Professor Hoffman - King Koko

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KING KOKO

OR

THE PRETTY PRINCESS AND THE

LUCKY LOVER

A CONJURING ENTERTAINMENT IN THE FORM

OF A FAIRY TALE

WITH PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS

BY

PROFESSOR HOFFMANN

AUTHOR OF

"MODERN MAGIC," "MORE MAGIC,""_{LATER MAGIC," ETC.}

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. L. SHINDLER

LONDON

CHATTLO & WINDUS

1904

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PRINTED BY

WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

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PREFACE

This little book may, I believe, claim to be the first attempt to present a drawing-room conjuring entertainment in the guise of a connected story.

A portion of the fairy tale thus practically illustrated by conjuring tricks was written some years ago for my own use, and was received with hearty approval by many juvenile audiences. Coming recently across the manuscript, it struck me that with some amount of revision, and the addition of a second chapter, explaining how the marvels described are to be accomplished, it might interest a larger public. This little book is the result.

In making my selection of magical effects, I have not aimed specially at novelty, but have given the preference to such items as appeared to fit easily and naturally into the story. Where, however, I have introduced an old trick, it will be found to be so rejuvenated by the altered mode of presentation as to be practically new.

In point of execution, none of the tricks described

present any serious difficulty; in fact, with one or two exceptions, all are within the compass of the most modest amateur. On the other hand, all are, in their way, effective; and I venture to believe that the novelty of the setting may commend it to more skilled performers.

I have made considerable additions to the original story, not with the idea of lengthening the performance (of which an hour should be the outside limit), but in order to give the narrator a wider range of selection. Many of the incidents are merely parenthetical to the plot, and may be omitted without any detriment to the general effect. An ample margin in this particular has the advantage that it enables the performer to vary his programme on different occasions.

The few requirements in the way of apparatus (of which a priced list is given at the end of the book) are, for the most part, of an inexpensive character, and extremely portable. The performer works throughout single-handed, no assistant being necessary.

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FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

TRYING TO MAKE GOLD ... ... Frontispiece. See p. 19

CHAPTER I.-THE STORY

PAGE

KING KOKO 'AT THE POLICE COURT ... ... 21

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KING KOKO C H A P T E R I

T H E S T O R Y

L A D I E S and gentlemen, I have undertaken to amuse you this evening by telling you a fairy tale. No doubt you have all heard many fairy tales in your time, but you didn't believe them. You were told about all sorts of wonderful things, but you had to take them on trust, and you were not equal to it. But that was the old style of fairy tale. Mine is on a much more up-to-date principle. Everything is solid, copper-bottomed fact. When, in the course of my story, I tell you about some miraculous occurrence, I shall not ask you to take my word for it, but I shall let you see it happen, then and there, for yourselves.

You will naturally wonder how I am going to manage it. I'm not a fairy myself; you can see that at a glance. And, between ourselves, I shouldn't care to be. I'm not the figure for it, for.

one thing; and I shouldn't fancy sitting on a mushroom, or tripping it on damp grass at two o'clock in the morning, which is the fairies' notion of healthy enjoyment. That sort of thing may be all very well for Mr. Puck, or for King Oberon and Queen Titania, but it's not my style.

But though I am not a fairy, I possess a good many magical powers. The fact is, I am lucky enough to own a genuine magic wand. My great-great-grandmother once did some little kindness to a fairy ― lent her an umbrella on a wet night, or something of that sort ― and the fairy, in return, gave her a magic wand, which has been preserved in our family ever since. Here it is. (He exhibits wand.) It is nothing particular to look at, as you see; but if you only have a wand like this, and know how to use it, you can produce all sorts of wonderful effects, without any trouble at all.

For instance, on occasions like this, I always like to wear a flower in my buttonhole, but to-night I forgot to provide one. Now, if I didn't possess a magic wand, I should have to go without; but having the wand makes all the difference, as you will see. I shall supply the deficiency by borrowing a rose from some young lady's cheek. I see a lady over there who looks as if she could spare a rose. She smiles, which is a favourable sign. May I take a rose from your cheek, madam? Pray don't be alarmed; you won't miss it. I shall not even come near you. I shall take it Marconi-fashion, by wireless telegraphy. I just wave the wand, and call it to me ― so. (He makes believe to draw something from the lady indicated to himself,

and place it in the buttonhole of his coat.) Thank you; it is a very pretty one. What do you

say? You don't see it! I dare say not; that is the peculiar nature of this kind of rose. You have heard of "invisible green," haven't you? Well, this rose is "invisible red," so of course you can't see it. But it's there, all the same.

You don't believe me, I see, so I suppose I must make it visible for you. It's easily done ― if you have a magic wand. It only needs the mystic touch. Watch me carefully. Keep one eye on the buttonhole, and the other on the wand, and then I can't possibly deceive you, even if I wanted to do so. One ― Two ― Three! (A rose appears in the buttonhole.)

Now you can see the rose; a very charming specimen, as you must all admit. As I told you, it's all done by the power of the wand. Without it, the rose would have remained permanently invisible, and nobody would have been any the better for it.

I beg your pardon! I think I heard somebody say that the wand had nothing to do with it. She said, too ― it was a lady who said it ― that the wand, my revered great-great-grandmother's wand, was only a bit of stick. A bit of stick, indeed! Somebody will be saying next that I never had a great-great-grandmother. When I come to think of it, I'm afraid I can't

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prove that I ever had. I think I must ask you to assume my great-great-grandmother. But I can prove the magical qualities of her wand in the most convincing manner.

First, I should like some gentleman to examine it carefully. Take it into your own hands, sir. I want you to be thoroughly satisfied that no trick or mechanism, of any sort or kind, is employed. You don't notice anything peculiar about it? No. Nor would you, however long you might examine it, because, as a matter of fact, there isn't any. In one sense it is, as the lady remarked, a mere ordinary piece of wood. But no ordinary piece of wood can do the extraordinary things this wand will do. I'll show you just one of them before I begin my story. See! I just take it in my hands ― so (Fig. 1),*_{and magnetize it by drawing them apart}

once or twice in opposite directions; first, the right hand, and then the left. And now, you see, when I open my hands, the wand does not fall, as you would naturally expect, but remains suspended, by magnetic attraction, to the palms (Fig. 2). Or to the two thumbs only (Fig. 3) ― Or, again, it will hang vertically from one finger and thumb; it is all the same. From the right thumb (Fig. 4), or from the left thumb. (The wand is shown, self-suspended, in

each of the above positions.) Take the wand in your own hands, sir, and again examine it. You

will find that there is absolutely no deception about the matter. In fact, there is no room for deception. The only possible explanation is the one I have given you ― namely, that this simple-looking piece of wood is a genuine magic wand.

This little interlude has made me all the longer in getting to my story. But it is your own fault, ladies and gentlemen. You are so very sceptical. If you would only believe everything I tell you at once, we should get on faster.

