Chapter IX: Part II: Curiosities (1)

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.

EXPLANATION.

Any one 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 tooth-brush 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 the 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, 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. Calverley’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 soda-water. “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 criticism 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.

CONJURING WITH COIN.

Coin-conjuring, like card-conjuring, has its own peculiar sleights, which it will be necessary for the student to practice diligently before he can hope to attain much success in this direction.

The first faculty which the novice must seek to acquire is that of “palming”—_i. e._, secretly holding an object in the open hand by the contraction of the palm. To acquire this power, take a half-crown, florin, or quarter (these being the most convenient in point of size), and lay it on the palm of the open hand. Now close the hand very slightly, and if you have placed the coin on the right spot (which a few trials will quickly indicate), the contraction of the palm around its edges will hold it securely, and you may move the hand and arm in any direction without fear of dropping it. You should next accustom yourself to use the hand and fingers easily and naturally, while still holding the coin as described. A very little practice will enable you to do this. You must bear in mind while practicing always to keep the inside of the palm either downward or toward your own body, as any reverse movement would expose the concealed coin.

PASSES.

Being thoroughly master of this first lesson, you may proceed to the study of the various “passes.” All of the passes have the same object—viz., the apparent transfer of an article from one hand to the other, though such article really remains in the hand which it has apparently just quitted. As the same movement frequently repeated would cause suspicion, and possibly detection, it is desirable to acquire different ways of effecting this object. It should be here mentioned that the term “palming,” which we have so far used as meaning simply the act of _holding_ any article, is also employed to signify the act of _placing_ any article in the palm by one or other of the various passes. The context will readily indicate in which of the two senses the term is used in any given passage.

PASS 1.—Take the coin in the right hand, between the second and third fingers and the thumb, letting it, however, really be supported by the fingers, and only steadied by the thumb. Now move the thumb out of the way, and close the second and third fingers, with the coin balanced on them, into the palm. If the coin was rightly placed in the first instance, you will find that this motion puts it precisely in the position above described as the proper one for palming; and on again extending the fingers, the coin is left palmed. When you can do this easily with the hand at rest, you must practice doing the same thing with the right hand in motion toward the left, which should meet it open, but should close the moment that the fingers of the right hand touch its palm, as though upon the coin which you have by this movement feigned to transfer to it. The left hand must thenceforward remain closed, as if holding the coin, and the right hand hang loosely open, as if empty.

PALMING.

In the motion of “palming” the two hands must work in harmony, as in the genuine act of passing an article from the one hand to the other. The left hand must therefore rise to meet the right, but should not begin its journey until the right hand begins its own. Nothing looks more awkward or unnatural than to see the left hand extended, with open palm, before the right hand has begun to move toward it.

PASS 2.—This is somewhat easier than Pass 1, and may sometimes be usefully substituted for it. Take the coin edgeways between the first and third fingers of the right hand, the sides of those fingers pressing against the edges of the coin, and the middle finger steadying it from behind. Carry the right hand toward the left, and at the same time move the thumb swiftly over the face of the coin till the top joint passes its outer edge, then bend the thumb, and the coin will be found to be securely nipped between that joint and the junction of the thumb with the hand. As in the last case, the left hand must be closed the moment the right hand touches it; and the right must thenceforth be held with the thumb bent slightly inward toward the palm, so that the coin may be shielded from the view of the spectators. This is an especially quick mode of palming, and if properly executed the illusion is perfect.

PASS 3.—Hold the left hand palm upward, with the coin in position. Move the right hand toward the left, and let the fingers simulate the motion of picking up the coin, and instantly close. At the same moment slightly close the left hand, so as to contract the palm around the coin, and drop the hand, letting it hang loosely by your side.

THE VANISHING TRICK.

A word of caution may here be desirable. These “passes” must by no means be regarded as being themselves _tricks_, but only as processes to be used in the performance of tricks. If the operator, after pretending to pass the coin, say, from the right hand to the left, and showing that it had vanished from the left hand, were to allow his audience to discover that it had all along remained in his right hand, they might admire the dexterity with which he had in this instance deceived their eyes, but they would henceforth guess half the secret of any trick in which palming was employed. If it is necessary immediately to reproduce the coin, the performer should do so by appearing to find it in the hair or whiskers of a spectator, or in any other place that may suit his purpose, remembering always to indicate beforehand that it has passed to such a place, thereby diverting the general attention from himself. As the coin is already in his hand, he has only to drop it to his finger-tips as the hand reaches the place he has named, in order, to all appearance, to take it from thence.

