In some form or other the game of charades is played in almost every country under the sun. In acting charades the characters and situation are made to represent a play upon a word or words by portraying some feature which vividly brings such word or words to the mind.
Here is a popular one: Send one-half the company out of the room, into another which may be separated by double doors; portieres are best for the purpose. The party in the inner room think of some word which can be represented entire, in pantomime or tableau, and proceed to enact it. After they have made up, the door opens, and discloses half a dozen girls standing in a line, while one of the acting party announces that this striking tableau represents the name of a famous orator. The others failing to guess are told that Cicero (Sissy-row) is the orator represented.
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 may be turned to account. For example:
Ingratiate. (In gray she ate.) Catering. (Kate. Her ring.) Hero. (He row.) Tennessee. (Ten, I see.) The following are also good charade words: Knighthood, penitent, looking-glass, hornpipe, necklace, indolent, lighthouse, Hamlet, pantry, phantom, windfall, sweepstake, sackcloth, antidote, antimony, pearl powder, kingfisher, football, housekeeping, infancy, snowball, definite, bowstring, carpet, Sunday, Shylock, earwig, matrimony, cowhiding, welcome, friendship, horsemanship, coltsfoot, bridegroom, housemaid, curl-papers, crumpet.
We will take the word "windfall," as affording a ready illustration of the pantomime charade. "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. "Fall" may be portrayed by an elderly gentleman with umbrella up, who walks unsuspectingly on an ice slide and falls. 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 stage banknotes, and forthwith gives way to demonstrations of the most extravagant delight, upon which the curtain falls.
In another 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 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 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 is seen 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 Aegean Sea. If the spectators are well up in ancient geography, they may possibly guess that Delos (deal hoss) 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 hoss) is intended. Again the curtain rises on the representation of an island. Two little wooden horses now occupy the scene, Pharos (pair 'oss) being the island referred to. Once more the curtain rises, this time on a group of charming damsels, each reclining in a woebegone 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 Pharos belong, is of course the answer.
A comical charade is a performance representing the word "imitation." The spectators are informed that the charade about to be performed can be exhibited to only 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.
There are few better amusements for a large party in the same house, with plenty of time on their hands, than the organization oftableaux vivants,or living representations. Tableaux, to be successfully represented, demand quite as much attention to detail as a theatrical performance, and scarcely less careful rehearsal. The first element of success is a competent stage manager. His artistic taste should be beyond all question, and his will should be law among the members of his corps. The essentials of a "living picture" are very much the same as those of a picture of the inanimate description, viz., form, color and arrangement. If, therefore, you can secure for the office of stage manager a gentleman of some artistic skill, by all means do so, as his technical knowledge will be found of the greatest possible service.
Before proceeding to plan your series of pictures, it will be necessary to provide the "frame" in which they are to be exhibited. If the room which you propose to use has folding doors, they will of course be used. A curtain, preferably of some dark color, should be hung on each side, and a lambrequin or valance across the top. Where circumstances admit, the directions we give elsewhere as to the construction of a stage and proscenium for private theatricals may be followed with advantage. In any case, a piece of fine gauze should be carefully stretched over the whole length and depth of the opening. This is found, by producing softer outlines, materially to enhance the pictorial effect. If it is practicable to have a raised stage, it will be found of great addition. Where this cannot be arranged, it is well to place a board, six inches in width, and covered with the same material as the rest of the frame, across the floor (on edge) from side to side, in the position which the footlights would ordinarily occupy.
The next consideration will be the curtain. The ordinary domestic curtains, hung by rings from a rod or pole, and opening in the middle, will serve as a makeshift; but where a really artistic series of tableaux is contemplated, the regular stage curtain of green baize is decidedly to be preferred.
The question of "background" will be the next point to be considered.Tableaux vivantsmay be divided into two classes, the dramatic, i.e., representing some incident, e.g., a duel, or a trial in a court of justice, and the simply artistic, viz., such as portray merely a group, allegorical or otherwise, without reference to any particular plot or story. For the former, an appropriate scene is required, varying with each tableau represented; for the latter, all that is necessary is a simple background of drapery, of such a tone of color as to harmonize with, and yet to give full prominence to, the group of actors. The material of the latter as also the covering of the floor, should be of woolen or velvet, so as to absorb rather than reflect light. A lustrous background, as of satin or glazed calico, will completely destroy the effect of an otherwise effective tableau.
The lighting is a point of very considerable importance—the conditions appropriate to an ordinary theatrical performance being here reversed. In an ordinary dramatic performance all shadow is a thing to be avoided, the point aimed at being to secure a strong bright light, uniformly distributed over the stage. In atableau vivant, on the contrary, the skillful manipulation of light and shade is a valuable aid in producing artistic effect. Footlights should, in this case, either be dispensed with altogether or at any rate used very sparingly, the stronger light coming from one or the other side. A good deal of experiment and some little artistic taste will be necessary to attain the right balance in this particular. Where gas is available it will afford the readiest means of illumination. What is called a "string light," viz., a piece of gaspipe with fishtail burners at frequent intervals, connected with the permanent gas arrangements of the house by a piece of india rubber tube, and fixed in a vertical position behind each side of the temporary proscenium, will be found very effective; one or the other set of lights being turned up, as may be necessary. Where a green or red light is desired, the interposition of a strip of glass of that color, or of a "medium" of red or green silk or tammy, will give the necessary tone. Colored fires are supplied for the same purpose, but are subject to the drawback of being somewhat odoriferous in combustion. Where, as is sometimes the case, a strong white light is required, this may be produced by burning the end of a piece of magnesium wire in the flame of an ordinary candle.
These points being disposed of, costume and make-up will be the next consideration. As to the latter, the reader will find full instructions in the chapter devoted to private theatricals. With respect to costume, as the characters are seen for only a few moments, and in one position, this point may be dealt with in a much more rough-and-ready manner than would be advisable in the case of a regular dramatic performance. The royal crown need only be golden, the royal robe need only be trimmed with ermine-on the side toward the spectators; indeed, the proudest of sovereigns, from the audience point of view, may, as seen from the rear, be the humblest of citizens. Even on the side toward the spectators a great deal of "make believe" is admissible. Seen through the intervening gauze, the cheapest cotton velvet is equal to the richest silk; glazed calico takes the place of satin; and even the royal ermine may be admirably simulated by tails of black worsted stitched on a ground of flannel. Lace may be manufactured from cut paper, and a dollar's worth of tinsel will afford jewels for a congress of sovereigns. Of course, there is not the least objection to his wearing a crown of the purest gold, or diamonds of the finest possible water (if he can get them), but they will not look one whit more effective than the homely substitutes we have mentioned.
