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Title: Home Fun

Author: Cecil Henry Bullivant

Release date: March 27, 2020 [eBook #61685]

Language: English

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H O ME F U N

HOME FUN

BY

CECIL H. BULLIVANT

NEW YORK
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY
214-220 East 23rd St.

C O P Y R I G H T, 1910, BY
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY

P R E FAT O R Y N O T E

Not to produce workers of wonders or exponents of marvelous mysteries; not
to launch on an already over-crowded market a host of professional or semi-
professional entertainers—but rather to give to those who can find real pleasure
in amusing others, such knowledge as shall enable them to transform the
lagging winter hours into periods of sheer delight, has this book been written.
While in no sense does it claim to be an exhaustive guide to home
amusements, it represents a serious effort to bring within the scope of one
volume almost every form of popular home diversion.
The subjects have been dealt with from a simple but perfectly practical point
of view. In addition to the different accomplishments being so explained as to
be easily comprehended and acquired, the successful presentment of them is
made possible at a minimum of expense. The greatest difficulty which formerly
faced the amateur entertainer was the heavy cost of production, but even the
most expensive form of amusement explained in the following chapters comes
well within the modest “pocket-money bounds” of the average boy.
It is hoped that in “Home Fun” will be found much that is entirely new
concerning subjects about which little or nothing has hitherto been written.
Whereas the paths so well trodden by authorities on entertaining are here more
or less passed over, excursions are made into equally fascinating by-ways, an
acquaintance with the delights of which cannot fail to win success and
widespread approval for the promoter of entertainments at home.
That those who follow the many chapters on subjects so amusing and diverse
may obtain from them as great pleasure as he who has compiled them is the
sincere wish of the author.

Cecil Henry Bullivant.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE
I. AMATEUR THEATRICALS 11
II. MYSTERIES OF MAKE-UP 26
III. THE QUICK-CHANGE ARTIST 34
IV. CHARACTER IMPERSONATIONS 41
V. THE UNIVERSAL HAT 50
VI. NIGGER MINSTRELSY 56
VII. SOME SUGGESTIONS IN BLACK 62
VIII. TABLEAUX VIVANTS 68
IX. CHARADES 76
X. THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE MUSICAL SKETCH 86
XI. VAMPING SIMPLIFIED 92
XII. AN EVENING AT THE PHONOGRAPH 97
XIII. MUSICAL GLASSES 101
XIV. HAND-BELL RINGING 105
XV. THE ART OF DRAWING-ROOM SINGING 111
XVI. DRAWING-ROOM RECITALS 116
XVII. THE ART OF WHISTLING 123
XVIII. BUNKUM ENTERTAINMENTS 127
XIX. VENTRILOQUISM IN A MONTH 140
XX. CONJURING FOR ALL 158
XXI. SOME KNOTTY POINTS 169
XXII. BLACK STAGE MYSTERIES 174
XXIII. CONCERNING GHOSTS 183
XXIV. SOME STAGE ILLUSIONS 189
XXV. THE ROOM OF MYSTERY 201
XXVI. MECHANICAL SECOND-SIGHT 211
XXVII. PAPERGRAPHY 220
XXVIII. JUGGLING 225
XXIX. PLATE-SPINNING AND WALTZING 233

XXX. THE TIGHT-ROPE 240
XXXI. CLOG DANCING 244
XXXII. SHADOW SHOWS 250
XXXIII. LIGHTNING CARTOONS AND “FAKE”
SKETCHING 263
XXXIV. FRICTIONAL FUN 272
XXXV. SOME ELECTRICAL EFFECTS 285
XXXVI. SAFE SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENTS 297
XXXVII. SAFE CHEMICAL EXPERIMENTS 312
XXXVIII. ODD EXPERIMENTS 320
XXXIX. MORE EXPERIMENTS 329
XL. PHOTO PASTIMES 341
XLI. HOW TO MAKE AND WORK MARIONETTES 354
XLII. LIVING MARIONETTES 363
XLIII. THE HOME CIRCUS 367
XLIV. HOW TO MAKE AND WORK A PEEP-SHOW 378
XLV. THE “MECHANICAL” PEEP-SHOW 383
XLVI. HOW TO MAKE AND WORK A PUNCH AND
JUDY SHOW 387
XLVII. DISSOLVING VIEWS 396
XLVIII. INDOOR FIREWORKS 400
XLIX. HOW TO MAKE A TELEPHONE 405
L. TELEGRAPHY AT HOME 410
LI. ELEMENTARY HYPNOTISM 416
LII. THE POWERS AND MYSTERIES OF
CLAIRVOYANCE 426
LIII. TABLE-TURNING 434
LIV. PALMISTRY 437
LV. PHRENOLOGY 445
LVI. TELLING FORTUNES BY CARDS, DICE,
DOMINOES, ETC. 452
LVII. GRAPHOLOGY 465
LVIII. A SUCCESSFUL CHILDREN’S PARTY 472
LIX. PARLOR GAMES 475
LX. PARLOR TRICKS AND PUZZLES 490
LXI. “HOW WOULD YOU——?” (PUZZLES) 510

LXII. SOME OPTICAL ILLUSIONS 519
LXIII. CIPHERS AND CRYPTOGRAMS 527
LXIV. SECRET SIGNS 533
LXV. GAMES AND AMUSEMENTS FOR THE BLIND 538
INDEX 545

HOME FUN

CHAPTER I
AMATEUR THEATRICALS

Stage Construction and Home-made Scenery

A great many people are deterred from embarking on the sea of amateur
theatricals for the reason that the expense and trouble incurred in providing an
adequate stage, and in finding plays suitable for amateurs, seem to outweigh
other considerations.
The following hints and suggestions, then, are not intended for the lordly
Thespians who would aspire to flaunt their histrionic powers in public
assembly-room or civic town-hall. For them there are those who make it their
business to erect stages, provide “swell” scenery, and all the paraphernalia
required.
It is, of course, possible to act without a stage proper at all, especially if you
happen to live in a house that boasts a double drawing-room with folding doors,
in which case a curtain would also be a superfluity, for the doors could be
closed and thrown open when the audience are in their places, though if a
curtain should be deemed necessary it would be an easy matter to fix a rod from
door to door.
But before going on to the description of how to erect a stage of a more
pretentious character, it might be as well to offer a word or two of warning.
Remember that private theatricals are rather apt to turn a house upside-down, so
that before the performance is given it is of importance to see that all breakables
are stowed away, and that superfluous furniture is disposed of.
If you are going to turn your drawing-room into a theater, take care that your
guests can enter without having to pick their way in and out of needless chairs
and tables. Details such as these may seem trivial. They are, nevertheless, just
the things that may make or mar an entertainment.
Above all, let there be harmony. Once having chosen your stage-manager, see
to it that his word is law. Nothing is more galling or disastrous than for every
one to try and “boss the show.” And if expense has to be considered, do not try
to be too elaborate with your accessories.
It is, nevertheless, possible for any one to erect in any drawing-room of
average dimensions a stage that will be found perfectly adaptable to plays made

adequate for it, and that without calling in the aid of any professional carpenter
or stage furnisher.
The stage can be constructed in the following simple manner:—Hire a
number of ordinary benches or stout boxes of equal dimensions, and on these
superimpose lengths of scaffold-boarding or planks. These latter should be of
equal thickness throughout, in order that a perfectly level staging may be
obtained. The whole may be made quite secure by the judicious use of nails,
although care should be taken that no damage is done to the benches, or this
will have to be paid for when they are returned. A floor covering of felt or
linoleum will also prove serviceable.

The Drop Curtain

An essential piece of stage furniture for amateur theatricals is the drop
curtain. It can be made from two equal widths of some serviceable material
such as dark cretonne, supported by brass rings on a stout bamboo rod, to either
end of which are attached large steel eyes (A, A, Fig. 1).

Fig. 1.—Back view of drop curtain.

The bamboo rod should be cut to such a length that when the eyes have been
added, the whole can be fixed to steel hooks screwed into the picture-molding
on either side of the room. Should any difficulty be experienced in procuring a

rod of sufficient length, the difficulty may be overcome by the use of two
shorter pieces joined at the middle by iron sockets.
In the case where it is intended to give the performance in either a
schoolroom or a small hall, a curtain of much greater size and of stouter
material would be required, and this latter can be supported on a length of
strong gas pipe held in position by brackets nailed to the wall at each end.
The arrangement for raising or lowering the curtain is shown in the diagram,
in which A A is the rod. A number of small brass rings are then sewn to the back
of the curtain, as at A X and A E. Top rings, much larger, are also attached to the
curtain and passed along the rod. Cord is next run from X and E respectively
through the rings at A, and allowed to hang loose as at D. The bottom of the
curtain should be weighted with shot.
Four screens, two on each side, can also be requisitioned for the wings, and a
small steady table placed in each recess (Fig. 1a) for moderator lamps—
preferably of the self-extinguishing pattern, in case they should be upset by an
untoward accident—to make up for the deficiency of footlights, though these
can be provided by the aid of a little ingenuity, e.g. candle reading-lamps with
shades and reflectors begged or borrowed from accommodating neighbors. Tin
cans cut in half, and night-lights will serve the purpose equally well. Here,
again, the inventive genius of the promoters of the enterprise will have to be
called into play.

Fig. 1a.—Showing arrangement of screens for exits and entrances.

All risk of fire should be obviated as much as possible, and appliances for the
swift extinction of a blaze near at hand.
By the judicious arrangement of the screens it will be possible to provide for
exits and entrances on both sides of the stage.

Home-made Scenery

Scenery, as a rule, proves a great barrier to the would-be promoters of
amateur theatrical enterprises. The purchase of suitable surroundings for the
presentation of various scenes is a luxury only to be indulged in by the well-to-
do. In fact, to carry out an ordinary play on these lines involves the expenditure
of many dollars. It is hoped that the practical instructions given here will not
only avoid such unnecessary and perhaps unwarrantable expense, but will also
tend greatly to increase the interest of those taking part in the work.
Where scenery is required, it is as well to confine oneself to a play that takes
place indoors, though, of course, it is possible even without a back-drop to give
a praiseworthy presentment of an open-air scene by means of a plain
background, against which are fastened boughs of trees, while the judicious
grouping of greenhouse plants can be used at the sides, plus a plain green felt
underfoot to add to the effect. However, even these small items run away with
money. Cut boughs fade and need replacing, and this mode of constructing
scenery will often be found by the would-be economist to cost more than he can
reasonably afford.
Of course, for those who care to do so, proper mounted scenery all ready for
use may be purchased, but undoubtedly the better plan is for the stage-manager
to endeavor to find from amongst the members of his company one or two who
are expert in the use of tools. Generally there are many such available, and by
the aid of the following diagrams and explanatory notes a most useful interior
box scene (comprising five “flats” which fit together and form the whole) can
be constructed at a cost certainly not exceeding $5.00.
By repapering and making other obvious alterations, such scenery can be
transformed as necessity demands to suit any particular play—that is to say, the
addition of a few hangings and pictures, and the substitution of other
appropriate furniture will speedily change a poor man’s kitchen or parlor into
quite a presentable stage drawing-room.

How to Make the “Flats”

To deal first with the “flats” or separate parts of the scenery. The primary
essentials for these are a number of lengths of 21⁄2-inch battening; other
requisites being a plenitude of nails of all sizes, glue, brown paper or canvas,
powdered color, and size. The purpose of this latter commodity is for painting
the wood-work or any other desired article, such as a sideboard, dresser, or
fireplace.
Cut the battening to lengths appropriate to the dimensions of the stage, or, in
other words, with due regard to the height of the room and the width and depth
of the platform.
Fig. 2 shows the general arrangement of the five “flats,” placed in the order
shown, with the largest one, consisting of the double doors, in the center.
Now, as the width of these “flats” depends entirely upon the space they
occupy when put into the position indicated by the diagram, the stage carpenter
must commence his plan of construction with this fact clearly in mind. Should a
particularly large stage be available, then it may be desirable to extend the
scenery, in which case one or more straight “flats,” similar to that numbered 4
in Fig. 2, can be added at each end or where desired.

Fig. 2.—Showing usual arrangement of flats.

Fig. 3.—Construction of “flat” Fig. 4.—Flat for window opening.
containing door.

The frame-work for the respective “flats” appears in Figs. 3, 4, 5, and 6, the
method of joining corners being indicated by the elevation and sectional
drawing depicted in the corner of Fig. 5. The vertical and horizontal supports
are merely fitted in flush and glued. For doors and window openings a slightly
stouter battening will be found necessary.
Fig. 3 gives a clear idea of the main lines of construction of a practical door,
which is to be fixed to the “flat” by means of hinges. When hingeing doors, take
particular care so to place the hinges that the doors swing outwards—that is,
from the point of view of the audience. This precaution obviates the necessity of
painting both sides of the doors.
A reference to Fig. 4 shows a window opening which can be used either as a
lattice, working on the same principle as the door, or as an ordinary window,
which can be suggested by gluing a strip of wood horizontally across the center.

Fig. 5.—Flat for double doors. Fig. 6.—Plain flat.

In Fig. 5 the central opening (the double doors of the plan) serves for curtains
fixed to rods by means of sliding rings, or merely as French windows. Of all the
“flats,” this is the most valuable, because it is capable of utilization in a
multitude of ways. For instance, should the scene be an elaborate drawing-
room, the opening will lend itself to French windows, through which can be
seen park-land or gardens in the distance. Again, for the presentment of a
humble apartment, it has only to be covered with a dresser or any other
commonplace article of furniture. Should an opening be required to another
room, curtains of course can be hung.
Fig. 6 depicts a plain “flat.”
The next operation is the covering of the frames, accomplished by the use of
brown paper, or, should expenses permit, of canvas. The brown paper is first cut
to the size required, and then glued to the frames, only the openings for
windows and doors being left. If canvas is chosen for the covering, nailing will
be found necessary. To prevent sagging, and to preserve the flat appearance of
the material, coat thinly and evenly with a solution of size and water.

Papering

The next item for consideration is papering. A visit to almost any
paperhanger’s will reveal the fact, that the shopman possesses quantities of
certain designs, perhaps not quite large enough to be of practical service to him
for papering a room. In this circumstance the stage carpenter should be able, by
the expenditure of a few cents, or a quarter at the outside, to obtain quite enough
for his purpose. Next, he can procure from any builder’s yard a few lengths of
architrave or beaded edging for doorways and windows. This will have to be
mitered and fixed to the frames. A few slips of board, with beading along one
edge, should also be purchased at the same time for fixing to the bottom of the
frames to form the skirting. Now paste the wall-paper to the frames.

Fig. 7.—Complete door with section. Fig. 8.—Flat 1 or 5 converted into exterior
cottage door.

Having satisfactorily constructed all the “flats,” fix them together in the order
shown in the plan—i.e. each to each—by means of pieces of bent zinc and
screws. Additional supports are often required, such as iron brackets screwed to
the bottom of the “flat” and the floor, as indicated by the crosses in Figs. 3 and
5.

To give a finished effect, paste brown paper over the whole of the door
frames, and produce the appearance of panels by the addition of mitered thin
beading or slips of wood (Fig. 7). The door panels may then be painted
according to taste with a mixture of any powdered color and dissolved size. The
fixing of a knob or handle with a long screw renders the thing complete.
Reference to the plan marked Fig. 2 reveals the fact, that the two end “flats”
(1 and 5 respectively) are alike. Now, while one of these “flats” may be utilized
for an interior door (Fig. 3), it may be found extremely useful so to prepare its
fellow that it represents an exterior cottage door, and to use it as a wing at one
side of the stage in another scene. It should then appear as in Fig. 8. To obtain
this result, a section of scenery has to be covered with brown paper or canvas,
as already described for the interior door. Should canvas be decided upon, first
prepare it by adding a coating of mixed size and whiting, to form a background
for the painted design. In this case the door itself is covered on the outside with
paper, and lines are drawn down to give an idea of planks nailed vertically
together. A latch-handle can either be purchased and fixed for a few cents, or an
imitation one painted in.
The lintel and doorposts are constructed by gluing or nailing battening of a
sufficiently stout nature, that it projects to the degree indicated by the section in
Fig. 8. The purpose of this latter projection is to allow for the addition of a
latticed porch, which will give that picturesqueness so essential to stage scenery.

Making a Portable Porch

A glance at Fig. 9 will put the amateur stage carpenter in full possession of all
details relating to the construction of this latticed porch. Of course, it will be
found necessary to make two pieces of the part numbered 1—i.e. the batten
frame and cross-pieces—as one will be fixed on either side of the door to
support the roof. The lattice-work may be purchased in a length, or made from
laths, and nailed to the frame. Fix the sides of the porch close up to the
doorposts by means of zinc brackets and pins, as indicated by the two crosses.
Next pin on the roof, as at 4, Fig. 9. Paint the finished porch bright green and
the roof red.
A second reference to Fig. 8 shows that it suggests a design of bricks,
covered with creeper or a tree. If necessary, treat the other side of the window
“flat,” by painting it in similar fashion, and fix it alongside the door to form an
additional wing.

A Portable Fireplace

A very useful adjunct to the plain “flat” (Fig. 6) is a portable fireplace, which
is depicted in detail in Fig. 10. To make this, buy a length or so of 3⁄4-inch
planking, one length of which should be cut for the mantelpiece, according to
the size required. Next cut two supports of equal dimensions to form the sides
(A, A, in elevation). These are nailed to the “flat,” and the mantelpiece is kept in
position by two solid wooden brackets (D, D). Two slips are also added to the
base of the supports at E, E. The piece C is let in flush with A, A.

Fig. 9.—Construction of portable porch. Fig. 10.—Portable fireplace and grate.

Below this, to the back of the rectangular opening, attach a piece of very
stout blackened cardboard, of the shape shown, leaving an opening for a real or
a painted grate (F). Should the former be preferred, it may be produced from
pieces of thin battening, as shown in the elevation and section.
To obtain a realistic effect, fill the grate with non-inflammable metal tinsel
(C, C), and further to enhance the realism, support a small galley-pot on a
blackened bracket or block of wood (A), the galley-pot being filled with cotton-

wool soaked in methylated spirit. The application of a match produces a flame
at B (see section of grate, Fig. 10).

A Movable Counter or Sideboard

Fig. 11 gives the front and back view of this very useful piece of stage
furniture, which may be utilized either as a counter, sideboard, or bottom of a
dresser; or, appropriately draped and surmounted by a looking-glass, it may
serve as a dressing-table.

Fig. 11.—Portable counter or sideboard.

Fig. 12.—Detached parts of counter or sideboard.

The sections are illustrated in Fig. 12, the pieces marked 1 forming the sides,
2 the top, and 3 the front. Steel eyes are numbered 4, and their purpose is to
hold the sides, front, and top together by strong cord, attached as in the back
view of Fig. 11. 5 in Fig. 12 is a projecting panel, also seen in the front view of
Fig. 11. 6 (Fig. 12) indicates the back supports to which the front joined boards
are nailed. The beading which is fixed along three sides of the top is seen at 7
(Fig. 13).
Having thoroughly grasped the details outlined above, commence to make
the sideboard from 3⁄4-inch boarding.
To each of the side-pieces add a bottom support of stouter material, marked
with a cross in Fig. 12. The front is next placed across the supports in such a
position that the top fits down on them and holds all three pieces in place. (See
dotted line at 7, Fig. 13; this diagram also depicts the separate pieces in
elevation.)
It is not worth while “spoiling the ship for a ha’p’orth o’ tar,” or, in this
instance, the sideboard for a coat of paint. Before applying this latter, paste the
structure over with brown paper, and then give it a coating of yellow ochre and
size. A grained appearance may be produced by utilizing an old coarse comb,
the fine grain being attained with the thin teeth and the coarse grain with the
stout. To obtain the graining, proceed as follows: on the dry coating of yellow

ochre put a second coating of dark brown ochre, mixed with size as before, and
whilst wet comb in zigzag lines.

Fig. 13.—The separate pieces in elevation.

The great advantage attaching to all the scenery and artificial furniture
described is that it can be easily fitted together, taken to pieces, and packed flat,
thus occupying a minimum of space. For practical purposes it will be found
quite equal both in appearance and for durability to that for which many dollars
are charged at a theatrical supply dealer’s.

A Back-Cloth

The construction of home-made theatrical effects may be closed with brief
hints regarding the much-needed and ever-useful back-cloth, which plays a part
in most exterior scenes, such as park lands, gardens, &c. It consists of several
lengths of calico joined together to form a square of the size required. This is
then fixed on a large wooden roller with a similar roller at the bottom to weight
it, and prepared with a coating of size and whiting.
A friend of unquestionable artistic ability should be asked to paint in a view
or other scenery.
In scene-painting bear in mind that only the brightest and most vivid colors
are to be used. The colors are made from powder mixed with size, and must be

applied with broad touches for distant effects. The back-cloth can be fixed
according to the means available.
For the proscenium, three pieces of wood to suit breadth and size of stage
must be requisitioned, the portion destined for the top being gently sloped from
an arch or apex in direct line with the center of the curtain, and covered with
some tastefully-colored paper which gives the appearance of heavy satin panels.
A sewing bee should be formed among the ladies interested in the company,
and she who has sufficient prowess with her scissors should be chosen to cut the
garments and superintend the needlework of her friends. This will prove a
profitable way of spending the long winter afternoons.
Imitation hair wigs, beards, &c., may be procured at various prices.
The best plan to adopt in finding a play suited to the limitations of material of
an embryo company is to spend a small sum on some “Guide to Selecting
Plays.” In these pages will be found abundant suggestions and explanations of
specimens, dealing from the simplest one-act, thirty minutes’ production to the
five-act, three hours’ drama. The outline of each plot is given, and a summary of
the dramatis personæ required.
Miss Keating’s “Plot of Potzentausend,” for example, is an excellent one-act
play, in which only male characters are required. Interest in the fair sex is,
however, cleverly maintained, for the four swains have each a lass to occupy
their affections.
The costumes, a description of which is given on the front page, are of the
time of Louis XIV., and the scene is a small frontier village in Germany. This is
an admirable, amusing, and not too ambitious performance for boys home for
the holidays.
Grindstone is a miller of a sour and unfriendly disposition. He is secretly
involved in small political intrigues, and, in order to meet the Chevalier
d’Espion without the knowledge of the villagers, refuses to allow the lads and
lasses their usual yearly privilege of dancing in his barn, to which they naturally
take exception. Grindstone’s personality and physical appearance are as gray,
grim, and cold as the substance after which he is named. He is tight of lip, thin
of figure, and possessed of a countenance which expresses a miserly cunning,
dislike of frivolities, and hypocritical semblance of virtue. Although vastly
respected, he is not overwhelmed with the affections of his fellow-men, and is
termed, even by his servant Sacks, to be something of a rogue.
Sacks, his man, is a thick-set hunchback, with a round, jolly face and
optimistic temperament, which presents a strong contrast to his master’s
saturnine character.

Max, a young sergeant, of smart demeanor, is weighted by a sense of his own
importance, insipid of face, and overbearingly superior in manners.
Louis, a lawyer’s clerk, pale and meek, rat-faced and rather wily, grasping in
disposition, and something of a flirt.
Fritz, a young peasant, whose sentences generally terminate with “as a body
may say,” shows a priggish and cautious attitude to preserve his own skin at any
cost. His expression is a delightful mixture of rustic placidity and guileless
cunning.
The Chevalier d’Espion, a smart, condescending person of uncertain age and
carefully preserved complexion; his gold lace and feathers lend him as
irreproachable an aloofness and pride as the peacock demonstrates towards the
jackdaw.

Plan of Room in Grindstone’s House

The table should be covered with a cloth sufficiently long to touch the ground
on all sides. The rear of the high-backed chair and window-curtain are to be
used as hiding-places, and must be practicable for the purpose. Small chairs and
an old stool are also required. Except for a small lighted lamp which Sacks, the
first to enter, places on the table, the stage is in darkness.
This play takes thirty-five minutes. The plot is built on the misunderstanding
that arises between the four swains—who have unconsciously chosen the same
place and hour to meet their ladies—and the Chevalier d’Espion, who,
expecting to find a quartette of fellow-conspirators, mistakes them for such in
disguise. Soldiers appear to arrest the Chevalier, who manages to escape. Sacks
proves the identity of the rest, and so all ends happily.
The dialogue must be brisk and the action kept interesting. Acted in the right
spirit, it cannot fail to produce roars of merriment. It has a further advantage of

not being too great a strain on the memorizing powers of those who have never
previously essayed to learn prose by heart.
A reliable prompter, concealed from the audience, should be close at hand.
His business is to follow the dialogue intently, giving aid when necessary in a
clear, low voice. Words should never be whispered, nor too loudly spoken. A
happy medium is acquired by experience.
The make-up required by the characters is as follows:—
Sacks (florid flesh tint), grease paint (red) No. 21⁄2; a slight cobweb of good-
natured wrinkles and crowsfeet, such as would be caused by laughter. Red,
black, or gray wig, according to taste.
Grindstone (sallow flesh tint), chrome grease paint; peevish and discontented
lines about the mouth, furrowed forehead, peruke slightly gray, nose paste to
enlarge nose, sparse ruffled eyebrows.
Louis (sallow flesh tint), chrome grease paint; peruke any color fancied,
premature wrinkles, small white. A few front teeth in upper gum stopped out
with small noir.
Max sunburnt. Fritz ruddy. The Chevalier d’Espion bronzed. Officer and
guard, 21⁄2 medium flesh.
Another fascinating play for boys is “The Poor Relation,” also written by
Miss Keating, and included with “The Plot of Potzentausend” in “A Series of
Original Comedies.”
Grease paints should be composed of pure chemical fat and colors free from
lead, otherwise they will make havoc with sensitive skins.
Artificial complexions should never be scrubbed from the face by means of
soap and water.
Cocoa butter gently applied on the corner of a soft dry towel will rapidly
erase every mark, and is an excellent tonic for the skin.
Grease paints, rouge powder, cocoa butter, spirit gum, sponge-towel, puff,
crêpe hair, hare’s foot, patches, tongs, hairpins, joining paste, brush and comb,
lip salve, liquid blanc de perle, scissors, mirror, mustache, vanquisher, needles,
cotton, soap, sponge, &c., can be purchased in compact make-up cases at prices
from $15.00 down to $2.50.
Amateurs are sometimes prone to stiffness and artificiality of gesture and
exaggeration of expression, also to too much or too little movement. A perfectly
natural manner can only be gained by throwing oneself whole-heartedly into the
play, and uniting oneself with the other dramatis personæ. Acting editions of
both playlets mentioned above may be obtained of Messrs. Samuel French, of
28 West 38th St., New York.