The various passes may be employed not only to cause the disappearance of an article, as above described, but to secretly exchange it for a substitute of similar appearance. These exchanges are of continual use in conjuring; indeed, we may almost say that three parts of its marvels depend on them. Such an exchange having been made, the substitute is left in sight of the audience, while the performer, having thus secretly gained possession of the original, disposes of it as may be necessary for the purpose of the trick.

With this brief practical introduction, we proceed to describe a few of the simpler tricks with coins.

HEADS OR TAILS.

You borrow a quarter, and spin it, or invite some other person to spin it, on the table (which must be without a cloth). You allow it to spin itself out, and immediately announce, without seeing it, whether it has fallen head or tail upward. This may be repeated any number of times with the same result, though you may be blindfolded, and placed at the further end of the apartment.

The secret lies in the use of a quarter of your own, on one face of which (say on the “tail” side) you have cut at the extreme edge a little notch, thereby causing a minute point or tooth of metal to project from that side of the coin. If a coin so prepared be spun on the table, and should chance to go down with the notched side upward, it will run down like an ordinary coin, with a long continuous “whirr,” the sound growing fainter and fainter till it finally ceases; but if it should run down with the notched side downward, the friction of the point against the table will reduce this final whirr to half its ordinary length, and the coin will finally go down with a sort of “flop.” The difference of sound is not sufficiently marked to attract the notice of the spectators, but is perfectly distinguishable by an attentive ear. If, therefore, you have notched the coin on the “tail” side, and it runs down slowly, you will cry “tail;” if quickly, “head.”

If you professedly use a borrowed coin, you must adroitly change it for your own, under pretence of showing how to spin it, or the like.

ODD OR EVEN; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS ADDITION.

You take a handful of coins, and invite another person to do the same, and to ascertain privately whether the number he has taken is odd or even. You request the company to observe that you have not asked him a single question, but that you are able, notwithstanding, to divine and counteract his most secret intentions, and that you will, in proof of this, yourself take a number of coins and add them to those he has taken, when, if his number was odd, the total shall be even; if his number was even, the total shall be odd. Requesting him to drop the coins he holds into a hat, held on high by one of the company, you drop in a certain number on your own account. He is now asked whether his number was odd or even; and, the coins being counted, the total number proves to be, as you stated, exactly the reverse. The experiment is tried again and again, with different numbers, but the result is the same.

The secret lies in the simple arithmetical fact, that if you add an odd number to an even number, the result will be _odd_; if you add an odd number to an odd number, the result will be _even_. You have only to take care, therefore, that the number you yourself add, whether large or small, shall always be odd.

TO RUB ONE DIME INTO THREE.

This is a simple little parlor trick, but will sometimes occasion a good deal of wonderment. Procure three dimes of the same issue, and privately stick two of them with wax to the under side of a table, at about half an inch from the edge, and eight or ten inches apart. Announce to the company that you are about to teach them how to make money. Turn up your sleeves, and take the third dime in your right hand, drawing particular attention to its date and general appearance, and indirectly to the fact that you have no other coin concealed in your hands. Turning back the table-cover, rub the dime with the ball of the thumb backward and forward on the edge of the table. In this position your fingers will naturally be below the edge. After rubbing for a few seconds, say, “It is nearly done, for the dime is getting hot;” and, after rubbing a moment or two longer with increased rapidity, draw the hand away sharply, bringing away with it one of the concealed dimes, which you exhibit as produced by the friction. Leaving the waxed dime on the table, and again showing that you have but one coin in your hands, repeat the operation with the remaining dime.

THE CAPITAL Q.

Take a number of coins, say from five-and-twenty to thirty, and arrange them in the form of the letter Q, making the “tail” consist of some six or seven coins. Then invite some person (during your absence from the room) to count any number he pleases, beginning at the tip of the tail and traveling up the _left_ side of the circle, touching each coin as he does so; then to work back again from the coin at which he stops (calling such coin _one_), this time, however, not returning down the tail, but continuing round the opposite side of the circle to the same number. During this process you retire, but on your return you indicate with unerring accuracy the coin at which he left off. In order to show (apparently) that the trick does not depend on any arithmetical principle, you reconstruct the Q, or invite the spectators to do so, with a different number of coins, but the result is the same.

