NEW-YEAR'S DAY.--CHARACTERS, OR WHO AM I?--QUOTATIONS.--ACTING
CHARADES.--RIDDLES.
"A very happy New-Year to you, Aunt and Uncle!" "The same to you, dear
children! and may each one in your lives be happier than the last!" "As
the Spaniards say, 'May you live a thousand years!'" cried Charlie
Bolton. "I feel glad that wish is an impossible one," answered Mr.
Wyndham, with a smile. "How tired the world would be of seeing me, and
how weary I should be of life! No, no, my boy--I hope when my season of
active labor shall be closed, and I can no more be useful to my
fellow-men, that my kind Father in Heaven will grant me a mansion above,
where time is swallowed up in eternity."
There was service in the morning in the pretty little country church.
Strange that this beautiful and appropriate mode of commencing the
New-Year, which is so general in continental Europe, should be
frequently neglected here! It appears so very natural, upon entering
upon a new division of time, to consecrate its commencement by
acknowledgments of our dependence upon the Great Creator. At least, so
thought the family party assembled at The Grange; and they were amply
rewarded for the effort it cost them by the joyful, hopeful nature of
the services, which were intended to lead the soul to repose upon God
with unshaken trust for all future time.
In the evening, it was agreed that there should be no story, but that
games and conversation should fill up the time. Mary proposed a new game
she had heard of, "_Characters, or Who am I?_" While one left the room,
the rest agreed upon some historical personage who was to be represented
by the absentee upon his return. When he re-entered, unconscious whether
he was a Nero or a Howard, they addressed him in a manner suitable to
his rank and character, and he replied in such a way as to elicit
further information in regard to the important question, "Who am I?" As
he grew more sure of his own identity with the illustrious person whose
deeds they alluded to, his answers would become more unequivocal, until
at last he could announce that he had solved that difficult problem,
"know thyself." An amusing state of puzzle--a dreamy feeling that you
might be anybody in the world, was found to pervade the first replies.
Cornelia, who led the way in assuming a character, declared that she
felt like the little woman in Mother Goose's Melodies,
"If I be's I, as I suppose I be,
I have a little dog at home, and he knows me!"
and that when she found out who she really was, it was as grateful to
her as was the little dog's joyous bark to the unfortunate woman,
doubtful of her own identity.
When Cornelia entered, Mary said to her: "Does your majesty feel very
sore from your fall?"
"Very little bruised, indeed."
"Physically, I presume that you feel nothing; but you must suffer
mentally," remarked Ellen. "For a queen to be so disgraced, and for a
moment's pride to be brought down to the rank of a subject, and of a
divorced wife, is indeed a dreadful fate."
"A lofty mind," replied Cornelia, "can bear reverses."
"True," rejoined Charlie. "I rejoice to see your majesty bear up so
nobly: it is well that pride can sustain you in adversity, since it
occasioned your descent. And yet, do you know, most sovereign lady, I
have always entertained the idea that the reason you refused, in
obedience to your royal husband's command, to unveil your beauty to the
court, was not so much modesty and pride, as the fact of an unfortunate
pimple upon your nose, and a sty upon your eye, which had the effect of
making you look uncommonly ugly."
"Shame, ungallant sir! never, unless my silver mirror deceived me, did I
look more lovely. But if the laws of the Medes and Persians cannot be
changed, neither can the modest customs of their women be altered, even
at the command of the King, of Ahasuerus himself. I stand here, a martyr
to the rights of my sex: I, Vashti, queen of Persia, and of all the ends
of the earth, have proved myself to be strong in will, and the champion
of womanhood. I shall appear before all eyes as the first asserter of
woman's rights. But oh! that Jewish girl! that modest, shrinking,
beauteous, hateful Esther! that _she_ should wear my crown!"
"Well done, Cornelia! you have entered into the spirit of the game. And
now Charlie should go out, as you caught the idea from him."
Upon Charlie's re-entrance, Alice spoke: "Did Dante's genius inspire
you, gifted mortal, or did you sit so long at the feet of Isaiah, that
your harp caught up some of the tones of his?"
"Don't know, ma'am, indeed. Couldn't possibly give you any information
on that subject. Scarcely knew I was much of a poet until you told me."
"A man like you," said Ellen, "did not write for the unthinking
multitude, but for the select number who could appreciate. 'Fit
audience, though few,' is what you ask for. How shameful is it that such
worth and genius should languish in obscurity, in a pleasure-seeking
age! And that, while court minions rolled in luxury, you should sell
your glorious poem for the paltry sum of ten pounds!"
"It was really too bad," replied Charlie. "And the money went very fast,
too."