Each actor has, as it were, his little orbit of movement, but this should not be
circumscribed in a conventional, studied manner. Ease and self-control should
cover all mastered technique in voice, attitude, and gesture. Words should be
clearly delivered, and pronounced without any pedantic phrasing or forced
utterance; and this will only be achieved by constant and careful rehearsing. The
personality of each character must be distinct and individual.
When an amateur company is formed, each member should pay a fee in
proportion to the strength of the casts and the drama they hope to produce. The
stage-manager’s choice of characters should stand inviolable, providing, of
course, he presents sufficient discretion and insight to distinguish between the
different trends of talent possessed by his players.
In almost every company there are a few players who are inclined to fancy
that they can do justice to a rôle given to some one else, rather than to the one
they are studying. This is a form of very human discontent which Quince, the
stage-manager of the players in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” had to battle
against.
Flute bemoaned his fate, and excused himself from playing the woman’s part,
on the plea, “I have a beard coming.”
Bottom was torn between a desire to undertake Thisby and the lion. “I will
roar that I will make the duke say, ‘Let him roar again, let him roar again.’ ... I
will roar you as gently as any sucking dove.”
As adamantine as the sagacious Quince against these eloquent appeals must
be the modern stage-manager when the would-be tragedian importunes him to
play the heavy rôle, or the individual who believes himself endowed with
hidden genius, to portray the part of light comedian.
Thus only is success achieved.

CHAPTER II
MYSTERIES OF MAKE-UP

The Foundation

It is necessary that the amateur who wishes to make his efforts at private
theatricals a success should have a fair knowledge of the art of “make-up.”
While no great amount of money need be expended, at the same time the best
results can be obtained only from the use of good cosmetics. Grease paints,
obtainable from any purveyors of theatrical appliances, are excellent and not
very expensive.
There is no doubt that many people consider it quite sufficient to dab a little
paint on the face, smear it over carelessly with the addition of some powder, and
imagine, quite erroneously, that they are well made-up.
The outward signs of character are to be represented by “make-up,” and it is
quite essential that this effect should be produced; therefore, with a slight
knowledge of what is to be avoided, and what effected, the home-actor should
attain to some degree of success.
“Wig-paste,” No. 21⁄2, is usually considered the best foundation for pink
complexions, and according to shade required, deeper colors can be used, such
as 3, 4, &c. Thus, if being made up for the part of a pretty young girl, the first
number is best; if for a middle-aged woman, No. 3; while for elderly men of
choleric temperament No. 4 would be more suitable.
It must be borne in mind that the foundation of wig-paste should be carefully
put on, and well smoothed before the structure or blending of colors to produce
a natural appearance is commenced. Whether this is done well or badly will
make all the difference to the final results.

Lining

Lining is an important part of “make-up,” by its aid the lines of the face being
diminished or deepened, shadows created for sunken effects, and “high lights”
produced—i.e. touching up the cheek-bones to give them prominence. By
careful use of this latter branch of “make-up” the whole character of the face

can be changed. High lights are produced by a lighter shade of grease paint than
that used for the rest of the complexion, being placed upon the feature to be
emphasized; for instance, if the actor wishes his nose to appear thinner, he will
draw a straight white line from the top to the tip, enhancing the effect with a
careful application of the gray paint (Fig. 1a). The cheek-bone, nose, chin, and
brow are parts of the face which are made up for high lights, though if wrinkles
are to be accentuated this is usually done by the addition of a “high light” effect
on each side of the existing dark line (Figs. 1b and 1c).

Fig. 1a.—High lights.

Fig. 1b.—High lights. Fig. 1c.—High lights.

To make cheeks appear hollow, gray-lining paint is used, the effect of
emaciation being produced by the careful blending of the last-named paint with
the grease paint previously put on.

Fig. 2.—Low lights.

Shadows, or low lights, give the effect of hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes,
and instead of making features more pronounced, as is the case with a careful
“high light” make-up, decrease the prominence which certain parts usually
possess (Fig. 2). When making-up for a beldame, or some other character which
should appear more than usually haggard, a striking effect is obtained by adding
a spot of either dark-gray or brown, and blending it outwards.

Fig. 3.—Before lining. Fig. 4.—After lining.

The lining of the eyes requires special attention, more particularly as their
appearance depends so much upon the change of the eyelids (Figs. 3 and 4);
eyelashes too, when properly treated, make a vast difference to the usual
expression.
When it is necessary that the eyelashes should be more pronounced, black
grease paint is put on to the end of an artist’s stump, melted very slowly by
being held over a candle or other flame, and so applied. Care should be taken,
however, that no grease paint goes into the eye, so when melting it must not be
allowed to become too soft. Black-lining grease paint is the best for eyelashes,
and the amount applied depends entirely upon their natural thickness and
darkness.
For darkening or lightening the eyebrows, grease paint “liners” are
indispensable, and much preferable to India ink. Sometimes it is necessary to
obliterate part of the eyebrow before the rest is “drawn-in,” in which case it is
first of all coated with soap and then covered with the same grease paint as used
for the groundwork of “make-up.” This done carefully, and toned to the same
shade as the rest of face, leaves the actor free to “draw-in” any shaped eyebrow
he desires. For a very thin eyebrow a toothpick can be utilized to advantage, a
little melted grease paint being rubbed upon it, and the line drawn with it (Figs.
5 and 6).
For Oriental effects the obliteration of the eyebrows is essential, and fresh
ones with an upward tendency can be drawn-in at will, when once the natural
ones have been made to disappear.
More often than not it is necessary to increase the eyebrows, making them
look thick and heavy, and if Nature has endowed the player with massive ones,
it is an easy matter to comb them up the wrong way and apply a small quantity
of grease-paint; but if they are naturally thin the aid of false ones must be

sought. Crêpe hair, which is an indispensable accessory to the “make-up” art,
can here be brought into use, the ever-helpful “adhesia” being required as well.

Fig. 5.—Eyebrow before lining. Fig. 6.—Eyebrow after lining.

The best plan is to model on a comb the eyebrow according to the shape
desired; then, placing the latter in position, make it fast with the use of the
adhesia, taking care that the gum is only on the edges and not on the hair of the
real eyebrow.
To obtain a sinister expression, eliminate the outer edges of the eyebrows and
paste a piece of crêpe hair over the eyebrows near the nose, the
Mephistophelian effect being gained in the same way, except that the outer
corners should curl upwards (Figs. 7 and 8). By fixing on pieces of crêpe hair so
that they meet over the nose, a stern and even fierce expression is produced.

Fig. 7.—Natural eyebrow. Fig. 8.—Mephistophelian effect
produced with crêpe hair.

“Juvenile” Make-up

In making-up for the character of a juvenile, the strength of light on the
platform or stage is to be taken into consideration. If a fairly strong light, the
make-up must not be too deep, but the player will soon become experienced in
this matter by taking the trouble to consider the effect of different lights.

Before commencing with the grease paints the face is well rubbed with cold
cream or cocoa butter, and wiped with a towel, so that none of the former
remains visible.

Fig. 9.—Preliminary lining.

The flesh-colored paint may now be drawn across the face several times, the
method of procedure being: two lines across forehead, two on each cheek, one
down the nose, and several on the neck (Fig. 9). With the palms of the hands
this is smoothed over carefully, and finally rubbed quite lightly with a dry
towel. The foundation is thus formed, and is really the most important part of
the make-up, for if not carefully done the rest will be unsatisfactory. One of the
chief facts to be borne in mind is that very little paint should be used, so little as
to be scarcely seen.
Rouge is next applied, red-lining paint or paste lip-rouge being used upon the
cheek-bones, and carefully smoothed until it tones with the flesh on the cheeks.
After an application of powder, when the face feels perfectly smooth, comes the
task of lining-in, which has already been described.

Fig. 10.—Natural lips. Fig. 11.—Lips accentuated by rouge.

The lip-rouge accentuates the lips (Figs. 10 and 11), and should it be
necessary to make them of a more symmetrical appearance, this may be
accomplished by extending the rouge a trifle beyond the natural outlines,
though women need this little extra touch more often than men. When it is
required to make the chin more prominent, a touch of dry rouge beneath the
lower lip will accomplish the effect, still more being added to the cheeks if they
are not quite colored enough (Fig. 12).

Fig. 12.—“Juvenile” make-up.

For juvenile darky parts, burnt cork will do instead of the grease paints.

“Middle-Age” Make-up

This is perhaps the most difficult make-up, for it is much easier to go to one
extreme from another, than to make a fairly young person look like a middle-
aged one (Fig. 13).
In the case of a man it is advisable to depend on the addition of whiskers and
mustache, and even glasses or spectacles lend age.
A sallow paint is usually required for middle-age make-up, and it can be
blended with a lighter paint for pale effects; but to produce a hearty bloom or
florid complexion, the application of a little red or brown is recommended.

Fig. 13.—“Middle-age” make-up. Fig. 14.—“Old-age” make-up.

The mid-gray wig is also an immense aid, but failing this, a small amount of
powder sifted over the hair will give a similar effect.

“Old-Age” Make-up

If the character desired to be represented is carefully studied, notice being
taken of where there is a high light and where the shadows of the face lie, there
should be little or no difficulty in producing a lifelike representation.
Particular notice should be taken of wrinkles and lines, and these must be
carefully blended as in Fig. 14.
The next essential is the wig, either gray or white being the most useful. For
the old age complexion it is better to get the grease paint for that purpose; but
when the necessity for it is but seldom, an application of the sallow paint, or in
the case of great emaciation, the addition of a little blue, well blended, will
create quite a good effect.

Fig. 15a.—Natural features. Fig. 15b.—Putty applications. Fig. 15c.—Finished features.
A. Putty addition to forehead.
B. „ „ nose.
C. „ „ chin.

Sometimes it is required that the nose shall be made larger; then the “nose
putty” is called into play, carefully modeled on to the nose, and with the aid of
the same grease paint as is utilized for complexion, made to correspond with the
rest of the face (Figs. 15a, 15b, and 15c).

Fig. 16.—Hand made-up for “old age.”

Dark shadows under the eyes can be produced by gray grease paint, but for
the formation of crow’s-feet, the brown will be found the best.
The hands must receive careful attention
when the face and neck are finished, and
“made-up” according to character. If juvenile,
they require coloring; if middle-age, a little of
the sallow paint: the veins accentuated, and the
flesh made to look pale for old age parts (Fig.
16).
When measuring for a wig, take the various
lengths and widths as indicated by the
numerals in Fig. 17.

Beards and Mustaches

The most inexpensive of these necessary
adjuncts to the home entertainer’s make-up are
undoubtedly those he models for himself from
Fig. 17.—How to measure for a wig. crêpe hair, which can be bought in a plait and
untwined as it is wanted, a coarse-toothed comb being passed through it. With a
few twirls it can be made the desired shape and cut, and when wanted for a

beard, opened out until it has a hollow cone-shape appearance, and placed on
the chin after a thin coating of adhesia has been applied.
The same method applies to eyebrow and mustache making. When it is
desired to create an unshaven, unkempt effect, pieces of crêpe hair are cut up
exceedingly fine on to a newspaper, the chin covered with adhesia and the
finely-cut hair sifted evenly over the skin. These little pieces are also useful for
sprinkling where the false beard meets the face, in order to take away the
“abrupt” appearance that is often produced.

The Removal of Make-up

Having told how to put on make-up, a few instructions for its easy removal
may not be out of place. Whilst soap and water will take off the grease paint, the
simpler method is to remove it with one of the following: Cold cream, cocoa
butter, or olive oil. Vaseline is to be avoided, as it will often cause a growth of
hair; and for this reason when purchasing cold cream it is advisable to procure
the best, for in the cheaper makes vaseline is largely employed. Pieces of cloth
kept specially for the removal of “make-up” are to be recommended, one for
taking the chief layer off and another of soft texture for final rubbing before the
much-needed wash is resorted to.
For dispelling traces of the prepared burnt cork used for minstrels and negro
burlesques, a pure vegetable soap is all that is required.

CHAPTER III
THE QUICK-CHANGE ARTIST

How It’s Done

The machinations of the full-fledged quick-change artist afford the mind of
his amazed spectator much speculation and curiosity as to how his marvels of
dexterity and transformation are achieved. His velocity would put summer
lightning to the blush. His mind and body are as pliable and elastic as his face;
his very nature appears to undergo a swift metamorphosis of changes in the
adoption of the various manners, idiosyncrasies, attitude, and gait of the
character he portrays. Although agile and unerring, he possesses something of
the stoic calm of the hedgehog, and is as natural in his art as when partaking of
a beefsteak in privacy.
He flashes before the vision on stage or drawing-room platform in dress so
immaculate that it would seem to the uninitiated that his toilet is the result of
hours of care and deliberation. In the costume of an old-world dandy he struts
about, swaying his long-laced sleeves with exquisite grace over his snuff-box,
the while he patters his part. A moment after, like a shooting star, he has swung
himself through a door, reappearing almost instantaneously by means of another
entrance, transformed in wig and attire to a totally different individual in age
and character.
Thus he continues playing his many parts so nimbly that one can scarcely
believe he has not a bevy of actors hidden in the wings ready to fly through
doors and windows as quickly as a cork pops from a bottle.
That his agility is grounded on a studied method, and his versatile acting the
result of wheels within wheels, well-oiled, and precise as the mechanism of a
clock, is difficult to believe until his secrets of manipulation are revealed.
“How is it done?” whispers the youth, palpitating with aspirations to do
likewise. Well, in only one way—that way simplicity itself, when once practice
has made it perfect.
I am dealing now with the man who produces a play in which each rôle is
played by himself, and will proceed to explain his proceedings from the start, so
that the ambitious amateur may, at the next Christmas party or home gathering,

try a humble imitation, and gradually achieve glory and greatness in the eyes of
his family.

An Inexpensive “Stock in Trade”

Let us study the tools and qualities essential to the quick-change artist. His
stock and properties are all inexpensive, save the wigs. It is not advisable to
purchase cheap ones, as they soon show the signs of wear; while hair in good
condition, and carefully kept, lasts for years.
His wardrobe contains garments of the cheapest material, and here the old
clothes-bag of the house, in which articles doomed for a jumble sale are placed,
is invaluable. A clever needle and a little ingenious manipulation result in
splendid effects.

Fig. 1.—Front view of “one-piece” Fig. 1a.—Back view of “one-piece”
garment; dotted lines denote springs. garment.

Every garment is made in one piece, and fastens at the back of the performer
by means of clock springs, which may be purchased from any clockmaker
(Figs. 1 and 1a). The springs are pliable bands of steel, cut and rounded,
according to the size required, and punched with small holes, by means of
which they are fixed with stitches to neck, waist, legs and wrists. These springs
should be carefully concealed in the hem, with sufficient material over to hide
the opening at the back.
There is no time for fastening of buttons, tying of strings, adjusting of pins,
or plastering of gum. Even the mustaches used are fixed by means of small
silver springs, which adhere to the interior of the nostrils as firmly as the
springs of eyeglasses pinch the top of the nose (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2.—Back and front view of mustache fixed by spring.

The scenery required is also easily manufactured at home by the amateur
carpenter. Thick brown paper, light wooden frames, or, better still, samples of
wallpaper, fixed with small brass hinges, will serve excellently as an interior.
Until the student is far advanced in dexterity, it is wisest to limit his
production to one environment.
The first thing, of course, is to choose a suitable piece. If you are clever with
your pen, you may compose a sketch to please yourself. This is a good plan, for
you will be governed in your production by what is most suitable and easy to
your limitations. If, however, no suitable idea presents itself to you, go to any
good dramatic firm, and spend a morning in looking through plays until you
alight on something answering to your purpose.
In choosing a play, avoid an elaborate cast, complicated plot, or speeches.
Long monologues are wearisome and monotonous; while, on the other hand,
conversations of too rapid a character will be impossible to manage
satisfactorily, however skillful your manipulation.
The novice should begin with a curtain raiser, containing two or three
persons, and the movement should be brisk and interesting. Having fixed on his
play, he studies his scenery.

He must have sufficient entrances and exits. To use only one, so that the
audience always knows through which door he is about to appear, spoils the
effect of his cunning. It is far more dramatic to burst upon them from a direction
least expected, and, to do this successfully, as many doors or windows are
necessary, as in a production played by several persons; but these should not be
so placed as to be aggressively prominent,—curtains, palms, screens, a sham
cupboard or fireplace, by means of which sudden comings and goings lend a
thrilling reality to every movement. Fig. 3 depicts a suggested plan.
The different costumes to be used should be numbered in the order required,
and this is where a cool-headed and reliable dresser is absolutely essential.

Fig. 3.—Suggested plan of scenery arrangement for the quick-change artist.

To robe oneself by means of picking up garments and wigs from chair or
different pegs is slow work, and leaves the stage empty for too long a time to
keep the spectators interested in one’s movements. The swiftest manipulation
will be too slow to those awaiting the re-appearance, and, unless the movement
is kept jogging, there will be no semblance of reality in the performance.

The Dresser

The dresser plays a part no less important than the artist. Upon leaving the
stage the latter immediately wrenches from his person the garment in which he
has just appeared. The dresser is close to the exit with costume No. 2 held out
widely. The performer walks straight into the clothes, of which the clock
springs are widely expanded. In a flash they close round his person. Another
dresser adjusts wig, beard, &c., as he passes to his next entrance (Fig. 4), with
the result that he appears to answer the remark made by himself in the character
No. 1 without any break being perceptible to the audience. Whilst speaking the
words in the rôle of No. 2, the dresser is awaiting him at the next exit with No.
3 or No. 1 clothes, (if No. 1 and 2 are having a conversation), which he has
swiftly picked up from the floor when discarded.
It is obvious that in order to be of real service the dresser must be as familiar
with the words of the play as the performer. It is not enough only to know the
cues. He must, by his knowledge, calculate to a hairbreadth how long No. 2
takes to reply, and be prepared upon the instant of exit with the apparel of No. 1.

Fig. 4.—System of “changing” behind the scenes.

A plan of modes of entrances and exits should be arranged beforehand
between actor and dresser, and never altered. Each sketch must be founded on a

different plan, and in each the movements should be so carefully practiced that
they become almost a habit. Any chance alteration or mistake leads to bungling
and loss of time, for, if No. 1 disappears through the exit fixed upon for No. 2,
naturally the dresser will not be there awaiting him, and this mischance will
probably throw all the succeeding movements into confusion.
The quick-change artist is employed in a race with time, and, time being swift
and fleet of foot, the human competitor cannot possibly afford to loiter or
blunder.
In a play or sketch in which several characters are to be impersonated it does
not make for speed to have installed as many dressers behind the scenes. One,
or at the most, two reliable and experienced assistants are ample. A larger
number will only hinder the artist’s and their own movements.
That there is a certain amount of nervous strain about this mode of
performance cannot be denied, but, by constant practice and coolness, the artist
greatly facilitates the mental effort that accompanies his portrayals.
A sketch should at most be of a half-hour’s duration. The actor needs some
knowledge of acting, and must be able to change his voice to the different
pitches required. It should range from the high-pitched falsetto of the aggressive
female type of uncertain years to the gruff bass of the dogmatic father, while the
cooing notes of the immaculate heroine should be carefully cultivated.

Fig. 5.—Showing wig, eyebrow, nose, and Fig. 6.—Another example, showing
mustache combined. bonnet, wig, nose, spectacles, and veil

combined.

The artist must of necessity be clean-shaven, so that he can adapt beard,
“mutton chops,” or mustache as required.
Figs. 5 and 6 show completed examples of one-piece transformations. Fig. 7
depicts coat and breeches combined.
Most important of all the quick-change artist must be self-reliant, self-
confident, and absolute master of emotions engendered by nervousness, for
these lead to loss of memory where words and modes of entrance and exit are
concerned. While on the stage his mind must be concentrated on the part he is
playing to the exclusion of everything else, his attention as completely focused
upon the impersonation as though the other characters were being undertaken
by different individuals.
For many of these practical suggestions the writer is indebted to a versatile
quick-change artist, who willingly revealed some of the secrets connected with
his favorite form of entertainment. He emphasized the fact that success is not
achieved by means of numerous wigs and costumes—a performer may possess
the most elaborate wardrobe, repertoire, and paraphernalia, and yet sadly fail to
move the interest and sympathy of his spectators.
As this artist remarked, the true art lies in facial expression, gesture, attitude,
and change of voice. These must be cultivated assiduously before any one-man
play is produced, for it is only when the features are plastic as rubber, gesture
and attitude the perfection of mimicry, the voice containing every note in the
range in which language is expressed, that the steep ladder of success is scaled,
and the timid novice becomes transformed into the popular resourceful artist.

Fig. 7.—Breeches and boots, showing front and back views;
dotted lines indicate springs.

CHAPTER IV
CHARACTER IMPERSONATIONS

Talent v. Material Aids

A very popular means of amusing a house-party is the impersonation of
various characters. It is an entertainment more suitable to the limits of a
drawing-room than tableaux or amateur theatricals, which of necessity entail a
certain amount of expense, scenery, lighting, and much labor and anxiety in
securing and drilling an efficient cast.
Although it is doubtless true that this art needs some natural talent, skill, and
mastery of detail, much can be done by practice and self-reliance.
A clever man in the street amuses a long line of patient theater-goers, his only
paraphernalia being a soft, pliable disc of black felt.
The metamorphosis that article undergoes in his hands is a marvel.
Dexterously he wields it—a mere twist, and it is the three-cornered biretta of a
cardinal. Another, and it shades the villainous glare of a brigand, who appears
quite capable of cutting the throats of his audience. A deft touch and a strut, and
it tops the head of a swaggering dandy. Next it shades the solemn, ascetic
features of the priest. Tipped to a different angle, and the cockney grins with
happy-go-lucky impertinence. Thus it is used to represent every grade of society
from the highest to the lowest of humanity.
But miraculous as that piece of felt seems, it is really the eyes and gestures of
the artist plying it that lend it personality, power, and magic of transformation.
In the hands of one ignorant of the tricks, it is a futile and clumsy piece of
mechanism.
A man may put a tea-cosy on his head and look absurd; another does the
same, and behold!—a living Napoleon stands before us. The greater the artist,
the simpler the preparations used, for the skilled representative trusts to eyes,
gesture, and figure rather than to the material used.
Elasticity of feature is essential. Without this it is impossible to produce a
living likeness. One may possess wigs, beards, eyebrows, sham noses, and
skulls of every imaginable shape and size, and yet fail through inability to
assume the expression peculiar to the study undertaken.

In rehearsing impersonations a mirror is as good and true a friend as in
reciting. Observe how faithfully it reflects every change in the human
countenance.
Supposing the character studied to be that of King Lear. First read your
Shakespeare and memorize the lines which reach the very crisis of the agony
and woe of love of that unfortunate monarch, as when, turning to his ungrateful,
malignant daughters, Regan and Goneril, he cries—
“I will do such things,—
What they are yet I know not,... but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep;
No, I’ll not weep:
I have full cause for weeping, but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws
Or ere I’ll weep. O fool! I shall go mad!”

Understand the breaking, raging, heart-throbbing beneath them. Repeat them
aloud before the glass, with wild, burning eyes and quivering lips, with shaking
hands upthrown and tensely up-drawn figure, and by-and-by, if not at once, you
will see King Lear peering at you distraught.
When you have thoroughly gripped that image you may crown it with snowy
hair, pent brows, and ragged beard—but not till then.
And now, supposing, for a change—for there is nothing like variety—you
undertake so utterly different a character as that of his faithful fool. Here no
jingling bells and jester’s folly are needed to aid you, for these may be, and
frequently are, but the danger signals to discerning eyes of incompetent
treatment; you want his shrewd, loyal heart in your breast, his pulse beating in
your brain, your finger-tips. His cunning grin must be a wavering crack in a
wizened face as you memorize such caustic saws as—
“Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides, and left nothing i’ the middle; here
comes one o’ the parings.”
This method of memorizing and voicing some sentiment characteristic of the
figure presented, is only for private use during rehearsals.
Costume performances are dumb, and, this being the case, it is easy to realize
how eloquent and exact the physical contour must be for faithful similitude.
Regard the idea as an object being photographed. When you have gripped it,
and, as it were, posed it before the camera of your brain, focus, produce, and
develop it on your features, which may well be likened to a film.

