UC-NRLF B 2 fi3S 7&H "veningParties THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA The John J. and Hanna M. McManus Morris N. and Chesley V. Young Collection ■ . -M ^'. :^::^ .^' *•" ,^ ^. '7- Vr^' ^4*<^A^ ^ /' TUE EGYPTIAN MUMMIES. THE IRISHMAN 8 WAKE. WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf SOCIAL AMUSEMENTS EVENING PARTIES. FUr.NISIIINO COMPLETE AND VARIED rROiiRAMMBS FOR TWENTY-SIX ENTERTAINMENTS. LEGEU 1>. M A V N i: NEW YORK: DICK ^ FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS. Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlic year 1873, by DICK & F I T Z Cr E K A L D , 111 tlio Office of the Librarian of Congress, at "Washington, I>. ('. LOAN STACK GIFT qin^r PREFACE. It has long been a settled and accepted fact that '' All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy ;" and if this be true of Jack, it is eqnally true of Gill. It is essential in matters of recreation, that, in order to enjoy ourselves thoroughly, we must relax more or less the sedate gravity of maturer years, and bring ourselves down to the youthful level of Jack and Gill — before their fearful fall, of course, as the parlor floor oflFers no opportunities for the sad accident that tradition has ascribed to them. In fact, there is nothing more delightful than, laying aside all stately dignity and unnecessary restraint, to devote the whole or part of an evening to social amusement, pure and simple. Sometimes, but not very often, we find in society gifted individual who knows how to take the lead in a few round games, and is able to divert the companj' with a trick or two. His opportune talents aro re- warded by a flattering prominence, and ho steps out fh>m the ranks t(» assume a well-deserved leadership. But his reftources are, perhaps, soon exhausted. He has succeeded in raiiiiug a keen appetite for mora of the same sort, which ho is unable to appease. His laurels Aide— ho relapses into his former insignificance. Like Jack, bo strives to climb, lie shouts, '' Excelsior !" and falls back, the victim of exhansted ener> , gy ; involving, perhaps, in his out4i.stropho, mmie amiable Gill, who baa kindly lent her aid to i\irthor bis lofty designs. To aid the talented and to direct the uninitiated, this work has been prepared. It affords rHri'fully Kolocted recreations amply sofflclcnt for sin 6 PREFACE. the amusement of a social gathering once a Aveek for six months. The games are plainly dcscribetl, examples being given, by way of illustra- tion, showing how each is done, as well as suggesting pleasing varie- ties in their performance. The book is full of original novelties, inclu- ding, also, some well-known games, illusions, and tricks, too good to be ignored, but presented in a new and attractive dress. The comical illusions present no serious diflSculties in their prepara- tion, and the tricks, if their description be followed step by step, are entirely within the capabilities of the merest tyro in the art of amus- ing. The theatrical and other stage performances are fully and famil- iarly treated, and the plays and pantomimes have been written espe- cially for their respective pui-poses. An examination of th^ programme will furnish, it is hoped, a full and satisfactory answer to the oft-repeated and vexatious question, *'What shall we no to-night T" PROGRAMME twe:^ty-six entertainments. FIRST EVENING. The Sional Mabteu PAO«. 16 The Elephant 17 Pity the Poo ii Blin d ao The GiioTEfHiUK Qdautette 21 flKI MNO STATITRS •>M SECOND EVENINO. Mv IIor«R ; Toon Houbb. . 99 TiiK ()f>i> Card 30 Thib ou That. 39 The MtmRHM 39 The NoNi»KHruii»T... 3S To Magnrtizb a Cam: 38 TIITRD EVENING. Thuowino Lion i !'i The Crxtahm 41 8 • PROGBAMME, Paok. The Magic Handkeuchief 44 A Magical Knot 46 One Old Ouuang-outaxg 47 The House that Jack Bcilt 49 The Birds 50 McsiCAL Mebry-go-uound 51 The Invisible Tranbfeb 53 FOURTH EVENING. Musical Neighbors 56 The Embarrassed Landlord 58 To Guess the Two Ends of a Line of Dominoes 60 The Irishman's Wake 60 Planting 62 The Changed Dice-Spots 64 FIFTH EVENING. ^The Bund Beggar 65 Garibaldi 66 The Giraffe 67 The Needle and Thread Trick 70 Mary's Lamb 71 Right is "Wrong 74 SIXTH EVENING. Musical Surprise 75 The Compressed Man 76 The Eix)Ngated Man 78 Traveling Alphabetically 78 The Interrupted Housebreakers 80 Telling THE Dice Unbeen .81 PROGRAMME. 9 SEVENTH EVENING. Paok. Hat Measurement 83 Insects and Flowers 84 The Wonderful Gllnt 86 The Empkuor of Austria 89 John Brown 91 Hocus Pocus , 92 The Mysterious Release 95 Century Court 98 EIGHTH EVENING. Justice IS Blind lOO The Table Orator 101 "What's 0'Cix)CK ? 104 KussiAN Game op Gossip 105 A Musical Recitation 106 NINTH EVENING. ^-Railway Accidents 198 ' Tub Severed Head 130 "Who "Was He? 139 Or ANY other Jackass 133 The Hat and QuAimeR Tuk k IM The Royal Marriaobs ^^* TENTH EVENINO. yN0NS«58« 138 ThrRisinoMan 13T The Lono-Nscked Gkxtijcman ... la* PROyVRlW IN ClIORITH 1*0 ThrMufpinMan i*> ThbRabbit.. i<9 ^ Ti 10 PROGRAMME. Paqk. Magic Music 143 The Elements 144 The RosE-CoLOiiED Goat 145 Cain and Abel 147 The High Jump 147 ELEVENTH EVENTCfG. The Penny Post 148 The Naughty Boy 149 Why, When, and Where ? 151 Characters 152 The Cut Tape made Whole 153 To make a Selected Card assume any Position in the Pack 155 TWELFTH EVENING. The Ornithorhyncus Paradoxus 158 What does My Thought Resemble ? 160 Hand Shadows 161 Second Sight 162 One! Two! Three! 163 The German Chorus 164 >The Hidden Word 166 THIRTEENTH EVENING. The Hutchinson Family 168 Catechism Cards 169 Tell-Talb Ten 170 Midnight Screecher. 172 Twenty Questions 173 Dominoes Blindfoij) 174 PROGRAMME. 11 FOURTEENTH EVENING. Paub. Tableaux vivants 176 Living Flo weks 185 Tell and the Apple 186 Titan LA AND Pdck 187 King Alfred IN THE SwiNEHEUD's Hut 188 Penn's Treaty with the Inddlns 189 Gdlnare Visiting Conbad in Prison 189 Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell 190 Open your Mouth and Shut your Eyes 190 Liberty Freeing the Slave 190 Sophia and Olivia Visiting the Foetune-Telleb 191 The Sacrifice of Abraham 191 The Inconveniences of Single Life 191 The Conveniences op Married Life 191 The Flower Queen -• 192 FIFTEENTH EVENING. / Ti Mind your P's and Q's 193 'HE "Wonderful Glantess 194 The Dwarf 195 The Ugly Mug 196 Invisible Suspension 198 The Obedient Egg uw SIXTEENTH EVENING. Thb Immovablb Card 900 The Double Pra Illusion 90O The Story of The Trades 901 The Twisted Head 900 Famous Numbbbs J04 -^ow TO Grow Tall Suddenly 906 EOTPTIAN BTB GaMB 12 PROGRAMME, Paok. One of the Black Arts 206 The Blo weks Baffled 207 SEVENTEENTH EVENING. Shadow Pantomimes 208 The Feejee Islanders at Home 215 Ah Sin in Search of a Meal 222 EIGHTEENTH EVENING. Mesmerism 228 The Poetical Butterfly 229 The Auctioneer 231 The Tame Dime 233 The Old Apple-Woman 235 The Magic Answer 237 NINETEENTH EVENING. -^Opinions - 238 The Distinguished Stranger 239 The Farm Yard 240 Authors 241 Likenesses 242 The Vanishing Dime 244 The Gl^nt Sneeze -45 TWENTIETH EVENING. Thb Gallaktt Show 3*6 The Crocodiix of the Nile 248 TWENTY-FIRST EVENING. ELECTRicmr 256 The Merchant of ALL CLIM1I8 2.'i6 PROGRAMME. 13 Magnetism 257 Wall Stueet Brokers - 259 Machine Po etry 261 Head, Body, and Legs 262 TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. Punch and Judy Show 264 Drama of Punch and Judy 269 TWENTY-THIRD EVENING. Cupid Comes 279 FizBuz 280 /The Egyptian Mummies 281 Shadow Puzzles 283 The Captive Key Released 284 TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. Private Theatricals 288 Stage, Peoscenium, and Auditorium 989 Lighting the Theatre 291 ThrCurtalv and Drop S99 Scenery and Scrnb PAntTiNo 993 Costume 996 PuOPBRTIBS AND ACCB880iIB8 296 Stage Effects 990 Thk Stage Manager . . .303 The PROMITER I M The Orchehtra. . xa The PKRtXHtMERH ....300 Sam Wrller Vihith hih Mothkk«in*law. . . . . . :kvi 14 PROGRAMME. TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. FAGB. A Family Fix 310 The Philopexa 331 TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING. Charades in Pantomime 353 Impromptu Charades 354 Impromptu Proverbs 354 Parlor Pantomimes 355 Love under Obstacles; ok, Jack's Triumph 358 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT t INTRODUOTOKY. It is certainly a subject for regret, that iu our great cities, our towns, villages, and more scattered country homes, social gatherings are so apt to assume the character of " solemn oc- casions, '^ where the perplexed hostess and equally perplexed guests hover about the room, trying vainly to solve the prob- lem, ''what shall we do?" Dancing and music, varied by eating and drinking, are the standard amusements at evening parties ; but there are many circles where dancing is excluded on principle, whQe amateur music has reached such perfection that it requires a decided and well-cultivated talent to make it endurable among people who have any pretensions to refinement and taste. There is really something pitiful in the sight of a company of intelli- gent and talented young folks, each one possessing an unde- veloped fund of ready wit, mutely enduring an agonizing ama- teur performance of fine music; while the pianist, who has studied hard and can play well when alone, stumbles over the keys, blindly groping in all the torments of shyness, till a hid- eous discord is produced. Patiently the listeners sit, smiling under the torture wi^h a politeness often springing ttom pure kind feeling, while each and all of them might bo having a "jolly time " did they but know the best outlet for their wit and good-nature, their ingenuity or talent. To supply tlie necessary information for such pleasure-seek- ers, the following collection of amusing pastimes is now offered. Variety of talent has been considered, and good-nature is au essential element always supposed to be present. The old peo- IG IFHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf pie can lay aside their years for a few hours ; the business man forget his couuting-house ; the matron her housekeeping and domestic arrangements; the children will not be forgotten, but find a pleasant vent for their love of amusement ; and the young man who votes ^' parties a bore " is especially invited to come and change his opinion. ^' The more, the merrier," is a proverb especially adapted to social gatherings, where all are anxious to contribute to the general amusement, and harmless personalities may be ven- tured upon without fear of offense, if the game should require it. Come then, any number of you, of all ages and all disposi- tions, and pass a few evenings with us. Lay aside your hats and overcoats, your hoods and shawls ; give your neckties a last twitch, your curls a final brush ; pass into the drawing-room ; greet the hostess ; shake hands all round ; make a few original remarks on the state of the atmos- phere, and open the 'plF{3T J^VEJ^IJMQ with a merry game, which includes the children, and should be played before their bed-time. It is intended to be joined in by all present, and therefore no one should be allowed to be a mere looker-on. There are usually a few persons who prefer to be merely spectators of the first game of the evening ; but the leader should interpose his authority to prevent this as much as possible. The Signal Master. Clear the centre of the room, and place in a row a number of chairs, three less than the number of players. If fourteen per- sons arc playing the game, place eleven chairs. Blindfold one of the players, and select another for the sig- nal-master. The blindfolded one stands a little apart from the THE FIRST EVENING. 17 row of chairs, and the signal-master stands erect, while the others make a long chain behind him, the one next to him grasping his coat, the others holding by each other's dresses and coats. This chain of players now \xalks slowly round the chairs, the blindfolded one waving a wand, and singing : " The signal-master will give a call, Take your chairs then, one and all." When the chain has marched gravely two or three times round the row of chairs, the blindfolded player gives a sudden tap with her wand, and the signal-master calls out " Chairs ! " All now run toward the chairs, each trying to secure one, and the game is repeated as before. Three will this time be left out, two of whom are again required for signal -master and singer, and the bhndfolded one is out, and waits for a new game. Remove a chair for each game, until all the players are out. While the j)layers are busy with this game, a few slip quietly away, and after some mysterious preparations in the dressing- room, and by the time the last chair has been removed, are ready to surprise the company by the introduction of a new and most wonderful (piadrupcd, one which has never yet been imported by Barnum, or any other enterprising showman, but which may occasionally bo found in select circles for private exhibition. It is preceded by a showman, who, after sundry bows and flourishes, acts as herald, and announces to the ex]>ectant audi- once the arrival of the aforementioned quadruiHjd, in a neat speech, either selected or irapromptu. The Elephant. If an Eastern costume can be Improvised at chort notice— a turban, stish, and waiul— the showman, thus attiitnl, says: ^^ Ladies and gentlemen, Iain requested by my particular 18 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f friend, Rambustificationjambereehoptidoodon, of the Feejec- folorum Islands, to present to your notice the famous elephant upon which this renowned and invincible warrior was mounted at the celebrated siege of Luckontherongside. This elephant, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely two hundred and forty-two years of age, to-day being his birthday, and the register of his birth being carefully marked upon his off-side tusk in the best India ink. Little boys are particularly requested not to put pins into this noble animal's legs, nor to put into his trunk more than a peck of apples at any one. time. ''Rambustificationjambereehoptidoodon, you may now enter and exhibit the noble Asiatic quadruped in his great feats of the arena, as witnessed by all the crowned heads in Europe, Asia, Africa and America, Jersey thrown in." (Enter Rambustificationj amber eelioptidoodorij in a superb East- ern costume composed of a turban of woolen, scarf and a gorgeous sash of a lady^s shawl, and followed by the elephant.) The elephant gravely advances to a space cleared at the end of the drawing-room, and is addressed in Hindostanee by his master. Herald. Rambustificationjambereehoptidoodon is ordering the elephant to bow to the company. (Elephant makes a very low bow.) Another order in Hindostanee, again translated by the in- terpreter : Herald. The elephant will now wave his trunk three times. (Elephant waves his trunk.) Separate orders being given and translated, tlic elephant goes through a variety of feats of intelligence, such as walking over his master, who lies upon the ground; kneeling down and rising again at the word of command ; lifting one leg, and then the other, as ordered ; bowing North, South, East, and West, or any other feats that may suggest themselves to the fer- tile imagination of his exhibitors. THE FIRST EVENING. 19 Finally the elephant carries some of the little children round the room upon his back, and walks gravely back to the dress- ing-room, with one of the boys taking an Eastern ride. How was he made ? Follow him to the dressing-room, and you will find him presenting the appearance shown in Fig. 1. Fi'? 1 The outer skin of the inarvcloiis animal proves to bo a largo gray shawl, such as gentlemen carry when traveling. Sewn upon this are two largo gray patches for oars, two round pieces of white paper, with black dots in the centre for eyes ; the tusks, carefully secured and hold iu their proper places, prove to be rolls of glossy white paper, pasted into the required shape. Taking off the shawl, the skeleton of this wonderful Eju^tcm 20 WHAT SHALL WE BO TO-NIGHT? quadruped will appear as illustrated ia Fig. 2, proving to be t\Yo good-natured young gentlemen, who have covered their boots with India-rubber over-shoes, and assumed the uncom- fortable appearance here shown. The foreniost one holds a second gray shawl tightly rolled in his hands, and iaiitates the gentle swaying of the elephant's trunk with it. Fig. 2. The taller and larger the men who make the framework, the more ''stunning" the elephant will be. While the elephant is being unrobed, the party still in the drawing-room may amuse themselves by the following capital embarrassing delusion and snare : Pity the Poor Blind. It is surprising how helpless a p'erson is when deprived of sight. As the proof of the pudding is in the eating, the truth of the foregoing remark may be easily tested. Select a gentleman of tlie ])arty, blindfold him carefully with a handkerchief, and place him three or four yards from, and facing, a table, near the edge of which is a lighted candle. Now bid him turn onco entirely round, then advance toward the candle and try to blow it out. His vain attempts, oft re- THE FIRST EVENING. 21 peated, will cause much amusement ; our artist photographed the victim just as he was in full pucker not more than two yards away from the candle, and in momentary dread of buru- ino; his nose. Fio. 8. While the company are *^ going it blind" in the drawing-room, a most entertaining amusement may be arranged, in either an adjoining apartment, or at one end of the same room. It will require preparation beforehand, but, onco in readiness, needs but a few moments to adjust. The Grotesque Quartette, A very funny effect can bo produced by painting four flgures, as grotesque and absurd as possible, side by side, on a drop- curtain or other suitable material. The heads should l)c drawn iu such proportions, that the faces, when cut out, will exactly admit a person's face to protrude through each from l>chind, allowing the chin to pass through jis far as the neck, but con- 22 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f cealing the cars and hair. The four persons, whose iiices are used to complete the figures, should be able to sing some comic quartette, and the effect is irresistible. Fig. 4. A piece of sized muslin, such as is used for painted roller- blinds, or store window-shades, afifords a good material on which to paint the figures; and, in default of artistic talent, the figures of negro minstrels, cut out of their large show-bills, or circus-posters, will answer. The picture, when the represen- tation is to take place, must be secured between the folding- doors; or, where there is a stage, just behind the drop-curtain, and so arranged that all the space behind the picture will be en- tirely hidden from the audience. The accompanying illustra- tions will give a clear idea of the whole arrangement, showing respectively : the front view of the picture (Fig. 4) ; the means THE FIRST EVENING, 23 used behind the picture for enabling the performers to insert their faces in their respective "heads " (Fig. 5) ; and the gen- eral effect of the whole as viewed by the audience (Fig. 6). FlO. 5. The identity of the performers^ faces is usually utterly de- stroyed, except, perhaps, in the case of very marked features; and even then a few lines of burnt cork, a little flour on the moustache, or some other fancy touches, will entirely alter them. As the lower part of the countenance projects through and beyond tlio surface of the painting, the performers can turn their faces toward one another sufficiently to carry on a witty conversation, similar to the jokes of the "end meu'^ in a min- strel performance, with immense effect. 24 WHAT SHALL IIF DO TO-NIGHT? EiQ a Gravity being once more restored, commence with duo de- corum the pleasing game of .r Selling Statues. This is one of those parlor games in which all the mem- ment and enjoyment depend upon the ready wit of tlio speak- ers, and the good-natured endurance of the victims. A certain portion of the players, having consented to take the parts of statues, stand up at one end of the room, or scat themselves in a group, according to the fancy of the artist. The purchaser or purchasers, supposed to bo recently ar- THE FIRST EVENING. 25 rived from the rural districts, then enter, and the artist en- deavors to dispose of his work^ of art. As he describes each statue, he covers the face for a moment with a hght handkerchief, removing it again during his de- scription. The sale should be conducted upon the rule of contraries, the descriptions being, so far as good-nature will allow, exactly opposite to personal appearances ; and, no matter how absurd the variance, a smile or a frown upon the face of the statue must pay the penalty of a forfeit. Example: We will suppose in the studio, Mr. Jenkins, of diminutive stature and insigniflcant features; Mrs. Smith, a matron short, but very stout, with florid complexion j Mr. Jones, very tall and large in build; and Miss Simpkins, a tiny, sylph -like blonde. Mr. Keynolds, the Jirtist, having arranged the statues, Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins enter to purchase. Mr. Reynolds. Good morning, sir ! Pleased to see you, madam ! Mr. Hopkins. We have taken the liberty, Mr. Heynolds, of calling to see what statues you have for sale. Mrs. Hopkins. I want something classic, for my front drawing-room. Mr. Reynolds. Classic! Ahem! Yes! Let me see! Have you seen my "Jove Enraged ?" Mr. Hopkins. Jove Enraged t I have not seen it. J^Ir. Reynolds (throwing a handkcrchU^ over the face of meek Mr. Jenkins.) There, sir, you have still to behold one of the grandest creations of the nineteenth century {renwring the handkerchief). The statue, as you see, Is colossal, four times the size of life, as we suppose Jove to have been built upon a grander scale than mere mortals. Mark, if you please, the grand proportions of the figure, the god-like carriage of that noble head, the thunderbolts but playthings in that powerftil grasp, the massive features, and the magniflcent pose of tlie {shoulders. The personification of irresistible power ! 26 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XIGHTf Mrs. Hopkins. But, Mr. Reynolds, such an immense statue will be out of place in my quiet drawing-room. You should sell it for an ornament to some public hall or park. Pray show something to fill a smaller niche in my modest apartment. Mr. Reyxolds. I am afraid that I have nothing else that is strictly classic. How would you like a Shakspearian sub- ject? I have a very much admired statue here, a Titania (throws a handkerchief over the face of Mrs. Smith), This is an exquisite little gem, quite suitable for a what-not or a bracket (removes the handkerchief). It is, as you perceive, upon a diminutive scale, as the subject demands. Mark the fairy-like grace of the attitude, the tiny, graceful figure, the delicate features, and the sylph-like, etherial proportions. Mr. Hopkixs. Have you anything historical ? Mr. Reynolds (veiling Mr. Jones). Napoleon the First ! The great mind in the small frame. Proportioned, sir, by ac- tual measurement, though you would scarcely believe Napo- leon was quite so small (removing the handkerchief). The feet, especially, are like a lady's, and the whole power of this mighty man was concentrated in brain. The head is largo and noble. Mrs. Hopkins. What is this, Mr. Reynolds f Mr. Reynolds. Cleopatra (veiling Miss Simpkins)^ the swarthy Egyptian, a specimen of the new art of coloring statues (removing handkerchief). Like Jupiter, this statue, as you per- ceive, is on a large scale , but history assigns noble proportions to Cleopatra. The jetty hair and large black eyes suit well the bronze complexion. Thus the sale may i^roceed as far as the endurance of the statues will last. Special features, as large noses, small eyes, red hair, big feet, and so on, may bo commented upon, by the rule of contraries, until a smile or a frown obliges the unfortu- nate victim to pay a forfeit. Most of the company having now enjoyed a laugh at their own expense, or that of their neighbors, we may conclude the first evening's entertainment by an amusing trick, called THE FIRST EVENING, 27 The Divided Tapes. To perform this trick, a little preparation is necessary. Pro- vide two pieces of tape, each four feet long, and three ordinary cotton spools ; or, if preferred, three of the barrel-shaped wood- en foundations (Fig. 7) used by fringe -and- tassel manufacturers Fig. 7. for making the upper part of window -tassels. Fold each of the tapes double, as shown in Fig. 8 ; pass about half an inch of the looped end of A through the loop of B, and fold it back on the 3 ^ Fio 8. tape A, which will thus bo hooked into B. Pass the open ends of B through a spool, and draw the spool over the interlocked loop, as in Fig. 9 ; this spool must not be moved lh)m its po« Fia. 9. sition at any time during the pcrformanco of the trick, as it conceals and holds the l(Mipcd ends of the tape. Next, tuke the two remaining spools, and pass quo on the tajw B, and the other on A. as shown in Fig. 10. The whole contrivance is now ready for use. Request two persons to assist you; give the ends of the tape A (Fig. 10) to one of them, and the ends of B 28 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? to the other, desn-ing thein to hold the tape and spools out level between them. Now, explahi that the spools are strung on to the tape, moving the two outer spools (not the middle one) to illustrate your explanation ; then inform the spectators that you propose to remove the spools from the tape without Fig. 10. passing them over the ends held by your assistants. Next, ask each of your aids to hand you one of the two ends held by him, either one of them, as it is quite immaterial which; you only desire to roake the matter doubly sure, at the same time tie the ends that you have received with a double knot (see Fig. 11); thus drawing the three spools together, and appearing to se- cure them perfectly. This being done, grasp the spools with Fio. 11. your right hand, and instruct your assistants to be ready, at the word ''three," to pull the tapes with a sudden jerk. You then give the word, '*one, two, three," and the spools will re- main in your hand, the two tapes remaining in the assistants' bands, and joined in the middle by the knot which you tied. This trick is sometimes performed with thin twine instead of tapes, the looped ends being tied together with a piece of fine sewing thread, which breaks when pulled apart. THE SECOND EVENING. 29 ^ECOJvID JJVE^'J^Q- It being presumed that social evxuiugs for such amusements as we propose to inaugurate commeuce Uiie other festive occa- sions, by the arrival of a few early folks in advance of the more fashionable comers, it is often a good plan to start with a game which can be made interesting for a few players, such as My House, Your House. This game will afford considerable amusement for a party of five or six persons, or more, and requires but little preparation. Provide a piece of moderately stout cord about a yard in length ; at one end make a small loop that will not slip, pass the other end of the cord through this loop, thus making a larger loop, say six inches in diameter, which will slip easily ; attach the end of the string to a cane or short stick, and we have a very respectable rod and line to go a-fishing to catch fingei*s. The players are arranged around a small table— a round one is preferable— in the centre of which a circle about five inches in diameter is marked ; this may bo drawn with a piece of chalk, or consist of a round piece of paper, as may be most convenient. One of the players now takes the rod and lino, arranges the loop around the circle in the centre of the table and holds the rod in his hand ; he then explains to the rest of the players that when ho says •* my house," each must put liis forefinger, promptly at the word of command, inside the circle, and keep it there. The fisherman then says, ** your house," and the players must each promptly withdraw his finger and place it on the table immediately in front of him. The words of command '* my house," ''your house," should be given with sufladcnt fre« 30 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHT f quency to confuse the players, a forfeit being attached to any failure to act promptly and correctly at the word. When the fisherman thinks he has a good chance he should jerk the string upward, and try to catch one or more of the fingers. The person whose finger is caught next takes the fishing-rod, and in his turn tries to catch somebody else's finger. The fish- erman has perfect liberty to repeat the same command if he pleases ; after having given the words ^' my house," and brought the fingers into the circle, he can again say ** my house," and the party who withdraws his finger has to pay a forfeit. When the forfeits are all paid, some skillful necromancer may puzzle the probably increased number of guests by the following specimen of his cunning : The Odd Card. This simple but amusing trick is performed with an ordinary pack of cards. Request one of the company to place both hands flat on the table, then insert between each finger of his right hand two cards or one pair at a time ; this will require four pairs of cards. Follow the same method with his left hand, but placing a single card, instead of a pair, between the third and little fingers (see Fig. 12). This will require three pairs and an odd card, or fifteen cards in all. Now take the two cards which are between the third and little fingers of his right hand, and lay them down on the table separately, side by iSide, at the same time saying, '' that's one pair;" then take the next pair, separate the two cards, and lay one on each of the cards al- ready on the table, and say 'there's another pair." Follow exactly the same method with the remaining pairs, making the same remark with each, until only the odd card remains. This is to be placed on the left-hand pile of cards on the table. Having made up the two little piles of cards on the table nice and straight (so that the cards in each cannot be counted), ask any one in the company to name which i)ilo contains the THE SECOND EVENING. 31 odd card. As you have put the odd card on the left-hand pile, that will be the one selected. You then lift that pile and Fig. 12. count out the eight cards that are in it into four pairs. Then lift the other pile and count out three pairs and an odd one over. As there are seven pairs of cards used, each pile must con- tain seven cards ; this fact is not apparent to the company if the trick be done neatly and quickly, and the odd card will, of course, make an even number of cards in the pile to which it is added. In the cut (Fij::. \H) the cards are represented as if they had been laid out into the two piles loosely; this is done in order to explain how the seven cards come in each pile. Necromancy being in order, two of the party may proceed to puzzle the reniaind(3r of the company by the trick game of S2 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT t This, or That. The two who are in the secret agree, that wlien an object se- lected by the company is touched by the leader, he shall say, *'is it thatV^ when other objects are touched, he says, ''is it thisV Example: The accomplice leaves the room, and the leader requests the company to select any object that he is to guess when he returns. The company decide upon a vase of flowers, and the accomplice is recalled. Leader (touching each article as he names it). Is it this book? Axs. Xo. LEADErw. Is it this chair? Axs. Ko. Leader. Is it this cushion? Ans. No. Leader. Is it that vase of flowers? Ans. Yes. By altering the catchword whenever the accomplice leaves the room, the company may be puzzled a long time. When they are tired of this, let the entire company join in a merry game, called The Museum. One of the party, Mr. Jones, suddenly jumping up, calls upon another by name. Mr. Jones. Mr. Coyle, did you know that I had just re- turned from a journey round the world? Mr. Coyle. Ah, indeed ! Mr. Jones. I have brought home a most wonderful collec- tion of curiosities, and being of a speculative turn, I am desirous of selling some of them. Mr. Coyle. Ah, yes! Well, suppose you let me see some. Mr. Jones. Hero (throwing a light handkerchief over the THE SECOND EVENING. 33 face of a tall handsome gentleman) you may see a stuffed alligator from the banks of the Nile. All the curiosities that smile you may have very cheap, but I caunot part with those that retaiu their gravity. Mr. Coyle. That will suit me. Me. Jones. This alligator {twitching off the handkerchief) is one of the most monstrous of his species. During our voyage home, while I endeavored to keep him alive, he devoured seventeen negro babies every day, and washed them down with nine gallons of the best Eau de Cologne. (Dense gravity on the part of the alligator.) Mr. Coyle. But what caused the death of the interesting specimen ? Mr. Jones. My dear sir, the supply of babies gave out, and be endeavored to swallow the black cook whole. She stuck in his throat and choked him, though you would never guess it, to look at the size of his mouth. (Here the smiling alligator is sold to Mr, Coyle,) Mr. Jones. This specimen {throwing his handkerchief over a pretty blushing girl) is a little treasure of art I secured at great expense in Paris {removing the handkerchief). It is a casket of jewels. These brilliant diamonds {pointing to eyes) could never bo replaced, if lost, and you never saw more beauti- ful twin rubies {pointing to lips) than those. (Tlie young lady, smiling and blushing, is soUly and the hand- kerchief thrown over a grinning boy of seventeen.) This is a bottle of the celebrated Dr. Humbug's Panacea for all invalids of whatever age, country or condition. Ono doso has been known to entirely cure the most aggravateil cjiso of AmiabiUty Fever {uncovering the now solemn coHntenapwe)j and the taste, though slightly stinuiiatinLr at first, is nothiuLT after you are used to it. Mr. Coylk. Used to it! I'd never get usoil H) u. li I icnk it at all I should swallow it whole, like a pill. 34 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf (Tlie bottle of bitters, exploding, is sold. The next proved to be Eng, one of the Siamese twins.) Vm not going to believe that; I can take in a good deal, but that's a sticker. Mr. Jones. Really ! that is too much ! I tell you, sir, THIS IS Eng, late of the Siamese twins. He has recently been separated from his brother. I am astonished, sir, that you have not heard of that wonderful operation. Mr. Coyle. Humph ! (regarding Eng, tvho was a miracle of gravity, in the most critical manner.) It seems to me, though, you've got the worse one of the pair. Get Chang for me, and it's a bargain. Mr. JoxES. Impossible! Chang is not separated yet ; only Eng would submit to the operation. (Eng was not proof against this last solemn sally, and, with a hearty laugh, ivas handed over to Mr. Coyle.) Next in order comes a pretty girl, who loses her gravity when compared to sugar candy, and smiles at the compliments upon her sweetness. A very solemn old gentleman will often remain unsold, his gravity proof against the combined wit of both seller and buyer. Curiosities from all countries may be introduced : An Egyp- tian mummy ; a chip from Cleopatra's needle ; a pair of bellows carried by Napoleon into Russia to fan the flame of patriotism in his soldiers; a bottle of water from the source of the Nile, brought home by George Washington after his Arctic explora- tions ; Crossington washing the Delaware ; or any other non- sensical wonder that may pop into the imagination of the showman, or be suggested by the demands of his customer. After the merriment of the museum has subsided, there suddenly enters the room a strange being, who has been pre- pared while the company were engaged with other curiosities of the museum. It is not an easy matter to give this funny figure any distinctive name, but we propose to call it the THE SECOND EVENING. 35 I^ondescript, or Flexible Giant. Fasten a large grotesque head to the end of a stick four or five feet long : around the neck gather a skirt of black material, long enough to reach the ground when the end of the stick is extended at arm's length above the head of the operator in- \ / Fio. 14. Flo. U. side, as soon in Fig. 15. The best material (i)r the skirt Is the common black muslin used for linings, suniciently coarse to 36 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f allow tbe person inside to see through it ; its dimensions need not be more than about two and a half to three yards, or four breadths of the ordinary width of common lining. At about the height of the operator's knee fasten a hoop inside the skirt, to keep it from becoming entangled with his feet and legs; an- other hoop at about the height of the neck will prevent his view from being obscured by the folds of the skirt. The lower hoop should be connected by four tapes to the operator's waist ; this will ensure him freedom of action in moving about the room. The various attitudes and movements which may bo made with the giant are very amusing, if quietly and gracefully Fig. 16. Fig. 17. performed. By lowering the figure-head and crouching down (see Fig. 16), and then gradually resuming an erect i)osition and elevating the figure-head to the utmost, the figure will pass through all the stages of stature, from a dwarf to a giant. By swaying the head from side to side and inclining the body in the same direction, the figure will appear to rock and dance in the most laughable manner (see Fig. 14). A graceful bow is also a very funny position, as will be seen in Fig. 18. A very THE SECOND EVENING. 37 neat way for reducing the height for final exit through the door is effected by making a bow, and curving the head right through between the legs, the disengaged left hand being used to raise the skirt for its passage. This will cause the head to project behind in a most ludicrous position, as shown in Fig. 17. In all straight or curved movements the operator's body must as- sume the functions of a flexible stick, or a continuation, as it Fio. i& were, of the stick to which tho flgurc-hend is attached, avoid- ing all abrupt angles, and moving in graceful curves and with easy undulations. Tho length of the stick or cane used must bo proportioned to the height of the apartment in which tho exhibition is to take place ; in the spectacular drama of tho ^'Hlack Crook," in which these figures were first Introduced, 38 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGETf the height of the stage allowed the giants to assume colossal proportions. This would have to be greatly modified to suit the limits of a parlor, but the effects will stiJl be exceedingly amusing. If two or three figures be used at a time, one of the heads may be garnished with an old woman's frilled night-cap. Large grotesque heads can be obtained, ready-made for the purpose ; but where these cannot be had, a very funny large mask, such as may be found at any costumers, will answer the purpose, a head being made with rags to fill it up, the back part covered with curled horse-hair, or anything available, to represent a giant^s head. When the nondescript has created a sufficient sensation, one of the party proposes to end the even- ing's amusements by a little feat of magnetism, offering To Magnetize a Cane, This is a very surprising little fancy, and is calculated to create much astonishment. no. 19. Take a piece of black silk thread or horse-hair, about two feet long, and fasten to each end of it bent hooks of a similar THE SECOND EVENING. 39 color. When unobserved, fasten the books in tbe back part of your pantaloon legs, about two inches below the bend of the knee. Then borrow a cane, taking care to select one that is slender and of dark color ; place it within the inner part of the thread, as represented in Fig. 19. By a slight, almost imper- ceptible movement of the legs, the cane can now be made to dance about and perform a great variety of fantastic move- ments. In the evening the thread will be entirely invisible, the performer being careful not to sit in too strong a light, and the cane has no apparent support whatever. The performer should inform the company, before commencing the trick, that he is obliged to magnetize the cane, and by making mesmeric passes he conceals the movements of his legs, by drawing attention to those of his hands. He can order the cane to sway to the right or left, at will, motioning the cane with the appropriate hand ; or it may be commanded to make a bow to the audience, and other movements that the fancy of the operator may suggest ; provided only, that the execution of the movements should not require much motion of the legs, as this might afiford a clue to the trick. 40 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f JhIRD ijVENlJ^Q. The guests being assembled for a third evening of hihirity, a pleasant game may be started, called Throwing Light, in which two players who have privately agreed upon the name of some article to be discovered by the rest, discuss the article without naming it ; expatiate upon its uses, merits and pecu- liarities, and in various ways throw light upon it, until some other player, guessing it, joins the pair, and, without mention- ing it, helps them to throw light, until all but one unfortunate player are engaged in this new system of illumination. Of course each person playing is especially anxious not to be the solitary one 'Heft out in the dark," and it is equally the aim of those throwing light to do so in as perplexing a way as they can without being unfair. It is a privilege of the game, that the name of the article chosen may have two or more different meanings, fis : plain^ plane ; takj tail ; stair j stare ; so that it is not difficult, with a little ingenuity, to mingle considerable mystery with the light. But, alas, for the luckless one who, under :i false impression that he or she has guessed it, ventures recklessly to throw light ! As soon as he betrays himself he is compelled to cover his face with a handkerchief, and cannot be uncovered until he is able to send veritable light from behind the veil. When a guess is made it must bo whispered into the car of the already-enlightened parties. Example : Mr. Jones and Miss Martin select mouth as the article in beginning the game. THE THIRD EVENING. 41 Mr. Jones. My preference for the article may be variously stated, but under the nose is a position of great benefit. Mrs. Smith. Oh, I know ! I like Lubin^s best. Mr. Jones. I must challenge you. Will you whisper your guess in my car ? Mrs. Smith (wMsperlng). Perfume. Of course it is best under the nose. Mr. Jones. I regret to hide your charms (throws a hand- kerchief over Mrs. Sm iUi's face ) . Miss Martin. I prefer it with natural adornment, unpainted, unless framed. Mr. Lee. Alligators frequently use one to swallow another. Mr. Jones. I must challenge you, sir. Mr, Lee (whispering). Where an alligator's mouth takes in a negro, don't it include the negro's mouth, too ? Mr. Jones. Right ! Mrs. Curtis (having guessed rights throws light). The statue of Memnon has a beautiful specimen. Mr. Jones. So has the Mississippi river. Mr. Lee. But in one it is wide, in the other narrow. Mrs. Grant. Oh, is it a mouth f All. Forfeit ! You did not whisper. While this game is in progress, a few of tlio classic sdioiai-s may retire, and introduce to the party The Centaur. The basis of this representation is very simple, consisting of two figures (men, of course) standing one behind the other, about half the height distant— the front figure standing ei*cct, tlie otlicr bending at tlie hii)s forward at nearly a right-angle, bringing ilie top of the head against the lower part of the back- bone of the first, the hands resting on his hips for support as well as disposal (see Fig. 20). A large piece of drapery Is then thrown over the stooping figure, so as to conceal the l>ody and 42 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f limbs to the kuee, and is brought round and fastened in front of the standing one just below the belt, and falling, conceals his legs also to the knee. Any kind of drapery will do, but a rich fabric, as a large shawl, or other article of apparel with either gay or sober rich color as a body, with a deep border or hand- some ornament, would be the most effective. A tail may be extemporized from strips of paper, cloth, or any other material Fig. 20. that is flexible and convenient, and fastened by pins to the cloth at the proper place (see Fig. 21). Nothing is now seen of the figures but a part of the lower limbs, and the upper part of the front one. For close resemblance, the trunk and arms of this one may be cased in a tight-fitting undershirt, flesh color of course the best, but an ordinary undergarment, such as is usually worn, would answer very well. For mixed company, to take off the baldness of apparent nudity, and for, perhaps, de- corum, a sasb, robe, or short mantle, may bo thrown over the left shoulder .and fastened over the right, of some light fabric which would float or fly about freely with the motions of the THE THIRD EVENING. 