"And yet," answered Amy, "you were never of prodigal habits. You lived
simply, in the country: your supper was of bread and milk; your greatest
pleasure, to play upon the organ, or to listen to the music of others.
You retired early to rest: to be sure, you often awoke in the night,
your brain so filled with visions of beauty that you felt obliged to
arouse your daughter, that she might write them down, and so they were
saved for the benefit of future ages."
"What do people think," said Charlie, "about my waking up my daughter,
instead of taking the trouble to write down my poetry myself?"
"How could you, when you are stone-blind? And of what great consequence
was it that one common-place girl should sleep an hour or two later in
the morning, when such strains as yours were in question? A dutiful
daughter would feel honored by acting as your amanuensis, even in the
night season. True, the girl did grumble occasionally, being afflicted
with some portion of human weakness; and those who do not love inspiring
strains have called you cross, in consequence. But you should no more
regard these things than Samson--your own Samson Agonistes--caved for
the mockings of the Philistines."
"Of man's first disobedience"--began Charlie. "Hurrah! I feel quite
elevated since I have become Miltonic. And yet, do you know, I would
rather wear a strait-waistcoat than try long to sustain such a character
as that. I couldn't do it, indeed."
"I think you could not," replied Tom. "Now tell us whose speech gave you
the first impression of being Milton?"
"Oh, Amy's, to be sure. So go out, little Amy, and we'll try to find
some very angelic character for you to fill."
When Amy returned, Anna spoke: "What remarkable worldly prosperity! And
yet, though a strikingly handsome woman, with polished manners, and
Italian craftiness, you do not look happy."
"I am not--my heart is not at ease."
"Nor your conscience either," rejoined Charlie. "Unless you have found
some way to polish that, to make it match your face and manners, I
should think your majesty might find your conscience rather a
disagreeable companion."
"My majesty is not accustomed to rebuke."
"I know it--and if I were in France, I should fear that some of your
Italian powders might be sprinkled in my food or wine, in consequence.
But I wonder when I think of you--a simple duke's daughter--being raised
to the throne; and not only that, but of your ruling so absolutely over
the three kings, your sons. Mother-in-law to one of the greatest kings
of France, and to the most renowned of beautiful, suffering queens, what
more do you want to make you celebrated?"
"One thing only," answered Amy. "The Massacre of St. Bartholomew will
carry my name down to posterity. My daughter-in-law, Mary, Queen of
Scotts, was interesting, but I am great. She could kill one husband: I,
Catharine de Medici, will not say how many men groaned out my name that
night."
"And now," said Ellen, "let us play _Quotations_. One quotes a
well-known passage from some book, and if another mentions the author,
she is entitled to propose the next passage. It all depends for interest
upon our cleverness; so brighten up your wits, cousins mine."
"As I'm a poet," said Charlie, "I'll give you this:
'The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven.'"
"Shakspeare!" cried Tom. "Now where does this come from: 'the better
part of valor is--discretion.'"
"Shakspeare again," replied Alice. "And in what book do you find this
passage, which corroborates that noble sentiment:
'He that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day.'"
"In Butler's Hudibras, I believe," rejoined Ellen. "And where may that
truth be found, which evidently is intended only for boys and men--'Use
every man after his desert, and who shall escape whipping?'"
"Of course it was said by no one else than Will Shakspeare, the
deer-stealer--he knew it held good of himself, and was indulgent to
others. And who was it that wrote this epitaph:
'Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as can die:
Which in life did harbor give
To more virtue than can live.'"
"That was 'rare Ben Jonson,' I am sure," replied Alice. "If her pale
ghost could have blushed, I think it would, at such lofty and exquisite
praise. For my part, I could say, 'Speak of me as I am; nothing
extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.'"
"That's Shakspeare again," cried Charlie. "It is surprising how many
passages come into one's head from that wonderful man's works. Where is
this to be found: 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.'"
"In the Bible, of course--though I do not remember in what part," said
Mary.
"Think again," replied Charlie, "for you are quite wrong: it can never
be found in the Bible."
"Oh, but I'm sure it is there: I'll get a concordance and find the
passage in a minute." Accordingly she did so, but was obliged to
acknowledge herself defeated: it was nowhere to be discovered.
"Since you are at a loss, I can set you right, for once," said Mrs.
Wyndham. "The passage is to be found in Sterne's works: I have myself
heard it quoted in the pulpit as from the Bible, and many people really
think that it is. Here's another:
'When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.'"
"That's from Shakspeare, I know," answered Tom.
"'Tis from Troilus and Cressida, I imagine--that is a Greek play."
"Then find it, my boy," said Mrs. Wyndham, handing him Mrs. Cowden
Clarke's elaborate volume.
