from it, and which has some very peculiar properties appertaining to
it. It stands upon one leg,—on which, without any body, is seen a great
square head. It has three eyes, of which the centre is by far the
largest; indeed so much so, that it has before now contained two more.
The head is of a very peculiar construction, but exactly suited to its
design: whenever it is about to be used, it is separated in halves,
and, when reconnected, is held up to the gaze of an insolent rabble.
All the notice, however, which it generally attracts, results from
its being the effectual means of exhibiting another to the gaze of a
hostile crowd. Such is this when entire; but when divided, and cut to
pieces, a curious and careful observer may collect all that follows, by
a selection and appropriate arrangement of its fragments.
A dose of medicine conveyed in a very agreeable manner, as, however
nauseous its ingredients may have originally been, it is quite
tasteless. Such a state of the physical powers as requires such a dose.
A part of the face, of a color quite different from the rest, and the
more handsome, the greater the difference. A public record on which
many are very anxious to get their names entered; or, to descend from
great things to small, a substance that is devoured every morning for
breakfast. A river which flows through a very delightful and agreeable
part of Europe. What curious people are very fond of doing. What a
candidate, for your vote at the next general election, if he should
think it worth his while, will demand. A very poetical portion of the
watery element, which murmurs and meanders in the description of many
a poetaster. A quality of resinous substances. A female nickname.
What is very necessary to be done occasionally in your shrubbery.
An exclamation of surprise. A flower displaying more to admire than
Solomon in all his glory. To tear. The expressed juice of olives,—and
its adjective. A conjunction. And two initial letters, whose reiterated
sounds have drowned the voices of strutting monarchs and ephemeral
heroes.
2.
Ye who in mystic lines delight,
Unveil and bring me forth to light,
Nor deem me tiresome, if my song
Should, like myself, prove wondrous long.
It may perhaps excite your mirth,
That animals to me give birth;
Yet vegetables oftener claim
The honor to produce the same.
One time as white as snow I’m seen,
Another, red, blue, yellow, green;
The friendly brown I also wear,
Or in a sable garb appear:
The rhetorician owns my power,
For though well dressed with many a flower
His florid speech would gain no praise,
But, losing me, contempt would raise.
But now my name you surely know,
Dissected in the lines below.
That power to which we all must bend;
And what we call a valued friend;
A goddess of revengeful fame;
And Abram’s near relation’s name;
Two articles in common use;
And what we oft complain of news;
A weed which grew upon the plain,
Suffer’d till harvest to remain;
Two quadrupeds will next appear,
Which both conduce to sport and cheer;
A third, a noxious little creature;
And what adds charms to simple nature;
A fruit; a color; and a date
A firm support of Britain’s state;
What high, yet low, we wish to be;
A term for one who goes to sea;
One thing another oft put over;
Two things by this you may discover,—
To make my hint somewhat more plain,
One keeps the other from the rain;
The vital spring of every woe;
And every pleasure that we know;
What’s always done whene’er we walk;
And what we do when others talk;
With what we’ve done when they give o’er
Two notes in music next explore;
What, join’d to _home_, is sent about,
As invitation to a rout;
What oft we see upon the plain;
Two little words denoting pain,
Or quick surprise, or laughter vain
A sign of sorrow; mark of spirit;
What envy bears superior merit;
A fragrant shrub we oft infuse:
Two pronouns in most frequent use;
A passion which the envious feel;
A weapon pointed oft with steel;
One of the properties of stone;
A term for misanthrope well known;
What oft in summer months we feel;
What aids when secrets you reveal;
What sinful deeds should ever be;
What’s daily done by you and me.
If all these meanings you expound,
Just five and forty will be found.
3.
I was before the world begun,
Before God made the rising sun;
Before He made the lesser lights
To drive the darkness from the nights.
I’m at the bottom of the sea,
And I am in immensity;
The daily motion of the earth
Dispels me, and to me gives birth;
You cannot see me if you try,
Although I’m oft before your eye.
Such is my whole. But for one part
You’ll find in taste I’m rather tart;—
Now I become th’ abode of men,—
And now for meaner things, a pen;
I am a man who lives by drinking,—
Anon I keep a weight from sinking;
To take me, folks go far and near,
I am what children like to hear;
I am a shining star on high,
And I’m its pathway through the sky;
I take the strength from iron and steel,—
Am sometimes left behind a wheel;
I am a term of due respect,—
Am used in English to connect;
I’m made to represent a head,—
Am found on every loaf of bread.
Such are the many forms I take,
All these, and many more I make;
Yet, after all, so strange am I,
Soon as you know me, then I die.
