THREE VALUABLE BOOKS.
_Beautifully printed and elegantly bound._
The Art of Conversation,
With Directions for Self-Culture. An admirably conceived and
entertaining book--sensible, instructive, and full of suggestions
valuable to every one who desires to be either a good talker or
listener, or who wishes to appear to advantage in good society.
*** Price $1.50.
The Habits of Good Society.
A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen. With thoughts, hints, and anecdotes
concerning social observances; nice points of taste and good manners;
and the art of making oneself agreeable. The whole interspersed with
humorous social predicaments; remarks on fashion, etc. *** Price $1.75.
The Art of Amusing.
A collection of graceful arts, merry games, and odd tricks, intended to
amuse everybody, and enable all to amuse everybody else. Full of
suggestions for private theatricals, tableaux, charades, and all sorts
of parlor and family amusements. With nearly 150 illustrative pictures.
*** Price $2.00.
_These three books are the most perfect of their kind ever
published. They are made up of no dry stupid rules that everybody
knows, but are fresh, sensible, good-humored, entertaining, and
readable. Every person of taste should possess them, and cannot be
otherwise than delighted with them. *** Each will be sent by mail,
free, on receipt of price, or the three books for $5.00._
Carleton, Publisher,
New York.
[Illustration: THE art of AMUSING
BY Frank Bellew
CARLETON, Publisher, NEW YORK.]
THE
ART OF AMUSING.
BEING A COLLECTION OF GRACEFUL ARTS, MERRY GAMES, ODD TRICKS,
CURIOUS PUZZLES, AND NEW CHARADES. TOGETHER WITH SUGGESTIONS FOR
PRIVATE THEATRICALS, TABLEAUX, AND ALL SORTS OF PARLOR AND FAMILY
AMUSEMENTS.
A VOLUME INTENDED TO AMUSE EVERYBODY AND ENABLE ALL TO AMUSE
EVERYBODY ELSE; THUS BRINGING ABOUT AS NEAR AN APPROXIMATION TO
THE MILLENNIUM AS CAN BE CONVENIENTLY ATTAINED IN THE COMPASS OF
ONE SMALL VOLUME.
BY FRANK BELLEW.
WITH NEARLY 150 ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
_Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway._
_London: S. Low, Son & Co._
MDCCCLXVI.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
GEO. W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
[Illustration]
To J. C. W.
To you, my little kinsman, I dedicate these pages,
Tho' not so wise, perhaps, as some you've read by graver sages;
They're not without a purpose, and I trust a kind and true one,
Older than eighteen hundred years, still good as any new one.
If they could cheer some winter nights, and make some days seem
brighter,
I'd feel I'd paid a groat or so,
Of that great debt of love I owe,
To one at rest who, long ago, dealt kindly by the writer.
F. B.
_CONTENTS._
_CHAPTER I.--Something censorious.--Declaration of
Independence.--Card puzzle.--The magic coin.--A
hoax.--The telescopic visitor.--Boy's head knocked off._ 7
_CHAPTER II.--Colored mesmerism._ 17
_CHAPTER III.--Lemon pig and root dragon.--Portrait of the
gorilla.--Creature comforts.--High shoulders.--Theatre
and theatrical performances.--Nose turned up and teeth
knocked out without pain.--The Long-nosed Night-howler,
or Vulgaris Pueris cum Papyrus Capitus.--Imitation banjo
on piano.--Some conjuring tricks.--The reduced gentleman,
or dwarf perforce._ 20
_CHAPTER IV.--The voice of the Night-howler.--The play
of Punch and Judy, with full directions for producing
the same.--Charade on rattan._ 38
_CHAPTER V.--Parlor arts and ornaments, comprising
apple-seed mice, turnip roses, beet dahlias, and
carrot marigolds.--Counting a billion.--The algebraic
paradox.--Answer to charade on rattan.--Riddles, etc._ 56
_CHAPTER VI.--A patent play._ 72
_CHAPTER VII.--Pragmatic and didactic discourse.--Aunty
Delluvian, her party.--The duck and double-barrelled
speech.--The dwarf.--Trick with four grains of
rice.--Riddles, etc._ 81
_CHAPTER VIII.--The dancing Highlander and Matadore._ 99
_CHAPTER IX.--Answer to trick with four grains of rice.--How
to make an old apple-woman out of your fist._ 105
_CHAPTER X.--About giants, and how to make them._ 110
_CHAPTER XI.--A merry Christmas.--The boomerang.--Optical
illusion.--How to turn a young man's head.--The tiger-dog,
how to make him.--The elephant, how to make him.--Two
queer characters.--Captain Dawk and Colonel Gurramuchy._ 113
_CHAPTER XII.--Hanky-panky, instruction in the art._ 134
_CHAPTER XIII.--A tranquil mood.--Transparencies of
paper.--The dancing pea.--Artificial teeth._ 138
_CHAPTER XIV.--Artemus Ward, parlor edition._ 157