43 animal, and yet partially conceal the trunk. For ordinary pur- poses, however, any tight or snugly-fitting garment, as a vest or jacket, would do, as it may be easily modified by some ap- pendage that would remove or disguise the familiar look of the article — even the shirt-sleeves may be worn to the wrist, or rolled up above the elbow, as taste or circumstances may sug- gest—or a vest made of a large sheet of light- tinted wrapping- Fio. 21. paper may be quickly got up, with arm-holes cut out, aud the edges pinned together behind, like a dress-pattern, and marked to represent the armor, or any other costume. A quiver of arrows may bo supplied from the property-room, or made easily out of stiff paper or cloth, and hung over the shoulder at the back. The hair, if long, may bo brushed wildly nbout, or a helmet, turban, or hood, can easily bo made from scarfs, Imnd- kcrchiofs, or pasteboard, for the purpose of disguising the per- haps well-known features of the actor, or for picturesque effect. A bow or spear completes the equipment. This getting-ui) may, of course, be more or less elalK)rate, ao- 44 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f cording to circumstances, but the simplest form is very effective if well acted, and this is the principal part of the representation to make it amusing. The prancing, curveting, cantering, and the various attitudes assumed by the principal figure, shooting the arrow, throwing the spear, flinging the arms about, sway- ing the body, giving the various supposable characteristics of the subject, can, in good and intelligent hands, be made very effect- ive and diverting. As the animal represented is supposed to have been half human, the human part may be supposed to be able to talk, and give an account of itself, or utter ejaculations of fierceness, defiance, terror, etc. : and one posted in mythologic- al lore can amuse and x)erhaps instruct the audience with some account of his race, lineage and history, or give any speech appropriate to the character. Very amusing scenes can be got up, by having two centaurs, more or less distinguished in the color and style of their make-up, who plunge at each other in mock combat, striking out their hoofs (or heels) front and rear ; or run a tilt with lances in tournament fashion. For this scene shields may be improvised from articles of domestic use, as a tea-tray or waiter, or other articles which may quickly be ad- justed by straps or strips of cloth so as to be carried on the arm, or may be got up more leisurely from pasteboard, tin, or other material, and, like all the other paraphernalia, more or less decorated and finished, according to circumstances. The position in this representation not being very constrained, the performance can be sustained for a considerable length of time without weariness, or an occasional rest can be taken to afford the rear figure a breathing-spell. A trick may now be introduced, called. The Magic Ilandkercliief. The amateur juggler takes any handkerchief, and puts a quarter of a dollar or a dime into it. Ho then folds it up, lay- ing the four corners over the coin, so that it is entirely hidden THE THIRD EVENING. 45 by the last one. He then asks the connpany to touch and feel the coin inside. He then unfolds the handkerchief, and the coin has entirely disappeared. Apparently nobody has touched or removed it, yet it is gone. The method is as follows: Take the coin, and privately put a piece of wax on one side of it; place it in the centre of the handkerchief with the waxed side up; at the same time bring the corner of the handkerchief, marked A (as represented in Fig. 22), over the coin, so as to completely hide the wax upon it. Now press the coin very hard, so that the wax will adhere to both coin and handker- chief; then fold the corners, B, C, and D, till it resembles Fig. 23. Then fold the corners, B, C, and D (Fig. 23), leaving A open. Having done this, take bold of the handkerchief with both handji (as represented in Fig. 24) at the opening, A, and sliding along your lingers at the edge of the same, the handkerchief becomes unfolded, the coin adheres to it, coming into your 46 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f right hand. Detach it, shake the handkerchief out, and the coin will have disappeared. To convince the audience that the coin is in the handkerchief, when it is completely folded drop it on the table, and it will Fig. 24. sound against the wood. When the conjurer sees that the com- pany are interested, he may explain in this way: ^*It is all in the handkerchief. I bought this valuable square of linen from a Fakir of the East, who assured me that it pos- sessed magical qualities of the first order. It will tie A Magical Knot, as you see." This trick consists in simply tying one knot with two ends of a handkerchief, and, by apparently pulling the ends, untying them again. Take two ends of the handkerchief, one in each hand, the ends dropping from the inside of your hands. You simply tie a single knot, when your hands and your handkerchief will be in the position shown in Fig. 25. Instead of pulling the ends, C and D, grasp that part marked B with your thumb and forefinger, dropping the end D and pulling upon the end C THE THIRD EVENING. 47 and the bend B, when, instead of really tying, you loosen the knot. This trick should be performed very rapidly to avoid detec- tion, but may be easily learned by a close examination of the illustration. c _ 3 The merits of variety being admitted, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and having formed a large circle of the com- pany, introduce to their notice the merry-making game of One Old Orang-Outang. Every one must now keep his memory on the alert, his face perfectly grave, and his ingenuity active, or prepare to pay an immense number of forfeits. The game commences by the first player stating that ^'Ono old orang-outang opened oysters oddly." All must repeat this, one after the other. The player on the loft of the first, then, after repeating the first phrase, adds : *'Two turtle-doves took a train on Tuesday for Turkey." After this has passed around the Circle, the third player, repeating both sentences, adds : ^^ Three thriving thrushes threaded thistles on Thursday." It is better to have all the combloations original, but ao 48 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XlGHTf example is given, supposing fifteen players. Every time the sentence is made longer it must pass entirely around the circle of players till it returns to its starting-point, Tvlien the next player starts it again with a new addition. Every smile, every omission of a word, or variation from the text, costs a forfeit for the culprit, and the merriment is very great when the sentence becomes so long that nobody can remember the whole of it exactly. ^^ Oue old orang-outang opened oysters oddly." Repeated by all, starting again : ^'One old orang-outang opened oysters oddly; two turtle- doves took a train on Tuesday for Turkey." Repeated by all, the third player sending round again, addiug: *^ Three thriving thrushes threaded thistles on Thursday." After all have tried this, the fourth player starts it afresh, adding : ^'Four foolish frogs forgot fasting on Friday." Round again, and the fifth player adds : ** Five flying-fishes finally fainted." Repeated by all, the sixth player adding : " Six slim sailors sailed for Sweden on Saturday." The seventh player adds : '^ Seven solemn soldiers shot Simon Snodgrass." If the eighth i)layer can get through all this nonsense gravely, and without stumbling, he adds: ■■* ^* Eight educated emigrants eloped, eating eggs." The ninth player complicates affairs still further, by adding the news that : "Nine nodding ninnies never nibbled nosegays." The tenth player gravely informs us, after all before said has gone round the circle, that : " Ten traveling tailors took tea at Tarrytown." The eleventh, if his nimble tongue and retentive memory hold out against the foregoing ten tantalizing topics, adds: THE THIRD EVENING. 49 " Eleven enterprising elephants easily entered Easton." The twelfth adds : ^^ Twelve tipsy topers tumbled topsy-turvy." The thirteenth tells us that : ^'Thirteen thrifty thieves threatened Theopilus." The fourteenth adds : ^' Fourteen fearful foemen fomented a furore.^' And the fifteenth, that : *' Fifteen feminine fiddlers fearlessly faced a Frenchman." All of which now falling upon the much-to-be-pitied circle, must pass around it in this shape, all smiles and omissions costing dreadful forfeits. *^ One old orang-outang opened oysters oddly; two turtle-doves took a train on Tuesday for Turkey ; three thriving thrushes threaded thistles on Thursday j four foolish frogs forgot fast- ing on Friday ; five fiying-fishes finally fainted j six slim sailors sailed for Sweden on Saturday; seven solemn soldiers shot Simon Snodgrass ; eight educated emigrants eloped, eating eggs ; nine nodding ninnies never nibbled nosegays ; ten trav- eling tailors took tea at Tarrytown ; eleven enterprising elephants easily entered Easton ; twelve tipsy topers tumbled topsy-turvy ; thirteen thrifty thieves threatened Theopilus; fourteen fearful foemen fomented a furore, and fifteen feminine fiddlers fearlessly faced a Frenchman." Another form of the same game is to tako the well-known nursery- tale, The H6iisc that Jack built, and repeat this time-honored tradition in tliis form : The first player says : " This is the house that Jack builr. The second one : *on the floor (see Fig. 31), and under them a tall man, whose head touches the seat of one chair, and his feet the other. ITpon each arm he has another man, made in this way : in each hand ho holds a stick crosswise, to make shoulders upon which to bang a coat (a coat-stretcher would 62 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf be the best), which completely covers the arm, and is buttoned tight to the throat. The four fingers firmly grasp the lining of a hat, the thumb reaching out to the edge of the rim, so as to get a firm hold. Thus the arms held out from the body appear like two meu facing each other. The chairs are now covered with a large shawl, firmly pinned at the ends to the carpet. The dressed arms can now fight over the back of the chair which covers the man's head, and by appropriate movements a most furious battle can rage, the hats especially crushing and striking each other. The exhaustion is perfectly represented by spreading out the arms upon the floor. When it is decided who has the best of this furious encounter, drop the curtain, and while ^' removing the corpse,^" let the company try a game requiring the exercise of wit and ingenuity, called Planting. The leader starts the game by stating what ho planted, and what it came up, the two articles having some humorous con- nection or punning meaning. The articles planted may be of any description, animal, veg- etable or mineral, but they must come up as plants of some kind. THE FOURTH EVENING. 63 EXAMPLE : Leader. I planted my Shakspearc, and it came up Sweet William. First Player. I planted men and women, and they came up beans (beings). Second. I planted Rover, and he came up dog-wood. Third. I planted a coquette, and she came up love-in-a- maze. Fourth. I planted a battle,' and there came up flags. Fifth. I planted a widow, and she came up weeds. Sixth. I planted a /op, and he came up dandelion. Seventh. I planted Coneg Island, and it came up beech. Eighth. I planted a negro, and he came up tulips (two lips). Ninth. I planted an English coin, and it came up penny royal. Tenth. I planted a young fowl, and it came up chick-weed. Eleventh. I planted a fast young man, and he came up wild oats. Twelfth. I planted a cigar, and it came up ashes. Thirteenth. I planted vain wislies, and they came up sour grapes. Fourteenth. I planted charity, and it came up hearts-ease. Fifteenth. I planted a kid, and it came up huly-slipper. Sixteenth. I planted a clock, and it came up thyme. Seventeenth. I planted a philosopher, aud he came up sage. Eighteenth. I planted a dtfeated candidate, and he came up beet. Each one nuist exercise some ingenuity, and one plant will suggest another, often giving occjision for much real wit and merriment. C()mi>liments and sarcasms are often exchanged, and good-natured personalities indulged in. The necromancer of the evening can now add to his laurels by exhibiting the utterly iDcomprcheusiblo trick called C4 JVHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XI(iIITf The Changed Dice-spots. Place two dice between the fiuger and thninb of tlie right liand, holding your hand before you with the knuckles up, as represented in the engraving. By moving the thumb toward you the dice will turn over, causing the spots first exposed to come under the first finger, and bringing into view the spots which were first concealed against the thumb; we will call this movement No. 1. Now, move the thumb back again to the position first assumed; this will turn the dice back again, and constitutes movement No. 2. To perform the trick, place the dice between your finger and thumb, as in Fig. 32, with (for example) the ^zt'o-spot of each Fig. a2. exposed in front of your hand, and show them to the company by turning your hand and arm to the right, keeping the knuckles upward. Next, sway your hand to the left, always with the knuckles up, and without moving the thumb, and they will of course see the two five-s>^oi^. Again turn the hand to the right and the ^«ro-spots will be seen Jis before. Now, turn the wrist, so as to bring the i)alm of the hand upward, at the same time executing movement No. J, and, instead of the fivc- spots, two fours (for instance) will be brought into view. Again reverse the wrist, with movement No. 2, and th(^ r^ro-spots will again be shown, as before. THE FIFTH EVENING. 65 "pifTH ^Ij^E^'Nq. Having assembled a pleasant party of fun-loving folks, for the fifth evening of social merriment, have it perfectly under- stood that each one must contribute a share to the evening's entertainment. Let nobody plead ignorance as an excuse for remaining idle, for five minutes will convey all necessary in- struction for the simple amusements suitable for an evening's diversion. Nothing, be it here observed, will so thoroughly mar the en- joyment of a social meeting, as a few damp blankets in the persons of people who won't play. Dignity, bashfulncss, ill- nature or laziness, may any of them be at the bottom of a re- fusal to join in a merry game, but if you want to have a really *^ good time " request your guests to leave all such embarrassing sensations at home, and bring to your gatherings only good- nature, wit, and a desire to make every-body happy. This being thoroughly understood, open the evening with The Blind Beggar. Let all iho players seat thomselvos in a circle, excepting two, one of whom i)ersonatos the blind beggar, and tbo other bis guide. The guide, loading tho beggar by tho hanci, asks tbreo questions of each one of tho circle, and in tho answers, tho words tvhitc, blacky yes and /w), nuist not occur, as the speaker who usos any ono of these four words pays a forfeit EXAMPLE: Guide. I have tho care, nindain, of a ])oor blind man, for whom I am soliciting charity. What will you give hlmt Aks. An old coat. 66 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XIGHTf Guide. What color is it ? Ans. Bright blue. Guide. That will not wear well. Can't you give him a black one ? Ans. That is the only one I have. This player having escaped paying a forfeit, the guide goes to the next one. Guide. What will you give a poor blind man, too old to work ? Ans. I will give him a pair of gloves. Guide. Kid gloves ? Ans. No. Cotton. Guide. You said no ; please pay me a forfeit. Twice round the circle seldom fails to obtain a forfeit from each one, the guide trying so to contrive his questions as to betray the speaker into saying one of the four forbidden words. Another game of somewhat similar character is Garibaldi. The leader solicits a gift for Garibaldi from each one, first stating that '* Garibaldi detests his ease." Each player must now make Garibaldi a gift, but must omit the letter e in his answer, or pay a forfeit. example : Leader. I am soliciting contributions for Garibaldi, who detests ease. What will you give him t First Player. A gun. Leader. What will you give him f Second Player. A sword and belt. Leader. Pay a forfeit ; there is an e in belt. What will you give him ? Third Player. A mihtary hat. Leader. What will you give hira t Fourth Player. A new red shirt. THE FIFTH EVENING. 67 Leader. Two forfeits; there is an e in new, and another one in red. What will you give him % Fifth Player. A gun. Leader. Pay a forfeit; the same thing must not be named twice, and he has already had a gun. What will you give him? Sixth Player. A body of troops. And so OD, every repetition and every e paying a forfeit. The ingenuity of some of the gentlemen may be exercised during the last game, by the construction of a new addition to the menagerie of our social circle. The Giraffe. This subject is composed of two figures standing one behind the other, the front one upright, or perhaps inclining slightly forward : the rear one bending forward at an angle of about forty-five degrees, his hands placed upon the shoulders of the front figure, and his head brought in contact with the upright performer's back, just below the shoulder-blades. The front figure, with his arms and hands as close to the sides and front of his body as possible, carries a stick or polo some four or five feet in length, holding it upright by the end, and inclining it a little forward, or about on a lino with his own boaand men. -peror of Aoa-trla bad a bnn-dred tbon-aand i 90 UHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? The second time the four lines are sung, the first word is omitted in the first three fines, the fourth fine being given entire. The third time, the first two words are omitted in three fines, still singing tfie whole of the fourth. In this way the song proceeds, dropping word after word in the first three lines, but always singing the fourth line entire, tiU the whole of the time for three lines is dead silence, the fourth line being sung in its proper time. The following is the song, all the words in italics being silent, but the audible ones coming upon the note and at the time they would if all were sung. The slightest error of time ruins the efifect entirely. 1st Time. — The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria liad a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. 2xu Time. — The Emperor of xVustria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; TJic Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. 3rd Time, — The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred tliousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a Imndred thousand men ; Ttie Emperor of Austria had a huudred thousand men. 4th Time. — The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor o/ Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor o/ Austria liad a liundred thousand men; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. 5th Time. — The Emperor of Austria liad a hundred thousand men; The Emperor of Axuttria had a hundred thousand men; The Emperor of Austria had a Imndrod thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria bad a hundred thousand men. 6th Time.— 27*6 Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a liundrod tliousand men; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. THE SEVENTH EVENING, 91 7th Time.— T/te Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. 8th Time.— T/ie Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. 9th Time.— The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. 10th Time, and last — The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred tliousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men ; The Emperor of Austria had a hundred thousand men. When well sung, the eflect of the song is ludicrous to the extreme. Some performers beat time with hand, foot or head, hut it is much funuier if they stand perfectly motionless, their eyes fixed in a steady stare and nothing moving but their lips. ''John Brown," to the tune of "Glory, glory, Ilalleliyah," is very funny sung in the same way, omitting in regular order the last words instead of the first, and singing only the first verae. example: The words in italics are omitted, after the soug has been sung once entire. John Brown. John Bro\vn*8 bod-y Uet a • moalderliiff In the ground, John Brown^t bod • 7 lies a • mouldering in the groond, John Brownie bod*/ Uee •- mouldering in the ground, As we go nuuch-ing on. 92 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO NIGHT f John Biown's body lies a mouldering in the ground; John Brown's body lies a njouldcring in the ground; John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the ground, As wc go marching on. The next time omit the two last words, tbeu three, then four till all the first three lines are silent, as in '^ The Emperor of Austria," which is also very efiective if sung in the same man- ner as '' John Brown," dropping last instead of first words. Hocus-PocTis may now be introduced by an expert performer for the amuse- ment of the others, and rarely fails to gain laughing applause. You commence this spirited performance by proving your knuckles to be of wood or iron, by striking them uninjured against the edge of a marble mantel-piece or table. You perform this trick by raising your clenched fist very high, allowing the spectators to see that it is well doubled, and then bringing it down very quickly, with sudden sharp force, but as you reach the marble open your fingers quickly so that they strike, closing the fist again instantly, as shown in Fig. 41. THE SEVENTH EVENING. 93 This feat requires some practice, otherwise the knuckles will actually come in contact with the marble, when, although the effect will be quite as funny for the spectators, the performer will probably not see quite so well where the laugh comes in. But if done rapidly and expertly, it rarely fails to call forth a Fio. 42. scream or two from the ladies, and a rigorous examination of the i)orf()rmer'a knuckles by the gentlemen. Another piece of hocus-pocus consists in appearing to bit your head against the door with groat force ; you gravely inform the spectators that it docs not hurt the door in the least, and your head can stand it as long as the door can. This ruse is very similar to tlie preceding one and will certainly 94 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? surprise a company if well done. The performer should intro- duce the feat by some speech. "Would you desire, ladies and gentlemen, to learn my secret for making impromptu verse ? It is to irritate the forehead well, not by rubbing with the hand, as Horace did of old, but by giving your head some good sound blows against a wall.-' He then proceeds to knock his head three or four times against the edge of an open door, as shown in Fig. 42. He then i)uts his hand to his forehead, as if to deaden the pain produced by the violence of the blow. Of course the operator does not really knock his head ; he merely permits his head to touch, or nearly touch, the door, and at the same moment he strikes with his fist a smart blow upon the side of the door which is concealed from the company. The correspondence of the movements of the head with the noise of the blow given by the fist produces a perfect illusion on the minds of the spectators. We have seen a whole company running for water, camphor or vinegar, to relieve an unfortunate sufferer who sat holding his head, a picture of distress, after appearing to run against an open door, and performing this trick v.ithout giving any warning or preparation. A lady after witnessing these performances may now ask if any one of the company can balance a thimble full of water upon a pin stuck in the wall. The chances are that no one can do so. The thimble is brought, and the lady, carefully holding this in one hand and the pin in the other, invites some very exquisite cavalier to come to the wall and hold the thimble while she drives in the pin. Just as she reaches the designated spot the pin drops from her fingers. The gallant must then search for it, and as ho stoops, the lady performs her feat of hocus-pocus by emptying the contents of the thimble upon the head of her unsuspecting victim. It is not often that a lady can get so fair a chance to do a little harmless mischief, and she will be entirely excusable in using ice-water for the ocmsion, in ordor to intensify the cf- THE SEVENTH EVENING. 95 feet, and raise the gentleman up, with a start, an exquisite *^ of the first water. '^ When the laughter subsides, you may introduce The Mysterious Release. This trick is so ingenious and interesting, that while it will probably require your closest attention to the explanation in order to comprehend it, will yet amply repay you for the trouble. You get a string about three feet long, tie the ends together, and your preparations are complete. First you require some one to hold up his finger. Place the string over it, winding it once around (the way of the clock, from right to left) forming a loop which completely surrounds the Fio. 43. finger and clasps it tight. Then, with the right hand draw the remaining part of the string out straight, pulling it a little to show that it is securely fastened and cannot come off. You now pro- pose to release the string from the finger, without taking it off over the top. Tliia sooms an utter impossibility — and the nninitintod would undoubtedly so declare it. Hut it is not so. Holding the string 96 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? out straight with tho fingers of the right hand, lay the forefin- ger of your left hand across the double string, about half way between your right hand and the finger on which the string is fastened. Then, with the right hand, carry the end it holds forward, over the forefinger thus placed, laying it across the double string half way between your left hand and the finger to which it is attached. This single loop which you thus carry over, and lay across, being slack, hangs down on each side of the double string, forming two loops, or one on each side, so that you can pass your right hand, which is now free, underneath, with the palm downward, and inserting the forefinger in the left-hand loop, and the second finger in the right-hand loop, pressing them down, the string being held across the top, you have the string in the position as represented in Fig 43. In Fig. 44 the same position is shown as viewed from above by the operator. As the string is thus held, you observe that the loops are pre- FiG. 45. cisely alike; that is, the inside strings pass under your forefinger, and the outside strings pass over it. What is wanted now is to change or reverse tbe right-hand loop. To do this, pass the second finger from beneath, between tho inside and outside strings of that loop (see Fig. 45), letting it oflf THE SEVENTH EVENING. 97 from the forefinger until it is fairly caught upon the second, (see Fig. 46), and then transferring it back again to the forefinger, Fio. 46. Fig. 47. and you will see that by these movements the loop has become reversed ; that is, the inside string passes over your forefinger, and the outside string passes under it, the left-hand loop remaining as it was ; so that now tboy are no longer alike (see Fig. 47). Holding the loops on your forefinger thus arranged, and drop- 98 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f ping your band to a perpendicular position, keeping the palm toward you, carry the loops forward and pass them over the finger to which the string was attached at the beginning of the trick. This movement (see Fig. 48) twists the loops into a sort of cat's-cradle appearance as seen by the operator. Then request the party holding them to be careful not to let the string slip over the top of his finger; and, in order to make that impossible, place the forefinger of your disengaged left hand on the top of his finger. To pull now with both fingers would not efiect a separation, but the string would seem be to still more firmly fastened, and the release a for greater impossibility, but let go the loop on the fore- finger and pull upon the loop held by the second finger, and as if by magic the string comes entirely free from the finger on which it was wound, and is exhibited to the gaze of the spectators en- tirely in your own possession. If neatly and quickly performed, this trick can remain a mys- tery for a long time, if the reversal of the loop be rapidly and neatly effected. A smooth and flexible piece of cord is almost indispensable to a rapid performer. The ingenuity of the company having been expended in the attempt to guess the ^' Mysterious Release," a new game, re- quiring some thought, may be started, called Century Court. Century Court is played, by one of the party leaving the room and having a century assigned to him during his absence, such as Sixth, Tenth, Nineteenth. Upon his return he is charged with all the crimes and abuses of his century, whichhe must explain, extenuate or acknowledge, * according to his wit ; or he is praised for its redeeming events, noble examples or fine characters, all of which he must grace- fully accept, trying at the same time to discover what century he represents. THE SEVENTH EVENING. 99 When he succeeds, he selects the party whose last speech gave him the hint from which he gained his information, saying : ^^The Eighteenth (or other) Century, begs leave to retire, introducing Mr. to the court," and the new victim leaves the room, while another century is selected. EXAMPLE : We will suppose a gentleman has left the room, and the com- pany have agreed on assigning to him a certain century. Mr Century is now called in, and proceeds to listen to the remarks made to him by the others. Miss Smith. Oh ! How could you assassinate one of the best men that ever lived ? ( William the Silent.) Mr. Jones. Well ! If he did, he produced one of the greatest poets. (Shakspeare.) Mrs. Smith. Yes, and tried to introduce the inquisition into Holland. Mr. Coyle. That was nothing to compare with the fearful massacre he caused. (St. Bartholomew.) Miss Cole. Ho was a good hand, too, at sinking ships — Mr. Wells. Which made the most gentlemanly duck imaginable almost crow for joy. (Admiral Drake.) Miss Lamb. Oh, yes ; and laid the foundation for roast goose on Michaelmas-day. Mr. Century. Thank you, Misa Lamb. I see. Roast goose, sinking ships, and Michaelmas. That means the Spanish Anna- da and Queen Elizabeth, thus making mo represent the Six- teenth Century. Miss Lamb, you may take my place. This game may bo continued during the remainder of the evening. 100 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f ijiQHTH JJVEJMIJ^Q. Hats and hoods having been deposited in the dressing-rooms, and the httle touches given to each fascinating toilet, suppose our friends once more assembled in the drawing-room, ready for another evening of amusement. The opening entertainment, which includes all the merry- makers, is the game of Justice is Blind. Blindfold one player (we will suppose, of course, a lady), to represent Justice ; she must then take a seat in the middle of the room, and the leader takes up to her each one of the company. Justice must then pass an opinion upon each, and the leader i^ to decide whether the opinion is sufiQciently applicable for Jus- tice to transfer her bandage to the person described. EXAMPLE : Leader (taking m^ek Miss A — to Justice). Will you please give your opinion of this prisoner? Justice. I think he is too talkative. Leader. That will not do. It is Miss A — (leading up Mr. B — , who treads lightly). What is your opinion of this pris- oner? Justice. She is a good housekeeper. Leader. Will not do. It is Mr. B — (leading up Mrs. R—y who makes a noise with the heels of her boots). What is your opinion of this prisoner ? Justice. She is deceitful j she tries to make me believe she is a man, by treading heavily. THE EIGHTH EVENING. 101 Leader. A righteous decision. Mrs. K — , I think you must submit to be blindfolded. Mrs. R — now tries her skill at blind judgment, and the game continues, until all have been blindfolded once. After the company are tired of this game, a most amusing exhibition, arranged in an adjoining room, or behind a screen, may now be given. It is called The Table Orator, and never fails to create shouts of merriment when well per- formed. Two persons are required to make the dwarfish orator. A deep window is the best place for the exhibition, or, if that is not available, a doorway, draped with full curtains, is the next best. Fia. 40. A table is drawn to the window or doorway, and the curtaiu ar- ranged 80 as to conceal the person behind it. The speaking actor then buttons a loose jacket around him, his arms hanging down inside instead of being in the sleeves, 102 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f which are pinned back out of sight. The assistant^ who stands behind, as shown in Fig. 49, places his arms over the shoulders of the speaking actor; the latter thrusts his hands into a pair of boots, or stockings and slippers, and rests them upon the table ; a hat is placed upon his head, while a third person carefully pins a cloak or shawl so as to conceal the assistant, all but his Fig. 50. arms, and arranges the curtain in such a manner as to allow nothing but the compound mannikin to be seen. They now appear as seen in Fig. 50, and the audience now being admitted, the fun commences. The visible orator speaks, and selects some deeply tragic or sensational speech, while the acting orator makes the gestures. THE EIGHTH EVENING. 103 Occasionally tbe speaker may move his boots in some ludicrous manner to add to tbe effect. EXAMPLE : Acting orator puts bis finger upon bis nose, while tbe speaker commences ^'Rolla's Address to tbe Peruvian Soldiers." ^^My brave associates (acting orator scratches his liead) ! Partners of my toil, my feelings and my fame (blows his nose J the acting orator performing all tJie gestures j tvhile the speaker keeps up the expression of countenance suited to his words). Can Rolla's words add vigor (doubles his fist) to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts (takes a pinch of snuff)^ No! you have judged as I have tbe foulness of the crafty plea (twirls his moustache) by which these bold invaders would delude you (puts his thumb on his nose and shakes his fingers). Tour generous spirit (takes a cent from his pocket and puts it back again) has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours (picks his teeth). They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power (takes ojf his hat and bows)j for plunder (rubs his eyes with his knuckles) y and extended rule (slaps an i magi miry mosqiiito on his cheek). Wo, for our country (aiijusts his fieck- tic) J our ffltars (fans himself with his /uit), and our homes (puts his hat on just over one cyc).^^ And so on, making the gosturos as absurd as possible in their incongruity with the subject of tlio oration. Many subjects for good speeches will suggest themselves: Mark Anthony's eulogy to Cassar's mantle, Hamlet*s solilotiuy, and others; or an impromptu speech maybe attempted; but let the words bo always of tragic or solemn import, leaving all the fun for the hands. At the conclusion of the speech, a verse or two of a song or dance, such as '' Love among the roses,'' etc., may be introducedi with innncnsc effect, the dancing steps being executed very neatly and quietly. 104 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f The oration over, a clever trick may be performed for the amusement of the merry-makers, entitled What's O'clock P Request any person to think of some hour of the day ; tell him to deduct it from twenty, and remember the remainder. You take out your watch, and inform him that you are going to count around on the dial, and that when you have counted the number corresponding with the remainder that he was to remember, he must stop you. EXAMPLE : Suppose he thought of five o'clock ; five taken from twenty leave fifteen remainder. You now count promiscuously (men- tally, not aloud), pointing at each count with a pencil to one of the hours on the dial, but taking care at the eighth count to FlQ. 51. point to the " Twelve," and thence in regular rotation backward to the left. When you come to the figure '* Five" you will bo stopped, as this will be the fifteenth count, corresponding to the THE EIGHTH EVENING. 105 remainder fifteen which he was to remember. You will thus know that five o'clock was the hour thought of. If this trick be repeated more than two or three times, it is well to vary the number from which the deduction is to be made. Thus, instead of deducting, as in the foregoing example, five from twenty, the person addressed may be told to deduct the hour thought of from eighteen ; but as eighteen is only six more than twelve, you must make your sixth (not the eighth) promiscuous count be at figure '^ Twelve" on the dial. In the first example, with twenty, the eighth count was made at figure '* Twelve " because twenty is eight more than twelve. If twenty- two be the number adopted, the tenth count must be made on figure *^ Twelve," twenty-two being ten more than twelve; and so on for any other number. The players are now requested to sit in a row and join in a Russian Game of Gossip. One of the company invents and writes down a short, striking narrative, say in about a dozen lines. This he roads to himself carefully, and then folds away out of sight. Taking the person on his left aside, ho repeats to him as accurately as he can what he has written. Number Two repeats this to Number Three, and so it passes round till it reaches the hist player. The last person recites the story, and it is then compared with the orighial record. It is never the same, and the variations are generally very amusing. example: Thus, one end of a row gave : " All over Dublin homes it is written eloquently cross the American Atlantic monthly because a suffering freedman is about to take the life of Snobbs, who has given permission and a fortune of fifty thousand pounds." While the original document was : " Oliver Wendell Holmes, who has written so eloquently in 106 WHAT SHALL WE BO TONIGHT f the American Atlantic Monthly for the cause of the suffering freedmen, is about to relate the life of Snobbs, who has a com- mission and a fortune of fifteen thousaud pounds." Another was given, after passing round the circle, " Dobson and his cousin Mary are in love. The family are opposed to the match, but the young couple intend flying to the Continent together, if they can hear of some pleasant party which they might quietly join. Now Dobson is of a violent dis- position and very unreliable in every way, and the Hendersons are doubtful as to his social standing. But Mary, like a true woman, believes him to be an injured man, and so trusts her life and happiness to his keeping." Which started as : ** Dobson and his cousin, Mary Henderson, being on quite friendly relations, think of visiting the Continent at the same time, if they can persuade some of their relatives and friends to make up a pleasant party to go abroad next summer. The Henderson family, knowing that Dobson is of a hasty temper and probably somewhat unreliable, as hasty persons are wont to be, object to her going. All things considered, however, Mary holds to her purpose, if the rest of the party are to her liking. The evening concludes by a most interesting performance called A Musical Recitation. A kind of monologue, introducing fragments of popular airs, the words of which are generally so familiar to every-body, that the mere performance of the melody on an instrument suggests words which fill up the pauses in the speech, and form a contin- uous narrative. In its performance, a flute or violin, or even an accordion, will answer the purpose, but a pianoforte is a great deal better; and the musical portions should be brought in with precision, so as to fall in with and continue the speaker's narra- tive; not abruptly, but blending in with the text. The following is furnished as a specimen, thQ well-known ^ong^ THE EIGHTH EVENING. 