4
The man of letters finds me in his books;
The angler by the side of babbling brooks;
The sportsman seeks me with his dog and gun;
In foreign lands the traveler thinks I’m won;
The spendthrift hopes to buy me with his gold;
And childhood has me when a tale is told;
The love of me decoys the giddy youth,
From useful studies, till he learns this truth,
“All those who seek me _only_, most I fly;”
Lastly, when you my hidden sense descry,
You’ll own that for my sake you pondered long
The countless changes, that to me belong.
Such am I as a whole—but for _one_ part,—
The youth invokes me when he feels love’s dart;
The Swiss, when exiled from his native vales,
Hears me with anguish, and his fate bewails;
New zest I add to scandal’s busy hour;
And adverse winds and tides confess my power;
I am the dazzling source whence colors flow;
The sluggard’s teacher; and your equal now;
Without me sails were useless; then a word
Expressing like; and now meek woman’s lord;
To measure next; anon to add; to vex;
The gentle office of the weaker sex;
I’m flesh, not fish—I’m silent ever;
Sought by all ranks, on earth found never;
Your near relation, and the squirrel’s food;
What you would keep when in a lazy mood;
Neptune’s abode; the forest monarch’s pride;
A term to the departed souls applied;
What you possess, but others oftener use;
Your coat must have me, spite of what you choose;
Now the soft clime of “the cedar and vine;”
And last, a short word importing new wine.
More could I tell, but I bid you adieu,
Lest by prating I cause my own loss to you.
SOLUTIONS TO REBUSSES.
1. Kite.
2. Swallow.
3. Thrush.
4. OWL.
5. Partridge.
6. Parrot.
7. Wren.
8. Goose.
9. Crow.
10. Crane.
11. Magpie.
12. Wheatear.
13. Gull.
14. Turkey.
15. Marten.
16. Starling.
17. Bat.
18. Sparrow.
19. Snipe.
20. Fieldfare.
21. Duck.
22. Pigeon.
23. Grate; great.
24. Caper; cape; cap.
SOLUTIONS TO ANAGRAMS.
1. Potentates.
2. Lawyers.
3. Christianity.
4. Old England.
5. Telegraphs.
6. Radical reform.
7. Horatio Nelson.
8. Charades.
9. Charles James Stuart.
10. Napoleon Bonaparte.
11. Astronomers.
12. The opposition.
13. Parishioners.
14. Catalogues.
15. Revolution.
16. Presbyterian.
17. Penitentiary.
18. La Revolution Française.
19. Democratical.
20. Misanthrope.
21. Funeral.
22. Enigmatical.
23. Festival.
24. Solemnity.
25. Sovereignty.
26. Pedagogues.
27. James Stuart.
28. Disappointment.
29. Phaeton.
30. Monastically.
31. Patience.
32. Breath.
33. Wealth.
34. Arthur Wellesley.
35. Dissemination.
36. Miniature.
37. Parishioner.
38. Sweetheart.
SOLUTIONS TO LOGOGRIPHS.
1. Pillory: in which may be found pill; ill; lip; roll; Po; pry; poll;
rill; ropy; Polly; lop; lo; lily; rip; oil; oily; or; O. P.
2. Thread: in which may be found, death; dear; Ate; Terah; the; dearth;
tare; hare; hart; rat; art; a; date; red; era; trade; rated; tar; hat;
head; heart; tread; hear; heard; re; da; at, herd; ah; ha; tear; dare;
hate; tea; her; eh; hated; dart; hard; hater; heat; ear; hatred; eat.
3. Obscurity: in which may be found, sour; city; sty; sot; buoy; tour;
story; orb: orbit; rust; rut; sir; or; bust; crust.
4. Amusement: in which may be found, Muse; tea; stream; sun; ant; mate;
mast; as; man; mete; sum; tease; amuse; meat; mute; ease; aunt; nut;
seat; sea; mane; manes; name; seam; east; strum.
Some persons cannot, without considerable difficulty, find the proper
answer to an enigma or a rebus; while others, of no greater general
acuteness, do so with ease. It is no proof, therefore, of inferiority,
not to be able to reply to a quaint conundrum, so quickly as another.
Many young people have displayed much ingenuity in the construction
of different sorts of riddles in rhyme,—they are, in general, the most
happy in solving those of others. The admirers of these frequently
amusing trifles, consider opposition in their component parts, or
curious combinations, to be most essential in the construction of good
riddles.
CHARADES.
In some form or other, the game of charades is played in almost every
country under the sun. The most popular form is as follows:
Send one-half the company out of the room, the others remaining as
audience. Rooms separated by double doors or portières are best for the
scene of action.