Once upon a time, in a certain country ― I say a certain country because I am not quite certain which it was, and I wouldn't deceive you, even in a little thing like that ― in a certain country there was a great king ― or, at any rate, a good-sized king ― named Kokolorum the Irascible. His subjects, for the most part, used to call him simply " Koko," re-serving the "lorum" for use on Bank Holidays and other State occasions. He was very plain himself, both in his language and his features; but he had an extremely lovely daughter, the Princess Belinda Maria Katinka Sophia Jerusha Penelope Elizabeth Anne. She had several other names, which I can't remember for the moment; but. those will do to go on with ― in fact, if you don't mind, we will merely call her "Belinda," for shortness. Her papa called her "Belle," which is shorter still; and the Court Mathematician calculated that he saved nearly three-quarters of an hour every day by doing so.

I don't know exactly how old she was, but she was just at the age when girls are nicest, whatever that is. As a matter of course, she had a sweet-heart. His name was Otto von Smith. He was a good-looking young fellow; his eyes were real peacock blue, and he had a lovely auburn moustache. The King called it "ginger," but the Princess said it was auburn, and of course she must have known best.

Unfortunately, the King had a prejudice against the name of Smith, and ginger ― I mean auburn ― moustaches. He would, however, probably have become reconciled to these trifling defects, but for the influence of his Prime Minister, the Baron von Schwindelheim. Between ourselves, the Baron very much wanted to marry the Princess himself. He was an ugly little man, with red hair and blue spectacles, and he had a slight cast in one eye, but he had an idea that he was extremely good looking. He was a sort of man-of-all-work to the King, who bullied him a good deal, but generally took his advice in the end; and he never lost an opportunity of saying something disagreeable about Von Smith.

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I forgot to tell you that the King was a bit of an alchemist, and used to spend the best part of his time with the Baron in the back parlour, which he had had fitted up as a laboratory, trying to make gold. They never quite succeeded, though they came near it (so they said, at least) several times. One day Von Schwindelheim showed the King a sovereign which he professed to have made while his Majesty was away, taking the chair at a Mothers' Meeting. The King bought it of him for fifteen shillings, and thought he had a great bargain, but it got him into trouble. It was such a very bad one that, when he tried to change it, he was "run in" by the police, and very nearly got six months. As he was a King, the magistrate let him off with a caution.

However, though they never succeeded in making money, they discovered several new ways of spending it. One was a peculiar process for melting silver. If some one will oblige me with the loan of a half-crown, I shall be happy to show it to you. Mark the coin, sir, please, that you may be sure of knowing it again. Silver, as I dare say you know, only melts, in a general way, at a very high temperature; but Von Schwindelheim had discovered that if you first mesmerise it a little by rubbing it with the fingers ― so ― you can melt it in the flame of a common candle, like this one. When I say " a common candle," I don't mean anything offensive. I wouldn't hurt the feelings even of a candle. I mean any ordinary candle.

You see, the coin is getting soft already. (He bends it backwards and forwards

between the fingers.) There is no deception. This is your own half-crown, sir, is it not? You

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the influence; and now, when I hold it over the candle, it should melt right away into the flame. (He rubs coin over candle flame, and then shows fingers, empty.)

It has melted away, you see. The Baron persuaded the King that it was lost for ever ― sacrificed upon the altar of Science. But he himself knew better. As soon as his Majesty's back was turned, he used to nip that little bright point you see at the top of the flame (that's really the coin) ― so, and take it out again. Of course it was in a melted condition, as you see. You don't see anything? Well, no, perhaps not for the moment, because the coin is at present in a state of fusion; but you will directly. As it cools, it takes the form of a little ball-like this. (A small ball of bright metal appears at the finger-tips.)

Allow me to return your property, sir, with many thanks. What do you say ― you would rather have your half-crown? My dear sir, this is your half crown, only a little bit altered. Oh! you would rather have it in its original shape? You should have said that at first, and I wouldn't have altered it. However, I'll try if I can flatten it out a little for you. I won't guarantee to make it quite as it was at first, but I'll do the best I can. Come, it is

certainly getting rather flatter. The pattern seems to be coming back again, too, and I can see faint traces of your own mark. I have succeeded better than I expected. (He hands back coin to

owner.) I am afraid you will find the coin still rather soft. I should recommend you to sit upon

it for a little while, to prevent its curling up at the edges. When it once gets cold, it will be all right.

Now I'll show you another favourite experiment of King Koko's. Von Schwindelheim had got hold of a mediaeval recipe for a hair restorer, and he used to make it up, and supply the King with four-and-sixpenny trial bottles of it for fifteen-pence. He had even persuaded the King to write him a flowery testimonial, illustrated with his own portrait, saying that if it hadn't been for "Von Schwindelheim's Magic Scalp Fertilizer," he wouldn't have had a hair left on his head. He had only a little fringe all round, as it was, so it wasn't much of a testimonial; but he was photographed with his crown on, so the picture looked all right. I'll show you directly how the Magic Fertilizer was made, but – excuse my interrupting the story for a moment ― I have just noticed that a young gentleman over there has an orange in his hair; and as I shall be wanting an

orange presently, I may as well borrow it at once. (Takes orange from spectator's hair.) Thank you, sir, this will be extremely useful to me. I will put it here on the table till it is wanted.

Let me see – where was I when the young gentleman with the orange interrupted me? Oh yes! I was just going to tell you how the Magic Fertilizer was made. You take a glass of water, a pocket-handkerchief, and a half-crown. Of course, if any one will lend them to you, you need not take them. I would always rather borrow than steal, myself, so we will try borrowing first.

Who will lend me another half-crown? I would rather not have the one I melted in the candle just now; I am not quite sure that that is a good one. I should prefer a good old well-worn coin, if possible. When a coin has been a long time in use, there is more animal magnetism about it, and animal magnetism goes a long way in conjuring. Make a good bold mark upon it, please, and keep it till I want it. And now may I also ask the loan of a small pocket-handkerchief? I won't trouble anybody to lend me the water – I have some here.

First, I will fill the glass. Will some gentleman oblige me by holding it? (The glass of

water is handed to volunteer assistant.) Hold it well up, sir, that everybody may be able to

keep an eye upon it. Now I will ask somebody else to hold up the orange, on the point of this knife. (These are handed to a second spectator.)

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Please observe, ladies and gentlemen, that up to this point I have not even touched the half-crown, which has till this last minute remained in the custody of the owner. I will now take it, and throw the handkerchief over it – so. This is done in order to concentrate the electric force, because naturally, unless the peristaltic anhelations of the prismatic hyperdynamic are maintained, the parallelogram of forces is disturbed, and the cosmic aura no longer retains its hyperboloid connection with the hepatic reticulations. You will realize at once that such must be the case. Now, sir (to the person holding the glass), I want you to take hold of the half crown through the handkerchief, and hold it just over the glass. When I say "Three," please drop it into the water. Attention, please. I want every body to hear it fall in. One-two-three! Now take off the handkerchief. The half-crown is no longer there, or rather, it is there, but it is completely dissolved in the water.

