmen, the instrument must be placed well back in the mouth near the root of the tongue, in such a position that you can blow through it and at the same time retain free use of your tongue. A little practice will enable you to do this, and to pronounce many words in a tolerably understandable manner. To discover this last item in the use of the instrument, simple as it is, cost the writer of this an infinity of trouble and some money; and it was not until after two years' hunting and inquiry, and the employment of agents to hunt up professors of Punch and Judy, that we discovered an expert who, for a handsome fee, explained the matter; and then, of course, we were amazingly surprised that we had never thought of it before. From the same expert we learned how to make another instrument by means of which it is possible to imitate the note of almost every animal, from the hog to the canary-bird. We soon compassed the hog, the horse, the hen, the dog, the little pig, and something that might be called the horse-linnet, or the hog-canary; but ere long we found that considerable practice was necessary to enable us to accomplish the finer notes of the singing-birds. How to make this latter instrument we will explain in a future chapter; at present we must go on with the play of Punch and Judy.

We commence instructions with a view taken behind the scenes, which will help the description (see cut on page 40). We may state that the London showmen carry about with them a species of little theatre of simple construction, which is of course better than a mere door-way; but as the latter will answer the purpose, and many people will not care to make a theatre, we will at present content ourselves with that which every house affords.

In the play of Punch and Judy there are many characters – indeed, you can introduce almost as great a variety as you please; but the leading ones are:

Mr. Punch, a merry gentleman, of violent and capricious temper.

Judy (wife of Punch).

Baby (offspring of Punch and Judy).

Ghost.

Constable.

The heads of these characters can be made in several ways. The first is to get the necessary number of common round wooden lucifer match-boxes and some red putty. With the putty you make the noses and chins of the characters (all except the Ghost, who requires no nose). With a camel's-hair brush and a little India-ink or black paint you mark out the features strongly, taking care to make the eyes and eyeballs of a good size, so as to be seen at a distance. With a little red paint or red chalk you can color the cheeks, and with a little white paint or white chalk give brilliancy to the teeth and eyes. The annexed cut will show what the style of countenance ought to be of each, No. 1 being the Constable, No. 2 Judy, and No. 3 Mr. Punch himself. The Ghost is not represented. In feature he is much like the Constable, only that his face must be made as white as possible, and the features simply marked out in blue or green or black. The Baby can be made out of an ordinary clothes-pin or stick of wood.

If the match-boxes cannot be easily obtained, just roll up a good-sized card, as represented in this figure, and paint on it the features. The nose and chin can be made of a bit of red rag or paper folded up of the desired shape, and either sewed or gummed on. Another and far better way of making these heads (though it takes more trouble), is to get a carpenter to cut out for you four or five pieces of white pine or other fine wood of the shape of the sketch annexed, with a hole in each large enough to easily admit your fore-finger. From this block you can carve as elaborate a head as you please, and one of larger size than the match-box, which will be advantageous. The diagram marked O will show you how to set about making the carving. Having now made the bald heads, you must proceed to dress them. Punch must have a bright red cap with yellow tassel and binding, like the one in the accompanying sketch. Judy must have a white cap with broad frill and black ribbon. The Constable must have a wig made out of some scrap of fur (the remains of a tippet or cuff), or if fur cannot be procured, a piece of rope unravelled will make a good wig. The Ghost only requires his winding-sheet drawn over his head. All these can be nailed on the heads of the actors with small tacks without hurting their feelings.

Having got the heads complete, we will proceed to construct their bodies. These merely consist of empty garments, the operator's hand supplying the bone and sinew. The dresses must be neatly fastened round the neck of the head, so that when the performer puts his hand inside the dress, he can thrust his fore-finger into the hole in the head. They must of course be sufficiently large to admit the hand of the showman, each sleeve to admit a thumb or finger, and the neck large enough for the passage of the fore-finger. Thus the thumb represents one arm, the middle finger another arm, whilst the fore-finger, thrust into the head, supports and moves it about. The style of dress of Punch and Judy can be easily seen in the small sketch. The color of Punch's coat should be red, with yellow facings, with a hump sewed on his back and a paunch in front. Judy should have a spotted calico and white neck-handkerchief. The Constable had better be attired in black, and the Ghost and Baby in white. Each of the sleeves should have a hand fastened into it. The hands can be made of little slips of wood, with fingers and thumbs marked on them. They should be about two and a half or three inches long, only about three-quarters of an inch of which, however, will project beyond the sleeve; the rest, being inside, will serve to give stiffness to the arm when the performer's fingers are not long enough to reach the whole way.