The party outside thinks of some word which can be represented entire,
in pantomime or tableau. Thus, the door opening, discloses a half dozen
young girls standing in a line, while one of the acting party announces
that this striking tableau represents the name of a famous orator. The
audience failing to guess, is told that Cicero (Sissy-row) is the man.
Again just as the clock strikes ten, the doors opening, reveal a lady
eating an apple or any convenient edible, while a gentleman who stands
near, points to the clock and then at her. This being correctly guessed
to represent “attenuate,” (at ten you ate) the other side goes from the
room and the previous performers become the audience.
There are a host of words which, with a little ingenuity and the aid of
a dictionary, may be turned to account. For example:
Ingratiate. (In grey she ate.)
Catering. (Kate. Her ring.)
Hero. (He row.)
Tennessee. (Ten, I see.)
And so on. Clever players will devise new and amusing combinations in
the game.
Charades may be performed after a variety of different fashions. First
is the highly finished charade, with speech and action carefully
prepared and duly rehearsed. Secondly, the spoken charade, got up on
the spur of the moment, words and action alike _ex tempore_. We have
seen a good deal of fun got out of charades of this description; but
unless the actors are of more than average ability, and have some
little dramatic experience, the chances are much against any very
satisfactory result. On the whole, we should strongly recommend, that
where a charade is got up _ex tempore_, it should be acted in pantomime
only. It is of course understood that, whatever be the particular mode
of performance, a charade always represents a “word” to be guessed,
with one scene to each syllable (or group of consecutive syllables),
and a final scene representing the whole word. The successive scenes
are sometimes wholly independent of each other, but in the more
finished class of charades are made parts of a complete drama. The
following are good charade words:—
Knighthood,
Penitent,
Looking-glass,
Hornpipe,
Necklace,
Indolent,
Light-house,
Hamlet,
Pantry,
Phantom,
Windfall,
Infancy,
Snow-ball,
Definite,
Bowstring,
Carpet,
Sunday,
Shylock,
Earwig,
Matrimony,
Cowhiding,
Welcome,
Sweepstake,
Sackcloth,
Antidote,
Antimony,
Pearl-powder,
King-fisher,
Football,
Housekeeping,
Friendship,
Horsemanship,
Coltsfoot,
Bridegroom,
Housemaid,
Curl-papers,
Crumpet.
It will be obvious that in some of these instances, as, for instance,
“Sweepstake,” “Housekeeping,” two syllables must be taken together to
supply the _motif_ for a single scene.
We will take the word “Windfall,” as affording a ready illustration of
the pantomime charade, and be it remembered that, in charades of this
description, the shorter and simpler the action the better. Thus the
scene, “Wind,” may be represented by a German Band, puffing away at
imaginary ophicleides and trombones, with distended cheeks and frantic
energy, though in perfect silence. The next scene, “Fall,” may be a
party of boys on a slide, who “keep the pot-a-boiling” for a moment
or two, and then _exeunt_. Enter an elderly gentleman, with umbrella
up; walks unsuspectingly on to the slide, and falls. It should be
mentioned, that the expedient adopted in the _very_ early days of the
drama, of putting up a placard to notify, “This is a street.” “This is
the quarter-deck of the _Baltimore_,” is quite correct in the case of
a pantomime charade. The complete word, “Windfall,” may be represented
by a young man sitting alone, leaning his elbows on his hands, and
having every appearance of being in the last stage of impecuniosity.
To produce this effect, he may go through a pantomime of examining his
purse and showing it empty, searching his pockets, and turning them
one by one inside out, shaking his head mournfully, and sitting down
again, throwing into his expression as much despair as he conveniently
can. A letter carrier’s whistle is heard; a servant enters with a
legal-looking letter. The impecunious hero, tearing it open, produces
from it a roll of bank-notes (these, if a due supply of the genuine
article does not happen to be readily obtainable, may be of the “Bank
of Elegance” description), and forthwith gives way to demonstrations of
the most extravagant delight, upon which the curtain falls.
A very absurd, but not the less meritorious, charade of this class is
represented as follows:—The curtain rises (_i. e._, the folding-doors
are thrown open), and a placard is seen denoting, “This is Madison
Square,” or any other place where professional men most do congregate.
Two gentlemen in out-door costumes cross the stage from opposite sides,
and bow gravely on passing each other, one of them saying, as they do
so, “Good-morning, doctor.” The curtain falls, and the audience are
informed that the charade, which represents a word of six syllables, is
complete in that one scene. When the spectators have guessed, or been
told that the word is “met-a-physician,” the curtain again rises on
precisely the same scene, and the same performance, action for action,
and word for word, is repeated over again. The audience hazard the same
word “metaphysician,” as the answer, but are informed that they are
wrong,—the word now represented having only three syllables, and they
ultimately discover that the word is “metaphor” (met afore).