A "ghost effect" may, where necessary, be produced by the aid of a magic lantern; the other lights of the tableau being lowered in order to give sufficient distinctness to the reflection.
Dramatic tableaux may often be exhibited with advantage in two or more "scenes"; the curtain being lowered for a moment in order to enable the characters to assume a fresh position. Examples of this will be found among the tableaux which follow.
Having indicated the general arrangements oftableaux vivants, we append, for the reader's assistance, a selection of effective subjects, both simply pictorial and dramatic.
(With background of plain drapery, remaining unchanged.)
A magnificent flunkey, in a gorgeous suit of livery, standing, with left hand on hip, right hand in breast, side by side with a very small and saucy "boy in buttons," upon whom he looks down superciliously. Boy with both hands in trouser pockets and gazing up at his companion with an expression of impertinent familiarity.
A pretty girl, in simple outdoor costume, standing sideways to the spectators, with downcast eyes and a half-smiling, half-frightened expression. The fortune-teller faces her and holds the young lady's right hand in her left, while her own right hand holds a coin with which she is apparently tracing the lines of the young lady's palm, at the same time gazing with an arch expression into her face, as though to note the effect of her predictions. The fortune-teller should be in gipsy costume, a short, dark skirt and a hood of some brighter material thrown carelessly over her head. She should be of a swarthy complexion, with a good deal of color and jet-black hair.
A large cross, apparently of white marble (really of deal, well washed with whitening and size) occupies a diagonal position across the center of the stage, facing slightly toward the left. Its base or plinth is formed of two or three successive platforms or steps of the same material. At the foot a woman kneels, clasping her arms around the cross, as though she had just thrown herself into that position in escaping from some danger. Her gaze should be directed upward. A loose brown robe and hood, the latter thrown back off the head, will be the most appropriate costume. Magnesium light from above.
A female figure, clothed in sober gray, and seated on a very low stool, facing right and gazing heavenward. (If a "sky" background is procurable, a single star should be visible, and should be the object of her gaze.) Her right elbow rests upon her right knee, and her right hand supports her chin. Her left hand hangs by her side, and at her feet lies the emblematic anchor. Red light, not too strong.
A ragged boy, barefooted and clasping a wornout broom, sits huddled on the ground left, but facing right. His arms are folded and rest on his knees, and his head is bent down upon them, so as to hide his face. A girl, in nun's costume, is touching him on the shoulder, and apparently proffering help and sympathy.
The same scene. Children a couple of years older. (This may be effected by suppressing the youngest and introducing a fresh eldest, as much like the others as possible.) The sailor of the last scene, slightly more tanned, and with a fuller "made-up" beard, has apparently just entered. The wife has both arms round his neck, her face being hidden in his bosom. Of the children, the eldest has seized and is kissing her father's hand, while the two younger each cling round one leg. Soft red light. Music, "A Lass that Loves a Sailor," or "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again."
We subjoin a list of favorite subjects, leaving their actual arrangement to the taste and intelligence of the reader. It will usually be safe to follow the hints in good illustrations.
"Choosing the Wedding Gown." A charming scene after Mulready, from the"Vicar of Wakefield."
"William Penn Signing the Treaty with the Indians."
"The Drunkard's Home," "Signing the Pledge," "The Temperance Home."See some good illustrations.
"Mary Queen of Scots and the Four Maries."
"Mr. Pecksniff Dismissing Tom Pinch."
"The Song of the Shirt."
"Little Red Riding-Hood."
"The Duel from the 'Corsican Brothers.'"
"Heloise in Her Cell."
"William Tell Shooting the Apple From His Son's Head," etc., etc., etc.
The idea is that of a waxwork exhibition, the characters being personated, after a burlesque fashion, by living performers. Each "figure" is first duly described by the exhibitor, and then "wound up" and made to go through certain characteristic movements.
The collection is supposed to be that of the far-famed Mrs. Jarley, of "Old Curiosity Shop" celebrity. She may be assisted, if thought desirable, by "Little Nell" and a couple of manservants, John and Peter. The costume of Mrs. Jarley is a black or chintz dress, bright shawl and huge bonnet; that of Little Nell may be a calico dress and white apron, with hat slung over her arm. John and Peter may be dressed in livery suits, and should be provided with watchman's rattle, screwdriver, hammer, nails and oil-can. At the rise of the curtain the figures are seen ranged in a semicircle at the back of the stage, and Little Nell is discovered dusting them with a long feather brush. Mrs. Jarley stands in front, and delivers her descriptive orations, directing her men to bring forward each figure before she describes it. After having been duly described, the figure is "wound" up, and goes through its peculiar movement, and when it stops it is moved back to its place.
If the stage is small, or it is desired that the same actors shall appear in various characters in succession, the figures may be exhibited in successive groups or compartments, the curtain being lowered to permit one party to retire and another to take their places. After the whole of the figures of a given chamber have been described, the assistants wind them all up, and they go through their various movements simultaneously, to a pianoforte accompaniment, which should gradually go faster, coming at last to a sudden stop, when the figures become motionless and the curtain falls.
Mrs. Jarley may be made a silent character, sitting on one side, and occasionally making believe to dust or arrange a figure, while the "patter" is delivered by a male exhibitor. Or Mrs. Jarley may, if preferred, be suppressed altogether, and the exhibitor appear as (say) Artemus Ward, or in ordinary evening costume, without assuming any special character. A good deal of fun may be made of the supposed tendency of any particular figure to tip over, and the application, by John and Peter, of wooden wedges, penny pieces, etc., under its feet to keep it upright. Supposed defective working, causing the figure to stop suddenly in the middle of its movements, and involving the rewinding or oiling of its internal mechanism, will also produce a good deal of amusement. The "winding up" may be done with a bed-winch, a bottle-jack key, or the winch of a kitchen range, the click of the mechanism being imitated by means of a watchman's rattle, or by the even simpler expedient of drawing a piece of hard wood smartly along a notched stick. (This, of course, should be done out of sight of the audience.) The movement of the figure should be accompanied by the piano, to a slow or lively measure, as may be most appropriate.