107 of the day affording abundant material for any-one possessing a little musical knowledge and ingenuity to arrange a variety of similar recitations. The musical quotations introduced are arranged as simply as possible, in order to be within the capa- bilities of a mere tyro in music, or to serve as hints for the guidance of the finished musician. EXAMPLE : '^Ladies and Gentlemen: I propose to relate to you this evening a few of the events and adventures of my Ufa. I labor, unfortunately, under the disadvantage of being far from a ready speaker ; so much so, that I should despair of making my remarks interesting or even intelligible, were it not for the promised assistance of my friend there (pointing to tJie musical performer), who has undertaken to support me when I stumble, and pick me up when I fall. Another drawback, and no light one, is the fact that my narrative must, from the nature of the case, bo an un- finished one. I cannot prevail on myself to end my life just yet, not oven for the gratification of my friends and hearers. It will be necessary, therefore, to break off in the middle ; leaving it for my administrators and assigns to strike the closing chord of my composition. As I cannot go to the end in that direction, I will, at least, begin quite at the other end, and take it for granted that I was bom. Of that fact I suppose I can speak confidently, as I was present on the occasion. My earliest impressions are inseparably blended with rocollec- tions of my mother. (Jfy Mother dmr, my Mother dear, m^ gmtU XoOtt ^imr,} I have also some dim remembrance of my Bister, a little mite of a child in those days, begging very earnestly to be allowed to 108 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf (Put we in my Little Bed.) Of coarse, in those early times, my little bed was a cradle of ample size to contain my few pounds avoirdupois. Before long I would rub my eyes with my httle dimpled knuckles, baby's way of saying : {Rock me to Sleep, Mother ; Bock m£ to Sleep.) Then my mother used to sit down in her old arm-chair by my side and watch me as I slept. That chair became so familiar to my sight, so thoroughly associated in my mind with my dear mother, that I never can think of it without a certain degree of veneration and affection, for (/ love it ; I love it ; and who shall dare to chide m^/or loving that Old Arm- chair.) The first event of my life, the first real sorrow, was when THE EIGHTH EVENING, 109 nature's sweet fountain was denied me ; in short, as Mr. Micawber would say with a sudden burst of confidence, I was weaned ; and then I made my first acquaintance with the bottle. I flour- ished and grew fat and strong under its influence, but I can't help thinking that it might have been the first cause of my hking the bottle too much later in life. The next notable era in a boy's existence is his first day in school. It is when a boy goes to a boarding-school that he first comes in contact with a little world outside of his home ; his ac- tive life may bo said to date from that day. If ever he had any mischief in his little composition it is developed there. He has in all likelihood been hitherto duly corrected at homo for his wrong- doings, but with a mother's soft, dimpled hand. Now, if he lets his slate drop a few times, or misses his lessons, or has been guilty of any other faults of commission or omission, the schoolmaster fetches out his favorite little rattan, and its {Whack! fol de rol ; Whack! fol de riddle ; Whack! fol ds rol, fol de rol dt riddle day.) Yes, whack I is no word for it. Oh, that waa misery ! I felt in those moments as if I were the victim of all the sorrow and woe in the world. I felt {TK$ n§art Bow0d down with Wtight qf W04,) 110 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? I may be wrong, but I really do think the old pedagogue took a sort of morbid pleasure in whacking us. When he had put us through our cane-dance, he'd tell us that, when we felt like offending again, we should pause and reflect ; and he'd say {In such a moment all I ask, That You'll remember me.) And then he'd give us one more whack, as a final clincher, to remember him by. Oh ! I can almost feel it now. Still, taking it all in all, those school -days were happy times. There is a peculiarity in the various stages of life, that, in pass- ing through each one, that particular stage seems to be a life in itself. In leaving school we seem to leave a lifetime' behind us; and in entering into business or other pursuits, we feel as if we begin life again anew. The pleasures and troubles of school - life dwindle into comparative insignificance when looked back upon from the stage of early shaving, tight boots, and the other absurdities of adolescence. That's my experience, at least, and the first real serious epoch of my life was of course the love and jealousy, the «ighs and hopes of a premature maudlin love affair. I met her (tragically) and submitted to my fate. Oh, Julianna; your cruelty was the cause of all my troubles and wretchedness. The presents I made her exhausted all my spending-money ; in fact, Julianna's residence became to me in more ways than one THE EIGHTH EVENING. ( The dearest Spot on Earth to me,) 111 We met frequently; iu fact, as often as I could get an hour to spare, I was at her side. In those happy moments I used to forget time, season, everything; once, for instance, never think- ing it was early in February, I was so entirely oblivious as to say to her {Meet me in the Lane, when the Clock strikes Nine.) adding, as an inducement, that I would arrange matters so that we could (Jump into the Wagon^ and ail take a Ride,) 'That would bo delightful,* said she, Mf it were July or August instead of February. I'm afraid your head isn't riirht;' and I really dou*t believe it was. It was not long before her respected papa opened ins parental eyes and perceived what was going on, and ho took nn early opportunity to question mo as to my intentions. II < old gentleman of fifty or thereabouts, with fine tlo ^ ^ . whiskers, a clear blue eye and a smooth shining pate, for 112 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf (He had no Hair on the Top of his Head.) But he also possessed a dignity of deportment calculated to strike awe into a youngster like me. I defined, in a trembling voice, my position in regard to the world in general, and my sentiments toward his daughter in particular. He seemed to doubt somewhat the reality of the latter ; but I felt that a crisis was reached in my existence, and my hopes of future happiness depended on the old gentleman's consent ; and when I fell on my knees before him, and with my hand on my heart en- treated him not to blight the existence of two fond beings, he could no longer withstand my urgent pleading, and said, ' Take her, young man ; take her ; that is, if she will have you.' I waited for no other words, but on the wings of the wind I flow to my Julianna. I rushed through the door of her boudoir, tripped over her favorite black-and-tan, and fell flat on my face. She screamed {Oh, dear ; what can the matter he.) ziztz aSs^MMm ^j^M. * , I picked myself up, somewhat the worse for wear as to my nose, cheek and knees, and gulping down a gi*eat lump I felt rising in my throat, said ^Oh, Julianna! Take pity on me; be mine!' (Don't say nay, eharming Judy CaUaghan.) THE EIGHTH EVENING, 113 If you only knew how my whole being is absorbed by the thoughts of you ! (Ever of thee Fm fondly dreaming ; Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer. -_i — r^ r ^-^Vn Yes, lend thy voice to cheer my drooping spirits. Say, oh, say thou wilt be mine!' I stretched out my arms toward her; she rose from her seat, and bashfully reclining her head on my left shoulder, said (Yea, yes, yes, yes ; Am I not fondly thine own t) I pressed her to my heart, speechless for happiness, when she whispered softly in my ear. What do you think she said t (KUt me quiek and Utfnegoi Kite me quiek, mif AoiMy.) 114 iVHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHT? Well, if any of you think I didn't, just keep on thinking so. She bridled up though, when I whispered back {Ever he happy, and light as thou art.) ' What ? ' said she, ' do you dare call me light V You see she misunderstood me, and I had no end of difficulty in explaining that I meant light-hearted. This happened on Valentine's day ; the one day which all are supposed to devote more to Cupid and less to cupidity, than on the other days of the year. Things remained in this blissful state for about a month, during which I had occasionally hinted in the most delicate manner the dis- advantages of a long courtship, etc., but without getting any satisfactory answer. At last, I was seized by the demon of jealousy ; I began to suspect that, in my absence, {There's some-one in the house with JHnah.) And I determined to bring matters to a crisis. The next time I called, I urged her with all the soft eloquence at my command to name the day. Judge of my extreme disappointment and dis- may when she promptly replied ( When the Swallows homeward /ly ; When ths Roaei tcattered lie.) THE EIGHTH EVENING. ' What !^ cried I, 'wait till autumn ? No, Julianna/ (No, no, no ; Not for Joe. Not for Joseph ; oh, dear, no.) 115 But she stood to her decision as firm as a rock. On a subsequent occasion I entreated her once more to shorten my term of probation, with no better success. Well, this was not exactly what I had expected, and I had also casually heard that her papa had managed to get his afifairs into a state of inextricable confusion ; in fact, as the boys call it, had gone (Up in a baUoon, boys ; Vpin a baUoon.) so I told her that I had determined to say to her, then and there, for the last time, (For Him doth thrutt vMfrom thine arm*. <7ood-6y«, Svmthmrt^ Oood-bye.) eonmoto. and, with an aching lioart, I rushed from lior presence. AVheu I reached homo, I must say I felt miserable. The 116 WHAT SHALL WE BO TO-NIGHTt bottom seemed to have dropped out of everything. It seemed as though the whole object of my life were gone. Had I not, perhaps, acted somewhat hastily ? I pictured to myself my poor Julianna sitting in her boudou", where I had passed so many hap- py hours in her presence ; in my mind^seye I could see her little black -and-tan endeavoring to attract her attention, but in vain. She, too, was perhaps as miserable as I, ( Weeying, aad and lonely.) ever and anon seizing another pocket-handkerchief to wipe her fast-falling tears, and sighing, as with a fresh burst of grief she cried (No-one to Love ; None to Caress.) The thought was bitter to me, and I wandered about, aimless, purposeless, longing to go back to her and cast myself at her feet, and yet hesitatmgfor fear of meeting the repulse I deserved. I could not sleep. I paced up and down my room, saying, in the misery of my despair, (Oh, I'm Lonely Tonight, Love, vnthout Thee.) I neglected my personal appearance most disgraceftilly; I forgot even, in my anguish, to shave. THE EIGHTH EVENING, 117 Next day, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw her with another young man, resplendent in a captain's uniform, and with a luxurious beard that made me fairly squirm with envy. They were chatting and laughing ; she, as unconcerned as if nothing had happened. Where do you suppose I saw them ? Why, (Walking down Broadway.) The sight so astonished me that I stood rooted to the spot. She saw me, and made a remark to her companion. I know she must have made some allusion to me, for she tittered behind her parasol, while (Th4 Captain wiOi hit Whitkert took a 8fy (Tlonof at m«.) Then came a reaction, and I began to think the matter over carefully. The more I thought, the more I became satisfied that she had not treated me rightly, and I exclaimed indignantlyy {Sh« may go, She may go, Shemay go to Hong-Kong for «m.) 118 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Yes, I'll wipe all old scores off the slate, and begin afresh. Why, of course! {Begone, dull Care ; Tou and I can never agree.) Very soon after I had come to this sensible conclusion, who should drop in but Tom Smith, one of my former chums. ' Scruggs, my boy,^ said he, ^Fm glad to see you. Why, you begin to look like your former self again. Vve heard all about it, and didn't know whether I should laugh at you or pity you. But come ; it's all over now. {Away with Melancholy ; Come away and let's bejoUy.) 4 \ .-H , ^ ^-JU. * Don't you remember the punch we used to drink, and the jolly times we used to have round at the Grove, old Johnny Kelvin's place, you know f Come.' (Won't you go to Kelvin Orove, Bonnie Lassie, Oh I) THE EIGHTH EVENING. 119 * Will I go V said I, * try me. Lead on ; I'll follow.' A few moments' brisk walk brought us to the Grove^ a spot sacred to Bacchus, Momus, and a jolly crew generally. I like this classic style of naming houses of entertainment for man, and sometimes, alas ! beasts. It is so handy to be able to shake a tedious acquaintance, or an uninteresting company with an * Oh I 'pon honor, quite forgot ; most pressing engagement at the Office (or Banky or Exchangey as the case may be), Excuse; By-bye.' And all without raising unpleasant sus- picions; on the contrary, perhaps create an impression — 'What a busy young man that must be !' But this is a digres- sion. Well, we had a hearty welcome from old Kelvin, who made us comfortable as in old times. We seated ourselves in a snug comer, and Tom sang out {Come, Landlord ; Jill a Jlotoing Bowl.) 'Here's our old backslider, Will. Scruggs, oome back to us to (Tah$ a Oup qfEindnmi yet^/or dayt qfAuid Lang 8yn4,) Now this was really comfortable. Oh, thought I, what a fool I have been ! Here have all my companions been having a 120 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf good time, while I was moping and driveling about a shallow flirt with a bankrupt father. ^Come, Tom,' said I, ^ let's wait till the other fellows come, and make a night of it.' ^You won't have to wait long,' said he; Hhere's one of them on the stairs now.' This was true, for in came a tall, exquisite- ly dressed fellow in a magnificent uniform (a style of uniform, by the way, that I had never seen before), his moustache beau- tifully curled, his whiskers long and wavy; and as he raised his fatigue-cap he revealed a glossy head of hair, parted in the middle, and redolent of the barber's last finishing touches. He gracefully seated himself, after shaking hands with Tom and bowing distantly to me. With much diffidence I introduced myself to this superior be- ing, and hinted that, having been latterly absent from the Grove, in fact enjoying the sea-breeze, (On the Beach at Long Branch.) I had not the pleasure, etc., etc. 'Oh,' said he languidly, 'you don't know me? Is't possible T Why, (Fm Captain Jinks, of the Horse 2rarine8.) 'Horse Marines,' said I, 'Ah I that accounts for the neat uniform. I regret that I am not dressed with uniform neatness myself, but, you see, I have had a good deal to worry mo lately and—' but the rest of my remark was drowned in a clatter as if a small regiment of boots, or a squad of disorderly sergeants, THE EIGHTH EVENING. 121 were stumbling up the stairs. The door was dashed open, admitting a rollicking fellow, with a curly head and a rattling voice. He slapped Tom on the back, gave a military salute to the captain, made two skips and a pirouette and dropped him- self into a chair on the opposite side of the room. I looked at Tom in surprise, as if asking for an explanation, when this eccentric individual burst out into the joliiest of laughs, and said, (Champagne Charley is my name.) His entrance had raised such a hubbub, that I scarcely no- ticed the arrival of half a dozen of my old acquaintances. In fact, I had no idea there were so many in the room until I heard them shout in chorus. {Tommy DodcL, Tommy Dodd ; Head or Tail, Fm gure to toin. HurrdK ! for Tommy Dodd.) Sure enough, thei-o was our old friend, Tommy Dodd, Already seated in the midst of us. After that, more arrivals, more punch, more everything; until the fUn began to be faat and 122 IFHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NlGHTf furious. The captain insisted on showing us how he taught the ladies how to dance the last new redowa-step, and I shall never forget his look of unutterable disgust when one of the boys called for a plate of pork and beans. 'Pah!' said he, 'what T give to my-ah-horses!' Tommy Dodd showed us, under a pledge of strict secrecy, the two pennies he always carried, one both heads, and the other both tails. We all looked at one another with surprise; a light broke in on us. Now we knew how he always managed, heads or tails, to always win. Well, it would take a book to hold all the fun, wit and nonsense that filled up the evening. It was daybreak before we separated, with the old refrain (We won't go Home till Morning.) ^^^^^^^m We started homeward in knots of two or three together, as we all lived in the neighborhood. The distance we had to go didn't bother us near as much as the width of the pavement, which seemed to us ridiculously narrow, but nevertheless we managed to make, all things con- sidered, pretty good headway. As Tom Smith and I separated, each to go to his respective home, I ran up against Joe Muggins, who had been attending Jennie Watson, an old flame of mine, to a ball at the Apollo Rooms. Joe had escorted her to her house-door, when she dis- covered that she had dropped her waterfall; and, as she was THE EIGHTH EVENING. 123 positive that it was all right when she left the ball-room, she was satisfied that it must have fallen off in the street on her way home. Slic hurriedly explained all this to us, and begged us with piteous accents to tell her {Oh say, can you see, by the Dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed at the Twilight's last Gleaming ?) . It caused us real sorrow to be able to give her no information about her lost chignon. In fact, we got our ideas so mixed up with star-spangled banners floating from women's heads, and water- falls flying from flag-stafl*s, and confused notions of all wo had been doing since the twilight's last gleaming, that wo offorcd her our *con-(hic)-dolence, and re-regrets, you know,' and went homo. These jovial re-unions, occasionally indulged in at first, began to succeed one another with increasing frequency, and I received sundry hints in relation to thorn from my mother. One morning, when I appeared at tho broakfast-tablo with a coDsidorably swelled head, I could not help noticing a gloom that soenied to hang over us like a cloud. I thought I detected a tearia my sister's eyo, which forced from mo tho quostion f wAy CAol Iter.) 124 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf She said that my irregularities were causing iny dear mother serious mental trouble, and that my conduct was certainly cal- culated to have that efifect. She added, that I had better avoid in future the company of those who were evidently leading me astray, to the injury of my health and the regret of my real friends. Curiously enough, the first person I met afterward in the street was Tom Smith, who had for some time been missing from our meetings at the 'Grove/ 'Hullo! Tom,' said I, ' what's come of you lately f You don't mean to say you have given up the Grove V ' Ah !' said he, turning up the whites of his eyes, * Mr. Smith, if you please. Tom was all very well in those days of sin and sorrow ; I have seen the folly of my ways and have joined the Young Men's Christian Association ; indeed, I am running for the office of Treasurer of that noble band — ah !' ' Why, Tom !' said I, ' this is a new departure on your part.' ' ¥es,* replied he ; ' and it's time you followed my example. Return to the paths of innocence and duty, recollect your mother and the other loved ones at home. (Be kind to your mother.) 'You have sown enough wild oats. If you plant much more, and they come up, you'll have such a crop to carry as will crush THE EIGHTH EVENING. 125 you. Reform, young mau, and ponder over my words of wisdom/ And with a ponderous bow he passed on. This set me thinking. *Oats!^ thought I, ^and especially wild oats ! Wherefore oats ? Ah ! I see! Wild conduct — wild oats. But why oats ? Why not corn, or rye ? There's surely more Bourbon in rye than in oats. I'll join a debating club, and have the first subject of debate. Wherefore oats f I've heard of people acknowledging the corn, but I never knew any-one who pleaded guilty to oats.' Well, this, as I said before, led me to having a good think. Those of my hearers who have read in the 'Wandering Jew,' that magnificent soliloquy of the Jesuit Rodin, when he was gazing on the portrait of the Pope, will recall the wonderful development of a train of thought ; how one idea insensibly leads to another. Thus, in following up my reflections on oats, I was led to think of corn, and, naturally, its development; first the blade, then follows the ear. This brought mo to think of ears, and the conclusion came on mo like a thunder-clap, 'Ears ! Ha ! What an ASS I have been to fritter away my time in following vain, empty and hurtful [)leasures. I'll stop it. I'll have no more stagger- ing home, and scratching the door all over with my latch-key to find the key-hole. No more stumbling up-stairs to my bed- room, disturbing tho family U( Fiv4 o'clock in ths Momimff,) ' No. It's over I' I hadn't got quite up to the ix>int of joining tho Y. M. C. A. exactly, but I went to my mother and explained my virtuous resolves. Tho dear soul received mo with out- stretched arms, and said, with teara of joy rising in her eyes, 126 WHAT SHALL WE 1)0 TO-NIGHT f (Oh ! WiUie, we have missed you.) *I know,^ continued she, 'I know, my poor boy, that you have had a heavy disappointment, which has made you careless; and you have got among a dissipated set of fellows. Bad habits grow on a young man, and make it very difiScult for him to cast them off. What a fine young man your friend Charley used to be, six or seven years ago. Now look at him ! Haven't you told me yourself that almost every night his poor wan, ragged little child creeps up to his side, and pulhng him by what is left of his coat-sleeve, says, (Father, dear Father, come home with vne now.) m^^^M ^ It is a piteous spectacle for a father of a family. Remember, my dear son, that henceforward you should let nothing induce you to neglect your—' (llume, sweet Home ; There's no place like Home.) THE EIGHTH EVENING. 127 I took my mother's words to heart, left my companions of the Grove, tuined over a new leaf, and became again the steady, respectable member of society you see before you. You will all, I am sure, in conclusion, join with me in the parting word (The word ? Good-night ; AWs tceU !) As I suggested at the commencement of my * few remarks,- this rambling sketch of my Mife's fitful fever,' having been brought down to the present time, must now come to a close ; and, with thanks to my able musical assistant for his prompt and timely aid, I beg to wish you all * Good -night,' hoping that you will extend to me your indulgent encouragement by answering ' All's well ' to my modest endeavors to contribute my mite to your evening's amusement." 128 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHT f J^INTH J)VEJ^I|^Q. It is cold ! We come in, chilled by the frosty atmosphere out- side, and even the warmth of a cordial welcome will not start the circulation. In such a freezing emergency there is nothing like a good game of romps; so prepare for a series of Eail^v^ray Accidents. The players are to take the following names (as they please)^ and whenever in the course of the story (which is read, or in- vented at the moment) their several names are uttered, they must do whatever duty is attached to the name, or pay a forfeit. Trairiy when mentioned, must rise and turn round once. Bails must rise wlien named, and extend the two arms quite straight in front, like the rails of a track. Ladies^ -car must rise and make a graceful bow. Sleeping-car must nod the head three times, as' if falling asleep. Smoking-car must rise, sit down on the carpet and rise again without touching anything. Newsboy must rise and cry " New York Herald. '' " Horrible Murder !" " Times !" " Tribune !" " Witness !'' Engine must rise and whistle. (A gentleman or boy should take the part of the engine.) Conductor must call the name of a station. Station must rise and bow, or courtesy. Tlie Station-master must rise and bow. Tfie Porter must rise, cross the room, and return to his seat. Passengers must all change seats. THE NINTH EVENING. 129 Telegraph must rise and make a sharp clicking sound with the mouth three times. Wheels must rise and turn round. Every player must now listen attentively to the story, and answer the name or pay a forfeit. When the smash comes, all rise and change seats, the leader securing one, and thus leaving out a new leader, who must tell the next story. EXAMPLE : Leader. Starting last week upon a Southern journey, I took the Washington train (Train rises and turns round once) at seven o'clock for a moonlight ride over the rails (Rails rises and extends arms in front). The ladies'-car (Ladies'-car W^e5 and makes a graceful bow) was quite full, as a Woman^s Rights Convention was going to visit the President. The smoking-car (Smokixg-car5i75 down on the carpet and rises again without touching anything) was also packed with passengers (Passen- gers all change seats), so I was obliged to secure a berth in the sleeping-car (Sleeping-car not?5 three times as if falling asleep). Unfortunately, there was some delay at the first station (Station rises and boivs), so that wo were very much behind time. I no- ticed that the conductor (Conductor calls the name of a sta- tion) seemed very nervous, so I spoke to a newsboy (News- boy calls^'' New York Herald!" ''Horrible Murder!'' " Times .'" *'Tribunc!" '' Witness!'') who informed mo that the engine (En- gine rises and tvhistks) would have to put on all 8pcem the 138 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGH Tf ground to look through a key-hole, now rising to a height of nine or ten feet to examine the high places, as seen in Fig. 55. After gravely inspecting the entire room he marches back to the dressing-ioom, where he is found to be a gentleman of the average height, who, like the old woman tossed up in a bas- ket, " In one hand he carried a broom." A Stick is tied firmly amongst the straws, so as to rise above them to the depth of a man^s hat. Over the broom , and buttoned no. 56L around this stick, is a water-proof cloak and cape, with a smooth lining to allow it to slide up and down over the lower cloak without hitching, and above them a hat is nicely balanced upon the stick (see Fig. Sti). By raising and lowering this, the ef- THE TENTH EVENING. 139 feet is produced of a man who can lengthen or shorten his body at i)leasure, his own head and shoulders being liidden under the cloak. Tlie party performing this should first put on another cloak, so that the upper one, which is supported on the stick, may slide easily up and down over it. An optical illusion of a very diverting character may be pro- duced by persuading a gentleman to perform The Long-jSTecked Gentleman. It will add greatly to the effect of this trick if the performer should happen to have by nature a long thin neck, and submit to have pointed upon it two black stripes about half an inch FlO. 87. wide. Putting on a liigh collar, ho buries his chin in it, enters the room, and stands before the audience. The neck is very slowly drawn out to its utmost lencrtb, and ns slowly allowed to sink down ngain. Tt is then shot out suddenly to its fiiU lonjjtb, as suddenly withdrawn, and the performer retires. The bars of 140 WHAT SHALL WE BO TO-NIGH Tf black give an appearauce of imniense length, and should bo painted on about an inch on each side of the middle of the throat, as shown in Fig. 57. When this gentleman has retired, the company can join in a game of Proverbs in Chorus. One of the party leaves the room, and the remainder agree upon a proverb, the words of which are divided amongst them. If there are more persons than words, let the same words be taken by two or three, but the words must not exceed the num- ber of players, as no one can say two words at once. The leader, standing near the door, gives the word of com- mand: "When I drop my handkerchief each one of you must shout his or her word, and you (to the party entering the room) must guess the proverb chosen, from the din.^ This is a very amusing game, and proverbs should be chosen, if possible, that are short, that each "word may have a good loud chorus. If the guesser can name the speaker whoso voice or word gave him the ckie to the right guess, that one must leave the room next time ; if he does not guess correctly he must go out again ; if he cannot name any one in particular who led to a correct guess, the next one going out must depend upon the good-na- ture of the company. For a game of hearty laughing, depending entirely upon its utter absurdity, we would now recommend The Muffin Man. The chairs \)o\x\^ drawn into a circle, facing inward, the lead- er, warning the company that every smile will cost a forfeit, turns to his left-hand neighbor, and singing the words to a mo- notonous tune, asks him very seriously, in the following verse : ^^^J^^ THE TENTH EVENING. 141 -N~u i1^= Oh, don' t you know the muffin man ? Oh, don't you know the muffin man ? •^ Oh, don't you know the muf - fin man, Who lives in Maid-ea Lane ? The next player must reply, to tlie Scime tune, and with i)er- fect gravity, looking his questioner full in the face, Oh, yes ; I know the muffin man, Oh, yes ; I know the muffin man, Oh, yea : I know the muffin man "Who lives in Maiden Lane. Then with a sudden jerk he turns to face his left-hand neigh- bor, and staring in bis face, asks, Oh, don't you know the muffin man f Oh, don't you know the muffin man ? Oh, don't you know the muffin man Who lives in Maiden Lane f The third player replies, staring in his questioner's face and without smiling. Oh, yes ; I know, etc., and in turn asks his left-hand neighbor. When the entire circle has been thus questioned and answered, they must all sing gravely, and iu chorus. Wo nil wi«il know tho muffin man I Wo all well know tho nuiffiii man 1 We all well know tho muffin man WMiu Iivo8 in Muidon Lono. If any cirolo of players can finish this absurd porformance without produciii*^ an enormous pile of forfeits, they had better imt on llieir hats and wrai)s and retire at once to tho solitudo of tlioir drenry homes, for they will have proved conclusively that there is not a laugh iu their whole comi>o8ition. But such things " mote " not bo. 142 WRAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f When the gravity of the company is restored, let some expert conjurer exhibit The Eabbit. The rabbit may be made of a pocket-handkerchief, a fur cuflf or glove, or any twisted fabric that can be coaxed or tied to imitate the little animal. It must be placed in the palm of the left hand, and it is surprising to see how far it will jump, or appear to jump, when thrown by a quick, jerking contraction of the fingers. Up the arm to the shoulder, into the lap of one of the ladies, over the chandelier, or under the piano, always starting from the position shown in Fig. 58. Fig. 58. A little practice will enable the pertormer to aim it scientific- ally, and the merriment is increased by a little conversation : "I have here a dear little pet, a rabbit that was chased by my dog Ponto in the woods last week, and sprang into my arms THE TENTH EVENING. 143 for protection. Ho is very tame; will you stroke it, madam? Hi ! (Rabbit Jumps over the chandelier.) Why, sir (replacing it on his hand) J is that the way to behave when a lady offers to caress you? Lie still now, and let Mrs. G see what a nice little pet you are ! (Rabbit jumps over the lady^s head.) Dear, dear j how naughty you are ! Now do be quiet, sir (replacing it)j and show the company how well you can behave. (Rabbit jumps into a ladifs lap.) Oh, you want to go to Miss B , do you? But you should not jump in that abrupt way. Tou quite startled the lady. Come here now, and see if you cannot run nicely along the floor. (Rabbit jumps under the piano.) What ! you want to hide ? Are you shy ? Well, then, jump up on my shoulder and I'll carry you back to your box. (Rab- bit jumps on shoulder and is carried awaij.y^ The canton-flannel rabbits made for a child to play with can be bought for a trifle, and may be made to perform all sorts of antics with a little practice. The household pet having had his day, we propose a little Magic Music. This is a very pleasant game. One of the players is sent out of the room, and some small articles, such as a handkerchief, ring, bracelet, or some such thing, is hidden away. The signal is then given for the banished one to return ; and a lady or gentleman acquainted with nuisic takes up a position at the piano. It is for the musician to indicate, by the strains on the piano, when the seeker is approaching the hidden object. As he recedes from it, the music falls to a low tone, and a mourn- ful cadence ; as he approaches it, the notes swell out, loud and clear, bursting into a triumi)hant strain as ho finally puts his hand upon I lie prize. If properly managed, the magic music may be made to have almost magnetic power iu dmwlng tbe seeker to the hidden treasure. Another variety of playing this game is to set tbe absent 144 fVRAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f player some task to perform, instead of hiding an object for him to seek. EXAMPLE : A being absent, the others decide that he is to take a book from the book-case, and present it to a lady. As he walks around the rooni, the music increases in volume as he ap- proaches the book-case, but falls into lower tones as he passes it. He thus is informed in what locality his task lies. He takes out a book, and the music is loud and lively ; he begins to read; the music is subdued and slow ; he is faltering in his task. He carries the book around the room. As he approaches the lady the music rises in volume and rapidity, ending with a trium- phant crash, as he hands her the volume with a graceful bow. In case of entire failure a forfeit is exacted, and each of the company should leave the room in turn. Another amusing game may now follow in its turn, called The Elements. A handkerchief is twisted into a ball, or if there is a soft ball conveniently at hand it may be used in pieference. The players must learn the rules, and bear them in mind. They must sit in a circle, and the game commences by one throwing the ball at another, calling out at the sa«ie time an element. The one whom the ball strikes must name something that lives in the element named, before the first player can count three; M earthy an animal ; if waterj a fishj if otV, a bird ; but if ^re is named, she cries, " I burn." Any mistake or hesitation costs a forfeit. EXAMPLE : Leader (throwing the ball at A). Earth ! One ! two ! — A — . Lion ! {Ihrotving the hall at B). Fire! One ! - B— . I burn! {throwing the ball at C). Air! One! two I three ! — a forfeit ! I counted three before you answered. THE TENTH EVENING. 145 C — (pays a forfeit and throws the hall at D). Water! One ! two ! — D — (flurried). Elephant. C — . A forfeit ! Elephants do not live in water. T>— (throwing the ball at E). Water ! One ! — E — . Salmon I (throtving the hall at F). Air ! One ! — F — (who has heen studying). Goose ! I had that ready for any element (throwing the ball at G). Water ! One ! two I — G— . A fish! F — . Forfeit ! You must name a fish. G — (throwing the ball at H). Air ! One ! two ! — H — . Swallow. It is astonishing how many forfeits can be collected in this apparently simple game ; it must bo played rapidly, or all the merriment is lost. When the forfeits for this game have all been redeemed, the conjurer again makes his bow to exhibit The Rose-colored Goat. The *' properties" needed for this exhibition consist of a white goat, and a white rose in full bloom. If a goat cannot readily be obtained, any other white animal, such as a cat, dog, rabbit, or oven a mouse, will answer the purpose, pmvidod only that it bo white. The animal must bo placed and secured near at hand, ready to be produced when the right Ano comes. The rose may bo laid on the lecturer's table carefully covered with a handkerchief, or concealed in a drawer in the table. The sub- ject should be approached or led up to by any little speech that may occur to the '* lecturer." We will suppose something in the way of the following : EXAMPLE : ''Ladies and gentlemen: We llvo in tho age of wonders t T do notvonturo on this d(M*laration recklessly, or without ample grounds. Tho wonderful appliance of steam to tho innuniora- 146 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT t ble and widely-different purposes of art aud locomotion are alone sufiBcient to warrant my assertion and prove its truth. More than that ; we have chained the electric flash, and compelled it to do our bidding j wo catch the fleeting shadows as they pass, and photograph them unalterably on a scrap of paper ; we can — but why enumerate the thousand triumphs of ingenuity and skill ! They are all nothing, absolutely nothing, compared with the natural wonders that, from their daily and hourly recurrence, are passed by unheeded and unnoticed. Nature, unaided by the puny hand of man, throws deeply into the shade the great- est achievements of genius and art. " What hand can portray, what pigments can imitate the glorious hues of the setting sun ? Why, in color alone her works are unapproachable. How little we appreciate the wonderful beauties of the objects with which nature has surrounded us : birds of magnificent plumage; fishes whose delicate coloring and lambent radiance are judged merely as covering so many pounds of food ; animals we have, of every color of the rainbow. Is not a fox red ? What purer shade of yellow can you find than that which nature introduces in the tints of a tortoise-shell cat? Where can you find a more perfect blue than the color which adorns the physiognomy of a blue- nosed monkey ? What more beautiful object can you behold than a rose-colored goat (or cat, .or what- ever animal you have) f (Pause.) " Ladies and gentlemen, why those signs of incredulity ? Do you mean to say that you never saw a rose-colored goat f Why, they are everywhere ! I can show you one this very moment. (Fetch in the animal, covered over, all hut the Jiead, with a shawl or other covering.) There (withdrawing the covering)\ What is that ? I affirm that goat is a perfect rose-color. Nature made it so, and nature never makes any mistake. Why, ladies and gentlemen (surprised)\ You seem to doubt my word, and the evidence of your own senses. Must I prove (indignantly) such a plain, self-evident fact ? This is liarsh treatment ; you push my good-nature really too hard. But T recoil not from the proof! THE TENTH EVENING. 147 Not one moment need I hesitate. (Produce tJie rose ; hold it aloft with one hand, and point at it with the other). Is not this a rose ? Has not this rose the color that nature gave it ? Now look at that goat. Has it not the same color as this rose (deliberately)^ Do you STILL doubt me (triumphantly) ? The funny man may now finish the evening^s entertainment by a conundrum, Oain and Abel. Lay a walking-stick on the table and place a bell by its side and announce that thev represent two well-known historical personages (Cain and Abel). When this has been correctly guessed you can challenge one of your active gentleman friends to accompUsh The High Jump. Tell him to place two chairs back to back about three feet apart ; then to take off his shoes and jump over them. If the party finds it beyond his power to succeed, you can take off your own shoes, lay them side by side and jump over them. That was all the other party was expected to do, only he did not understand it in that way. 148 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf JJleventh JJvej^ij^q. After ten evenings of fan we find that there is a visible ten- dency to waste no time, after assembling, in talking. Every- body evidently means business, and wo are no sooner seated than some one proposes to play at Penny Post, in order to give the company an opporttmity to move about. One of the party is chosen for the postman, and provided with a pencil and sheet of paper. He goes to each of the company in turn, and each gives him the name of a place, which he writes down, no two persons being allowed to choose the same name. He then tries to get a seat and elect a new postman, by causing the company to change places, and trying to secure one of the vacated chairs. There must be the same number of seats as therfe are play- ers, omitting the postman. As soon as all are seated he consults his paper and says, " The post is going between Boston and Chicago." The moment the towns are named Boston and Chicago change places, the postman trying to secure one of the seats. If he suc- ceeds he takes the name of the town chosen by the party who loses the seat, and who, in turn, becomes postman. When the postman says *' The general post is going," all the players must change seats, and in the general scramble the postman is almost sure to be changed. Ant town not answer- ing to its name pays a forfeit. THE ELE VENTH E VENING. 149 EXAMPLE : PosTMAK. The post is going between Washington and Philadelphia. Washington and Philadelphia change seats. PosTMAX. The post is going between Troy and Albany. Troy and Albany try to change seats, but the postman get- ting Albany^s chair, Albany replaces the postman, and the first •postman becomes Albany. Postman. The post is going between Cincinnati and St. Louis. Cincinnati and St. Louis change seats. Postman. The post is going between Portland and New Orleans. Portland and New Orleans change seats. Postman. The post is going between New York and Har- risburg. New York and Harrisburg change seats. Postman. You are all too quick for me. The general post is going. A scramble, ending in a change of postman. The chairs should bo placed in two rows facing each other down the room, and some distance apart, so that the postman may have a good chance. Ho has the privilege of walking up and down between the rows, and should have his names in two lines uixm the paper, so that he may not make those in the same row change places. While the Penny Post is in active operation one of the boys with an accomplice goes into another room to arrange for the amusing trick of The Naughty Boy. When all is ready the occompliee enters the room and in- forms the father of the naughty boy that master Tom or Bob, or whatever the name may be, is very sick, and the doctor baa 150 WHAT SHALL WE 1)0 TO-NIGHT f ordered him to take some medicine and go to bed, but that bo will do neither the one nor the other, and is behaving very badly in the next room. The company all adjourn to the room to see what is to be done for such a dreadful child, and find master Tom seated in a high chair, securely tied in. His father takes the medicine in a bowl, and an immense spoon, and ofifers it to the boy, who roars, kicks his feet and makes horrible faces, but will not take Fig. 59. the dose. Persuasions, bribes and threats are tried, until the father, getting out of all patience, gives the naughty boy a smart blow on the head with the big spoon. With a fearful yell the head falls ofif behind the chair. The horrified company, looking behind the chair, will find the naughty boy was composed of a pillow nicely dressed and fast- ened in the chair, the feet being the hands of master Tom or Bob thrust into a child's socks and slippers, and put upon the shelf of the high chair, and the head being that of the aforesaid Tom or Bob, who can thus kick, scream and grimace, and even TRE ELEVENTH EVENING. 151 have his head knocked off without affecting that portion of his body represented by the pillow. The illustration (Fig. 59)^ shows how the naughty boy is made, but the legs of the high chair should be covered to con- ceal those of the boy standing behind it. When the merriment caused by this terrible child has sub- sided, start a game of Why, When, and Where ? One of the players goes out of the room, and the others fix upon some word that has a variety of meanings for him to guess when he returns. He must go three times round the room, asking the players the first time **Why they like it?'^ the second time ^' When they like it ?" and the third time ** Where they like it?" The player whose answer betrays the word goes out next time. EXAMPLE : Supposing five players, who fix upon the word train. Leader. Why do you like it f Number One. It is convenient for travelers. Number Two. It is becoming to a short figure. Number Three. It is pleasant in rapid motion. Number Four. It is dressy for evening wear. Number Five. It is indispousablo for making childrou good. Leader. When do you like it ? NuMiJKR Onk. When I am in a hurry. Number Two. When I have a letter to send. NuMnKu Three. When it carries provisions in the army. Number Four. When it is of velvet. Number Five. Wlien it is not too long. Leader. Wliero do you like Itt Number One. In picturesque localities. Number Two. In a ball-room. 152 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf Number Three. On a pleasant route. NtJMBER Four. Not where it is connected with a magazine Number Five. Not in a muddy street. Other words admitting several meanings may be chosen, but the questions must be strictly limited to ^'Why?" '*Whenf ^* Where?'' This game having taxed the ingenuity of all the players, pro- pose now a game of Characters. One of the party retires from the room; in his absence the remainder of the company fix on some prominent literary or historical personage, living or dead. The person who retired is then called in, and endeavors to guess ^^ who he is'' by asking the members of the company any question he may consider likely by their answers to give him the desired information. Such questions as ''Where was I bornf ''How old am If" *' For what am I celebrated ? " etc., will soon give a clue to the pei*sonage fixed upon by the company. The person whose an- swer decides or leads to the discovery of the personage fixed upon then retires, and the company unite on some other lead- ing name to be guessed, in the same manner. EXAMPLE : Mr. B ; leaving the room, is recalled, and told that a char- acter has been assigned him. Mr. B — . Where was I born ? AifS. In London. Mb. B — . In what century ? Ans. The seventeenth. Mr. B — . What was my profession ? Ans. You started in life as a merchant, served also in the army, but finally became a distinguished author. Mr. B — . An author ! Did I die young? Ans. No. You died at seventy. THE ELEVENTH EVENING. 153 Mr. B — . Did I write Robinson Crusoe f Ans. You did. Mr. B — . Then I am Daniel De Foe. All having tried their skill at guessing, the conjurer now shows us The Out Tape Made Whole. Take a piece of tape about two yards long; draw the ends over the centre, as illustrated in Fig. 60, the right end being over the tape and the left end under it. Then hold the two loops thus formed, one in each hand, the two points y and Zy where the tape crosses, being held between the thumb and fore- finger of each hand, as shown in Fig. 61. The point desig- Fia. 00. natod by x will then bo right in the middle of the tape. Toa now explain that by cutting the tape through at x the tape will, of course, bo divided into two parts, and you i^cquost one of the company to cut it ; adding, that whoa cut you will restore the tape to its former condition. Before the cutting takes place give the loops a shake, which affords you the opportunity of 154 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf dexterously making the following change, on which the success of the trick depends : Before shaking the loops you will place the second finger of the left hand on the point x (Fig. 61), to show where the tape is to be cut ; at the same time shift the disengaged fingers of the right hand (hitherto holding the part above B) underneath instead of over the string, and right in- side the loop J then give the shake, during which the part x is drawn down by the second left-hand finger ; the portion of the tape above B is dropped from between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand, and the tape at C is seized by the latter. On resuming your former position the piece held up to be cutis no longer the middle of the tape, but merely a short continua- tion of the end D. Next, let this be cut through, and immedi- ately let the tape fall entirely from tlio right hand, which you now employ, with the aid of your teeth, to tie the cut ends (I), C, Fig. 62) in a double knot at y. After this is done (not before) you can remove the left thumb and finger and exhibit the tape apparently tied together in the middle, as in Fig. 62. You THE ELEVENTH EVENING. 