That constitutes the Magic Scalp Fertilizer; and Von Schwindelheim persuaded the King that if he only rubbed this well into his cranium he would soon have a beautiful crop of curly hair – silver hair, of course. He little thought that, as soon as his back was turned, the artful old Baron used to take the money out of the water again. At first sight that would seem to be rather difficult, considering that it is completely dissolved; but I'll show you how it was done.

Von Schwindelheim had discovered that orange juice has the curious faculty of restoring the silver to its original solid condition. So he used just to take an orange, stick it on the point of a knife, and pour a little of the Fertilizer over it – like this (he suits the action

to the words), when the half-crown immediately passed into the orange. I have no doubt it has

done so now. (To the holder.) Cut the orange open yourself, sir, please, and see whether the coin has materialized. (This is done, and the half-crown is discovered inside.) Yes ; here is the half-crown, you see, with the owner's mark still upon it. It is rather wet, I am afraid. Allow me to wipe it for you. (He wipes coin with pocket-handkerchief.) That is better. (To the

lender.) There is your half-crown, sir. Will you be good enough to look at the mark, and tell

the company whether that is really the coin you lent me? (The owner identifies the coin.) Of course, when the silver is taken out of it, the magic hair restorer becomes just plain water again. Von Schwindelheim used to eat the orange, and pocket the half-crown; but the poor King kept on rubbing and rubbing, though, for all the good it did him, he might just as well have rubbed his head against the parish pump.

There was, however, one curious thing about it. The water became more dense than usual; and if you had a steady hand you might even turn the glass upside down, and it would not fall out. I'll try it, though I don't know whether I shall succeed. I am afraid the half-crown was hardly left in long enough to have the full effect. (He inverts the glass, but the water

does not escape.) It is all right, not-withstanding, you see. All that it needs is a steady hand,

and plenty of nerve. My own idea is that the water is taken by surprise. It doesn't know whether it is standing on its head or its heels, and while it is making up its mind it forgets to fall out. It's really very simple. Will some gentleman try it for himself ? Place your hand flat on the top of the glass. Now turn it over. And now take your hand away. (The waterfalls out.) Dear, dear! that is a pity. I fancy you were a little bit nervous. I warned you that it required a very steady hand.

However, to return to the Princess and her lover. The King, as I have already told you, wouldn't have anything to say to Von Smith; and the young people would have been in despair, but fortunately, Belinda had a fairy godmother. Now, you know, fairy godmothers always give their god-child something extra special in the way of a christening present. Belinda's gift from her godmother was rather a curious one. It was the sweetest breath in the world. I hardly know

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how to describe it. It was a combination of the scent of roses and violets and lilies of the valley, with just a suggestion, hardly enough to notice, of rum-punch.

As you would naturally expect, a breath of such a superior kind had sundry mysterious effects.*_{If a lady will lend me a handkerchief again, I'll show you one of them. If the Princess}

wanted a little light refreshment, she had no need to go into a pastry cook’s shop, like other young ladies. She had only to take her handkerchief like this, and breathe on it, when a shower of sweets immediately fell from it. Which young lady will hold this plate, and breathe for the Princess? (The performer holds the handkerchief over the plate, with the four corners

hanging down around it. When the lady breathes on it, a shower of bonbons falls on the plate.)

The King took it into his head that the spell lay in the handkerchief, so one day he got hold of one of Belinda's pocket-handkerchiefs, and made the Baron hold it for him. Then he took a long breath, and blew as if he was playing the trombone. Who will blow for the King?

(Some one does so, when an onion falls from the handkerchief.) But it doesn't do to try

experiments in magic. It unfortunately happened that his Majesty had been having roast pork for dinner; and you see the painful result.

Another magical effect of the Princess's breath was flower-growing; producing lovely flowers out of nothing at all. She had no need of seeds to sow, or earth to sow them in. She didn't even trouble to go into the garden. She just took a sheet of white paper, twisted it into a conical bag, and fastened it with a pin ― like this. (He suits the action in each case to the

words.) Then she just breathed into it, and presently the flowers appeared.

I beg your pardon! I think I heard somebody say I had put something in the bag. Pray convince yourselves that I have not done anything of the kind. I really feel hurt that you should imagine I would be guilty of such a thing (particularly while you are looking straight at me). See for yourselves. Nothing here (showing left hand empty); nothing in the bag; and nothing here (showing right hand empty).

Now, if you have fully satisfied yourselves that I have nothing in my hands, and that the bag is absolutely empty, I will ask some young lady to breathe into it for the Princess. You will, madam? Thank you. A good long breath, please. Nothing in the bag as yet, is there? Breathe once more, please, to strengthen the influence.

Now, would the lady at the piano oblige with a little soft music; something about flowers, if possible ― say, "The Bluebells of Scotland," or "The Last Rose of Summer"? I find that a little music of that kind brings forward the flowers more rapidly; it makes them feel more at home, perhaps.

Some of them ought to be here by this time (he glances into bag), but somehow they seem a bit slow in arriving to-night. It is all right, though, for I can feel that the bag is getting heavier. Yes, here is the first arrival; and when one makes a start, the others are never very long in following. Here is another, and another. They are beginning to come quite fast now.

(He takes flowers from the bag, at first singly, then three or four together.)

You will understand, no doubt, that these are not mere "common or garden" flowers. These are quite unique specimens. They are something like orchids, only more so. This one is a tricosserorum. This is a pittapatta, and this one is a specimen of , crocodilla jocosa. Here is a piccalillia, and this one is a dinnabella furiosa. Botanists stand on their heads with excitement when I show them these flowers. They have never seen anything like them.

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I haven't time to tell you the names of all of them; they are coming too rapidly. Here come some more, and yet more. There is no room for, deception ― in the bag, at any rate ― for you see it is still quite full of flowers. I will pour them out into this basket. (He empties bag

into basket accordingly.)

The bag is empty at last, and I will show you the paper once again, so that you may be quite sure that everything has been exactly as I have represented it. (He removes pin, and

shows both sides of paper.) But the paper still seems heavier than it ought to be. There must be

more to come, some-where. Perhaps there are some on the other side. (He reforms the bag

inside out, and continues the production.) Yes, I thought so. Here is a shrimpsia, and here is a

blobbinella bulgens. And here is another, and another. That's the worst of the fairies. When they do begin, they never know when to leave off (He shows bag again full, and pours

flowers into basket.) I must crumple up the paper, or this will go on for the rest of the evening. (He does so, and throws it aside.)

Another curious effect of the Princess's breath was mending things. I don't mean ugly, common things, like boots or broom-handles, but light fancy articles. For instance, I have here a fan belonging to a lady friend of mine. She has had the misfortune to break it, as you see. Now, in a general way, you would consider a fan in such a condition completely done for, and you would throw it away. In fact, that's what my lady friend was going to do, but I asked her to let me try the effect of the Princess's breath. (He shows broken fan, open, then closes it.) Who will breathe for the Princess this time?

You will, madam? Thank you. (The lady having breathed upon the fan, it is opened, and

found to be in perfect condition.) I told you how it would be. You see, the fan is completely

restored.