The solution lies in the fact that the coin at which the spectator ends will necessarily be _at the same distance from the root of the tail as there are coins in the tail itself_. Thus, suppose that there are five coins in the tail, and that the spectator makes up his mind to count eleven. He commences from the tip of the tail, and counts up the left side of the circle. This brings him to the sixth coin beyond the tail. He then retrogrades, and calling that coin “one,” counts eleven in the opposite direction. This necessarily brings him to the fifth coin from the tail on the opposite side, being the length of the tail over and above those coins which are common to both processes. If he chooses ten, twelve, or any other number, he will still, in counting back again, end at the same point.

The rearrangement of the coins, which is apparently only intended to make the trick more surprising, is really designed, by altering the length of the tail, to shift the position of the terminating coin. If the trick were performed two or three times in succession with the same number of coins in the tail, the spectators could hardly fail to observe that the _same_ final coin was always indicated, and thereby to gain a clue to the secret. The number of coins in the circle itself is quite immaterial.

THE WANDERING DIME.

Have ready two dimes, each slightly waxed on one side. Borrow a dime, and secretly exchange it for one of the waxed ones, laying the latter, waxed side uppermost, on the table. Let any one draw two squares of ordinary card-board. Take them in the left hand, and, transferring them to the right, press the second waxed dime against the centre of the undermost, to which it will adhere. Lay this card (which we will call _a_) on the table, about eighteen inches from the dime which is already there, and cover such dime with the other card, _b_. Lift both cards a little way from the table, to show that the dime is under card _a_, and that there is (apparently) nothing under card _b_. As you replace them, press lightly on the centre of card _a_. You may now make the dime appear under whichever card you like, remembering that, if you wish the dime _not_ to adhere, you must bend the card slightly upward in taking it from the table; if otherwise, take it up without bending.

THE MAGIC COVER AND VANISHING PENNIES.

For the purpose of this trick you require half a dozen cents, of which the centre portion has been cut out, leaving each a mere rim of metal. Upon these is placed a complete cent, and the whole are connected together by a rivet, running through the whole thickness of the pile. When placed upon the table, with the complete coin upward, they have all the appearance of a pile of ordinary pennies, the slight lateral play allowed by the rivet aiding the illusion. A little leather cap (shaped something like a fez, with a little button on the top, and of such a size as to fit loosely over the pile of cents), with an ordinary die, such as backgammon is played with, complete the necessary apparatus.

You begin by drawing attention to your magic cap and die, and in order to exhibit their mystic powers, you request the loan of half a dozen cents (the number must, of course, correspond with that of your own pile). While they are being collected, you take the opportunity to slip the little cap over your prepared pile, which should be placed ready to hand behind some small object on the table, so as to be unseen by the spectators. Pressing the side of the cap, you lift the pile with it, and place the whole together in full view, in close proximity to the die. The required cents having been now collected, you beg all to observe that you place the leather cap (which the spectators suppose to be empty) fairly over the die. Taking the genuine coins in either hand, you pretend, by one or other of the “passes,” to transfer them to the other. Holding the hand which is now supposed to contain the coins immediately above the cap, you announce that they will at your command pass under the cap, from which the die will disappear to make room for them. Saying, “One, two, three! Pass!” you open your hand, and show that the coins have vanished; and then, lifting up the cap by the button, you show the hollow pile, covering the die and appearing to be the genuine coins. Once more covering the pile with the cap, you announce that you will again extract the coins, and replace the die; and to make the trick still more extraordinary, you will this time pass the coins right through the table. Placing the hand which holds the genuine coins beneath the table, and once more saying, “One, two, three! Pass!” you chink the coins, and, bringing them up, place them on the table. Again picking up the cap, but this time pressing its sides, you lift up the hollow pile with it, and disclose the die. Quickly transferring the cap, without the pile, to the other hand, you place it on the table, to bear the brunt of examination, while you get rid of the prepared coins.

THE PEPPER-BOX, FOR VANISHING MONEY.