Knowledge from Nature

In order to master the idiosyncrasies, mannerisms, eccentricities, and habits
of characters, study is essential, and for this reason it is probably best to acquire
knowledge, not from imaginary heroes of fiction or drama, but from the fount
of Nature.
Popular statesmen, musicians, admirals, soldiers, prelates, scientists,
novelists, and famous actors walk our streets to-day, and each possesses some
anomaly of expression, feature, speech, gesture, or mannerism which is
distinctly his own, and distinguishes him from his kind. Just as no two leaves of
a tree or petals of a flower are exact duplicates, so in mankind—no matter how
subtle the anomaly—it exists, and must be fathomed and included in the
portrait; delicately if it is delicate, proportionately broadly and ostentatiously as
it is broad and ostentatious.
For example, there are some persons whose peculiarities are as evasive and
subtle as the bouquet of a wine, the bloom of a grape. We feel their influence,
we realize them to be the essence of their individuality, and yet we fail to catch
and master them; while there are other persons we meet whose eccentricities
flare out at us in a moment, and illuminate a character more fully and faithfully
than any words.
The pouting lip, the flickering eyelid, the shrug, the drumming on the table
with the fingers, the stroking of nose or chin, the revolving of thumbs, the
pushing or patting of the hair, are eloquent signs that he who runs may read, and
make his own. These may be called ostentatious mannerisms.
The subtle peculiarities are far more difficult to catch and convey faithfully.
One man suddenly narrows his eyes and looks introspectively at you, or the
mouth clinches unexpectedly over the teeth without any apparent reason. A
pulse suddenly quivers into sight at the temples, and is gone again. The
expression falls into repose, but that very stillness indicates a perplexing and
evasive expression of temperament and individuality that you cannot catch to
your own satisfaction. You may note coloring of hair, beard, mustache, &c. You
may purchase their exact match, and find the likeness only a shell, because the
essence that lends delicate fragrance and character has escaped you, and without
it your representation, however flawless in coloring and texture, is as
unsatisfactory and unreal as the marble statue to the human face and form.
Fundamental to the successful rendition of character impersonation is the
cultivation of dexterity and quickness. The dumb representative must have all

his regalia of wigs, beards, eyebrows, hats, helmets, cloaks, &c., well arranged,
and within easy reach.
In a sense he is a conjuror—a magician. His movements must be swift as
lightning. Indecision creates a jar; a pause or bungling spells failure. A small
velvet-draped stand or table placed behind him, and within easy reach, with
each article ready in the order wished, is essential. In the center of this should
be a mirror, with a good electric light over it, but shaded as much as possible
from the audience (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1.—Character impersonator’s stage table.

The stand must be draped in dark colors, so as to obtrude as little as possible
on the audience. While in preparation, all other lights near you should be turned
off, and only switched on for a moment or two the instant you are ready. The
attitude should be struck in the dark, and this must be sure and swiftly taken,
and absolutely in keeping with the character assumed. Avoid grease paints as far
as possible.
A pianoforte or small orchestra playing some melody suitable to the
impersonation will prove a most valuable adjunct to the imagination of artist
and audience.
Avoid such hackneyed characters as Napoleon, the late Sir Henry Irving, the
German Emperor, and similar portrayals that may be witnessed any evening at

almost any vaudeville hall. An audience is frequently more amused by the
imitation of types than of individuals.

Fig. 2.—The costermonger. Fig. 3.—The lady-killing curate.

The fat saloonkeeper, the costermonger (Fig. 2), the blasé gentleman of
fashion, the racetrack bookmaker, the ruddy countryman, the lady-killing curate
(Fig. 3), and the typical Soap King (Fig. 4), the country rustic (Fig. 5), and
many other such types are excellent studies for representation.

Fig. 4.—The soap king. Fig. 5.—The country bumpkin.

Although the character portrayals of the costumed and wigged impersonator
depend on wordless demonstrations between the items and in ordinary evening
dress, the artist may announce the name of the personality to be represented, or
have it worked in almanac fashion and shown to the audience as it appears.
The former method, however, is quite usual, and perhaps more suitable to
drawing-room entertainments.
It may be kept in mind that this style of performance should not be unduly
long, and should never exceed twelve or fifteen minutes.

Speaking Impersonations

Speaking impersonations are more difficult to achieve successfully, for in
them, as a rule, the artist has no regalia to depend upon. His hair, his face, his
voice, his limbs, his fingers are his only aids, but these are more than sufficient
for the talented and skilled performer. His voice is as elastic as his features in
power of mimicry.
He should be clean-shaven, but with a plentiful crop of hair, which he can
arrange and manipulate as he wishes with a mere twirl or pat of the hand, and
these must be sympathetic and convincing expressions of his every movement.
“There is no more expression in the back of the hand than in the back of the
head,” yet of what subtle demonstrations is it not capable?
A whole epitome of human emotions may be demonstrated by the gradual
unfolding of the flexible, sensitive fingers. The first finger raised, and
intelligence and meaning begin to develop. The palms upturned, the shoulders
uplifted, and the head slightly bent, and you see the suave helplessness typical
of the Frenchman.
The arms flung outward, with the palms parallel, and the fingers falling
naturally, indicate sentiments of affection, welcome, and cordial invitation.
Stretched farther away, with fingers distended, and you have entreaty, desire,
passionate pleading, and supplication. The wrists upturned, the fingers crooked,
and grasping, and we see the personification of rage and avarice, while the
raising of the open hand, what horror it indicates!
Yet the hand is only a part of the mechanism. Its soul is in the eye, which
combines in partnership and signifies calm, candor, liberality, love, gentleness,
meditation, resentment, boldness, defiance, wrath, and fear, in complete accord
with its dumb component.

The nostrils inflate in scorn, the head is proudly raised in dignity or joy, and
meekly bowed in humility; bent forward in shame, squarely upright, with firm
compressed features, for determination and will power.
The artist must never be tempted to sacrifice his cultured discretion in a
portrayal. For instance, to give the cockney the musician’s hand, or the priest
the bookmaker’s wink, the sly housebreaker anxious to escape notice the loud,
boisterous guffaw of the countryman, is to be guilty of the most insensate
blunders.
Action and gesture should be skilled and practiced handmaidens to the brain
that molds the idea, and their service must be winged to respond.
“True ease in action comes from art, not chance,
As they move easiest who have learnt to dance.”

Temperament

The psychological treatment of characters depends and is influenced in no
slight degree by temperament. The character the student is about to study has its
peculiar atmosphere of mind and body, which unconsciously dictates and
regulates its actions from head to foot. The most important temperaments are:—
1. The optimistic temperament, embracing impulsive, warm-hearted,
sanguine, easily-pleased, tender, ambitious dispositions.
2. The pessimistic temperament, embracing nervous, timid, sensitive,
overwrought, peevish, unstable, irritable, depressed, neurotic, restless,
dissatisfied, cynical, morbid, self-conscious dispositions.
3. The artistic temperament, embracing extravagant, sympathetic,
imaginative, languid, reckless, turbulent, excitable, hot-tempered, brooding
dispositions.
4. The commercial temperament, which embraces the phlegmatic, lymphatic,
enigmatic dispositions.
Now, the first way of approaching a new study is to consider what
characteristics it possesses, and to what class of temperament it belongs, and,
when this is decided, the student asks himself, what gesture will be the most
symbolic and eloquent of that temperament?
This method, conscientiously adhered to, will provide a safe and firm
groundwork for the beginner.
With judgment and sense, he will soon be able to place his character in its
right niche, and to plan his actions in accordance, even if he has never seriously

studied gesture. The movements of an open-hearted, liberal man are usually
large, free, and liberal. He opens his arms widely for an embrace. He gives you
his hand in greeting warmly, and with frank, cordial pressure. His eyes shine
clear and steady below a benevolent forehead. His walk, with its free, steady
swing, is the index of his generous and kindly disposition.
Now contrast him with the mean man, the usual type of which is pinched in
physical delineation, action, expression, and thought. His hair grows sparsely on
a skull, screwed as grimly to his face as the upper section of a bicycle bell to the
lower. His eye is squeezed in a narrow slit of socket, roves backwards and
forwards like a marble in a puzzle-box. His mouth is withered in bitter
antagonism for his fellow-men. To catch a generous smile upon his colorless
lips is to surprise a sunbeam at midnight.
Of course, there are many shades in the scale between these extremes of the
very liberal man and the very mean one, and the artist who is imitating the
thrifty soul must remember the infinitesimal points of difference which
distinguish him alike from the benevolent and avaricious.
And, in the wide margin of temperaments, an artist must be careful not to
label and pigeon-hole his characters as if they were bottles of physic, for in the
complex nature of one man there may be vast contradictions, just as in many
good medicines there is a minute quantity of poison, so a disposition may be
tinted with qualities not at all worthy of admiration.
There are occasions when the most impulsive becomes cold and hesitating,
the most affectionate cruel, the most benevolent calculating, and the most
patient, hot-tempered and passionate.

Character and Circumstance

The artist must never forget the important crucible of circumstances which
molds and forms each character, and sometimes is potent to change the most
optimistic temperament to one of pessimism and cynical bitterness. Yet, while
remembering this, one must probe beneath the stamped envelope of
environment to decipher the hieroglyphics of the fettered soul inclosed.
One does not find the wild, untutored gestures of the stump orator in the
refined politician, nor the turbulent raving of the fanatic in the sermon of the
cultured ecclesiastic, while the expression natural to the plebeian is such as the
aristocrat never indulges.
There are many natures so complex as to defy all classification, and to
portray them successfully is an almost impossible matter unless one masters the

delicate mechanism of their nature. A grandfather’s clock to outward
appearance is a figured circle in a narrow wooden case, with softly regularly-
moving pendulum, but get behind that exterior to the revolving wheels, and see
what an amount of intricacies are involved. So the man who presents a calm,
self-possessed exterior to the world, may in reality seethe with qualities not at
all phlegmatic or level-headed.
In conquering the technicalities of character, one must, as far as possible, grip
the crisis the personality has reached in his lifetime, and this is one reason why
a historic character is easier to grasp than one contemporaneous. For example,
he who portrays Napoleon in the flush of success and victory, does not represent
him as he who images him at the end of his career—broken-hearted, alone, and
in despair, suffering the calumny and scorn of those who exhibited most faith
and admiration of his sanguinary achievements.
Correct attitude and pose are extremely important, and should be carefully
studied. The old man has tottering bowed knees, but the youth stands firmly.
The reverberation of the interior gestures rules and gives to the torso or trunk
the inspiring grace of truth and beauty. It is only when a soldier or sailor on duty
is being represented that the artist may stand bolt upright and move
automatically. At all other times the torso should be held with flexible ease,
ready to combine with eye, face and gesture, in the emotion and force of the
impersonation. To portray the child with mature and abandoned gesture is to
present a caricature of nature, and, in like manner, to represent the adult with
the careless gestures of the child, is to convey the impression of one inane and
undeveloped.
In attitude, remember the maxim of Cresollius: “Without the hand, no
eloquence.”
To imagine a boy stealing jam with the wild eye and hand-clawing attitude of
the miser snatching at gold is to exaggerate grossly and confuse the human
emotions, and to paint comedy as the burlesque of tragedy. The hands are
capable of such a vast amount of expression that they have been considered
“numerous and copious as words themselves.”
While imitating characters, never be bound by the representations of other
artists you have seen. See with your own eyes, study with your own brain, avoid
that conventionality of fashion and ideas that cripples progress. Let your
maxims be your own, and, when they are mastered, be not ashamed to
demonstrate them with grand and self-reliant originality.

CHAPTER V
THE UNIVERSAL HAT

Marvels of Chapeaugraphy

Every entertainer must have felt at some time or other the need of a short
“gag” to fill up that awkward gap which so frequently occurs between the
conclusion of one long piece and the commencement of another.
The mind of an audience is of a flighty nature and requires to be kept
continually amused, or it will wander into paths of boredom; and many a good
entertainment has failed for the simple reason that the ball has not been kept
rolling.
It is during one of these uncomfortable pauses that the Universal Hat may be
appropriately introduced, and, if worked well, it cannot fail to gain approval.
You can either buy or make a Universal Hat, and as to do the former will cost
a dollar or more, whilst the latter can be done for less than half that sum, it is
well to be your own hat-maker.
Obtain a piece of fairly strong black felt, measuring 24 inches square, and cut
it into a ring, the diameter of the whole circle being 24 inches, with a hole in the
center 7 inches across. That is all that is required as far as the hat is concerned,
and the success of your piece will now rest entirely with yourself.
Arrange a screen behind which to retire, and have a good-sized mirror, so
placed that you will be able to see in a moment how your head-dress suits. Keep
a little rouge ready, as well as a burnt cork for blacking eyebrows, making
mustaches, &c. Remember that quickness is a necessity, for the smarter you are
in changing your hats the more the audience will appreciate the effect.
Now to give a few examples of what can be done with the universal hat, so
arranged as to give scope for any amount of ingenuity in inventing new ideas.
Before beginning your show step from behind the screen, raise the ring of felt
in your hand, and exhibit it to the audience. Then step back under cover, put the
hat on your head, giving it a tilt in front and a rakish tip to one side, assume a
stern expression, and, if you have a dog-whip amongst the stage properties,
grasp it firmly in your hand, and make an appearance before the spectators in
the character of Buffalo Bill. Take care always to face the audience as in Fig. 1,
otherwise the top of your head will be seen through the hole in the hat.

Fig. 1.—Buffalo Bill.

Remember that in this, as in all the other characters, a lot—indeed, almost
everything—depends upon your expression, which should be entirely in
keeping with the person you represent. Buffalo Bill must not wear a grin, but
must appear as grimly in earnest as though he were hastening to the relief of the
Deadwood stage.
Another point to bear in mind, is that you must not make a long appearance.
A minute for each character is ample, and, as you appear before your audience,
announce who you are in a tone suggestive of the person you are representing.
A few remarks in keeping with the character will greatly add to the realism of
your make-up, but let your words be like your appearances—brief and effective.

Popular Characters

Napoleon makes a good character to represent, and his hat is very easily
made. Draw two sides of the felt through the hole in the center, and pull the hat
firmly down about your ears, as in Fig. 2. Assume a stern expression, suggestive
of Waterloo, thrust your left hand into your breast, hump your shoulders, and
look fiercely at the audience as though you could see Wellington at the farther
end of the room.

Later on in the performance you can represent Bonaparte’s great antagonist
by making the hat in the same way, but wearing it with the peak forward as in
Fig. 3.

Fig. 2.—A hat suggesting Napoleon. Fig. 3.—The Iron Duke.

General Wolfe is another easy
character to assume. His hat is made in
this way. Lay the felt ring flat on the table, lift up one side, draw it towards you
and then pass it downwards through the hole. Pull back the piece that you have
passed through the hole, in the direction from which you took it in the first
place, and you will find it has made a hat of the shape shown in Fig. 4. When
you fit it on your head pull it firmly down towards your ears, but not too tightly,
and the effect will be complete. A little practice will serve to perfect you in
making the twists necessary for this and other hats, and patience will soon
reward you. To heighten the resemblance to General Wolfe, whiten your cheeks
with a little chalk and draw them slightly in, to give the appearance of being
haggard and wan. If you can get a sword, point to the ceiling with it
enthusiastically, as one can imagine the General did when he encouraged his
men to climb the Heights of Abraham.
As a contrast to these more exalted personages, you can now appear as the
coal driver; although if you wish to increase the realism by smearing your face
into a state of suitable dirtiness with burnt cork, it would be advisable to leave
this character to the last. To make the hat, lay your felt flat as before and draw
up a piece from the rim as was done in the case of General Wolfe. Now, instead
of passing it completely through the hole, push it only halfway through, giving
it what may be called a half twist. It will then appear as in Fig. 5, ready for

wear. Draw it tightly over your head, and slouch upon the scene, putting your
hand to your mouth and shrieking “Coal O!” in a cracked voice.

Fig. 4.—General Wolfe. Fig. 5.—The Coal Driver.

Fig. 6.—A Priest’s Biretta. Fig. 6a.—A Priest.

You may now appear as a priest in a biretta. Place the felt upon the table and
then draw a side from below, up through the hole, exactly the reverse way from
that in which Wolfe’s hat was made. When you have drawn it right through,
bend it down and pass it up through the hole once more, thus making two
twists. It then resembles Fig. 6, and if you draw it upon your head with the
broad brim flush against the forehead, the impersonation will be striking. Tuck a
little lapel of white into the collar, raise your right hand with two fingers
extended, and face the company with as pious an expression as you can assume.

Fig. 7.—The Pied Piper.

As a last example, an effective appearance may be made as the famous Pied
Piper of Hamelin. Having laid the felt flat, make a twist from below upwards, as
you did in the former hat—the priest’s biretta. But for this hat only one twist is
required, so when you have done this, the hat will appear as in Fig. 7. You must
now put your hands in the opening and stretch it as wide as possible, thus
making the rolls very taut and firm. Turn the felt over and fit it on the head as
shown in the picture. Draw your collar up, take a tin whistle in your hand, and
pipe a few notes before making your appearance. Then slink into view with a
cunning smile upon your lips, reciting these lines from the poem:—

“Please your honors, I am able
By means of a secret charm to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim, or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole, the toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.”

Of course these are but hints. An ingenious person will soon discover endless
other ways of adapting the Universal Hat in such a manner as to keep the
audience amused for some considerable time. Always remember, however,
these two axioms—
Let your make-up be done quickly.
Let your appearances be short.

CHAPTER VI
NIGGER MINSTRELSY

The Comical End-men

Some people imagine that a black face, a pair of large check trousers and a
rather dilapidated hat, are all that’s necessary to make a nigger minstrel. This is,
however, a great mistake, and whosoever feels the stirring of an ambition to
amuse his friends with a nigger entertainment, must not be discouraged if he
finds the road harder than he expected. Its difficulties, however, are far from
insurmountable.

Fig. 1.—Seating arrangements of nigger minstrel troupe.

For a really successful nigger entertainment seven persons are necessary; the
interlocutor—usually known as Mr. Johnson—one bass and one tenor singer
and four “end-men.” The troupe should be arranged as shown in Fig. 1. Now,
before describing what to do, a few words as to how you should arrange
yourselves will not be out of place. The stage should be raised, if possible, to
enable any member of the audience to see the performers. Unless you are
performing a farce or drama, such as will be described later, a curtain is not

absolutely necessary, provided the troupe can get to the stage without having to
pass right through the assembled company.

Minstrels’ “Make-up”

As far as “make-up” is concerned, this should present no difficulty whatever.
Many barbers, and some music shops, can supply “nigger black,” which must
be rubbed into the face and hands, after the skin has been well washed and
dried. When the performance is over the black can easily be removed by means
of soap and hot water. To redden the lips and enlarge the mouth, use carmine or
rouge; cover the lips and paint them to appear as though stretching almost from
ear to ear (Fig. 2). Cheap wigs can be obtained for but a small sum from any
hairdresser. Those of Mr. Johnson and the sentimentalists should be as shown in
Fig. 3, while each of the “end-men” should provide himself with one similar to
that depicted in Fig. 4. The “interlocutor” and sentimentalists usually wear
ordinary evening dress, the “end-men,” however, wearing frilled collars, cuffs
and fronts, as shown in Fig. 5. A complete outfit comprising stockinette face,
head, eyes, teeth, and hat can be purchased for about $2.50.

Fig. 2.—Showing how the lips are painted.

Fig. 3.—Interlocutor and sentimentalist’s Fig. 4.—End-man’s wig, showing
wig. workable tuft.

Music is a necessity with a troupe, and you will accordingly require another
person to play the piano as an accompaniment to the songs and choruses, as
well as for the overture and instrumental pieces. It is also presumed that the
members of the troupe have fairly good voices and are able to sing, not only in
tune but in time with one another.
In serious or sentimental songs, such as “Swanee River” and other favorites,
the “end-men” must forego their love of mirth and take part in all solemnity,
reserving their facetious behavior for a more timely moment. After these
remarks the principal characters in the troupe may be discussed.

Fig. 5.—Frilled collar, shirt front, and cuffs used by end-man.

The interlocutor is one of the most important persons upon the stage. It is his
duty to introduce each number of the programme to the audience; to be the butt
of the “end-men’s” jokes; and to assume upon every occasion an air of the
utmost ignorance and simplicity, that shall prove an admirable foil to the
exuberant humor of his companions. He must appear absolutely innocent of any
idea of the answers to the riddles and conundrums asked, and must reply to the
occasionally personal remarks of his friends with the utmost suavity and good
humor. In short, what with helping the others to sing and keeping the ball
rolling generally, Mr. Johnson is responsible, to a large extent, for the success or
failure of the entertainment.

From Failure to Success

The “end-men,” with whom lies the task of producing most of the fun of the
nigger entertainment, must be possessed of a ready wit—able to tide over
awkward pauses, prepared with some “gag” when the fun is beginning to flag,
and capable of turning disaster into a mighty success. From Mr. Johnson’s
placid obtuseness they will be able to draw much sport, and bandying jokes at
each other’s and the interlocutor’s expense, should keep the audience shaking
with laughter.
Whilst on the subject of jokes a note of warning may be struck. The moment
humor changes to vulgarity, it produces disgust in any respectable audience. It

is therefore well worth while to think over the regular jokes you intend
introducing into the performance, and if there be any that are in the remotest
way likely to offend the feelings of any person in the company, cut them out.
There is another point worth remembering in the matter of jokes. It may seem
a truism to remark that a joke should be funny, yet the very funniest of jokes
will fall flat if it is not led up to suitably. Don’t ask Mr. Johnson a conundrum in
a meek tone as though you were requesting him to tell you the time. His
immovably suave ignorance will extract the answer from you, it is true, but the
chances are ten to one that the audience have either missed the question or will
fail to see the point of the answer.
Jokes should be introduced by a certain amount of patter which serves to
engage the attention of the hearers in such a way that when the inevitable fun
really comes they are perfectly prepared to appreciate it. Books can be bought
containing numbers of these jokes with the suitable patter, and these will prove
very useful to the amateur, who must nevertheless remember that success really
depends upon the way in which he springs the joke upon the audience.

Coon Songs

And now a word about the singing. It goes without saying that the larger the
troupe and the better trained the voices, so much the more enjoyable will be the
choruses. The number of songs from which to select is legion; the best plan is to
write to some leading musical publisher, telling him what you want. He will be
only too pleased to send his catalogue with some advice as to what will prove
suitable. Avoid any comic songs with a double or doubtful meaning, and keep to
strictly characteristic songs as far as possible. Old favorites never fail to win
applause, and are always safe to fall back upon; but do not be too conservative
—try some novelties.

Songs and “Gags”

Nigger entertainments are usually divided into two parts, the first consisting
of songs and “gags,” as the short dialogues and impromptu jokes are called,
whilst the second is devoted to stump speeches and one-act dramas or farces. So
far as stump speeches are concerned, excellent collections are published by the
leading publishers of that class of entertainment. Your bookseller will obtain a
catalogue for you, and a choice can then be made. The speeches should be very

carefully learnt by heart, together with the appropriate gestures (for which full
instructions are always given), and unceasingly practiced until you are able to
make your stump oratory bring down the house with delight. Stump speeches
are the province of the “end-men,” and properly delivered, can be relied upon to
prove one of the successes of the evening.

One-Act Dramas

With regard to one-act dramas and farces, a very exhaustive catalogue can be
furnished by publishers, with full instructions as to how they should be
performed. A word of advice, however, to the intending actors. Too much care
cannot be expended upon preparation and rehearsals. Nothing will go of itself in
this world, and least of all plays and sketches; it is a fatal mistake to imagine
that the smallest drama or even “gag” will succeed by its own merits and with
only a little help from yourself. Endless trouble and care must be taken in
preparing the simplest joke, and boisterous as the fun may prove upon the stage,
it cannot be spontaneous, but must be diligently rehearsed again and again
before it can be presented to your audience.
Your great object is, not to enjoy the fun yourself but to make the others
enjoy it, and if this is borne in mind, you will not only amuse them but have a
delightful time yourself. Again, never forget that in a play one actor relies upon
another to repeat the actual words of the “book,” as cues and stage directions
depend upon verbal accuracy. Do not, therefore, introduce any novelties of your
own—learn the words and keep to them, for any original introductions on your
part may throw the whole play into disorder, exasperate the other actors and
disgust the audience.
To keep to the “book” is easy enough, and if you act in earnest—and this is
essential for the most comic pieces—you will find no difficulty in sustaining
your part correctly and intelligently. Do not laugh at your own jokes, unless you
are instructed to do so, but keep a grave face and appear as though to find
yourself in the most farcical situations were a matter of everyday life.
To give an idea of a reasonably simple programme which shall include a
farce, the following is suggested:—

PART I

Overture on the piano. A march.
Chorus. Some song in which all voices can join.
Solo. Preferably a sentimental song.

Jokes. Properly led up to by an end-man.
Comic Song. Also by an end-man.
Solo. Another sentimental song. And so on for ten or eleven turns, after which
comes the
Interval. During this the pianist can entertain the audience with some operatic
piece.