155 now take hold of the knot with the forefinger and thumb of the right hand, and give one end of the tape to some one to hold ; then place the thumb and finger of the left hand upon the tape close up to the right hand, apparently to hold the knot, which is slipped along the tape by the right hand ; ask another per- son to take hold of the tape which you ofier him with your right hand, and when placing it in his hand you shp the knot off the (J Fia. 09. end, and conceal it between your fingers until an opportunity comes of pocketing or otherwise getting rid of it. The knot is supposed all this time to bo under your loft thumb and finger. Now, blow upon those Augers, and show tho tape completely restored, and free from auy knot. You have thus proved your ability to do almost any wonder- ful thing, oven To make a Selected Card assume any Position in tho Pack. Take a cucliro pack of thirty-two cards j hand thorn to one of the company to shufilo and cut, and lay thorn on tho table, 156 WSAT SHALL WE DO TO-NiaBTf faces do WD ward. Inform him that you will withdraw from the room, and request him to lift, while you are absent, a few cards, say about a dozen, from the pack. He is to count how many cards he lifts, also to recollect the face of the card which lays at the bottom of the cards he lifted, and lastly to lay the lifted cards undisturbed on the rest of the pack. You then secretly write a number (say twenty-five) on a bit of paper, seal the paper in an envelope and hand it to one of the bystanders to keep. Hav- ing done this, you leave the room. When you re-enter pick up the pack ; and, while asking whether your directions have been carefully carried out, man- age to get a glimpse of the bottom card of the pack. Then let the pack be cut (not shuffled) as many times as you choose ; pick up the pack again, and run through them until you find the card which you observed at the bottom of the pack before they were cut. Mark the place with your finger ; conceal your hands be- hind your back, or under the table, and cut the cards at the place marked with your finger ; this will restore the pack to its exact condition before the cutting took place. Now count off twenty- four cards (one less than your written number) from the pack, face downward, one at a time, in such manner as to reverse th© order of these twenty-four top cards ; replace them, in their in- verted order, on the top of the remaining cards ; and put the pack on the table. Ask the person to count off the c^ards, one by one, from the top of the pack, commencing with the number of cards he first lifted : — thus, if he lifted seven, the first card of the pack w^ould be eight ; the next, nine, and so on. When he has counted off twenty-four cards stop him, and ask the party who has your envelope to open it and read tlie number on the paper. His reply will be (in this instance) twenty-ftvo. You then turn to the former person and inform him that, having already counted off" twenty-four, the next (or number twenty- five) will be his card. This he will find to be correct. This is a trick that will bear repetition ; but another number (say nine- teen) should be enclosed in the envelope. The number of card* THE ELEVENTH EVENING. 157 to be reversed in their order will then be eighteen, one less than the nineteen. In all cases, let it be understood that the number of cards lifted should not exceed about half the pack. If, how- ever, you fix on number thirty-two, no restriction is needed, as, in this case, he may lift as many as he pleases, provided at least one card be left on the table. The number thirty-two will, of course, involve the reversal of the order of the entire pack of cards. This trick admits of a variation, which may be introduced m- stead of an exact repetition of the same thing. You give the same directions and proceed the same as before, up to the point of withdrawing from the room ; but when you re-enter omit the cutting, and take the pack at onte for the purpose of reversing the necessary number of cards, finishing the trick as before. This way is, perhaps, not quite as effective, but it is always a good point to avoid performing any trick with cards more than once in exactly the same manner. This trick will furnish something to speculate upon for the company as they go home. The more they try to solve the puzzle the less they will find out about it. 158 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTt JWELFTH ^VEJMIJMQ. The social circle being once more in readiness for suggestions from a leading spirit, the amusements this evening had better commence with the exhibition of a most wonderful animal who is introduced by a showman, as The Ornithorhynclius Paradoxus, OR Duck-billed Platypus. "This curious animal," says the showman, pointing to a figure similar to that seen in Fig. 63, '^ was discovered in the South Fig. 63. Sea Islands, just after the kitchen clock had struck midnight, upon the thirty-first of June, 1647, by Christopher Crusoe, who sent this one specimen to my very great, greater, greatest, grandfather, over two hundred years ago. "The animal is amphibious, living equally well in the duck- pond or in the back attic, where he usually roosts. He is car- nivorous, subsisting chiefly upon rats, mice and kittens. In- deed, one or two babies disappeared very mysteriously in my THE TWELFTH EVENING. 150 graudmother's family, soon after this extraordinary bird was imported. "His habits are very peculiar; he sleeps at any hour when he can find a comfortable roost, and eats whenever anything eata- ble comes in his way. I shut him in the dressing-room for an hour, and regret to state that he has devoured all the hats in the room, and was half through with the over-shoes when I dis- covered the mischief. He is like a parrot in his ability to speak separate words. Say " Pretty duck." Bird {in a muffled voice). Pretty duck. After some further wise observations by the exhibiter, and a few more words spoken by the bird, this wonderful production of boy and high art retires to the dressing-room, where his " make-up" is revealed. First a small boy, with a board bound to his back, crouches down, as shown in Fig. 64. He is then stuffed with small pil- Fio. 64. Iowa, wadding and rags, to the required shape, and a sheet tied over the duck-sliai)e(l figure. A large ball is made of rags, and two fiat piccosof stick fastened upon it for a bill, a pair of eyes painted on with India-ink, and this head Is neatly pinned t^) the body. A tail is tlien cut from strips of paper, and web feet manufactured from an old pitlr of leather driving-gloves, or, if these cannot bo ])roeure(l, of stout brown paper. When this extraordinary animal has retired from the public gaze the company can indulge in a very ingenious game called 160 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGETf What does my Thought Resemble ? The leader writes upon a strip of paper his thought, folds the paper and hands it to the umpire. He then goes to each player, and asks of every one the question : ^^ What does my thought resemble ?" Each one must name some article or fancy in answer, and, when all have answered, the umpire opens the paper, and reads the "thought" written upon it. The leader passing again round the circle requires of each one to explain why the thought is like what they have named, and the umpire decides whether the answer is sense or non- sense. If he pronounces it nonsense the speaker pays a for- feit. When one thought has passed round the entire circle of play- ers a new leader and new umpire are chosen^ and another thought is written, as before. EXAMPLE : Suppose a party of ten players. The leader, after writing his thought and giving it to the um- pire, approaches Number One. Leader. I have written out my thought. What does it resemble ? First Plater. Happiness. Second Player. Napoleon Bonaparte. Third Player. My new hat. Fourth Player. A horse-car. Fifth Player. Mustard. Sixth Player. An axe. Seventh Player. A silver dollar. Eighth Player. The kitchen clock. Ninth Player. The Sultan of Turkey. Tenth Player. An old coat. Leader. I thought of the sun. Why does it resemble happiness ? THE TWELFTH EVENING. 161 PiRST Player. Because our lives would be utterly dark without it. Leader. Why does it resemble Napoleon Bonaparte ? Seco:nd Player. Because both were sometimes under a cloud. Leader. Why does it resemble your new hat ? Third Player. Because both are overhead. Leader. Why does it resemble a horse-car ? Fourth Player. Because it would be difficult to do without either. Leader. Why does it resemble mustard ? Flfth Player. Because both can draw a blister. Leader. Why does it resemble an axe ? Sixth Player. A stroke from either would be likely to prove fatal. Leader. Why does it resemble a silver dollar I Seventh Player. Both are round and bright. Leader. Why does it resemble the kitchen clock f Eighth Player. Because both mark the hours ivs they pass. Leader. Why does it resemble the Sultan of Turkey f Ninth Player. Both rise in the East. Leader. Why does it resemble an old coat t Tenth Player. Because there are spots on it. The umpire now decides which answers are sufficiently uou- sensical to pay a forfeit, and a new thought is written. When pencil and paper are not convenient, the thought may be whis- pered to the umpire. Wlion^ach one has given a thought, let some one who is ex- pert entertain the company with a few Hand Shadows. Those are soon learned in great variety, by simply experiment- ing with the hands placed between a bright light and a olear 162 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-^SflGHTf space upon the wall. The two shown in Fig. 65 are easily made, and others may soon be discovered with a little patient observation. A little magic may now be given to astonish the '^country members/' the conjurer proving he possesses Second Sight. " Ladies and gentlemen : We have all doubtless heard a great deal about second sight, or, in other words, the faculty of see- ing what may be visible to others but apparently invisible to the gifted seer. It really is not as difficult as some might sup- pose. Now, for instance, here is a piece of ordinary writing- paper, without a mark upon it ; hero is a common lead-pencil ; any one may take these away from my sight — out of the room if he pleases— and write a sentence, or anything he likes, upon the paper, fold it carefully, so that the writing cannot, be seen from the outside, and I will tell him at once correctly and ex- actly what he has put on the paper. Allow me to hand you the paper and pencil, and some of you will kindly watch me closely to prevent my being, by any possibility, able to see what is written on the paper." Having got thus far, you give the paper and pencil to some THE TWELFTH EVENING. 163 one of the company, and request him to retire out of your sight and write something on it ; and we will suppose all this done. You now continue : " Well, sir, you of course are fully aware what is on that piece of paper; and you are also quite satisfied that I could not see what you wrote. Have the kindness to fold it up and hold it firmly closed in your hand. Pshaw ! that is too easy; you must conceal it better than that if you want to hide it from me. Fold it up still smaller. That's good. Now place it on the carpet and cover it completely with your foot. Very good. But it's all of no use ; I can see better than ever what you have put on the paper. Why ! you put your foot on it. " Supposing the guests suflBciently recovered from the effects of the last outrageous sell, we will pass on to a game of One! Two! Three! One of the company leaves the room, and the others name three famous people. When the absent one returns ho is asked what ho wishes to do with One, Two, and Three. Wlien ho has answered he is told who were the individuals named. If bis wishes are impossible he pays a forfeit, but if possible y however absurd, he escapes, and another of the party loaves the room. EXAMPLE : One. George Washington. Two. Grand Duke Alexis. Three. Queen Victoria. When the loader returns ho Is asked : *' What will you do with One f " Ans. I will send it to Africa. '* What will you do with Two t ^ Ans. I will put it in tho ash-barrol. ** What will you do with Three t " Ans. I will make it President of tho United States. You nuist pay two forfeits. One is Goorgo Washington ; it 164 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f would be possible to send him to Africa, as we make no allow- ance for heroes being dead and buried. But our second is Duke Alexis; you cannot put him in the ash-barrel. And our third is Queen Victoria, whom you cannot make President of the United States. Leader. I'll pay the forfeit for Victoria, but not for Alexis. It is absurd to talk of putting him in an ash-barrel, but I will not admit it to be impossible^ provided the barrel is big enough and the Duke wilhng. The next party goes out. OxE. Byron. Two. Louis Napoleon. Three. Florence Nightingale. ^^ What will you do with One f " Ans. Let him drive an express wagon. " What will you do with Two f " Ans. Send him to Siberia. . "• What will you do with Three f " Ans. Impale him on a church steeple. Did he pay any forfeits? When the company have each had the disposal of three dis- tinguished characters invite them all to join in a comical con- cert called The German Chorus. Provide each guest with a wine-glass and a spoon, and tell them at what point in the music they are to strike lightly upon the edge of the glass with the spoon. When the music is re- peated they clap hands at the same place the second time ; the third time the gentlemen are all to whistle ; at the fourth rep- etition all are to laugh ; and the fifth is a grand fnialc of the spoons. The air is to be played upon the piano, from the fol- lowing music, the dotted notes requiring the spoon (or other) accompaniment, which all must perform with perfect precision ; THE TWELFTH EVENING. 165 ^EJEgE*^^ ^ te r r i « ■»«: fpoons # ^^ =^=| =q^ This Indicrona concert should be practised together by a suffl- ciont number of the performers to lead the new oneSf and when 166 WHAT SHALL WE VO TO-NIGHTt this is accomplished, the more spoons, hauds, whistles and voices are added, the better, as the idea is not exactly to pro- duce melodious effects. Famihar airs, such as '^ Yankee Doodle," ^' Tramp, tramp, tramp," or others that are well accented, may he tried with the same accompaniments at regular intervals, and will he found very amusing. It must he remembered that perfect time is ab- solutely essential. Another recreation may now be started, to close the amuse- ments for the evening, and give all a good chance for a final exercise of their powers of puzzling and guessing, before break- ing up. The Hidden AVord. In this game a player leaves the room. While ho is absent the others fix upon a word, which they are bound to introduce into every answer they make until it is guessed. The absent player returns and can ask each player a question until ho guesses the hidden word, or until he has had an answer from every one, when, if he fails to discover it, he must go out again. If he guesses, the speaker whoso answer betrayed the word must go out. The word selected should not bo a remarkable one, but some- thing easily introduced, as and, hut, for^ or some such word. The speaker must be very careful not to emphasize it in any answer. SXAMPLE : The word selected is all. Leadeh. Have you selected a very difficult word for me this time? Ans. I believe we all tried to make it as puzzling as possible for you. Leader. May I inquire your opinion of the ancient Greeks ? Ans. My opinion is, that they were all dead and buried so long ago that it is useless to try to revive them. THE TWELFTH EVENING. 1«7 Leader. May I inquire what you had for dinner ? Ans. Meat, vegetables, dessert, bread, butter, pickles ; in short, all that is usually placed upon a dinner-table. Leader. Do you admire Oflenbach ? Ans. Some of his operas please me very much, but not all of them. I suppose everybody has a favorite one. Leader. How is your grandmother ? Ans. Thank you. When I last heard from the old lady she and all the family were in good health. • Leader. Who do you like best in this company ? Ans. That is scarcely.a fair question to put so publicly; I like all so well that I really must decline to make a selection. Leader. Who is your favorite author ? Ans. Let mo see. I cannot recall all my favorites at a mo- ment's notice. My favorite novelist is Dickens; my favorite poet is Byron ; my favorite historian is Prescott. Leader. I think I find the word aU in each of the answers, and the fact began to dawn on my inquiring mind when Mr. G gave mo his answer. Mr. G then leaving the room, a new word is selected and the game goes round again. 168 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf Jhirteeimth J)yEpoti«)n of tablonux of every dosoripUon will bo fband in the ** Book of TaltliMuix." ptiblisluul by Dick «&. FiUgerald. 186 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f The smallest performer must be placed at the top of the wreath, exactly in the centre of the background. She must re- cline in an easy position, resting her head on her hand, the elbow touching the box ; the next in size must take her place on the box, or sit beneath, on the right side, and rest her arm upon the lap of the first child, her head leaning on her hand, her face turned toward the centre of the circle, the eyes raised to those of the figure above. The remaining figures take similar posi- tions on the right and left of the central figure, until one-half of the circle is completed. The other half of the circle is ar- ranged in a similar manner, but the figures face the audience, as in the half at the background ; the smallest, as before, start- ing this half of the wreath from the centre of the foreground. A large wreath of spruce, fir, holly, ivy, and trails of paper flow- ers, must be put inside the circle and fastened up to their seats. Small festoons of green are to be placed between, and wreathed round the figures. The light for this picture must come from foot-UghtSj across the front of the stage, and should be very bril- liant. This tableau, when finished, appears, at a little distance, like a beautiful wreath of lovely faces, but the arrangement of the seats require a carpenter and some outlay. We therefore suggest two or three more tableaux of an easier description. Tell, Shooting the Apple from his Son's Head. The scenery must be painted.* An Alpine landscape with a Swiss cottage, in the distance, must bo represented. A green cloth nmst cover the foreground, on which Tell stands, his ar- row fixed in the act of shootnig. His young son, with band- aged eyes, stands firmly at the given distance, with the apple upon bis bead. In the background sits Gessler in armor, sur- * Full descriptions for puiutiug scenery ore giyeu on page 293. THE FOURTEENTH EVENING, 187 rounded by bis guards. At tbe sides stand Swiss peasants, 3^oung and old, as many as tlie number of the performers will allow. Tbe dress must be tliat of tbe Swiss peasantry of tbe period, wbilc Gessler and bis guard wear tbe Austrian uniform of the time. Tbe faces must all be turned toward Tell and bis son, and sbould express fear, pity and anxiety. Gessler sbould lean upon a buge sword, witb an air of baugbty disdain. Titania and Puck. Tbe stage may bo made a perfect green wood, by putting bougbs of trees, and large pots of sbrubs and small trees in it. A mossy bank may be made of green cloth. Flowers of gay hues sbould be dispersed among the scenery. On the bank, Titania, represented by a beautiful sunny-haired child, may lio asleep, folded in a regal mantle of crimson or purple, and crowned with flowers and crystallized sprays. Her suite, rep- resented by a group of little girls, stand around her. They must be smaller than herself, and dressed in diflerent colors, their dresses being made of thin tulle, gauzo, or other light ma- terial, spangled, and looped with flowers. Wreaths should bo worn on their beads, and their hair crimped or curled and floating free. Their wings should be made of silver gauzo, and their tiny wands of hazlo and flowers, or tipped with silver stars. Ou tho loft sido Puck is soon, pooping niischiovously at thorn. Ho holds a heartsease in his hand, tho magic flower which ho has been ordered to rub on the Queen*s eyes. Ho wears a quaint dress of gay silk of difl'tn-ent colors, cut in points at tho cdgo of tbe short trousers and skirt of coat ; upon his head a i)ointcd cap of tho same gay colors; and upon his feet crimson or scarlet boots witb gilt heels. On tlu^ other sido Helena and Hermia aro Just visible In the distance, rei)resented by older girls, dressed in Grook costume. They stand looking angrily at each other, as If quarreling. 188 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NLGHTf The light should be soft, to resemble moonlight, in this picture, or moonlight may be thrown upon the scene, as described in the stage directions on page 178. King Alfred in the Sw^ineherd^s Hut. The King is seated upon a low, rough stool, leaning his head on his hand, and looking at the lire. The cakes lie burned upon the hearth. An old woman is standing near, her hand raised to strike him. In the distance you perceive the Saxon thanes approaching. The sceneiy of this tableau must also be painted. It is the interior of a lude Anglo-Saxon hut. Painted red-hot logs of wood are lying on the hearth. The dress of all the fig- ures must be of the period. Alfred, as a peasant, wears a smock frock, and long fiiir hair on his shoulders. The old wo- man wears the peasant costume of the times, with coif, petti- coat, etc. In the arrangement of tableau groups, the best plan is first to consult all the good painthigs or engravings that are attain- able, then the poets and novelists, selecting striking situations and scenes. Guard against overcrowding the scene. Two or three figures, with very little furniture, will make a far more eflective tableau, than where the stage is crowd0d with figures and " cut up " by furniture. Masses are better than scattered effects, as the time allowed must necessarily be short, and the eye should be filled at once, not obliged to dart rapidly from one point in the picture to another. Shakspeare ofl'ers scene after scene for beautiful tableaux. Every play is full of them, and there is unlimited scope for beau- tiful dresses. Ophelia's madness, Lady Macbeth washing her hands in sleep, Hamlet and the Queen when the ghost interrupts them, and many others. Scott also offers innumerable tableaux ; Ivanhoe, Woodstock, The Heart of I^fid Lothian, and other novels, are filled with scenes suitable for living pictures, and his THE FOUBTEENTR EVENING. 18» poems are peculiarly adapted to them. Marmion might be rep- resented almost entire in scenes, so full is it of striking situa- tions. Diclieus oflers the stage-manager a variety of humorous pictures to vary the programme. It requires great tact to manage these mimic scenes, so that the audience will not be wearied by long pauses between tbem. Each should be so arranged that the next one will be ready in- stantly to succeed it, and the same performers should never be in two tableaux that are near together. One programme is ofifered as a guide for the desirable variety in an evening's performance. Ten or twelve are as many as should be attempted for one evening. First, a historical subject, as Penn''s Treaty with the Indians. The famous treaty-tree may be represented by a column of wood, covered with imitation bark, and reaching above the top of the tableau frame. William Penn, in full Quaker dress, stands near this, holding a parchment in his hand ; while near him are grouped three or four Indians, their fine feathers, paint, l>ead8 and gay blankets offering a strong coutnist to the simplicity of Penn's costume. Second, a scene from Byron : Gulnare Visiting ConiTicl in Prison. The prison scono must bo in a dim light. Upon a mattress, centre of stage, Conrad lies asleep, facing audience. lie should wear a rich dress. Bonding over him, holding a lamp in one hand, which she shades with the other, is Gulnare,* in a dress of pure white, loose liair, and an expression of great pity. Drop w curtain of blue j^auze. Third, a humorous scene, taken from Dickons* "Pickwick Papers :" • Bynm'B Corwiir. Ciuito II. Vor^* XII. *190 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XIGHTf Mr. Pick^\rick and Mrs. Barclell Discov- ered by their Friends. The scene selected is the one where the widow Bardell, sup- posing she has had an offer of marriage, is embracing Mr. Picli- wick, who stands a picture of dismay and surprise, while he holds up her fainting form. Just entering the door, are the little Bardell, Messrs. Tupman, Winkle and Snod^rrass. Each of the figures must be made up and costumed, as described in the Pickwick papers. Fourth, a scene for children : Open yonr Mouth and Shut your Eyes. Scene, a front kitchen. A little boy, in a picturesque coun- try dress, sits with closed eyes and open mouth, while a little girl, holding a bunch of cherries near her own lips, j^uts the end of a tallow candle near her companion's yawnmg jaws. The children should wear bright dresses. Fifth, a patriotic scene : Liberty Freeing the Slave. This requires no scenery. Centre of stage, a raised platform covered with white, upon which stands the Goddess of Liberty, dressed in white, with a wide sash of the national colors falling in folds on the left side ; the hair is loose, and surmounted by a liberty cap. In one hand she grasps an American flag, while the other is extended to raise a kneeling figure, a negro woman in a ragged dress. Beside the negro lies a chain. The figures must be well contrasted ; one radiant and bright, the other dark, ragged and wretched. Drop a curtain of rose-colored gauze. Sixth, scene from the Vicar of Wakefield : THE FOURTEENTH EVENING. 191 Sophia and Olivia Visiting the Fortune- Teller. The scene is a sitting-room. Centre of stage, a chair, upon which is seated an old hag, profile to audience. Facing her, one of the girls is oflering her hand for inspection, while the other stands a little back between them, fticing audience, and watching the gipsy's face. The dresses should be those of the last century. Seventh, a Scripture scene: The Sacrifice of Abraham. No scenery, excepting a table covered entirely with a dark cloth, to imitate the altar. Upon this is heaped some wood, some is also piled against the table. Isaac, a fair-haired boy, in a loose white robe, is bound to the wood, while Abraham, in flowing robes, with long white beard and hair, stands behind the altar, facing audience, with a knife raised to strike. He looks up, as if just hearing the voice of the angel calling him to stay his hand. Eighth, and ninth, two humorous scenes, following each other as rapidly as possible. The Inconveniences of Single Life. Scene, an attic. Seated upon a low stool, centre of stage, facing audience, a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves, and one bare foot, trying to darn a groat hole in a stocking. Second scene, the same attic, with the addition of a few arti- cles of furniture, including a lounge. The Conveniences of Married Life. The same gentleman, neatly stockinged and slippered, lies upon the lounge, reading a newspaper, while his wife, in a cal- 192 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf ico dress and sunbonnet, is splitting a large log of wood with a heavy ax. Tenth, a brilliant scene for a final one. The Flower Queen. A raised platform and chair, in the centre of the stage, is covered with white and festooned with flowers. Upon this is seated a beautiful girl, dressed in white, and crowned with roses, to represent the queen of flowers. Her sceptre is a branch of roses, and roses loop and trim her dress. Kneeling upon each side of this central figure are children, dressed in white, each wreathed with a different flower, but none with roses. They are in graceful attitudes, and offer baskets, boquets, garlands and wreaths, to the Queeru Drop a rose-colored gauze curtain, and burn red light. The curtain should never remain up for a tableau more than thirty seconds, as it is almost impossible to keep perfectly motionless for a longer time. Drop it then for two minutes, to allow rest ; then raise it as before, a second and third time. THE FIFTEENTH EVENING. 193 ]pIfTEENTH 5^E:]MIJMQ. Having given a great deal of thought, taste and ingenuity to the tableaux of the last evening, our circle of friends are prob- ably ready for some round games and tricks that will not re- quire so much preparation, and can open this evening by a game of Mind Your P^s and Q's. The rule of the game is not to mention the name of any place beginning with a letter that precedes P and Q in the alphabet, and the historical name must be the native place of the person mentioned, or the scene of a battle in which he was engaged. EXAMPLE : Leader. Napoleon Bonaparte has gone to fight at . Mind your P*s and Q's. Ans. Waterloo! George Washington has gone to . Mind your P's and Q's. Second Player. Germantown ! First Player. A forfeit ! G comes before P and Q. Third Player. Valley Forgo ! Charlcmaugo has gone to fight at . Mind your P's and Q*8. Fourth Player. Ronccsvallcs! Tho Emporor of Russia has gone to fight at . Mind your P\s and Q's. Fifth Player. Scbastopol! General Taylor has gone to fight at . Mind your P*s and Q*s. Sixth Player. Buena Vista ! Seventh Player. A forfeit ! Vera Cruz 1 Goneml Grant has gone to fight at . Mind your P*s and Q's. Eighth Player. Vicksburg! Frederick the Great has gone to fight at . Mind your P*8 and Q's. Ninth Player. Uosabach! 194 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf This game is an excellent test of the historical reading and accuracy of the performers, and is very instructive to children studying history, who will often remember names and events thus imi)ressed upon them, where the usual routine of study is wearisome. While the majority of the company are thus minding their P's and Q's, let one or two slip away to the dressing-room to prepare The Wonderful Giantess. This is a most amusing deception, and very easily arranged. The performer should be a tall, thin young man. Tie around PIO. 68 his throat a skirt that is long enough to toucii tljc ground nil around. Cover an umbrella with a long shawl or waterproof THE FIFTEENTH EVENING, 195 cloak, and tie a large ball to the poiut or ferrule. Upon thia fiisten a bonnet, or the hood of the cloak, and a thick veil. The umbrella is partly opened, to hold out the cloak as crinoline would do. The tall young man getting under it, in his long skirt, and holding it as high as he can grasp the handle, ap- pears like a gigantic woman. Somebody knocks at the door to announce an arrival ; and a moment after a servant announces " Miss Shortcake." The giantess then stalks into the room (see Fig. 68), to the amazement of the company, bowing. It has a very funny ef- fect to enter holding the umbrella low down and raise it very slowly, giving a comical appearance of growth. She may talk to the company in a squeaky, feigned voice. In good hands a giantess can be made exceedingly funny. While the giantess is stalking about amongst the company some of the company may close the folding-doors, and drawing a table before a curtained window, arrange a contrast in The Dwarf. Pat a young lady's hands into a child's stockings and little boots or shoes. To disguise her face, put a small piece of court- plaster over one of her front teeth, darken the eyebrows with a little water-color, and arrange the hair in some unaccustomed fashion. Add a little rouge and powder to the disguise. Then put on a bonnet and shawl. As two performers arc required, another young lady, carefully concealed by the window-curtains, stands behind the first, and passing her arms around her sup- l)lics the dwarfs arms and hands. A table Is drawn up, and the booted hands rest upon It ; and a perfect dwarf appears to stand upon the table (see Fig. GO). She may Intrmhico herself as Mrs. Melchisidok Study Canton, ami speak in favor of ex- tending *' Woman's Rights" to all women loss than four feet high, etc. In conclusion, she may danco a very genteel broak-down in a most lady-like manner. 196 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f The dwarf may tell fortunes or ''speak a piece/' with fanny gestures. Fio. 69. An amusing hour may now be passed, in a game of The Ugly Mug. A leader is chosen, and the remainder of tlio company must follow every motion that he makes, while ho sings the descrip- ton. I put my right hand in, I put my right hand oat, I gJvc my riirht hand a ehakc, phakc, shake, I turn my - self a - bout The leader should stand facing the others, and his gestures are exactly as he describes them. THE FIFTEENTH EVENING. 197 Leader. (Singing and making the appropriate gestures, which all imitate.) I put my right hand in ! {extending the right hand before him.) I put my right hand out ! (turning half round, and again extending the right hand.) I give my right hand a shake, shake, shake ! (shaking the right hand.) I turn myself about ! (turns hack to first position.) The same gestures are performed with the left hand while singing. I put my left hand in ! I put my left hand out ! I give my left hand a shake, shake, sluike ! I turn myself about ! The same performance is gone through with both hands, while singing : I put my both hands in, etc. At the conclusion of which, the leader continues the gestures with his right foot, singing : I put ray right foot in ! I put my right foot out ! I give my right foot a shake, shake, shake ! I turn myself about ! The same thing is done with the left foot, with the words : I put my left foot in, oto. The head is the next member brought into active service. • I pnt my ugly mug In ! (atretching th» JUod and n§ekforwardLi I put my ugly mug out ! (turning ha^ round and r^itoattng tk$ mm* moHont) I give my ugly mug a shako, shake, shake ! (nodding tM§ hood wfgotom»fif4 I turn uiyHclf ulMuit ! If the «;ravity of the company will stand this tost, knowing every smile must cost a forfeit, choose a now loader, and try again to collect some forfeits. This will, however, be scarcely called for, as the first time round will surely provide a pretty large crop of forfeits. 19d TVHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? The conjurer may now amuse the party by exhibiting a spec- imen of Invisible Suspension. Take a quill or other small tube, closed at one end ; near the closed end cut a small but perfectly round hole on the side of the quill, similar in position to the embouchure or mouth-hole of a flute. Next, select a nice soft piece of cork, and cut it into the A>rm of a ball, say three-quarters of an inch in diameter. Now, place the open end of the quill in the mouth, with the small hole upward ; blow gently through it, and hold the ball over the hole j on withdrawing the hand the cork ball will float in the air as long as the supply of wind is kept up. Colored hollow glass balls may be irtrodnced into the jet of a fountain, with the same pleasing eflect; the more powerful the jet, the higher will the ball be suspended. This may be followed by the trick of The Obedient Egg. Select an egg which has a good smooth shell ; pierce a hole at each end, and blow the contents out. Next^raake a small hole on the side with a needle, and secure in it, with a wooden Fig. 70. peg, one end of a piece of very tine black sewing-silk about fifteen inches long j make a loop at the other end of the silk, THE FIFTEENTH EVENING. 199 and pass it over one of the buttons of your vest (see Fig. 70), which should be black or dark-colored. Hold the G^g in your left hand until you begin the performance. Commence by borrowing two black hats. If there is a piano in the room, ask some one to play a lively tune, as '' eggs are fond of lively music to dance to." Then, with the brim of a hat in each hand, interpose the round of each hat successively un- der the thread that holds the a^^^ moving them from your breast toward the q^^^. The G^g will appear to move of itself over the hats, as you place them under it. You must not allow people to handle the ^gg on the thread afterwards, for when they see the simplicity of the process they will undervalue the trick, whereas it appears marvelous as long as they do not understand how the movements are produced. A fine, black horse-hair is better than sewing-silk, as it is less liable to twist or become knotted during the performance; but the best of all is a single long black hair, obtained (with full consent, of course) from some obliging lady who is gifted with this beautiful but rare ornament. 200 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f ^IXTEEJMTH ^VENIjVq. While the arrivals are yet few, a pleasant hour may bo whiled away by a few simple experimeuts, as The Iinmovable Card. An ordinary visithig-card is bent at the ends, as shown in Fig. 71, and placed upon a table. The company are then invited to blow it over. Easy as this may seem, it is usually tried for a Fig. 71. long time in vain. It can be accomplished, however, by blow- ing sharply upon the table itself, at some distance in front of the card, stirring the air under it, which upsets it. Another curious experiment is The Double Pea Illusion. If a small pea be placed on a table, or in the palm of the left liand, and pressed or rolled between the ends of the fnst and second lingers of the right hand, a single pea only will bo felt j but if the fingers be crossed, and the poa again felt as before, without looking at it, there will seem to be two peas. THE SIXTEENTH EVENING, 201 The illustration shows the position the fingers are required to assume in order to experience this remarkable illusion Fig. 7;>. Supposing a suflBcient number of players to be now assembled, start The Story of the Trades. The leader must bo duly elected as the " President of the Board of Trade," and must have a sheet of paper. She takes her seat facing the circle of players, who then select trades, each having a diflerent one. When all have chovscn a trade, the leader, selecting any book she may prefer, copies an ex- tract from it ; whenever she comes to a nouu, excepting any five she may wish to retain, she points her pencil at one of the company, who nuist give a nouc ftt)m the trade he or she has selected. If preferred, the story may be original. EXAMPLE : Ten players take the following trades: Butcher, Milliner, Grocer, Florist, Plumber, Baker, Dressmaker, Hardware Deal- er, Dry-goods Merchant, Carpenter. The leader tliiMi coinniences her extract. As she points her pencil the Butcher gives her a Leg of Mutton ; the Baker, a Seed- 202 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f cake; the Milliner, a Straiv-flat ; the Grocer, :i Pound of Raisins ; the Florist, a Johnny-jump-up ; the Plumber, a Leacl-pipe ; the Dressmaker, a Dolly Varden ; the Hardware Dealer, a Gridiron ; the Dry-goods Merchant, Socks ; and the Carpen- ter, a Windotv-sash. The extract is from Shakspeare's ^'Julius Caesar," and the nouns given being substituted for those of the great dramatist, it reads thus : " If you have Legs of Mutton prepare to shed them now. Tou all do know this Seed-cake : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's Straw-jlat in his Pound of RaiHiu That day he overcame the Johnny-jump-up. Look ! in this place ran Cassius' Lead Pipe through. See, what a Dolly Varden the envious Casca made ; Through this the well-beloved Gridiron stabbed, And as he plucked his curried Socks away, Mark how the Window-sash of Cffisar followed it." The extracts should always be of the most heroic, tragic, or sentimental character. We have heard the *' Charge of the Light Brigade," under the auspices of a Grocer, Apothecary, Confectioner, Cabinet Maker, Milliner, Butcher, Tin -man Crockery- man, Notion Dealer, and Wine Merchant, rendered thus: Half a pound of candles, ' Half a dose of salts, Half a mint stick onward. All in the easy-chair of Death Rode the six pink bonnets. " Forward the Light Beefsteak! Charge for the saucepan.'' he said. Into the tea-cup of Death Rode the six shawl-pins. " Forward the Light Champagne—'' and so on, nearly the whole poem having been written with these absurd interpolations. While the circle have been laughing over Shakspcare, Ten- nyson & Co., served up with this new sauce, one of the gentle- jnen, entering the room suddenly, in breathless haste, exclaims; TEE SIXTEENTH EVENING, 203 " Have you heard of the dreadful railway accideut ? There is a poor lellow here who has heeu a horrible sufferer. His head is twisted ! It was a terrible affair ! He was thrown from the top of the baggage-car, where he had gone to take a quiet smoke and survey the surrounding scenery. A lurch of the train threw him down an embankment one hundred feet, and he revolved in the air so rapidly that Jie reached the bottom with his head fairly turned. Every effort has been made by the most eminent surgeons in the country to relieve him, but in vain. He will carry for life A Twisted Head.'^ After this prologue, the victim, as seen in the illustration, Fig. 73; walks into the room. Fio. 13b 204 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf This trick has a very funny effect if the double-faced party joins in dancing a quadrille. His fortunate (?) partner will bo thoroughly bewildered by his "advance and retire," and other similar movements. The '* make-up" of this unfortunate individual is very sim- ple. He requires a false face, and a wig that allows him the use of his eyes through its meshes. These are put on, the wig over his face, the face over his own hair, and surmounted by a hat. A vest and loose coat are then put on hind-side-beforc, and the gentleman is ready. Ho should walk about the room back- ward, forward, and side wise, occasionally turning his head to one side or the other, but he must not speak, or his voice will come, apparently, from the back of his head. When this unfortunate has retired, seat your company hi a circle for a game of « Famous I^-ambers. Give to each one of the company a small piece of paper, and pass round a lead-pencil to each in turn. Each one must write a number upon the piece of paper and fold it into a small square. The leader now collects the papers into a hat or a plate and shakes them all well together. They are then passed round the circle again, and the players open them in regular rotation, each one giving some reason why the number held is famous, or else paying a forfeit. EXAMPLE : After all the papers have a number written on them and are passed round, the first player reads : " Number Three. There were Three Graces." Second Player, Number Ten. The Council of Ten. Thikd Player. Number Five. There are Five Senses. Fourth Player. Number Four. The Fourth of July. Fifth Player. Number Nine. There were Nino Muses. Sixth Player. Number Seventeen. The Battle of Bun- ker Hill was fought on the seventeenth of June. THE SIXTEENTH EVENING, ao5 Seventh Player. Number Seven. There are seven days in a week. Eighth Player. Number Twenty-five. Christmas is on the twenty-fifth of December. Ninth Player. Number One Hundred. Napoleon's hun- dred days. This game requires some thought, but will be found very interesting in a circle of well-informed players, as there is scarcely a number that will not recall some association, and, if not, there are forfeits to keep up the interest. Ho^\r to Grow Tall Suddenly. When the company are weary of this game, ask some of the gentlemen if they wish to be instructed in the art of looking '^>**it>^ Fio. 74. tall. It is a funny optical illusion that must bo tried to be really realized or undorstood, yet it is very simple. It merely 206 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf consists in raising the shoulders, and it is astonishing to see how the simple movement will add to the appearance of height. The illustration explains the simple modus operandi. When this hocus-pocus is over inquire if the company have ever played the Egyptian Eye Game. which seems so simple, and yet is so very puzzling. A screen must be put across one end of the room, with holes cut in it about the height and size of a human eye, allowing a little variation in the height to include the tall, short, and me- dium-sized. A clothes-horse covered with newspapers makes a good screen for the purpose. Introduce the game by inquiring of those present if they think they could recognize the eyes of their companions under any and all circumstances. You will find that most people are quite confident that they can do so. Invite half the company to step behind the screen, and place one eye at the opening cut for that purpose. Then allow each of the remaining portion of the company to examine the single eye and name its proprietor. It will be found almost impossible to recognize, with any de- gree of certainty, the eye of even the dearest friend or nearest relative. Noses and mouths visible by themselves through sim- ilar appropriate openings are almost as difficult to identify. When the interest in the features of the company begins to flag, invite your conjuring friend to show the party a few tricks of legerdemain, such as are now described. ^ One of the Black Arts. Stick a pin in the centre of the crown of a silk hat, allowing the head to project about half an inch, and desire some person to extract the pin with the teeth only. This is a good trick to introduce as a forfeit in some game, as the person selected to perform it will naturally think that he has been let oflf very THE SIXTEENTH EVENING. 