This is a small tin box, of the pepper-box or flour-dredger shape, standing three to four inches high. The “box” portion (as distinguished from the lid) is made double, consisting of two tin tubes sliding the one within the other, the bottom being soldered to the inner one only. By pulling the bottom downward, therefore, you draw down with it the inner tube, telescope fashion. By so doing you bring into view a slit or opening at one side of the inner tube, level with the bottom, and of such a size as to let a half-dollar pass through it easily. The lid is also specially prepared. It has an inner or false top, and between the true and false top a loose bit of tin is introduced, which rattles when the box is shaken, unless you at the same time press a little point of wire projecting from one of the holes at the top, and so render it, for the time being, silent. The box is first exhibited with the inner tube pushed up into its place, and the opening thereby concealed. A marked coin is borrowed, but either before or after the coin is placed therein, as may best suit his purpose, the performer secretly draws out the inner tube a quarter of an inch or so, thus allowing the coin to slip through into his hand. As he places the box on the table, a very slight pressure suffices to force the tube up again into its original position, and close the opening. Having made the necessary disposition of the coin, the performer takes up the box and shakes it, to show (apparently) that the coin is still there, pressing on the little point above mentioned when he desires it to appear that it has departed, and immediately opening the box to show that it is empty. The pepper-box will not bear minute inspection, and is in this particular inferior to the rattle box.

A NEST OF BOXES.

This consists of half a dozen circular wooden boxes, one within the other, the outer box having much the appearance, but being nearly double the size, of an ordinary tooth-powder box, and the smallest being just large enough to contain a quarter. The series is so accurately made that, by arranging the boxes in due order, one within the other, and the lids in like manner, you may, by simply putting on all the lids together, close all the boxes at once, though they can only be opened one by one.

These are placed, the boxes together and the lids together, anywhere so as to be just out of sight of the audience. If on your table, they may be hidden by any more bulky article. Having secretly obtained possession, by either of the means before described, of a coin which is ostensibly deposited in some other piece of apparatus, you seize your opportunity to drop it into the innermost box, and to put on the united lids. You then bring forward the nest of boxes (which the spectators naturally take to be one box only), and announce that the twenty-five cent piece will at your command pass from the place in which it has been deposited into the box which you hold in your hand, and which you forthwith deliver to one of the audience for safe keeping. Touching both articles with the mystic wand, you invite inspection of the first to show that the money has departed, and then of the box, wherein it is to be found. The holder opens the box, and finds another, and then another, and in the innermost of all, the marked coin. Seeing how long the several boxes have taken to open, the spectators naturally infer that they must take as long to close, and (apart from the other mysteries of the trick) are utterly at a loss to imagine how, with the mere moment of time at your command, you could have managed to insert the coin, and close so many boxes. If you desire to use the nest for a coin larger than a quarter, you can make it available for that purpose by removing beforehand the smallest box.

THE BALL OF BERLIN WOOL.

An easy and effective mode of terminating a money trick is to pass the marked coin into the centre of a large ball of Berlin wool or worsted, the whole of which has to be unwound before the coin can be reached. The _modus operandi_, though perplexing to the uninitiated, is absurdly simple when the secret is revealed. The only apparatus necessary over and above the wool (of which you must have enough for a good-sized ball), is a flat tin tube, three to four inches in length, and just large enough to allow a quarter or half-dollar (whichever you intend to use for the trick) to slip through it easily. You prepare for the trick by winding the wool on one end of the tube, in such manner that when the whole is wound in a ball, an inch or so of the tube may project from it. This you place in your pocket, or anywhere out of sight of the audience. You commence the trick by requesting some one to mark a coin, which you forthwith exchange by one or other of the means already described, for a substitute of your own, and leave the latter in the possession or in view of the spectators, while you retire to fetch your ball of wool, or simply take it from your pocket. Before producing it, you drop the genuine coin down the tube into the centre of the ball, and withdraw the tube, giving the ball a squeeze to remove all trace of an opening. You then bring it forward, and place it in a glass goblet or tumbler, which you hand to a spectator to hold. Taking the substitute coin, you announce that you will make it pass invisibly into the very centre of the ball of wool, which you accordingly pretend to do, getting rid of it by means of one or other of the “passes” already described. You then request a second spectator to take the loose end of the wool, and to unwind the ball, which, when he has done, the coin falls out into the goblet.

The only drawback to the trick is the tediousness of unwinding. To obviate this, some performers use a wheel made for the purpose, which materially shortens the length of the operation.

MISCELLANEOUS TRICKS.

