Those _tranquil moods_ of which we have twice spoken come over us with
still increasing frequency. Little Pickle is certainly a very smart boy.
We are giving him lessons in drawing; he comes on rapidly, but requires
a great deal of attention. Our time passes peaceably enough in study and
contemplation. Nix has procured us some more works of Brahminical lore.
It is a curious religion, that of the Hindoos, resembling in many points
Christianity. Nix declares, in his good-natured way, that we are more
than half converted already, and threatens to send a missionary to
reason us back from heathenism, as we need a minister badly. He is an
exceedingly good-natured fellow is Nix, though a little broad, perhaps,
at times, in his style of jocularity. Our readers are probably not aware
that there is a certain form of vulgar humor known as a sell, which
consists in inducing some person to ask you a question, and then giving
some idiotic answer in reply. The other day Nix overtook us in Broadway.
After talking a few minutes he exclaimed:
"Oh, by the way, I have a note for you," at the same time feeling
vigorously in his pockets.
"When did you get it? Who is it from?" we inquired, with some
earnestness, for we were expecting a letter from some one.
"Don't know--don't know," he replied, continuing to fumble in his
pockets. "Ah, here it is."
At the same time grasping one hand, he placed in it an oat--one seed of
the grain upon which horses and Scotchmen are fed.
Nix laughed boisterously, and told us we were _sold_. We don't see very
much fun in it.
We have spent another pleasant evening at the Adams'. We mentioned in a
recent chapter making some preparations for a little party they were
about to give. Well, it went off very pleasantly indeed; there were no
hitches and no awful pauses. Indeed, our own pleasure would have been
unalloyed had it not been for the presence of one officious person with
large whiskers, who (there are always one or more such persons in every
assembly) obtruded his attentions too much on the ladies; we observed
that Bud, amongst others, was quite embarrassed by them. She was too
well bred, however, to allow him to perceive her vexations, though I
must say I think there is is such a thing as carrying complaisance and
self-abnegation too far.
The scientific gentleman with gold spectacles was there, and had an
electrical novelty for us which attracted much attention. At first we
supposed the gentleman named was giving Little Pickle lessons in
skating, for he was directing that youth's movements as he shuffled up
and down the hearth-rug in his slippered feet. Rather jealous for the
credit of our pupil, we informed the spectacles that there was nothing
in the way of skating he could teach Master Pickle, he being already a
proficient in that art. To which he only replied:
"Put your knuckle to his nose."
Rather staggered by this request, which savored somewhat of the ruder
style of badinage, and the very last thing we expected from the decorous
gentleman of science, we replied, with just a shade of hauteur:
"Sir?"
"Put your knuckle to his nose."
"Really, I do not comprehend you."
"Put your finger to his nose and you will get a shock."
All this time Little Pickle was sliding and _slithering_ up and down the
rug in a manner highly calculated to wear out that costly piece of
furniture.
"You perceive," continued spectacles, in an explanatory way, "that he
has slippers on his feet. By keeping his feet in close contact with the
rug, and rubbing them violently up and down, he generates electricity in
his body to such an extent that he can transmit quite a sensible shock
to another person.[2] Now try!"
[2] The spark emitted is sufficiently powerful to light a
jet of gas.
We tried. Tick! A most unmistakable spark passed from the nose of L. P.
to our knuckle.
The guests now began to crowd round, applying their knuckles to the poor
boy's nose to that extent that it grew quite red, which, combined with a
trifling unsteadiness his legs acquired from the unusual exertion, gave
the dear boy quite a _groggy_ appearance. Indeed, we observed his mother
soon after draw him towards her and, stooping down, whisper something in
his ear, at which he colored up, shook his head, and replied quickly,
"No, only lemonade."