507 easily; but the fun consists in carefully blacking the crown of the bat with burnt cork. The performer will in all probability extract the pin and hand back the hat, remarking that he cannot see the point of the joke, this being reserved for the rest of the audience. The Blowers Baffled. Put a tumbler in the centre of the table. Take a small piece of paper, measuring, say, about an inch or an inch and a half each way ; mold it into a hollow form over the top of the thumb, and place it upon the table, hollow downward. Now explain to the company that it is impossible to blow the paper ofif the table, because thb glass has the effect of dividing or so disturbing the current of air on the surface of the table as to defy their utmost endeavors to blow it ofif. To succeed in this, a single long hair from a lady's head must have been previously secured to the bottom of the glass, by means of a minute particle of shoemaker's wax; another parti- cle of wax is placed in the centre of the piece of paper, by which the other end of the hair is fastened to it while molding it over the thumb. In order to avoid all possibility of detection, the table-cover and the hair should bo dark-colored, and print- ed paper used, such as a bit of newspaper ; this prevents tho wax from showing, which might be the case if the paper were clean and white. Tho hair should bo long enough to allow tho paper to roach about oightoou laches or two feet from tho glass. 208 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf Seventeenth J)veninq. It is proposed to devote this evening to only one subject, as it requires a little more preparation than some of the other amusements. The subject selected is that of Sliadow-Pantomiines. ^ These pleasing shadow-illusions, that have of late years been brought into public notice, and afforded so much wonder and amusement, are by no means a new invention. They are only a revival of old ideas with modern improvements. Thirty years ago the little folks in London were amused with a shadow- representation then known under the name of the '' Italian Fantoccini." This was an evening street-performance got up in the same manner as '' Punch and Judy ; " the shelf, or stage, on which Punch was wont to delight his audience, being re- placed by a tightly-stretched white curtain, upon which the shadows of small puppets were thrown by means of a light placed behind them ; the effects produced being siipilar to tho ^'Gallanty-Show" of the present time. In this wo find the first principles, in miniature, of the shadow-pantomime. The same method is employed to produce the German Scbat- ten-Bilder or shadow-pictures, only that in these the curtain is large enough to admit of life-sized shadows. Tho arrangement is the same as in the Fantoccini, enlarged in its dimensions; the light in both cases being placed at some distance from tho curtain and in a central position, so as to subject tho shadows to Jis little distortion as possible. Tho modern improvements mainly consist in locating the light much nearer the curtain, and close to tho floor. This enables a i)erformer, stepping over THE SEVENTEENTH EVENING. 209 the light toward the curtain, to appear as coming down from the ceihng; or, by passing back from the curtain, over the light, to appear mounting upward and disappearing in the air j and this was the secret of the ''Harlequin in the Shades," '^ Shadows in the Moon," and other names under which the new illusion became known. In the public representations lately given on the shadow-curtain this illusion was the main point depended upon, and but little was attempted beyond a short incidental act at the close of a minstrel or other variety-per- formance ; but we propose, in this place, to show how shadow- pantomimes may be made to afiford amusement, and that of the most mirth-provoking kind, for Jin hour or more at a time. The first thing to provide is a curtain of white muslin, not too thick, but of substance enough to allow no rays of light to pass between the threads. The seams must be made with a very narrow margin, with close and tightly-drawn stitches, and the number of the seams reduced as much as possible by using the widest muslin that can be obtained. The size of the curtain will depend on the place of exhibition ; in a parlor, the space between the folding or sliding-doors aflbrds a good place for it. A surface of six or eight feet wide, and eight or ten high, forms a curtain which will answer for small performei-s ; but for full- grown persons it should bo larger ; and, where available, an area of twelve feet square will not bo any too largo. ' The size of the curtain having boon fixed u|H)n, ami the scams sown, provide a frame a little larger each way than the opening to bo covered. Secure the curtain to tho fnxme with tacks, stretching it sufilciontly to take out all folds and creasos, and fasten the frame firmly against tho casing of the dcxir ; this ar- rangement makes a neater appearance than making tho fVanio to fit inside the door-cjising. Just before tho coinmcncemont of tho performance tho curtain may bo wet evenly with a sfiongo and clean water ; this renders tho shadows much sharper ami more distinct, and cannot well bo dispensed with if tho material of tho curtain bo thick. 210 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f The selection and management of the light are matters of the highest importance. Whatever kind of light be used, it is nec- essary to have a bright and steady flame ; a large, dull, or flick- ering light being utterly useless. Where gas is burned in the room a flat-flame burner may be fitted to a stand placed on the floor, and arranged so that the gas-flame is not more than two or three inches from the ground ; in fact, the lower the better. The stand can bo connected with the nearest gas-fixture in the room by means of a flexible tube. In parlors where there is no gas the best substitute is a low, flat, tin kerosene-lamp, similar to those used in the street-cars ; a glass lamp would involve too much risk of breakage and consequent danger of fire. The position of the light is the next point which claims our attention. About six feet behind the centre of the curtain place a stool or box, whose height is sufficient to clear the top of the lamp. This is intended to protect the lamp and affords a convenient footing for stepping over the light ; it should, therefore, stand firmly, or else bo secured to the floor. Just in front of this step the lamp is to be placed ; and, for convenient reference hereafter, we will call this the '' first position." The edge of the flame should be presented toward the curtain, as a flat flame, especially if it bo a wide one, will make the outlme of the shadows on the curtain less distinctly defined. Three or four feet behind the footstool, and in a lino with the centre of the curtain, place another box about ttVo and a half feet high, to serve as a stand for the light when needed. This will constitute the ^^ second position " of the light, and will bo used when an act is being performed in which there is no need for stepping over the light. In such cases the light in the second position throws shadows more natural, and less dis- torted in their proportions, than when used in the first position. The lamp must be managed by a person who gives his undi- vided attention to the performance ; he should understand thor- oughly what is going to be played, and thus be able to give all the necessary stage-directions to the players, who should follow THE SEVENTEENTH EVENING, 211 bis orders implicitly. No performance can bo successful witb- out a competent stage-manager, and, least of all, asbadow-pan- tomimc. In transferring tbc lamp from one position to tbe otber, it must be done very gradually , or tbe effect on tbe sbad- ows caused by its cbange of place will be too apparent, and tbis must never be attempted witbout previous practice ; in fact, no part of a performance can be made entirely successful in its effects witbout very careful and frequent rebearsal. Colored ligbt may be tbrowu on tbe curtain by bolding a strip of colored glass close before tbe ligbt. Glass of a ligbt color only must be used, and perfectly clean; dark colors deaden tbe ligbt too mucb. During a performance tbe sbadow-ligbt must bo tbe only one allowed to be burning j all otbers, botb bebind tbe curtain and among tbe audience, must be entirely extinguisbed. Wbere it is not convenient to arrange a drop-curtain, tbe ligbt nmst be masked before tbe performance commences and at its close. A small box, or even a large book, placed close in front of tbe ligbt, will answer, provided it be large enough to sbado tbe entire curtain. Tbe means emi)loyed, and tbe effects produced, in a shadow- pantomime, are so entirely different from those of a stage-per- formance, that a few general directions are iudispeuj^ablo : First, as to the position of the body. The side of the head must always bo presented to tbe curtain, as the profile is the only sbadow that is effective ; oven wben tbo rest of a perform- er's body is fronting tbo curtain, tbo head should be turned to one side or tbo otber, so as to show its iirofllo. He must never attempt to look at his shadow ; this throws the face at once out of prolilo ; durin.n: rehearsal only is tbis allowed. Wben a performer is standing side to tbo curtnln, osi^ccially with tbe ligbt in tbo first position, bo must bo very careful how be manages tbo shoulder furthest from the curtain ; unless ho keeps both his shoulders exactly hi a lino with the light his shadow will bo an astonishing cmo. A single trial will show how easy it is for a person to appear with a projectiou on his breast, 212 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-^'lGHTf or a hump on bis back, as tbc case may be ; and this is not al- ways desirable. Every thing should be done as near to the curtain as practicable without touching it ; always bearing in mind that, at a distance of two feet from the curtain, the shad- ow of a person five feet high will be all of seven feet six inches, and would be rather more prominent than pleasing. When both arms are brought forward into shadow they must be held near together, and in such position relatively that the shadow of the one is not eclipsed by that of the other. If the arras are held wide apart the shadow of the one nearest the light will be greatly the larger. Tlio same may bo said of any articles or objects held in the hands ; in order to bring them into shadow the hand must always be above or heloiv the object held. Next, as to action. All movements must be well tested by rehearsal, as their effects on the shadow -curtain are often widely different from what we might be led to expect. If a performer wish, for instance, to scratch his head, it must be done with the arm well curved to the front; in any other posi- tion the whole of the arm and most of the hand will be obscured by the shadow of the body and head. All motions must be made parallel with the curtain, or their effect is indistinct or entirely lost. Turning round must be done quickly and neatly, with an exact and complete reverse of profile. In passing one another (a thing which should be seldom done) performers should accomplish the movement close together, and rapidly, so as to prevent their shadows from getting mixed. When step- ping over the light, either toward or from the curtain, it must be done sideways, presenting the profile to tho light, and with a long stride, so as to step down close to tho curtain, if going on, or clear over tho lamp, if going off. Any halting midway between the curtain and tho light will leave only tho lower half of the body in shadow, and of colossal proportions; entrance or exit over the light should not be too often repeated, but con- fined to a performer's first appearance or final exit, or some other occasion when it may bo done with good effect. THE SE VENTEENTH E FENING. 213 There are very few persons, comparatively speaking, who are gifted with a talent for pantomime. Performers on the stage having considerable command over their featnres, and a fair routine knowledge of mimic action, often fail to express their meaning accurately. How much more diflQcult must it be, then, to convey an idea by a shadow only ; in fact, to make your shadow speak. In a shadow the expression of the eye is lost ; the working or play of the features is imperceptible ; the only really movable portion of the face is the lowerjaw,aflbrdingthe moans of opening or closing the mouth. If ever you should meet with a lucky individual who can really (not metaphorically) turn up his nose, engage him for your shadow-pantomime on the spot, as one possessing a talent not to be despised. As the faciUties for emotional expression are so limited, it follows that a shadow-pantomime must depend entirely for suc- cess OQ a rapid succession of thrilling and ludicrous situations, all so exaggerated as to bo unmistakable in their meaning. Whenever any short dialogue or interchange of ideas occurs, between two performers, there is no other way to make it ph\in to the audience than to put your few remarks into words, re- peat them silently in your own mind, and accompany them with thoroughly appropriate but greatly exaggerated action. This is really the secret of all successful i)antomimista. Two parties, when in apparent conversation, should bo cai*eful to si>eak ono at a time, as it were ; that is, not to act both at once, but each wait for tho other to finish what ho is about, and then reply to it. Hence, tho part each i)orformer baa to nssunio must bo as thoroughly studied beforehand as though it wero a stage-comedy; and the manager bo always ready to prompt (in a low whisjwr) when tho actor is at fault ; this, of course, nMiuiifs perfect onler and quiet bohin,>i,^},i laid flat on the ground ; so thatf when he gets up, his u/snirs inii (tpprnr to have beneflted by his repast.) ITo now gets up, throws basket (ot^er light), and then kicks Waiter (over light), and dances around, delighted to find that his stomach is in bettor condition. Restaurant Kbrper enters (right) and goes through busi- ness of complimenting him on his iuiprovod appearance, con- cluding with politely requesting his money, handing Chinaman a $12 restaurant check. 226 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NWHTf Chinama:n^ as politely receives it and gracefully bows Res- taurant Keeper out. (Exit Restaurant Keeper y right.) He then regards the card with astonishment, pulls both pockets inside out, feels all over himself, looks in his shoes — can't find a cent ; first appears greatly troubled, then stands in attitude of deep thought {left hand on right elbow y head bent down a littky and right forefinger tapping forehead). Restauraxt Keeper enters (right) j dcmtinds his money, (holds out left hand^ palm upward, and taps it with back of fin- gers of right hand, also palm upward). Chixaman conveys him the information that he has none. Restaurant Keeper indignantly and peremptorily demands it, working himself up into a passion, threatening Chinaman. CnrNAMAN falls on his knees and begs to be spared. Restaurant Keeper won't hear of it ; calls (claps his hands three times) for Waiter, who enters (over light) and orders him to fetch the Carpenter (points upivard and goes through motions ofsaiving). Exit Waiter (left), returning immediately (same way) with Carpenter. (Light transferred to ^^ second positionJ^) Restaurant Keeper signs to Carpenter that Chinaman has eaten till his stomach has swelled, and then won't pay, and ex- plains by signs that he wants Carpenter to cut him open, in order to get his food back again. Chinaman, horror-stricken, implores for mercy, but can make no impression on the obdurate Restaurant Keeper, and finally tragically fixints (centre of stage) from terror. Exit Res- taurant Keeper (right). Carpenter with a great deal of preparation and fuss, with the assistance of Waiter, who holds Chinaman's legs down, com- mences to saw him open, longitudinally, of course. Positions — Chinaman, lying full length on ground, head to right. Waiter (left), kneeling, with hands on Chinaman's feet, Carpenter (right), with left band on Chinaman's forehead, hold- ing his head down, saw in right hand, going through motion TBE SEVENTEENTH EVENING, 227 of sawing, apparently getting deeper at each cut. (This action takes place at side ofj and not on Chinaman ; the saw will thics appear to penetrate.) Waiter, laughing, picks up all the articles that Chinaman swallowed (now lying flat hy Chinaman's side), one by one, looks at them and throws them over light. ( While this is going on the cloth musthe withdrawn from Chinaman's drawers, so that his stomach will have shrunk to its former meagre dimensions.) Chinaman during this operation occasionally gives a twitch or a start, as if of pain. Carpenter then goes off (left), returning with a stout twine, and long (wire) needle, and immediately goes through the motion of sewing up Chinaman^s much-abused inwards, at conclusion of which all exeunt (left), except Chinaman. (Light to ^^ first position.^) Chinaman gradually recovers 5 rubs his eyes, as if he had been dreaming. Gazes with dismay at his reduced stomach, and after a little by-play of uncertainty what to do gets slowly over the light. (Curtain,) WBAT SHALL WK DO TO-NIGHTt 5lQHT£E|^T.H i^VEJMIJ^q. The pleasures of this evening can commence with an exhibi- tion of Mesmerism. The mesmerist and his confederate, who has been duly in- structed; enter the room in which the audience is seated. The mesmerist carries a slight cane or wand, and stands di- rectly behind his confederate, the cane being pointed at the confederate's back, and touching it lightly. While conversation goes on amongst the audience the two stand apparently mo- tionless, in the attitude shown in Fig. 77 ; but when one of the fa^ Fig. 77. audience speaks the mesmerist gently pushes the wand to at- tract his confederate's attention to the person speaking. Still THE EIGHTEENTH EVENING, 229 they stand motionless, apparently, for a little longer, when the confederate goes into the hall. The mesmerist then points out certain persons with his wand, saying as he does so, '' cane points!" '^ cane points !'* (which words the confederate repeats) until he points to the person who was speaking when he slightly pushed his confed- erate. As he points to him he cries out ^' cane rests! '■ when the confederate in the hall immediately calls out the name of the person indicated. This can be repeated as often as the audience wish, and in the hands of expert performers is very puzzling, as the motion that informs the confederate is so very slight as to he imper- ceptible to the spectators. By placing the audience in front, and not at the side of the exhibitor, this illusion, if neatly performed, can never bo de- tected. When the mesmerist has made a graceful bow to conclude his performance, propose a game of The Poetical Butterfly. The butterfly, being chosen from the company, lias the priv- ilege of naming the others according to his own fancy, the ladies being flowers or trees, the gentlemen birds or insects. The butterfly, flying from one to the other, requires each one to tell some story or legend connected with the tree, flower, bird or insect named, or quote some piece of poetry written iu his hon- or. Any one failing must pay a forfeit. example: BuTTKUFLY. AVhat a lovely garden this is into which I have wandered f On every side I see the fairest flowers and most graceful trees, hear the song of the birds and drowsy hum of the insects. I am weary (turning to a lady). Fair Uoso, will you tell me your story f 230 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT t Rose — " I'm the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone ; All my lovely companions Ai*e faded and gone." Butterfly. Dear me ! how sad ! But really, madam, you are too sad to suit my present mood ; I see an Eagle resting near me (turning to a gentleman). Will your majesty favor me with your story ? Eagle — " With storm-daring pinion, and sure gazing eye, The Gray Forest Eagle is king of the sky." Butterfly. Well, it is a fine thing, no doubt, to have a good opinion of oneself, but I'll try a little modesty for a change (turning to a lady). Fair Violet, will you favor me with a greeting ? Violet— "Oh! faint, delicious, spring-time violet, Thine odor, like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to lot A thought of sorrow free ! " Butterfly. Bless me ! how dolorous all these fair flowers are (turning to a gentleman) ! Sir Lark, can you not favor me with a livelier verse I Lark— " The merry lark, he soars on high. No worldly thought o'ertakes him ; He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, And the daylight that awakes him." Butterfly. That is better ! I will see if this stately oak tree will deign to speak to me (turning to a lady). Oak. No familiarities, sir, if you please. I am a famous tree ; no less than the Charter Oak of Connecticut, where the State charter was concealed in 1G87. Butterfly. Ah ! Have you been putting on airs ever since ? T had no idea you were so old, really (turning to a gentleman) ! How noW; Sir Owl; what are you doing abroad in the day-time t THE EIGHTEENTH EVENING. 231 Owl— " Mourn not for the Owl, nor his gloomy plight ; The owl has his share of good : If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, He is lord in the dark greenwood ! " Butterfly. Fly away tbea aiid favor us with a little hoot- ing this eveiiiug (turning to a lady). Fair Lily, have you a story? Lily. Has not Shakspearo himself immortalized my perfec- tion, declaring it a waste of time to ^' paint the lily f " Butterfly. True, indeed ; and who has sung the praises (turning to a lady) of this delicate Primrose! Primrose. Wordsworth, Sir Butterfly. ** Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory." Butterfly. Do I see a Nightingale (turning to a gentle- man) ? Nightingale— " Prize thou the Nightingnlo, Who soothes theo with his tale, And wakes the woods around ; A singing feather he— a winged and wandering soond.** It is not necessary to make a poetical quotation, hut any as- sociation that is familiar may bo recalled, as the Bases of York and Lancaster, the Laurel that crowns heroes, tho Dove being the emblem of innocence. Tho various fables of mythology will suggest emblematic flowers and birds, as tho PeacockhoAUQ tho attendant of Juno, aud Cores woariug corn-floioers as a wreath. After the butterfly has taxed the memory of all, or collected some forfeits, suggest a game of The Auctioneer. One of tho company bring selected for auctioneer, the others each write upon a slip of paper tho uamo of some article, the S^ WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XIGHTf auctioneer putting one blank slip amongst the number. All these are folded and are put into a hat and shaken up, the auc- tioneer marking one, as the bid that he will accept. The play- er drawing the blank slip is then put up at auction and the players bid for him in turn, naming the article written upon their slip as the price they arc willing to pay. When ho is finally knocked down to the owner of the marked slip ho must obey one command, and afterwards more slips are written and another blank slip is drawn, to be put up at auction. EXAMPLE : All the slips being written, the auctioneer marks one, puts one blank into the hat, and passes it round for all to draw. A. draws the blank, and is put up at auction. The auctioneer now commences the sale, each bidding what is written upon the slip he or she has drawn, till the auctioneer recognizes the slip bo has marked. Auctioneer. Hero is Mr. A., remarkable for his fine head of hair and a superb tenor voice I Who bids for Mr. A.l B — . I bid a tin saucepan ! AUCTIOXEER. A tin saucepan is bid for Mr. A. Going ! going ! for a tin saucepan, going ! C — . I bid a waterproof cloak ! Auctioneer. Going ! going I Here's your fine curly-haired gentleman going for a waterproof cloak. Who bids higher! Going ! D— . I bid a mint stick ! Auctioneer. Going, for a mint stick ! A mint stick ! Really, ladies and gentlemen, this is absurd ! A nice, w^ell-behaved young man, with a fine head of hair and a tenor voice, going for a mint stick ! Why, his voice alone is worth more ! Going ! E — , I bid a ginger-snap ! Auctioneer. I wonder you arc not ashamed, miss ! A gin- ger-snap ! Look at this superb young man ! A ginger-snap is bid ! Going ! F — . I bid a brush and comb ! THE EIGHTEENTH EVENING. 233 AucTiois'EER. Going! going ! gone! Mrs. F., this fino young man is yours. What will you hid him do? F — . As you dwelt so much upon his voice, I command him to sing for us. Mr. A. having oheyed, the game recommences. In the hands of a witty auctioneer this is a very merry game, allowing wide margin for compliment and sarcasm in crying up the individ- uals put up at auction. It is apt to he varied by requests from the victim to the auctioneer to '' shut up ! ^' or ''stop quizzing a fellow when he can^t help himself! " As there is always one slip left in the hat, it sometimes hap- pens to ho the marked one. In that case, when all have made a hid, the auctioneer says: ''I have bought Mr. in, for «i ring," or whatever is written on that slip. Each of the others must then pay a forfeit. When the company are tired of this game one of the gentle- men may amuse them for a short time with The Tame Dime. Provide yourself with a long, dark hair, by favor of one of your lady friends; or, if you are biishful, a lady's hair-dresser will prove an unfailing friend in need. At one eui of the hixxT attach p. hooked pin, or a loop, by which secure it to your vest (a dark one, of course); at the other cud fasten a very small piece of wax, and allow the hair to bang down ready for use when required. Arrange a small table in a convenient position, facing the audience, and place upon it a glass of watei ; then ask some one to lend you a silver dime. It is well to bo pro- vided with one beforehand, as you may not always bo able to borrow one; and, if this should bo the case, you must allow It to be examined to show that it is neither more nor less than represented. When the dime is returned to you it should bo stated that it is important that tho date on it is an odd or even number, as 234 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? the case may be (which must be previously ascertained); this affords an opportunity for slippinringt.** ^ 242 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf Fourth Player. That is Sbakspeare ! "A man couvinceil against his will la of the same opiuiou still." FiPTH Player. Beie's my forfeit. I know the quotation* but Dot the author. Sixth Player. Butler, is it not ? " Thei-e's beauty all {ground our paths If but our watchful eyes Could trace it 'raidst familiar thiugs Aud through their lowly guise." Seventh Player. Hemans ! *• A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Eighth Player. Shelley ! ''• The over curious are not over wise." Ninth Player. Massinger ! *• Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise." Tenth Player. Gray ! • Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away." Eleventh Player. Moore ! But I know a game of anthorS; livelier than this, that wc played last winter with great succccs, and christened Likenesses. Silly name, perhaps, but we voted upon it, and it stands upon the records of our sociables. Each of you must thiuk of the name of some author and give it in other language for us to guess. A wrong guess pays a for- feit; a right one gives the next author. I will give you an example : What author is like the houses we live in f A—. Holmes ! Correct. Give us the next one. A—. What author is like a covering for the headf B — . Hood ! What author can never grow old I THE NINETEENTH EVENING. 243 C — . Young! What author horrifies holy Hebrews f D — . Hogg ! What author belongs to a religious order f E — . Abbott ! What author would you name if you di- rected some one to commit a theft? F — . Steele ! What author often grows in hedges ? G— . Hawthorne! What author tells you to peruse his works ? H— . Reade ! What three authors would you name at a fire ? I — . Dickens! Howitt ! Burns! That is not original, H—. Try another. H — . What author resembles a lady of fashion f I—. Gay ! What author is like swampy ground f J—. Marsh ! This game may be varied to name persons of distinction in other walks besides literature, and will always pass an hour pleasantly amongst well-informed people. EXAMPLE. Leader. What great general makes coats ? Number One. Taylor! What great statesman would a fly name as ho visited the home of a spider f Number Tnvo. Oh! oh! Web-ster ! that-s clear. What prince ought to live in the sea? Number Three. Prince of W(h)alos, of course! What general in the Mexican war do wc see every day? Number Four. Pillow ! What general calls John father. Number Five. Jack('8)son! What president was the father of all men ? Number Six. Adams! What great inventor grows upon rocks and stones? NuMHKR Seven. Morsel Ta-as; tbat*8 high-toned. What great explorer belongs in the kitchen ? Number Eight. Cook! What gi-eat explon^r ran yon carry in your hand ? Number Nine. Kane ! What great pirato is a very liann- less domestic animal f 244 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NlGBTf Number Tex. Kidd ! In a quick-witted company, battles or other great events may be punned upon in the same manner, and the more exe- crable the jokes the greater the merriment. We have heard Luckenow given as a Scotchman's definition of content, and others as far-fetched, yet enjoyed for their very absurdity j in fact, the more ridiculous a thing is, the heartier the laugh which must inevitably follow it. A great deal of entertainment may be caused by complicated games and intricate tricks ; they serve to rivet attention, amuse the fancy, and, by raising tho curiosity of the company, while away the time most pleasantly; but the introduction, occasionally, of something utterly absurd and entirely simple in its nature, is sure to elicit an irrepressi- ble burst of merriment, and adds a zest to the other quieter amusements of the evening. The conjurer may now exhibit the perplexing trick of The Vanishing Dime. Get a small hole drilled in a silver dime, close to the rim, through which pass and secure the end of a piece of the thinnest black elastic cord that you can procure, about five or six inches long. Next, take a common hook and eye; fasten the hook on to the end of the cord, and sew the eye on the outside of your right shirt-sleeve, in such a position that the dime, when tho cord is hooked into the eye, will rest two inches up the coat- sleeve and underneath the wrist. Then hook the cord on and press the hook close over the eye to prevent it from becoming unfiistened. To perform the trick, draw tho dime down with the left hand, and hold it between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand, keeping the hand in such a position as to con- ceal the cord. Offer the dime to one of the company, telling him to be sure and hold it fast. Just as he is on the point of taking it relax your hold of it and it will disappear instantly up your sleeve. This constitutes one of the most eflfectivo tricks THE yiNETEENTH EVENING. 245 that can be perforaied, if neatly done, and makes a capital finishing-stroke to conclude the trick of the **Tame Dime" (see page 2;3i3). If it can be obtained, a piece of India-rubber thread, such as is used in weaving elastic webbing, is still better than the black cord, as it is thinner, and closely matches the color of the skin. The elastic material used for garters and shirt-sleeve bands contains several threads of this kind of India-rubber; and one may be easily drawn out for the purpose. Conclude the evening by The Giant Sneeze. Divide a party of persons into three divisions, each division standing separately. The persons in first division are to say, when the word of command is given, "hish," emphasizing the first "h;" the second division are to say '^ash;" and the third, ^^osh." One of the party, who is selected as leader of the sneeze- orchestra, counts slowly, *'one, two, three;" and at the word *' three" the three divisions pronounce their appropriate sylla- bles simultaneously, and with all the power of their lungs. If there are sufficient people present to furnish five or six in each division, the effect will be gigantic. A tolerably clear notion may bo formed from this ])erformance of the experiences of a primeval backwoodsman, Noah's groat-uncle, for instance, when roused from a happy rovorlo by bis favorite mastodon, or other antediluvian pet monster, suffering from an attack of Influenza j and then, by a further stretch of the imagination, picture to himself the grand effect produced by a family of such houso-pots affiictod in the same maimer. The roar of Niagara Falls would sink into puny iusiguificanco in comparison with it 246 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Twentieth ^veninq. For this evening a most amusing entertainment may be pre- pared, called The Gallanty-Show. A gallanty-show can be got up with very little trouble in any house where there is a room which communicates with another apartment by means of folding- doors, so that the operator may be in one room and the spectators in another. The figures are to be cut out of card-board or very stiff paper, and their limbs are to be made movable by forming them of separate pieces, and making them work on pivots of thread or wire. All the figures should be blackened on both sides, either with India-ink or lamp-black, mixed with water and size. The figures are to be worked behind a semi-transparent screen formed by stretch- ing a piece of linen or thin muslin over a wooden frame about three feet in width by two in depth. During the exhibition the screen is to be illuminated by a lamp or candle placed behind it at the distance of threo or four feet. The screen must be sup- ported at the height of about five feet from the floor in the door- way between the two rooms, by a light framework of wood, or by any other means which the ingenuity of the operator may devise. Curtains or shawls must now bo hung over the doorway on the outside, so as to hide the showman from the spectatoi-s, and shut out all tlio light except that which passes through the linen screen. A piece of strong tape stretched along the bot- tom of the frame by a nail driven in at each corner serves to hold one figure in its proper position while the operator is en- THE TWENTIETH EVENING. 347 gaged in moving another. The annexed engraving, Fig. 83, represents the interior of the gallauty-show, and shows how the figures are to he worked ; the smaller boy holds all the figures, and hands them one at a time to the showman. The opomtor should i^ay ])articular attention to the actions of tho dlflbrent figures, while carrying on tho dialogue, to soo that thoy mako appropriate gestures and movements with their heads, arms, and legs. lie should also endeavor to give every character a distinctive style and pitch of voice ; sustaining tho poculiarilies of each uncjianged throughout the performance of tho piece. Tho following burlesque is a specimen of tho kind of play most likely to cause amusement. 248 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f The Crocodile of the Mle. Scene I. — Egypt. A desert plain. On one side a single palm-tree ; on the other, a little hut. (Enter Sambo, running.) (The annexed illustration; Fig. 84, shows how this figure is to be cut out. The showman gives motion to the legs by means of the long slips of card-board attached to the feet. Sambo's eye may be made to roll about in a very comical manner, if the ex- hibitor will take the trouble to stretch a hair, with a black glass bead strung upon it, across the hole cut in the fiice to represent the white of the eye.) Fig. 84. Sambo. Gosh, golly ! dis cullud population's done frighten to deff. Missis ! ole missis ! ef you don't done come down right off you'll be fotched in a hurry. (Enter Mrs. Smith /rom the hut.) (The figure of Mrs. Smith (see Fig. 85) does not require much description. The arms are loosely attached to the shoulders and made to move up and down by a thread or wire passing behind the figure.) Mrs. Smith. How dare you summon me in that rude man- ner ! My poor nerves have been in such a dreadful state ever since I left New York that I tremble like a leaf at the slightest noise. Sambo. Oh, missis ! I see sich a creatur I Mrs. Smith. Heavens! What do you mean f THE TWENTIETH EVENING. 249 Sambo. Great big monster, ninety, eleventy, hundred feet }ong — cobered all ober wid scales like de roof ob a house — hun- dred million teeth in him mouth, an' tail dat would reach all de way from yer to New York. Mbs. Smith. Good gracious ! Oh ! why did Mr. Smith bring me to this dreadful country ? Where is your master. Sambo ? Go and find him directly, and tell him he is a brute to leave his poor wife all alone by herself in this desert place. Oh, deary me! Why did I ever marry a traveler! (Exit Mrs. Smith into hut.) Sambo. S'poso I got to look for massa ; but if dat chap come 'long one way, I go t'odder, sartin. Nebber see secb an auimil afore— nebber sence I was done born. (Exit Sambo,) (Enter Litile Jim.) (The figure of the black child, little Jim, shown in the illus- tratioD, Fig. 86; need not bo made with movable limbs.) t Tin. 86. Jim (calling after Sambo), Daddy, take dis uigger UoDg ! Daddy-ee! (Cries.) (Enter the Wonderful Crocodile.) (The figure of this remarkable animal should be very care- 256 JVHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHT f fully cut out. The tail and lower jaw work on pivots, and are moved, together with two of the legs, by means of two long slips of card. Its general appearance is given in Fig. 87.) (The Wonderful Crocodile crawls slowly toward little Jiniy seizes that hapless youngster, and hacks out tvith him between his huge jaws. The child yells.) (Enter Mrs. Smith.) Mrs. Smith. Mercy on us ! I thought I heard poor little Jim scream. I wonder where the little brat has gone to ? Oh, dea»" ! I wish my brute of a husband would come ! Oh, here he is, at last. How frightened he looks I (Enter Smith.) (The legs and arms of this figure need not be formed of sep- arate pieces, as Smith plays an unimportant part in the drama.) Smith. Oh, my love ! I've seen a crocodile with poor little Jim in its enormous jaws. (Mrs. Smith screams.) All, my dear ! we are not safe an instant in this place. The authorities ought to put a stop to crocodiles and all dangerous reptiles. If THE TWENTIETH EVENING. 251 it comes again I shall call on the police. I am not afraid for myself nor for you. Mrs. Smith. Oh, you heartless brute ! Smith. Be patient, my love ! I am only afraid for the safety of my valuable notes on the domestic habits of the ostrich. Mrs. Smith. Botheration ! I wish you had never interfered with the ostrich, and had stopped at home like a sensible man. Oh, gracious goodness ! Look there ! (Screams.) (The Wonderful Crocodile makes its appearance^ swallows Smithy and backs out again. Mrs. Smith continues screaming. ) (The swallowing is easily managed. The showman moves the crocodile close up to Smith, and pulls the latter figure out of sight.) (Enter Sambo.) Sambo. Can't find massa. Look for him ebery where ! Mrs. Smith. Oh, Sambo! Your poor master! Sambo. What ! hab de fellow wid de teeth eat him up? Mrs. Smith. Don't ask me. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! Sambo. Where's little Jim f Mrs. Smith. He's with your poor master. Sambo. Oh, dear ! Poor little Jim, do pride ob my heart ! But see! Him come again. (The Crocodile appears at one side ; Sambo and Mrs. Smith run out, screaming, at the oilier, Tlie nMnster, qf^er opening and shutting its jaws a few timeSy disappears.) (Enter Captain, follotved by the Army). (The figure of one of the soldiers is represented hi Fig. 89. The best plan of moving the soldiers across the stage is to fasten them to a long i)ioco of tape, which is passed over two empty cotton-reels, turning on strong i)in8 driven in the lower corners of the wooden frame ; the ends of the tapo are fastened together so as to form an endless Imnd. The army will con- tinue on the march as long lui the showman keeps turning one of the reels.) 252 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf Captafn". Forward, my brave men ! Let us exterminate the terrible monster without delay ! (The Crocodile pops its head in on one sidCj and tJie soldiers all march into its mouth. Having eaten up the whole army, the monster retires.) (Enter Jack Bowline and Mrs. Smith.) (The legs of the sailor (see Fig. 90) are movable, but the arms are cut out with the body. Each leg has a slip of card attached to it for the showman to hold.) Fiv.. 90. Jack. Eaten your husband and a little black baby, say you ? Shiver my timbei-s ! V\\ chop the lubber into mince-meat ! Mrs. Smith. YouVe very good, sir ; but suppose the mon- ster should swallow you ! Jack. Swallow one of Uncle Sam*8 navy ! I should like to see him do it ! But whcrc's that Sambo I He promised to show me where this land-shark harbors. So come along, my little craft ; let's take a cruise in chase of him. THE TWENTIETH EVENING, 253 Mrs. Smith. If you kill the crocodile, sir, you will convey me to my aged papa, will you not ? Jack. I should think so ! The man who wouldn't protect a lovely widow and take her to her papa isn't worthy the name of an American sailor ! (Exeunt.) Scene II.