Mr. Punch requires a club wherewith to beat his wife, and to perform his various other assaults and batteries. A gallows, too, should be provided, on the plan represented in the diagram, the use of which will be explained hereafter.

So much for the performers. Now for the theatre and the play. The theatre is easily made. A narrow board about three or four inches wide should be fixed across an open doorway just about one inch higher up than the top of the head of the exhibitor. From this board hangs a curtain long enough to reach the floor. Behind this curtain stands the operator, with his actors all ready on a chair or table at his side. He puts his Punch-trumpet in his mouth, gives one or two preliminary root-et-too-teet-toos, puts his hand fairly inside Mr. Punch's body, and hoists him up so that half his manly form may be seen above the screen. A glance at our picture, Behind the Scenes, will explain anything our words have failed to convey. The audience are of course on the opposite side of the curtain to which the performer stands.

Before we commence with the dialogue of the play, we must mention one very important part of the exhibition. As Mr. Punch's voice is, at the best of times, rather husky, it is necessary that the exhibitor should have a colleague or interpreter among the audience who knows the play by heart, and who, from practice, can understand what Mr. Punch says better than the audience. This person must repeat after Punch whatever he may say, only not to wound his feelings; he must do so in the form of questions – for example, suppose Mr. Punch says, "Oh! I've got such a pretty baby!" the showman outside must repeat: "Oh! you've got a pretty baby, Mr. Punch, have you? Where is she?" The outside showman ought to have some instrument to play on – a tin tea-tray or tin pan will do – and if there is any one to accompany him on the piano when Mr. Punch sings a song or dances, so much the better. Now for the play.

Mr. Punch makes his début by dancing round his small stage in an extravagant and insane manner, singing some rollicking song in his own peculiar style. Having indulged himself in this way for a few seconds, he pulls up suddenly, and looking over the edge of the screen at the showman outside, exclaims:

Punch. "I say, old hoss!"

Showman. "I say, 'old hoss!' Mr. Punch, that's not a very polite way to address a gentleman. Well, what do you say?"

P. "I say!"

S. "Well, what do you say?"

P. "I say!"

S. "Well, you've said 'I say!' twice before. What is it you have to say?"

P. "I say!"

S. "What?"

P. "Nothing particular!"

Mr. Punch dances off, hilariously singing.

S. "Nothing particular! Well, that is a valuable communication."

P. (Stopping again). "Oh, you April fool!"

S. "April fool? No, Mr. Punch, I'm not an April fool. This isn't the first of April."

P. "Isn't it? Well, salt it down till next year."

S. "Salt it down till next year? No, thankee, Mr. Punch. Guess you'll want it for your own use."

P. "Mr. Showman!"

S. "Well, Mr. Punch?"

P. "Have you seen my wife?"

S. "Seen your wife? No, Mr. Punch."

P. "She's such a pretty creature!"

S. "Such a pretty creature, eh? Well, I'd like to be introduced."

P. "She's such a beauty! She's got a nose just like mine" (touching his snout with his little hand).

S. "Got a nose just like yours, eh? Well, then, she must be a beauty."

P. "She's not quite so beautiful as me, though."

S. "Not so beautiful as you? No, of course not, Mr. Punch; we couldn't expect that."

P. "You're a very nice man. I like you."

S. "Well, I'm glad you like me, Mr. Punch."

P. "Shall I call my wife?"

S. "Yes, by all means call your wife, Mr. Punch."

P. (Calling loudly). "Judy! Judy, my dear! Judy! come up-stairs!"

Judy now makes her appearance. Punch draws back and stands gazing at her for a few minutes in mute admiration. Without moving, he exclaims: "What a beauty!" then, turning to the audience, he asks earnestly: "Isn't she a beauty?" He now turns to Judy and asks her for a kiss; they approach and hug each other in a prolonged embrace, Mr. Punch all the time emitting a species of gurgling sound expressive of rapture. This is repeated several times, interspersed with the remarks of Mr. Punch on the beauty of his spouse; after which, at Mr. P.'s suggestion, the couple dance together to lively music and the enlivening tones of Mr. P.'s voice; the performance winding up by Mr. Punch's leaning up against the door of the theatre exhausted and delighted, and giving vent to a prolonged chuckle of gratification.

Punch now turns to the Showman and asks him if he has ever seen his Baby. The Showman replying in the negative, Punch extols the beauty of his offspring in the same extravagant strain as he has already done that of his wife, makes the same comparison between his own and the Baby's nose, declares that the Baby never cries, and that she is "so fond of him."