But even now you haven't seen quite all the magical effects of the Princess's breath. If she was going to the seaside for a week or two, she had no need to bother, like other young ladies, with a great big dress-basket, or even a hatbox. She could carry all her garments in a box no bigger than a tea-caddy. Here is her own particular travelling trunk. Of course, to go into so small a space, the garments had to be reduced in size, and that's where the Princess's magic breath came in useful again. I'll show you how it was done. Will some lady once more lend me a handkerchief, the smaller and finer the better?

Now we will suppose that this was the Princess's own handkerchief, and that she wanted to make it still smaller. She just breathed upon it ― so, waved it about a little ― so, rubbed it a little ― so, and squeezed it a little ― so; and when she spread it out again, it had come down to half its original size ― like this. (Handkerchief shown reduced to half size.) If she wanted it smaller still, she had only to breathe on it again, and rub it a little more, and it immediately became as small as this (handkerchief shown still further reduced), and could be packed up into just nothing.

You will understand, of course, that the effect wasn't confined to pocket-handkerchiefs. The Princess used to serve all her clothing in the same way. If any young lady will oblige me with ― well, no, perhaps on this occasion we had better stop at handkerchiefs ― but whatever the garment was, the effect was precisely the same.

When the Princess wanted her things larger again, all she had to do was to breathe on the other side of the article, rub it a little, and stretch it a little. That broke the spell, and it gradually got larger and larger. In fact, one day she kept on too long, and a nice little handkerchief got so large that the house-keeper had to take it into use as a tablecloth.

As I was telling you just now, this is the Princess's travelling trunk. You will notice that its construction is peculiar; it's a sort of chest of drawers with only one drawer. It is very

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portable, and extremely elegant ― you can see that much for yourselves; but these are the smallest of its recommendations. If you have a portmanteau like this, you never need be afraid of thieves. All you have to do is to pack up whatever you want, and when you have finished, push in the drawer, and say softly, "Hey presto polypodium!" when all the articles immediately become invisible. Just now, you see, the drawer is empty. (He pulls out the

drawer, shows it empty, and closes it again.) Stop a bit, though ; I am not so sure about that.

It feels rather heavy for an empty drawer. I see how it is! It is really full, but the contents have been made invisible in the way I have described to you. To render them visible, we shall have to reverse the spell. The question is, how to manage it. I have it! A touch of the magic wand will do it. (He touches it with the wand, and, opening drawer, shows that it is now full.) Yes; it is as I thought. It is full of the Princess's luggage. Here are some of her belongings, made smaller in the way I told you about. (He exhibits articles of doll's

clothing.) And here is something else ― refreshments, I suppose, for her journey. Well, she

can't be going to travel to-night, anyhow, so I think I cannot do better than distribute these among the present company. (He distributes tablets of chocolate, etc., from the drawer.)

The drawer is empty now, at any rate. (He turns it upside down, then re-inserts it in

its case.) At least, it seemed so a moment ago, but appearances are deceitful when there is

magic about. The box still seems heavier than it ought to be. (He again opens it.) Yes; here is something else. Some of the Princess's bonnet-ribbons, no doubt. A good many of them, too. (He produces yard after yard of paper ribbon, finally pulling the drawer completely

out of the case, and showing it manifestly empty.)

Come, that is all out at last. There is no mistake about the drawer being empty this time, as you can see for yourselves. (Standing the drawer on end, with the inside turned

towards the spectators, he opens out the case, showing that likewise empty, then closes it again and replaces the drawer.) Something still rattles inside, though. There must be

something in it that I didn't notice. (He pulls out the drawer once more.) Yes; here is a picture-postcard! And another ― and another! In fact, the drawer is full of them. I had better distribute these also. (He does so.)*

And now I had better put the Princess's own belongings back again. She will want these for her own use. (He replaces the doll's clothing and closes the drawer.) I just touch the box with the wand ― the other end this time ― and the articles again become invisible till further notice. (The drawer is once more opened and seen to be again empty.)

But to return to the Princess herself. Finding that the course of true love wasn't running smooth, off she went to her fairy godmother, and told her all about it. The fairy listened attentively to all she had to say. When she had quite finished (which took some time), the old lady replied, "Your description of the young man sounds very nice, my dear; but before I can do anything for you, I must satisfy myself that he is sincerely attached to you, and not merely coming after you for your fortune." The Princess felt indignant that such a thing could even be imagined possible; but she thought it best not to say anything. The old fairy put on her spectacles, took down a magic book, and read a chapter or two in the original Japanese. Then remarking, "Slantha gal mavourneen," or words to that effect, she took a small box (here it is), a little silver table, and a pack of cards. (He exhibits the articles in

question.) "Now, my dear," she said, "you shall be the Queen of Hearts, and your lover shall

be represented by ― let me see ― we will say, the Knave of Spades." "Can't you make him

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Hearts too?" said the Princess, who rather fancied herself at Bridge. "Spades are such a very poor suit." "Hearts let it be," said the old fairy.

The Princess naturally thought the fairy would look over the pack, and pick out those two cards, but she went to work a much shorter way than that. She just dropped the pack into a glass ― like this, and said, "Queen of Hearts and Knave of Hearts, attention!" And behold! these two cards immediately climbed up out of the pack, and fell upon the table,

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just as you see them now. (The two cards named rise up out of the pack, and fall upon the

table accordingly.)

I dare say some of you would like to know how this is done. Well, the fact is, a little fairy gets into the glass, puts his shoulder under the cards, and pushes them up. You don't believe it? Well, I didn't myself, at first; but there really is no other way to account for it. Here is the glass, and here are the cards. Have a look at them for yourselves. I should like to be able to show you the fairy too, but I have never been quick enough to catch him.

"Now, my dear," said the old fairy, "we'll put you ― that is to say, the Queen of Hearts ― on this little silver table, and cover you up ― so." (He places the card as described,

and the cover over it.) "And we'll put the Knave of Hearts ― that's your young man ― in this

little box, and shut him up ― so." (This is also done.) "Now, if he really loves you, wild horses won't hold him, much less a little box like that. He will escape from his imprisonment, and go and join your card on the little table. ‘Abracadabra! Prestissimo! Fly!' Let us see whether he has done so." (The box is opened, and is found empty.) "He has left the box, anyhow. And now let us see whether he has found his way to you on the little table. Yes; here he is." (The table is uncovered, and the two cards are found together.)

The Princess clapped her hands. "Yes, my dear," said the fairy, "that is all very well, as far as it goes. That proves that he is sincerely attached to you; but I have still to be satisfied as to his moral character." The Princess very nearly said, "Oh, bother his moral character!" (young people in love are so inconsiderate), but fortunately she refrained, or very possibly the fairy wouldn't have helped her any more, and I shouldn't have had any story to tell you. Her godmother picked up a magic ball, with a string running through it. Here it is.

(He exhibits ball, as described.) "This, my dear," she said, "is my moral barometer. As you

see, the ball runs quite loosely on the string; but I shall put it under a magic spell, and then, if your lover is really a good young man ― I don't mean storybookically good, you know, but just good enough to be nice ― the ball will move up the string."