"It is not in the whole book," replied Tom, after a diligent search,
laying down the volume, with a face as blank as the leaves at the end.
"If it is not in Shakspeare, I give up."
"'How poor are they, that have not patience!'" cried Cornelia. "Can you
tell us where that piece of wisdom may be found?"
"Yes--in Shakspeare--the same author who writes 'This was the most
unkindest cut of all!'"
"I thought of that passage concerning the Greek, which seems to have
baffled you all," rejoined Mrs. Wyndham, "because I was once a whole
year on the watch to discover it. It happened to be quoted at a little
literary gathering, and none of us could tell the author, although it
was 'familiar in our mouths as household words.' We agreed to search for
it, but it was full a year before I found it, in looking over the
play--quite a celebrated one--entitled 'The Rival Queens,' by poor Nat.
Lee, commonly called the 'crazy poet.' Alexander the Great is the hero."
"We know so many quotations at second-hand," said Mrs. Wyndham, "that I
like this game: it will set us to hunting up the original passages, and
seeing their connections. If people would act upon this principle, of
going to head-quarters, with regard to history--and in private life
too--how many mistakes might be saved."
"And now, just to keep us from becoming too wise," Cornelia chimed in,
"I propose that we act charades. A group of us will arrange the plot in
the library, and when we open the door, the rest of you must guess from
our actions what word we intend to depict. We'll choose one of several
syllables, so that there will be repeated opportunities given you to
sharpen your wits. And if you should conjecture the whole word before we
are through, please not to spoil sport by telling it."
"We are all obedience," was the reply: and Cornelia, Charlie, and
George, after a whispered consultation, and a foraging expedition into
the housekeeper's room, shut themselves up in the library. Soon the door
was thrown open, and the three were seen gravely seated at a small
table, sipping imaginary tea, while Cornelia, as hostess, was anxious to
fill her part by replenishing their cups. "Tea," "tea," sounded from
every part of the room, and the door was closed. When again opened, the
three cousins were disclosed in the very height of enjoyment: Charlie's
mirth-provoking face, Cornelia's gay laugh, and George's loud and long
haw-haw, quite upset the gravity of the spectators, and peal after peal
of laughter rewarded the trio. "How merry we are!" said Aunt Lucy. As
she spoke the word, the door was shut, showing that the right expression
had been used. When re-opened, Cornelia was discovered carefully
arranging Charlie's cravat. "Shall I make a sailor's knot, or how shall
I fix it?" "Give it a plain tie, if you please." There was little
difficulty in discovering that the word was _temerity_; and to make
"assurance doubly sure," the whole of it was acted out. George and
Cornelia stood up, holding hands, while Charlie, who had in a
marvellously short time metamorphosed himself into a minister, with
gown, bands, and book, put to the former the question, "Will you take
this woman to be your lawful wife?" "I will," responded George. "Will
you take this man to be your lawful husband?" "No, I will not," answered
Cornelia, hysterically. "You will not? What, madam, is the reason of
this change of purpose? Have you not well considered the matter?" "No, I
have not--I have been very rash--I never saw him till yesterday!" "What
_temerity_!" exclaimed the clergyman reprovingly, and the door was
closed, amid great laughter.
When it was re-opened, George was found seated in the centre of the
room, under the hands of the Doctor, who was examining his eye; while
Cornelia, with an appearance of great anxiety, held the light. "Is it
out yet?" "No, Doctor: I feel it still--how it hurts!" Thereupon the
Doctor produced a formidable instrument from his pocket, and appeared
about to gouge out the eye by way of curing it; and the door was closed
amid cries of "eye!" "eye!" "eye!"--quite parliamentary, as Charlie
said. The second scene disclosed Cornelia apparently engaged in
household avocations, which were interrupted by a rap at the door. She
gave admittance to a man and boy who were peddling tin wares, and there
ensued such a sounding of tin-pans, and such a chaffering about tins,
that no doubt could exist in the minds of the spectators as to the word.