The Baby is now ordered to be brought up-stairs, and Judy disappears to obey her lord's mandate. During her absence Punch favors the company with a song. When Judy returns, bearing the infant Punch in her arms, Mr. P. goes into raptures, calls it a pretty creature, pats its cheek, and goes through all the little endearing ceremonies common to fathers. After again informing the Showman that his Baby never cries, and is fondly attached to him, he takes the infant in his arms, whereupon she immediately sets up a continuous howl. Punch tries to hush and pacify it for some time, but at last, losing his temper, shakes it violently and throws it out of the window, or in other words, at the feet of the audience. Judy is of course distracted, weeps bitterly, and upbraids her husband, when the enraged Mr. Punch dives down-stairs and gets his club, and whilst Mrs. P. is still weeping, gives her three or four sound blows on the back of the head. This makes Mrs. P. cry still more, which, in turn, increases Mr. P.'s wrath, who ends by beating her to death and throwing her after the Baby. The Showman upbraids Punch with his crime, but Punch defends himself by saying it served her right. However, he finally admits that he is naturally a little hasty, but then he adds, "It's over in a minute," and that's the kind of disposition he likes. He further adds:

P. "I'm a proud, sensitive nature."

S. "You're a proud, sensitive nature, are you, Mr. Punch? I don't see much pride in killing a baby."

P. "That's because you don't understand the feelings of a gentleman."

S. "Because I don't understand the feelings of a gentleman? Well, if those are the feelings of a gentleman, I don't want to understand them, Mr. Punch."

This dialogue can be carried on to suit the taste and invention of the exhibitor.

Presently, while Mr. P. is recklessly glorying in his crime, declaring that he is afraid of nothing, and laughing to scorn the Showman's admonition, the Ghost makes his appearance close to Mr. P.'s shoulder, and stands there for some time, listening unobserved to Punch's brag. After a while, however, turning round, Punch catches sight of him, and is rooted to the spot with horror for a few seconds; then he retreats backwards, his whole body trembling violently, till he reaches the side of the theatre; here he turns round slowly to hide his face from the awful apparition. When, by turning away, he loses sight of the Ghost for a few seconds, he recovers his voice so far as to say to the Showman in trembling tones: "W-h-h-a-a-t a hor-r-r-rid creature! What an awful creature!" Then he turns round very slowly to see whether the "horrid creature" is gone, but finding it still there, suddenly jumps back – jambs himself up in the corner – pokes his head out of the window, and screams, "Murder! murder! murder!" shaking all the time violently. This he repeats several times, till at last the Ghost disappears. Then Mr. P. recovers his courage and swaggers about as before, vowing he is afraid of nothing, etc., etc.

Now appears on the stage the Constable, who twists himself about in a pompous style for some seconds, and then addressing Mr. Punch, says:

Constable. "I've come to take you up!"

P. "And I've come to knock you down!" (which he accordingly does with his club).

The Constable gets up, and is again knocked down several times in succession. Not relishing this style of thing, however, he disappears and returns with a club, and a battle royal ensues, part of which – that is to say, one round of the battle – shows the skill of the Constable in dodging Mr. P.'s blows, and can be made immensely funny if properly performed. It is done in this way: The Constable stands perfectly still, and Punch takes deliberate aim; but when he strikes, the Constable bobs down quickly, and the blow passes harmlessly over his head. This is repeated frequently, the Constable every now and then retaliating on Mr. P.'s "nob" with effect. Not succeeding with the sabre-cut, Punch tries the straight or rapier thrust. He points the end of his baton straight at the Constable's nose, and after drawing back two or three times to be sure of his aim, makes a lunge; but the Constable is too quick, dodges on one side, and Punch's club passes innocently out of the window. This is repeated several times, till the Constable sails in and gives Punch a whack on the head, crying: "There's a topper!" Punch returns the compliment with the remark: "There's a whopper!" Now they have a regular rough and tumble, in which Punch is vanquished.

The Constable disappears and returns with the gallows, which he sticks up in a hole already made in the stage (four-inch board previously mentioned), and proceeds to prepare for the awful ceremony of hanging Mr. P. Punch, never having been hung before, cannot make out how the machine is intended to operate – at least he feigns profound ignorance on the subject. When the Constable tells him to put his head into the noose, he puts it in the wrong place over and over again, inquiring each time, "That way?" till at last the executioner, losing all patience, puts his own head in the loop, in order to show Mr. P. how to do it, saying: "There! that's the way! Now do you understand?" To which Punch responds, "Oh! that's the way, is it?" at the same time pulling the end of the rope tight, and holding on to it till the struggling functionary is dead, crying all the time: "Oh! that's the way, is it? Now I understand!"

Punch dances a triumphant jig, and so ends the immoral drama of Punch and Judy.