This seemed so unlikely that the Princess couldn't help feeling a little bit nervous. She said, "Oh you can't expect any young man to be good enough for that." But the old fairy merely remarked, "Ne plus ultra," or something of that sort, and the ball immediately began to climb up the string-like this, as naturally as a toy monkey climbs up a stick. "That's all right," said the old fairy. "Now, my dear, I am satisfied that he is the right sort of young man. Tell him to go boldly to your papa, and ask for your hand, and if he gets into any difficulty, I'll get him out of it."

Before we go further, perhaps some gentleman would like to try the moral barometer on his own account. You will, sir? Ah! the ball runs down. Will some other gentleman try? The same result! Some other gentleman? (The ball in each case runs down the string.) Dear, dear! this is very sad. I am afraid you are none of you quite up to the old fairy's standard of perfection. Really good young men are getting terribly scarce nowadays.

What do you say? Try it again myself? Oh, certainly! (He does so, and the ball again

runs up the string.) I made up my mind in early life that I would be good as well as beautiful;

and I have gone on that principle ever since. The moral barometer has no terrors for ME. But to return once more to the Princess. After the fairy was satisfied, she began to get a little anxious herself. "Do you really think, godmamma," she said, "that papa will ever consent to my marriage with Otto? That old wretch of a Baron has told such dreadful stories about him." "Cheer up, my dear," said her godmother. "If I couldn't get the better of an old fraud like Von Schwindelheim, I'd retire from the fairy business altogether. But if you would like to make quite certain as to your future, my magic mirror will tell you your fortune at

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once." “But suppose it should be an unlucky one?" said the Princess. "Faint heart never won fair moustache," replied the fairy. (There seems to be something not quite right about that remark; but that's what the fairy said, anyhow.) The Princess clasped her hands. "All right," she said; "I'll risk it."

So the fairy produced the magic mirror. Here it is. (He exhibits a small picture frame,

with plain dark background.) It isn't exactly a mirror, as you see, but it's a good-looking

glass, though it isn't a good looking-glass, and wouldn't reflect even a good-looking lass. This is a joke, ladies and gentlemen. It is a little complicated, and you may not see it at once; but if you persevere, it will dawn upon you gradually. Think it over at home, and if you don't see it in a day or two, send me a postcard, and I will call and explain it.

At present, you see, the glass has merely a plain dark background, without any mark or figure upon it. The old fairy held it up, and fanned it ― so. (He holds up the frame, and

fans it, using the restored fan, if it has been introduced, to do so. If no fan is available, a handkerchief may be used instead.)

`The Princess was breathless with excitement. She saw letters forming gradually upon the dark back-ground, and presently she spelt out, "A-l-l w-i-l b-e w-e-l," whereupon she clapped her hands, and jumped with joy. There is no deception about it, ladies and gentlemen; you can see the writing for yourselves. The spelling is a little defective, but that proves its genuineness. Spirits never can spell. If you were to call up Chaucer or Shakespeare, or even Lindley Murray himself, you would find he couldn't spell "for nuts." I've tried them.

So the Princess went home in capital spirits. Meanwhile, the King was consulting with the Baron as to the best way of getting rid of the unwelcome suitor. The King scratched his head, and the Baron scratched his head, but nothing came of it. At last the Baron exclaimed, "I've got an idea." "You don't say so," said the King. " _{Make a note of it at once;}

you don't get 'em often. What is it?" "You must ask him riddles." "What on earth is the good of that?" said the King. "Why, if he can't guess them, it will be clear that he is a stupid sort of fellow, and not good enough for the Princess." "But suppose he guesses them, you old owl?" said his Majesty. "That's where the idea comes in," replied Von Schwindelheim, with a wink. "You must ask him riddles of the catchy sort; the sort that haven't got any answers." The King slapped him on the back, and said, "Beshrew me, Baron, but thou art a crafty knave. I will e'en follow thy counsel."

So the next time Von Smith called, the King asked him, "Which would you say, 'Six and five is thirteen, or six and five are thirteen?"' But Von Smith had been sold that way before. He politely but firmly replied that he shouldn't say either the one or the other. He would say, "Six and five are eleven." Whereupon the King, finding that he was not to be caught, flew into a tremendous rage. He said that was the old-fashioned way of counting, and unless Von Smith could prove that six and five were thirteen, he shouldn't marry the Princess. "I will endeavour to do so, as your Majesty wishes it," replied Von Smith, who had had a private tip from the fairy. So he took a couple of plates, like these, and gave one to the King to hold, and the other to Von Schwindelheim. Who will be the King, and who will represent the Baron? (A plate is handed to each of the two spectators volunteering.) Then he counted out five shillings on the one plate, “One, two, three, four, five;" and six on the other, "One, two, three, four, five, six." Then he mixed them together ― so (the coins are poured

from the one plate into the other), and when the King counted them again, the six and five

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`But the Baron was not going to give in so easily. He surreptitiously pocketed two of the coins, and declared that Von Smith had counted wrong, and must submit to a further test. "All right," said Von Smith. "Ask me a more difficult one." But the King said Von Smith was too good at riddles, and he would rather try something different.

Von Schwindelheim winked at the King, and said, "Never fear. I've got a poser for him." There was a woman out in the street crying white sand and grey sand. "Who'll buy my white sand? Who'll buy my grey sand?" The Baron rushed out and bought a pennyworth of each (here it is, you see), and then he fetched the Royal washhand-basin. He took one or two handfuls of the white sand, and one or two of the grey sand, put them in the water, and stirred them well together ― like this. "Now," he said, "when this gay young springald separates those two lots of sand, your Majesty may safely let him marry the Princess." "So mote it be," said the King, with a cheerful smile.

But, to his amazement and disgust, Von Smith just turned up his shirt-cuff-like this, dipped his hand in the water, and fished up, first the one, and then the other, lot of sand, perfectly dry, and not mixed in the least. (The sand of each colour is shown dry accordingly.) The King was so annoyed that he smashed the washhand-basin over Von Schwindelheim's head, a great part of the water going down his back. Von Smith claimed his Majesty's promise, but the King said the sand wasn't properly mixed, and that he must submit to another trial.

`After much cogitation, the King said he would be satisfied if Otto brought him a pint of Rainbow Water. You don't know, perhaps, what Rainbow Water is. It is water which has had some bits of a broken rainbow dissolved in it, and which will show all the colours of the rainbow in turn. Von Smith foolishly imagined that there must be plenty of it about; but he didn't find it so. He inquired for it at seventeen different chemists' shops, without success. Not one of them had ever heard of it, but not one of them said so. Some said it wasn't used now, and some that they were just out of it; but they all wanted him to take something else instead. One man said Hunyadi Water was much better than Rainbow Water; and another recommended Mother Seigel's Syrup. One wanted him to try a new kind of soap; and another told him there was nothing to beat Keating's Powder. He got so angry at last that he had to kill two or three chemists to relieve his mind; after which he sat down and read right through the Encyclopaedia Britannica, but Rain-bow Water was not even mentioned in it, which shows that the work is not really so up-to-date as it professes to be.