The arrangement being complete and the curtain raised, Mrs. Jarley delivers her opening speech, about as follows:
"Ladies and gentlemen, you here behold Mrs. Jarley, one of the most remarkable women of the world, who has traveled all over the country with her curious Collection of Waxworks. These figures have been gathered, at great expense, from every clime and country, and are here shown together for the first time. I shall describe each one of them for your benefit, and, after I have given you their history, I shall have each one of them wound up, for they are all fitted with clockwork inside, and they can thus go through the same motions they did when living. In fact, they execute their movements so naturally that many people have supposed them to be alive; but I assure you that they are all made of wood and wax—blockheads every one.
"Without further prelude, I shall now introduce to your notice each one of my figures, beginning, as usual, with the last one first."
"This figure is universally allowed to be the tallest figure in my collection; he originated in the two provinces of Oolong and Shanghi, one province not being long enough to produce him. On account of his extreme length it is impossible to give any adequate idea of him in one entertainment, consequently he will be continued in our next.
"He was the inventor, projector and discoverer of Niagara Falls, Bunker's Hill Monument and the Balm of Columbia. In fact, everything was originally discovered by him or some other of the Chinese. The portrait of this person, who was a high dignitary among them, may be often seen depicted on a blue china plate, standing upon a bridge, which leans upon nothing, at either end, and intently observing two birds which are behind him in the distance.
"John, wind up the Giant."
The Giant bows low, then wags his head three times and bows as before, and after a dozen motions slowly stops.
"You will observe that I have spared no expense in procuring wonders of every sort, and here is my crowning effort or masterpiece—"
"A remarkable freak of nature, which impresses the beholder with silent awe. Observe the two heads and one body. See these fair faces, each one lovelier than the other. No one can gaze upon them without a double sensation 'of sorrow and of joy'—sorrow that such beauty and grace were ever united, and joy that he has had the pleasure of contemplating their union.
"Wind them up, Peter."
This figure is made by two young ladies standing back to back, wrapped in one large skirt. They hold their arms out, with their hands hanging, and slowly revolve when they are wound up.
"John, bring out the Sewing-Woman, and let the ladies behold the unfortunate seamstress who died from pricking her finger with a needle while sewing on Sunday. You see that the work which she holds is stained with gore, which drips from her finger onto the floor. (Which is poetry!) This forms a sad and melancholy warning to all heads of families immediately to purchase the best sewing-machines, for this accident never could have happened had she not been without one of those excellent machines, such as no family should be without."
Costume: Optional.
When wound up, the figure sews very stiffly and stops slowly.
"Ladies and Gentlemen: Permit me to call your attention to this beautiful group, which has lately been added, at an enormous expense, to my collection. You here behold the first privateer and the first victim of his murderous propensities. Captain Kidd, the robber of the main, is supposed to have originated somewhere down east. His whole life being spent upon the stormy deep, he amassed an immense fortune, and buried it in the sand along the flower-clad banks of Cape Cod, by which course he invented the savings banks, now so common along shore. Having hidden away so much property, which, like so many modern investments, never can be unearthed, he was known as a greatsea-cretur. Before him kneels his lovely and innocent victim, the Lady Blousabella Infantina, who was several times taken and murdered by this bloodthirsty tyrant, which accounts for the calm look of resignation depicted upon her lovely countenance.
"Wind 'em up, John."
Costumes: Captain Kidd—white pantaloons, blue shirt, sailor hat, pistol and sword.
Victim—Lady with flowing hair, white dress. Movement—The captain's sword moves up and down, and the victim's arms go in unison.
Two gentlemen dressed alike in ordinary costume, with a large bone (attached by wire or string) between them. One arm of each over the other's neck. Pugnacious expression of countenance.
"The wonderful Siamese Twins compose the next group. These remarkable brothers lived together in the greatest harmony, though there was always a bone of contention between them. They were never seen apart, such was their brotherly fondness. They married young, both being opposed to a single life. The short one is not quite so tall as his brother, although their ages are about the same. One of them was born in the Island of Borneo, the other on the southern extremity of Cape Cod."
When wound up they begin to fight, continue for a moment and stop suddenly.
"This wonderful child has created some interest in the medical and scientific world, from the fact that he was thirteen years old when he was born, and kept on growing older and older until he died, at the somewhat advanced age of two hundred and ninety-seven, in consequence of eating too freely of pies and cakes, his favorite food. He measured exactly two feet and seven inches from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, and two feet and ten inches back again. Was first discovered ten miles from any land and twelve miles from any water, making the enormous total of ninety-one, which figure was never before reached by any previous exhibition. Wind him up, John."
Dwarf eats very stiffly with a large spoon in his right hand; in his left hand he holds a bowl, which falls on the floor after a moment and is broken.
"John, get your tools and screw up that dwarf's hand, for it has become so loose that it costs a fortune for the crockery he breaks."
John screws up the hand, gets a new bowl, and again winds up the figure, which now moves with much greater energy.
"Bring out the Vocalist. I now call your attention to the most costly of all my figures. This wonderful automaton singer represents Signorina Squallini, the unrivaled vocalist, whose notes are current in every market, and sway all hearts at her own sweet will.
"Wind her up and let her liquid notes pour forth."
She gesticulates wildly, and sings a few notes in a very extravagant manner, then stops with a hoarse sound.
Mrs. J.: "John, this figure needs oiling. Why do you not attend to your duties better?"
John gets oilcan, which he applies to each ear of the figure, which strikes a high note and sings with much expression and many trills, then makes a gurgling sound, as if running down, and suddenly stops again.
Costume: Evening dress.
Description: A tall, thin man, clean shaven, but for a tuft on chin, dressed in black, with broad-brimmed straw hat. He is seated on a low rocking-chair, with his legs resting on the back of another chair. He holds a wooden stick, which he is whittling with a jackknife.
"You here behold a specimen of our irrepressible, indomitable native Yankee, who has been everywhere, seen everything and knows everything. He has explored the arid jungles of Africa, drawn forth the spotted cobra by his prehensile tail, snowballed the Russian bear on the snowy slopes of Alpine forests, and sold wooden nutmegs to the unsuspecting innocents of Patagonia. He has peddled patent medicines in the Desert of Sahara, and hung his hat and carved his name on the extreme top of the North Pole. The only difficulty I find in describing him is that I cannot tell what he cannot do. I will therefore set him in motion, as he hates to be quiet."