PART II

Chorus. As above.
Piano Solo. Whilst this is being played the stage should be prepared for the
Stump Speech.
Curtain and Piano Solo. During which the stage is arranged for the
Farce.
Solo. Sentimental song.
Finale.
This programme must, of course, be adapted to any exigencies of time, space
or other circumstances, but will serve as an example of what can be done.
To conclude with a few hints as to the actual entertainment. If possible, have
a sufficient number of programmes printed, or carefully and legibly written by
hand, as the most tolerant audience grows restive if it does not know “what
comes next.” Distribute these, and let one of your party make it his business to
see that the company are properly and comfortably seated. Begin punctually; if
your audience have to wait they become impatient, and as there are few people
more incapable of seeing a joke than impatient folk, it will be to your own
advantage to begin at the proper time. Be as silent as possible behind the
scenes; it is very tantalizing for the spectators to hear a wild rushing hither and
thither, hoarse whispering, and the various signs of excitement in which they are
not allowed to participate.
Of course a certain amount of bustle is unavoidable, but reduce it to a silent
minimum. Do not be shy; remember in the first place that the black hides all
your blushes, and in the second place that nobody is there to see you, but to see
a “nigger” who is going to make them laugh. Half of your audience have
probably done the same in their time, whilst the other half would have done so
if they could; so take heart, and show them all how really well it can be done.
However well-disposed your company may be, do not let that be any excuse for
slovenliness on your part, but let it rather incite you to work all the harder, so
that when everything is finished and the black is off your faces, the universal

opinion will be—“We would never have imagined that it could be carried out so
well!”

CHAPTER VII
SOME SUGGESTIONS IN BLACK

For “Nigger Minstrels”

In the previous chapter hints have been given to enable a party of five or
more performers to give a Nigger Minstrel Entertainment. The object of the
following is to show how one or two people can contrive to amuse their friends
with a few negro performances.
The pieces are suitable either as items in a variety entertainment, or as
convenient “gags” to be introduced between longer entertainments when the
interest of the audience is to be sustained by some timely diversion.
It might be remarked, by the way, that it is surprising how much the effect of
a joke depends upon the humor of the audience. If they are feeling in a happy
and pleasant frame of mind, the mere sight of a comic man is sufficient to bring
forth roars and shrieks of laughter. But if a gloom or lack of interest has settled
over the company, even the comic genius of the late Dan Leno would most
probably have failed to raise a smile.
There are two things almost invariably associated with nigger songs—a banjo
and bones. Proficiency with both these is necessary before attempting to give an
entertainment.
Practice and a quick ear are indispensable for playing or even strumming a
banjo. A very little practice will enable you to strike chords with ease, whilst a
quick ear will show when they should be played.
To make a successful “hit” with the “bones” is a question, more or less, of
knack.
A set of four bones costs about $1.00. When buying take care they are sound,
i.e. with no crack or flaw, and that they contain no core of pith, as this is liable
to dull the sound, rendering it quite impossible to obtain the sharp clean click so
necessary for successful rendition.
Having obtained your bones—a pair for each hand—you must know how
they should be held. Notice they are slightly curved, as in Fig. 1. With a pair in
each hand place the ends between the first and second and second and third
fingers, the convex sides towards each other (Fig. 2). Hold No. 1 (the bone
between the first and second fingers) fairly firmly, although not so stiffly as to

rob it of a distinct spring. No. 2 (the bone between the second and third fingers)
must be rapped up against its companion by the action of the third and fourth
fingers.

Fig. 1.—Curved bone used in nigger minstrelsy.

A sharp shake of the hand will make the bones clap together, while if you
keep the hand quivering and also work bone No. 2 vigorously a continuous
rattle is produced.

Fig. 2.—How to hold the bones. Fig. 3.—Correct position for playing the bones.

A good plan, when once you are accustomed to having the bones between
the fingers, is to hold the hand with the knuckles upwards, the bones
pointing to the ground, as in Fig. 3. By this means the fingers are allowed
freer play. At the same time a better appearance is given to the exhibition.
At first you will find your rattles jerky and spasmodic, but do not be
content until you have the bones so entirely under command that you can
make a long rattle as easily as a solitary tap, remembering that the less
exertion you betray the better will be the effect.
Your own ear will show you how to introduce them into the music. Do
not drown the air—the bones are only intended to give a point, to
accentuate certain parts and not to render them inaudible. A smart rattle may

be given at the commencement of the music and at the conclusion of the
song.

Introducing Jokes

All jokes should be introduced by a certain amount of conversational
patter between the Interlocutor and “Bones.”
Mr. Johnson, the interlocutor, is always a very simple-minded person,
unable to see any joke until it has been fairly thrown at him, and perfectly
innocent in the presence of the most obnoxious puns. He has a certain
patronizing air with his companion which only serves to make his innate
simplicity more delightful. Mr. Johnson maintains an impassive face in the
most ludicrous and trying situations by his very matter-of-fact behavior,
extracting all kinds of smart things from the funny man.
“Bones” is the very reverse of Mr. Johnson. He is up to all the latest
catches, full of quips and puns, is possessed of a never-failing store of
quaint experiences and remarkable stories, the most improbable of which
are gravely swallowed by Johnson. Yet the big red lips on his broad black
face must be immovable and never show the least symptom of a smile as he
recounts with stolid solemnity his marvelous doings to his credulous friend.
The following dialogue is arranged for these two characters. Mr. Johnson
asks Bones all kinds of simple and apparently harmless questions; but Mr.
Bones replies with a constant succession of puns and jokes:—
Johnson. So you’ve been enjoying yourself, William, lately, I understand.
Dining out a good deal?
Bones. Oh yes, that’s right. I’d dine with anybody.
Johnson. Yes, but I’m told you dined with the Mayor last week. Is that
right?
Bones. Oh yes, that’s right.
Johnson. Then I suppose you had an excellent dinner—plenty to eat and
drink. What was the menu?
Bones. Well, to tell you the truth, there was a lot of ’em there, but I don’t
recollect him.
Johnson. Ah, you don’t understand me. I mean what was the bill of fare?
Bones. Oh, well, it was a pretty fair bill. I believe it cost him about $300.

Johnson. No, you don’t understand me. I mean what dishes did you have
to eat?
Bones. Well, we didn’t eat any dishes.
Johnson. No, no, of course not; but what did you have to eat and drink?
Bones. Well, I believe the first thing we had to eat was something to
drink.
Johnson. And what did you have to drink, then?
Bones. Well, it was a new soup.
Johnson. A new soup! Well, I should like to know what that was. What
was it called?
Bones. Oh, I don’t remember exactly what it was, but you might mention
the names of a few to help me.
Johnson. Well, was it Mullagatawny?
Bones. No, it wasn’t Multigatony.
Johnson. Was it Mock Turtle?
Bones. No, it wasn’t him.
Johnson. Was it gravy?
Bones. No.
Johnson. Was it spring?
Bones. No, it wasn’t spring, it was summer.
Johnson. Well, I must give it up, William. What was it?
Bones. Oh, I know, it was what they call—er—er—shadow soup.
Johnson. Oh, then, it must be a new soup. I’ve never heard of shadow
soup.
Bones. Never heard of shadow soup?
Johnson. No, I haven’t. I should like to taste that. How is it made?
Bones. I’ll tell you. You go down to the market, buy a nice chicken, take
it home, stretch a line across the yard, hang the chicken in the middle of the
line, put a nice clean pail of water under the chicken, and when the sun
comes out it casts its beautiful rays on the chicken, reflects the shadow in
the pail of water, and that’s what they call shadow soup.
Johnson. Oh, you go down to the market, buy a nice chicken, take it
home, stretch a line across the yard, hang the chicken in the middle of the
line, put a nice clean pail of water under the chicken, and when the sun
comes out it casts its beautiful rays on the chicken and reflects the shadow
in the water, and that’s what they call shadow soup.
Bones. Yes.

Johnson. But, my dear sir, you’ve forgotten one of the principal things.
Bones. Oh, have I? What’s that?
Johnson. What’s that? Why, supposing you have no sun?
Bones. Well, then—you have no soup.

Stump Speeches

A little extra effort in the matter of make-up might be attempted for
stump speeches, for the orator should be as “seedy” as possible in the way
of costume. A tattered coat and battered hat are usually considered essential
to the character, whilst an old dilapidated umbrella, of bulky form and
shapeless proportions, is useful for brandishing at the emotional parts or
thumping as the impressive points in the speech are reached.
The stump orator should deliver his speech mounted upon a rickety chair
or table, for his exaggerated endeavors to maintain his balance will be
certain to cause fun amongst the audience.
Having taken his position with much danger, and with a familiar look at
the spectators, the speaker may embark upon the lecture. He should speak
distinctly and slowly, pausing every now and again to illustrate his remarks
with some quip or to steady himself upon the very rocky pulpit.
As an example he may take the following, which will serve for the
opening sentences of a stump speech on “Sound”:—
Ladies and Gentlemen, and others. I have much, I have much (puts hand
in pocket as if to feel how much money he has), I say I have much—much
feeling of proudness in assembling here in large numbers before you—me
—you here dis even. The subject of my investigation has been for many
long years, that is to say early years, short years, new years, old years, pig’s
and donkey’s ears, and the rest of the human race. I say the subject of my
intellectual and not at all less pig’s-head-a-frying lecture on the various
means of communicating our thoughts, words, title-deeds, and other
chattels, such as sauce-pans, frying-pans, umbrellas, knobbed sticks, brick-
bats and bricks without bats, I say the subject of this important question,
whether it be the pop-shopular question or whether it be unwise to mention,
or otherwise in dimension, let it be understood that previous to preparing
myself to begin—to commence, I must ask a few questions about the
temperaments, detriments out-o-debtriments, cape-abilities, cloak-abilities,

hats, caps, boots, shoes, underlinen, socks, and other kind of earthenware. I
say before I, as I said before I said “I say before”—this subject can be
clothes-properly dissolved, we will, although I say it myself, ladies and
gentlemen, I say we shall, ladies, we shall all be dead men. (Takes pinch of
snuff, wipes nose with wet part of handkerchief, wiping off some black.
Resumes dialogue.)

Music for Minstrelsy

Taking it for granted that the would-be minstrels have reasonably good
voices, the only difficulty will be “selection.” Of course a great deal of tact
is required to know what class of music is best suited to the audience.
Have as much variety as possible. Do not confine yourself exclusively to
comic songs or to sentimental ditties alone. At all costs keep your audience
cheerful and amused. Too much humor is apt to nauseate, but too much
melancholy will certainly spell failure. Try to gauge the temper of your
company, and if they seem to prefer the serious to the comic parts on your
programme, or vice versâ, make as quick and effective an alteration as you
can. They must be made to appreciate you—not simply to tolerate you.
To have a piano accompaniment is a distinct acquisition if the voices be
of doubtful merit. For accomplished singers a banjo is quite sufficient, but
the amateur will certainly find that a friend at the piano is very handy and
reliable. This is, of course, entirely a matter of individual taste and
circumstances.
A very good selection of nigger dialogues, speeches, &c., can be obtained
from any theatrical publisher. The entertainer will be furnished with useful
ideas for a programme, including some of the most successful minstrels’
songs and drolleries.
As the Stump Orator would say, “We must now draw a delusion to our
not over long lecture,” feeling confident that the amateur nigger will find
his entertainment as great a source of pleasure to himself as of amusement
to the audience.

CHAPTER VIII
TABLEAUX VIVANTS

True-to-Life Representations

Tableaux may be divided into two important classes—the portrayal of
abstract qualities, which usually includes motionless figures posed in
sustained attitudes, and historic and romantic groups, in which the actor is
allowed some occupation.

The Hero. The Martyr.

The first class is most difficult of successful achievement. In it, the whole
gamut of emotions common to mankind may be symbolized, and in these
attitude and gesture are governed by the mind, which should be revealed in
every muscle, curve, and limb of the human frame.

The Ascetic. The Fanatic.

Strength, courage, fidelity, chivalry, purity, and honesty should be posed
in such a manner that the simple grandeur and dignity of these attributes
cannot be mistaken. The hero, the martyr, the ascetic, the fanatic have each
a commonly recognized type and pose.
The shrinking form of the coward—he who fears all things greater than
himself—must bear the stamp of the puny soul unveiled. The eye of the
hypocrite, the cunning, the evil and degraded, is as different from the gaze
of the pure of heart as the muddy, stagnant pool is different from the wide,

blue expanse of salt sea—the air of a foul room from the breath inhaled
beneath the open sky.
And in the same way that grand music is expressive of all human
emotions, and as welcome to the ear as the song of birds, so form and color,
attitude and character, in living pictures are potent emblems of the strength
and weakness of complex humanity.
The figure that is to symbolize Hope must possess that wondrous
attribute in herself, otherwise no trickery of dress or limelight can make her
anything but a caricature of the spirit of optimism.
So that, in order to portray virtues and vices as they are, the stage
manager’s craft reaches beyond superficial knowledge. Psychology and
intuition are even more important to him than experience regarding
blending of colors, arrangement of lights and grouping of forms, for the
human mind is the keynote in which his music is revealed, the touchstone
of his secret, the mystic spirit dominating the symmetry of gesture.
In the choice of individuals, personal character is weighty—pink and
white flesh tints, however perfectly blended in a face, do not stand for
Patience, Charity, or Sympathy unless the heart behind is pulsed on the
pivot-springs of these virtues, for the experienced eye of the spectator
probes beyond paint and attitude, and knows perfectly well whether these
virtues are rightly embodied or merely distorted mimicry.
Therefore the stage manager of tableaux vivants, before all else, needs
penetration in recognizing and choosing exponents suitable to interpret the
abstract conditions he is anxious to depict, and it is only when his choice is
made that the training, grouping, and scenic effects need be considered.
Tableaux vivants are in character not unlike a symphony. The theme in
both is important. In the latter, the interweaving of other parts enhances the
beauty of the dominating strain, as in the former, where harmonizing colors
and stage effects, important as they are, remain ever subordinate to the
principal conception aspired.
Of course, in the training of subjects, it is very necessary that one attitude
should be maintained by each figure and remain unbroken from the lift to
the fall of the curtain, and this without rigidity of body, unless the
characteristic is typified in rigid lines; but even more important is the
necessity that the mind should not waver nor the features change to an
expression not in harmony with the attribute typified.

Hope does not frown or smile, and all nervous twitching is absent from
the tranquil face and figure of Serenity. Courage shows a lofty brow and
steady eye—the shoulders are squared resolutely, but not aggressively.
Mercy, Pity, Love, Gentleness, Sweetness, and Charity are most perfectly
imaged by women, who naturally possess these virtues; Dignity,
Determination, Steadfastness, and Chivalry by men. But the stage manager
need not limit himself by any conventions in this particular, for it
sometimes happens that a woman’s face and form breathe characteristics
usually found in certain types of manhood, while a man’s countenance may
be eloquent of the gentle virtues typical of womanhood.
The thoughts of each character must be concentrated on the part
undertaken, and the onlookers absolutely forgotten. As far as possible the
actors should forget that there is a certain amount of strain in the
immovable pose, otherwise limbs will twitch and the balance and pose be in
peril. With sufficient practice it will not be difficult to remain in the attitude
fixed upon for the few minutes after the curtain is lifted. It is only at first
that the limbs, either through inexperience or nervousness, prove rebellious.
The impersonators should not be afraid to breathe regularly, for this
prevents artificial rigidity.
Figures should not be crowded together. A small stage, such as would be
used in a drawing-room, requires a picture in proportion. The dresses and
lights should blend harmoniously with the background and frame.

Staging

Fig. 1 depicts the lighting arrangement at back of frame. The guard-
wires, running from side to side, are to prevent the possibility of dresses
catching fire. The footlights usually consist of ordinary night-lights with
illumination glass covers. Behind these are tin shades for reflectors. Electric
light, if available, can be substituted for oil lamps as shown. In the same
sketch a curtain-raising apparatus also appears. Two persons should be
chosen for its manipulation, and be always stationed in such a position that
they can draw and divide the curtain at the given signal.
Every separate production is timed by the stage manager or some other
reliable person, and the duration of each should be exact. Three, or at the
most four, minutes are ample time for the audience to take in the details of

the picture, and the instant the curtain is drawn another group is arranged,
the actors being perfectly familiar with the position and pose they are to
take, going to their places without confusion or disorder.
In a succession of group-pictures different groups of actors are necessary,
for it is impossible for the same persons to change their costumes in the
minute or so that intervenes before the succeeding spectacle.
Where the number of players amounts to fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five,
the number of tableaux arranged upon can be divided between them, and
the productions, consisting of from two to five figures, arranged in such a
way that during group A’s tableaux group B is ready in the wings and takes
the stage the instant group A disappears through a different exit to the
dressing-room. Next, group C takes group B’s place in the wings, and so on
with all the groups. In this way each has a few minutes in which to change.

Fig. 1.—Lighting arrangement for back of frame.

Confusion and fussing will be prevented by each group knowing exactly
their manner and mode of entrance. Some plan, which renders it impossible
for group A leaving the stage to collide with group B in the wings, must be
fixed upon. Because the tableaux take place in a strange drawing-room,
where there is not much accommodation possible behind the platform, and
few entrances and exits, is no adequate excuse for any bungling or
confusion.
However limited the space, the stage manager and his company should
hit upon some plan that makes for order and precision. To do this, the
performers should come early to rehearse entrances and exits, and then

memorize them, for any mistake behind the scene, even if of so slight a
character that it does not retard the productions, is apt to disturb the nerves
of the players, and rob them of their necessary calm.
There should be no laughing or talking, for sounds easily penetrate
through a drawing-room, and not only disturb the audience, but draw from
their task the attention of the group occupying the stage.
The stage manager, who feels unable to represent abstract qualities
perfectly, would do well to avoid them altogether.
It may happen that his actors include a few who are absolutely raw
material where tableaux are concerned, and upon such occasions he should
always have a few studies in his repertoire in which motionless poses are
not necessary.

Penelope and Ulysses

For example, a pretty novice, sitting at a spinning-wheel, weaving
imaginary threads from a spindle of flax, will do very well as Penelope,
spinning her endless garment during the absence of Ulysses. In a simple
white or colored gown, with her hair falling over her shoulders, and her
head bent slightly over the wheel, she makes a pleasing picture.
Cinderella, seated on the floor, gazing into the cinders, with her hands
clasped round her knees, is another quite easily adopted attitude.
Another pretty scene, acted over the spinning-wheel, is the Lady of
Shalott, weaving “a magic web with colors gay,” and peering from time to
time at the mirror above her, which reflects “the highway near, winding
down to Camelot.”
In this tableau the facial expression is wholly different from that which
dominates Penelope’s features. Penelope’s labor is inspired by stratagem, to
keep her unwelcome suitors at bay. Her soul is steeped in a patience so
melancholy that it verges on despair, whereas the Lady of Shalott “weaves
by night and day,” because she believes she is chained to her task by an
awful power. If she pauses a moment, a curse will fall upon her. Her eyes,
therefore, are wild with fear, her face contorted, her fingers pluck the
threads feverishly, and there is none of Penelope’s listlessness in her wild
agonized concentration.

History and fiction teem with incidents that can be easily translated into
groups, wherein an absolutely motionless attitude is not required.
The three witches in “Macbeth,” in their cone-shaped hats, tattered rags,
and disheveled hair, their wild, evil prophecy, seared in the deep lines of
their withered faces, haunched on the ground conspiring together.
Guinevere, prone on the convent floor of “the holy house at Almesbury”;
King Arthur, fully armed, and stained with battle, bending over her in
agonized tenderness, pity, and shame; and many other examples, which will
easily be found by the stage manager, ambitious to exhibit pictures more
unique than those usually adopted.

Stage “Props”

The materials used for characters need not be expensive or difficult to
procure. Cheap sateens, muslins, velveteens, gold paper pasted over
cardboard and large buttons, glass diamonds and emeralds, tinsel and silver
braid, bright-colored ribbons from the remnant basket, discarded shoes and
stockings, transformed by cheap dyes, vari-colored beads, imitation
ermines, tin swords and armor—all these are useful and effective beneath
the lime-light.
Backgrounds may be arranged by means of curtains draped over the
walls in colors that blend or contrast harmoniously as desired with the
tableau produced. Properties, such as old wine flagons, lamps, &c., may be
fashioned by means of cardboard, cut in the necessary shape, gummed
together, and covered with gold or silver paper.

Fig. 2.—Tiers for back-stage grouping.

Fancy dress magazines and illustrated histories will reveal many secrets
to the stage manager. Better still, a visit to a museum, when he is in doubt
about the shape and period of some article he requires, and observation of
the properties utilized in historic or Shakespearean plays will well repay
time and trouble spent. Duplicates in lead, wood, or tin of almost any old
article can be fashioned well enough to answer his purpose.
When a large group of figures is to be arranged, light wooden ladders,
placed in a semicircle, and covered with some appropriate color, make easy
and adaptable tiers, on each step of which a figure is posed, or an
arrangement of tiers for back-stage grouping can be made as shown in Fig.
2.
The most expensive aids in the stage manager’s paraphernalia—and
these, alas, there is no overcoming—are the supply of the lime-light and the
loan of the wigs. But in this direction he should not be too ambitious,

contenting himself at the start with a moderate outfit in accordance with his
means and inexperience.

CHAPTER IX
CHARADES

An Old Favorite for Indoor Parties

One of the most popular indoor entertainments for winter evenings, or
indoor parties, both with children and “grown-ups,” is charades. Not only
do they afford amusement to the audience, but the players themselves
obtain a good deal of fun from their efforts to baffle those who are listening
to them.
Suppose, for instance, that a “party” is composed of some twenty people.
About five or six of them are selected to go outside, choose a word, which
can easily be split into syllables, each making a word in itself.
The players must not waste too much time in planning how best to act the
words, or the audience will show signs of impatience. This can also be
averted by the hostess arranging for a musical, or other little “stop-gap” to
fill up the time which must necessarily elapse between the moment when
the players retire and their subsequent appearance.
Having thought of a little sketch which will take in all the several parts of
the word chosen, the players arrange impromptu scenery and start the first
act, taking care to bring in the first syllable, and yet not giving it undue
prominence. This care must be observed all the way through the charade, as
the fun is much greater when the listeners cannot guess the word too easily.
If the word chosen is “Indignation,” it is split into three syllables—In,
dig, nation.
These words having been acted, in the last scene the complete word is
brought in, and as it is through this act the audience will listen most
carefully for a clew, the players, if they wish to baffle them, should do their
best to bring in a variety of words in order to mislead the listeners.
In many cases a little scenery adds considerably to the successful
presentation of charades. A “window” frequently proves of service. But it
may happen that the end of the room where the actual window is situated
does not lend itself conveniently to the performance of the charade, and in

this circumstance the best plan is to improvise an “artificial window,”
which, being portable, can be used in any required position.

An “Artificial Window”

A start can be made in construction by procuring a sheet of strong white
paper of the requisite size. With India ink or chalk the thick black lines, as
shown in Fig. 1, are painted in. The dotted lines represent the sheet of
paper, the four holes the positions at which the nails fasten it to the wall,
and the finished effect of an interior window is obtained by the draping of
art muslin or curtains, as suggested by the diagram.
Oftentimes a little exterior scene is wanted. A simple way of improvising
a cottage is that of using two screens placed as shown (A, A, Fig. 2). A
plank or the shelf of a cupboard is placed across the top (D, Fig. 2), and
kept in position either by nails or gimlets screwed into the top of the
screens.
A tablecloth of any bright color, preferably red, is stretched from points
(B, B, Fig. 3), slanting downwards and slightly over the edge of the screens.

Fig. 1.—Interior artificial window for charades.

Two “artificial windows” (C, C, Fig. 3) should be then pinned to the
screens, and the exterior of cottage is complete, an additional artistic effect
being produced by fixing flower-stands with ferns in positions as shown (E,
E, Fig. 2).

Fig. 2.—Plan for improvised cottage.

Fig. 3.—Exterior view of improvised cottage.

“A Seaside Scene”

At first sight it might seem out of the question to produce a really
passable scene representing “the rolling deep.” This may be easily carried
out, however, by a careful study of Fig. 4, and the requisitioning of such
commonplace articles as a large white sheet, which is stretched and nailed
to the wall, a few rolls of stout white-backed wall-paper, hassocks, boxes,
and old brown or gray cloths.

Fig. 4.—A sea scene.

The wall-paper is cut into three lengths corresponding with the width of
the sheet, one about 18 inches in depth (A, Fig. 4), the next 28 inches (B,
Fig. 4), and the third 34 inches (C, Fig. 4).
At each end a piece of wood is fastened (D, Fig. 4), behind which is
glued a block of wood or small weighted box (E, Fig. 4).
The lengths of paper, marked A and B, are cut in zig-zag fashion at the
top in order to produce the appearance of waves, the effect being enhanced
by an application of blue paint used as shown in the diagram. The strip of
paper marked C forms the horizon, therefore the top of this should be left
straight and painted blue to a depth of about 10 inches.
To complete the effect, boxes, hassocks, and stools of different heights
are grouped round and covered with the gray cloths to represent rocks (F, F,
Fig. 4).
An empty barrel and a few coils of rope flung carelessly about help to
make a more realistic scene, and well guarded lamps placed between the
slips representing waves throw them up into necessary prominence.

A Portable Tent

Fig. 5.—A portable tent.

A portable tent is made from a few sheets of brown paper glued together
to form a huge square (A, A, A, A, Fig. 5), the paper cut out to the shape
described (B, B, B, B, Fig. 5), and folded at the dotted lines, C, C, C, C.
The whole is then arranged over three poles, crossed and tied together at
the top, an opening or entrance being formed by the segment cut away.