`At last he did what he ought to have done at first. He went and consulted the old fairy, who happened to be taking afternoon tea with the Princess. She told him that Rainbow Water was only to be got in one place in the world, and that was at the top of one of the Unapproachable Mountains, on the farther side of the Undiscovered Islands. The water was guarded by a dragon, with a head as big as an omnibus, and a breath like a motor-car. It took seven years to get there, and fourteen to get back ― if you ever came back at all, which was exceptional.

Von Smith said a naughty word ― I really don't think you can blame him ― and the poor little Princess began to cry. But the fairy merely smiled in a scientific sort of way. "Trust in me, my children, and all will yet be well. 'Propria quae maribus,"' she suddenly exclaimed, and poked the fire with her wand, when out of the very heart of the hot coals came a handsome bird, and roosted on the top bar of the grate. "What a lovely pheasant!" exclaimed the Princess. "Pheasant! my dear," replied the fairy; "this isn't a pheasant; it's a phoenix." "You don't say so?" said the Princess. "Is a phoenix a bird, then? I thought it was a Fire Insurance Office!"

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The fairy took no notice of the remark, but tipped all the sugar out of the sugar-basin, and gave one lump to the phoenix; after which she said, in commanding tones, "Cryptoconchoidosyphonostomata!" The phoenix flapped his wings, and, taking the sugar-basin in his beak, flew out of the window. In three minutes and three-quarters he was back again. "Fastest time on record," said the fairy, looking at her stop-watch, and giving the phoenix the rest of the sugar. "And here, my dear," she continued, showing that the basin was now full, "here is your sample of Rainbow Water."

Von Smith decanted the water into a bottle ― here it is (performer exhibits carafe of

water and six wine-glasses) ― and went off to the Palace with it under his arm. He borrowed

half a dozen wine-glasses from the chief butler (all the King owned, as a matter of fact), put them in a row before his Majesty and the Baron, and asked the band to play a little slow music. "What ho!" he remarked, as he filled the first glass, and the water remained clear. "Gramercy!" he exclaimed, as he filled the second, wherein it became crimson. "Marry come up," and he filled the third, wherein it became of a lovely blue. "By my halidame!" and in the fourth it was violet. (The glasses are filled in turn, with the results indicated.)

But at this moment Von Schwindelheim nudged the King, and said, sarcastically, "Chemicals!" "Chemicals in thy throat, base varlet," retorted Von Smith. (That was the way high-class people talked in those days.) "Taste for thyself." And he offered Von Schwindelheim the glass of clear water he had first poured out. The Baron declined, saying he never took it. The King also declined, so Von Smith drank a little himself, and poured the rest back into the decanter (performer does so), to show that there was no deception, after which he again filled the empty glass. "Potztausend," he remarked this time; and the water appeared a brilliant orange. He wiped the other two glasses with his handkerchief (performer does the same), merely observing, as he filled them, "Houp la!" and "Bismillah!" and the contents appeared as you see them ― a beautiful scarlet and green.

But Von Schwindelheim, with a disagreeable smile, reminded the King that there are seven colours in the rainbow, and Von Smith had produced only six. Consequently, he maintained, this could not be the real genuine Rainbow Water. There was no more of the water left, and they had broken a wine-glass, so they couldn't settle it, and the King said the young man must submit to a further test.

Von Smith didn't much mind, because he knew the old fairy would help him out, and he thought the King must give in at last; but the next problem was a staggerer, and he couldn't help feeling a little bit nervous about it. He was required to prove that the same thing may be in two places at the same time, which he knew was unusual. To gain time, he said he should have to consult his solicitor; but of course he didn't. This time he went straight to the old fairy, and told her, with a very long face, what he was required to do. She was amused at his feeling bothered over a little thing like that, and gave him a block of wood which she said had just that peculiar quality of being in two places at the same time, or a few more, if necessary. Here it is.

(The performer exhibits a large die and a cover exactly fitting it.) I am obliged to keep it

covered up like this, or else it would be in half a dozen places, and I should never know where to find it. There's nothing particular about the cover, so I should like you to examine it thoroughly. It is merely a square paste-board tube, open at each end. That is in order to allow the block of wood to fly out at the top when I want it to. You see, the cover just fits the block. Now I should like you to examine the block itself. You will find it a good, honest, solid piece of wood, as free from deception as I am myself ― which is saying a great deal.

But to return to Von Smith. He started off to the Palace, with the block under one arm, and the cover under the other. When he got there, he asked the King to lend him his crown. The

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King said he wouldn't trust him with half a crown, much less a whole one. With great presence of mind, Von Smith laughed at the joke till he had to sit on the floor, and told the King that he was a funnier man than Dan Leno; which pleased him so much that he said, if Von Smith would promise not to produce any cannon-balls or rabbits from it, he would lend him his crown for just five minutes. If any gentleman present happens to have a royal crown about him, I shall be glad to borrow it. I might even make shift with a ducal coronet. Nobody offers! Well, then, I must make a tall hat do instead. (A hat is borrowed.) Come to think of it, there's a crown in this hat, so it comes to almost the same thing.

Von Smith put the block of wood on the table ― like this, and covered it with the hat ― I should say, with the crown. "Now, your Majesty," he said, “you can't deny that that block of wood is under your crown. Now I am going to show you that it is also under this cover." "Stop a bit," said the King. "No larks! Let's have a look at that cover." You see, the King thought ― people are so suspicious ― that he probably had another block of wood there already. Von Smith looked at him more in sorrow than in anger. He took the King's scepter ― like this, and passed it right through the cover; in fact, he all but poked Von Schwindelheim's eye out, for he was peeping in at the other end. (Wand passed through cover, and spectators allowed to see right

through it.) After that, both the King and the Baron couldn't help admitting that the cover really

was empty. When he had quite convinced them, Von Smith turned it up on end ― so, and said softly, "Arma virumque cano," and when he lifted it up again, there was the block, sure enough, under the cover. (The cover is lifted, disclosing die, and then again replaced.) Von Schwindelheim made a grab at the crown and lifted it up, expecting to find nothing under it; but he was disappointed, for the block was still there, as at first (die again shown under hat), and the King was going to admit that it really had been in two places at the same time. But the Baron disputed the fact. He declared that it was the quickness of the hand that deceived the eye, and that Von Smith had only passed the block with great rapidity from the one place to the other; which, between you and me ― only don't tell anybody ― is how it was really done, for, you see, the block is no longer under the cover (cover lifted, and shown empty), but only under the hat (die

shown accordingly), so that it wasn't actually in two places at the same time, though it travels so

quickly that it comes to almost the same thing.

After a great deal of consultation, it was agreed that if Von Smith could add up three numbers, one to be written by the King, one by the Princess her self, and one by Von Schwindelheim, he should really marry the lady. No doubt you will think that was the easiest task of all. Just to add up three numbers. Why, anybody could do that! But I have omitted to mention one rather important condition. Von Smith was to find out the total of the three numbers without seeing them, or knowing what they were, which makes a good deal of difference.