When, wound up he pushes his hat back on his head and begins to whittle.
"Here you behold a curious cannibal from the Feejee Islands, first discovered by Captain Cook, who came very near being cooked by him. In that case, the worthy captain would never have completed his celebrated voyage round the world. This individual was greatly interested in the cause of foreign missions. Indeed, he received the missionaries gladly and gave them a place near his heart. He was finally converted by a very tough tract-distributor, who had been brought up in a Bloomsbury boarding-house, and was induced to become civilized. One of his evidences of a change of life was shown by his statement that he now had but one wife, like the English. 'What have you done with the other twelve which you said you had a month ago?' asked the tract distributor. 'Oh, I have eaten them!' replied the gentle savage. This cannibal was very fond of children, especially those of a tender age; he holds in his hand a war-club, with which he prepared his daily meals, also a warwhoop, which is an original one."
Costume: Brown jersey and drawers, face and hands colored to match, very short skirt, feather headdress, large rings in nose and ears. One hand holds a war-club, the other a child's hoop.
Movement: When wound up he brandishes his club and raises hoop to his mouth.
Two men, the bigger the better, one dressed as a very small boy, the other as a little girl; each holds a penny bun.
"In the next group you behold the Babes in the Wood, who had the misfortune to have an uncle. This wicked man hired a villain to carry these babes away into the wood and leave them to wander until death put an end to their sorrow, and the little robins covered them up with leaves. These lifelike figures represent the children just after taking their leaves of the villain. By a master stroke of genius the artist has shown very delicately that human nature is not utterly depraved, for the villain has placed in the hand of each of the innocents a penny bun as a parting present. I have been often asked 'why I did not have a figure of the villain also added to the group?' but my reply always is, 'Villains are too common to be any curiosity.'
"Wind 'em up, John."
Each Babe offers to the other a bite of bun alternately.
A young lady carrying a basket on her arm. Costume in accordance with the story.
"Here you behold Little Red Riding-Hood, a model of grand filial devotion, for she was so fond of her granny that she wandered through the forest to take the old lady's luncheon, and was eaten by the wolf for so doing, which is a warning to all children to be careful how they do much for their grandmothers, unless they are rich and can leave them something in their wills. This personage was an especial favorite with children, who love to read about her, and shed tears over her unhappy fate, although some of them think that had she been as smart as her dress, she would have been too smart to have mistaken the wolf for her grandmother, unless she had been a very homely old lady, or he had been much better looking than most wolves."
When wound up, the figure curtseys and holds out her basket.
Young lady with long hair, flowing over her shoulders, holds bottle (labelled Mrs. Blank's Hair Restorer) and curling-tongs.
"This is one of the most expensive of my costly collection, for blonde hair is very high, and you see how heavy and long are the golden locks which adorn her beautiful face. I cannot pass this figure without saying a few words in praise of the wonderful hair restorer, for this image had grown so bald from the effect of long journeys by road or rail that she was exhibited for two years as the Old Man of the Mountain. One bottle of this wonderful fluid, however, restored her hair to its present growth and beauty, and a little of the fluid being accidentally spilled upon the pine box in which the figure was carried, it immediately became an excellent hair trunk."
The elaborate "sell" which goes by this name used to be a regular institution in church bazaars and might well be rejuvenated as a novelty.
A regular printed catalogue is got up, containing apparently the names of a collection of pictures or sculptures, each object duly numbered and with the name of the artist appended. In some instances the name of a (supposed) picture is followed by an appropriate quotation in poetry or prose, after the orthodox fashion of art galleries. We append, by way of illustration, a selection from the catalogue of a collection which has met with great success: EXHIBITION OF THE WORKS OF LIVING ARTISTS
1. Horse Fair After Rosa Bonheur. 2. A Brush With a Cutter Off Deal Carpenter. 3. Caught in a Squall Off Yarmouth Fisher. 4. The Last of Poor Dog Tray Barker. 5. "He Will Return, I Know He Will" Lent by the Trustees of the Parish. 6. The Midnight Hour. C. Lock. 7. Heroes of Waterloo. Schumacher. 8. True to the Core. C. Odling. 9. "Spring, Spring, Beautiful Spring!" Mayne. 10. "Tears, Idle Tears." Strong. 11. The Midnight Assassin. F. Sharpe. 12. The Dripping Well. T. Inman. 13. Family Jars. Potter. 14. Never Too Late to Mend. S. Titch. 15. Past Healing. Kobler. 16. The First Sorrow. Smalchild. 17. Saved. S. Kinflint 18. Lost 19. First Love. Sweet. 20. The Death of the Camel. After Goodall. 21. His First Cigar. A. Young. 22. A Good Fellow Gone. M. I. Slade. 23. Portrait of a Gentleman. Anonymous. 24. Portrait of a Lady. Anonymous. 25. Our Churchwardens. Screw. 26. Portraits of the Reigning Sovereigns of Europe. (Taken by special order). G. P. O. 27. Waifs of Ocean. Fish. "Strange things come up to look at us, The Monsters of the deep." 28. The Last Man. Unknown. 29. Contribution from the Celebrated Sheepsbanks Collection. Butcher. 30. The Light of Other Days. Dimm. 31. The Meet of Her Majesty's Hounds. Pratt. 32. Water Scene. "And I hear Those waters rolling from the mountain springs With a sweet inland murmur." 33. The Maiden's Joy. Bachelor. 34. The Fall. Adam. 35. Motherhood.
"She laid it where the sunbeams fallUnscanned upon the broken wall,Without a tear, without a groan,She laid it near a mighty stoneWhich some rude swain had haply castThither in sports, long ages past.There in its cool and quiet bed,She set her burden down and fled;Nor flung, all eager to escape,One glance upon the perfect shapeThat lay, still warm and fresh and fair,But motionless and soundless there."—C. S. Calverley.