THE RAISIN TORTOISE.

This noble animal is constructed as follows:—A muscatel raisin forms the body, and small portions of the stalk of the same fruit the head and legs. With a little judgment in the selection of the pieces of stalk and the mode in which they are thrust into the body, it is surprising what a lifelike tortoise may be thus produced. While the work of art in question is being handed round on a plate for admiration, the artist may further distinguish himself, if the wherewithal is obtainable, by constructing

THE LEMON PIG.

The body of the pig consists of a lemon. The shape of this fruit renders it particularly well adapted for this purpose, the crease or shoulder at the small end of the lemon being just the right shape to form the head and neck of the pig. With three or four lemons to choose from, you cannot fail to find at least one which will answer the purpose exactly. The mouth and ears are made by cutting the rind with a penknife, the legs of short ends of lucifer matches, and the eyes either of black pins, thrust in up to the head, or of grape-stones.

THE SEASICK PASSENGER.

The requirements for this touching picture are an orange, a pocket-handkerchief or soft table-napkin, and a narrow water goblet. The orange is first prepared by cutting in the rind with a penknife the best ears, nose, and mouth which the artist can compass, a couple of raisin-pips supplying the place of eyes. A pocket-handkerchief is stretched lightly over the glass, and the prepared orange laid thereon. The pocket-handkerchief is then moved gently backward and forward over the top of the glass, imparting to the orange a rolling motion, and affording a laughable but striking caricature of the agonies of a seasick passenger.

THE ENCHANTED RAISINS.

Take four raisins or bread-pills, and place them about a foot apart, so as to form a square on the table. Next fold a couple of table-napkins, each into a pad of five inches square. Take one of these in each hand, the fingers undermost and the thumb uppermost. Then inform the company that you are about to give them a lesson in the art of hanky-panky, etc., and in the course of your remarks bring down the two napkins carelessly over the two raisins farthest from you. Leave the right-hand napkin on the table, but, in withdrawing the hand, bring away the raisin between the second and third fingers, and at the same moment remarking, “You must watch particularly how many raisins I place under each napkin,” lift the left-hand napkin (as if merely to show that there is one raisin only beneath it), and transfer it to the palm of the outstretched right hand, behind which the raisin is now concealed. Without any perceptible pause, but at the same time without any appearance of haste, you replace the folded napkin on raisin No. 2, and in so doing leave raisin No. 1 beside it. Now take up raisin No 3 (with the right hand). Put the hand under the table, and in doing so get raisin No. 3 between the second and third fingers, as much _behind_ the hand as possible. Give a rap with the knuckles on the under-side of the table, at the same time saying, “Pass!” and forthwith pick up the left-hand napkin with the left hand, showing the raisins 1 and 2 beneath it. All eyes are drawn to the two raisins on the table, and as the right hand comes into sight from beneath the table the left quietly transfers the napkin to it, thereby effectually concealing the presence of raisin No. 3. The napkin is again laid over raisins 1 and 2, and No. 3 is secretly deposited with them. No. 4 is then taken in the right hand, and the process repeated, when _three_ raisins are naturally discovered; the napkin being once more replaced, and No. 4 left with the rest. There are now four raisins under the left-hand napkin, and none under that on the right hand, though the spectators are persuaded that there is _one_ under the latter, and only _three_ under the former. The trick being now practically over, the performer may please himself as to the form of the _dénouement_ and, having gone through any appropriate form of incantation, commands the imaginary _one_ to go and join the other three, which is found to have taken place accordingly.

THE DEMON LUMP OF SUGAR.

The performer commences by borrowing two hats, which he places, crown upward, upon the table, drawing particular attention to the fact that there is nothing whatever under either of them. He next demands the loan of the family sugar basin, and requests some one to select from it a lump of sugar (preferably one of an unusual and easily distinguished shape), at the same time informing them that, by means of a secret process, only known to himself, he will undertake to swallow such lump of sugar before their eyes, and yet, after a few minutes’ interval, bring it under either of the two hats they may choose. The company, having been prepared by the last trick to expect some ingenious piece of sleight-of-hand, are all on the _qui vive_ to prevent any substitution of another lump of sugar, or any pretence of swallowing without actually doing so. However, the performer does unmistakably take the identical lump of sugar chosen and crush it to pieces with his teeth. He then asks, with unabated confidence, under which of the two hats he shall bring it, and, the choice having been made, places the chosen hat on his own head, and in that way fulfills his undertaking.