Von Smith knew that the fairy would help him out as usual, but he didn't see the fun of being made a fool of indefinitely. So he said to the King, "Will your Majesty swear by the Holy Poker that if I succeed in this last test, you will let me marry the Princess without further ado?"

The King did not much like the idea of swearing by the Holy Poker, because it was a law of that country that if any one swore by the Holy Poker, and did not keep his word, the Holy Poker was made red hot, and used after the manner of the Freemasons. Not being a Freemason myself, I can't tell you exactly what that is, but I am given to understand that it makes it uncomfortable for the party concerned to sit down for some time afterwards. However, the Baron winked at him, and said, "Swear away, old chap; he can't possibly do it."

So the King swore by the Holy Poker, and Von Smith departed till the next Bank Holiday, when the grand trial was to come off. On the appointed day the whole Court assembled. The King sat on his throne, with the Princess on a chair of state on his right hand, and the Baron (who

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had had his hair curled for the occasion) in another on his left; while the Grand Panjandrum, with his gold stick in his hand, marched up and down to keep order. There was a grand flourish of trumpets, and then Von Smith appeared, with his Sunday clothes on, and a common slate (here it is) under his arm. He handed out three blank cards, like these ― one to King Koko, one to the Princess, and one to Von Schwindelheim. Will two gentlemen and a lady be good enough to represent those three exalted personages? Now, please, each take one of these cards, and write, as secretly as possible, a number of three figures, no more and no less, fold the card in half, and place it in this little envelope. That is done? Now I will ask the last gentleman to fasten up the envelope. (He takes the closed envelope from the holder.)

Then there was another flourish of trumpets, and the envelope with the three cards in it was handed to the Grand Panjandrum. Who will under-take the duties of the Grand Panjandrum? It must be somebody who has not written a number. You will, sir? Then we will place the envelope in your charge.

Von Smith asked no questions. He just cleaned his slate on both sides (slate cleaned

accordingly), showed it blank, as it is now, and threw it down on the ground. We will put ours on

the table, which will be handier. There was heard a sound of writing on the under side (you can hear it your-selves, if you listen attentively), and then he picked it up again. Meanwhile the Grand Panjandrum had been adding up the figures on his own account. Will you do so, sir, on the back of the envelope, as secretly as you possibly can? “Here is the total," said Von Smith, turning up the under side of the slate. "It comes to 1585." And the Grand Panjandrum had to admit that the number was correct. You find it so, sir, do you not? (The figures are compared, and found to

be alike.)

Having sworn by the Holy Poker, the King dared not break his word, but he relieved his feelings by kicking Von Schwindelheim all round the Palace courtyard, for having persuaded him to swear, and got him into such a fix. But just as he was compelled to pause for lack of breath, the fairy appeared, in a chariot drawn by two mock turtles and a Welsh rabbit, and revealed that Von Smith was the long-lost son of Rhodocanthus the Eleventh, King of Polypodia, and had just succeeded to his father's kingdom. Whereupon King Koko's feelings underwent a complete change, and he kicked Von Schwindelheim round the courtyard again in the opposite direction, for having opposed so desirable a match.

There isn't much more to tell. The Baron, having lost his situation, turned quack doctor, and invented the celebrated "Blue Pills for Blue Devils." Unfortunately, he one day by mistake took two of them himself, and he never smiled again. The memory of those pills was always with him. He went through life with one hand constantly pressed against the lower part of his waistcoat. When he died, he became a family ghost, and haunted the Palace wine-cellar, still with his hand in the same position.

The Prince and Princess were married the very next day. The King danced five dances with the fairy godmother, and said he had never enjoyed himself so much in his life.

The moral of this story is obvious. Never be rude to a nice young man, even if his name is Smith and he has a ginger moustache, because he may be a prince in disguise. (Of course he may not, but you never can tell.) And never take quack pills.

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CHAPTER II

PRACTICAL EXPLANATIONS

THE first step of the intending performer will be the selection of the effects to be included in his programme; the story being purposely so arranged as to allow of the omission of almost any given item without prejudice to the main plot. In any case, the narrative should be so far shortened as to occupy not more than an hour in delivery. Sam Weller's celebrated dictum as to "the great art of letter-writing," to make people "wish there was more of it," applies with even greater force to conjuring.

Roughly speaking, about half the items will be found a sufficient number for a single performance. In making the selection, the better plan will be to decide in the first place what is to be omitted. Some tricks may probably be ruled out at once by the fact that the performer does not possess (and does not care to purchase) the necessary apparatus; and others may be excluded by reason of lack of confidence in his own powers. The tricks described demand, for the most part, very little skill in actual sleight of hand, and are within the compass of any one of ordinary intelligence, and having the usual complement of hands and fingers. On the other hand, no conjuring trick can be effectively presented without a reasonable amount of practice. The actual amount necessary will vary in inverse ratio to the degree of natural aptitude.

Having made his selection, the next step of the neophyte should be to memorize, one by one, the appropriate sections of the story. It is not necessary that he should be able to give the "patter" verbatim, as set down; but, unless he has by nature "the gift of the gab," the more closely he sticks to a pre-arranged text, the better will it be for his own comfort, and the credit of his performance.

Simultaneously with the memorizing process, he should practise the execution of the particular trick involved. When he has mastered each item singly, he should then rehearse his intended programme as a whole, making his preliminary preparations as complete, and going through every act as minutely, as he would for the actual "show."

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1. The Magical Production of a Flower in the Buttonhole.*

This is an old trick, but of late years has been so little exhibited in public that it will be to most audiences a complete novelty. Apart from the effect being in itself a pretty one, it has the incidental recommendation of calling attention, in a natural and striking way, to the pretended virtues of the magic wand.

For the purpose of the trick, the coat worn by the performer will require a little special preparation, viz. the insertion of an eyelet (similar to those used in ladies' corsets) in the substance of the coat, immediately behind the buttonhole in which the flower is to appear. A button must be sewn to the vest at the same (left) side, just over the trouser-pocket.

The rose used in the trick is an artificial one, the stalk of which has been cut off close to the calyx. One or two green leaves are sewn to the outside of the flower, and a hole is made with a stiletto through its centre. Through this hole a short piece of thin but energetic black silk cord-elastic is drawn, and secured on the inner side of the flower by a fair-sized knot. The cord-elastic is then passed through the buttonhole and eyelet, and its free end, at a distance of about ten inches, formed into a loop, which is slipped over the button before mentioned. The length of the rubber should be so regulated that it shall hold the flower taut against the buttonhole, though without sufficient strain to disarrange the set of the coat-lapel.