36. A Friendly Party on Hampstead Heath. Moke. 37. Borrowed Plumes. Wigg. 38. Out for the Night. Anonymous. 39. Something to Adore. Anonymous. 40. The Weaned Grinder. Mayne Force. "Change and decay in all around I see." 41. Repentance. G. Templar. 42. Maggie's Secret. Rossetter. 43. Somebody's Luggage. S. Canty. 44. Eusebius. B. Linkers. 45. Happy Childhood. Wackford Squeers. 46. Not Such a Fool as He Looks. The Exhibitor. 47. A Choice Collection of Old China. 48. A Fine Specimen of Local Quartz Discovered in the Possession of a Workman. During the Building of the New Town Hall. 49. The Skull of the Last of the Mohicans. 50. A Marble Group. 51. Bust. 52. The Puzzle. 53. The Instantaneous Kid Reviver. 54. The Earnest Entreaty.
Anyone not in the secret, perusing the above catalogue, would naturally conclude that the descriptions referred to pictorial art of some kind or other. But such is by no means the case. The visitor, on being admitted, finds, in place of the expected pictures, shelves or tables on which are arranged sundry very commonplace objects, each bearing a numbered ticket. On close examination he finds that the numbers correspond with those in the catalogue, and that No. 1, "Horse Fair"—fare—is represented after a realistic fashion by a handful of oats and a wisp of hay. No. 2, which he expected to find a spirited marine sketch, is in reality only a toothbrush lying beside a jack-plane; while the supposed companion picture, "Caught in a Squall Off Yarmouth," is represented by a red herring. No. 4, "The Last of Poor Dog Tray," is a sausage, and the exhibitor particularly begs that no gentleman will on any account whistle while passing this picture. No. 5, "He Will Return, I Know He Will," presumably the agonized cry of a forsaken maiden, is in reality a poor-rate collector's paper, marked "Fifth application." No. 6 is represented by a numbered ticket only, with no object attached to it. The exhibitor explains that "The Midnight Hour" has not yet arrived, but that any gentleman who likes to wait till it does (which will be at twelve o'clock punctually), is very welcome to do so. The "Heroes of Waterloo," Wellington and Blucher, No. 7, are represented by a couple of boots known by those distinguished names. 8, "True to the Core," is a rosy-cheeked apple. 9 is a coil of watch spring. 10, "Tears, Idle Tears," on which the exhibitor feelingly expatiates as a noble example of the imaginative in art, is an onion. The space dedicated to No. 11 is occupied by the numbered ticket only, the exhibitor explaining that "The Midnight Assassin" (who is stated to be a large and lively flea) has strolled away and is wandering at large about the room; and he adds an entreaty that any lady or gentleman who may meet with him will immediately return him to his place in the collection. "The Dripping Well" (No. 12) proves to be of the description more usually known as a dripping-pan. "Family Jars," by Potter, is found to consist of a pickle jar and jam pot. No. 14, "Never Too Late to Mend," is a boot patched all over; while 15, "Past Healing," is its fellow, too far gone to admit of like renovation. "The First Sorrow" is a broken doll. "Saved" is a money box, containing twopence halfpenny, mostly in farthings. The next is a vacant space, over which the exhibitor passes with the casual remark, "No. 18, as you will observe, is unfortunately lost." No. 19, "First Love," is a piece of taffy. 20, "The Death of the Camel," is a straw, labeled "the last," and the exhibitor explains that this is the identical straw that broke the camel's back. "His First Cigar" is a mild Havana of brown paper. "A Good Fellow Gone" is suggested, rather than represented, by an odd glove. Nos. 23 and 24 are represented by two small mirrors, which are handed to a lady and a gentleman respectively, with a few appropriate remarks as to the extreme success of the likenesses, coupled with critical remarks as to the "expression" in each case. "Our Churchwardens" are a pair of long clay pipes. No. 26, "Portraits of the Reigning Sovereigns of Europe," are represented by a few cancelled foreign postage stamps. "The Monsters of the Deep," in No. 27, are represented by a periwinkle and a shrimp. "The Last Man" (No. 28), is at present missing from his place in the collection, but the exhibitor explains that he will be seen going out just as the exhibition closes. The "Contribution from the Sheepshanks Collection" (29), is a couple of mutton bones; while "The Light of Other Days" (30) is an old-fashioned lantern and tinder box. "The Meet (meat) of Her Majesty's Hounds" is a piece of dog biscuit. No. 32 is a leaky can of water. "The Maiden's Joy" (obviously) is a wedding ring. "The Fall" is a lady's veil. No. 35, "Motherhood," is the gem of the collection, and should be kept carefully hidden (say by a handkerchief thrown over it) until the company have had time to read and appreciate Mr. Caverley's graceful lines, when the veil is removed, and behold—an egg! No. 36, "A Friendly Party on Hampstead Heath," is represented by three toy donkeys. "Borrowed Plumes" are represented by a lady's false front. "Out for the Night" is an extinguished candle. "Something to Adore" is a rusty bolt. "The Wearied Grinder" is a back tooth of somebody's very much the worse for wear. "Repentance" (No. 41) is represented by a smashed hat and a bottle of sodawater. "Maggie's Secret" is a gray hair, labeled "Her First." No. 43, "Somebody's Luggage," consists of a broken comb and a paper collar. "Eusebius" is a pair of spectacles. "Happy Childhood" is indicated by a lithe and "swishy" cane. When the company arrive at No. 46, the corresponding object is apparently missing. The exhibitor refers to his notes and says: "46—46? I see they have written down against No. 46, 'The Exhibitor,' but I don't see quite what they mean. Suppose we pass on to the curiosities, ladies and gentlemen." No. 47 is merely some smashed crockery, and No. 48 a pewter quart pot. No. 49 is again a vacant space, and the exhibitor explains that "The Last of the Mohicans" has just gone home to his tea, and has taken his skull with him. No. 50 is, as its name implies, a group of marbles, of the school boy character. No. 51 is a paper bag of peas, and, being too full, has "bust." "The Puzzle" (No. 52) is an old guide book. "The Instantaneous Kid Reviver" is a baby's feeding bottle; and the "Earnest Entreaty" is the request of the exhibitor that the visitors will recommend the collection to their friends.
If the "showman" be possessed of a good fund of talk and a dash of dry humor, the fun of the collection may be still further enhanced by his explanations and criticisms of the various objects. Poor Artemus Ward's celebrated lecture is an excellent model to copy; indeed, many of his "bits" may be stolen bodily with very satisfactory result. Even without the aid of a showman, the comparison of the poetical descriptions and the sober reality will produce a good deal of fun; but, in this case, the various blanks or vacant spaces to be filled up by explanation must necessarily be omitted—a good many telling items being thereby sacrificed.