Outfit for Highwayman

A highwayman’s mask will prove easy of construction, and a thing of
delight to the average boy. Moreover, it will often find a place in charades.

Fig. 6.—A highwayman’s mask. Fig. 7.—Highwayman’s leggings.

On a width of black sateen or any other suitable material a design is
drawn as shown in Fig. 6, marked with chalk and cut away to fit the face. A
piece of thin black tape is fixed to either side, so that the mask may be tied
round the head just above the ears.
Amongst the highwayman’s outfit there must certainly be a pair of high
boots, but as these are not found in every household, it may be as well to
give a few simple directions for the making of them.
From several sheets of stout brown paper four pieces of the shape
indicated at (A, Fig. 7), are cut. So that the tops of the boot shall not crack
when the leg is bent, small pieces of paper are gummed at either side, as
shown (B, Fig. 7).
Only the fixing of a piece of tape, or double fold of the paper for the
instep, remains to be done (C, Fig. 7), and an excellent pair of
highwayman’s boots is to hand.

Fig. 8.—Highwayman’s hat.

An ordinary pliable felt or straw hat can be easily and quickly
transformed into a three-cornered highwayman’s hat. A study of Fig. 8 will
explain where the stitches are to be taken from the brim to the crown.

A Policeman’s Helmet

Two hard felt derby hats properly treated make an excellent
representation of a policeman’s helmet, which will very often be found
useful for charade acting.
It is first of all necessary to cut off the brim of one of the hats at the point
where the band comes. The crown of the second one is also cut off, but
some three inches above the band.

Fig. 9.—Front and back view of a policeman’s helmet.

The first crown is next carefully fitted over the brim portion of the other
one, and tacked round firmly so that the two pieces do not slip.
The headgear now presents the appearance of an abnormally high derby
hat.
The curved part of the brim is cut away, and the front shaped to a point,
as shown in Fig. 9, and the brim at the back is nicely rounded.
The usual ornamentation may be suggested by the application of chalk,
the addition of a large-sized wooden button mold glued to the top of the
crown, a chin-strap of shiny black leather completing the article.

Fig. 10.—Skull cap, pigtail, and hat for Chinaman.

A Chinaman’s Head Covering

A Chinaman is a character quite easily portrayed, and one which can be
simply represented by pressing into service articles of everyday use.
From a piece of pale pink sateen the head covering (A, Fig. 10) is
fashioned, a string run through at C to be drawn out or in at will; and a
piece of rope or twist of darning cotton, B, sewn on at the back for a pigtail.
Then if the would-be Chinaman wishes to cover his head still further, the
lid of the linen basket provides him with a hat, when a piece of braid or

black paper has been fixed to the rim, and a string sewn on for the chin-
strap.
A highly-colored dressing jacket and a pair of rather loose white trousers
complete the Chinaman’s outfit.

Advertisement Charades

Whilst some people consider the ordinary charades the best fun, there are
others equally ready to admit that they prefer the “dumb” representation of
words chosen, one of the most popular of these being the “advertisement”
charade, wherein some well-known poster is chosen and acted in silence.
A well-known soap advertisement which has been so popular for years
serves as an excellent illustration. There are few, if any, who could not
recall the picture.
A man, dirty of face and hands, with torn clothing, sits at a table writing a
letter.
A faithful representation of this can be easily produced by the aid of soot
smeared carefully over the face and hands, and a wig of tousled hair.
Perhaps a dozen advertisements can be “played,” a few moments
elapsing between each for the audience to write down their “guesses” on
slips of paper, which are afterwards collected, and a prize awarded to the
competitor who has the largest number of answers correct.
The two following examples of charades are given so that the players
may fit in their own words. If the charades need to be written in dialogue
form and committed to memory days before they are played, much more
trouble is given, and the game becomes a somewhat irksome one.

Baronetcy
[BARON-ATE(ET)-CY(SEA).]

First Syllable.
BARON.

Enter two boys dressed as highwaymen. For this purpose art muslin
scarves tied round the waist, hats and masks as already described, and toy
pistols are enough, with a scenery of trees painted on some stout paper.
First boy addresses his comrade in tones of mystery, glancing to right and
left as though he is expecting somebody. At length he holds up a warning
finger: “Hist! The Baron comes this way!”
They secrete themselves and wait until the Baron approaches. He looks
round, whereupon the two highwaymen jump out, secure him, and make
off.
The Baron’s servants arrive on the scene too late, but vow they will track
the robbers, and start off in hot pursuit.
End of First Act.

Second Syllable.
ATE-(ET).

Baron asleep in one corner of a tent (made as previously described).
The robbers are eating their dinner, and talking in low tones of the
ransom they expect to get for their prisoner. Whilst they are talking the
Baron awakes. They are so intent upon their conversation that they do not
observe him arise, creep up, and steal their food. He eats it, and returns to
his corner again.
The ruffians discover their food is gone and are furious, but do not
suspect their prisoner, who they suppose is still slumbering.
The Baron is so amused at their efforts to find the thief that he begins to
laugh, rocking himself to and fro, and at last shouts, “I ate it, I ate it.”

Just as they are about to flog him a noise of tramping feet is heard, and
they hasten to see who is coming.
End of Second Act.

Third Syllable.
SEA-(CY).

Baron and his faithful retainers are sitting by the seashore, and he is
telling them how he made his escape from the robbers.
As they are talking an old beggar comes along. The Baron at once
recognizes him as one of the robbers, and gives orders that he is to be
seized and bound. Presently the other one arrives, and he is treated in the
same way.
Finally the Baron promises to forgive them if they will give up highway
robbery and go to sea.
End of Third Act.

Baronetcy

Enter several boys in ragged clothes as newsboys. They are shouting
papers for sale, and the chief thing that can be heard is “Extry—Capture of
a Baron at Sea.”
The boys discuss the news, and at last one of them bursts into a fit of
laughter after having opened the paper. The others crowd round to see what
is causing the merriment.
Laughingly he explains that it is not an account of an exciting piratical
affair, but merely the report of the capture of a Baronetcy in England by a
fair cousin from the United States.

Beanstalk

First Syllable.
BEAN.

Scene.—Widow Frankey’s kitchen. Representation of this made by use of
window described above, kitchen table and chairs, plates, pastry board,
&c.
Widow Frankey, in apron and cap, is busy making pastry, and talking
to herself about her son Jack, and wondering when he will return from
the errand on which she has sent him.
Jack appears. Tells his mother where he has been, and she scolds him
for being so slow.
He goes out in a temper, and Widow Frankey leaves her work, sits
down and cries, finally falling asleep.
Jack returns, finds his mother asleep, and determines to make up for
his ill-temper by finishing the pudding she has already begun.
(An amusing scene can be shown here by the funny mistakes he makes,
putting into the pudding all kinds of odd ingredients, amongst them a bean.)
His mother awakes, to find dinner set, and ready.
There is great fun over the pudding when the widow finds the bean.
End of First Act.

Second Syllable.
STALK.

Scene.—Corner of market-place, where a flower-seller has her stall. For this
purpose a table, draped with art muslin, with a few pots of ferns on it,
and some flowers made from tissue paper, will be all that is required.
Girl sits on a stool doing up bunches of flowers.
Jack comes along running, and in his hurry knocks the table over.

Flower-seller pretends to be very angry, and insists upon Jack’s paying
for the damage.
He does so, and the girl laughingly gives him the stalk of a flower for
fun. He puts it in his button-hole and walks off, leaving the girl laughing.
End of Second Act.

BEANSTALK

Scene.—Widow Frankey’s kitchen.
Jack returns to his home, and tells his mother of his escapade, showing
her the stalk which the flower-girl had given him.
Just then the door opens, and the flower-girl enters, throws Jack’s
money on the table, telling him she took it only for a joke. He returns the
stalk to the girl, who laughingly tells him that it is a beanstalk.
Widow Frankey retires, and Jack tells the pretty flower-girl that he
loves her.
End of Last Act.

CHAPTER X
THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE MUSICAL SKETCH

The musical sketch occupies a high and prominent position in the scale
of entertainments given by the individual. With many it is more popular
than ventriloquism, impersonations, reciting, or conjuring, and needs as
much skill and study as any of these other accomplishments. For its
successful rendition the artist must be equipped with
1. Subtle humor and pathos.
2. Impromptu patter.
3. A good memory.
4. A clear pronunciation.
5. Mimicry.
6. Self-accompaniment from memory.
7. Individuality and mastery of the audience.
He must also be well versed in the popular topics of the day, and be able
to dish them up in an attractive manner to suit the humor of his various
hearers; and, of course, a certain amount of natural talent is indispensable.
In this mode of entertainment there should be no pause. The whole time
the artist should either be engaged in patter or playing, and he must go from
anecdote to anecdote smoothly and without jerkiness, always relating his
stories as if they were his own experiences.
He should begin an after-dinner story in some such way as—
“The other night, when dining with my friend, Mr. A., I had the
misfortune to be stuck down beside his elderly maiden aunt, Miss
Dimbledock, who my host had previously informed me was a stanch
adherent to the Blue Ribbon Army. Now, as Mr. A. is her only living
relative, he naturally expected to inherit her wealth, and consequently had
given instructions to Coggledab, the butler (who on ordinary occasions
served as coachman), that especial attention and care were to be lavished
upon her severe and abstemious person; but, alas, he had forgotten to instill
him with her principles, and the result was that the poor old lady was

mortally offended, for, ere we had reached the second course, Coggledab
leaned over her chair in a fatherly and solicitous manner that well became
his white hairs and portly person, and whispered in a voice that penetrated
every corner of the room:
“‘Gin, whisky, or brandy, Mum? You can’t be enjyin’ of yourself! You’re
not drinkin’!’
“And it is to this apparently trivial incident that a year ago a flourishing
dogs’ home was opened in New York, and that my poor friend Mr. A. can be
seen any day selling matches at his post in Times Square! And talking of the
importance of trivialities, reminds me of an adventure that befell me the
other day. I had hired a taxi-cab, and was just stepping into it——,” &c.,
&c., thus introducing quite a different anecdote.
Now, the outlines of the incident of Mr. A.’s dinner-party are taken from
a comic paper, but twisted and colored to suit the requirements of the artist;
and there are many stories that may be dished up in similar manner, while
frequently personal experiences are extremely humorous when rightly
treated.

The “All in All”

The artist should study and cultivate the correct and various methods of
telling a story, remembering Pope’s adage—
“For style is all in all, whate’er is writ,
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.”

If the style of writing is important, how much more is the manner of
verbal narration. The wittiest story may fall to pieces in the hand of the
inartistic, while the most trivial incident humorously handled may be
greeted with shrieks of merriment.
The raconteur must give his audience the impression of frank geniality
and friendliness without familiarity, his attitude cunningly eloquent of the
man who is about to open his heart to a confidante.
Orchestra chairs and gallery are his bosom friends. He twinkles and
patters at them right merrily. If he paints their peculiarities or laughs at their
social ways he must flavor his babbling with the tender fun of that greatest

of humorists, Charles Lamb, who never aped or scoffed at physical
deformity, and was never cynical at another’s expense.
The caricatures depicted by mimicry must be cleansed of that sour
Voltaire bitterness and cruelty, the artist always remembering that he is
performing in order to beguile, and he must cultivate that delicate tact
which prevents him from imitating the withered idiosyncrasies supposed to
be typical of the old maid in the drawing-room, when he knows that some
spinster relative or friend is present.
The public possesses a vast fund of humor, and there is nothing it loves
so much as a hearty laugh, but its risibilities should be handled as delicately
as a trout is tickled, and if they are only provoked at the dear expense of
some unfortunate individual, they are coarse and vulgar, and the artist
himself is culpable. The broad double meanings of apparently innocent
witticisms one might have heard at some vaudeville halls should be
rigorously avoided. There are gentlemen, fine-souled and clean of mind, in
your gallery as in your orchestra chairs. Treat them as such. Appeal to the
best, to the refined sense of the ludicrous that lurks in every mind, and you
will be as welcome in the most select drawing-room as in the theater.
Humor and fun are as bracing and purifying a tonic as a breath of sea air.
They should be steeped in the salt ozone of wit, but never in the withering
blight of vulgarity.

An Artist—and a Gentleman

The artist should be large-souled and natural in attitude and gesture—a
gentleman from head to heel in the best sense of the word—and the result
will brace up and encourage him, for he will observe the faded city
merchant laughing with the heart-whole abandon of the child.
It is not necessary, and it may become even monotonous, to pose forever
as the comedian who sees fun in every incident around him. A great and
versatile artist, now deceased, in the middle of his recital would sit down at
the zither when the room was still ringing with laughter, provoked by his
keen shafts of humor, and win tears by the exquisite pathos of the refrain:
“The mill will never grind with the water that is past.”
Maudlin melodrama is not pathos any more than vulgar mockery is
humor. A thin veil lies between tears and laughter, and both are nearer the

surface than some artists realize. Both are noble and wholesome, and so
should never be made puny by too little giving or rendered grotesque by too
much.
A most effective means of self-accompaniment is the harp, and one
moreover which adapts itself exquisitely to the subtle charm and changing
qualities of the human voice, but only in the performer’s more serious
moments. To twang at this instrument and pose above it in the attitude of
the comedian, to pluck it banjo fashion, is to displease and jar the
sensibilities of the most uninitiated of the audience.
The dual art is a stumbling-block to many a versatile artist, and its
perfection needs a tremendous amount of persevering and diligent practice.
There are some gifted performers to whom the art of pattering or reciting to
music is inborn, and so extremely facile, but to the less fortunate it presents
discouraging obstacles, and the power of improvising an accompaniment
suitable to the anecdote or poem related is not given to the majority.
However, the student should remember and be encouraged by the fact
that “steady effort attracts unknown powers to our aid,” and work on
determinedly until the difficulty is mastered.
In studying the dual art, the beginner is apt to hammer the words to the
accompaniment, or the accompaniment to the words, and it seems at first
impossible to arrive at that perfect blending of voice and music which is
essential to this kind of performance. Another extremely common fault is to
emphasize the wrong word or the wrong note, with the result that the
achievement becomes meaningless.
The ear should be trained to the rôle of an exacting critic, and when this
power is developed it will demonstrate faithfully wherein the failure of co-
operation lies.
Music should never be suffered to overburden the words of the poem or
anecdote related. It is usually but a ground-work upon which the artist
builds, “at most, an undercurrent of answering emotion.” The instant it
flows through the floodgates of restraint it obliterates the meaning and the
sense of the words as the waters of a burst dam obliterate the natural
features of dry land.
Another serious fault to be found in the rendition of the inexperienced
student is permitting the time of his accompaniment to swing into his voice.
Against this he must be severely on his guard, or he will develop a
wearisome habit of chanting in monotone.

While taking pains to blend his voice with his accompaniment, he must
take equal care to keep both distinct and apart. This sounds paradoxical, but
practice and self-criticism will prove that both are true and possible.

Music and Words

The speaker should learn to harmonize his music so exquisitely with his
words that to the uninitiated the accompaniment seems rather extempore
improvising than the result of toil and diligence. As a matter of fact, it is
extremely rare that even the greatest artists dare trust to the inspiration of
the moment to provide them with adequate accompaniment.
An artist may have a theme or motif borrowed from some composer, and
he may be sufficiently gifted to plan it out and develop it for himself, but
always with careful thought and deliberation before he gives it public
expression.
The dual art is as full of vagaries and traps as the French language, and at
first the student who finds himself handicapped by inability to conquer it,
cannot do better than study some poems written to music, and at these he
must work steadily before he attempts to patter to accompaniment.
A few musical poems mastered will go far to secure him an air of ease
and self-possession.
For instance, undertake some such study as Racine’s tragedy of
“Athalie,” which has been so exquisitely set to music by Mendelssohn. In
the opening bar of “Allegro Moderato,” a few notes are played to introduce
the passage, “Where do those women and their children go?” Then there are
a few more notes, followed by the words, “The Lord hath laid the queen of
cities low.”
The four succeeding bars are treated in the same way. The music ceases
while “Her priests are captives” is recited. Then a chord is struck, and the
voice goes on unaccompanied, “Her monarchs are rejected.” Another chord,
“Her godly rites forsaken, unprotected.” The sixth bar opens with a chord,
and is followed by the words, “Down, temple! Cedars, down!” and
terminates with four semi-quavers.
This is an intensely dramatic poem, written in rhymed Alexandrines, and
the student must take great care not to rend the words from the
accompaniment, or the accompaniment from the words. The short phrases

and detached chords must punctuate
and emphasize the sentences, and
lend weight and finish to the whole.
This is not a difficult task when
compared with such a study as “The
Dream of Jubal,” in which the music
accompanies the words in strict
time, the combination of voice and
pianoforte flowing smoothly, the
components dependent and yet
never waiting for each other.
The only way to reach perfection
is to study the poem and music
separately at first, until the student is
fairly familiar with both. Then
continue them with the aid of a
metronome until the technicalities of
the mechanism, which include
correct emphasis, pauses, and
rhythm, and the proper flow of the Correct attitude at piano.
phrases, are mastered.
When this has been frequently rehearsed, the student may try his powers
without the metronome, and gradually, but surely, he will master the
antagonistic forces arrayed against him.
The artist who possesses a natural gift of composition will find it
extremely useful, for there are many exquisite poems which, although
seeming to clamor for a musical accompaniment, have not yet been
touched; but this combination is fraught with perils, and those who
approach it must be for ever wary of the grotesque and unfit.
In burlesque, of course, the artist has great license in the matter of
accompaniment. He may exaggerate and slash his pianoforte (taking care
never to drown his voice), and achieve the absolutely absurd and ludicrous,
but, in the poems or patter that need delicacy, lightness of touch,
melancholy cadences or bubbling, merry notes, he cannot be too careful in
the theme he chooses to aid and color his portrayal. In such pieces, the right
attitude, the right gesture, the right expression must be studied and gripped,
so as to add their subtle beauty to the whole. The accompanying sketch

shows the correct attitude at the piano, or rather, the attitude generally
adopted by the professional musical-sketch artist. The body is turned
“three-quarters” to the audience, the head full-faced, the left foot working
the pedals, while the right usually follows the direction in which the
performer is looking.

CHAPTER XI
VAMPING SIMPLIFIED

An Accompanist in an Hour

Whilst “vamping,” or the improvising of a musical accompaniment, is
considered by many anything but a classical accomplishment, yet those who
can accompany in this way are a decided help to a general or children’s
party.
In either case among the guests will be found some who possess the gift
of song, either comic or sentimental, but who lack the power or the ability
to play their own accompaniments.

Fig. 1.—First chord.
Play First chord

Moreover, it may happen that the services of a skilled pianist are not
available, and in these circumstances any one who can vamp will be
deemed a useful acquisition.

The object of this chapter is not to give either intricate or comprehensive
instruction, but rather to suggest, even to those who have had no musical
training, a few rules whereby they will be enabled to step into the breach
occasioned by the absence of an accomplished player.
An ordinary piano has fifty notes, comprising A, B, C, D, E, F, G, in
succeeding order.
The whole keyboard is divided into two portions—treble and bass, the
former starting from the fourth C up from the left; the notes below the
fourth or middle C comprise the bass. (See Fig. 1. Arrow denotes middle
C.)
Each black note above a white is its sharp, and each below its flat. For
example, taking the treble note G, the black note above it is G sharp, the
one below it G flat.
Before starting to vamp to a song, the singer must hum over a line or so
of the song in order that the “vampist” may keep both the time and tone in
his mind for transference to the piano.
His ear will tell him when he has struck a few chords whether they are in
the key in which the song is written. If he finds that when a few bars of the
song completing a distinct or rhythmical period have been hummed the note
finished on is C, then he will know that the key is C, and find his chords as
suggested by the diagrams given.

Vamping Chords and their Relative Changes

There are three principal chords in a key which are sufficient to cover the
range of melody. Starting in C, the first chord for the right hand from the
little finger to the thumb is made up of the notes middle C, bass G, and bass
E. The left hand strikes the octave C immediately below the right hand
thumb on E. (Fig. 1.)
The second chord starts from little finger of right hand on F, first finger
on C, and thumb on A in bass, the octave F, below the right hand A, being
struck in the bass. (Fig. 2.)

Fig. 2.—Second chord
Play Second chord

The third chord starts with little finger of right hand on G, third finger on
F, and thumb on B in bass, the left hand striking the octave G below the B
on which thumb of right hand is placed. (Fig. 3.)

Fig. 3.—Third chord.
Play Third chord

To complete the melody it is necessary to go back to the chord started
with, taking it up an octave or eight notes higher in both hands.
The relative changes are brought about by the use of the following
chords. Striking the F sharp with the little finger of right hand, the first
finger is placed on the D, and the thumb upon middle C, the left hand taking
the octave F sharp immediately below middle C. (Fig. 4.)

Fig. 4.—First chord of relative change.
Play chord

The second change starts with little finger of right hand on G, first finger
on D, and thumb on B below middle C, the octave G in left hand
completing the chord. (Fig. 5.)

Fig. 5.—Second relative change.
Play chord

Another change is produced by the use of the next two chords.

Fig. 6.—Another change.

Play chord

Striking G sharp with the little finger of the right hand, the first finger
strikes E, and the thumb D; the octave G sharp being struck in the bass by
the left hand. (Fig. 6.)
The twin chord to the one just described is made by placing the right
hand little finger on A, the first finger on E, and the thumb on middle C; the
octave A, immediately below middle C, being struck by the left hand. (Fig.
7.)

Fig. 7.—Twin chord to that described in Fig. 6.
Play chord

The final change necessary is produced by the two following chords.

Fig. 8.—First chord of third change.
Play chord

The little finger of the right hand is placed on C sharp, first finger on A,
and the thumb on G, both the latter notes being bass—that is, below middle
C. The left hand strikes the octave C sharp in the bass. (Fig. 8.)

Fig. 9.—Final chord.
Play chord

The last chord is made by striking D above middle C with the little finger
of the right hand, A below middle C with the first finger, and F also below
middle C with the right hand thumb; the left hand takes the octave D in the
bass. (Fig. 9.)
By a study of the chords set forth above it is seen that the octave struck
by the left hand in every case is a lower tone of the note played by the little
finger of the right hand—viz., if the little finger of the right hand strikes G
in the treble, the octave G is played by the left hand in the bass.
An effective ending to a vamping accompaniment is brought about by the
use of a “run.” Starting from the C in the bass below the middle C
(indicated by arrow on diagram), and playing the E and G with first and
second fingers, the thumb is taken under, on to the middle C and the action
repeated twice, the run finishing on the fourth C in the treble. (Fig. 10.)

Fig. 10.—Showing the “run” on piano embracing three chords.
Play “run”

It is useful and interesting to bear in mind that any chord can be made by
placing the little finger on a note desired, missing the next two covered by

the second and third fingers, striking the note covered by first finger,
missing the next, and striking the one covered by the thumb.
Having committed the above chords and “run” to memory, the performer
can play them to suit the time in which the accompanied song is written.

CHAPTER XII
AN EVENING AT THE PHONOGRAPH

A Concert at Home

To possess a gramophone or phonograph is to be already furnished with
the means of giving a very successful and pleasurable entertainment. There
are so many “entertainments” that do not entertain, and so many
“amusements” that do not amuse, that it is a distinct relief to know where to
turn when a mixed party of guests have honored you with their presence.
With the number of gramophones, phonographs, talking-machines and
zonophones now on the market, it is not the object of this chapter to
specialize any particular make or type of article. As in most things, quality
means expense, and there is little use in hoping for fine results from a cheap
machine. Any respectable dealer will give useful advice as to the type of
gramophone worth buying, and it must be left with you to make your own
choice.
Presuming you have obtained your machine and accustomed yourself to
the manipulation of its various parts, the next point to be considered is how
a successful programme may be carried out for an entertainment.
In nothing, perhaps, is that old adage that “tastes differ” so true as in
music. One person may shiver with disgust at everything but Bach, whilst
her neighbor probably can appreciate nothing but old ballads; or whereas
paterfamilias beats time ecstatically to the familiar old pieces of Verdi and
Rossini which he remembers from his boyhood, his cultivated son is
impatient for something out of “Elektra.”
Now it is the business of the entertainer to satisfy and please all these
people—to send none away empty, but to make each person feel what a
pleasant evening he or she has had. Whilst fully recognizing the difficulty
of producing this result, it is hoped that the following hints may serve to
render the construction of a catholic programme a little easier than would at
first appear.

Records are of two kinds—instrumental and vocal. By blending these
successfully a very charming variety can be obtained which will materially
assist in keeping the programme from lapsing into sameness.
Commence with a stirring overture or a rousing march that will set the
feet of your audience itching to mark time. Avoid anything dreamy or
languorous; let their attention be attracted by a bold stroke, by the rattle of
drums and the blaring of cornets and trombones. Sousa’s marches, the
“Stars and Stripes” for instance, are admirable pieces to start the evening
with, arousing the attention and stirring the blood of every healthy person in
the room.
Having now excited the interest of your audience, give them some vocal
music. Choose a good quartette of well-known singers in a selection or song
from some up-to-date opera, or even from one of the old Italian favorites.
“The Barber of Seville,” “La Bohême,” or “La Tosca,” all provide very fine
quartettes.
The next piece might be a good instrumental solo, on violin, ’cello,
piccolo or clarionet. Let it be short and characteristic; preferably a piece
fairly well known to the majority of your audience.
At this point it may be remarked that people invariably like hearing what
they already know. The gramophone is more generally appreciated when it
reproduces a song or piece of music that the audience has heard before;
whilst the machine is scarcely suitable for the introduction of wholly new
music. Of course it is impossible to form an entire programme on these
lines, but when making the selection of records, if you bear this fact in mind
it will save you from obtaining a number of outlandish pieces, if one may so
style them, which the majority of your company has never heard before and
will be little likely to wish to hear again.
After the instrumental solo, it will be suitable to have a vocal solo—say a
soprano. Again, select a good artist and a good song, for it is at this point
that your fiercest critics will be upon the lookout. Do your best to
disappoint them of their prey by having none but the best singers; and only
then at their very best!

