died decently, as clay buffaloes should. They
always kept, apart at the distance of three feet,
at which they were originally placed. When
the buffaloes were dead, said the bear to the
hunters, " Ride into the fire:" a small fire having
been made expressly for the experiment in the
centre of the hut. They set off as before, but
stopped at the edge of the fire. Said the bear
angrily: " Why don't you ride in?" and then
the riders beat their horses with their clay
bows, and so they rode into the flames, and
fell down, and were baked to powder. Then,
the bears took the powder from the floor, and
cast it abroad to the four winds of heaven, at
the top of the lodge. Which may be taken on
the whole as a very pretty bit of jugglery
indeed.

There are some capital anecdotes of sleight of
hand in the last new book on the subject put
forth— the Memoirs by M. Robert-Houdin,
Conjuror, Mechanician, and Ambassador. But almost
the best of all, as an instance of clever scheming
and neat prestidigitation, is that anecdote of how
Torrini juggled the Cardinal's unique and priceless
Breguet watch into the Pope's holy pocket,
after having first stamped it to pieces and brayed
it to gold dust in a mortar— that valuable watch
about which there could be no mistake or
delusion, for there was not such another to be had
anywhere. Yet Torrini had caused its fellow to
be made expressly for this experiment; which
shows at least what these juggling men will do
when the humour takes them. Much, too, is
said in that volume of the aid and assistance
given to juggling by ventriloquism; and much
of the many clever automata, both the tricky
and the legitimate, which have helped to bewilder
men's minds and disturb the relations
between the real and the false. There was
"Vaucanson's flute-player, copied from Coysvoix's
marble statue of the faun, which was of the true
or legitimate kind; there-was his mechanical
duck, which, though marvellously clever, was of
the tricky or juggling order— the said duck not
performing all that it undertook to do, but
deceiving folk's eyes by a crafty substitution and
admirable pretence. Then, there I was his famous
loom on which a donkey worked cloth; made in
revenge for the bad treatment of the Lyons
weavers, who had stoned him because he wanted
to simplify the ordinary loom (at the present
day the weaving wonder is Bonelli's loom,
worked by electricity); then, there was his asp
which fastened on the actress's bosom with a hiss
and a spring, sickeningly real; likewise, his
endless chain, at which he was working when
he died. Then, there was the Prussian
Koppen's musical instrument, the Componium
exhibited in 1829, which Componium was a
mechanical orchestra, all kettle-drums and big
drums and little drums, tambourines and fifes
and flutes, triangles and cymbals, and what
not; and there was the chain of rings all
enclosed in each other, which, if you blew upon,
though never so lightly, fell to pieces of its
own accord, to the astonishment of all beholders.
Then, there were the rhyming automaton, and
the speaking automaton which got to the
length of real sentences, and might, perhaps,
with faith and patience, have at last been brought
to intelligent conversation— who knows? An
by-the-by, that speaking automaton was the
most ingenious of all, but susceptible of great
improvement, owing to certain quite modern
mechanical and scientific advancement; and there
was Rpbert-Houdin's own automaton, that drew
so ominously— for the pencil broke in the act
of tracing the figure of a crown for his
dispossessed heirship, the Count of Paris. Will
the count ever fulfil the old king's remark, and,
" as he has learned to draw, finish the crown for
himself"?

Houdin's system of second sight, too, was
as clever as it was bold. The trick exists
now, as any one may see who chooses to pay M.
Robin an evening visit at the Egyptian Hall,
Piccadilly, and hear Madame detail the things
held in his hand, one after another, and always
accurately, according to the preconcerted system
of verbal signs. (M. Robin's is a very admirable
entertainment, and he is an excellent conjuror,
who to surprising dexterity of hand and eye,
unites a very prepossessing appearance and
address.) How clever, too, was that
handkerchief trick at Saint Cloud!— how
apparently without preparation, and only due to
the inspiration of the moment! — what
spiri-tualist Mediums could do anything half so
striking? At that seance at Saint Cloud, in 1846,
Robert-Houdin surpassed himself. Borrowing
six pocket-handkerchiefs from the " illustrious"
company, he desired several persons to write on
cards the names of places whither they desired
the pocket-handkerchiefs to be transported. Of
the mass written, Houdin desired the king to
select three; on one was written, " On the dome
of the Invalides;" on another, " Under the
candelabra on the chimney-piece;" on the third, " In
the last orange-box of the avenue." The first was
too distant, the second too easy, the third was the
right one. Yes, in the last orange-box of the
avenue, well under the roots of the tree.
Immediately messengers were sent off by the king to
see that no one played tricks with the chest, and
then the royal servant was commanded to go and
open the side of the orange-tree box, and see what
he could find. And there, sure enough, he found
an old rusty iron casket, quite under the roots of
the tree, which casket he brought to the king,
no one touching it by the way. Then Houdin
lifted up the bell of opaque glass under which
he had put his packet of handkerchiefs, and, lo!
they were gone, while in their stead was a
pretty little white dove, with a rusty old key
fastened to a ribbon round its neck. The king
took the key, opened the casket, saw first a
paper or bit of parchment with some
nonsense on it by Cagliostro, then a paper parcel
sealed with Cagliostro's seal. This paper parcel
he untied, unsealed, and opened; and behold
the pocket-handkerchiefs borrowed not half an
hour before!

Now, how came they there? It was jugglery,
but mighty pretty jugglery, and very much out