Place a small magic lantern in a box large enough to contain a small swing dressing-glass, which will reflect the light thrown on it by the lantern in such a way that it will pass out at the aperture made at the top of the box, which aperture should be oval and of a size adapted to the cone of light to pass through it. There should be a flap with hinges, to cover the opening, that the inside of the box may not be seen. There must be holes in that part of the box which is over the lantern, to let out the smoke; and over this must be placed a chafing-dish, of an oblong figure, large enough to hold several lighted coals. This chafing-dish, for the better carrying on the deception, may be inclosed in a painted tin box, about a foot high, with a hole at top, and should stand on four feet, to let the smoke of the lantern escape. There must also be a glass planned to move up and down in the groove, and so managed by a cord and pulley that it may be raised up and let down by the cord coming through the outside of the box. On this glass the spectre (or any other figure you please) must be painted, in a contracted or squat form, as the figure will reflect a greater length than it is drawn. When you have lighted the lamp in the lantern and placed the mirror in a proper direction, put the box on a table, and, setting the chafing-dish in it, throw some incense in powder on the coals. You then open the trap door and let down the glass in the groove slowly, and when you perceive the smoke diminish, draw up the glass, that the figure may disappear, and shut the trap-door. This exhibition will afford much wonder. The lights in the room must be extinguished, and the box should be placed on a high table, that the aperture through which the light comes out may not be seen.
The light of the magic-lantern and the color of images may not only be painted on a cloth, but also reflected by a cloud of smoke. Provide a box of wood or pasteboard, about four feet high and seven or eight inches square at bottom, but diminishing as it ascends, so that its aperture at the top be but six inches long and half an inch wide. At the bottom of this box there must be a door that shuts quite close, by which you are to place in the box a chafing-dish with hot coals, on which is to be thrown incense, whose smoke goes out in a cloud at the top of the box; on this cloud you are to throw the light that comes out of the lantern, and which you bring into a smaller compass by drawing out the movable tube. In this representation, the motion of the smoke does not at all change the figures, which appear so conspicuous that the spectator thinks he can grasp them with his hand. In the experiment, some of the rays passing through the smoke, the representation will be much less vivid than on the cloth; and if care be not taken to reduce the light to its smallest focus, it will be still more imperfect.
In showing the common magic-lantern, the spectators see a round circle of light with the figures in the middle of it; but in the Phantasmagoria they see the figures only, without any circle of light. The exhibition is produced by a magic lantern, placed on that side of a half-transparent screen which is opposite to that on which the spectators are, instead of being on the same side, as in the ordinary exhibition of the magic lantern. To favor the deception, the slides are made perfectly opaque, except in those places that contain the figures to be exhibited, and in these light parts the glass is covered with a more or less transparent tint, according to the effect required. The easiest way is to draw the figures with water colors on thin paper and afterward varnish them. To imitate the natural motions of the objects represented, several pieces of glass placed behind each other are occasionally employed. By removing the lantern to different distances, and at the same time altering, more or less distinct, at the pleasure of the exhibitor; so that, to a person unacquainted with the effect of optical instruments, these figures appear actually to advance and recede. Transparent screens for the Phantasmagoria are prepared by spreading white wax, dissolved in spirits of wine or oil of turpentine, over thin muslin; a screen so prepared may be rolled up without injury. A clearer screen may be produced by having the muslin always strained upon a rectangular frame, and preparing it with turpentine, instead of wax; but such a screen is not always convenient, and cannot be rolled without cracking, and becoming in a short time useless.
In a partition wall cut an aperture of any size; for example, four feet in length and two in breadth, so that the lower edge may be about five feet from the floor, and cover it with white Italian gauze, varnished with gum-copal. Provide several frames of the same size as the aperture, covered with the same kind of gauze, and delineate upon the gauze different figures, such as landscapes and buildings, analogous to the scenes which you intend to exhibit by means of small figures representing men and animals. These figures are formed of pasteboard, and their different parts are made movable, according to the effect intended to be produced by their shadows, when moved backward and forward behind the frames, at a small distance from them. To make them act with more facility, small wires, fixed to their movable parts, are bent backward and made to terminate in rings, through which the fingers of the hand are put, while the figure is supported on the left by means of another iron wire. In this manner they may be made to advance or recede and to gesticulate, without the spectators observing the mechanism by which they are moved; and as the shadow of these figures is not observed on the paintings till they are opposite those parts which are not strongly shaded, they may thus be concealed and made to appear at the proper moments, and others may be occasionally substituted in their stead.
It is necessary, when the figures are made to act, to speak a dialogue, suited to their gestures, and imitate the noise occasioned by different circumstances. The paintings must be illuminated from behind by means of a reverberating lamp, placed opposite to the center of the painting, and distant from it about four or five feet. Various amusing scenes may be represented in this manner by employing small figures of men and animals, and making them move in as natural a way as possible, which will depend on the address and practice of the person who exhibits them.
Make two openings of a foot high and ten inches wide and about a foot distant from each other, in the wainscoting of a wall; let them be at the common height of a man's head; and in each of them place a transparent glass, surrounded with a frame, like a common mirror. Behind this partition place two mirrors, one on the outward side of each opening, inclined to the wainscot at an angle of forty-five degrees; let them both be eighteen inches square; let all the space between them be enclosed by boards or pasteboard, painted black and well closed, that no light may enter; let there be also two curtains to cover them, which may be drawn aside at pleasure. When a person looks into one of these supposed mirrors, instead of seeing his own face he will perceive the object that is in the front of the other; so that, if two persons present themselves at the same time before these mirrors, instead of each one seeing himself, they will reciprocally see each other. There should be a sconce with a candle or lamp placed on each side of the two glasses in the wainscot, to enlighten the faces of the persons who look in them, otherwise this experiment will have no remarkable effect. This recreation may be considerably improved by placing the two glasses in the wainscot in adjoining rooms, and a number of persons being previously placed in one room, when a stranger enters the other, you may tell him his face is dirty, and desire him to look in the glass, which he will naturally do; and on seeing a strange face he will draw back; but returning to it, and seeing another, another and another, what his surprise will be is more easy to conceive than express.