Humorous Songs

With a mixed company humorous songs are usually appreciated, and one
may be very well introduced at this point. The greatest care must be
exercised in avoiding anything that the most squeamish person might think
objectionable. The number of perfectly harmless and refined comic songs is
great, but unfortunately the number of vulgar songs is greater. Accept
nothing, therefore, that you have not heard yourself and know to be
perfectly suitable.
A good piano solo may now be very serviceable, or even a piano and
violin duet. A piece of Chopin or Schumann, a short piece of Godard, or the
like, is sure to be appreciated. The most carping of critics will be unable to
find fault with the execution of Paderewski, Hoffman, or other great
pianists, all of whose records are easily obtainable.
A popular item from one of the current operas or musical comedies will
then be acceptable. If the works of Sullivan are too antiquated, records of
the more recent pieces recently running at the theaters can easily be had.
“Our Miss Gibbs,” “The Dollar Princess,” or the “Arcadians”—all will help
to furnish you with some variety in the programme. Choose a favorite that
will bring up pleasant recollections to all who have seen the original play.
A tenor and bass duet may follow the above admirably, something rather
pathetic—a love song or the like. The task of making a choice amongst so
many songs of this class would be invidious, and it is left to the taste and
opportunities of the entertainer to select what seems best for the occasion.
It is now time for another piece of orchestral music, and a good waltz is
suggested—“The Merry Widow,” or something of that kind, played by a
good band, and of a rather catchy nature.
If you divide the entertainment into two parts, the familiar intermezzo of
the “Cavalleria Rusticana” makes a very suitable overture for the second
part. Obtain it on a good orchestra, and not as a piano or violin solo. Failing
this any of Puccini’s overtures are good for such an occasion.
The second part of the programme should be constructed on very much
the same principles as the first. A few classical pieces can be introduced—
Wagner and Grieg, Schubert and Elgar, and similar contrasts.
Tenor, bass, soprano and contralto solos should be fitted in between the
heavier items, whilst instrumental solos are generally highly appreciated

amongst really musical audiences. Do not let the selections be too long,
however.
Before closing the entertainment with “The Star Spangled Banner,” have
a good orchestral waltz to put every one in good humor.

General Arrangements

And now for a few hints as to the actual performance. Do not be too
ready to give encores. Many people really dislike to hear a thing twice, and
unless you see there is a very general desire amongst your audience for a
repetition, pass on to the next item immediately.
Have the seats comfortably arranged, and see that every one is seated
before beginning your programme. Copies of the programme should be
handed to each person present, and the name and number announced before
starting the machine. Be careful that no hitch occurs in the arrangements.
Remember that the greatest of artists can be called to your assistance—
Caruso, Melba, Patti, Albani, Tamagno (who though dead yet sings),
Constantino, Tetrazzini, and numberless other great singers and musicians
are at your beck and call, ready to sing to your friends or to exert their
greatest talents on your behalf. Avail yourselves of them unsparingly, and
you cannot miss success.
A Sunday programme is no more difficult to arrange. Magnificent
records of the “Messiah,” “Elijah,” and many other great oratorios can be
obtained, whilst numberless hymns and anthems are possible to the
gramophone, sung by some of the finest choirs.
With these hints there should be no great difficulty in making a
programme that will prove enjoyable to a mixed audience. They are,
however, but hints; to give exact instructions would be impossible. The
selection, even upon the lines sketched out in this chapter, must be
individual and adapted to the more immediate requirements of your
company, and in consequence no fixed rule for choice can be given.

CHAPTER XIII
MUSICAL GLASSES

A Great Inventor’s Hopes

A hundred and fifty years ago the fashionable society of London went
mad over musical glasses. When the cloth had been removed and the
company were seated at the polished table, discussing the dessert and
enjoying the rare old port, it was considered a great attainment, after having
partially filled the finger-bowls, to be able to extract music by casually
rubbing a finger around their rims.
Strange as it may seem, even the great composer Gluck did not consider
this musical trick beneath his genius, and used to pride himself upon the
skill he had acquired in this kind of performance.
Mozart composed a song to be played in this manner, and many famous
musicians devoted their energies to perfecting a branch of the science which
they considered to be full of promise.
Even Benjamin Franklin turned his genius to the subject, and after many
experiments succeeded in inventing an apparatus called a Harmonica,
which he hoped would take its place amongst the recognized musical
instruments of his day. From various causes, which shall be explained later,
this invention was never attended with the success its author anticipated.
Considerable knack is required to obtain a clear note from a glass. A fine
finger-bowl, preferably uncut, or a champagne glass, must be partly filled
with water, and the performer should then damp his forefinger and also wet
the rim of the glass. If the finger now be passed lightly but firmly round a
portion of the rim, after a few touches a clear ringing sound will be
produced. If at first this is difficult to obtain, pass the finger several times in
one direction—e.g. from right to left, and then reverse from left to right.
Having done this for a few seconds, the glass will, in all probability, begin
to sound.
As has been said, quite a knack is requisite to perform this with any
success, but the beginner should not be discouraged if failure attends the

first few attempts, as, after a little practice, which seems to produce nothing
but a sad groaning noise, the glass will suddenly begin to ring. Having
devoted a little patience to learning the exact touch, the performer will find
that the slightest movement of his finger produces the desired note.

Little Water = Low Note

The note given out depends entirely upon the amount of liquid in the
glass. The less water the lower will be the note; the more water the higher it
will be. Therefore taking eight glasses, or fine finger-bowls, and filling each
one to a different level with water, a complete octave can be obtained.
The amount of water to be placed in each depends entirely upon the size
of the bowl and the texture of the glass, and must therefore be determined
by the performer himself. A keen ear will soon enable him to get the glasses
thoroughly in tune, and they can then be arranged before him in the order of
the notes in the scale.
For those who desire to attain proficiency in this art, it would be well to
color the water distinctively in each glass, in a manner similar to the
following:
1. C clear
2. D red
3. E blue
4. F yellow
5. G green
6. A purple
7. B orange
8. C black
(See Fig. 1.)
By this arrangement the performer can tell at a glance which glass he
must touch to obtain the note required. This is more especially applicable to
beginners, for, after some practice, the relative positions of the glasses
become fixed in the mind, and he knows instinctively where to turn for
whichever note is wanted.

Half-Notes

Half-notes can be made by adjusting the amount of water, which can be
colored accordingly; but for an ordinary entertainment the octave will be
found quite sufficient, and at any rate to begin with, will require all the
musician’s attention. When he can play quickly and correctly with his first
eight glasses, he can introduce half-notes, but it is very unwise to start with
too many vessels, for it will give both him and his audience far greater
satisfaction to hear eight glasses played well than to hear a larger number
played indifferently.
An important point to remember is to keep the finger and the rim
thoroughly wet. If this be borne in mind, the notes will come much more
easily and clearly, whilst the disagreeable droning sound will entirely
disappear. Care must also be taken to see that the glasses are steady on their
bases, as, in the case of champagne glasses, especially, they are liable to tip
up under the pressure of the finger.
With regard to the music suitable to musical glasses, it has already been
mentioned that Gluck and Mozart composed songs for this class of
performance, but the beginner is not recommended to attempt these until he
is very skillful. As some time will elapse before he can play even the scale
with ease, perfectly simple music should be all that he tries to learn at first.
When such easy, although somewhat hackneyed, pieces as “The Blue Bells
of Scotland” and “Annie Laurie” have been mastered, he can try more
advanced works.

Fig. 1.—Showing finger-bowls containing various colored waters at different
levels, each level indicating a different note.

Many attempts have been made to discover some means of producing the
sound other than by rubbing the finger over the rim of the glass. Violin
bows and other similar contrivances have all proved ineffectual.
It would seem that the texture and surface of the human skin are alone
suitable for this purpose, and nothing else has proved successful. This is the
reason why musical glasses have not become more common, for the
continual rubbing of the wet finger over the surface of the glass becomes
after a time somewhat unpleasant. However, this hardly applies to the short
period that an ordinary performer would devote to an entertainment. Yet
such was the reason that caused the failure of Franklin’s instrument.
The following few bars of music, being the opening phrases of a well-
known song, will prove very suitable for glass music, especially when
played at the dinner-table after the dessert has been discussed. To simplify
the matter for those who are not familiar with the usual notation of music,
the notes are given by name, thus enabling any one to pick them out with
ease:
E, E, E, F, F, G, F, E, D, E, F, G, C, F, E, D, C.

CHAPTER XIV
HAND-BELL RINGING

A Sweet-lipped Friend

There is something vital in the ordinary bell that dominates all of us. It is
an important factor in our lives. The railway bell’s clamor reminds us that
haste is needed to catch the departing train. The dinner bell tells that the
meal is ready for our consumption. The church bell, the wedding chime, the
fire bell, the tolling funeral bell, are all our faithful monitors and guardians,
but the exquisite voice of the hand-bell is the sweet-lipped friend that
wooes us in our hour of ease.
Hand-bell ringing is full of charm and interest, and it is astonishing of
what changing harmonies these instruments are capable when manipulated
by dexterous hands. Undertaken with perseverance and patience to
overcome its rudimentary difficulties, this form of campanology may be
achieved with great success.
The first thing to do is to go to a well-known firm to secure the necessary
bells, which must be perfectly in tune. The beginner needs only a few, as for
some time he must essay only the simplest tunes. The best hand-bells are
somewhat expensive, but to buy cheap inferior instruments is false
economy and most unsatisfactory, for sonorousness and sweetness of tone
depend upon purity of metal and perfect balance.
Those known as the “four-in-hand” consist of four hand-bells attached by
means of a leather handle to one base. This enables the player to manipulate
eight bells at once. Of course, by making careful inquiries, or by
advertising, good second-hand sets of bells can be bought quite cheaply.
It is advisable that the bells be tuned to old Philharmonic pitch, C—540,
and they should be fitted with improved pegged clappers.
The first step undertaken by the novice at bell-ringing is to consider and
study the construction of the bell. It is surmounted by a loop of leather, and
the hinge of the clapper is so made that it can sound only when swayed
towards the flat part of the handle. The part of the clapper that touches the

bell is composed of felt and not of metal, but this alone is too light a
material for the springs, which, it has been discovered, resist it.
To overcome this difficulty it is necessary that the felt should be
weighted. This achievement needs skill and experience, for the springs and
weight naturally vary according to the size of the bell, and are in exact
proportion, small springs being necessary for the small bells and large
springs for the large ones.

Bell-ringing Companies

Bell-ringing companies consist of five players, and these are generally
composed of two ladies and three gentlemen; all should be physically
strong and possessed of the sense of strict notation and music-reading
ability. The ladies generally undertake the alto and tenor parts. The
strongest player manages the bass bells, and the most reliable and cool-
headed of the party the treble, which is divided into first and second, and is
extremely important, needing no small amount of agility and nerve,
especially in difficult and intricate passages.
There are many reasons why five players are advisable. Four could not
manage the full harmonies of treble, alto, tenor, and bass, while more than
five are apt to get in each other’s way, besides taking up too much space on
a small platform in a drawing-room.
A long table, covered with some heavy material, such as thick baize or
half-a-dozen pairs of good blankets, is essential. Blankets are the best. They
should not be spread out or divided, but folded upon the surface, and then
concealed by a cloth. This keeps the sound from vibrating through the wood
of the table, as the bells are placed upon it, at the termination of each note.
The bells must be in easy reach of the ringer, and the company just
formed will do well to chalk lines upon the cloth to divide their positions
from that occupied by the neighbor’s bells.
Tenor and alto players should occupy the center of the table. Their work,
compared with that of bass and treble, is light and subordinate, and this is
why those parts may be undertaken by ladies. The second treble stands at
the right end, next to the alto, and the first treble and bass occupy the head
and bottom of the table, as shown in Fig. 1.

Immediately after the bell is used the player must be careful to replace it
in its former position in the chalked space, or confusion and discord will be
the result, as it is almost impossible to remember the position of the bells
unless this plan is strictly adhered to. To pick up the wrong bell will lead to
disaster.

Audience.

First
The Table.
treble
Bells not in use.
bells.
Player Bass Player
○ bells. ○
Second
Tenor
Alto bells. treble
bells.
bells.

Player ○ Player ○ Player ○

Fig. 1.

Many plans have been tried in which to place the bells so that each player
may identify the different bells to be used. Perhaps the simplest and most
usually adopted is to arrange them in rows upon the table. Supposing the
number of bells required to be fifteen, place them in three lines of five. For
the first row employ the letters of the alphabet; for the second, even rows of
figures; for the last, single odd figures, thus:—

A B C D E
○ ○ ○ ○ ○

2 4 6 8 10
○ ○ ○ ○ ○

1 3 5 7 9
○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Fig. 2.

This plan should be learnt, and the position of the bells be as fixed and
relative to each other as the notes of the keyboard of the pianoforte. At first
the players stand with the left side turned slightly to the table, but
frequently they will be obliged to change their positions, sometimes turning
to the right and sometimes facing the table. The bell should never be placed
with the flat side of its handle towards the manipulator, for in this position it
cannot be struck, however much waved.
In holding the bell, the thumb must be pressed on the rivet, the fingers
gripping the flat side of the handle. When lifting the bell, the handle should
slope towards the body, thus forcing the weight of the clapper to swing to
the side opposite to that upon which the strike sounds. The bell, being lifted
in this position, is not struck, the hand changing its inclination from left to
right. In so doing, the bell is turned to an opposite angle, the clapper falls,
and the strike is achieved by a slight impetus of the arm or wrist.
The student should practice lifting and striking the bell with alternate
hands, until it is as easy to manage it with the left hand as the right. When
he has mastered this difficulty he may try the working of two bells—one in
each hand, lifting one bell while the other is struck, taking care, however,
always to place them in such a position that no turning or twisting of the
handle is necessary before action, as this involves loss of time, and makes
him liable to constant blunders when he takes part in a tune.
The length of the table varies according to the number of bells required
and the style of music undertaken. Forty-four bells are sufficient for most
simple melodies and exercises, and for them the space required is about 11
feet by 5 feet.

“Flourishing”

“Flourishing” the bells is impossible in quick music, and is only
undertaken in slow passages, when the notes are to be sustained. In working
the bells alternately, the dying vibration of one bell must never be allowed
to mingle with the next, for this is even more discordant than when, in
pianoforte playing, a pedal is kept down too long, and makes the vibration
of one chord jar into the next.
To prevent this, the vibrating bell should be placed on the table
immediately before the other is about to be struck, but not in such a manner
as to rob the note of its proper value. In a staccato passage, on the contrary,
the bells should be set quickly on the table as soon as they have sounded.
In practicing the ringing of alternate bells, make each vibration the value
of a semibreve, then a minim, and lastly a crotchet, until perfect dexterity is
achieved, thus:—

Play semibreve (1)
minim (2)
crotchet (3)

When the trebles are divided, the first treble plays the notes turned
upwards, and the second treble the downward tailed—thus, in the scale of
C:—

Play music

The notes should follow without any break as continuously and smoothly
as though one player were ringing the scale.
Ringing two bells in each hand is difficult of accomplishment. In order to
do this successfully, one bell is lifted and gripped in the right hand by the
first and second fingers and struck downward. Then another bell is inserted
between the thumb and first finger, the flat part of the handles at right
angles. The first bell is again struck down, when it will be discovered that
the second bell remains silent until it is slightly turned from left to right by
a quick wrist movement, while in its turn the first bell gives no sound,
simply because it needs a downward stroke, and the side stroke, which
gives voice to the second bell, is in a contrary direction.
Extreme care and perseverance are necessary before these two bells can
be properly manipulated, and a great number of exercises which the student
can construct for himself should be practiced.
Chromatic notes present great difficulty, especially in more advanced
music, and can only be mastered gradually. In simpler passages, when they
occur, the student should place the chromatic bells in the back row in the
order in which they are to be used. If his chromatics are arranged (1), (2),
(3), (4), (5), and he has memorized their position beforehand, he will have
no difficulty in finding them as they are required.
A company of bell-ringers should have a large répertoire of music of as
much variety as possible. Many of the pieces which are most suitable are
somewhat hackneyed, and yet are cordially welcomed when musically
treated, and other works can always be arranged for playing.
Tone, expression, and phrasing are all-important. The rhythm of sounds
must not alter with the changing of the bells. It must continue in a sweet
flow of music, just as if one hand were manipulating every bell. The jerk,
the overlong pause, or the lack of tone in one player’s work, has power to
mar the whole performance.
In large orchestras constant playing together is necessary for proper
union and harmonizing of sounds, and this is equally essential in bell-
ringing. It must ever be remembered that “practice makes perfect,” and the
blending of the bells needs unending patience and persistence.
For beginners such pieces as “The Minstrel Boy,” “She Wore a Wreath of
Roses,” “Home, Sweet Home,” “The Last Rose of Summer,” and the
National Anthem prove stepping-stones to enterprises of a more

complicated nature, and should be carefully studied, for “vaulting ambition”
is quite out of the question in the art of hand-bell ringing.

CHAPTER XV
THE ART OF DRAWING-ROOM SINGING

Correct Breathing and Voice Production

One of the most delightful sounds in the
drawing-room is the music of the human voice,
uplifted in song to a soft pianoforte
accompaniment, if, of course, the voice be
tuneful, easily produced, and sympathetic, and
the breathing taken without effort.
The first steps to be considered in singing are
(1) correct breathing, (2) voice production, (3)
clear pronunciation. The tongue should be Fig. 1.
hollowed behind the teeth, not rolled up in a ball, A. Hard palate.
thus closing the vocalist’s throat. The uvula, so B. Soft „
called because of its supposed likeness to a D. Uvula.
E. Tongue.
grape, should be lifted to the roof of the soft
palate, the mouth presenting a hollow open chamber, through which the
notes issue in clear, bell-like tones (Fig. 1).
The beginner will find this a difficult matter, and effort and will are
needed to keep the tongue down and the uvula up. The position of the
former may be demonstrated by means of the handle of a teaspoon pressed
against it. The tongue will prove rebellious until practice makes it perfectly
easy and natural to subdue it in the necessary manner.
In breathing, inhale a long slow breath through the nose only, keeping the
mouth closed. The air should originate in the upper part of the diaphragm,
and be held until the ribs are slowly inflated, balloon fashion, when it
should be exhaled through the open mouth, gently and without effort until
the ribs contract. Never push the ribs to lengthen the expiration of breath.
A good plan to insure easy and quiet breathing is to count slowly to ten
while the chest box is being inflated, and also when the air is being exhaled.
In this manner the breath will be prevented from coming and going in

spasmodic gasps and jerks. The number ten may be increased gradually to
twenty or thirty, until the student is able to produce breath sufficient for the
phrase vocalized. Regular breathing exercises should be taken every day
before singing, the hands being placed upon the ribs, in order to feel and
insure their gradual rise and fall.
An anatomical study of the throat, windpipe, and lungs should be made
(Fig. 2), and this will considerably help the student to understand the
difficult mechanism of voice production.

Fig. 2.—Throat, windpipe, and lungs.

Practice gradually adds new notes to the voice, but the young singer must
be careful not to strain the vocal organs by endeavoring to sing high and
low notes before they are naturally developed.
Concones and every variety of singing exercises should be practiced
before a song is undertaken. Over-practice is harmful. Vocal organs should
never be fatigued or unduly taxed, and half-an-hour’s practice is ample—
indeed, more valuable than an hour at a stretch.
Singing directly after meals should be avoided, and the throat must not be
coddled in furs or compressed by high collars.

Dainty Modern Songs

In drawing-room singing, four or five-versed lyrics are not nearly so
charming as the dainty modern songs of two or three verses, and these must
never be undertaken until the student has reached a proper understanding of
phrasing, breathing, and expression.
Many singers prefer to accompany themselves, but this has its
disadvantages, as the voice is far better produced when the vocalist is
standing. The position should be easy and natural, the head erect, but not
lifted back, as this contracts and narrows the larynx.
While the singer should enter into the idea of the composer, she should
have her own conception of the song, and endeavor to give it, as far as
possible, her own individual expression, her voice being colored by the
cultivation of her soul; otherwise the most perfect vocalization will fail to
move the audience.
These elementary rules hold good for the male as well as the female
singer, and cannot be too carefully considered.
A further important factor in the art of singing is the hygiene of the
human body. The singer must cherish physical health. Plenty of outdoor
exercise should be taken. Indulgence in drinking and over-eating is
injurious. To practice when fatigued, or indisposed, is to risk permanent
harm to the voice; and to sing when suffering from a cold is extremely
foolish. At such times, breathing exercises may be taken with advantage, as
they clear the lungs and help towards recovery.
Lady singers are sometimes inclined to wear gowns which do not allow
them sufficient room for breathing purposes, and they will often willfully
sacrifice the well-being of their voices to be fashionably attired. In order to
perform their functions properly, the lungs and ribs must have space and
freedom from pressure. Too narrow bodices are almost as pernicious to the
voice as tight lacing, for these seriously retard the breathing, and what in
loose garments is natural and easy of accomplishment, becomes an obvious
struggle, which fatigues the singer and renders her voice thin and poor in
quality. This is often the reason why a vocalist is seen to lift her shoulders
and pant audibly during her song, thus marring her conception, which may
be, in every other particular, delightful and artistic.

Many singers with weak lungs find voice production extremely
beneficial, for proper breathing and careful practice do more to strengthen a
delicate chest than any bottled remedies.
The vocalist should never stoop (for this narrows and compresses the
vocal organs), and in singing the first care should be to see that the
shoulders are well thrown back, although not strained to an unnatural
position.
In practicing, it is beneficial to keep the arms folded behind the back,
placing the hands over the elbows, and taking care not to thrust the head
forward. This will keep the chest expanded, and the body easily upright.

The Value of a Good Accompanist

When performing, it is necessary to be equipped with a good
accompanist—one who understands the art thoroughly, and refrains from
banging out the notes as if the voice of the singer were merely the
background to his own performance. The three qualities essential in an
accompanist are sympathy, artistic sensibility, and discernment to
understand the temperament and conception of the vocalist.
An inefficient accompanist has power to transform an artist’s highest and
most conscientious endeavor into irritability and inability to render
individual expression. Pianists frequently are highly recommended to
singers because of their gift of sight reading. Now this is a very valuable
and important accessory, but there are many excellent sight readers who
have no idea of that delicate and tactful manipulation of accompaniment
found in the true artist, and who, even though they play correctly the most
difficult music placed before them, sadly fail because of inadequate
comprehension of the needs vital to the singer.
To hustle the singer is almost as heinous a fault as to lag behind. Some
accompanists convey the fatiguing impression of a brake applied to a
carriage wheel, and the artist feels as if she were pulling the pianist through
the song, while others play as if they were racing to catch a train, and there
is not a moment to lose. Both these defects are equally fatal. The pianist on
these occasions should neither be independent nor dependent. She or he
must realize that, although the pianoforte is subordinate, it is extremely
important because of its power to influence the mind and conception of the

singer, who should feel an electric tide of sympathy and support flowing
from the pianoforte and carrying the voice on a wave of sound.
An accompanist should be chosen with care, rehearsed with frequently,
and must possess individual qualities in common with the temperament of
the singer. A sense of reliability and strength conveyed will do much to put
the most nervous vocalist at ease, and give that tranquility and self-
possession without which no singing is successful.
Rehearsing before a mirror is of great assistance, for it is only in studying
the reflection of one’s features when singing that one is able to check
nervous mannerisms and facial contortions. Pains must be taken to open the
lips adequately wide, for the mouth is the mold; the voice, the molten gold;
and, if the mold is twisted or narrowed, the gold will be warped and flawed
in quality.
The simpler the manner of the singer the sweeter the song, for the
affectation sometimes indulged in, the airs and grimaces commonly known
as “side,” which some singers see fit to employ, are as unsightly as a mud-
splashed window-pane. They are often also the insignia of the incompetent
and the ignorant, for it is never the true artist who thus obtrudes herself on
her hearers.
Of course, in some cases apparent affectation really originates in extreme
nervousness and hyper self-consciousness. In such cases the singer must
battle patiently with this embarrassing trait until it is overcome, for unless
this is accomplished one’s singing can never be a joy and delight.
In order to be successful, a song must be delivered harmoniously; to
voice sweet exquisite words accompanied by facial contortions is to make a
pitiful caricature of your performance.
Take care, therefore, that your attitude, features, and expression combine
to carry the emotion conveyed in your voice. Study unity and repose.
Endeavor to forget your own identity for the time being, considering
yourself only as the cage that holds the nightingale.
Although the singer should be perfect mistress of the songs forming her
repertoire, she should always deliver them freshly and spontaneously.
There is an old saying, “Familiarity breeds contempt,” and,
notwithstanding the fact that this is usually said of individuals, it may be
applied very truly to the relationship that exists between singer and song.