_CHAPTER XV.--Bullywingle the Beloved. A drama for private
performance._ 164
_CHAPTER XVI.--A quiet evening.--Fruit animals.--Window
staining.--Oddities with pen and ink._ 189
_CHAPTER XVII.--A country Christmas.--The trick
trumpet.--Eatable candle.--How to cut off a
head.--Ventriloquism.--The jumping rabbit.--Santa
Claus arrives._ 199
_CHAPTER XVIII.--The bird-whistle, how to make it._ 219
_CHAPTER XIX.--A quiet party.--Electric nose.--Miniature
camera.--The hat trick.--The magician of Morocco._ 222
_CHAPTER XX.--Theatrical red and green fire, how to make
them.--How to get up a theatrical storm._ 232
_CHAPTER XXI.--Card-board puzzles, the cross, the horseshoe,
the arch._ 238
_CHAPTER XXII.--The muffin man.--Earth, air, fire, and
water.--The broken mirror._ 243
_CHAPTER XXIII.--At a watering-place.--A ladies' fair.--Three
sticks a penny.--Smoking a cigar under water.--Firing at a
target behind you.--Firing firewater.--A practical
joke.--Explosive spiders._ 254
_CHAPTER XXIV.--Arithmetical puzzles.--The wolf, the goat, and
the cabbage.--Alderman Gobble's six geese, etc., etc._ 264
_CHAPTER XXV.--Charades._ 271
_CHAPTER XXVI.--The art of transmuting everything into coral._ 274
_CHAPTER XXVII.--Acting charades._ 279
_CHAPTER XXVIII.--The worship of Bud._ 299
The Art of Amusing.
"_All work and no play,
Makes Jack a dull boy._"
CHAPTER I.
[Illustration]
Perhaps one of the great social faults of the American is, that he does
not amuse himself enough, at least in a cheerful, innocent manner. We
are never jolly. We are terribly troubled about our dignity. All other
nations, the French, the German, the Italian, and even the dull English,
have their relaxation, their merry-making; but we--why, a political or
prayer-meeting is about the most hilarious affair in which we ever
indulge. The French peasant has his _ducas_ almost every week, when in
some rustic orchard, lighted with variegated lamps, ornamented with
showy booths, he dances the merry hours away with Pauline and Josephine,
or sips his glass of wine with the chosen of his heart in a canvas
cabaret, whilst the music of a band and the voices of a hundred merry
laughers regale his ears. He has, too, numberless _fêtes_, which he
celebrates with masquerades and other undignified kinds of
jollification. At these entertainments all are welcome, high and low,
and all conduct themselves with a politeness worthy of our best
society--_only more_. We, the writer of this, have often and often
danced at these _bals champêtres_ with a hired girl, a cook, or a nurse
for our partner. Does it not sound plebeian? The Germans enjoy endless
festivals and gift periods, when they have the meanness to offer each
other little presents "that an't worth more than two or three cents;"
but they are tokens of love and kindness, which make them all feel
better and happier. Then our grumpy friend, John Bull, has his
free-and-easies, and his cosy tavern parlor-meetings, and song-singings,
and his dinner-parties, and his tea-fights, at which latter, be the host
rich or poor, you will get a good cup of tea, and tender muffins, and
buttered toast, and cake, and shrimps, and fresh radishes, and Scotch
marmalade, or similar delicacies.
A delightful repast and a cosy chat, followed, perhaps, by a rubber of
whist and a glass of wine or whiskey-punch, or mug of ale, according to
the condition of the entertainer; then there is a general "unbending of
the bow," and no one is troubled about his dignity. We have seen,
ourselves, in England, in a stately old castle, a party of lords and
ladies--for we, like the boy who knew what good victuals were, having
been from home several times--even we have seen good company--we say
that we have seen a party of lords and ladies, knights and dames of high
degree, and of mature years, romping and frolicking together, like a lot
of children, playing _Hunt the Slipper_, _Puss in the Corner_, _and
Blindman's Buff_, without the remotest idea that they had such a thing
as dignity to take care of; and no one seemed to have the slightest fear
that any one of the party could by any possibility do anything that
would offend or mortify any one else. The fact is, gentlemen or
gentlewomen can do anything; all depends on the way of doing it. If you
are a snob, for heaven's sake don't be playful; keep a stiff upper lip
and look grave; it is your only safety.
However, we are improving. We have skating clubs. We play cricket and
base ball. We dine later, and take things a trifle more leisurely.