— The Crocodiled s Home on the Banks of the Nile, (Enter the Youxa Crocodile.) (The comical figure of the youthful crocodile, shown in Fig. 91, is easily worked by pulling the strip of card which is con- nected with the lower jaw and tail.) Young Crocodile (supposed to be speaking the Crocodilian language). Oh ! I do wish papa would come homo ! I have had nothing to eat since breakAist, and then I only had two oxen and a few skinny Arabs. Fm so hungry ! Pa-pa-a-a ! pa-pa-a-a-a ! (Cries.) Oh ! here he comes, with somothing Iq his mouth. Hoor-ray I La di diddle Jc, da de da, (Sings and dances in an absurd manner.) (Enter Wonderful Crocodile tcith Little Jim in his tnouth,) Wonderful Crocodile (putting down Jim). Well, my son, I hope you*vo been a good little reptile Iq my abscuco. See! I've brought somothing nice for supper. YouNO Crocodile. What a littlo bit! That won't be enough. Wonderful Crocodile. Don't be greedy I Fm going to bed, OS Fm not very well. I swallowed a troop of soldiers this 254 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHT? afternooD, and their nasty guns and bayonets have given me a pain in ray chest. I never could digest iron. Good night, my child ! Have your supi)er and go to bed. (Exit Wonderful Crocodile.) Young Ckocodile. Good night, daddy ^ Now for my supper. ( Tries to catch little Jim^ who runs backward and forward, crying all the time. After many unsuccessful attempts^ the Crocodile catches Jim. ) (Enter Jack Bowline.) Jack. Hold hard, you lubber ! The crocodile that would go to eat a Jittle baby like that isn't worthy the name of an Ameri- can sailor ! (The Crocodile leaves Jim. and makes a rush at the Sailor.) Jack. What! you fresh-water shark ! Do you want to try the temper of an American cutlass ? J31ow my tarry top-lights ! Come on, then ! (Terrific combat between Jack and the Young Crocodile. At the conclusio7i of the fight the Crocodile falls backward out of sight ) Jack. Hurrah ! Three cheers for Uncle Sam and the horse-marines! (To Jim.) Now, young 'un, let me take you to your daddy ; then I'll come back and look for the father of the chap who was going to make salt-junk of you. The man who would be content with thrashing one crocodile isn't worthy of the name of an American sailor! (Exeunt.) Scene III. — Dotvn East. The sailor's 'native village. A pump on one side^ a sign-board, tvith the words " The Jolly Sailor'^ cut out, on the other. (Enter Jack Bowline.) Jack. Here I am again in my native village, safe and sound as a new frigate ! Won't my blessed old dad be glad to set eyes on me, and won't all the folks stare when they see my tame crocodile 1 Sambo, a-hoy ! Tow the vessel into this jiort ! THE TWENTIETH EVENING. 255 {Enter Sambo, leading the Wonderful Crocodile by a string^ Little 3 im following.) Sambo. Here we am, raassa ! Dat chap am tame as pos'ble, Tink him turn wegetarian, as bim eat noting but grass an^ clober. Him cry like a child when me lick him ; an' I lick bim good, too. Jack. It's a queer craft to look at. Let me get on deck. {Mounts the Crocodile.) Now I've taken Mrs. Smith home to her papa, I'll have a lark. Music, strike up ''Fisher's Horn- pipe." The man who wouldn't dance a hornpipe on a croco- dile's back isn't worthy the name of an American sailor! (Dances a hornpipe on the hack of the Crocodile.) Sambo {also beginning to caper^ adapting his movements to the music). Golly ! Massa. Dat's good. 'Minds me ob de ole times down in ole Virginny. De nigger dat wouldn't dance to dat music ain't wurvy ob de name ob an 'Merican sailor. Jack. Stow that, you black lubber ! American sailor, in- deed ! Sambo. I'se a 'Merican sailor — good as you, massa. Fse a fifteenth 'mendroent sailor, anyhow. Jack {Jumping off Crocodile). I'll fifteenth amendment you ! '{Knocks him off the stage. Sambo disappears. Jack again mounts on Crocodile j crowing.) (Curtain.) 256 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIOHTt fwEJMTY-FIRgT ijVEJMINQ. This evening the company first join in a game of Electricity. A portion of the company are requested to leave the room, and upon a centre- table are arranged a number of small articles, such as an inkstand, ash-holder, paper-weight, card- receiver, album, or like trifles. One of these is pointed out by the leader as the supposed '^ battery." One of the absent players is then recalled, told he is to receive an electric shock, and requested to touch the articles upon the table. When his fingers fall upon the one pointed out by the leader the entire party cry ^' Oh I " suddenly, loudly and sharply. This will cause the victim to start as suddenly, and look as amazed, as if he had really experienced an electric shock. He then takes his seat amongst the initiated and gives the benefit of his lungs in the shout that is to *^ electrify " the next victim. After the company are again assembled in the drawing-room, ready for a new proposition, arrange them for a merry game of The Merchant of all Climes. The company are seated in a circle, and the game consists in guessing what each one has for sale, from the country he hails from and the initial -letter of his merchandise. The guesser gives the next question. EXAMPLE : Leader. I am a merchant from China, and I sell F — . THE TWENTY-FIRST EVENING 257 A — . Fowls ! Leader. Pay a forfeit \ Chinese merchants do n ot sell fowls. B — . Fireworks ! I am a French merchant and I sell S — . C — . Silks ! I am a Western merchant and I sell C — . D — . Corn ! I am a Turkey merchant, and I sell — . E — . Olives ! I am a Japanese merchant and I sell F — . F — . Fans! I am a San Francisco merchant and I sell G — . G — . Grapes ! I am an East India merchant, and I sell S — . H— . Shawls! I am a West India merchant, and I sell C — . I—. Coffee ! Any mistake, such as making the New England merchant sell sugar, or the Chinaman, cod-fish, is to cost a forfeit, whether the error was that of the merchant or the guesser. Being now ready for a little more fun, let one of the party slip out and prepare the saucers or soup plates and tumblers for a trick game of Magnetism. While he is engaged in covering the bottom of one of the saucers or plates with a thick coating of black, by holding it low down in the flame of a candle, another of the party address- es the company, leading the conversation to the subject of ani- mal magnetism, and finally announcing himself au expert mag- netizer. *' I do not often perform in public," ho may say, "but amongst friends I do not object to giving a proof of my skill. The only point upon whicli I must insist is perfect gravity and quiet amongst the audience. I will now see if I can select a subject who is susceptible to the magnetic intluonces." lie now passes from one to another, making passes, and looking steadily into the eyes of several of the company, feeling the pulso of one and another, till finally he selects one individ- ual whom he declares to be the very man for the experiment. He now clears one end of the room and places two chain, 258 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? face to face, some three feet apart. lu one of these he seats his inteDded victim and asks the hostess if he can have two glasses of water, standing in two plates. This produces the blackened plate, and a clean one, upon each of them a glass of clear water. Handing the blackened plate to the subject who is to be mag- netized, he takes the clean plate and says, seating himself in the vacant chair : '^ You must fix your eyes steadily upon mine, and make ex- actly the motions that I do. Mr. C (calling upon one of the company) J vi\\\ you stand where you can take the plate when Fir.. '.>2. the numbness that precedes the trance causes it to drop from Mr. 's hand f THE TWENTY-FIRST EVENING. 259 He now proceeds to make several motions with his open hand, keeping his eyes fixed upon his victim, till he has his undivided attention. He then dips his finger in the water, and drawing it across the bottom of his plate makes a cross upon his forehead ; the subject docs the same ; a second pass over the bottom of the plate and the face draws a long black streak down the vic- tim's nose ; a third smears one cheek ; a fourth the other. When the victim resembles a blackamoor the opei-ator gravely rises and says the subject has proved that his will is too strong to yield to that of another man, and he must try a new one. But the company having watched the operation, as shown in Fig. 92, are not often likely to furnish a second victim. If the operator can induce the victim, by some well-turned compli- ments upon his nerve and strength of mind, to smile compla- cently, the efiect is very funny, but the production of a mirror, or leading the blackened man to a pier-glass, will change the smirk into a stare of amazement and disgust very ludicrous to witness. While the company are laughing over the discomfiture of the magnetized subject, procure a pack of cards and initiate the entire party into the game of Wall Street Brokers. The company are seated in a circle, and near enough together to pass the cards easily from one to another. The loader hands a card to the oue od his left hand, calling its description aloud three times; the second ono passes it to tlie next, also calling its description, and it is passed around the circle, each one calling the card three times as ho receives and passes it. As soon as the leader has passed ono card out ho innncdiately passes another, calling it as before, and this is sent after the first ; a third follows, a fourth, fifth, and one after another in rapid succession, every card being rapidly cidled 260 WHAT ^HALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf three times as it passes from hand to hand. When the card is an ace, instead of describing it, the holder must say Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! If a knave passes, it is also not named, but meets with a H'm ! H'm ! H'm ! The players must all be on the watch for any one who breaks this rule by naming an ace or knave, when he receives it, or giving the wrong syllables ; if caught in the act, a forfeit is the penalty. To facilitate this, one of the com- pany should stand inside the circle, and watch the aces and knaves as they pass from hand to hand. The babel of tongues is wonderful, and is said to exactly re- semble the proceedings of a board of Wall street broker's in business hours, when there is some financial excitement. EXAMPLE : Leader (passing cards as rapidly as possible, and naming each one). {Ace of Spades) Oh ! Oh! Oh! Seven of clubs, seven of clubs, seven of clubs; deuce of hearts, deuce of hearts, deuce of hearts; (Knave of Diamonds) IFm ! H'm ! H'm ! etc., to the end of the pack. Second Player (receiving the cards and passing them on as rapidly as possible, naming each one three times). Oh ! Oh I Oh ! Seven of clubs, seven of clubs, seven of clubs, deuce of hearts, etc., to end of pack. Third Player receives, calls and passes the cards to fourth, w ho receives, calls and passes them to fifth, who passes them in the same way. The confusion of voices becomes indescribable after about ten cards are out. If the circle is not large enough for the whole pack to go round, the last player must hold the cards as fast as he gets them, until he receives the last one, and silence falls upon one after another of the ])layors as fresh cards cease to reach them. While the cards arc out, shuttle them well, and deal them out to the company as if for a game of whist, one at a time to each person, in regular order, and commence a game of THi: TWENTY-FIRST EVENING. 2(51 Machine Poetry. One of the party, holding up a card, calls out a word— any word he may think of. The three players holding the corre- sponding cards of the other three suits naust each give him a rhyme for his word, and he must make a verse of poetry from the four single words. The next player names another card and a word, and obtain- ing, as before, three rhyming words, also makes a verse. The more abominable the poetry, the greater the merriment. EXAMPLE : Leader (holding Five of Spades). Cheese ! Holder of the Five of Clubs. Ease ! Holder of the Five of Hearts. Sneeze ! Holder of the Five of Diamonds. Squeeze ! The leader then gives the result of his cogitations — I obtained a piece of cliccsc, Twos 80 strong it made mo aneeae. But I gave it a gootl squeeze, And then ate it up with case. Second Plater (holding Ace of Hearts). Hat I Holder of the Ace of Clubs. Flat ! Holder of the Ace of Diamonds. Rat ! Holder of the Ace of Spades. Mat ! Second Player— 'Twas night, trhon on the mat, A most outrngooua rnt, SupiM'd n|H)n my Sunday hnt, TVhtrh made mo fe«>l quite flat And 80 on. Tho fun is, of course, increased when the players, gettuig uito tho spirit of the game, make their rhymes as puz- zling and incongruous as possible. II any lucky player holds four cards of a kind he can throw thoni out witliout making auy verse. If bo holds three he can distribute them amongst the others and throw the verse-mak- 262 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf ing upon the player on bis left, but if bo bolds but two be must supply tbe last rbyme, as well as tbe first word for bis verse. Auotber form of tbe same game is to bave tbe leader start off with a line of poetry. Tbe player nearest on his left, who holds a corresponding card, must supply the second line, to rhyme with tbe first ; the next one on the left, holding another corresponding card, gives tbe third rhyming line, and tbe bolder of the fourth similar card finishes the verse. EXAMPLE : Nine of Hearts— As I was coming down a hill, Nine of Clubs— I tumbled down like Jack and Jill, Nine of Spades— And rolled into a little rill, Nine of Diamonds — And caused my nose its blood to spill. The worse tbe poetry, tbe more tbe mirth and merriment. To conclude the evening, play a game of Head, Body, and Legs. One player takes an oblong piece of paper, and having divid- ed it into three equal parts by folding, bo sketches a comic headj either with pen of pencil, in tbe upper space ; he then doubles tbe paper over and bands it to another, who draws a body \\\ the middle compartment, folds the paper over once more and passes it to a third, who comi)letes the figure by drawing a pair of legs in tbe lower space. Tbe player who draws tbe head must continue the neck a little way into the middle space, and he who sketches the body must just commence the legs in tbe lower compartment ; this arrangement insures the connection of bead, body, and legs. Our illustration (Fig. 93) shows bow tbe paper is to bo folded over for drawing the THE TWENTY-FIRST EVENING. 263 different parts of a figure. Each player should be provided with a pen or pencil and a piece of paper. Having drawn a head, he should fold his sketch in a proper manner, as in No. 1, No. 1. X<). 2. No. :?. No. 4. Tig. 93. and pass it to his right-hand neighbor, who continues with the body, as in No. 2, folds it over and hands it to his neighl)or to complete the design, as in No. 3. Wlien opened out it will ap- pear as seen in No. 4. In this way a number of sketches can bo made at once. A knowledge of drawing is not expected ; any rude thing will do. As one player does not know wliat the other is drawing, very funny combinations ore sometimes made : a donkey's head, on a man's body, with a goose's legs; and similar monstrous and funnv absurdities. 264 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTt fWEJNTY'PECOJND J)vEJMI)NQ. This evening is to be devoted to tlie exhibition of that delight of our friends John Bull, old and young, a Punch-and-Judy Show. Any ingenious youth may thus amuse a large party of friends, and by a little practice become quite an expert showman. The rules we have given for getting up a model stage, and for tinseling characters, will, we trust, be fully appreciated by our younger readers. By following our directions, the amateur showman may, with comparatively little trouble, construct some comical figures. In carving the heads of the puppets, the ingenuity of the read- er will be most severely taxed. Each head must be fashioned out of a piece of soft wood, with a sharp penknife, and then painted with oil-colors. An old wooden doll will bo a capital model for the reader to work from, only he must cut much deeper, in order to make the features of his puppets sufficiently prominent. Punch's nose and chin may be formed of separate pieces of wood, and then fastened on to the face with a little glue. Our artist has drawn a full-length figure of Punch, and the faces of the other characters in the drama — namely: I. Judy ; 2. Policeman ; 3. Foreigner ; 4. Ghost ; 5. Doctor ; (5. Clown ; 7. Jones ; 8. Hangman. The carver should study these illustrations | attentively, and endeavor to imitate them. The eyes of the Ghost are two black beads, which maybe fixed by pins, or loose- ly attached by short pieces of thread, so that they may roll about in their saucer-like sockets. The eyes of the other puppets may THE TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. 265 be formed of white beads, fixed by black-headed pins in small cavities made to receive them. The hair and beard of the For- eigner, and the Clown's three tufts, may be made of any kind of fur ; the Hangman's wig, and the Doctor's scanty locks, of worst- ed. Each head should be about the size of an ordinary hen's- , Qgg, and should have a hole made at the bottom, large enough to receive the tip of the showman's finger. Punch is the only puppet that exhibits its legs to the audience, and therefore the only one requiring lower limbs; these legs, as well as the hands of all the characters, are to bo cut out of wood and pahitcd. Tlie cloth figures of the puppets must bo so constructed, that the exhibitor can easily slip them over his hand and wrist; to these hollow bodies the heads and hands are to bo securely fast- ened, with a little glue, or some small tacks. Punch's figure may be formed of hmI merino, or any other gay-colored stuff; tho ''goodly hun(;h" and prominent stomach must not Im) forgotten ; these important appendages may be stuffed with cotton or tow. Judy's dress may be madoofcotton print; the Policeman's of blue cloth, edged with gold lace; tho Foreigner's, of almost any kimi of stuff; the Doctor's, of hlark cloth ; and tho dresses of Jones and the Ilangman, of any sober-colored stufls. Tho Ghost must 266 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf be enveloped in a long white linen gown ; and the Clown must be arrayed in the true circus style. In constructing the dress- es, the reader will have his patience sorely tried, unless he can persuade a few young ladies to aid him with their nimble fin- gers. Motion is given to each ofthe puppets by the showman's hand, the forefinger of which moves the head, while the thumb and second finger work the two arms ; the annexed engraving will elucidate this operation. We have not yet alluded to two important characters in the drama — ^namely, the Baby and the eccentric dog Toby. Any little doll may be dressed in long-clothes to represent the Baby, so the reader may be spared the trouble of carving another head. The part of Toby is generally filled by a living performer, but as we do not suppose the reader to be the owner of a properly- trained cur, we recommend him to procure one of those barking or squeaking dogs which are sold at the toy-shops ; with such a Toby the fun of the piece will be increased rather than dimin- ished. Punch's stick must be about a foot long, and quite half an inch thick ; it must be formed of tough wood, as some rough work is performed with it during the progress of the drama. The gallows must be of the letter F form, and must have two TEE TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. 267 holes bored through the end of the projectmg beam ; the cord, having been knotted at one end, is to be passed through each hole, forming a loop or noose under the top of the gallows. The upright post is made to fit in a hole in the shelf. Having described the puppets, we will now say a few words about the show in which they are to be exhibited. The show we recommend is simply a box about three feet square, open in front and at bottom j this is hung upon nails against the wall, above the head of the amateur showman, who is hidden from view by curtains which reach from the box to the floor. The box may be a large dry-goods box, with the lid and one of its sides removed. The inside of the box should be hung with green-baize, or any other dark-colored stuff. A proscenium cut out of pasteboard, and tastefully painted, should be fastened in front of the box, so as to conceal the unsightly edges of the wood. A shelf of wood about four inches wide should project beyond the proscenium, so as to form a little stage upon which Punch may drum his legs, lay down his stick, and place the dead bodies of his victims ; this shelf may be fixed by screws passing through the two sides of the box. During the performance the puppets must bo kept in an open box hanging against the wall, within reach of the showmjxn. If the parlor in which the exhibition takes place has a door communicating with an adjoining apartment, the plan given in Fig. 9() suggests a still simpler means of prej)aring the show. In the doorway, a frame is made to fit ; the shelf is fastened at the proper height, and the open space below the shelf and down to the ground is filled in with muslin or any old material, and covered with wall-paper. The upper part of the open door, which is visible to the audience, should bo covered with a scone representing the front of a house with door and windows. This may bo drawn on a picco of paper and pimiod in its place on the door. The performer, li:i\ iiiLr prcpanMl ("vrrytliini::, siiould learn the drama, and practice the diQerout voices which he intends to 268 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f give to the different characters. It will probably be some time before he can acquire the peculiar squeak of Punch, which is generally supposed to be produced by an instrument called *' a squeaker/' which requires a great deal of practice to render effective, and we therefore recommend the performer to trust to his own powers of mimicry. With regard to the musical ac- companiments, the amateur showman should get some kind sis- ter or cousin to sit at the piano, the notes of which arc much more pleasing than those of the Pandean pipes and druw. The original text of the drama is here given, with a few slight alter- ations and additions. THE TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. 269 The Drama of Punch and Judy. pku80n8 uepresented. Mr. Punch. The Doctor. Judy, his vdfe. The Hangman. Master Punch, an in/ant. Jones, the former owner o/Toby. JoEV, a cloion. Toby Punch's little dog. The Policeman. The Ghost. The Foreigner. (Music. The pianist plays some popular melody. Curtain rises.) Punch (6eZo2^). *Root-to-to-to-to-too-o-o-it! Sha'n't belong; I*m only putting on my new boots. (Pops up.) Root-to -too-it ! (Lively music. Punch dances, and throws his legs over the front of the stage.) Where's my wife, I wonder ? ( Calling below. ) Judy ! — Judy, ray darling ! — Judy, ray duck o' diamonds ! Ob ! you are dress- ing the baby, are you ? (Enter Judy.) Judy. Well, Mr. Punch, what do you want with me ? Punch. Why, I want to give you a kiss, to be sure. (Hus- band and wife embrace fondly.) Now, let's have a dance. (Music. They dance. At the conclusio^i. Punch hits his wife on the head tcith his stick.) Judy. Oh! yw^; seventy- five, buz-fiz ; twenty-five, ox five times five^ is fiz-fiz ; and forty-nine, or seven times seven, is buz-buz. The game may be simi)lified for children or lazy folks, by using only one substitute for the number, as fiz only for five, or buz only for seven, with their combinations. After all this buzzing and fizzing the company will be glad of a quiet spell, to witness the heartrending embarrassment of The 'Egyiptmn Miimiriies. This most amusing trick game never fails to elicit hearty merriment, and is very easily arranged. Select from the com- Fiu. 97. pany five young gentlemen who have never seen the game, and ask them if they will allow themselves to be dressed for Eg7i>- tian ^fuunnies with all the modem improvements. 282 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Lead them into au adjoiuiug room, with folding-doors be- tween, or behind a curtain, where they must be seated to face the company when the doors are opened or the curtain raised. It is best to have five ladies who know the trick to dress the mummies, as it is too long a task for one. When the gentlemen are seated, carefully blindfold each one, and request him to double up his right fist. Upon the back of the fist mark the eyes, nose and mouth of a face, with a burnt mutch or a little water-color. Tie around this a dolPs cap, or a lace frill or muslin ruffle, and fasten around the wrist a full white apron or skirt. Bend the left arm to lie across the waist, and put the right fist into the inner bend of the elbow, drawing the apron down over the right arm, as shown in Fig. 97. Fig. 98. Open now the doors or the curtain, and each of the blind- folded gentlemen will appear to be tenderly nursing a young baby. A new burst of merriment will be occasioned as the mum- mies have their blindfolds removed, one after the other, and see what is lying in their arms. Our artist hao evidently ''been THE TWENTY-THIRD EVENING. 283 there," as he has made our mummies' hair in Fig. 98 fairly stand on end with consternation and surprise. To conclude the evening's performance a game for which the preparations are very simple may be given, entitled Shadow Puzzles. The players are divided into two parties, one for performers, the others to guess. At one end oS. the room suspend a large white sheet. One of the party of guessers sits upon a low stool facing the sheet, while all the lights are turned out excepting one. The shadow-seeker must sit as low as possible, so as to interfere but little with the other shadows. The light should now be placed upon a table, about seven feet behind the shadow-seeker. The players then pass between the light and the guesser, throwing their shadows upon the sheet, and he must guess who is passing from the shadow, un- til he guesses correctly, when he joins the shadow-troop, and another of the guessers takes his place. The shadow-makers are allowed to disguise themselves in every possible way; raising their arms, covering their faces with shawls, deforming their figures with pillows for hunchbacks, letting long hair fall over the face, making an aquiline nose with a crooked fmger. Animals may l)c counterfeited ; an im- mense bat mfty be made by throwing a largo sheet over the extended arms ami passing sideways in front of the lamp, with the face toward the sheet, making a gentle motion with her counterfeit wings, the extended arms. Very funny disguised may bo made by those who are expert at making the hand-shadows already given. A shawl should drape the figure and bo pinned on the head, covering the face ; the hands then placed under the shawl, against the profile, make the old man'c face, or some auimars head, in shadow. Tall figures should crouch to appear short, and short ones may wear high head-gear to appear tall ; the slender may wear 284 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf pillowS; shawls, cloakS; and any amount of stuffing, to appear stout. Gentlemen may array themselves in skirts, cloaks and bonnets, and ladies may wear tall hats, cloaks, and their long hair pulled forward under the chin for a fine beard. Animals are the best disguises, and very funny heads may be easily improvised, while the figure, on all fours, is covered en- tirely with a shawl. This game may be varied so as to include all the players from the commencement, one of the company being selected to be first guesser, retaining his office until he guesses correctly. Ho is then succeeded by the party guessed, and can join the other players. When the passing shadows have lost their attractions, the mafjician of the evening may put the rest of the company on the qui vive by proposing a puzzle, which wo will call The Captive Key Eeleased. Obtain a piece of twine about a yard long ; tie the ends to- gether, so as to form a loop, and pass this loop through the TEE TWENTY-THIRD EVENING, 285 handle of a key. Request some one to hold up both his hands, and pass the ends of the loop over his thumbs. The key is now secured on the string, and it does not seem possible to regain possession of it without removing one or other of the loops from the thumbs of the person holding the string. When the com- pany have all had an opportunity of trying their skill and inge- nuity, proceed to show that the release of the key is not only possible but easy. Place the forefinger of your left hand against the loop, half way between the key and the holder's thumb which secures the left-hand end of the loop. Next, with the forefinger and thumb of your right band, take hold of the Fio. 101. upper string, botwoon your loft forefinger and the key. Matters now stand exactly as seen in Pig. 100. Now draw the string, 286 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf with the right hand, over your left forefinger and around the holder's thumb from right to left, so tbat the part of the string held by your left forefinger will \}'ds>^heMnd the holder's thumb, as shown in Fig. 101. This completes the first movement; and if you now withdrew your left forefinger, not only the key but the entire loop would fall off the holder's right thumb. To pre- vent such a catastrophe, which would not fulfill the coiKiitions of the trick, you must proceed to execute the second movement. Slide the key close up tothe left forefinger; place the left thumb against the lower string, beyond the key, so that the key now hangs between the forefinger and thumb of your left hand; take I-'io. 103. hold of the lower string with your right hand, beyond and to the right of your left thumb; draw it toward the left, as in Fig. 102, TEE TWENTY-THIRD EVENING, 287 and carry the loop, thus formed, around the holder's thumb, precisely as you did with the loop in the first movement. Then request the holder to join the forefinger and thumb of each hand, in order to preclude the possibility of any of the loops from passing over his thumbs. The position of the string, key, and your left hand, is shown in Fig. 103, and the release of the key will follow the withdrawal of your left hand. These movements should be studied and practiced until they can be done with rapidity and precision, as string tricks lose much of their efiect when unskillfuUy performed. In fact, no trick which involves any degree of manual dexterity should be attempted in public, unless the performer is quite certain of carrying it out neatly and without the slightest hesitation. Thorough practice gives to the most rapid movements of the hand an appearance of deliberation and neatness which adds greatly to the success of the trick, making what is really in- tricate and complicated seem simple and easy. All manipula- tions require sufficient rapidity of action to prevent a close observer from following them step by step, and depriving the performer of the credit and applause due to a well-executed performance. 288 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? TwJlJMTY-FOURTH J)VENIJML(. Private Theatricals. One of the most agreeable methods of passing social evenings is the parlor theatre, or even on a more extended scale, amateur or private theatricals. They may be made to serve the pleas- ure of a large or a small gathering of guests, and their expense can be graduated to suit slender purses or serve as an excuse for great outlay and display. People, however, in very moderate circumstances can so ar- range them as to derive as thorough enjoyment as those whose wealth allows unlimited expenditure. A little dexterity and the exercise of some taste will render the aid of a professional costumer entirely unnecessary, and the stage and scenery may be quite within the reach of home ingenu- ity. Of course, beyond this there is ample room and verge enough for the most elaborate scenic display. Some city houses have attached to them miniature theatres completely fitted up, where plays are performed, and even entire operas sung with a perfec- tion of mounting and a finish of execution not always seen on the professional stage. But these are for the epicures of the pas- time. The great majority of its votaries must be content with such simple accessories as ordinary homo resources can supply. But, even with the slenderest equipment, i)arlor theatricals are found to bo the source of much substantial enjoyment. First, for the actors there is the continuous fun of the rehearsals, culminating at least in the tremulous delight ofthe public debut. For tlie audience, too, there is a charm in the representation, however crude, which no professional performance could impart. The mutual alacrity to please and to bo pleased creates a kindly THE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING, 289 current of sympathy between stage and audience, which exag- gerates every merit and disguises every fault. The actors are not half so anxious to succeed as their hearers are to have them. The connoisseur and the critic forget here their frowns and their prejudices, and are wilhng to see in each young comedian a Garrick or a Peg Woffington at the very least. But, indeed, with many of our amateur performances there needs no such stretch of indulgence, and plays acted in private parlors often reveal an unexpected amount of histrionic ability. For the use of those of our readers who have had no experi- ence in this delightful recreation we will give such plain direc- tions as will enable them to construct a home theatre. Stage, Proscenium, and Auditorium. The selection of the place of performance must be governed by local circumstances. For a small theatre, two parlors or drawing-rooms, connected by folding-doors, answer capitally, The biick room being, in most cases, smaller than the front one, can be converted into a stage, with space behind for the chang- ing of scenes and other stage business ; while the doors, when thrown back, leave an opening which forms a very convenient proscenium. When the stage and auditorium are in one largo room, a di- vision can be formed by hanging drajKiry from the ceiling, which would shut off the portion allotted to the actors from that occu- pied by the spectators, leaving only an opening for the pros- cenium and stage This may bo done by means of a few yards of dark calico or woolen material. In the use of the two connecting rooms, the advantages aro obvious, as not only is the necessity for drapery dispensed with, but the room apportioned to the actors having a door of its own, the performers have free ingi-ess and «gn\ss, without the cogni- zance of the audience. Where there is only one room a slight partition should bo constructed from the stage to the door ) a curtain on a rod, or a 290 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf temporary stage would do, behind which the performers could pass to and fro. The following diagrams show the arrangement of the stage and auditorium (Fig. 104), and the proscenium (Fig. 105), and all the exits and entrances that are required for amateur per- formances in a parlor. BEH IN D. C. D. Wings. R. D. ^^ngs- Wings. STAGE. FOOT-LIGHTS. WingR. |_ ^ ORCHESTRA. ORCHESTRA. > c d o c Fig. 1()4. R.ineau»lUgbt; L.. Left; R. D.. Right Door; L. D., Left Door ; C. D., Centre Door. TUE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING, 291 The actor is supposed to be on the stage, facing the audience. If possible, it is as well to have the stage raised a foot or two Fio. 105. above the level of the auditorium, and to slope it slightly for- ward, as it rather dwarfs the porformors if they are not above the eyes of the spectators. Still, this is not imperative, and Is difficult to arrange in a parlor. Lighting the Theatre. In houses whoro there are gas-lights this part of the arrange- ment is much simplified. A few feet of iron pipe, with holes 292 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f pierced at intervals, and furnished with sraall burners, which can be had at a trifling cost, laid along in front of the stage, and connected with the gas-pipes by a i)iece of India-rubber tubing, will form the foot-lights. These should always bo protected with a wire screen, to prevent the danger ofthe dresses catching fire. In front of this there should be placed a long narrow board, or slip of tin, painied black, to serve as a shade, while a burner or two at each wing and above the centre of the stage will light all perfectly. Should gas be unattainable, candles may be substituted. One of the great advantages of gas is the ease with which a stage can be dimly or brightly lighted at a moment's notice. Care should be taken to keep the light in the auditorium subdued, so as to give greater brilliancy to that on the stage. The Curtain and Dro^). The curtain may be either of green baize or calico, but should be sufficiently heavy to hide all movement upon the stage, when it is down. It should be constructed upon the same principle as that of an ordinary window-shade, raised or lowered by means of a simple cord and pulley. But, as the roller on which it acts must be longer than that used for a window, it is as well to have double cords, one at each end, worked simultaneously, so that the curtain may rise and fall evenly. It.ghould bo raised and lowered very slowly, on the ringing of a bell. The raising and lowering of the drop is managed precisely on the same principle as that of the curtain. The drop is real- ly quite superfluous for amateur theatricals, as the curtain will answer for all divisions of acts; but if a drop-curtain bo used, it should bo ornamented with a showy picture, a landscape or allegorical subject. The manner of painting and i)reparing this will be given under the head of "Scenery and Scene Painting,'' page 293. If a drop is used, allow about eight inches of room between it and the curtain, to prevent accidental collision. THE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. 293 Scenery and Scene Painting. As stage machinery, except under very unusual circumstances, would be unattainable and unmanageable in a domestic theatre, the plan adopted in many of the smaller theatres of using drop scenes, instead of flats, is the most available for amateur the- atricals. These occupy but little space, when not in use, as they can be rolled up and put away, and when in use are easily worked. They can be used to most advantage in skies and backgrounds. Drop-scenes arc worked in the same manner as the curtain. For side-scenes, that is to say, those that project from the wings at each side of the stage, a very simple mode of construction will sufiBce. These scenes need not project more than a couple effect beyond the wings. They can bo made in the following manner : An oblong frame is made by joining four pieces of lath, and fastening them at the corners with tacks. On this frame either stout paper or common calico may be stretched. If the former is used, the best adapted for the purpose is in rolls like wall- paper, as it can be cut to any length. It nmst bo very stout. This, being cut an inch larger than the frame in every way, is laid upon the table and well dampened with a sponge squeezed out of cold water, and while still damp is placed on the frame, when the edges are turned over and covered with sti*ong paste to about the depth of two inches ; they are then turned back again over the frame, and carefully pasted on to it. The paper will while damp appear loose, but when dry will become perfectly tight and flat. The advantage of having side-scenes constructed in this man ner is, that, being light, they are readily lifted iu and out of their places. As some objects, such as a tree, part of a cottage, flower-beds, etc., would require to be cut out to their proiwr shaijcs, the best way to manage it will be to draw the outline with white chalk on a large sheet of mill-board, and then, before paiutiog 294 WHAT SHALL JVE DO TO-NIGHT f it, cut it round with the point of the blade of a strong pocket- knife. Should calico be preferred, it will be only necessary to fasten it with tacks to the frame. It should be drawn as tight as pos- sible, so as to lie without a wrinkle. This is best efifected by pulling the calico with a pincers, and while it is still in the grip of that instrument securing it with a tack. The calico for the drop-scenes had best be prepared and painted before it is fastened on to the roller. Paper will not require any preparation before being painted on, and calico only requires a couple of primings or washing over of whiting mixed with thin size. Having prepared the drops and side-scenes, as far as the me- chanical part is concerned, the next operation will be to pro- ceed to paint them. In this department the artist will be at no loss for an ample choice of subjects, as he will find in the numerous illustrated periodicals and books ample material on wbich to exercise his skill. Landscape, marine, interiors of every variety, will be ready to bis hand. These he can enlarge to any size by the following simple process : Having chosen a subject, divide it into an arbitrary number of squares, both horizontally and perpendicularly, and number each square both ways. That done, square out on a sheet of brown paper cut to the required size the sapie number of squares, numbered in the same way as those on the pattern to be copied. Then draw within each square ns much of the sub- ject as it encloses. The diagrams given iu Fig. 106 will assist in making the instructions more easily comprehended. We shall now explain what is to be done with this outline, when finished. The surface to be covered having been prepared, place the enclosed outline on brown paper, and with soft chalk, scraped fine, cover the back of it by means of a piece of woolen rag. The chalk may be either black or red. Then fasten it down at THE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING, 295 the top corners with tacks, and having done so, securely, go carefully over the drawing with a hard pencil or an ivory -point, until the whole has left a solid tracing on the scene to which it is to be transferred. The brown paper may then be removed. S? 1 234-56789 n_ ^Sll j^ ■=«frag"^^^ 1 1 3 4- 5 ( 3 7 ( J 9 1 o ^J^/ Ij^ ^ -^ A 1 ^ ^^^%(i(r\( r 1 ■ w II 4 .^ ^ 1 ™igi w If < H 6 ^ s » 6 p'*- 1 Fio. 106. It may now be gone over with black chalk, so as to correct any thing that may be imixjrfect, as well as to render the outline loss liable to bo obliterated in the course of painting. The colors used for scone-painting should be mixed in large saucers, or, where a largo surfjico is to Iw covered, in hifge bowls. Thin size is the vehicle with which they are workinl. TLo size, however, must be very weak, or it will coagulate when cold. Every color must also contiiin a little whiting to render itopaque, scenes being always painted in what is techuically chilled body- 296 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT t color. In the very dark finishing- touches only should the whiting be omitted. These colors should be laid on with hog-hair brushes, such as are used in oil-painting. The middle, or half tints, are first laid on, and over them are worked the difierent degrees of light and depth. It should be remembered that the cheapest and commonest colors will answer for scene-painting, just as well as the most expensive. They can be procured at any house- painter's or wholesale druggist's, in powder or the lump, but will require to be ground before being mixed. This is done with water, upon a slab, a little thin size being added when ready for use. The following are the colors most useful to the amateur scene-painter : Whiting, Yellow Ochre, Chrome Yellow, Orange Chrome, Orange Lead, Venetian Eed, Eose Pink, Wet Blue, French Ultramarine, Brunswick Green, Burnt Umber, Lamp- black. To this list of colors may be added tin-foil of various colors, and colored papers. Any number of shades may be made from the colors men- tioned, by judicious toning and mixing. It must be remem- bered that the colors become lighter as they dry in, but a little experience will soon teach the margin to be allowed for this. For SKIES, the . azure or unclouded portion ia laid in with wet blue, mixed with white; if it is terminated below by a hori- zon, the latter may, if a mild one, be made of yellow ochre and white ; if a warm one, chrome yellow is «idded. When the sky and horizon are laid in, which must be done rapidly, they are blended into each other while damp. White clouds on tho azure sky should bo treated in tho same manner, or they will look hard. Dnrk clouds are made with blue, Venetian red, and rose pink, with a little yellow ochre added. In a brilliant sunset the clouds may be of a sharp purple, and intermixed with streaks of orange-lead on a warm yellow. THE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. 