Why Singers Often Fail

It is very usual for an ambitious student to be consumed with
conscientious determination. She makes up her mind to learn a difficult
song, and she works assiduously at it day after day, week after week, until
she knows every word and every note.
By-and-by she performs it proudly to a select circle of friends, and she is
surprised and discouraged to find that all her keen enthusiasm for the song
has gone. It does not seem to suit her voice; the words have lost meaning.
The emotion she at first poured into it has disappeared, and she is
thoroughly disheartened, and is quite unable to find reason or remedy for
her indifference.
An experienced artist would be able to show that student in a moment
wherein her failure lay.
She had allowed herself to become too familiar, and familiarity had bred
contempt. The song doubtless needed practice, but not incessant grinding
and toiling. One cannot hammer the arts into one’s head as if they were
nails being driven into wood. The subtle essence, the ephemeral spirit of the
song will still evade the singer. To catch that, and to reveal it to others, the
work must be as pure as the widespread petals of a flower.
So, when listlessness replaces your high enthusiasm for a song with
which you have become too familiar, do not be disheartened, but put it
away, and determine not to touch it or hear it sung until your first eagerness
to master it is reborn. Then, and then only, take it out and sing it, and you
will be astonished at the result; for having mastered the technicalities you
are able to pour your heart into your words, and the result amazes you and
delights your hearers, who think you have never sung anything better or
more suitable to the pitch and timbre of your voice.

CHAPTER XVI
DRAWING-ROOM RECITALS

The Keynote of Success

It is frequently and quite
erroneously supposed by the
uninitiated that, given a good
memory and a pleasing voice, the
young would-be elocutionist may
become highly successful in the art
of reciting. It is only the painstaking,
experienced artist who realizes that
these attributes are but as the husk to
the nut, the calyx to the bud.
Cased in its shell is the kernel, and
folded in its green sheath are the
petals of the flower. So, likewise, the
voice and power of memorizing must
be but the covering of numerous
other qualities, attained only by
perseverance, judicious practice, and
that artistic sense of fitness without
Fig. 1.—Correct which all attempts to excel are in Fig. 1a.—The stiff,
position for reciter. vain. unnatural position.
It is impossible to play a symphony on the pianoforte before grinding
away at the rudiments of music, and no one may build a house without
mastering the elements of architecture. Yet the difficult art of reciting is
often approached by a novice, who, having pounded some poem or prose
into his or her memory (reciting is usually a feminine qualification) plunges
into it with all the self-satisfaction of ignorance, and pains or fatigues her
listeners by her flagrant and unsympathetic rendering of a masterpiece,

which, in experienced hands, would be an exquisite piece of work,
something to be remembered and dwelt upon with considerable pleasure.
The speaking voice, properly treated, is an instrument of exquisite music,
capable of as many shades of feeling and power as the pipe organ. Before
all else the voice must possess sympathy, sweetness, power of expression,
and naturalness; and, unless these qualities are governed by a high
sensibility, keen intuition, and common sense, they are futile.
The wing of the voice is the breath. Unless this is elastic, easily and
naturally produced, the voice is like a crippled bird, or similar to a musical
instrument with broken strings. Thus the cultivation of voice and breath is
the most powerful adjunct to good reciting, and this only comes by constant
practice.
In practicing, the reciter should stand in an easy attitude (Fig. 1)—erect,
but not stiffly upright, and with muscles neither tense nor unduly lax, as in
Fig. 1a. “There are no straight lines in Nature.” This is an invaluable motto
for the student. The best method of gaining a clear and flexible voice is to
read aloud some paragraph or verse softly at first, studying the meaning and
sound of every word spoken, and endeavoring to express its phonetic
quality, not only with the lip, but with the eyes. A mirror is an excellent help
(Fig. 2). It will show the beginner the difference between facial expression
and facial contortion (Fig. 2a).

Fig. 2.—Facial expression. Fig. 2a.—Facial contortion.

The Speaking Register

The paragraph may be repeated in a gradual crescendo until the full
power of the voice is used, always taking care to avoid harsh and stridulous
tones, and not strain or fatigue the throat. When the student has
accomplished this to her satisfaction, she should allow her voice to die
gradually away, until it is almost a whisper, but her tone must always be
clear and round in quality. This method will bring many different shades of
inflection and feeling into the voice, and she will be astonished at the notes
she will add to her speaking register.
A good exercise is to make out a list of abstract words, and, concentrating
attention upon them, endeavor to convey their full meaning with the aid of
the mirror. Such sentences as: “I love you dearly,” “My hate is too deep for
words,” “My scorn is intense,” “My tender concern,” “My pity,” “My
contempt,” “My indifference,” “My desire,” “My despair,” and other
impromptu phrases may be spoken in different tones, united, with eye and
features, to express the qualities voiced.
The student need not despair because she has a bad or untrained memory.
The power of memorizing verse or prose only requires diligence and
concentration to become facile and natural. Exaggeration, affectation,
melodrama, and meaningless gesture should be avoided, for there is nothing
so appealing as simplicity.
Before reading a poem aloud, the reciter should master the meaning of
the story it sets forward. She must remember that she is about to paint a
picture in words. To do this effectively, she must avoid daubing in lurid
colors. She will find it helpful to regard her mind as her palette, her voice as
her brush, and her color tones as sympathy, tranquillity, gentleness,
optimism, faithfulness, and clearness of expression. She should take as
much pains when practicing as when performing before others, endeavoring
to criticise her mode of speech and expression just as though she were
listening to some one else’s recital.
The following simple rules will prove of great assistance:—
1. Breathe easily, inflating the lungs slowly, and without effort or
sound.
2. Speak distinctly and clearly, and avoid shouting.
3. Sound the consonants, but do not hiss them.

4. Sound the syllables distinctly, but without undue emphasis.
5. Sound the definite article without giving it too much importance.
6. Read brightly and naturally.
7. Avoid monotony: graduate tones by feeling.
8. Understand clearly and sympathetically what is studied.
9. Read with earnestness, but without heaviness.
10. Mind pauses and emphasis.
Here is an example from “David Copperfield”:
“Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew! With a window
near it, out of which our house can be seen, and is seen many times during
the morning’s service by Peggotty, who likes to make herself as sure as she
can that it’s not being robbed, or is not in flames. But, though Peggotty’s
eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does, and frowns to me, as I
stand upon the seat, that I am to look at the clergyman.”
In this passage the reciter is for the time being a little boy endeavoring to
sit quietly in church and fix his eyes on the clergyman. She must be
simplicity itself in order to depict the David and his surroundings, lending a
sympathetic eye that probes the brain and heart of the child squeezed
between his mother and nurse, and she must see every detail as he describes
it.
In order to do this successfully, intuition is essential. It will inspire the
voice to a like comprehension, with the result that her listeners will be able
to see that little weary figure quite plainly. Thus, in everything undertaken,
the student must learn to merge her personality into that of the man,
woman, or child of whom she is speaking, so that the words spoken seem
indeed to fall from the lips of the characters portrayed.

Appropriate Gesture

Appropriate gesture presents difficulties, and, although occasionally a
powerful aid, it is more often a stumbling-block to the inexperienced reciter.
Many otherwise excellent recitals have been marred by superfluous
demonstrations, which remind one forcibly of the action songs and
recitations performed in a kindergarten, whilst not a few reciters hedge
themselves in with boundaries. They will mention the sea, and point to a
horizon, indicate distant hills, wood and lake, frequently forgetting their

respective situations. I have seen upon more than one occasion a reciter
engaged in a ludicrous juggling of her scenery, pushing the sea aside to
make room for the hills, and merging her forests in the lake. This
forgetfulness, usually engendered by extreme nervousness, renders an artist
ridiculous. How much better, then, to refrain from gesticulation, unless she
has mastered its intricacies.
In drawing-room reciting the voice must expand according to the
acoustic properties of the apartment. A good way of making the voice carry
is to imagine it an india-rubber ball, which is being thrown against the
opposite wall. This thought will gradually insure its elastic properties.
When reciting, the eyes should be kept from roving among the audience,
nor should they be fixed in a strained, glassy stare on the ceiling, for they
are too useful to the performer, and will be needed to express different
shades of thought.
If the reciter is nervous, she should endeavor not to show it by twisting
her fingers or moving her feet. The best cure for this harassing affliction is
to glance quietly at the audience before beginning to recite. Taken
individually, they will be found far from alarming. After this, a determined
endeavor should be made to concentrate the mind on the artistic rendering
of the recital.

Fig. 3.—The epic radius, or mental zone.

To many elocutionists, costumes are a help, enabling them to grip more
powerfully the character portrayed. In this case a certain amount of gesture
is advisable, but there are no hard and fast rules. Actions must be governed
by discretion and common sense.
The hand may properly be called a second tongue. As such it should be
treated, and, to continue the simile, should not be allowed to stammer
behind or chatter meaninglessly before the reciter.
The hands and arms are capable of a vast amount of expression when
properly used.
Gesture may be divided into three classes:—
1. The epic radius, or mental zone, is the movement above the head and
horizontal with the shoulder (Fig. 3). These are sweeping and graceful, not
jerky movements, indicating such sentiments as honor, conscience, awe,
veneration, &c., and may be used with advantage in such lines as—

“Great ocean! strongest of Creation’s sons,
Unconquerable, unreposed, untired,
That roll’d the wild, profound eternal bass
In Nature’s anthem, and made music such
As pleased the ear of God! original,
Unmarr’d, unfaded work of Deity.
From age to age enduring and unchanged,
Majestical! inimitable! vast!
Uttering loud satire day and night on each
Succeeding race, and little pompous work
Of man!—unfallen, religious, holy sea.”

In Shakespearean recitals and other blank verse, this epic zone may be
used, as, for instance, in such pieces as the choruses of Henry V.

Fig. 4.—Rhetorical radius or moral zone.

2. The rhetorical radius, or moral zone, includes the movements of the
arm from breast to shoulder and from the region of the heart (Fig. 4), and
may be used to appeal, implore, beseech, express love, hate, fear, contempt,
&c., as in Queen Katherine’s speech in Shakespeare’s “King Henry VIII.,”
Act ii. Scene 4:—

“Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,
And to bestow your pity on me.”

3. The colloquial radius, or vital zone, from below the waist (Fig. 5), is
used to express ordinary sentiments that do not emanate in the heart or
higher intellect, and may be used to give point to a simple, everyday
occurrence, or narration, as in—
“Only a pin, yet it calmly lay
On the tufted floor in the light of day;
And it shone serenely fair and bright,
Reflecting back the noonday light.”

During the long winter evenings, when amusements and entertainments
are cordially welcomed in home circles and at friends’ firesides, the youth
or maiden who is unable to play or sing, may, with a little care and practice,
provide a delightful item in the programme, which will add considerably to
the evening’s enjoyment.

Fig. 5.—Colloquial radius or vital zone.

An hour’s regular practice a day will work wonders with the voice of
these aspirants, and there are many simple and exquisite poems that are
easily committed to memory, for the student is far more likely to succeed
and give pleasure to others in memorizing at first only the simplest and
shortest poems, remembering always Shakespeare’s invaluable counsel to
players:—
“Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on
the tongue; but, if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the
town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand
—thus; but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may
say) the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance
that may give it smoothness ... Be not too tame, neither, but let your
discretion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the word to the action,
with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of Nature.”

CHAPTER XVII
THE ART OF WHISTLING

Methods of a Famous Siffleur

There is no form of drawing-room entertainment which, when well done,
is more interesting than whistling, with pianoforte accompaniment.
Below are embodied the views and methods of Mr. Charles Capper, the
famous English siffleur, regarding this unique and attractive means of
entertainment.
The great part of humanity knows nothing of that ability of piping and
whistling so natural and melodious in the blackbird and thrush. Most of us
have at some time or other put by a little of our bread-and-butter earnings in
order to take a few lessons in learning to sing or to play the pianoforte or
some stringed instrument. But there are comparatively few who turn to
whistling as a means of livelihood or as an accomplishment. It is fortunate
that this is the case, for, unless one possesses considerable natural talent, it
is mere waste of money, time, and endeavor.
Whistling cannot be hammered into being. It is only where real ability is
possessed that the student may set himself to work and overcome its many
difficulties, and hope to achieve his best.
Another gift equally essential is that of a good natural ear—an ear that
instantly distinguishes and corrects the note which is a shade flatter or
sharper than it should be.
It is a fact worthy of note that, while an unusually high roof to the mouth
is a disadvantage to the singer, it is—so some medical specialists assert—a
great gain to the whistler, and perhaps this is the reason why it is so rare to
meet skilled exponents of the art.
However, it is common enough to hear in almost every grade of life the
whistling that has never been cultivated. For example, in the early morning,
a few shrill tuneless notes float up to one’s bedchamber from the area steps,
as a dairyman hands in the allowance of milk; but this annoys rather than
delights, although it speaks eloquently of the human soul of the whistler.

When the boy whistles, his mother knows he is well—in a good temper,
and contented with the whole universe. The merchant, stepping into his
office, may trill a few bars of “Tommy, make room for your uncle,” and the
sound conveys volumes to the sharp-eared clerks, who foresee a day of
unusual calm and peace; because a man suffering from spleen, liver, gout,
or toothache never so far forgets his agony as to whistle.
Whistling invariably shows a light heart, and perhaps the reason why the
birds indulge in this pastime so freely is because they know nothing of the
burdens that beset mankind.

Breathing and Tone

The most important qualities to be observed in whistling are production
and control of breathing, modulation, purity and roundness of tone.
The method of breathing in whistling is exactly similar to that used in
vocalization, and can be taught by any good teacher of singing. Scales and
exercises should be daily practiced with infinite care,—to keep the notes
clear and of even pitch.
Slurring or stumbling in a quick passage can be easily perceived—
perhaps more so in the whistler than in the singer. Scales and runs should be
undertaken, slowly at first, gradually increasing speed and tone until perfect
flexibility is attained.
Many a whistler capable of faultless execution fails to charm, through
monotony of tone. This is a fault as common as it is serious. Whistling, with
practice and thought, can be modulated in a far greater degree than either
the flute or the piccolo, and with much greater effect.
It is not enough to whistle a song correctly. The student should first study
and memorize the words, so that he may express the tender pathos
expressed in the song.
The whistler should pay as much attention to artistic rendition as the
vocalist—if possible, even more—because he cannot voice the words with
which to appeal to the hearts of his hearers. He is obliged to convey the
sorrow, or humor, as the case may be, without the utterances we recognize
as the insignia of distress, joy, or love; and his heart must be behind his
notes, and enter into them, to win the spirits of the audience to
comprehension and sympathy.

Suitable Solos

Whistling may be divided into two classes:—
(1) The florid.—necessary in such solos as Arditi’s “Il Bacio,” which
seems at first to the beginner to teem with insurmountable difficulties, but
which a little earnest practice will soon overcome.
(2) The sentimental.—In this category are Bishop’s early English songs,
such as “Bid me discourse,” “Tell me, my heart,” “Should he upbraid,” “Lo,
hear the gentle lark,” “Love has eyes,” Clay’s “I’ll sing thee songs of
Araby,” &c. All these songs make excellent whistling solos, and are
delightful when rendered with artistic sympathy and meaning.
All songs must be memorized. The whistler cannot give necessary
control to his breathing and production if he holds the music in his hand. In
practicing, it should be placed on a music-stand, and, in performing, must
be note perfect. His whistling must be so faultless in its conception that the
audience must almost hear the words coming from his lips.
Most of the solos forming the whistler’s repertoire are well known and
popular, and the verses of such songs as “My mother bids me bind my hair”
are familiar wherever the English language is spoken, so that all audiences
are capable of interpreting the meaning of the sweet lilting notes. When we
listen to “The Lost Chord,” played on the organ, we seem to hear the
throbbing rhythm of the words just as if some spirit were singing them, and
so it should be in the whistling of Spohr’s “Rose softly blooming,” and
many another song which will doubtless occur to the student.
Care should be taken not to whistle in too high a key, as this spoils the
quality of the tone, rendering it thin and shrill. The middle register contains
better notes than the higher.
The piccolo is pitched one octave higher than the flute, whilst the
whistler’s notes are said to be two octaves above the flute. Although the
notes whistled are apparently very high, when judged by the ear, or
compared with the pianoforte accompaniment, they are not so, in reality.
It is rare to find the extremely high or the extremely low whistler. Except
in a very few cases, all whistle in about the same pitch. The most usual key
is F or G.
In spite of the old dogmatic assertion about the “whistling woman and
the crowing hen,” there are more young lady performers in this profession

than young men, and very charming whistlers some of them are.
It is a remarkable fact that not infrequently an individual, whose tonation
is faultless in singing, cannot whistle such a simple melody as the national
anthem without coming to grief.
Here are two useful points always observed by Mr. Capper.
The first is never to laugh when performing. The veriest novice knows
that his risibilities must be well under control before he can whistle a single
note, so that it is essential for him—no matter what funny incident is
noticed and appeals to him—to hold tight to his gravity.
The second is that lip-salves should be strictly avoided, as they render the
lips susceptible to cracks and cold; besides, they make a film which sticks
and prevents clear whistling.

CHAPTER XVIII
BUNKUM ENTERTAINMENTS

The Cuckoo of Society

It has been asserted that the noun “bunkum” is first cousin to the verb “to
bunk.” If so, the dealer in bunkumisms disdains the connection until matters
grow too hot for him at the end of a performance, when, as a last resource,
he hugs his relative gladly. Cupboard affection this, and in order to shelter
himself from the righteous wrath of the audience, achieves a flying bunk
from the platform.
The word “bunkum” is interesting. It is defined in the dictionary as
“speech spoken merely to please one’s supporters or constituents and secure
their votes—mere talk.” It originates from “Buncombe, a district in North
Carolina, with a constituency, to please whom a member of theirs once
boasted he made a speech in Congress.”
Bunkum covers a wider field than science, woman’s suffrage, or politics.
It is an autocrat that stands aloof, and demands the gentle hearts of
greenhorn and sage alike for its sacrificial fires. It endeavors to prove that
the age of miracles has not been choked out of existence beneath the
widespread fingers of civilization, or how could an orange be transformed
before our eyes into a cauliflower, an egg into a peeled potato ?
The bunkum entertainer molds the brains of the most iron-headed cynic
into putty, and transforms the scoffing jeers of the know-all schoolboy into
humble admiration. He is a quack sorcerer, and, even while we designate
him as such, we are obliged to own that his art is steeped in deepest
mystery.
The bunkum entertainer is a parasite, a cartoonist, and mimic, a smooth-
tongued, unscrupulous rascal, who deserves—the conscientious entertainer
(who never tries bunkum because he is too stupid and wool-headed) so has
it—to be banished to a desert island and served to cannibals as minced
donkey flesh “à la bunkum.” He is the sort of man who borrows five pound
notes, gold watches, and diamond rings from his audience, and forgets to

return them. He cheats, deludes, patters, lies by the yard, swallows enough
solid materials to furnish a warehouse, and give an ostrich indigestion.
He is tough and brazen, and cheaply cynical at the expense of the
authentic conjurer, juggler, phrenologist, ventriloquist, seer, and spiritualist.
He is the cuckoo of society. He concocts a potpourri of brains and wit, and
offers it as his own; and yet, in spite of it all, how fascinating and
overwhelming is his personality. He is the fool of the world—the jester who
prances about in cap and bells, who causes our sides to ache in our futile
effort to keep our risibilities decorously pitched. Never did a folly play
pitch and toss with the pedantic phrases of solemn courtiers, kings and
prelates, as ably and irreverently as this monster incarnate with the five
senses of mankind.
He is wrapped in mystery. We regard him with awe and wonder: the
curtains, the table, the walls, the footlights are his faithful agents. We gaze
at the rabbit popping up from his hat, the watch flicked through a pistol
barrel to the wall, the inane jack of diamonds darting from his mouth to the
back of his coat, in trembling amazement of his cunning. We whisper to our
beating hearts, “Can such things be?” At that instant he throws aside the
cloak of secrecy, and shows us his glaring infidelity. He has not, as we
supposed, ruptured and mastered every law of gravitation and nature. He
has simply been dealing in the art of “bunkum,” and, when he reveals his
methods to us, as he never fails to do in a continuous prattle of artless
confidence, we see—or we think we see—that it is all child’s play and
foolish absurdity.
The rabbit has not been suddenly created, full-grown, in the crown of his
immaculate silk hat. It owes its mild behavior to constant discipline, its
sleek coat to cabbage leaves. Like Topsy—like all other bipeds, quadrupeds
and aquatic creatures—it has simply “growed.” Its cage is behind the stage,
to which it will presently be spirited away, to rest in peace after its labors.
When we discover this we become very wide-awake, very “cute.” We
will see through the next trick or perish in the attempt. Alas! alas! for our
righteous determination; once again we are deluded and snared. The table
performs a giddy reel, the watch of the confiding benign bald-headed
gentleman in the corner is shattered before our eyes, and with a thrill of
horror we strain our necks to gaze in his direction in order to witness the
anticipated apoplectic seizure.

The gentleman, however, remains stolidly non-committal. My young
schoolboy eyes observe a whitening of the gills, a compression of the lower
jaw that bodes ill for the entertainer if he does not make good the loss; and
a few minutes after he is bidden of the smiling performer to look in his
pocket, and, lo and behold! the monogrammed watch, which we are ready
to swear we saw him pass to the platform, dangles safely from the end of
the chain spanning his stomach. The shattered timepiece, we are told glibly,
was only a base imitation in tin and glass.
But how, where, in what manner? queries my boyish soul, steeped in
perplexity; and, by-and-by, the monster answers all these questions as if he
read that inner inquisitive voice so satisfactorily that I go home and try the
trick before an admiring circle of friends, borrowing my maiden aunt’s
watch for the purpose, she being quite unaware that I have its threepenny
duplicate in my pocket.

Sure of Success

I am sure of success. I imitate the performer’s patronizing complacency
perfectly. I smile and sneer politely with all his evil suavity, and then I fire
my pistol, shatter the glass of the threepenny, and my aunt rises from her
chair with a piercing shriek.
“Tom, you little wretch, what have you done?”
With an airy smile I bid her be calm, and from the rear part of my person
produce with a deft movement her precious belonging.
“Your watch, madam,” I say, with all the superior pleasantry of the
“bunkum” performer.
Then the smile freezes on my face, the timepiece feels strangely light in
my clammy hand. I gaze at it in horror. My eyeballs distend, my heart
swings backwards and forwards between my ribs. I have bungled! The good
watch is shattered beyond hope of redemption. The disc of paper and glass
cowers up at me, its hands stretched confusedly across its impudent face.
Disgrace and ignominy descend swiftly upon me. My maiden aunt
prepares to leave the house, declaring she will never enter it again. My
parents, who expect great things at her demise, beseech her forgiveness in
vain. I am banished from the firelit circle to my own room, up to which a
step presently approaches, striding away from the disorder and hysterics

downstairs. My father enters with a long slender implement behind his back
—an implement which, from former experience, I know portends woe
terrific.
I draw the curtain—I am chastised and broken in body and spirit. For a
whole week I keep severely aloof from the awful bunkum tyrant, and then,
alas! I am drawn again to the hall, where he is performing as remorselessly
as the silly fly is drawn to enmesh himself in the spider’s web.
The next time I played a trick on my family I took good care it should be
of a kind that would do no one—not even the most hypersensitive
individual—any harm. Needless to say, my aunt was not of the circle.

Thought-Reading Extraordinary

I told them briefly and airily that I was now about to exhibit my
wonderful skill in thought-reading. Perhaps I should add that my sister Jane,
who adores me, was chosen as my confederate. Bidding them fix on a
number, which I would at once discover by the simple means of placing my
fingers on their temples, I withdrew with a bland smile into the passage.
When I returned they giggled a little, and one twelve-year-old cynic of
the opposite sex piped out scornfully—
“You’ll never guess it, Tom. You can’t possibly—so there.”
This maiden, often a thorn in my flesh, I silenced with a severe frown.
“If you please, I must request the audience to be perfectly silent, to
concentrate their minds—those of you who possess them——” I paused to
scowl at my pink-and-white torment—“concentrate them absolutely on the
chosen number. I am not going to guess it. I am going to discover it by
means of thought transference, and, as the strain is very great, I must ask
you to be perfectly silent.”
“It’s like having our photo taken,” whispered the torment, but some one
bumped her ribs, and she was reluctantly silent.
Solemnly, slowly, I moved round the circle. With drawn brows and
narrowed eyes I placed my fingers lightly on the temples of my father,
mother, uncle, and friends in succession, and then I reached Jane. She set
her teeth just as I had shown her, and I felt the muscles at her temples work
steadily. Having counted ten vibrations, I went on stolidly to the other heads

until the circle was completed. Then, standing before them, I wiped the
imaginary sweat of fatigue from my brow. The torment looked radiant.
“You don’t know it? There—I said so, Tom, you goose.”
“Madam,” I returned with a bow, “the digit fixed upon was ten!”
Tableau vivant! The complete confusion of the torment, the most
guileless “bravo” from Jane, and my uncle’s audible whisper to my proud
parents.
“The boy’s a positive genius!”
“And he looks quite white and tired,” quoth mamma.
Result—the promise of a ripping new bicycle from grandpa as a reward
for my merit.
I owed a lot to Jane, who remained my faithful unsuspected confederate
in many other tricks, which gained me a reputation of being something of
an extraordinary phenomenon and possessed of embryo genius. It was
delightful to enjoy the giddy pinnacle of fame to which my female relations
raised me.
Another trick that caused much sensation was the following, and, for any
youth who wishes to follow in the footsteps of the great (which I think
some old poet chap—who had never studied the art of bunkum—remarked
are written “on the sands of Time,”) I will state clearly the manner in which
it was done.
Place three corks on the table, and tell your wondering home circle that,
while you withdraw, they may touch one of them, and you will tell them
which cork they touched. Your confederate must classify them as top,
middle, and bottom.
When you return, do not look at her fixedly, but just once through the tail
of your eye. If you observe her brush her hair carelessly from her forehead,
you may safely conclude that the top cork is the one that has been touched.
If she picks an imaginary speck from her nose or blows it, it is the middle
cork. If she scratches her chin pensively, it is the bottom cork. She must
take care not to prolong the process, and you must see at once (without
appearing to do so) the hint conveyed.