Theatre-going, our chief amusement, can hardly be reckoned a healthy
relaxation, though well enough now and then. Sitting in a cramped
attitude, in a stifling atmosphere, is not conducive to moral or
physical development. What we need are informal social gatherings, where
we may laugh much and think little, and where dignity won't be invited;
where we need not make ourselves ill with bad champagne and ice-starch,
nor go into the other extreme of platitudes, ice-water and doughnuts:
but where both body and mind will be treated considerately, tenderly,
generously.
Now we are going to give a few hints that may help to make little
meetings such as we mention pass pleasantly; and should any of our
austere readers be afraid to risk our programme in full, they can call
in the children and make them shoulder the responsibility. "It is," you
can say, "a child's party," and then you can enjoy all the fun yourself.
The juveniles will not object.
If merely for the purpose of promoting conversation, something ought to
be _done_, on all occasions of social gatherings, something to talk
about, something that will afford people an excuse for getting from
their seats, something to bring people together, something to break the
ice. We have seen a whole party of very estimable people sit round the
room for hours together in an agony of silence, only broken now and then
by a small remark fired off by some desperate individual, in the forlorn
hope that he would bring on a general conversation.
In our little sketches we shall be discursive, erratic, and
unsystematic, just as the fancy takes us. Still, there will be a method
in our madness; we shall try to give in each chapter a programme
somewhat suited to some one season, and of sufficient variety and
quantity to afford amusement for one evening.
[Illustration]
In the first place, we must remark, in a general way, that we like a
large centre-table. It is something to rally round, it is handy to put
things on, and convenient for the bashful to lean against. On this table
I would accumulate picture-books, toys, and knick-knacks--little odds
and ends which will serve as subjects for conversation. If you can do no
better, make a pig out of a lemon and four lucifer matches, or an
alligator out of a carrot. But we will give some detailed instructions
on this point in a future chapter. Any simple puzzles, numbers of which
can be made out of cards, will be found helpful. Take, for example, a
common visiting-card, and bend down the two ends, and place it on a
smooth table, as represented in the annexed diagram, and then ask any
one to blow it over. This seems easy enough; yet it is next door to an
impossibility. Still, it is to be done by blowing sharply and not too
hard on the table, about an inch from the card. Another little trick
consists in making a coin (if such a thing is to be found nowadays)
stick to the door. This is done by simply making a little notch with a
knife on the edge of the coin, so that a small point of metal may
project, which, when it is pressed against the woodwork, will penetrate,
and so cause the dime or half-dime to appear to adhere magically to a
perpendicular surface. When you have exhibited one or two tricks of this
kind, some other member of the party may have something to show. Then,
having secured the confidence of your audience, you may venture to play
a hoax upon them. Never mind how trifling or how old these things are,
they will serve the purpose of making people talk. Say, for example:
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I will show a trick that is worth seeing.
There are only two people in the United States that can execute
it--myself and the Siamese Twins. First of all, I must borrow two
articles from two ladies--a pocket-handkerchief and--a boot-jack." Of
course no one has the boot-jack; so, pretending to be a little
disappointed, you say: "Never mind; I must do without it. Will some
gentleman be kind enough to lend me three twenty-dollar gold pieces?" Of
course no one has these, either; so you content yourself with borrowing
two cents. You place one in each hand, and extending your arms wide
apart, assure your audience that you will make both pennies pass into
one hand without bringing your arms together. This you do by laying one
on the mantel-piece, and turning your whole body round, your arms still
extended, till the hand containing the other coin comes over the place
where you laid down the cent; then you quietly take it up, and the trick
is performed.
After a little conversation, you can try something which requires a
little more preparation. The servant, whom you have previously
instructed, comes into the room and announces that "that" gentleman has
called to look at the pictures. You desire him to be shown in, and a
short, broad-shouldered man makes his appearance. Soon after he enters,
he turns his back on the company and begins to examine the works of art
on the wall, lengthening and shortening his body to suit the height of
the object he wishes to inspect. This is performed by your little
brother or son, aided by a broom, a couple of cloaks, and a hat. How,
you will doubtless be able to understand by looking at the subjoined
picture.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Another trick of the same order can be performed in this wise: The
servant comes in to inform you that a naughty little boy--Jacky or
Willy--in another room won't eat his custard, but will cry for
ice-cream, or roast-beef, or alligator-soup. Every one is invited into
the room to see this singular child. You find him seated on a high
chair, with a very dirty face, making grimaces. You take the dish of
custard in one hand and a large spoon (the larger the better) in the
other, and begin to expostulate with him on his perversity, but all to
no effect; he only cries and makes faces. You then tell him if he does
not behave better you will be obliged to knock his head off. He
continues not to behave better, whereupon you give him a tap with the
spoon, and, to the surprise of all, his head rolls off on to the floor.
Your audience then find out that the naughty boy was made of a pillow
and a few children's clothes, whilst the head was supplied by Master
Jacky or Willy, ingeniously concealed behind the chair.