When the performer desires to show the trick, he draws the flower, just before making his appearance, a few inches away from the buttonhole, and tucks it under the left armpit, retaining it there by the pressure of the arm. He advances, holding his wand in the right hand. To produce the flower, he pronounces the words, "One-Two-Three!" accompanying each word with a quick wave of the wand. At the word "One!" he brings it smartly down across the buttonhole. At the word "Two!" he gives it an outward and upward swing to the right, and at "Three!" again brings it across the button-hole, at the same moment elevating the left arm. The flower, being thereby released, flies to the button-hole, the sharpest eye being unable to detect the manner of its arrival.*

There is another method of performing the trick, for which three advantages are claimed; first, that it is much less known; secondly, that the eyelet is dispensed with; and lastly, that the performer can raise both arms as freely as he pleases before performing the trick, to the puzzlement of any knowing ones who may happen to be acquainted with the older method.

In this case, a piece of stout sewing silk is used instead of the elastic cord. Of this, one end is made fast to the rose. On the other end a needle is threaded. This is passed (from the outside) through the buttonhole and the cloth beneath it. The needle is then removed, and a loop formed upon the end of the thread, which should be so regulated in point of length that when the flower rests against the buttonhole, the loop shall hang level with the lower part of the opening of the trouser-pocket. At this point a lady's black dress-hook is sewn, with its open end downwards.

The flower in this form of the trick is placed at the outset underneath the left breast of the performer's coat. The left arm is carelessly elevated, to prove, to any one who may suspect the contrary, that the flower is not under the arm, the hands being at the same time shown empty. The performer then pulls the thread with his left hand, at the same time rubbing the buttonhole with the fingers of the right, the flower being drawn into position under cover of this hand. The loop is then hitched over the hook, thereby preventing the flower shifting from its place. A black

*_{For list of articles required in the performance of the various tricks, with their approximate prices, see Appendix.}

* _{Compare Modern Magic, p. 412. This and succeeding references to my larger works are inserted in the interest of readers who may possibly}

desire to go more deeply into the subject of the trick under discussion. The explanations here given will, however, be found in each case fully sufficient, without recourse to any other source of information.

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bead, threaded on to the loop, will be found a material assistance in getting hold of it at the right moment. A still better plan is to make the loop of very thin black elastic, continued as single cord for about three inches, and then joined to the thread.

Upon the whole, the method first described will probably be found the easier by the novice. Continental conjurers, by the way, sometimes substitute a thread, wound on a watch-barrel, for the elastic; but I cannot see that anything is gained by the alteration.

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2. The Self=suspending Wand.

Figure 1 _{Figure 2}

Figure 3

Figure 4

Figure 5

The qualities of the ideal wand for this trick are somewhat paradoxical. It should be both a light and a dark one. In point of weight, it should be light. I myself, for this particular use, have a wand made hollow from end to end, thereby securing the desired lightness without any alteration of appearance. In point of colour, it is, desirable that the wand should be black, for a reason that will presently appear. Ebony should however be avoided, as being unduly heavy. The mount at each end should be of ivory, and it will be found an advantage to have a scarcely perceptible groove, no deeper or wider than the thickness of a finger-nail, cut at the points where the mounts meet the body of the wand.

The above are, however, "counsels of perfection." It is possible to perform the trick with almost any wand, and in default of the regular article, a short piece of “rattan" or “whangee" cane, or any cane with joints at short intervals, will make a very good substitute.

The working portion of the apparatus is on the person of the performer. It consists of a cylindrical brass or leaden weight, about two inches in length and three-quarters of an inch in diameter. The ends are rounded, and in one of them a screw-eye is inserted. This weight is suspended within the right trouser-leg, in manner following. A needle is threaded with a piece of fine but strong black silk thread, about four feet or four feet six in length. The needle is then

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thrust through the performer's vest from the inside, about level (assuming the vest to be of the "evening dress" kind) with the topmost button, and then in again, at a point one inch lower than that at which it came out. Both ends of the thread being thus brought within the vest, the needle is removed. The ends are knotted together, passed through the eye of the weight, and tied securely. This done, the weight is allowed to slide gently down within the trouser, and the vest is buttoned. All that remains outside the latter is the portion of thread, one inch in length, between the holes where it emerged and re-entered. The performer, by inserting his right thumb beneath this portion, can draw out the thread in a long loop, lengthening as he draws it farther out, but shortened again, by means of the downward pull of the weight, the moment the outward pressure is removed.

The dexterous use of this lengthening and shortening loop forms the whole secret of the trick. Holding the wand, just previously examined, across his body, the performer slips the right thumb under the thread, drawing it out, say, an inch and a half, and inserts the end of the wand within the bight thus formed, which he then pushes along the wand (at the same time lengthening it out as may be necessary) till it reaches the middle.

The reader will now appreciate the reason for preferring a black wand. Against any part of such a wand, the thread is absolutely invisible, even at close quarters. If a wand of light colour be used, the performer will have to keep at some distance from the spectators, unless, indeed, a jointed cane be used as a substitute, in which case all that is needed is to slip the loop over one of the joints, when it will be, as before, invisible. The operator must, however, in either case take care, in his subsequent manipulations, not to let the spectators get a view of the thread against his white shirt-front as a background, as this would at once “give away" the trick.

But to return to the actual working. Having got the thread to the middle of the wand, the performer grasps it as in Fig. 1, and proceeds to “magnetize" it, by drawing each hand alternately to the outer end. Holding it horizontally before him, about a foot away from his body, he then opens the hands, the wand retaining its position, as if attracted to them by some mysterious force, as in Fig. 2. Again closing the hands, he slides them outwards till each end of the wand is only held between the forefinger and thumb. The fingers being then extended, the wand rests against the thumbs only, as in Fig. 3. Next, grasping the wand by the extreme end with the left hand, the performer tilts it into a vertical position, and placing the right. hand behind it, holds

it suspended by the outward pressure of the thumb and little finger only. Again grasping the lower end with the left hand, he pushes up the silken loop with the thumb of the right until it rests in the little groove above described (p. 66) between the body of the wand and the ivory mount, when the wand remains suspended from the right thumb only, as in Fig. 4. The thumb, it will be observed, is in this case below the loop. The left thumb may now be applied immediately

above the loop, and the right thumb removed, the wand being thus transferred from hand to hand.

Once more the right thumb is applied below the loop. By a slackening of the pressure the wand is allowed to come within six inches or so of the body. The performer then offers the wand for examination, as indicated in the "patter."

As he steps forward for this purpose, he folds the fingers down on the outer side of the wand, and in offering it for examination, tilts it, lower end foremost, into a horizontal position, when the loop is automatically drawn back off the wand, and the thread is drawn by the weight close up to the vest, as at first.

With a little practice, it is possible to hold a light wand supported by the finger-tips, without any extraneous aid whatever. To do this, the four fingers must be spread out to the utmost, and laid along the middle portion of the wand, as in Fig. 5. The second and third fingers draw the wand towards the performer, while the first and fourth force it away from him; this

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pressure in opposite directions affording just sufficient grip to support it. Held in this manner, it may be handed to one person after another in the audience at the closest quarters. As in this case there is manifestly no supporting medium save the hand itself, the average spectator accepts it as an article of faith that the same was the case in the earlier stages of the trick, in which case “magic" is the only feasible explanation.