This is a very amusing deception. A tall young lad is dressed in a petticoat. Then a large umbrella is covered over its silk ribs with a gown and cloak; a ball, for a head, is tied on the point of the umbrella-stick above the dress, and a bonnet and thick veil put on it. The umbrella is partially opened, so that its sticks set out the dress and cloak as a crinoline does. The player gets under it, and, holding the handle up as high as he can grasp it, appears like a gigantic woman. Somebody knocks at the hall door to pretend that there is an arrival; and a minute or two afterwards the footman is to open the drawing-room door and announce "Miss Tiny Littlegirl." The giantess then walks into the drawing-room, to the amazement of the company, bows, &c. It has a good effect to enter holding the umbrella-handle naturally, and then to raise it by degrees, which will give a comical appearance of growth. We have seen the giantess thus appear to rise till she peered over the tops of the highest pictures in the room. The effect is exceedingly funny. She may talk to the company also, bending her head down towards them, and speaking in a shrill tone of voice. In clever hands, the giantess causes a great deal of fun. THE GREAT ORATOR. A Lord of Misrule is elected; he invites the guests to come and hear Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Disraeli, or any other distinguished orator, on any given subject. It requires two persons to deliver the oration. The one who is to speak puts his arms behind his back; a shorter friend (well concealed by the window curtains) passes his arms round the speaker's waist, and sup. plies with his own, the latter's want of hands. He is then to gesticulate to his friend's words, and the fun of the performance consists in the singular inappropriateness of the action to the speech, the invisible gesticulator making the orator absurd by his gestures. A table placed before the speaker, and a good arrangement of the curtains, makes the illusion very perfect. The speaker must be able to keep his countenance, as his gravity is likely to be severely taxed by his friend's pantomimical illustration of his speech. A BLIND JUDGMENT. A young lady is blindfolded. The Lord or Lady of Misrule then brings the players, one by one, up to her, and requires her opinion of them. She is not restored to sight till she has given a just opinion of some one, in accordance with the judgment of the company. Those presented must be quite silent, and endeavour to step lightly, so as not to let her guess whether she is giving her opinion of a young lady or a gentleman. A young lady's hands are to be put into a child's socks and little shoes. She is to disguise her face if known to the company- as effectually as possible. To do this, a piece of black sticking-plaster put over one of the front teeth, or over both, will prove very effectual; a little rouge or whiten ing the face will also help. Then she puts on a bonnet, shawl, &c. Another player stands behind her, and passes her arms round her. They stand in the window thus: the curtains are drawn so as to conceal the young lady behind entirely, except her arms, and a table is placed in the front of both. The front player puts her hands, dressed in shoes, on the table; the little girl behind her supplies, as we have said, arms and hands to the figure; and, if well managed, when the visitors are summoned "to see the dwarf who tells fortunes," they will be struck by the illusion of the pigmy apparently standing on the table. The dwarf is expected to be funny enough to make the guests laugh heartily. FAMOUS NUMBERS. We will tell you how this game was played by the Marston children one Christmas, assisted by Papa, Mamma, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Harry. The fire blazed high up the chimney, casting a rosy light on many happy faces, and giving quite a ruby hue to little Amy's small white arms and fair long hair, as she sat at her Papa's feet on a low stool. 66 Papa," said Ada, "how nice it would be if you and Mamma, and Aunt and Uncle, would have a game of Famous Numbers with us, till the dressing bell rings." "I have no objection, my dear," replied Papa, "if you will tell me how to play. Famous Numbers did not belong to the days of my childhood, I am afraid." ADA. Well, Papa, this is what we must do: I or Charlie must write on slips of paper some numbers-as many as we please. We twist our papers up, put them on one of the china plates, or in a bag, as we can, and you each draw one. Then you open it, and say, "My famous number is Twelve (o” whatever the number is). There were twelve famous Cæsars." If you don't know enough famous things or people to make the number, you pay a forfeit; but that will be impossible for you." PAPA. I am by no means sure: I think it very likely that I shall pay the first forfeit, myself. However, I am ready to try if I can escape. Ada and Charles then prepared their pieces of paper; handed them round, accepted the two finally left, and resumed their seats. Baby Amy would insist on taking a paper like the rest, so Papa promised to help her in finding her famous number. Mamma was to open hers first. I think Spring, MAMMA. I have drawn the famous number of Four. Summer, Autumn, and Winter are a famous four. ADA. I have drawn a famous number; it is Three. Oh! I know who shall be my famous three "The dauntless three who kept the bridge of old." PAPA. Can you repeat the lines of the Lay, Ada? ADA. I think I can. "Then out spake brave Horatius, The captain of the gate, And how can man die better "Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, "Then out spake Spurius Lartius, 'I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee." " AUNT MARY. Very well, Ada. I have drawn a famous number. My number is Twelve. As your Papa has mentioned the twelve Cæsars, I will give the twelve months of the year. CHARLEY. I have drawn a famous number-Nine. Of course I give the nine Muses. MARY. I have drawn a famous number; it is Two. Our two greatest generals, Marlborough and Wellington. ANNA. I have drawn a famous number; it is Five. The five Senses are very famous-Seeing, Hearing, Smelling, Tasting, and Touching. FANNY. I have drawn a famous number-Seven. Pleiades; they are called "Seven stars" sometimes. Seven stars in the MABEL. I have drawn a famous number-Eight. May I say an octave in music? It is the most famous eight I know. PAPA. I think we will not make you pay a forfeit this time. EDITH. I have drawn Eleven. I can't think of an eleven. (Anthony whispers to her). Oh, yes! The "All England" Eleven. AUNT MARY. I have drawn Six. Well! Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday-famous for work, if for nothing else. ANTHONY. I have drawn Ten. The Decemviri who misgoverned Rome. BABY AMY. See what mine is about. PAPA. It is One. Tell us a famous one, Amy. BABY. My own Mamma. ADA. But that won't do. It must be something really famous. Uncle Henry, you say it. UNCLE HENRY. Allow me to name the One who stands alone - GARI BALDI. CHARADES IN PANTOMIME. These charades are always played impromptu, and are often excessively comic. For the example word, let us take "Knighthood." One of the players-a brother or cousin-dresses himself as Don Quixote (for the Knight), with a basin on his head for a helmet, the poker for a lance, the fire-guard for a shield, &c., &c., as he can. He enters the room marching, followed by his squire, Sancho 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 the knight raises her, the cruel tyrant rushes out from behind a curtain to carry her away. The Don shakes his lance at him, and the tyrant, vanquished, falls to the earth. The knight leaves him there, and quits the scene victorious, leading the lady with reverential courtesy by the hand. Sancho turns and shakes his fist at the tyrant. In the next scene, a lady enters with an immense ugly Hood on her head. Two other ladies, who meet her, seem surprised, and follow her, looking at her hood. Suddenly she turns it back, and displays on it a written paper"The latest fashion." Ladies faint in dismay. The whole "Knighthood" is performed by the Don knighting a youth. Ladies fasten on his spurs and tie his scarf, &c. He kneels. The Don touches him on the shoulder with his sword. He rises, and a scene of dumb congratulation follows. Then the whole party advance and form a Left side. YOUNG KNIGHT. Young Knight's Squire, kneeling. This may be made very laughable if well performed. |