Many more characters can be added at the option of the performer, besides which, jokes and riddles can be introduced to any extent. We have given the skeleton of the play, with all the necessary information for getting up the characters.

We will conclude this chapter with an excellent charade, the answer to which will be given in the next chapter:

CHARADE

 
My whole is the name of the school-boy's dread,
My first is the name of a quadruped;
My first transposed a substance denotes,
Which in carts or in coaches free motion promotes;
Transpose it again, and it gives you the key
Which leads to the results of much industry.
My second is that which deforms all the graces
Which cluster around the fair maidens' fair faces;
Transpose it, and it gives you the name of a creature
Of no little notice in the history of nature.
Now take my whole in transposition,
And it will give you the dress of a Scotch musician.
 

CHAPTER V

Heretofore the fireside amusements recorded by us have been rather masculine in their character. In this chapter we shall have the pleasure of describing an entertainment of more feminine qualities. It was a small party, of the description which the Scotch call a cookeyshine, the English a tea-fight, and we a sociable. A few young ladies in a country village had conspired together to pass a pleasant evening, and the head conspirator wrote us a note, which consisted of several rows of very neat snake-rail fences (not "rail snake" fences, as the Irishman said), running across a pink field. We got over the fences easily, and found ourselves in a pretty parlor, with six pretty young ladies, one elderly ditto, and a kind of father. The ladies, as we entered, were engaged in making tasty little scent-bags. We had often seen the kind of thing before, but never so completely carried out.

The principal idea consisted in making miniature mice out of apple-seeds, nibbling at a miniature sack of flour. But in this case they had filled the sack with powdered orris-root, and the small bottles with otto of roses, making altogether a very fragrant little ornament. The subjoined sketch will convey the idea to any one wishing to try her hand at this kind of art.

As to the process of manufacture, that is simple enough: you first make neat little bags of white muslin, and with some blue paint (water color) mark the name of the perfume, in imitation of the ordinary brands on flour-bags; then fill the bag with sachet-powder and tie it up. You then get some well-formed apple-seeds, and a needle filled with brown thread or silk with a knot at the end; after which pass the needle through one side of the small end of the seed, and out through the middle of the big end; then cut off your thread, leaving about half an inch projecting from the seed; this represents the tail of the mouse. After this you make another knot in your thread, and pass it through the opposite side of the small end of the seed, bringing it out, not where you did the other thread, but in the middle of the lower part, that part, in fact, which represents the stomach of the mouse. You can now sew your mouse on the flour-sack. It should be borne in mind that the two knots of thread, which represent the ears, must appear near the small end of the seed. We once saw some mice made of apple-seeds where the ears were placed at the big end, producing the most ridiculous effect. We annex enlarged diagrams of each style.

It will be seen that one looks like a mouse, whilst the other resembles a pollywog, or a newly-hatched dragon.

You must now get a good-sized card, and if you wish to have it very nice, paint it to resemble the boards of a floor. On this you sew your sack, and one or two stray mice who are supposed to be running round loose. Then having provided yourself with a couple of those delicate little glass bottles of about an inch and a half in length, which are to be found in most toy-stores, you fill them with otto of roses or any other perfume; and with a little strong glue or gum, stick them to the card in the position represented. If glass bottles are not to be obtained, you may cut some out of wood, a small willow stick perhaps being the best for the purpose; blacken them with ink, and varnish them with weak gum-water, at the same time sticking on them little pieces of paper to represent the labels, and, if you please, a little lead-paper round the neck and mouth of the bottles, to give the flasks a champagney flavor. The boxes and jars are likewise cut out of wood, and easily painted to produce the desired appearance.

After a time, while the young ladies were still at work on the mice like so many kittens at play, a practical young gentleman, in spectacles and livid hands, came in, and asked of what use were those articles. Upon which one of the young ladies very properly replied that they did not waste their time in making anything useful. This seemed to afford an opportunity to the young gentleman to say something agreeable in connection with beauty; but he put his foot in it, and we heard him late in the evening, as the party was breaking up, trying to explain his compliment, which, though well intended, had unfortunately taken the form of an insult, and had not been well received.

We had observed, on entering, that one of the young ladies present wore in her hair a very beautiful white rose, and that another held in her hand a small bunch of marigolds. As the season was mid-winter, this fact attracted our attention, and we very gracefully complimented said damsel on the beauty of her coiffure, at the same time expressing our ardent admiration for flowers generally, roses particularly, and white roses above all other roses. "We had made a study of them." We spoke rapturously of them as the poetry of vegetation, as vestals among flowers, as the emblems of purity, the incarnation of innocence. Then the young lady asked us how we liked them boiled, and taking the one from her head begged us to wear it next our heart for her sake. We received it reverentially at her hand – it was heavy as lead. Her somewhat ambiguous language immediately explained itself as she gaily stripped off the leaves and revealed a good-sized turnip-stock on a wooden skewer. We felt slightly embarrassed, but got over the difficulty by saying that when we spoke so poetically we had no idea what would turn-up.