To act out the third syllable, Cornelia and George were seated at a
table, with lamp and books, when a knock was heard, and a traveller,
with carpet-bag and umbrella, entered the room. He had lost his way--he
was going to the town of Certainty, in the land of Theoretical
Speculation, and wanted some plain directions. "Oh, I can tell you
exactly how to get there," cried Cornelia. "Keep along this road, the
highway of Inquiry, until you find it bends off to the left into the
path of Metaphysics. The path becomes narrower and more difficult
continually, and many side-walks lead off to other spots: one, to the
wilderness of Atheism; another, to the populous city of
Thinkasyouplease; still another, to the dangerous bog of Alldoubt. But
if you follow the right road, you cannot possibly err." "Much obliged:
I'll try to keep the path." Presently, the traveller returned, in a
battered condition: he had wandered from the right track; his cloak of
philosophical reason had been torn by the briers of difficulty; his feet
pierced, through the shoes of intellectual pride, by the sharp stones of
suffering: he could not hear of any town of Certainty in the whole
country of Theoretical Speculation. "I believe we have all made a
mistake," replied George. "We erred in giving you a wrong direction: you
erred in following it. Certainty is situated in the land of Truth:
follow this highway of Inquiry in the opposite direction, until it leads
you to a well-trodden road formed by the juncture of Faith and Facts;
and then you cannot fail to reach Certainty. My sister Fancy misled you
into error." And when the company in the sitting-room cried out "err,"
"err," the shutting of the door showed they were not mistaken. For the
last scene, Aunt Lucy was called into requisition, and formed the
central object of the exhibition. But little wit was required to make,
of the whole, the word _Itinerant_.
"Now for a few puzzles and conundrums," cried Charlie, "I have one which
I think none of you can guess. Who are the most immoral of
manufacturers? Do you give it up?"
"I have heard the answer--we could not guess it, as it consists of
puns," replied Mary. "Those who make you _steel_ pens, and then say they
do _write_."
"Here's another. Why is the clock the most humble of all things?"
"Because it covers its face with its hands, and is continually running
itself down."
"When is it in a passion?"
"When it is ready to strike one."
"Pray, what can be the difference between Joan of Arc and Noah's ark?"
"One was made of gopher-wood--the other was Maid of Orleans."
"Two persons met in the street, and one of them said, 'I am _your_ son,
but you are not _my_ father.' How could that be?"
"It could not be, Charlie!--how could it?" said Lewis.
"It might be, if the person happened to be his mother," answered Mary,
with a laugh.
"It is that, of course--how silly we all are!"
"My first is on the table, and under the table; my second is a kind of
grain; my third and fourth combined, form what the most romantic people
cannot well dispense with; and my whole is one of the United States."
"Let us see--California? no. Massachusetts will not do, nor Connecticut.
Oh, I have it: it is _Matrimony_--not always a united state, however!"
"You think not, Ellen? Then here is a piece of advice for you, and to
make it more emphatic and intelligible, I will write it upon a card."
Be [A] meddling man family wife.
[Illustration: Word puzzle]
"I have it! _eureka_!" cried Tom Bolton. "Be above meddling in a family
between man and wife."
"Why are pens, ink, and paper like the fixed stars?"
"They are stationary."
"A gentleman visited a prisoner; and, pointing to him, said to the
bystanders,
"'Brothers and sisters have I none;
But this man's father was my father's son.'
What relationship was there between them?"
"A slight one--only that of father and son," answered Cornelia.
"What glorious fun we have had this week!" cried George. "It will be
hard work to go back again to _hic, hæc, hoc_--I wish Christmas holidays
could come once a week!"
"So do not I, much as I love them," replied Mr. Wyndham, smiling. "It is
the alternation of grave and gay, of diligent study and active duty with
lively social intercourse, which will make you complete men and women. I
would not have you to be mere drudges, in the most useful work; nor
book-worms at home, only in the library, and unfit for mingling with
your fellow-men. But much less would I like to see you
triflers--butterflies--living only for amusement. I hope you will become
earnest men and women: choosing great and good aims in life, and working
your way upward continually to greater usefulness, and to a higher moral
elevation. But amusement is not wasted time: it may be so indulged as to
be improving to the wits, and never to transgress the line of innocency.
I have often felt the benefit of a hearty laugh, when my brain has been
overtasked: it is recreation, in the strict meaning of the term--it
gives new life to the exhausted spirits. Yes, I approve of
entertainment, in its place."
"So do I, heartily, my dear sir!" chimed in Cornelia. "And its place is
everywhere, I think. I never heard uncle make so long a speech before!"
"Beware, or I will punish you by making another!" replied Mr. Wyndham,
drawing the mischievous girl towards him. "But I have news for you all,
which I think will scarcely disturb your slumbers. I received a note
this afternoon, informing me that the united wisdom of your parents had
concluded to prolong your holiday by one day; and so your 'Week's
Delight,' as Amy calls it, must be counted by Long Measure--a week and a
day."
"Glorious!" cried George. "Let's pack the day as full of fun as ever it
will hold. I never shall forget the jolly time we have had this year at
The Grange!"
"Not even the ice-bath at the pond, George?" said Cornelia.
"No, indeed; nor my kind deliverance; nor my brave rescuer," answered
George.
"That might, indeed, have turned our laughter into weeping," replied Mr.
Wyndham, lighting his lamp. "And now, Good-night, and happy dreams!"