THE MYSTERIOUS PRODUCTION.

This is another feat of the genus “sell,” and to produce due effect should only be introduced after the performer has, by virtue of a little genuine magic, prepared the company to expect from him something a little out of the common. He begins by informing the spectators that he is about to show them a great mystery, a production of nature on which no human being has ever yet set eye, and which, when they have once seen, no human being will ever set eyes on again. When the general interest is sufficiently awakened, he takes a nut from the dish and, having gravely cracked it, exhibits the kernel, and says, “Here is an object which you will all admit no human being has ever seen, and which” (here he puts it into his mouth and gravely swallows it) “I am quite sure nobody will ever see again.”

THE FAMILY GIANT.

A very fair giant, for domestic purposes, may be produced by the simple expedient of seating a young lad astride on the shoulders of one of the older members of the company, and draping the combined figure with a long cloak or Inverness cape. The “head” portion may, of course, be “made up” as much as you please, the more complete the disguise the more effective being the giant. A ferocious-looking moustache and whiskers will greatly add to his appearance. If some ready-witted and genial member of the party will undertake to act as showman, and exhibit the giant, holding a lively conversation with him, and calling attention to his gigantic idiosyncrasies, a great deal of fun may be produced. The joke should not, however, be very long continued, as the feelings of the “legs” have to be considered. If too long deprived of air and light they are apt to wax rebellious, and either carry the giant in directions he would fain avoid, or even occasionally to strike altogether, and bring the giant’s days to a sudden and undignified termination.

THE ANIMATED TELESCOPE.

This is a much more finished deception, and is not unfrequently seen exhibited at theatres and circuses. The figure is constructed as follows:—You procure a stout broomstick, four feet long, and on one end thereof fasten firmly a grotesque pasteboard head, with appropriate headdress. Next construct an extinguisher-shaped robe of some dark material (a coarse black muslin or canvas is the best, as allowing a reasonable amount of light and ventilation to the performer). It should be gathered in with a frill round the neck of the figure, and should be of such a length that when the performer stands beneath, with the stick extended at full length above his neck, it shall all but reach the ground. The robe should taper gradually outward, from a diameter of about eight inches at the top to about two feet six at the bottom. A cane hoop should be fastened horizontally within it at about the height of the performer’s knees, and another at about the level of his chin. These keep the garment distended, and give the operator much greater freedom of movement than he would otherwise enjoy. The lower hoop should be attached by four pieces of tape to a belt around the performer’s waist, this arrangement keeping it at a uniform height from the floor, and preventing the skirt getting under the performer’s feet in walking.

With a little practice the figure thus composed may be made to go through a variety of the most eccentric manœuvres. For instance, by gradually lowering the stick, and at the same time contracting the body into a crouching position, it may be made to sink to the dimensions of a dwarf.

By bending the body, and at the same time lowering the stick into a horizontal position, the figure will be made to salute. While in this position the head may be made to describe a circle of three or four feet in diameter, with inexpressibly comical effect. The stick may then be sloped backward. By way of finale, the figure may be made to pass its head between its legs, and in that position make its exit. Some little practice is required to work the “Nondescript” effectively.

“THE WHAT-DO-YOU-THINK?”

Our next three or four sections will be devoted to the description of the after-dinner menagerie. We will begin with the “What-do-you-Think?”

The exhibitor begins, in proper showman style, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the pleasure of exhibiting to your notice the celebrated ‘What-do-you-Think?’ or Giant Uncle-Eater. You have all probably heard of the Ant-Eater. This is, as you will readily perceive, a member of the same family, but more so! He measures seven feet from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail, eight feet back again, five feet round the small of his waist, and has four feet of his own, making twenty-four in all. In his natural state he lives chiefly on blue-bottle flies and mixed pickles, but in captivity it is found that so rich a diet has a tendency to make him stout, and he is now fed exclusively on old champagne corks and back numbers of some daily paper. His voice, which you may perhaps have an opportunity of hearing (here the ‘What-do-you-Think?’ howls dismally), is in the key of B flat, and is greatly admired. People come here before breakfast to hear it, and when they have heard it, they assure us that they never heard anything like it before. Some have even gone so far as to say that they never wish to hear anything like it again.” Etc.

