Frank Bellew - The Art of Amusing

A slight but pleasant tinkling now fell upon our ear, and behold! a maiden entered, bearing a tray covered with tall crystal minarets, and transparent goblets, which sparkled and twinkled in the lamplight, followed by a more youthful figure supporting vessels of porcelain and implements of burnished silver, above which wreathed and curled clouds of aromatic incense; or, in other and better words, two hired girls brought in coffee and punch. Punch! was it punch, or was it negus, or was it sherbet? We don't know, but it was a pleasant, moderately exhilarating beverage, compounded of whiskey, raspberry syrup, sugar, and orange-flower water, and manufactured by Nix, as he subsequently explained, at a cost of about thirty cents per bottle. A few little cakes and some plates of thin, daintily cut slices of bread-and-butter accompanied the beverages, and were handed round with them. We are great believers in eating and drinking at all social gatherings. It is convenient to have something to do with your mouth when you are stumped in the way of conversation. If suddenly asked a puzzling question, or hit in the chest with a sarcasm, what a resource is a glass of wine or cup of coffee, in which to dip your nose whilst you collect your ideas, or recover your breath. Besides, they give you something to do, generally, in a small way. They afford opportunities for small attentions, and excuses for rising from your seat, or moving from one part of the room to the other. Added to which, wine and coffee and cakes are nice things to take – you have the gratification of an additional sense. Then, too, these little things are refreshing, and put you all in good-humor. Therefore, for all these good reasons, and many more, we insist on refreshments, and we insist, too, upon some kind of vinous stimulant; this ice-water and doughnut business has been carried altogether too far; had we less of it in our homes, less money would pour into the coffers of the bar-keeper. If persons are teetotallers, all very well; we respect their opinions, and, perhaps, decline their invitations; but for people who have no moral scruples on the subject, to ask you to visit them, and then insist on your drinking red-hot weak green tea, when you are already nervous, perspire readily, have a tender gullet, and hate the confounded stuff any way, is downright tyranny, and the very opposite of all hospitality and true Christian charity. However, our friend Nix held orthodox views on this question; so all went well. By dint of helping each other to things we did want, and offering each other things we didn't want, with the aid of a cup of coffee for those that liked coffee, and a glass of punch for those who liked punch, not to forget the little cakes, which came in quite handy to nibble at occasionally, we all began to feel wonderfully at our ease, and quite sociable. The conversation did not flag much; but once when it showed a slight tendency to wobble, Nix set it in motion again by introducing the subject of optical illusions in connexion with the height of objects. After informing us that a horse's head was exactly as long as a flour-barrel, and that a common stove-pipe hat was as broad across the crown as it was high from the brim to the top (both of which statements were argued pro and con), he drew our attention to the vast difference the position of the shoulders make in a man's height. This he illustrated by walking from the audience with his shoulders in their natural position, until, having traversed half the length of the room, he suddenly raised them, as represented in the accompanying sketches. The effect was quite startling, and very ludicrous. All the male part of the company tried their shoulders at this experiment, even down to Freddy Nix, a little three-year-old, who, after ducking his head down on his chest, and toddling off across the room, returned swaggering, evidently under the impression that he had made a perfect giant of himself by the operation.

This was nominally a child's party, so we were to have some performances . The folding-doors into the adjoining parlor were closed, and one or two members of the company who were to be performers retired. In a few moments the doors opened and revealed an extempore stage. The kitchen clothes-horse, beautifully draped and decorated, formed the background; while on a line with the foot-lights were two heads, one at each side of the stage, intended to represent Tragedy and Comedy. They were simply two large pumpkins with grotesque faces marked on them with black and white paint. In less than no time a most remarkable-looking stranger stepped forward and began to address us. Every one stared, and wondered whence this singular-looking person could have come, for we hardly supposed that Nix could have had him secreted in the house all the evening for our special surprise. At last it dawned upon us, one by one, that the individual in question was no other than Mr. Graham, a very staid gentleman, who had been with us a moment before. The annexed brace of sketches will show the appearance of Mr. Graham off and on the stage. But how was this change effected? We will explain. In the first place he had procured a narrow strip of black silk, which he had drawn round one of his front teeth, with the two ends inside his mouth, which, at a very short distance, looked exactly as though he had lost one of his teeth. (A little piece of court-plaster stuck on the tooth will answer the same purpose.) Then he had made a loop of horse-hair or grey thread, and securing two of the ends to the lining inside his hat, had hooked up the end of his nose with the other; in fact, he had put his nose in a sling. This altered the character of his whole face, so that his own wife would not have known him had she not heard him speak. He now addressed the audience in a long, funny, showmanic rigmarole, of which we only remember the following:

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have all heard of the Ornithorhyncus, which, as you are aware, is a species of duck-billed Platypus. You are familiar with the habits and appearance of the Ororo Wow; and you have listened to the sweet notes of the Catomonsterbung; but you are entirely ignorant of the newly-discovered creature known to scientific men as the Long-nosed Night-Howler, or Vulgaris Pueris cum Papyrus Capitus. This extraordinary animal is chiefly sugariverous in its diet, though it will eat almost everything when driven by hunger. It is perfectly tame, and will only attack human beings when it feels like it. I will now proceed to exhibit this extraordinary creature, requesting you only not to run pins into the animal, as it does not like that style of thing. Bring in the Night-Howler!!"

The last words were addressed in a loud voice to an assistant outside, who immediately appeared, leading an animal such as is represented in the annexed cut. This monster began immediately to emit the most hideous and unearthly noises, as became the Night-Howler. After walking round among the audience once or twice, the Vulgaris Pueris retired behind the curtain. The accompanying sketch will explain how the Night-Howler is made. Beyond the boy and the boots and the brown-paper cap, all that is wanted is a rough shawl or large fur cape. The howl is produced by means of one or two instruments, into the construction of which we will in a future chapter initiate our readers. With one of these instruments the most varied tones may be produced, from the grunt of the hog to the most delicate notes of the canary.

The performance now proceeded: the second act being some feats of strength by one of our party who had the necessary physical ability for that kind of display. These embraced the following programme, each feat being announced by Mr. Showman with some extravagantly pompous title:

Balancing chair on chin.

Holding child three years old at arm's length.

Lying with the head on one chair and the heels on another without any intermediate support, and in this position allowing an apparently heavy but really light trunk to be placed on his chest.