When one looks in a mirror placed perpendicularly to another, his face will appear entirely deformed. If the mirror be a little inclined, so as to make an angle of eighty degrees (that is, one-ninth part from the perpendicular), he will then see all the parts of his face, except the nose and forehead; if it be inclined to sixty degrees (that is, one-third part), he will appear with three noses and six eyes; in short, the apparent deformity will vary at each degree of inclination; and when the glass comes to forty-five degrees (that is, half-way down), the face will vanish. If, instead of placing the two mirrors in this situation, they are so disposed that their junction may be vertical, their different inclinations will produce other effects, as the situation of the object relative to these mirrors is quite different.
Attach to a dark wall a round piece of paper an inch or two in diameter, and, a little lower, at the distance of two feet on each side, make two marks; then place yourself directly opposite to the paper, and hold the end of your finger before your face in such a manner that when the right eye is open it shall conceal the mark on the right; if you then look with both eyes to the end of your finger, the paper, which is not at all concealed by it from either of your eyes, will, nevertheless, disappear.
Take a large drinking-glass, of a conical form, that is, small at bottom and wide at top, and, having put into it a dime, let it be half filled with water; then place a plate upon the top of the glass, and turn it quickly over, that the water may not get out; a piece of silver as large as half a dollar will immediately appear on the plate, and somewhat higher up another piece of the size of a dime.
A dummy figure (suppose that of a witch, riding on the conventional broomstick) is suspended by fine threads or wires on the screen remote from the spectators. Behind this are ranged, one behind the other, and at right angles to the screen, a row of lighted candles. Being all in the same line, they throw one shadow only on the screen. The figure is now made to oscillate slightly, so as to impart some little motion to the shadow. One of the candles is now removed from its place in the row, and waved gently about, now high, now low, the effect to the spectators being that a second shadow springs out of the first, and dances about it on the screen. A second and third candle is then removed, and waved up and down, each candle as it leaves its place in the line, producing a separate shadow. It is well to have three or four assistants, each taking a candle in each hand.
At the beginning of the game the dominoes are thoroughly shuffled by being turned face down and stirred round and round. The players then draw at random as many bones as the game requires. These dominoes with which the hand is to be played may stand on their edges in front of the players or may be held in the hand, or both. It is usual to sort them into suits as far as possible. The one who has drawn the highest doublet usually plays or sets first.
The object in dominoes is either to block the game so that the adversary cannot play or it is to make the two ends when added together equal to some multiple of a given number, or it is to make both ends of the line the same. The player first getting rid of all his pieces is "Domino."
Dominoes are made in sets known by the number of pips on the highest domino or bone in the set. The standard set is double-sixes and contains twenty-eight bones. Some persons use double-nines. In the double-six set there are seven "suits," each named after some number from six to blank. In each of these suits there are seven bones, but each domino in a suit, except the doublet, belongs to some other suit as well. The lower figure on each domino shows the other suit to which it belongs.
All games of dominoes, except matadore, are based on the principle of following suit or matching. The first player "sets" a certain domino, and after that each player must play one of the same suit, the suit called for being always that of the exposed or open end.
The object of each player is to get all his men into his home table, and as soon as they have all arrived to throw them off the board altogether. The one that succeeds in doing this first wins the game. Each of two players has fifteen men, known as black and white, and each should have his own dice-box. Almost all of the folding checker boards are marked on the reverse side for backgammon, and the fifteen men of each color in a checker set are intended for backgammon players. The two sides of the board nearer the players are called tables, and the table with only two men on two of the points is called the inner table. It is also the home table of the player who sits with that side of the board nearer to him.
It does not matter which way the board is turned, as the arrow points are alternately light and dark all the way round in either direction, but it is usual to place the side of the board with only two men on points nearest the window, so that there shall be a good light on the home tables. The points in the home tables are known by their numbers, which correspond to the faces of a die, and are called: ace point, deuce point, trey point, four point, five point, and six point.
The point immediately across the bar which divides the two tables is called the "bar point," not because it is next the bar, but because it bars the two adverse men in your home table from running away with double sixes if you can "make it up."
The object of the game is to capture all the opponent's men and remove them from the board, or else to pin them up in such a manner that he cannot move. If neither player can accomplish this, the game is drawn.
A board divided into sixty-four squares is used. These are of dark and light color. Each player receives twelve men, known as white and black. At the beginning of the game the board is so placed that each player shall have two of his men touching the edge of the board at his left. The men are set on the black squares.
The squares upon the board are supposed to be numbered from one to sixty-four, beginning at the upper left-hand corner upon the side of the board occupied by the black men.
In giving the moves the first figures are the moves of a black man.The next figures are the moves of a white man.
As the men never leave the color upon which they are first placed, all moves must be diagonal. A man can move only one square at a time, and only to a square which is in front of him diagonally and is not occupied.
If a square to which a man might move is occupied by an adverse piece, that piece can be jumped over if there is a vacant square immediately beyond him. The capturing piece moves to this vacant square, and the man jumped over is removed from the board. Two or more men may sometimes be captured simultaneously. When a piece may be captured the player is obliged to take it. If he does not, his adversary can compel him to take back his move and make the capture, or can remove from the board the piece that should have made the capture, or can let the matter stand. If there are two different captures on the board at the same time the player can take his choice of them.
Any number of players may play this game, which is common to almost every nation, and is very interesting. Sides being formed, the players seat themselves at a table, facing each other. It having been decided who shall first hold the silver piece, the player who receives it holds it in his closed hand under the table, as do all the players on his side, when they receive it, and the piece is passed from hand to hand, the object being to deceive the opposite players as to its whereabouts.
The captain of the side which has not the coin now calls: "Jenkins says hands up," and all the hands come up, closed; then "Jenkins says hands down," and all the hands fall, palms downward, on the table. There should be much noise to drown the clink of the piece as it falls on the table.
The opposing side now tries to guess the side which has not the coin. The captain directs the players who have not the piece to take their "hands off." None of his side may give this order. Should any do so the coin is forfeited.
Should the captain make a mistake and call up a hand under which the coin is hidden, the piece remains with the same side, and the number of hands still on the table counts for the side which keeps the coin. If the last hand left on the table covers the piece, it then goes to the opposing players. It is necessary to set a score. The side which makes these points wins the game.
Each guest receives a slip of paper, on which is written the name of a flower. When all are ready to begin, the hostess gives to each a sheet of tissue paper of the color needed to make a designated flower; also two sheets of green paper of different shades.