The “What-do-you-Think?” is manufactured as follows:—The performer, who should have black kid gloves on, places on his head a conical paper cap, worked up with the aid of the nursery paint-box into a rough semblance of an animal’s head. This being securely fastened on, he goes down on his hands and knees and a shaggy railway rug (of fur, if procurable) is thrown over him, and secured round his neck, when the animal is complete.

THE GIRAFFE.

A grotesque head, as nearly approaching the required shape as possible, is securely fastened to the end of a long stick, which is held by the foremost of the two performers who form the body beneath. To this head is attached the cloth which is designed to form the body of the animal, and which should be pinned round the bodies of the two performers. A rope tail may be added.

A good deal of fun may be produced by the efforts of the animal to scratch his head with his hind leg, etc.

THE DWARF.

The Dwarf can scarcely be said to belong to the menagerie, but may appropriately follow in this place. He is constructed as follows:—A table, with cover, is placed just in front of the drawn curtains of a window. The performers, of whom there are two, place themselves behind the table, the one in front of the other. The foremost either stands, or kneels on a stool, as may be found most convenient, and rests his hands, which are encased in a pair of boots, upon the table. These form the feet of the Dwarf. The second performer stands behind the first, concealed by the curtain, and passes his arms, which are the only part of his person in view, over the shoulders of the first performer, to form the arms of the dwarf. The above arrangements are, of course, made before the company are admitted into the room. The dwarf then proceeds to make a speech or sing a song, which the arms accompany with (as a rule) singularly inappropriate gestures. Thus, at a very impressive portion of (say) Hamlet’s soliloquy, the right hand will be seen to tweak the nose violently, or even to “take a sight” at the assembled company. The arms have even been known to stop the eloquence of the mouth, by violently cramming a pocket-handkerchief into it. The legs are equally eccentric in their behavior, the Dwarf not hesitating, on an emergency, to scratch his nose with his foot, and so on.

The representation of the Dwarf demands a little practice, but, if it is well worked, the effect produced will fully repay the trouble expended in arranging it. A child’s pinafore will be found the most appropriate garment.

THE TWO HATS.

This is a modern version of the old “Game of Contraries.” The leader brings forward two hats; one he places on his own head, and hands the other to one of the company, with whom he enters into conversation. The person addressed must stand when the leader sits, and sit when he stands, take off his hat when the leader puts on his, and _vice versa_. A failure in any of these particulars is punishable by a forfeit. The conversation may be somewhat as follows:

Leader (standing and wearing his own hat). Allow me to offer you a hat, sir. (Sits down.)

Victim (standing up). I am much obliged to you, but I already have one.

Leader. Scarcely so becoming as this one, I think. But won’t you try it on? (Stands up, and victim sits down.) Allow me to place it on your head.

Victim. Not at present, thank you, though I quite admit it is a very charming hat.

Leader (throwing himself into a chair, and fanning himself with his hat). Dear me, how very hot the room is! Pray don’t rise on my account. (Victim stands up, but omits to put on his hat, whereby he incurs a forfeit, and the leader passes on to endeavor to entrap some other player.)

THE KNIGHT OF THE WHISTLE.

This is a capital game for everybody but the victim, and produces much fun. Some one who does not know the game is chosen to be Knight of the Whistle, and is commanded to kneel down and receive the honor of knighthood, which the leader (armed with a light cane, the drawing-room poker, or other substitute for a sword) confers in due form.

While placing him in position, opportunity is taken to attach to his back, by means of a bent pin or otherwise, a piece of string about a foot in length, to which is attached a small light whistle. Having been duly dubbed, in order to complete his dignity, he is informed that he must now go in quest of the Whistle, which is in the hands of one of the company, and will be sounded at intervals, in order to guide him in his search. Meanwhile the other players gather in a circle round him, making believe to pass an imaginary object from hand to hand. The victim naturally believes that this imaginary object must be the long-lost Whistle, and makes a dash for it accordingly, when the player who happens to be behind his back blows the actual whistle, and instantly drops it again. Round flies the unhappy Knight, and makes a fresh dash to seize the Whistle, but in vain. No sooner has he turned to a fresh quarter than the ubiquitous Whistle again sounds behind his back.

If the game is played smartly, and care taken not to _pull_ upon the cord, the Knight may often be kept revolving for a considerable period before he discovers the secret.