297 FoREGROUiO) TREES should have the middle tints laid m with Brunswick green ; the lights are then put in their several de- grees, by adding chrome yellow to the green until the highest lights are reached, when chrome yellow alone may he used. The trunk and branches may be put in with burnt umber, and the lights touched in with the same mixed with w^hite, and the dark parts with burnt umber and black. A little brightening up in the shades may bo given by a warm color composed of lamp-black, Venetian red, and rose pink. In touching in the foliage, care must be taken not to black it in too solid, as the light should appear to play through it. Distant trees, fields, etc., should have white added to the Brunswick green for middle tints; the same with the chrome yellow in the higher parts. In distant objects there must be no dark or positive color, lest they should come too much for- ward. Sloping baxks may be treated, as regards color, in the same manner as trees. MouxTAixs are generally painted purple, interspersed with green. Rivers and lakes may bo treated with the sanio colors as skies, but the lights should be sharper and moro positive. Gardens, parterres, etc., may be painted as fancy dic- tates. The same may be said of interiors. Dutch metal is a material which, if used sparingly, gives great brilliancy to interiors. It should not bo laid on in solid masses, but lightly touched on the prominent parts of the mold- ings of walls, the ornamental portions of pillars, picture- frames, etc. The manner of applying it is as follows : Paint in with gold size the touches intended to represent gold ; and when they aro nearly dry, press a leaf of Dutch metal firmly on to them, taking care that it lies quite smooth. When dry, with an old silk handkerchief brush off the supcrtiuous metal, and the touches will come out ns intended. 298 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTt Costume. Costume is the observauce of propriety in regard to the per- son or thing represented, so that the scene of action, the habits, arms, proportions, etc., are properly imitated. The pecuHari- ties of form, physiognomy, complexion, dress, ornaments, etc., should be all conformable to the period and country in "which the scene is laid. The rules of costume would be violated by the introduction of one or more figures arrayed in the scanty raiment of the Hindoos into a scene in Siberia; by the repre- sentation of American Indians in turbans and top-boots ; or by Romans dressed in tail-coats and peg-tops, serving cannon at the siege of Carthage ; or by a Chinaman in a scarlet hunting- cap sitting on the back of a horse, eating veal and ham pie by the aid of chop-sticks. To produce a showy effect at a small expense can be readily managed by persons of a suggestive mind and quick invention. Cast-aside garments, of silk or velvet, can, by the aid of span- gles, fringe, and bugles, be made to look really well by a stage- light. Discarded furs, too, come in with great effect. Armor can be constructed of thin pasteboard, covered with tin-foil, and may in some parts be studded with Dutch metal. Helmets and crowns can be made of the same materials ; and for ladies and Oriental grandees, strings of cheap beads and mock pearls will look quite gorgeous. Glazed calico can be brought to bear very successfully as an imitation of satin. We have seen lonp hair remarkably well represented by skeins of thread, and beards by tufts of tow. For a gray beard the tow does au nat- urelj and for any other color it can be dyed. Many other con- trivances will suggest themselves to the mind of the young ama- teur, aided, as he will be, by a knowledge of his own resources. Properties and Accessories would include a vast number of articles used on the stage, and are independent of either scenery or costume. Under this THE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. 299 head might be included arms, such as swords, pistols, guns, and spears, banners and standards, agricultural and garden- ing implements, furniture and domestic utensils, from the imperial throne of the palace to the churn and grindstone of the cottage j and, in fact, too many things to render au account of. Most of these articles can be made, at little cost, to look very well. Swords and spears may be made of wood covered with tin-foil, and shields can be made very effectively of mill-board, and either covered with tin -foil and studded with bosses of Dutch metal, or highly elaborated with coats of arms or em- blematic devices. Straight smooth broom -handles may be bought by the dozen very cheap, andean, by means of a little coloring and ornament- al work, bo made into very ornamental spear-shafts, and sup- ports for banners and canopies. Banners arc prepared in the same manner as drop-scenes, and should Ix) richly emblazoned. Gold fringe should be used for edging them j a variety of plain and embossed gold papers can be obtained at any stationer's. Domestic and garden utensils, kitchen ware and general fur- niture can usually be supplied in the house. Thrones, foot- stools, and many other grand additions to stage-scenery should have gold-fringed drapery thrown over them. Stage Effects. Stage effeci's may be made very telling, and yet bo pro- duced by veiy simple means. A terridc lightuiug-storm is to be produced. To do so, the lights are to bo lowered, and there is hoard a pattering of rain. The effect of rain is imitatofS {hypocritical parson) — Stiff-backed, red nosed; hair as if bitten ofif by rats; continual habit of uplifting his eyes and drawing long face. Threadbare black suit; very * " Amateur Theatricals," a book published by Dick &, Fitzgerald, furnishes a collection of dramas especially adapteonnie8 in, till you'd ha' thought no mortal plate as over was baked could ha' stood the wear and tear. What d'ye think it was all for f 308 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Sam. For another tea-drinkin', perbai>6. Mr. W. Not a bit on it ; for the shepherd's water-rate, Sammy. Sam. The shepherd's water-rate ? Mr. W. Aye; there was three quarters owiu', and the shepherd hadn't paid a farden ; not he. Perhaps it might be on account that water warn't o' so much use to him, for it's wery little o^ that tap he drinks, Sammy, wery j be knows a trick wortb a good half dozen of that, be does. Hows'ever, it warn't paid, and so they cuts the water off. Down goes the shepherd to chapel, gives out as he's a persecuted saint, and says ho hopes the heart of the turncock as cut the water off '11 be soften- ed, and turned in the right vay; but be rather thinks he's book- ed for somethin' uncomfortable. Upon this, the women calls a meetin', sings a hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair, wolunteers a collection next Sunday, and bands it all over to the shepherd. And if he ain't got enough out on 'em, Sammy, to make him free of the water company for life, I'm one Dutch- man and you're another, and that's all about it. (After a pause.) The worst o' these here shepherds is, my boy, that they reg'larly turn the heads of all the young ladies about here. Lord bless their little beapte, tlj^y think it's all right, and don't know no better ; but they're tlic wictims o' gammon, Samivel, they're the wictims o' g^xumop Sam. I s'pose they are. Mr. W. Nbf bin' else ; ydnd what aggrawates Tne, Samivel, Is to see 'em a wastin' ap4heir time and labor in makin' clothes for copper-colored people as don't want' em, and takin' no notice of the flesh-colored Christians as do. If I'd my vay, Samivel, I'd jusft stick some o' these hero lazy shepherds be- hind a heavy wjiticl barrow, and run 'era up and down a four- teen-incli-wi(l^ plank all day. That 'ud shake the nonsense out of 'em, if any thin' vould. (Mrs. Ws voice heard tcithout.) Here's your dear relation, Sammy. (Enter Mrs. W.) Mrs. W. Oh ! you've come back, have youf ^c~x THE TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING, 309 Mr. W. Yes, my dear. Mrs. W. Has Mr. Stiggins been back! Mr. W. No, my dear, he hasn't. (Lights pipe again.) And what's more, my dear, I shall manage to surwive it, if he don't come back at all. Mrs. W. Ugh ! you wretch Mr. W. Thauk'ec, my love. (Exit Mrs. W.) Sam. Come, come, father, none o' these little lovin's afore strangers. (Prepares to go.) Mr. W. Goin^ Sammy ? Sam. Off at once. Mr. W. I vish you could muffle that 'ere Stiggins and take him with you. Sam (reproachfully). I'm ashamed on you. What do you let him show his red nose in the Markis o' Granby at all for f Mr. W. Cos I'm a married man, Samivel ; cos I'm a mar- ried man. Wen you're a married man, Samivel, you'll under- stand a good many things as you don't understand now ; but v'ether it's worth while goin' through so much to learn so little, as the charity-boy said v'en he got to the end of the alphabet, is a matter o' taste. I rather think it isn't. Sam. Well, good-by. Mr. W. Tar, tar, Sammy. Sam (stopping short). I've only got to say this here, that if / was the properiator o' the Markis o' Granby, and that 'ore Stiggins came and made toast in mg bar, I'd — Mr. W. (anxiously). What? Whatt Sam. P'ison his rum and water. Mr. W. (shaking his son eagerly by tJte hand). No ! Would you r'aly, Sammy t Would you, though T Sam. I would. I wouldn't l)0 too hard upon him at first. I'd drop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found lio was inscMisiblo to kindness I'd try the other peravaslon. (Mr. Welter looks admiringly upon his sopiy grasps kim by the handf and turns slowly away. Exit Sam.) 310 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f fwENTY-flFTH 5vE:NIJMq. The humorous sketch introduced in our former evening's entertainment will, no doubt, have afforded our "stock company'^ a little practice, and some insight into stage-action. We pro- pose this evening to give a few of our *' stars" an opportunity of winning fresh laurels in two short comediettas adapted from the German expressly for this work. As they require neither set scenery nor special costumes, they will be found admirably adapted for parlor performance. For those of our readers who desire to display their histrionic talents with all the accessories of scenery and costumes, we would recommend a little volume of selected plays for parlor performance* which avoids the difficulty so often experienced in selecting a suitable piece. We propose, in the first piece, to show how easy it is to get into A Family Fix. CHARACTERS. Mr. Jones — An old gentleman. Mrs. Catherine Jones— An old lady, Jones' wife. Emma — Their daughter. Alfred — Emma's husband. Henry — Man-servant. Eliza — Housemaid. COSTUMES. Appropriate to a well-to-do household. Gray wigs for Mr. and Mrs. Jones. **• Twenty-six Short and Amnsing Flays for Parlor Performance," PubliflhfHl by Dick & Fitzgerald. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 311 SCENE. A dining-room, with table laid for breakfast for four persons. Left, a work-table and sofa. Right, a small table with news- papers, etc. (In laying a table for four, arrange it so that two are seated facing the audience, and one at each end, so that no one need turn his back to the audience.) (Henry is busy arranging the hreakfast-tdble, placing the chairs J etc., humming a tune.) Eliza (outside). Henry ! Henry ! Open the door ! Henry {opening the door, centre). Open; it is. (Enter Eliza, carrying a plate of eatables in each hand, with which she advances toward the table.) Henry. Come; let me help you. (Takes one of tJie plates from her with one hand, puts the other arm around her waist and kisses her on the cheek.) Eliza. Oh, Henry ! If any one saw you ! (Puts plate on table.) Henry. Who should see us, then? (Puts his plate doten.) Eliza. Master might come at any moment. Henry. Ah ! (Rubs his hands.) A kiss snatched as we go — on the wing, as it were — has such a flavor ! (Smacks his lips.) Eliza. But if master — Henry. And suppose he did see it ; what^s the odds T Eliza. I should sink down for very shame. Henry. Why so f Ho kisses his wife, I suppose — only mar- ried three months. Eliza. His wife— -yos. That^s all very well. Now, if you were my husband — Henry (tenderly). How soon shall it be t Eliza. Ah I who knows f Henry (tcith ?iis arm around hrr iraist). Any way. not as BOOD as we want it to be. £h t Eliza, (releasing herseif). Pretty tiiu n.i. .1: A; n 1 10 the table, now. {They bath complete thr i. (!>•,■ ,nr>uiir„i,>.'s. 1 (Alfred enters, but partially retires, unobserved, and listens.) 312 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf Eliza. The old folks are coming to breakfast. They are a nice old couple ; ain't they ? Henkt. Yes ; and how pleased they are to see the young peo- ple so happy. I'm sorry I can't supply you with a father-in-law. Eliza. That's no matter. Nor can I — Hexrt. Oh ! we shall be all-sufficient for one another. We shall get along just as well without fathers-in-law or mothers-in- law. (Gravely.) Thank Heaven, the table is laid! Eliza. Yes. Henhy. What? Eliza. Oh, nothing ! I said yes. Henry. That is not enough ; you should say the same. Eliza. What, then ? Henry. Thank Heaven, the table is laid! Eliza. What ! I ? What for ? Henry. Oh ! it is only right and proper. Eliza. Go along with your nonsense ! Henry. When any one has finished what he is about, he should always say '^ I'm glad," or ^^ I'm thankful," or ^' thank Heaven, so and so is done !" Eliza. What a silly notion ! Henry. It is not nonsense ; it is no silly notion. When tl)e world was created, and the beasts and the monkeys, and lastly, Adam, he looked around him, and seeing the difference between himself and the other monkeys, he said ^'Thank Heaven, that I am a man !" It is only right that when we have accomplished any thing we should feel thankful, and say that we are so. Eliza. I believe you are getting crazy ! Henry. Eliza! It is not craziness ; you are worse than a heathen. (Softly.) Come here, now, and say as I do, "Thank Heaven, the table is laid ! " Eliza. No. Henry. Just to please me. Eliza. I won't, now ! "EsiSRY (earnestly). You will not? THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 313 Eliza. No, indeed ! Henry. When I ask you to oblige me, you say.you won^t f Eliza. Yes ! sir ! ! If I won^t, I won't; not if you begged me ten times over! Henry. What ! Did you say I might ask you ten times, and you would refuse f Kliza. Certainly, if you want me to do any such nonsense. Henry. It is not nonsense ; but that has nothing to do with it. You should say it, simply because I ask you to do so. Eliza. I am not going to. Henry {reproachfully). Eliza! Eliza (in the same manner). Heniy ! Henry (with determination). Now you have got to say iti Eliza. I must? Henry. Yes ; I demand it. Eliza. You must be dreaming ; perhaps you got out of the wrong side of your bed this morning. Henry. Don't be absurd ! I am in earnest. You have only to say '^ Thank Heaven, the table is laid !" Eliza (saucily). Have I got to say that f Henry. Yes. Eliza. I have got to ? I must, eh t Henry. You must and shall. Eliza. Now I shan't say it at all. Henry (sorrowfully), Eliza, I bog you. ELiZiV. I shall not. Henry. For the last time, I beg yoa Eliza. I won't! Iwon*tI I won't! No, not if you stand on your head and ask mo. Henry. We'll sec, anyhow ! • Eliza {folding her arms). We'll see. Henry. So ; you will not yield t You choose to be obstinate t Eliza. Yes. Henry. You won't t Eliza. No! (Stamps her foot.) Have done, now I 314 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf Henry. Well, I'll make you. (Seizes her hy both wrists and squeezes them.) Eliza. Oh ! Oh ! You hurt me ! Henry. Say it. Eliza. No. Oh ! {Screams.) Henry (dictating to her). Thank Heaven, the table is laid, Eliza. No, no ! ( Slips away from him ; hits him on tlie hand and blows on her wrists.) You wretch ! to squeeze me so. I won't say it, now ; there! Henry. Indeed ! Well, it is all over between u?. Eliza. I don't care. You may go. Henry. You give me up so lightly ? Eliza. If you want to act like a luney. Henry (beseechingly) . Why can't you say those few words ? Eliza. Just because I don't choose. I won't; and that's an end of it. Henry. Oh! go to ! (Bell ringSy lejt.) Eliza. We'll see to this another time. (Goes le/l.) Henry {folloiving and catching hold of Iter dress). Eliza I Thank Heaven, the — Euz A (pushing him away). No! (Exit, left.) Henry. Stubbornness, thy name is woman ! You may beg, pray, use force — all in vain. I do believe you might kill her before she would say it. (Enter Alfred, laughing.) Alfred. For the present, spare her life, Henry, whether she says it or not. Henry (confusedly). OH! sir; did you overhear — ? Alfred. A part of your quarrel I Yes. That girl has a pretty strong will of her own. Henry. Generally she is so good-natured. I cannot con- ceive what ails her to-day. Alfred. Yes, indeed ! It would take a pretty smart man to find out always what ails the women. But go; bring a bottle of Madeira ; my father-in-law likes a glass after breakfast. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING, 315 Henry {going off, muttering). She shall say it! She shall! {Exit.) Alfred (looking left). I wonder if she is dressed yet. I heard her ring. Ah ! here she comes. {Enter Emma, left.) Emma. Good morning, Hubby. Alfred {embracing her). My dear Emma ! Emma. Did you sleep well ? Alfred. Splendidly ! The happy always sleep well. Emma. And you .ire happy ? Alfred. Can you ask ? Are you not my wife ? Emma. Flatterer {archly) ! You should give up all that sort of thing. We have been married three months. It is time you behaved more like a husband and less like a lover. Alfred. And you wish it so ? Emma. How can you ask ? But every one says that the men alter considerably after marriage, and so, I suppose, I must prepare for it. The longer you put otf this change, the more you will spoil mo, and the harder it will seem to mo. Alfred. You shall find no change in me, dear wife. You shall never have to complain of any difference in me. Emma. I will never give you any cause for it. Alfred. You are the best little wife in the world. You anticipate my wishes before I utter them. Emma. And don't you do so too t Alfred. How can I withstand your bright eyes — when you look so lovingly— as if inviting a kiss. (Bends to kiss her,) Emma (repulsing him). Please to understand that my eyes never Invite a kiss ; they only submit to it sometimes. Alfred. Ah ! then submit now. Emma (embracing him). Dear Alfred ! Alfred. Dear wifey ! Emma (sitting at table, 1^, and taking up her needle-work). The old folks are late. I expected them before this. Alfred (sitting by fier). Do you miss them very muchf 316 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-XIGHTf Emma. What a thoughtless question ! Alfred. No, do. I did not mean it in that way. (Pause ; then laughs.) Oh ! just now — (Laughs heartily.) Emma. What was just now ? It must have been very amusing. Alfred. I overheard such a funny thing ! Emma. Overheard f Where, then ? Alfred (still laughing). Quite by accident — as I came out of ray room — I heard voices in earnest conversation ; so I stopped and listened. Henry and Eliza had just laid the table, and Henry said, with the greatest fervor, *^ Thank Heaven, the table is laid !" and wanted Eliza to say the same, telling her that wo should always say so when we have finished any thing we un- dertake. Emma. How absurd ! Alfred. Eliza demurred, Henry insisted, and they had a regular quarrel. He tried to compel her to say it, but she ob- stinately refused. Emma. Then he was as obstinate as she was. I do not see much to choose between them on that point. Alfred. It was simply a request on his part Emma. But a most absurd request. Alfred. And scarcely any reason for her being so stifif-neck- ed about it. Emma (earnesthj). Not a bit more stiff-necked than Henry was in insisting. I really cannot see that Eliza was in the wrong. Alfred (laughing). We need not discuss the matter. Such a thing could never happen to us. (Emma looks up arch- ly at him.) If I were to ask you such a trifle, you would do it without a moment's hesitation. Emma (laughing). Ha, ha ! Alfred (seriously). I am satisfied you would do it. Emma. But suppose I didn't? Alfred. Suppose you didn't ! Oh ! it is not to bo supposed for an instant I would bet odds against it. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING, 317 Emma. I don't thinkthe bet would be a safe one. Alfred. Let us try. Emma. Oh, no ! Let us dismiss the subject. Alfred. I ask you, dear Emma, just to say, "Thank Heav- en, the table is laid !" Emma. Go away I How childish ! Alfred {beseechingly). Please say it. Emma (Inwardly struggling). What a thing to ask ! Alfred. Please, dearest wifey, say, just once, " Thank Heaven, the table is laid !" Emma (gently). No j I do not wish to say it. Alfred. Let me beg of you ? Emma (more resolutely). No, no I Alfred (astonished). You refuse ? Emma (decidedly). Yes, sir ! Alfred. Can you refuse me ? Emma. It is such a silly thing to say I Alfred (rising). Silly or not silly, that has nothing to do with it. It is simply a matter of fulfilling my wishes. Emma. You should not ask mo to do such an absurdity. Alfred. That may be, but you are wrong to refuse. Emma (rising, indignantly). So I am wrong! That is the first time you ever said so. Alfred. It is the first time you have disiippointed rao. Emma. It is the first time you over made such a childish, in- considerate request. Alfred. Childish ! Inconsidorato ! What do I bear f Is that the voice of love f Emma. Love never demands absurdities. Alfred. Oh ! I did not demand. I requested It. Emma (with cmpJuisis). Indeed ! And suppose you de- manded itf Alfred. Then— (Hesitates.) Emma (still moreempluttically). And suppose you demand- ed it Y 318 WffJT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Alfred (after a pause). Then I am sure you would com- ply at once. Emma {firmly). I should just exactly not comply. Alfred. Wbat ? Emma. You presume to lay your commands upon me ? You wisb to conquer me ? I might possibly have complied with a re- quest, but obey a command — never! {Rings.) Alfred. Just see how excited you are ! How you set your- self up against me! Is that the tone a wife should assume with her husband ? Emma. Ought a husband to treat his wife in such a ridicu- lous manner ? {Enter Eliza, centre.) Emma {to Eliza). I have forgotten my pocket-hankerchief. {Exit Eliza, left.) Alfred. Emma, do not make such a serious matter of this. It commenced in a mere joke. Emma. I have done nothing of the kind. You turned the joke into earnest. {Seats herself to work againy her hack to Al- fred, who snatches and opens a newspaper j and sits down at a distance from her). {Henry enters, centre, with a bottle of wine, tvhich he puts on tlie table. Eliza enters, left ; gives handkerchief to Emma, and is going off, centre.) Hexrt (astVZe, to Eliza). Will you say it now? {Eliza refuses by gesture and exit. Henry exit, centre, sorrowfully.) Alfred {laying his paper down, going a step or two toward Emma, and speaking softly). Have you thought it over ? Will you give up j'our obstinacy ? Emma {throicing doun her work). What ! Obstinacy ? You know I cannot bear that word. I am not obstinate. You are obstinate in insisting on such a piece of folly. Alfred. But, Emma, consider. The folly has nothing to do with the case j I simply wish you to do as I ask you. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 319 Emma. And I simply wish you to drop the subject. Alfred. But my request was the first one made, and should take the precedence. I could never have believed that you would have said '^ no " to me. I can hardly believe it yet. Emma. Indeed ! I must never say '^ no," always ^'yes, yes." Just like the men ! You don't seek for a loving wife, a consider- ate friend. No. You men all want to make your wives your slaves. Alfred. What an exaggeration ! Emma. Not a bit. That's the way the subjection begins — with blind obedience. I will never be made a slave of— never! I will defend my rights with my last breath. I will not submit to compulsion or force. Alfred (sarcastically). ^^ I promise to love, honor and obey f so says the marriage-service. Emma. You see I was right. You want to be the master ; I am to be the slave. Your right is to command ; my duty is to obey. Oh ! I will allow you to bo master — as I ought— in all sensible matters j but when you begin with absurdities, no, sir ! Not much ! Alfred. Those are not exactly the expressions to use to any one for whom you have the least respect. Emma. Those are not the kind of requests to make of a wife for whom you have the least regard. Alfred. But in joke— Emma. Oh ! your joke was soon turned into bitter earnest. (Cries.) Not a (piarter of an hour ago you said you would never change, and now you speak to nio like a cold, hard-hearted husband, who looks down on his wife as if she wore a school- girl. Alfkkd (struggling with himself). I^ Dot cry. You know that tears umnan me. Emma (sobbing). I cauuot help ray tears, when yon cause them. Alfred. Qracious 1 What a monster I must be ! I make 320 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf you cry ! Poor wife, how I pity your misfortune in being tied for life to such a monster ! Emma. That's right. Add insult to injury ! An hour ago I could not have believed this. I got up so full of spirits. (Sobs.) I felt so happy ! (Sobs.) And now— (Cries bitterly.) Alfred (ironically). There never was such a miserable wife ! That^s what you mean, is it not? Out with it! (Aside.) Those confounded tears ! When the old folks come, what will they think? (Strives to command himself. Aloud.) Emma! Emma ! Wife, darling ! Come ; let us make peace ! Emma (looking over her handkerchief). Peace ! Alfred. It is absurd of us to spoil this beautiful morning. Emma (softly). You begin to think so ? Alfred. No one in the world has less cause for disagree- ment than we have. Emma (pouting.) And still you try me so hard ! Alfred. Now, come; I will meet you half-way. Let us shake hands in token of reconciliation. (Advances and extends his right hand.) Emma (slowly taking his hand). You bad fellow, to worry me so! Alfred (drawing her close to him, and embracing her coax- ingly). And now, for my sake, just say, ** Thank — -^ ^u^ A (releasing Iter self quickly). What! Again? Alfred. You will not ? Emma (persuasively). But, Alfred — Alfred. I have done my half. I offered you my hand. Now you surely ought to do the rest. Emma. You stick to it still ? Do you want to have the trouble all over again ? Alfred. You can end the trouble in a moment. Only say the words, and I am satisfied. Emma. (Pouts and hesitates. Then decidedly.) No, no! Not if you asked me till doomsday. Alfred. No ? THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING, 321 Emma. No ! (Folds her arms in defiance.) Alfked (becoming more and more excited). All right! Very fine ! You see that I find gratification in a mere ti-ifle. You refuse to do it. My wish ruay be a foolish one, but you will not fulfill it. It may even be obstinate in me to insist on such a tri- . fling point. If you really loved me you would yield, rather than increase niy obstinacy .: but you won't. The words are nothing in themselves. The utterance of them wassimply a proof of your afiection for me, and I lay great stress on the little proofs of love; but you would give me no proof. I asked you, I begged, I en- treated, I commanded you, I tried in every reasonable manner ; but you remain obstinate. And you profess to love me ! Your desire to gratify your selfish obstinacy is too great to allow you to do the smallest favor for your husband. Never tell me again that you love me. Humbug ! Emma {indignantly). What right have you to accuse me of obstinacy f You admit, yourself, that it was absurd to ask me to repeat a few meaningless words, and still you would compel me to do an absurdity. It is degrading for any one to commit a folly, and yet you insist on my degradation. Do you call that love ? You see that your conduct distresses me (sobbing)^ that you are making mo miserable; but you don't care a straw about that ; you only want to have your own way. Your unkindness brings the teai-s into my eyes, you look coolly on ; you see my entire existence rebels against your folly, but you only care to bend me to your will. I should like to kuow on wbich side is the obstinacy, the want of affection t (Enter Henry.) Henry (announcing). Mr. and Mrs. Jones I (Stafidsai to- hie J ready to tvait.) Alfkki) (gcntlyj to Emma). Dry your eyes. What will the old folks think f Emma (wiping licr eyes). For augbt I care, they may know all about it. I am not to blame. Alfred. It is your duty, as the lady of the house, to welcome 322 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHT? your guests with a cheerful countenance. (Goes to meet the old folks J Emma joUowing him.) {Enter, centre, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, followed h^j Eliza, ivho remains just inside the door.) JoxES. Good morning, my children ; good morning ! Well, how are you ? Alfred (giving his hand). You are most heartily welcome ! (Takes Jones' hat and cane.) Emma (embracing Mrs. Jones). Welcome, dear mother! (Extends Jier hand to Jones.) And you too, dear father! Mrs. Jones. Aye, Aye, my child! I haven't seen you for quite a long time. What has come of you? Emma. Dear mother, you know — Mrs. Jones. All right, Emma; I know why. A newly-mar- ried wife has plenty else to think of besides her old mother. Jones. That's the way, the world over, wife ; but Emma thinks of us once in a while. Isn't it so, daughter ? Emma. I am always thinking of you, dear father. Alfred (embarrassed j ivatching Emma anxiously ^ ivho avoids his looks). Come ; let us take our seats. Jones. With pleasure, my son. It is a good way for us to come, and I have brought a good appetite with me. (They scat themselves ; Mrs. Jones between Alfred ajid Emma. Eliza lifts a dish-cover, and retires.) Henry (taking liold of Eliza, and dictating to her). Thank Hcav^ Eliza (slapping his hand). Get away with you ! (Exit, centre. ) Jones (with glass in liand). Ha ! ha ! Wife, you've got be- tween the 3'oung folks. That's very sevisible of you. If thoy sat together they would soon lose sight of their guests. Come, children ; here's to many more happy meetings between us. (Drinks. Alfred takes his glass and hesitates; Emma wipes away a tear.) What's the matter with youT You don't drink. Alfred with a face as long as my arm, and Emma with a tear THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 323 Standing in her eye! (Laughs.) What! a matrimonial jar ah'eady? (Alfred signs to Henry off. Exit Henry, centre.) Mrs. Joxes. What a question to ask ! Let the young folks exphiin. Alfred. Oh ! a mere trifle, a joke, not worth mentioning. My dear Emma is a little bit too sensitive. Emma (bursting into tears). And that, too, besides all the rest ; I am touchy ! Alfred. You might, at least, in the presence of our pa- rents — Mrs. Jones. Keep quiet, Emma ; these things will happen sometimes. Emma. I know I am wrong in not controlling myself better. I have tried, and struggled hard j but I have been too deeply oflfended. Mrs. Jones. Ah ! How is this, Alfred ? Jones. Stop that, old lady ; don't you meddle with matters that don't concern you. Alfred (with emotion). From the way Emma puts it, one would think wo had had a pitched battle. You shall decide for yourselves. I will tell you all about it. Jones. It is not worth wliilo. Wo do not want to interfere in your little matrimonial difficulties. (Eats energetically.) Alfred. Indeed, it is. I should liko to have your opinion in tho matter. Jones. That's not worth much, anyhow. Alfred. Could you believe— Jones. We don't Iwliovo any thing. Mrs. Jones. Let him go on. Wo may be able to Bmooth down tho little difficulty. Proceed, Alfred. Alfred. This moming, I overheard our Henry trying to persuade Eliza to say, '* Thank Heaven, the table is laid !'* and they had a regular quarrel l)ocauso she refused to say it. I told Emma this as a good joke, and coaxingly said to her that she could never bo so obstinate as Eliza was. Then, just for 324 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTt fun, I asked ber to say the same phrase. She actually refused, and that, too, with such determined obstinacy, that it led to some words between us. E^idA (sobbing). Now ; you hear him ? Obstinacy ! touchy ! Pretty words he throws at me ! You know, I am sure, that I never was the least bit obstinate. JoxES (doubtingly). H'm ! H'm ! Well, not so very. Mes. Jones {earnestly). No, husband ; you don't do Emma justice. She never was obstinate. (To Emma.) Dry your eyes, child. We won't interfere. You will soon make it up again. Emma. But he still insists on my repeating it, word for word. Mrs. Jones (astonished). What ! Alfred ! You still insist ? Alfred (embarrassed). Oh ! Please drop the subject. Jones (good-naturedly). That's much the best; you spoil my breakfast. You, Emma, and you, Alfred, arc a pair of fools. My son ; you must not always take notice of a young wife's whim ; she will soon get used to all that, like my wife there. She knows better; she does as I wish without hesitation. Why! If I were to ask her to say, ''Thank Heaven, the table is laid ."' she would say it at once. She's older, and knows better than to raise a fuss about nothing. Mrs. Jones (earnestly). But, indeed, I would not say any such thing. Jones (surprised). Eh! What? Mrs. Jones. You are old enough to know better. You would never ask such an absurd thing. Jones. Ah ! But suppose I did ask you ? Mrs. Jones. Wliy— Then— (undecided). No, I would not. Jones (half laughing j half serious). Why, wife, you surely are not in earnest f Mrs. Jones. Indeed, then, I am. Jones. You would hesitate to do as I tell you t Mrs. Jones (decidedly). Yes. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING, 325 Alfred. Oh ! Pra}^ let us change the subject. Jones {thoroughly aroused, but not out of temper). No, sir. I never bad this happen before, and it has got to be settled. Dear old wifC; just say, ^^ Thank Heaven, the table is hiid!'' Mks. Jones. Oh, let me alone! Jones. Please say it. Mrs. Jones. No. Jones (still good tempered^ hut more earnest). I say, every day, with hearty fervor, when I see a table spread for a meal, '' Thank Heaven, the table is laid !'^ Surely you causay it once f Mrs. Jones. No. Emma. Mother, dear 1 Jones. Catherine ! • Mrs. Jones (more and more decidedly). No 1 Jones. Katy ! Mrs. Jones. No, no ! Just stop your old tongue 1 Jones. Kitty ! Mrs. Jones. I won't ! Jones (rising). This is getting serious. You surely won't set your daughter a bad example by your obstinacy f KhVKY.D (to Mrs. Jones). Oh I Lee mo beg of you t Mrs. Jones (rising). The old story. Tho men always take one another's part, when Ihcy want tho women to submit to them. (To Jones.) Whoever beard of a father takiug pi\rt against his own daughter f Jones. I take nobody's part but my own. It's no business of mi'.io what my daughter and bor husband choose to do; I have now only to do with you. (ToMrs.J(mes,) I want you to repeat the words I told you ; just that, and no more. Mrs. Jones. You should be ashamed to tell your wife to do such a stupid thing ; such a— JoxES. Stupid or not stupid, that's not the question. I do it simply as a trial of your obedience, nothing else ; just as Gesslor hung his hat up for the Swiss peasants to salute— simply to test their obedience to his nuihoritv. 326 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf Mrs. Jones. Exactly. And as hat-worship was too absurd, too ludicrous, too degrading, the Swiss rebelled against their oppressors. Emma. The Swiss would not submit, and wo won't. Mrs. Jones. If 3^ou men set yourselves up as tyrants we can rebel too. Emma. We are women, and not slaves. Mrs. Jones. If you want female slaves you can go to Tur- key — not here. We live in a Christian country. Emma (speaking fast and excitedly). I do declare ! The men would like to introduce Turkish manners here. Wouldn't they like to be Turks ? Mrs. Jones (also excitedly). Heaven be praised, we are not slaves yet, and don't mean to be, either ! Emma. Blind obedience is nothing else than slavery. Mrs. Jones. We want to know whether a command is right before we obey it. Emma. And such stupid orders as that we are not going to obey ; no, never I Mrs. Jones. No, indeed ! (During the above, Alfred and Jones have been trying to get a tvord in, but without success. Emma and Mrs. Jones no2v walk about, lefty as ifiii earnest conversA- tion.) Jones (asidCj to Alfred). This is a pretty k6ttle of fish ! We've put our foot in it this time. Alfred (aside, to Jones). What on earth shall wo do ? Jones. My dear fellow, you can do — do just as you please. This business has spoiled my breakfast ; and when I don't have a good, quiet breakfiist, it spoils my appetite for dinner too; Alfred. It is not possible to give in. Jones. In a quarrel like this neither party ever gains any- thing. I have been quite ruffled. Wiiy, I believe I nearly lost ray temper (smiling). That would never do; the whole thing is not worth it. After all, I don't see that the women are altogether THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 327 wrong. When you come to look at it, it seems just as obstinate on the one side to insist on a meaningless mmand, as it is on the other side to persistently refuse to obey it. (Takes Alfred aside, rights and appears to further explain the matter to him.) Emma (to Mrs. Jones). If I had had the least idea that this thing was going to raise such a bother I would have treat- ed it as a joke from the first, and done as Alfred wanted, but now it is simply impossible. Mrs. Jones. Of course it is. Submission now would involve submission forever. Emma. He shall at least see that I have a little firmness in my composition. Mrs. Jones. That's right. We won't budge an inch. My old man will have a surprise for once. He'll find that I shan't got over this in a hurry. Emma. You will stand by mo, won't you, dear mother t Mrs. Jones. There's my hand ou it. (Shakes handSj and ap- pears to give Emma advice, pointing occasional! y at tlie men.) Jones (to Alfred). In every quarrel the wisest party is the first to yield. Alfred. I would do so with all my heart, but I cannot without loss of principle. Jones. Nonsense. So every one says. The actofgiving-in is a repulsive one ; so people call it want of principle. Now, the best way for you to get out of this is to end it i)leasiintly. Alfred. End it pleasantly (rc/cc/m/y)! Ah! I have it. I know how exactly. (Runs off quickly y right) Jones (laughing loiulUj). See hero, children, your conspiracy is getting too strong for mo. Now I am going to eat my break- fast, and then I can renew the attack with fresh power. (Sits down.) Thank FTcavon, the table is laid, and we have nothing to do l)ut sit down and eat ! (Eats.) Emma. Dear mother, shall we too t MHs. JoNBS. Why, certainly. I don't see why we should go 328 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO NIGHT? witbout our breakfast, because tbe men are making fools of themselves. Alfiied (entering j ivlth two shawls on Ms arntj coaxlngly). Dear little wife, let us put an end to the war. Here, let us shako hands and make peace. I will admit that T was the most to blame, and, by way of penalty, I make you a present of one of these shawls. ( Unfolds them, and holds out one in each hand.) Emma (feeling a little bit ashamed). Alfred, I really do not — Alfred. Take your choice. Emma. At present, I — Alfiied. Come, come! Choose now. (Emma, strongly tempted, hut against her inclination^ points, hesitatingly, and glances around at her mother.) "Which shall it be? This one ? (Alfred holds out a shatvl in his right hand. Emma again . looks round, doubt ingly, at her mother ; then turns to Alfred and nods. Alfred lays the other shawl on the side-table, and puts the chosen one on Emma.) There. It becomes you ad- mirably. (Goes in front of her.) Now I have done at least three-quarters of the giving-in. Well? (Pauses a moment.) Come, now. Emma (yielding reluctantly). Thank Ileaven, — (Looks quickly round at her mother j then ivhispers in Alfred's car)— the table is laid ! (Covers her face tvith her hands, as if ashamed of herself). (Enter Henry, bringing in a dish, tvhich he places on the table, back, and remains there, standing, with napkin over left arm.) Joxes. That's right, young folks. Excellently well done. Alfred (embracing Emma). It is all ended now! Emma. Forever. Alfred. You will never do so again f Emma (lovingly). Never. JoxES. Good again. I^t's drink a bumper to that. (Enter Eliza, with basket of fruit, which she puts on tfie table, back, and remains standing. Henry and she turn their backs on one another, pettishly.) THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 329 Alfred (hands Emma to seat at table ; fills glasses. He, Emma and Jones salute and drink). The treaty of peace is signed, sealed and delivered. (Drinks.) Mrs. Jones (who has been examining the shawl on Vie table, touching Jones on shoulder). Old man, — JoxES (turning round). Eh ? Mrs. Jones (pointing at shawl). Look there I Jones. Well, what? Mrs. Jones (slyly). There's another shawl. Jones. Yes, I see ; seems to be a very nice shawl, indeed. (Turns round again, and continues eating.) Mrs. Jones. Don't you want to pay your penalty, too f Jones (with his mouth full). Me! with that shawl? Cost too much ; can't afford it. Mrs. Jones. But consider— Jones. lexpectyouto do it cheaper than that, old lady. It's all very well for a newly-married young man to conquer a peace in that way, but when he gets as old as I am ho won't be such a simpleton. Mrs. Jones. Oh, you miserable old sinner ! (Appears to continue scolding Jones.) Emma. Alfred, dear, I hope you won't bo so when — Alfred (to Henry, laughing). Well, Henry, are you all right with Eliza again I Henry (sadly). Oh, dear mo ! There's no give-in about her yet. Alfred. Oh, Eliza! How obstinate of you I Eliza (embarrassed). But, sir — Emma (laughing). You will have to yiald, Eliza; you had better begin. Eliza. But you ought to know — Emma. We know all about it. Jones. That's so, Eliza; you started the whole trouble. Mrs. Jones (eagerly). Yes, yes; the whole trouble began with you. You have spoiled our entire morning; and, as a 330 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f penalty for your oflfeiise, you must say the words before us all. Now, out with it (dictating slowly, word for word) \ Thank Heaven,— the table— is laid ! Now, begin ! {Jones, Emma, and Alfred burst out laughing and clap their hands, Mrs. Jones is astonished.) What's the matter now? Jones. You've said the words yourself, old lady. Mrs. Jones. Oh, dear! sol did. I never thought of that (Jiesitating a moment). Well, it is said. All the better. (SmileSy and offers Jones her hand.) Alfred. Come, now, Eliza, you are the only one left. Eliza (ashamed, looking at Henry). Oh, I cannot ! Emma. I will arrange every thing for your wedding in three weeks. Eliza. Our wedding! Oh! Thank Heaven, — Alfred (inquiringly). Well? Eliza. Sir? Alfred. Why didn't you go on ? Eliza. Go on ! What then ? Emma. You began well, just now ; you said '^ Thank Heav- en ;'' that's the first half. Now, why don't you finish ? Eliza. I said '^ Thank— " Oh, so I did! But I didn't mean— Mrs. Jones. And I didn't mean it, either, when I said it. You have said half; the rest should not worry you. Eliza (looking piteously at each, in succession). The table is laid ! (Hides her face in her apron and ex^it quickly, centre j followed by Henry.) Jones. I think wo have waited long enough for our break- fast ; now let us — Mrs. Jones. You did not wait very long. I don't think you would wait for your breakfast if the house were on fire, but it is full time for the rest of us to begin. Emma. Well said ! Let us take our seats, and to make sure that we shall have no further chance of interruption, we will ring the bell and draw the curtain. (TJiey take their seats at the table.) (Curtain.) TRE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 331 The Philopena. CHARACTERS. George — A young farmer. Betty— His wife. Eugene — An intimate friend of George. SCENE. An apartment. On each side, a table. On the table (right), a long white table-cloth, reaching in front to the floor ; upon it an ironing-board, and rough linen, ready for ironing. The table (left) is laid for breakfast, with knives and forks, etc., for two persons. One of the cups, a fimcy gilt one. (Betty is discovered standing at the table j lefty dressed in a calico wrapper J and white cap concealing her liair, which has been arranged in curls. While she cuts the bread, etc., she hums an air.) Betty. How the time does fly, to be sure ! To think that I have been married two whole weeks ! I have been very, very happy, but George is such a jealous fellow ! I declare ; I hardly dare look at any one else without seeing his eyes following my every movement ! I think he loves me, though. (Pause), And what fun it is with that Philopena! Ho can't catch mo, and I have tried every way to catch him, but ho is always on tho watch. If I could only throw him ofT his guard, now ; but how cau 1 1 (TaJces up the gill cup.) Geouge (enters right, watches Betty for a moment. Just as she has picked up the fancy cup he steals behind her, puts his arm around her waist and kisses fter). Good morning, Botty I Betty (slaps him on the viouth). What a bad follow you arc to startle mo so ! G EoiiG B (coaxingly). Was tho surprlso so very disagrocnblo t Betty. I Just had tho cup in my baud. If I bad lot it fall it would have bi*oken all to piocos. George (sarcastically^ releasing her). It would indeed have 332 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f been a pity to have broken that beautiful cup; that charmiu<^ forget-iuc-not from j'our joung oflQcer ! Betty (reproachfully). George ! Geokge {still more sarcastically), A great pity, indeed ! You think so much of that cup that you must use it every morning at breakfast. What a sacrilege it would have been if Iliad been the unhappy cause of its destruction ! Betty. George ! George (sarcastically). Ho was a fine-looking fellow, this young lieutenant ! So warlike ! So brave! Betty (looking at George for a moment , in surprise). Yes. That cup is very dear to me, and I shall never forget the giver. When our house was on fire, and, half suffocated with smoke, I screamed for help, and no one heard my cries, he dashed through the flames and rescued me, at the peril of his life. George (beseechingly). Betty ! Betty. But for him, I should have perished ; should never have been your wife. Am I right in cherishing his keepsake ? George. I am in the wrong. Betty. Should I not hold in high esteem a present which ever reminds me of a noble man and a noble deed \ George (deprecatingly). Dearest, darling wifey ! Betty. You shall not have another oportunity for taking offense at the sight of this cup. (Takes it and locks it up in cup- hoar dj hack.) George (hurrying to prevent her). Don't do it, Betty. I acknowledge my error. Bring it out again. Betty. What did you promise me, the other day I George. I promised to amend, antl — Betty. You would not make mo sick with your jealous in- sinuations. George. Yes, yes ! I see what a blockhead I am. Betty. Wc have been married just two weeks, and not ono day has ])assed without your worrying mo with some silly piece of jealousy. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 333 George. Dear wifey, I should not be so jealous if I did not love you so niucb. Betty. Indeed ! Do I not love you, tbeu I George (embracing her). My angel ! Betty. And am I jealous of you f George. Well, you — Betty. Well, I — George. You have no cause. Betty (releasing herself and looking straight at him). And have you any cause f George. No, no! I know bow foobsb I am. I am sore at beart ; bear with my infirmity. Betty. You sbould bave confidence in me. George. Ob, I bare, indeed ' Betty. Witbout confidence tberc is no true lovo. George. Yes, yes! You are rigbt. Pardon me. (Betty offers him her hand.) Now bring back tbe cup. Betty. No. George. As a proof of your forgiveness f Betty. No. If you are a rigbt good boy for one whole week I will, but not unless. George. But, my darling little wife, — Betty. But, my darling little busband, it cau*t be. I mean to bave it as I will. Now, come and take your breakfast. George. Is it all over ? Betty. Yes. Gkorge. Every thing serene again t Betty (leaning on him). How difficult you poor, weak men arc to convince ! George. You are an angel ! (Leads her to the table^ and tJicy scat themselves.) Betty (pouring out tlic coffee), Wliero are you golnpr to-day t GroRQE. In tbe woods. I must see after cutting down some timber. Betty (offering Mm a eup). Here is jour coffee. 334 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTf George {refuses it). Remember tbe Philopena. Betty (slapping him playfully on tlie mouth). Oh, you bad fellow ! George {laughing). Yes, my dear ; you don't catch me this time. Betty {pouting). It's plain that we are married., George (laughing). Yes , about two weeks. Betty. Otherwise you would have sufifered yourself to be caught on purpose, out of pure gallantry. George. Am I, then, uugallanti Betty. Yes, yesl George. But you well know — Betty. That you are married. George (laughing). That I must not lose this Philopena. Betty. All an excuse ! George. Did I not make a bet with you that I would not lose this time ? Betty (slily). Here's your cup. George. That I should have to give you a new shawl, if I let you catch me ? Betty. I have tried these three days all I could ; now I shan't try any more. George. Shall we cancel the Philopena ? You are just as careful as I am. Betty (handing him the cup). Hero I .George. Remember the Philopena. Betty (impatiently). Oh, let it go ! I don't want to win it any more. George. But, Betty, what a lack of perseverance! You women are so smart, it ought to bo so easy to catch me. Betty. You don't moan to say so ! George. Did you not make up your mind that you were bound to win this f Betty. Dear George, — George. Well? THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 335 Betty. Let us talk about something else. That Philopena is getting flat, stale, and unprofitable. George (laughing). With all my heart, if you wish. (Eats quietly for a moment.) Oh! By the way, my friend Eugene returned home yesterday, and is coming to call here to-day. Betty. What ! the woman-hater ? George. Yes. Betty. You do not know how much he excites my curiosity. George. Indeed ? Betty. According to your description, ho must be such an interesting man ! George. Really ? Betty. I am really glad he is coming. George (losing his temper again). What ! Because be is so interesting ? Betty. What's the matter with you now ? George. Why, I have to go away; and — and leave you entirely alone with him. Betty. Oh, I see ! George. It will doubtless be most interesting to you. Betty. My big, strong husband wants to show me that he cannot keep his promise. George. But— Betty (mocking him). I acknowledge my fault ; — George (suppUcatingly). Darling Betty! Betty (still mocking). I promise to amend. George (earnestly). That will I. .See; I am iu good humor again. Betty (teasingly). Is it possible f George. I have determined to control myself, and trample upon my troublesome temper. Betty. Oh, 'what heroism ! Geo RGB. Have I not succeeded t Betty. Oh, I suppose so ! You are not, surely. Jealous of a man whom I never yet set eyes on t 336 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf George. Ah ! But you seem so anxious to see him ! BETTr. Poor cup ! What a time you will have to be kept in the closet! (George strikes his forehead with impatience.) Good-bye, dear cup ! I shall never see you out again. George. In one week it shall come out. Betty. No; not in a year. George. If, during the next seven days, I am once the least bit jealous, I promise you to give you your philui)ena. Betty. Oh, oh ! I shall win it anyhow ; so that is no wager. George. You think you will ? Betty. I only mean— Oh ! You never told me how it was that your friend Eugene came to hate the women so. George. Because he is a fool. Betty. Oh! That is clear enough. But there must have been some cause. George. Eugene has a peculiar temperament. His dispo- sition is naturally cold, and morbidly sensitive. Betty. Indeed ! What a nice man he must be ! George. Two years ago his betrothed jilted him, and it had such an effect on his mind as to cause a real hatred of the entire sex. Betty. His sweetheart was false to him. Was that all ? George. Was that all (with energy) ! That all f I should have thought that was about enough to drive a man crazy ! And you say so coolly, '* that all !'' If you should be faithless to me — Betty. Then you might have some excuse for going just a leetle out of your mind. But if you are almost so before that happens — George. You women never will learn how to treasure up a husband's love. Betty (sarcastically). No. Wo are entirely unworthy of such an invaluable treasure. George. The most of you. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 337 Betty. All. George {gently). With some exceptions. Betty. Without exception. George. No. You, for one. Betty. Thanks. No, my noble duke ; I am not a whit better than ray sister women. George. You don't say ! Betty. I am a woman; nothing more and nothing less. We women are naturally all good. When, by chance, we are good for nothing, you men are to blame for it. George. You maybe right. (Looks out of window.) See; there comes Eugene. Betty. Then I will be off. George. But you are coming back t Betty. Why, of course. George. Try and get him into conversation. Betty. I will. George. Be friendly with him. Betty. Certainly. George. That's to say, polite, not too friendly, you know. Betty. My husband's commands are my laws. Good-bye ! Come back soon. (Aside.) I believe he's the least mite jealous again. George. I will hurry as much as possible. I will gallop all the way. Betty. Take care of yourself. George. Don't bo jinxious. Good-bye ! I shall bo back in an hour. Betty (kissing him). Good-bye ! (Exity l^.) George (looking q/ler her). She is so dear, ao good, 8<» amiable! Oh, this accursed Jealousy! At any rate I am young, and wo gain in wisdom as we grow older. (Enter Eugene. His dress is somewhat ne^eeted tifnd disorderly. He wears a/uU heardy and carries a book in his hand.) 338 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f George (going forward, to meet Eugene). Welcome, friend Eugene ! Eugene. ^ Back again, you see. George. Well, and in good spirits? Eugene. Entirely. George. And your business matters f Eugene. All settled, and in order. George. And bappy ? Eugene. Yes. I tbanked Heaven wben I turned my back on tbe city, and started back again to peace and solitude in the country. How do you get along ? George. I have been married just two weeks. How can you ask ? Why, I am the happiest mortal under the sun ! Eugene (shaking his head). Ah I George. You don^t half believe me — ^you woman-hater ! Eugene (taking George hg the army despondingly). Oh, yes ! I once had hopes of hiippiuess, a foretaste of felicity; and yet I was deceived. George. But only once. Eugene. And is not that enough ? George. You might have made another trial. Eugene. No — once, and for all ! George. Perhaps you were not wholly without fault in the matter. Eugene. My fault was only loving the faithless jilt too well. George. And you worried her with your jealousy until you drove her away from you. Eugene. Love is always jealous. George. You must have confidence; love cannot exist without it. Eugene. Are you never jealous ? George. I ? No — ^>'es — that is — well, perhaps a little bit ; but not like you. You carried it too far. Why, you would not let your affianced dance with any one. Eugene. She could dance with lYie, THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 339 George. You could hardly bear her to speak to any one. Eugene. Could she not speak to me f Georgix Not even look at another man. Eugene. Had she not me to look at ? George. We'll never agree on these things. But now I'm married you surely '11 come and visit me occasionally, as of old f Eugene. I will try. When my betrothed deserted me, and ray passionate love for her was transformed into the deadliest hatred of the entire sex — when I fled hither, bought this prop- erty, and desired to see nothing but the trees of the forest and the stars in the heavens — I met you. We understood one another. I learned to like you, and it became a pleasure and solace to pass some hours every day in your company. (George presses Jiis hand.) I will try to continue my accustomed visits, and see whether T can school myself to meet your wife (shud^ dering) —to look upon a woman once more. George. My Betty is so good ! Eugene. Do you think so ? George. Indeed I do. • Eugene. They are all good fornothing, if she whom I loved so fondly could give me up. George. Well, let that pass. We must bear a little with your weakness. But business compels me to leave you. I shall bo back soon. Meanwhile, my wife will entertain you. Eugene. No need. My Byron will afford mo all the enter- tainment I require. George. A young fellow of twenty-six should soon got dull ■with nothing but Byron to amuse hiir. Eugene. But I shall soon have you again. George. That's all very well; but life, without woman's love, is a blank indeed. Eugene. I have given it up. I should like to see what woman could please me now, or could again awake any wanner feelinj: in me. George. Bah! For two long years you have seen no one 340 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? but your homely old housekeeper, and, perhaps, a few country- girls who ran away when you went near them. Eugene. Just as if they saw a wild beast I Yes ; that suited me exactly. They may avoid mCj as earnestly as I avoid them. Upon my word, George, I submit my friendship for you to the severest test, by forcing myself into seeing your wife. George. I appreciate the sacrifice, but still I hope — Eugene {nervously). What? George. That you will be a sensible fellow once more. Eugene. Am I not ? George. To a certain extent you are a dear sensible fellow, but on one point — Eugene. Immovable as a rock. George. You can be as you please, for aught I care. But my horse is waiting. Good-bye ! Eugene. Good-bye ! George. We shall soon meet again. (Exity right.) Eugene (looking after him). Oh ! Poor George ! How soon you will wake up from your dream of happiness ! Truly said one of the wise men of Greece, that he thanked Heaven daily that he was a man, and not a woman. ^* The women," said he, " were the tares the enemy sowed among the wheat." (SitSy right J and reads.) (Enter Betty.) Betty (aside). So that is the grim monster tvho has tlie hardihood to defy us women ! I wonder, now, if I could cure him ? Here^s a good cliance to give my good, silly husband a lesson in jealousy, and perhaps — yes, I will at least try some of* the wiles of the sex upon him. (Aloud.) Good morning! Eugene (gets up^ makes a stwlied hoWy without looking at Iter. Gruffly). Good morning ! Betty ( approach ing h im, ami laying her hand on h is shoulder) . I understand you dislike women. Eugene (stealing a rapid glance at lier). I have a sworn antipathy to the sex. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING, 341 Betty. That suits me exactly. Eugene. Eh ? What ? Betty. My mother always warned me against men who were given to be too attentive and devoted. No\v, as you hate women, you cannot be a very dangerous man. Eugene. No, indeed! Betty. Then, you see, my husband can never be m the least jealous of you. Eugene. That's a sure thing. Betty (clapping her hands). Oh, how nice ! Eugene (whose eyes are always fixed on his book). Is George ever jealous, then ? Betty. Worse than a Turk ! That's the reason I am so pleased to find you entirely harmless. I need not be always under constraint with you; I can laugh and sing to my hearts content, and never raise any suspicion about it. Eugene. Suspicion about me ! Not much ! (Turpis his chair half round aivayfrom her.) Betty (going to table, left, and sitting before toilet-glass). Are you afraid to look at me f Eugene. How so ? Betty. You turn your back to me. Eugene. It's not for that, but— (Edges his chair round,) Betty. My husband toltl mo to pay you every attention, 80 you must not bo so churlish with me. Eugene. I did not moan it so. Betty. I was to entertain you ; but how cjui I, if you won't oven look at me f (Eugene glances up at l^er, looking back aw his book again.) Will you excuse my putting my hair in onlerf I had not linished doing it when you arrived, and, rather than leave you alone, I came in just as I was. Eugene. Don't let mo disturb you. I wouldn't stay another minute, if I thought I interfered with your arrangements. Betty. Thanks! I i^ally think we shall get along together splendidly. (Takes off fter cap, letting her curls fall down, and 342 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? arranges them.) But we cannot possibly carry on any thing like a pleasant conversation without looking at one another. The eye sometimes is as eloquent as the tongue. {Eugene looks at her furtively from time to time, hut carefully avoids meeting Jier glance.) They say that people can talk with their eyes, and I really think there is something in it. (Pauses.) It takes two to converse, and, if I cannot get an answer out of you, how can I amuse you as my husband desired me to do ? Shall I sing you a song ? Eugene (carelessly). If you wish it. Betty (taking a guitar and tuning it). Oh ! Oh, dear! Eugene. What's the matter ? Betty. Oh, I cannot turn this screw ! See ; my poor finger is quite red. (Holds her finger before his face, and blows on it.) Eugene (coolly). I am sorry for it. Betty (pouting). I don't believe it. Eugene. Why not ? Betty (mocking him). ^* I am sorry for it." Is that the way you speak when you feel sorry ? You are as immovable as flint. Now, help me turn that screw. (Hands him the guitar. Eugene turns the screw. Betty k^ieels before him, striking the string till it is tuned.) A leetle bit more — good. Now the A string. No; the other screw. That's right ; thanks. Now you can take your book again. (Sits a little apart, and sings.) No one to love, none to caress, Eoaming alone through this world's wilderness. Sad is my heart, joy is unknown, For in my sorrow I'm weeping alone. No 4rentle voice, no tender smile, Makes me rejoice or cares beguile. No one to love, none to caress, Roaming alone through this world's wilderness. Sad is my heart, joy is unknown, For in my sorrow I'm wcepiiig alone. ( WJdle she is singing, Eugene pays more and more aft en- tion ; his bookfaUs from his hand, as his gaze becomes fixed on her.) THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 343 Betty {looking sideways at him). How do you like my son^ f {Aside.) Hits bis case exactly. Eugene, {thawing). Beautiful ! {Embarrassed.) Betty {putting down the guitar and singing^ sotto voce). Ko one to love, none to caress. (Spoken.) Oh, dear me! How- provoking ! Ecjgexe. What's the matter with you? Betty {taking up some worsted). My winder is broken ; I wanted to wind some yarn. Now, isn't that vexing T Oh, my dear friend, how you could help me ! Eugene. What! I? How? Betty. If you would only hold this skein while I wind it. Oh, please do ? Eugene (nervously). But — Betty. Please — please ; I will do anything afterwards to oblige you. If you hate women you cannot help making your- self useful and obliging. If you don't help mo I cannot get the skein wound alone. Eugene. I do not understand how. (His gruffness is grad- ually disappearing, although he strives to retain it.) Betty. There is nothing to understand about it. I can show you how in a moment Do, please? Eugene (reluctantly yielding.) Well, if needs must— Betty. Put your book away. Now turn round toward mo. Hold up both hands. Not so. (Places his hands and lays (he skein over them.) See how simple it Is. How long have you been in this neigh borh(M)d? Eugene. Almost two years. Betty. And all the time alone ? Eugene. Solitude is my best friend. Betty. Please pay more attontiim; you must assist me a little as I wind. (Directs his hands.) Solitude! Nonsense! That's all very well for a grumpy old hermit ; but you— how old are you ? EUQKUE. Twenty-five years. 344 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Betty (examining his face carefuMy). Why, I should take you for at least thirty. That's the fault of your shaggy beard. Eugene. Does my beard ofifend you I Betty. Not at all. I like to see a good beard. A raau without a beard I Oh, fie ! Were you never in love f Eugene (trotMed), I beseech you, madam, do not touch on that subject. Bktty. I beg you will not call me "madam;" that is so horribly formal. Eugene. What, then, shall I ? Betty. Call me *^ Betty.'' You are my husband's esteemed friend, and — Eugene. Oh, but madam ! Betty. Well, what is it I Eugene. But— Betty. B-c-t — Bet. Come ; out with it ! Eugene. I cannot. Betty. Just try. I never had a woman-hater call me " Betty." I should like to hear it. Eugene. Well-^B—J5c— Betty ! There I Betty. Fie \ Eugene. What is it ? Betty. You say " Betty " as if you would bite me. My hus- band says, *' dear Betty " so softly, so coaxingly. I hke that much better. Don't tell me you were never in love ! Eugene. Madam, spare me 1 Betty. Betty ! Eugene. Betty, spare me ! Betty. Do tell me now. I am all curiosity. Were you never in love ? Eugene. You are tearing open my wound afresh. Betty. You /tare loved, then? You must tell me all about it. I thought you had a natural idio— idio— What's the word ? Eugene. Idiosyncrasy. Be;tty. Idiocrat;— THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 345 Eugene. Idiosyncrasy ! Betty {slapping his hancC\, Look out! You are dropping the skein. Well ? Eugene. What^ Betty. You were going to tell me all about it. Eugene. Ob ! Let us leave that alone. Betty. My dear Eugene, bow can you refuse to gratify my irrepressible curiosity? Was she beautiful f Eugene. Very. Betty. Young ? Eugene. About your age. Betty. What color were her eyes f Eugene. Black. Betty. What was her name h Eugene. Sophia. Betty. That's a pretty name. You must have loved her very deeply. Eugene. She was my all. Betty. Is she dead, then ? Eugene. No. Betty (stopping her worsted-winding). What? Eugene. She is alive and in good health. Betty. You don't say ! Did you leave ber, then t Eugene. No. She was faithless to me. Betty. Oh, fie ! What a ahamo .' Eugene. Was it not ? Betty. How ctm a woman bo falthloss t I cannot under- stand \\oy{ sljo can be. Euoenb. I do not uiidei'staiKi it, oitlior. Betty. Poor — poor fellow 1 Now I see — Eugene. What f Betty. Now I see why you bate the sex. Eugene. I had good reason. Is it not so f Betty. Faithless to her lover ! How shocking ! My poor friend; how you must have suffered ! 346 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Eugene. Oh, Betty, I was nearly out of my senses ! Betty. I should not wonder. You should forget the fickle creature. Eugene {softening by degrees). I cannot. Betty. Believe me, she was not a good woman ; she was a disgrace to her sex. Faithlessness is not a woman's failing ; it is not natural to her. Eugene. Oh, if she had only felt as you do ! You are so kind, Betty ; your sympathy does me so much good! Betty. Really ? Eugene. Oh, in my innermost heart ! Betty. I am so glad of that. I wish I could console you. (They look at one another ; she drops her eyes.) It is a sad thing to see a person in trouble. It always makes me cry to see others cry. Eugene. How kind, how feeling you are, dear Betty ! Betty (arousing herself). Don't let us speak any more about your faithless one ; she was not worthy of you. Eugene. Yes ; perhaps she was. Betty. How so ? Eugene. Perhaps I was also somewhat to blame. Betty. Oh, let us leave this melancholy history ! You shall tell me more another time, when we are better acquainted. Eugene. I could tell you everything this moment. Betty. Do yeu confide in me f Eugene. Entirely. (I^etty drops her eyes. Eugene takes Jier hand.) You do not look at me. Betty. Take care ! You will drop the skein. » Eugene. Ah, yes! (Resumes former position.) Betty. You are tolerably rich, are you not ? Eugene. Oh, yes ! Betty. How nice that must be ! I wish I was rich. Eugene. Money is not happiness. You are richer than I. Betty. What ! I ? Eugene. Your contentment ; your good temper — THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING 347 Betty. That^s all very well ; but when one is rich one can help others, and do so much good. You are, of course, a most liberal man ? Eugene. I ? Yes — no — that is — Betty. No ? You have something so good-natured in your countenance. I cannot suppose that your dislike to the female sex has prevented you from acts of charity to the poor and needy ? Eugene. Really, I have done so little. Betty. Fie ! I could not have believed it. That is very wrong of you. Eugene. But, Betty, — Betty. No one should be so wrapt up in himself as to forget others. Eugene. Bat, dear Betty, — Betty. What! Must I tell you the truth f Eugene. I will improve. Will you aid me ? Betty. How can 1 1 Eugene. Distribute my alms j show me the poor who need assistance. Betty. That will T, right gladly. I will show you where you can bestow your charity — plenty of it. Eugene. As much as you will ; you shall bo my almoner. Betty. You are dropping the skein. You did much better at first. Are you getting tired of it t Eugene. Not in the least. Betty. If you aio, only say so ; we will give it up. Eugene. Oh, dear, no I Til bold it as long as you please. Betty. Ah ! Eugene {jumping up). What*s the matter t Betty. Soinothing's in my eye. Oh, how it harts! Eugenk (putting the yam dawn ami taking the hail from her hand). Do not rub it. Bbtty. Do please look, and see if you cau find it. Eugene. Open your eye. 348 WHAT SHALL WE DO TONIGHTf Betty. I cannot. Where are you? (Both eyes shut and feeling round for him.) EuGEJSE. Here. (Gives his hand. Betty leans against him. Eugene puts his arm gently roufid her and draws her head to his breast.) Try and open your eye. (Betty opens eye slowly. Eugene bends over her.) Wbich eye is itf Betty. The right eye. (Eugene blows in it.) That does no good. Eugene. Keep still a moment. Betty. It's better now. (Tries to withdraw.) Eugene (holding her). Dear Betty ! Betty. I am so much obliged to you. Eugene (earnestly). You are an angel ! Betty (smiling). So my husband says. I wonder how long he will say so ? Eugene. Forever ! You can never be otherwise. Betty. A few years more and wrinkles come. Eugene. You can kiss them away. (Tries to kiss her.) Betty (slipping away). What's the meaning of that, Mr. Woman-hater ? Eugene. Oh, let that be ! I was a fool ! I will forswear my folly, if you will only help me. Betty. 1 1 JiUGENE. Be friends with me ; give me your assistance. Betty. With great pleasure. Eugene. I will do every thing you tell me to. Betty. You will be cheerful t Eugene. Yes. ' Betty. Obliging? ' Eugene. Yes, yes. Betty. Never hate women any more T Eugene. No, no. Betty. Now I will try you. Eugene. So our compact is settled ? Betty (giving her hand). There's my hand on i THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING, 349 EuGEJi^E. Seal it. Betty. What with ? Eugene. With one kiss. Betty. Go along vvitli you. Eugene* A pledge of friendship. Betty. It would be nothing of the kind. Eugene. Au honoiable kiss. Betty. If my husband — Eugene. He is my friend; his wife must be my friend also. (Takes her hand.) Betty. You know how jealous he is. Eugene (more urgently). Let me make a third in your home circle. Betty. But; Mr. Eugene, — Eugene. Oh ! Please— please do t (Takes hold o/Jter, and kisses her.) Betty. Ah ! (Screams.) Eugene (relinquishing her). What is it f Betty. My husband. Eugene. Where ? Betty. Coming up the garden walk. Eugene (looking through the window). He walks quickly. Betty (sobbing). He siiw every thing. Eugene. Imix)ssiblo, from that distance. Betty. He has eyes like a hawk. Eugene. Well ! What if he did see it t BErrY. Ho is so jealous I Eugene. There was nothing so terrible in it. Betty. You kissed me. Eugene. And if I did,— Betty. You do not know him ; ho will be ftirious. Eugene (anxiously). Good hca\ uus I Betty. Wliat a tnnible— what a difliculty youVegot me into! Eugene. Calm yourself. Betty. He will read it plainly in my faioe. 350 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHTt Eugene. I had better go away. Betty. You will ruu right into his clutches. Eugene. What shall I do, theu ? Betty. Conceal yourself. Eugene. Where f Betty. Oh, please— quick ! Eugene. That will look as if— Betty. Only till his first passion is over. Oh, do — pray ! Eugene. Where, then ? (Goes toward left.) Betty. Not there ! That's my dressing-room ! Eugene. Here then? {Goes right.) Betty. Oh, don't go there ; that's our bed-room I Eugene. Good gracious ! Where can I go ? Betty. Creep under the table. Eugene. Under the table ? No ; that's too — Betty. My dearest, best friend ! Eugene.- You may do with me as you will. ( Creeps under table. ) Betty (covering him with the table-cloth). Now, keep per- fectly quiet. (Aside). Aha, Mr. Woman-hater, I've humbled you a little ! Now, we will frighten you a little bit. I am only treating him too mercifully. (Goes to door, right, and takes out tlie key, seats herself at table, left, and covers her eyes loith lier handkerchief.) (Enter George.) George. See ; I am back again. All alone ? I thought Eugene was here. Is he gone? Did you speak to him? What's the matter ? You do not answer me. (Betty shakes licr liead, and sobs violently.) What can be the matter with you? You are crying. Betty, do not keep me in suspense. (Betty throws her arms around his neck, and buries her face in his bosom.) Dearest wife, what has happened ? Tell mo. Betty (sobbing). I cannot. George. It must be something terrible. Has any accident happened ? Betty. No; I cannot — yet I ought not to conceal it ironi you. My duty to you is first of all. THE TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. 351 George. Betty ! Betty. Your friend, who pretends to hate women, — George. Well f Betty. Is a deceiver ! Eugene {putting out Ms head). Oh, the serpent ! George. 1 cannot understand — Betty. I was attentive to him, as you desired. {StiU sob- bing.) At first he was harsh and repulsive in his manner, — George (earnestly/). And — Betty. Then he got more and more friendly ; — George (excitedly). What next f Betty. At last he wanted to kiss me. Eugene. Oh, the hypocrite ! George. Kiss you f Betty. 1 repulsed him — George. And he — Betty. Forced me. George. Ten thousand fiends I Betty. You were coming through the gardeu- George. Where did he go ? Betty (throwing her arms round his neck). Don't kill him ! George. Then he's hero still ! Where is he f Betty. Ho besought mo to say nothing to you about it, and ran into your bed-room. (Eugene tries to escape^ but cannot.) In my confusion, tho key of the door cam© out into my hand. George. Ho shall answer to me for it ! Betty. Dear Q<3orgo I George. To betray mo— hie friend ! Betty. Calm yourself. George. Give nio tho key. Betty. You are so fearfully excited. George. Oh, I'll bo cool as ten tbousaDd cucumbers ! The koy I Betty. You are running headlong into misfortune. Grorge. Tho koy I (Betty hands him t/tt key. Gtorge rushes to the door^ and puts tkekeymtke lock.) 352 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f Betty. Philopena! (George^ astounded^ stops instantly. Betty dcDwes around, in high glee.) I've won it j I've won it. Pbilupeuii! (George looks at her douhtingly, opens the bed- room door, glances around, hut sees no one.) Who said he would never be jealous again? George. Yes, but tliis way— Betty. Who was sure he would not lose his Philopena? George. You snake I Eugene. A double-header ! Betty. Didn't you oblige me to resort to cunning to win it ? George. And Eugene ? Betty. Is a perfect fool. Eugene. She's right. George. I'm another, for my jealousy. Betty. Right again. George. And the Philopena lost ! You killed two birds with one stone. Betty (striking the table). No, three. George. How's that ? Betty. Your Philopena lost ! George. One. Betty. Your bet lost ! George. Two. Betty. I'll tell you the other when you catch me. (Buns off. George exit after her.) Eugene (appearing from under the table), Now^s my time to get away. Phew ! Did you ever see such a woman in your life? Poor George, she'll make it hot for him! (Walks up a7id down excitedly.) Women, indeed! A bad lot I But this Betty is the worst I ever came near. Confound all Bettys ! (Sarcastically.) So sympathizing ! So kind ! Wheedling and coaxing a fellow into making a perfect ass of himself— and all for what ? Just to win a miserable Philopena ! The mean, heartless — (Starting.) Ha! Somebody's coming. (Hurries off J left.) (Curtain.) THE TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING. 353 JWENTY-^IXTH J)vENI]MQ. Another pleasant variety for private theatricals are Charades and Proverbs, either written, or performed impromptu. Charades in Pantomime. These Charades should always be impromptUj and can be made excessively funny. For example, take the word Knight-hood. One of the actors dresses himself for the Knight as Don Quix- ote, with a basin upon his head for a helmet, the poker for a lance, the fireL,^uard for a shield, and so on, making out his ar- mor as he best can. Ho enters the room marching, followed by his squire, Sauebo Panza, who must be dressed in a motley costume, and be very fat. As they enter a lady kneels to the knight, and, clasping her hands, mutely implores his aid to defend her from a cruel tyrant who holds her captive. As tlie knight raises her, the cruel tyrant rushes out from behind a curtain to carry her away. The knight shakes his lance at him, and the tyrant, completely van- quished, falls to the earth. Leaving him there, the victorious knight leads the lady respectfully by the hand off the stage to perfect freedom. Sancho Panza struts after, turning to shake bis flst at the conquered tyrant. In the ne.\t scene, a lady entora with nn immense, ugly hood upon her head. Two other ladies, advancing to meet her, seem surprised, and ]K)int to the hood. Suddenly she turns back and holds up a largo placard, upon which is written, "The Latest Fashion !" The ladies lift their hands in dismay, and faint into each other's arms. Tho whole word ^' Iniqht-hooiV^ is porformod by Don Quixote knighting a youth. Ladies fasten on his spurs, tie his scarf and 354 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT f belt, buckle his helmet and hand him his shield. He kneels. The Don touches him on the shoulder with his sword. He rises, and a scene of congratulation, in dumb show, follows. Then the whole party advance, and form a R. C. L. Two Ladies. Don Quixote. Young Knight. Sancho Panza, Squihe of Young Knight, Kneeling. Kneeling. This may be made very laughable if grotesquely costumed and tragically performed. Impromptu Charades need not necessarily be in pantomime, but with a quick-witted company are better if carried out in spirited dialogue. For in- stance, take the word Indolent. The first scene being Inn^ may be trusted to a conversation between the servants, that can be made very anmsing. The second scene, Doughy may be a kitchen scene, where the troubles of a newly-imported Hibernian over her first batch of bread, can be introduced. The third scene, Lent, may be made a comical illustration of the despair of a book-collector over the return of a valuable borrowed book in a state of dilapidation. The whole word may turn upon the loss of a legacy by a nephew who was too Indolent to perform some trifling duty for a rich old aunt. Impromptu Proverbs are of the same character as parlor plays, but are entire in one scene, which illustrates some well-known proverb. For those who prefer written ])arts, there are volumes of charades and proverbs dramatized for f>arlor performance.* * " The Parlor Stage." published by Dick & ritagenild, \n n. collection of dniiuatio charatles and proverbs expressly adapted for parlor i>erformance. THE TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING, 355 We propose to complete our last evening's festivities with a Parlor Pantoniime. The word " Pantomime '^ has become identified in our minds with a performance depending on the efibrts of four time-hon- ored individuals — Harlequin, Columbine, Clown, and Pantaloon. The opening of the piece is usually in spirited dialogue, intro- ducing a lover whose efibrts to gain his true love are tliwarted by the conventional stern parent, and the jealousies of another parent-favored but maiden-rejected aspirant to the ofiice of son-in-law. When the lovers' case seems most hopeless a beneficent fairy appears, and '' grants a stay of proceedings." In order to give the lovers an opportunity of proving their constancy, the characters are changed by the fairy: — the lover into Harlequin, with a magic wand, which confers on him invisi- bility at will, and a wonderful power over things in general; the maiden becomes Harlequin's inseparable companion, the graceful Columbine; the rejected lover is permitted to pei*se- cute and harass the loving pair as Clown, assisted in his dia- bolical tricks and i)l()ts by the stern parent as Pantaloon. AH the Clown's carefully prepared combinations and machinations are frustrated by the magic wand of Harlequin — affording dis- play for wonderfully ingenious stage illusions and transforma- tions—until the constancy of the lovers is finally rewarded with front seats in the realms of lovo and blisSi with grand tabloau, colored fire, and soft music. This kind of performance is emphatically the " Pantomime" of the present and past, and HMiuirea a well-appointed triek-st^\go for its production. Hut the parlor pantomime is quite another thing, being simply a dramatic performance in dumb show. To render this intelligible to an audience requires a certain amount of exaggeration in the actions of the players— a caricature, In short, of naimal gestures, verging on, and ft*equontly overstep- I)ing, the borders of the grotesque. The French, naturally a 356 WffAT SHALL WE DO TO-XIGHTt people of strong gesticulation in their ordinary conversation, excel in the art of pantomime ; and wc arc mainly indebted to the ''Ravels," and other talented pantomimists, for clevatinc; to a legitimate performance what formerly was only used as the frame- work of a ballet, and very often utterly unintelligible to the spectators. There are certain conventional actions used on the stage to depict the various emotions of the mind ; and, although few persons use exactly the same action under similar circumstances, the usages of the stage have defined some of them for the uni- form use of all. In order to avoid repetition, we propose to ex- plain the actions used to portray the leading emotions and passions. Anger is depicted by drawing the mouth open, with the teeth firmly set ; shaking the head in a menacing manner ; the eyes opened widely, and the eyebrows knit ; the hands clenched ; stamping with the feet, and violent agitation of the body. FeaPw is shown by a sudden shrinking backwards, as if pre- paring for flight, accompanied by general tremor of the body; the eyes and mouth are widely opened; the hands timidly raised, as if in irresolute defense. Grief requires a solemn, impassive countenance ; the eyelids lowered ; the lips drawn in ; the head hanging forward ; the hands clenched together at arms' length ; frequent sighs, and inattention to everything that is going on. Hatred is depicted by drawing one foot back, so as to turn away from the object hated ; the hands stretched out as if to repel an attack ; the head averted ; the countenance expressing anger. Jealousy watches its objects stealthily with flashes of an- ger, grief and scorn ; with an occasional, but transient, glc;iin of hopeful joy. Jor shows itself by a bright and smiling face, dancing, and clapping of hands. Love is described by pointing at the object, and pressing THE TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING. 357 both hands on tlio heart, with a languishing expression of coun- tenance ; followed by stretching both arms tenderly toward the object. Pity looks down on the object pitied, with uplifted hands, and a mixed expression of love and grief. ScoRX for a person is expressed by turning away with aver- sion ; tlie eyebrows elevated ; the head drawn up ) the corners of the lips drawn down, and the mouth set as if to say the word *^I)ooh." Wonder or astonishment is shown by a stooping posture, the knees bent and the hands resting on them ; the head forward ; the eyes and moutli open ; followed by a gradual straightening of the body and elevation of the bauds and arms ; the mouth set as if to say ^'oh!" Besides these cmotionjil gestures, there are a few others of a conversational character, usually accepted as stage action. Calling a person not on the stage is performed by advancing to the part of the stage designated, facing off; making three measured claps of the right hand on the left ; then drawing the body up haughtily with the arms folded, as if in expoctatiou. If the person called is ])roRent, the caller approaches him, touches him grandly on the shoulder, beckons hlin, retires a step, and awaits his advance. Trijing to licrollect something rs done by bending the head down, and thoughtfully tapping the forehead with the forefinger of the arm furthest fmra the audience ; gently shaking the head from side to side. IteMlectiofiy following this eflTort, Is expressed by raising the same forefinger u])ward, with a sudden gleam of intolligcnco on the countenance, and a quick nodding of the head two or three tiuies in succession. A Dvmami for Money is made by stamping twice*wlth tho right foot, slightly extended forward; at the same time striking the back of the right fingers on tho palm of tho left hand, ex- tended forward and palm upward. 358 WHAT SHALL WE DO TO-NIGHT? Payment of Money is performed by thrusting the left hand into the pocket, Avithdrawing it apparently full of coins, and transferring them, one at a time, with the thumb and forefinger of the right hand, to the right hand of the receiver, extended palm upward for the purpose. When the necessary number has been transferred, the player returns the (apparent) balance to his pocket, i)laces his left hand under the receiver's right, and with his right hand folds the receiver's fingers carefully over, so as to secure the imaginary coins in his hand. In Striking a person in the face, the sound of the blow is made by the person attacked striking his hands together very quickly, turning away as if endeavoring to avoid the blow, but really to conceal the motion of his hands. Tlianks are rendered with a graceful bow, and a downward sweep of the right hand, palm upward. Theplot of a pantomime, in order to be clearly comprehended by the audience, must necessarily be of the simplest kind. The success of the piece, therefore, entirely depends on rapidity of action and unflagging excitement, gradually increasing in de- gree as tbe climax is approached. The remarks on Stage-man- agement, on page 302, are also applicable in this i)lace. The following original pantomime has been written expressly for this work, and will serve as an example. I.ove -under Obstacles; OR, Jack^s Triumj)!!. CHARACTERS. Peter — An old country gentleman. Janet— His wife, a fine old h\dy. Kate — Their lovely daughter. Albert-*A rich fop — Kate's unencouraged suitor. Jack— A rollicking sailor— Kat<5*s decided preference. Nelly — Kate's nice little maid. Villagers— !M ale and female. THE TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING, ' 359 COSTUMES. In accordance with the several characters, in the old English Dolly Varden style. SCENE. On left side the porch of a country house. Right, trees, etc. Back, a landscape ; right of centre door, a large barrel or hogs- head, with lid. Kate is discovered sitting on a stool near house door, look- ing at a miniature, and weeping. Wrings out pocket-handker- chief, as though saturated with tears. Throws it off stage, and takes out a clean one ; same repeated. Albert enters (centre door) ; advances to Kate j takes min- iature, starts with surprise; points at it; goes through motions of hauling ropes, and dances first steps of sailor^s hornpii>o ; points again at miniature, then at Kate, shaking his head (a sailor is not fit/or her). Kneels on one knee, to comfort her. Kate impatiently motions him off, snatching the miniature from his hand. Albert retires, despondingly. (Exit Albert^ right. A whis- tle is heard y back.) Kate starts ; looks back ; gets up, clapping her hands. ( Enter J ac: K , centre door. ) Jack runs up to Kate;. They iMubraco, and walk up and down, conversing. (Enter ,1 ANEr,yW)m house.) Janet (hobbling with stick). Sees Jack and Kate ; holds up both arms in {vstouishment, and turns to go into house. (Enter Petek, /rom hotise.) Pbtek rushes out of house, knocking Janet over ; hobbles up to Jack, whom ho swings roughly away from Kate, threateuiDg her, and driving him away. J.VNKT gets slowly up, and enters house. (Exit Jaw/.) Kate imi)lorcs Peter's pard