In another charade of similar character, if the audience be classically
inclined, when the curtain rises, nothing is seen but a little toy
wooden horse, such as can be bought for fifty cents. The spectators are
told that this forms a word of two syllables, representing an island
in the Ægean Sea. If the spectators are well up in ancient geography,
they may possibly guess that Delos (deal ’oss) is referred to. The
curtain falls, and again rises on the same contemptible object, which
is now stated to represent a second island in the same part of the
world. The classical reader will at once see that Samos (same ’oss)
is intended. Again the curtain rises on the representation of another
island. _Two_ little wooden horses now occupy the scene, Paros (pair
’oss) being the island referred to. Once more the curtain rises, this
time on a group of charming damsels, each reclining in a woe-begone
attitude, surrounded by pill-boxes and physic-bottles, and apparently
suffering from some painful malady. This scene represents a word of
three syllables, and is stated to include all that has gone before.
Cyclades (sick ladies), the name of the group to which Delos, Samos,
and Paros belong, is of course the answer.
Another comical charade is a performance representing the word
“imitation.” The spectators are informed that the charade about to be
performed can only be exhibited to one person at a time. One person is
accordingly admitted into the room in which the actors are congregated.
The unhappy wight stares about him with curiosity, not unmingled with
apprehension, fearing to be made the victim of some practical joke; nor
is his comfort increased by finding that his every look or action is
faithfully copied by each person present. This continues until he has
either guessed or given up the word, when a fresh victim is admitted,
and the new initiate becomes in turn one of the actors. Sometimes,
however, the victim manages to turn the laugh against his persecutors.
We have known a young lady, seeing through the joke, quietly take a
chair, and remain motionless, reducing the matter to a simple trial of
patience between herself and the company.
Acted charades, to be successful, demand much care and preparation.
There are numerous printed collections of charades of this kind,
obtainable from any bookseller. Whatever be the charade selected, we
cannot too strongly impress upon the reader the advantage of frequent
and careful rehearsal.
JUVENILE GAMES.
“WHAT D’YE BUY?”
This game may be played by any number from three to thirteen. There
are a dozen good-sized pieces of cardboard, each bearing a colored
illustration of one of the “trades” following: viz., a milliner, a
fishmonger, a greengrocer, plumber, a music-seller, a toyman, mason,
a pastrycook, a hardware-man, a tailor, a poulterer, and a doctor.
Besides these there are a number of smaller tickets, half a dozen to
each trade. Each of these has the name of the particular trade and also
the name of some article in which the particular tradesman in question
may be considered to deal. A book accompanies the cards, containing a
nonsense story, with a blank at the end of each sentence.
One of the players is chosen as leader, and the others each select a
trade, receiving the appropriate picture, and the six cards containing
the names of the articles in which the tradesman deals. He places his
“sign” before him on the table, and holds the remainder of his cards in
his hand. The leader then reads the story, and whenever he comes to one
of the blanks, he glances towards one of the other players, who must
immediately, under penalty of a forfeit, supply the blank with some
article he sells, at the same time laying down the card bearing its
name. The incongruity of the article named with the context make the
fun of the game, which is heightened by the vigilance which each player
must exercise in order to avoid a forfeit. Where the number of players
is very small, each may undertake two or more trades.
We will quote a small portion of the story, by way of illustration. The
concluding words indicate the trade of the person at whom the leader
glances to fill up a given hiatus.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I propose to relate some curious adventures
which befell me and my wife Peggy the other day, but as I am troubled
with a complaint called ‘Non mi ricordo,’ or the ‘Can’t remembers,’ I
shall want each of you to tell me what you sell: therefore when I stop
and look at one of you, you must be brisk in recommending your goods.
Whoever does not name something before I count ‘three’ must pay a
forfeit. Attention!
“Last Friday week I was awoke very early in the morning by a loud
knocking at my door in Humguffin Court. I got up in a great fright, and
put on”—(looks at Toyman, who replies, “a fool’s cap and bells,” and
lays down that card).
“When I got downstairs, who should there be but a fat porter, with a
knot, on which he carried”—(Poulterer) “a pound of pork sausages.”
“‘Hallo!’ said I, ‘my fine fellow, what do you want at this time of
day?’ He answered”—(Fishmonger) “A cod’s head and shoulders.”