Sometimes a lady is chosen to “dub” the intended Knight, and the following piece of doggerel is repeated, the leader prompting:—

Lady. Why do you kneel thus low to implore?

Gentleman. That I may remain a mere gent no more.

Lady. How can I help your being a gent?

Gentleman. Dub me a Knight—you shall not repent.

Lady. If I should yield to your request,
What knightly duty will please you best?

Gentleman. To wait on ladies from morn till night,
And meet their foes in deadly fight.

Lady. Will you promise to heed all I may say,
And my will or whim henceforth to obey?

Gentleman. Yes, whatever you bid me do
Shall be my law—I belong to you.

Lady. Go, then, and be no longer blind,
And the troublesome Knight of the Whistle find.

The lady then strikes his shoulder with her fan or handkerchief, and says, “Rise up, Sir——”

In this case the victim is not told, but is left to discover that he himself is the Knight of the Whistle.

“HE CAN DO LITTLE.”

This is another “sell” of almost childish simplicity, but we have seen people desperately puzzled over it, and even “give it up” in despair.

The leader takes a stick (or poker) in his left hand, thence transfers it to his right, and thumps three times on the floor, saying, “He can do little who can’t do this.” He then hands the stick to another person, who, as he supposes, goes through exactly the same performance, but if he does not know the game, is generally told, to his disgust, that he has incurred a forfeit, his imitation not having been exact.

The secret lies in the fact that the stick, when passed on, is first received in the left hand, and thence transferred to the right before going through.

“THROWING LIGHT.”

Two of the company agree privately upon a word (which as before, should be one susceptible of two or three meanings), and interchange remarks tending to throw light upon it. The rest of the players do their best to guess the word, but when either of them fancies he has succeeded, he does not publicly announce his guess, but makes such a remark as to indicate to the two initiated that he has discovered their secret. If they have any doubt that he has really guessed the word, they challenge him, i. e., require him to name it in a whisper. If his guess proves to be right, he joins in the conversation, and assists in throwing light on the subject; but if, on the other hand, he is wrong, he must submit to have a handkerchief thrown over his head, and so remain, until by some more fortunate observation he shall prove that he really possesses the secret.

We will give an example. Mr. A. and Miss B. have agreed on “Bed” as the word, and proceed to throw light upon it; alternating upon its various meanings of a place of repose, a part of a garden, or the bed of a river.

Miss B. I don’t know what your opinion may be, but I am never tired of it.

Mr. A. Well, for my part, I am never in a hurry, either to get to it or to leave it.

Miss B. How delightful it is after a long tiring day!

Mr. A. Yes. But it is a pleasure that soon palls. The most luxurious person does not care for too much of it at a stretch.

Miss B. Oh! don’t you think so? In early spring for instance, with the dew upon the flowers!

Mr. A. Ah! you take the romantic view. But how would you like it beneath some rapid torrent, or some broad majestic river.

Miss C. (thinks she sees her way, and hazards a remark). Or in a _souché_!

Mr. A. I beg your pardon. Please tell me, in a whisper, what you suppose the word to be?

Miss C. (whispers). Fish! What! isn’t that right?

Mr. A. I am afraid you must submit to a temporary eclipse. (Throws her handkerchief over her face.)

Mr. A. to Miss B. You mentioned spring, I think. For my own part, I prefer feathers.

Mr. D. (rashly concludes, from the combination of “spring” and “feathers,” that spring-chickens must be referred to). Surely you would have them plucked?

Mr. A. (looks puzzled). I think not. May I ask you to name your guess? Oh, no, quite out. I must trouble you for your pocket-handkerchief.

Miss B. It is curious, isn’t it, that they must be made afresh every day?

Mr. A. So it is; though I confess it never struck me in that light before. I don’t fancy, however, that old Brown the gardener makes his quite so often.

Miss B. You may depend that he has it made for him, though.

Miss C. (from under the handkerchief). At any rate, according as he makes it, his fate will be affected accordingly. You know the proverb?

Mr. A. (removing the handkerchief). You have fairly earned your release. By the way, do you remember an old paradox upon this subject, “What nobody cares to give away, yet nobody wishes to keep?”

Miss E. Ah! now you have let out the secret. I certainly don’t wish to keep mine for long together, but I would willingly give it away if I could get a better.