The scientific person, who was really a very amiable gentleman after
all, taught us during the evening to make quite a curious little toy--to
wit, a miniature camera. Having enlisted the services of Little Pickle,
he procured a small pill-box, a minute fragment about half an inch
square of broken looking-glass, and a fragment of beeswax. He first
bored a small hole in the centre of the lid of the pill-box and another
in the side; he then, with the aid of the beeswax, stuck the piece of
the mirror across the bottom of the box at an angle of forty-five
degrees to the axis of the disc of the box, so that by looking through
one hole he could see objects through the other hole, thus enabling a
person to look behind him. We feel that this description is not very
clear, and yet for the life of us we do not know how to make it clearer.
The best plan for the reader will be to look well at the diagrams
showing the inside and outside of the camera, get the wax, glass, and
pill-box, and then _potter_ about with them till he gets it right.
[Illustration]
Camera led the conversation in our corner of the room to the subject of
optical illusions, when some one of course suggested the hat experiment.
There is probably nothing the proportions of which are so deceptive as a
hat. Reader, if you have never tried the experiment, take a stick and
point out on the wall how high you think a hat would reach from the
floor if placed on its crown, as represented in our sketch.
[Illustration]
Aunty Delluvian, the first to try, took the stick and boldly measured
off a distance of between two and three feet, and utterly laughed to
scorn the moderate persons who satisfied themselves with ten inches.
After each of the measurements was marked with a pencil, and the hat
itself put beside them, showing every one to be wrong, Aunty's
amazement knew no bounds. Indeed, she would not be satisfied till we
brought our own hat to convince her that some deception had not been
practised.
This was Aunty Delluvian's first visit to the Adams', having only
recently been introduced through the agency of Nix. I was, therefore,
not unprepared for some criticism on our friends; but when the good
lady, towards the close of the evening, took us to one side and said
confidentially and emphatically, nodding her head at the same time
knowingly, "No flippery, flummery. I like her!" we were a little
surprised, the statement was so emphatic and yet so vague. That was all
she said, walking away briskly when she had so delivered herself, as
though she had rendered a final verdict. To which of the family did she
refer? To Mrs. Adams, we presume, and yet she might have said something
about the other members of the family. She is a queer creature is Aunty
Delluvian.
We are disposed to think that the ART of entertaining is rarely if ever
regarded as an ART, and certainly never treated as such. We, however, on
this occasion, laid our plans and arranged our forces with as much care
and skill as a general exercises in laying out a campaign. We have as
profound a respect for a good commissary as ever did Napoleon Bonaparte.
We had our reserve, too, and our signal corps, so that should the battle
waver at any moment, it might be immediately set going again. Amongst
other resources, we had a number of surprise pictures concealed in a
certain place, which were to be produced when occasion might require.
One of these will be found on opposite page, and comprises fifteen faces
in one. Pictures of this kind always amuse, and are fine provocatives of
conversation.
[Illustration: FIFTEEN FACES IN ONE.--_See page 229._]
Reader, when you give a party, do not bring your entire force into
action at first; always have a reserve to fall back upon.
We saw a whole group which was showing alarming symptoms of
demoralization rallied with a pocket-handkerchief. Nix saw the
emergency, drew his handkerchief, tied one end round the tip of his
finger, on which, with a few dots of the pen, he had indicated a comic
face, and threw himself into the dispirited crew, exclaiming:
"This is Rantepolefungus, the mysterious magician of Morocco." Then, in
a feigned voice:
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"How do, pretty ladee and gentlemen? Me tell fortune, work spell, makee
incantation. Me tell you fortune, pretty missee; you be, by-a-by, sixt
wife great street contractor; favorite wife, he givee dust-cart full of
greeny-back; much lovee you; cut off head of all other wife, makee you
much happy; he givee you large gold ring big's flour-barrel to wear in
your nosee, and six whiskey cocktails every morning. Pretty ladee, give
great magician buckshees," and a whole string of other nonsense, the
little Moor moving his head and hands all the time, suiting the action
to the words.
The sketches opposite will show how the Moor is made.
As we walked home with Nix, smoking our cigars, we agreed that the party
had been managed with consummate generalship. As we parted, he asked us
if we should like to have a small statue of Vishnu? Wonder what he
meant.