Thirty minutes are allowed for the making of the flowers. A pair of scissors and a needle and thread must be given to each guest; also some mucilage. The flowers are collected and a committee decides who has made the most perfect flower. The one who has done so receives the bouquet of flowers made by the guests.
The names of animals are given the players. Each receives ten slips of paper numbered from one to ten. These are arranged irregularly in a pile. The slips are turned with the faces downward.
The first player turns up his upper slip so that the number is visible and lays it down in front of him. In doing this, he must turn it away from himself, so that the other players see it first; the next player then does the same.
Should two slips coincide in number, they must each at once call each other's names—the animal names given them. The one who first calls the other's name gives away his slip to that other person, the object being to get rid of one's slips as fast as possible. If the slip turned up by the second player does not correspond in number to that turned up by the first, he also lays it down in front of him; the third player then turns his up, and this is continued around the circle until a slip is turned that corresponds in number with any that has been turned up, when those two players must immediately call each other's names. The winner is the one who first gets rid of his slips.
Any number of players seat themselves at a table. Each player makes a fist of each hand, extending the thumb.
The leader says, "Simon says, 'Thumbs up'!" whereupon he places his own fist on the table before him, with the thumbs upward. The players do likewise. When the leader says, "Simon says, 'Thumbs down'," he turns his own hand over so that the tips of the thumbs touch the table. The others must imitate him.
He then says, "'My thumb wiggles-waggles." He suits the action to the word, and the rest repeat his performance.
If at any time the leader omits the words "Simon says," and goes through the movements only with the words "Thumbs up," "Thumbs down," or "Wigle-waggle," the players must all keep their hands still and not imitate his movements. Any player doing this pays a forfeit.
Each player writes on a piece of paper groups of words, each group descriptive of some author, and each word beginning with one of his initials in regular order. The player who guesses the largest number of authors wins the game.
Example: Who is the just, gentle writer?
Answer: John Greenleaf Whittier.
Whose stories are read alike by old and young?
Answer: James Fennimore Cooper.
Who was the greatest humorist?
Answer: "Mark Twain."
The players are provided with sheets of paper and pencils. They then write a description of some historical character. The object is to give a description that is truthful, yet misleading, in a way, so as to make the guessing a little harder.
One player reads his description. The others ask questions that may be answered by "Yes" and "No." The one guessing correctly reads his description next.
The same syllable is often seen in different words. You can prove this by playing the following game: Each player writes several words on a long strip of paper, leaving spaces between the different words. This having been done the syllables are cut out and shuffled. Each player draws three syllables. The guests seat themselves at small tables, and try to fashion words from the syllables, either using two or three of them. If it is impossible to do this, they must be returned and others are taken in their place. Another trial at word-making is given, and the one who, after a definite time, has made the most words out of his syllables, wins a prize.
One of Shakespeare's plays is selected, and as many questions are arranged in connection with it as the writer can think of. These are given to the players.
Example: About what time of the month were they married?Answer: Twelfth-Night.
Of whom did they buy the ring?Answer: Merchant of Venice.
In what kind of a place did they live?Answer: Hamlet.
Pencils and paper are given the guests, and a subject for the parody is given. This may be a poem or a story, as selected by the hostess. The parodies are collected and read. The company decides which is the best one. To this one a handsome copy of the poem or story is given.
On a large, oblong slate draw with a slate pencil a diagram, as follows: Horizontal lines every two inches across the narrow part of the slate. Pieces of paper are blown over the diagram toward the top of the slate; or beans or pieces of chalk may be substituted for the paper. One of these is called a "chipper." If you use beans, snap them over the diagram with the fingers. Where the "chipper" stops, draw a mark to represent a small round "o." This depicts a man's head. The "chipper," having been returned to the starting point, is again snapped over the diagram. This continues until the player has marked a head in each of the spaces; or should his chipper land a second time in a space in which he has already marked such a head, he makes a larger round "O" under the head, to represent the body of a man. The third time it lands in this place he makes a downward stroke for a leg, and the fourth time, one for a second leg, which completes the man. Should three complete men be so drawn in one space, the player, without shooting again, draws what are called "arms," that is, a horizontal line from the figure across the space to the outside limit. This occupies the space completely and keeps the other players out of it. He continues to play until his "chipper" lands on a line. If this goes beyond the diagram, the player is "out." Each player takes a turn. He can start, or complete men, in any space not occupied with three armed men, even though the former player may have started men in the space or have completed two of them. A player can build only on his own men. The one drawing the largest number of spaces with three armed men is the winner.
Chess is a game which can only be played by two persons at the same time. The requisites are a board consisting of 64 squares of alternate black and white, and 32 pieces of wood, ivory, bone or other composition, which are technically known as "men." The board is so placed between the players that a white square is on the extreme right of each. The "men" are called black and white, there being an equal number of each. One player takes the white and another the black. Each division of 16 is composed of a king (the capture of which is the issue of the game), a queen, 2 rooks or castles, 2 bishops, 2 knights, and 8 pawns. In commencing the game, the rooks are placed on the corner squares, next to them on each side a knight, next to the knights on each side a bishop, and then the king and queen. If white, the queen is placed on the remaining white square, if black, on the remaining black square, and thus both queens face each other. It is the same with the kings. The 8 pawns are placed on each side on the squares immediately in front of the pieces.
The player has the privilege of moving his king into any vacant square adjacent to one he is occupying, provided it is not already taken by a piece belonging to his opponent, but he can go no farther. The queen can be moved in any direction up, down, backwards, forwards, as long as there is no piece to block her. The same can be done with the rook or castle, except that it cannot be moved diagonally—The bishop can only be moved diagonally, in a backward or forward direction. The move of the knight is a combination of the rook's shortest move, followed by the bishop's shortest move. It is not hindered by intervening pawns or pieces. The pawn can only be moved one square at a time, and that in a forward direction. Another pawn in front of it stops its progress. A pawn has the power of capturing an opposite pawn in either of the adjacent squares in advance and diagonally to the right or left of it when it moves into the square of the one captured. The king is never captured. When a piece or pawn attacks him he is said to be in check and the opposite player cries out "Check"! The attacked king is freed from check by moving him to an adjacent square not occupied by a piece or pawn of the opposite side, or else by opposing some piece to defend him from the check. If the player cannot resort to either of these tactics to save his king he is "checkmated" and loses the game.