“‘Get along with you,’ I said; ‘there’s my neighbor, Dr. Drenchall, I
see, wants’”—(Butcher) “a sheep’s head.”
“I now went up to shave, but my soap-dish was gone, and the maid
brought me instead”—(Milliner) “a lady’s chip hat.”
“My razor had been taken to chop firewood, so I used”—(Greengrocer) “a
cucumber.”
“I then washed my face in”—(Doctor) “a cup of quinine,” “cleaned
my teeth with”—(Fishmonger) “a fresh herring,” and “combed my hair
with”—(Pastrycook) “a jam tart.”
“My best coat was taken possession of by pussy and kittens, so I
whipped on”—(hardware-man) “a dripping pan.”
“The monkey, seeing how funny I looked, snatched off my wig, and
clapped on my head”—(Poulterer) “a fat hen.”
“I now awoke my wife, and asked her what she had nice for breakfast;
she said”—(Doctor) “a mustard plaster.”
“Then I scolded Sukey, the servant, and called her” (Poulterer) “a
tough old turkey.”
“But she saucily told me I was no better than”—(Music-seller) “an old
fiddle.”
“I soon had enough of that, so I asked my wife to go with me to
buy”—(Tailor) “a pair of trousers.”
“But she said she must have her lunch first, which consisted of——”
etc., etc., through half a dozen pages, the tradesmen supplying more or
less appropriate articles to fill up the gaps in the discourse.
“A TRIP TO PARIS.”
There is another game on the same principle, known by the somewhat
ambitious title of “The most Laughable Thing on Earth; or A Trip to
Paris.” The tickets for this game are nearly 150 in number, each
containing name and grotesque sketch of some article or articles, as “a
hod of mortar,” “a guinea-pig,” “a basin of gruel,” “a wheelbarrow,”
“a jar of pickles,” “a tub of soft soap,” “two dozen eggs,” “Jemima’s
new bonnet,” “some castor-oil,” “a penny whistle,” “a peck of peas,”
etc., etc. The game is full of innocent nonsense and played precisely
as in the last case (save that there is no reference to any particular
trades). The story to be read by the leader commences as follows:
“Brown, Jones, and Robinson were walking together in the streets of
Boston, when Brown suddenly exclaimed, ‘I will go to Paris, and return
the personification of ——’
“‘I, too,’ said Jones, ‘should like to see Paris, but I have not got ——’
“‘And I should like to accompany you,’ said Robinson, ‘if I knew ——’
“‘Go with us then,” said Brown, ‘and we’ll have ——’
“‘There’s an excursion train to New York in the morning; we can see the
“lions” there on our way, and then take ——’
“It was now ‘Pack and off!’ Brown went to bid his friends good-bye,
giving to each a parting gift. To an old schoolfellow he gave ——
“To Matilda Jane, a young lady who laid claim to his heart, he gave,
with a kiss, ——
“Now, Matilda Jane would not be outdone, so she kissed him twice, and
begged him to accept of ——
“Brown was perplexed, but he took the gift, and going home was saluted
by the children, who shouted, ‘There goes a man with ——’
“That night he had wonderful dreams; he thought he was chased by ——
“And that he was trying to crowd into his carpetbag ——
“When a man came along and charged him with stealing ——
“He was enraged at this, and was about to pitch into the man, when he
awoke, and found it all a dream, caused by his having eaten for supper
——
“He was early at the station, and on asking for a ticket, the clerk
gave him ——”
And so on, in like manner. These last games, as a change from graver
recreations, make a good deal of fun, particularly with young players.
THE COOK WHO DOESN’T LIKE PEAS.
The fun of this game depends on a fair proportion of the players not
being acquainted with it. The leader begins, addressing the first
player, “I have a cook who doesn’t like peas (_p’s_); what will you
give her for her dinner?” The person addressed, if acquainted with
the secret, avoids the letter _p_ in his answer, and, for example,
says, “I will give her some walnuts.” The question is then asked of
the second person, who, if unacquainted with the trick, is likely
enough to offer some delicacy which contains the letter _p_; _e. g._,
potatoes, asparagus, pork, apple-pie, pickled cabbage, peanuts, etc.,
etc. When this occurs, the offender is called upon to pay a forfeit,
but the precise nature of his offence is not explained to him. He is
simply told, in answer to his expostulations, that “the cook doesn’t
like _p’s_.” When a sufficient number of forfeits has been extracted,
the secret is revealed, and those who have not already guessed it are
aggravated by being told over and over again that the cook did not like
_p’s_, and if they would persist in giving them to her, they must, of
course, take the consequences.
WORD-MAKING.