"Ah!" sighed one of the young ladies, "it is the way of the world; the flower worshipped from afar, possessed, will ever turn out a turnip!"

"Or," added we, "as in the case of Cinderella's humble vegetable turn up, a turnout."

This inoffensive little joke, being rather far-fetched, perhaps, was immediately set upon and almost belabored to death by those who understood it; whilst for the enlightenment of those who did not, we had to travel all the way to fairy-land, so that it was some time before we got back to vegetable flowers – a subject on which we felt not a little anxious to be enlightened, as we saw therein something that might interest our friends who meet by the fireside and help us in our occupation of unbending the bow. Marvellously simple were the means employed in producing such beautiful results. A white turnip neatly peeled, notched all round, stuck upon a skewer, and surrounded by a few green leaves, and behold a most exquisite white rose, perfect enough to deceive the eye in broad daylight at three feet distance. The above sketch will explain the whole mystery at once.

On the same principle a marigold may be cut out of a round of carrot with a little button of beet-root for the centre; a daisy can be made from a round of parsnip with a small button of carrot for the centre; a dahlia from a beet; and several other flowers from pumpkins. It will be easily seen that a beautiful bouquet can be compiled of these flowers with the addition of a few sprigs of evergreen. Indeed, great taste and ingenuity may be displayed in managing these simple materials. When the process had been explained to us, as above described, we expressed our delight, at the same time saying carelessly that there were doubtless millions of ladies in the country who would find pleasure in learning so graceful an accomplishment. The gentleman with the gold spectacles was down upon us in a moment.

"Did we know what a million meant?"

To which we promptly replied that a million meant ten hundred thousand.

"Did we know what a billion meant?"

A billion, according to Webster, was a million million.

A light twinkled out of the gold spectacles, and a glow suffused the expansive forehead, as, with a certain playful severity, he propounded the following:

"How long would it take you to count a million million, supposing you counted at the rate of two hundred per minute for twenty-four hours per day?"

We replied, after a little reflection, that it would take a long time, probably over six months.

With a triumphant air, the gold spectacles turned to our friend Nix. Nix, who is a pretty good accountant, thought it would take nearer six years than six months. One young lady, who was not good at figures, felt sure she could do it in a week. Gold Spectacles exhibited that intense satisfaction which the mathematical mind experiences when it has completely obfuscated the ordinary understanding.

"Why, sir," he said, turning to us, "had you been born on the same day as Adam, and had you been counting ever since, night and day, without stopping to eat, drink, or sleep, you would not have more than accomplished half your task."

This statement was received with a murmur of incredulous derision, whilst two or three financial gentlemen, immediately seizing pen and paper, began figuring it out, with the following result:

From this calculation we see that by counting steadily, night and day, at the rate of two hundred per minute, we should count something over one hundred and five millions in a year. Now let us proceed with the calculation:

So that it would take nine thousand five hundred and twelve years, not to mention several months, to count a billion. Gold Spectacles chuckled visibly, and for the rest of the evening gave himself airs more worthy of a conquered Southerner than a victorious mathematician. He afterwards swooped down upon and completely doubled up a pompous gentleman bearing the cheerful name of Peter Coffin, for making use of the very proper phrase, "As clear as a mathematical demonstration."

"That may not be very clear, after all, Mr. Coffin," said Gold Spectacles.

"How is that, Mr. Sprawl (Gold Specks' proper name being Sprawl); can anything be clearer than a mathematical demonstration?"

"I think, sir," answered Mr. Sprawl, "I could mathematically demonstrate to you that one is equal to two. What would you think of that, sir?"

"I think you couldn't do it, sir."

Thereupon Mr. Sprawl took a sheet of paper and wrote down the following equation – the celebrated algebraic paradox:

a = x

a x = x2

a x – a2 = x2 – a2

(x – a) × a = (x – a) × (x + a)

a = x + a

a = 2 a

1 = 2

Mr. Coffin examined it carefully standing up, and examined it carefully sitting down, and then handed it back, saying that Mr. Sprawl had certainly proved one to be equal to two. The paper was passed round, and those learned enough scrutinized it carefully. The demonstration all allowed to be positive, yet no one could be made to admit the fact.