Fake Ventriloquism

By-and-by, delighted with my many successes, I studied and exhibited
the difficult art of ventriloquism. Jane and I, after long saving of pocket-
money and hoarding of occasional tips—bestowed by kindly relatives,
susceptible to hints—succeeded in purchasing a dilapidated doll from a
second-hand dealer, and, mastering the anatomy of its joints, produced it,
seated in the place of honor in front of a curtained receptacle in which
Hyde, our servant, was cramped with a mouth organ, glass of water, straw
and other apparatus, carefully schooled beforehand as to cues and the order
of utensils to be used. Or in place of a lay figure, another boy seated in the
chair, and appropriately dressed, can act as dummy (Fig. 1).
The bunkum ventriloquist must insert his hand in the hole at the back of
the dummy, so that he can move his head and limbs as desired. He must
also convey the appearance of throwing his voice outward from his chest,
boots or stomach, without opening his lips except when addressing the
dummy.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said I very grandly, “I am about to exhibit to
you some marvelous feats to illustrate faithfully the psychological force
which mind exerts over matter. This gentleman has spent thousands of years
in an African tomb. He was buried on his face, and that accounts for his
battered nose, while it typifies the greatness of the position he occupied in
15 b.c., when it was the custom to put corpses of royal blood with their
features compressed against the bottom of their coffins. You would much
prefer to hear his story from his own lips, and this he will now relate at my
persuasion:—
“Androde!”
Hyde (in a far away husky voice): “Noble lord.”
“The audience here wish to know something of your experiences
previous to your long confinement in the willy waily tomb on the
Timbuctoo plains.”
(Hyde bubbles the water through the straw.)
“He’s overcome with emotion. These are tears trickling through the
floodgates.” (Produce handkerchief and wipe them away.)
“There, there, old chappie, don’t cry.”

Hyde (huskily): “When I think of the sand and the worms, I can’t help
it.”
“Don’t think about them. Tell us about the Palace Mahomé in which you
lived.”
Hyde: “It was very beautiful—flowers, fountains, fruit, and baccy as
much as I could consoom.”
Hyde’s pronunciation is somewhat faulty, but I excuse this by saying that
poor Androde has not sufficient air in his sand-choked lungs to pronounce
clearly.

Fig. 1.—Fake ventriloquism.

“And there were birds, were there not?”

Hyde (sadly): “The air was thick with them, noble lord.”
“Can you recall the note of the Timbuctoo owl?”
(Figure lost in pondering. Head bent, hand raised to temple in
Shakespearean attitude; lifts his face, mouth opened in a wide grin.)
Hyde: “It all comes back.”
“Give us a specimen of the owl.”
(Pause. Dummy thinks hard, and Hyde blows mouthpiece. I then call
upon him to imitate the Timbuctoo lion, and Hyde growls through a glass
chimney, swayed backwards and forwards, and renders excellent imitation.)
I need not narrate our further conversation. The young bunkum
entertainer can concoct something probably far more idiotic himself. He
may dish up puns, tell funny tales, ask riddles, &c., and, so long as his
patter is bright, amusing, and illustrated by as many funny jerks and head-
turnings of his dummy as he can squeeze into the entertainment, he will
keep a house party amused for a considerable time.
My figure is not always posed as an unearthed royal mummy from the
plains of Timbuctoo. Sometimes I dress him as a coster-boy, chimney-
sweep, or gentleman in evening dress. Not infrequently he appears as a
clown in tight linen skull-cap and red stockings; and a quick change into my
mother’s old dress, renovated by Jane, transforms him from an awkward-
limbed hoyden to a demure old lady.
This dressing need not cost the performer anything. He has only to
unearth a linen bag, containing remnants and articles of outgrown clothing,
to work the miracle. A dummy should have as many different costumes as
Queen Elizabeth. They will all come in handy, and add novelty to the
entertainment.
If the cost of procuring a dummy is beyond the performer’s purse—as it
was beyond mine for quite a considerable time—he may engage a
confederate to walk, behave, and talk automatically, conceal his face in
mask and wig, and render a clever and ludicrous performance. This,
however, needs considerable rehearsing and care.

The Three Old Maids

An item that makes for novelty and change in an evening’s performance
is the following:—

Secure three young girls—I don’t mean kidnap them, but use your
masculine powers of persuasion. (I find the majority of women folk need
little when it’s a matter of dressing up and showing off to hilarious friends.)
This is a digression.
Each damsel must have an old woman’s mask, the uglier the better,
secured at the back of her head by means of elastics, which are easily
hidden by her hair. She must wear a long skirt that conceals her feet, the
back part of it covered by a small apron.
Her hands, in mittens, should be clasped behind her over a stick. To hide
the edge of the mask, some fluffy headgear is essential, such as a lace
fascinator with a rose or two fixed at the side, which is folded crosswise
over the back of her shoulders and frames the mask.

Fig. 2.—The Three Old Maids of Lee.

Place the three behind a curtain. When all is ready—and the performers
should take care to stand perfectly still, for fear of disclosing the masked
profiles at the back of their heads—the curtain is drawn, and they sing to a
pianoforte accompaniment a verse of “We are three young maids of Lee.”
The onlookers will probably designate this “pretty, but rather tame.” This
is where the fun comes in, for no one is prepared for the grand finale. At the
end of the verse the maidens step backwards in a row and retire behind the
curtain, or turn round with their masks to the audience, their heads thrown
well over the hands holding the sticks (Fig. 2). When they are ready the
curtain is again drawn, and, amid shrieks of merriment, the last verse is
sung by voices as cracked, discordant, and out of tune as possible—“We are
three old maids of Lee.” The hands and heads should quiver with old age,
the figures be bowed over the sticks. The result is ludicrous to a degree, and
never fails to delight the unprepared audience.
I once saw an old dowager duchess, severe in full consciousness of war-
paint and feathers, nearly burst the diamond snap of her necklace with
laughing at the absurdity of the spectacle presented. Its great advantage is
that it is cheap and easy, and can be performed without any rehearsing, by
inviting three girls from the audience and spending a few minutes in
instructions behind the scenes.
If you do not know them well enough to presume so far upon their good-
nature, call up three chums of your own sex, array them in feminine
apparel, and the result is even more ludicrous, if more expensive, for in this
case you will require wigs to hide their cropped heads for the first verse,
and dressing them will need more time.

Bunkum Lectures

I have frequently amused my long-suffering friends and relatives by
Bunkum Lectures. For example, one on Toe and Cornology, quite an
original science, gives scope for the most idiotic remarks on the
characteristic traits portrayed by toes.
For my lecture I have an easel, covered with a block of thin paper
perforated at the top, so that the sheets are easily torn off. On these I rapidly
sketch in turn different types of toes in chalk.

If the entertainer is unable to draw, he can probably persuade an artist
friend to sketch the members required beforehand. In this case the sheets
need not be perforated, but simply thrown over the top of the easel as he
exhibits the different drawings. An easel is soon constructed, and can be
made at home out of soap boxes by the amateur carpenter; or the block of
paper may be placed on a music-stand.
I begin my lecture by a short treatise on toes. I show diagrams of (1) the
President’s toe, (2) the prelate’s toe, (3) the courtier’s toe, (4) the tyrant’s
toe, (5) the toady’s toe, (6) the artisan’s toe, (7) the neurotic toe, (8) the
spiteful toe, (9) the cringing toe, (10) the poetic toe, (11) the melancholy
toe, (12) the absurd toe, (13) the philanthropic toe, (14) the corn-riddled toe.
Here I try to be witty, and remark that some people of an original turn of
mind wear their corns on their noses instead of inside their boots.
“The corn is precious—we all need corn; we make a great to-do when
our corn is oppressed by taxes, for we cherish it. There is nothing—not
even his wife or twin babes—so dear to the heart and necessary to the well-
being of man as corn. Corn means bread. Bread is the staff of life. The man
with corn (a corn) is grateful for the prop of the staff, so that to have a corn
sprouting on your big toe should be no hardship.
“It is a convenience. It is tinned for consumption in your boot, out of
reach of Tariff Reformers and Free Traders. It is your own private property.
Sometimes it is trodden on maliciously, but it does not vanish on that
account. There is something obstinate and bull-necked about the corn—the
more it is trodden on the more it asserts itself. It is a hot-house plant. It
needs a cover of wool, a roof of boot leather. Under these conditions it
thrives like the baby fed on Mellin’s food.
“I can’t understand the fuss the unemployed make. Why should they,
when they have such a treasure hidden in their boots? So long as a citizen
possesses this luxury he is an independent man. What does he want with
foreign corn? Ah, my friends, we have not yet reached the full realization of
the tremendous privileges we inherit. The corn may not yet be ripe for
cutting, but every day, every hour, sees it nearer that perfection which
rejoices the heart of humanity.
“See how beneficent nature has become during the last centuries. The
bootless, prehistoric savage had to plant and reap his corn in the barren
fields, while we are provided gratis with an abundant supply that is likely to
last some of us a lifetime.

“There are, of course, some individuals who have barren, cornless toes,
although I am glad to say they are in a very small minority. I have taken
pains to secure a correct census of the corn-sprouts that have appeared
during the last year, and I find on an average that only 5 per cent. are
ignorant of this blessing.
“The uses of a corn crop are too numerous to mention. Its chief function
is its use as a barometer. The man setting out with his wife and children to
spend a day at the seaside should, before starting on the excursion, consult
his booted friend. If it admonishes him severely he should not ignore its
voice. Woe betide him if he does! It is less disastrous for him to drown his
conscience than shut his heart against the promptings of his corn.
“Should he do so, and act upon his determination to spend a long day on
the sands, anticipating a pleasurable bask in the sunshine, dire catastrophe
will befall him. Rain descends in bucketfuls upon him, his patient wife, and
wailing progeny. They return to town drenched to the skin, and are all laid
up with chills, which means a week’s absence from the office—perhaps
dismissal by his employer, if he is a clerk, and a long doctor’s bill at the end
of the month; and who is to blame? Had the man obeyed the mandates of
the faithful vegetable protuberance on his big toe all would have been well.
“The only individual I am inclined to respect and admire is the man who
cultivates and is led by his corn in all the important affairs of life. To be
without the ripening corn is to miss the greater part of the meaning and
poignancy of existence. The possession of this treasure causes a man to
thread his way gingerly and tactfully through the city streets. He never
blunders or bungles; he is a sensitive, considerate person, who
unconsciously avoids treading upon or coveting the abundant crops of
others. His corn’s influence is more beneficial than freemasonry or foreign
missions.
“To gain the sympathies and interest of a fellow-being when you are in
trouble and want his financial aid, don’t plunge into your story at once, but
approach him gently with the kindly query, ‘Have you a corn?’ If he replies
in the affirmative, you may safely intrust him with your difficulties. If, on
the contrary, he negatives your question, recognize at once that he is a man
of dormant sympathies, and don’t waste further time upon him. It will be
useless. He is a cornless individual, therefore heartless.”
I wind up my discourse with some such remark as this—

“Ladies and gentlemen, turn away from the pernicious tyrants who seek
to rob you of your birthright in advertising corn salves and plasters. They
are wolves in sheep’s clothing. They are jealous and embittered by the
barrenness of their toe pastures which, do what they will, yield no corn.”

The Sharp(?)-Shooter

After this, in order to secure the forgiveness of my hearers for my
opinions and oratory, both pure bunkum, I bring a trick to their notice,
which I work with Hyde, and of which I am rather proud, because it is quite
original and works awfully well, in spite of the fact that it’s as simple as the
alphabet. For those who would like to try it, here it is:—
Hyde, hidden behind me, is armed with a paper bag inflated with air.
Beforehand I place a used bullet on the floor at the spot at which I intend
aiming my pistol.
I employ some patter to remove the growing alarm of my family, and the
anxiety expressed for themselves, the furniture, and lastly—my own person.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say with self-complacency extreme, “I am
about to perform a feat with my hands”—(joke—pause—a flutter of
laughter). “Thank you,” I say with a polite bow—“the like of which has
never been seen—since the making of the world. I will load and fire this
revolver, and the bullet will not only make no mark, but there will not even
be a flash or smoke. You will hear the sound of the explosion, and I will
show you the bullet discharged.
“So that you may see that there is no bunkum in this marvelous
achievement, I will hand you the bullet before I place it in the barrel and
immediately after I have fired it.” (Here I pass round unused bullet. I then
place it in full view of the audience in the barrel.)
I retire to the curtain immediately in front of Hyde, and take aim above
the spot where the spent bullet lies. Count aloud “One, two, three!” At three
I pretend to pull the trigger, and Hyde brings his hand forcibly on the paper
bag, which causes my audience to bounce in their chairs.
Then I cross the platform, stoop, pick up the used bullet, hand it round
for inspection, and retire modestly, overcome with glory.

The Ghost

Occasionally I work a ghost in the following way. After some patter, in
which I inform the onlookers that I am about to conjure up the shade of
some famous character, I extinguish the lights, and withdrawing to a corner
of the room, enfold myself in a long black mackintosh or coat that shrouds
my head and figure completely.
I strike a match behind the curtain, and, when I have a good spark that
will last a few seconds, blow out the flame, and hold the end of the match
between my teeth, so that my mouth is lit up (Fig. 3). My lips are drawn in
a fiendish grin, and I strike an attitude, accompanied by inhuman moans
and drum-beating from Hyde.

Fig. 3.—The Ghost.

When the spark dies, I hide the black garment behind the curtain, and
assume the position I occupied before the appearance of the ghost.
Hyde switches on the light, and my shivering onlookers have no key to
the riddle.

The apparatus employed by the bunkum entertainer and the cost it entails
depend largely upon his own ingenuity. Most of the articles I employ are of
my own manufacture. My wigs do not hail from a wig-maker’s, but from
the lumber room at the top of our house, where Jane and I shred disused
rope, fix it by means of gum or stitches on to pieces of stiff book-muslin,
shaped so as to fit the head. If other colors, such as black and red, are
required, we resort to aniline dyes, and the result is much satisfaction to
ourselves.

CHAPTER XIX
VENTRILOQUISM IN A MONTH

A Practical and Comprehensive Guide to the Art of Valentine Vox

There is one form of entertainment which perhaps makes a stronger
appeal to the average boy and young man than almost any other. It would
not, in a sense, be wrong to say that ventriloquism is, and has been for a
great number of years, the most envied of all accomplishments incidental to
the art of the amateur and semi-professional entertainer.
True, ventriloquism for many centuries was regarded as an adjunct to
wizardry, and the exponents of black magic, but the great success achieved
by the writer of “Valentine Vox,” the central character in which was
endowed with the most wonderful and extraordinary powers of voice
throwing, brought the subject of ventriloquism at once under general notice,
and ever since it has steadily won its way into universal favor, with the
result that, at the present time, it easily eclipses in popularity most other
forms of amusement.
Despite this, however, the misconceptions existing regarding this branch
of vocal phonetics are extraordinarily numerous and widespread, due,
perhaps, in a measure to the fact that the amount of valuable written
instruction on ventriloquism is so small, while the number of people who
have swallowed the fascinating and improbable adventures dealt with in the
book just referred to are correspondingly large.
To a very considerable extent, then, it is the object of this chapter
primarily to dispose of the many existing fallacies concerning
ventriloquism, because by so doing alone is it possible to commence a study
of the subject with the hope of attaining proficiency and success.
The first idea which the would-be ventriloquist has to dismiss from his
mind is that, by following out a stated course of exercises, he will be able to
“throw” his voice or, in other words, to upset the equanimity of peaceable
old gentlemen snoring quietly in the furthest corner of the railway carriage
—or ruffle the temper of some aged lady by producing facetious remarks

concerning her appearance—from a long distance away; not that those who
approach this subject have any particular desire to be a disturbing influence
to other people, but it is safe to say that more take up ventriloquism with the
idea of practical joking than for any other purpose.
In point of truth, the real art of Valentine Vox does not lend itself very
easily to the production of such illusions; even when the performer is
capable of producing ventriloquial sound, he will discover that the “distant”
effect depends almost entirely upon his situation at the moment of
utterance, and whether or not those around him are prepared to give the
credence he desires to his efforts. In other words, a ventriloquist cannot
throw his voice wheresoever he will as if it were sound bottled up only to
come out and be heard when it is some distance away; the best he can hope
for is to make that sound so deceptive to the ears of his audience that, to
them, it seems to come from some one other than the actual speaker.
It cannot, however, be denied that the stock-in-trade of the clever
ventriloquist is so unusual and superior to that of his fellow-worker in any
other branch of entertainment, that he is capable of producing the most
humorous and arresting situations. Moreover, it is a power which once
gained can never be lost, and although a ventriloquist may, from various
causes, give up the pursuit of his favorite subject for a period of many
years, yet he can pick it up again at the point where he left it and find
himself still possessed of the same wonderful and extraordinary skill.

All Born Ventriloquists

Unhappily there are other very prevalent misconceptions to be removed
before instruction can be either given or undertaken. The marvelous and
almost incomprehensible powers attributed by the late Mr. Henry Cockton
to his popular character, doubtless gave rise to the idea that ventriloquism
was a gift natural only to those possessing unusual formation of the throat
and vocal organs. Modern research and investigation, however, have proved
that every one is a born ventriloquist, that the power to make sounds appear
to emanate at a point remote from the speaker is universal—and that all
those who study the subject from a proper and sensible standpoint can
easily acquire the art.

Then, again, it has long been supposed by the uninitiated that
ventriloquial practice is injurious to the throat, and capable of harming the
lungs. Exactly the opposite is the case; the exercises necessitated by the
proper study of the art are such as will serve not only to train the vocal
organs, but also to induce proper breathing—a practice neglected by many
—and to strengthen and invigorate the lungs.
From many years’ personal experience the author can testify to the truth
of this fact; he has known a number of young men who, possessing lung
and throat troubles, and acting on the foregoing advice, have followed out a
practical course of ventriloquial training, and have obtained much material
benefit thereby.
Of course it cannot be denied that some possess a natural aptitude for the
correct expression of ventriloquial sound, and it is they who make the
cleverest exponents. Therefore, from the start it should be assumed that a
ventriloquist has only to cultivate the vocal qualifications with which he has
been endowed in order to shine as a popular entertainer.
Careful and systematic attention to the instructions subjoined will not
only strengthen the throat and respiratory organs, but will also endow any
one young man, or young woman, with the power of giving a highly
amusing entertainment. Probably many who give this chapter attention will
do so with the idea of taking up the subject for the purpose of making a
living, and in that respect it may truthfully be said that ventriloquism is one
of the most paying forms of entertainment. While the number of conjurors,
comic singers, &c., is legion, those capable of giving a really good
ventriloquial entertainment are comparatively few, with the result that a
clever ventriloquist is always certain of obtaining engagements at fees
which he, himself, can fix and command. The popularity of the subject is so
widespread that the chances of exhibiting it are increasing every year.

The Initial Stages

Just as the successful illusionist is called upon to devote many many
hours of his time to the speedy and finished manipulation of cards, coins,
and billiard balls, so the young ventriloquist has an equally uninteresting
course to traverse. It is, however, possible for the initial stages of the work
to be accomplished in less time than is the case with conjuring, and while

the work has to be done all the same, dry and tiresome though it may be,
after it is once accomplished the performer can put it behind him for ever.
The primary difficulty to be overcome is incorrect breathing. Possibly
nine out of ten, when they come to read this chapter, will discover that their
method of breathing is faulty. Most people, from lack of proper instruction
and through carelessness, breathe through the mouth—and this fault must
be remedied at once.
For ventriloquism, as with singing, breathing must take place through the
nostrils. The necessity for this—apart from hygienic reasons—is that
because the ventriloquist, particularly when he is performing with a “lay”
figure, is called upon to conduct a dual conversation, and the supposed
interchange of remarks between him and the automaton is so rapid that
mouth breathing would interfere with the continuous flow of words. Only
by taking in deep inhalations through the nostrils and filling the lungs to
their utmost capacity is it possible to carry on one part of the conversation
with moving lips, and the other with the face immutably set.

Breathing Exercises

These should be undertaken regularly every day, preferably early in the
morning and in the open air. Stand erect, shoulders drawn well back, arms
hanging loosely at the sides, and then, closing the mouth tightly, draw in a
deep breath, retaining it for some seconds in the lungs. Not infrequently it
happens, that the ventriloquist when performing is called upon to keep a
conversation going for quite a minute and a half without the opportunity of
recharging the lung cells with a fresh supply of oxygen; from this it will
easily be understood how important deep and sustained breathing is.
At first difficulty will be experienced in holding the breath for more than
five or six seconds; by the end of a week, after ten minutes’ practice every
morning, the chest will be so expanded and strengthened that “half minute
breaths” may be taken with ease. Continue the practice of this exercise until
only one inhalation and exhalation takes place every forty or fifty seconds.
Somewhat dry, indeed, sounds this part of the ventriloquial study;
nevertheless it is of the utmost importance, and will well repay the time,
trouble, and perseverance devoted to it.

As a number of minor acquirements must be gained before ventriloquial
effects can be produced, the breathing exercises may be alternated with the
most necessary adjunct of learning to speak without moving the lips.

Automaton—or Man?

It has previously been said that ventriloquism largely partakes of the
nature of an illusion, and this effect is produced by the performer uttering
sounds without giving visible indications of the fact. Consequently, when
the audience have before them two figures, a live and a dummy one, and the
mouth of the “dummy” opens and shuts to correspond with the words used,
whilst the face of the ventriloquist remains mask-like and passive—the
illusion that it is the “automaton,” and not the man who is speaking, is
complete.
So important indeed is the ability to do this properly, that speaking
without facial movement ranks of equal importance with the placing of the
vocal chords in such a position that “distant” effect is given to sound. In
fact, one might almost say that a most amusing entertainment can be given
without this latter power at all.
Many ventriloquists or polyphonists, as they more correctly designate
themselves, rely solely for their entertainment on a “knee” figure and
speech without facial expression.
Those who do not aspire to become really first-class and proficient
ventriloquists may conclude their instruction at this point, and rest quite
assured that they have learned sufficient, at any rate, to give a creditable
drawing-room performance.
Naturally the beginner would like to have some idea of the time it would
take to gain a practical working knowledge of ventriloquism. Well, the
student who would take the trouble and devote sufficient time to the initial
and most difficult stages of the work would be in a position to give a very
creditable performance long before his painstaking brother who, as fast as
he seems to be getting on, will find he has to go back again and again over
the early ground.
However, after devoting say a week to the elementary stages, a “knee”
figure might be purchased, and within a very few days a private
entertainment might safely be entered upon. As, however, the course

herewith outlined will take in several different kinds of “voices” for
automata, together with the various modifications of the “distant” voice, the
student should not expect to gain proficiency under a month. Of course, to
give a really finished entertainment consisting of an exhibition of the “near”
and “distant” voices, together with instrumental and vocal mimicry equal in
skill to the average product of the professional entertainer, many months’
practice are required.

Speaking with Still Lips

A study of the alphabet reveals that difficulties lie in the path of
pronouncing certain letters—a, e, i, o, u, c, d, g, h, j, k, l, n, q, r, s, t, x, and z
—issue from the mouth quite easily; but b, f, m, p, v, w, y all make a
demand upon the muscles of the lips and cheeks. Unfortunately these letters
often recur in ordinary speech, and as it is almost impossible to speak them
distinctly without facial movement, appropriate vocal substitutes have to be
made.
On the border line is “b,” which is generally pronounced by bringing the
upper row of teeth down to the under lip and forcing the breath out between
the lip and teeth; by giving greater force to the exhalation, and, opening the
mouth, it will be found that almost identically the same sound can be
gained, and it is this one which has to be used for all words commencing
with “v” and “b.” Thus the word “brother” is really pronounced
ventriloquially as “vruther”; in the hurry of conversation the substitution
passes notice, and the audience hear only the correct word.
For “f” an accentuated aspirate makes a very passable substitution—i.e.
“fool” becomes “hool,” “feel” becomes “heel,” and so on.
“m” will be found rather more difficult, but if the lips are formed into an
orifice, and the breath drawn sharply in, the sound of the “m” can be made
inside the mouth instead of by the lips.
As it is almost an impossibility to sound the initial “p” unless the lips
come together, words commencing with it should be studiously avoided.
Another plan is to drop the first letter altogether; but the former is the better.
“w” is amenable to a little tongue-twisting, and is accomplished by
moving the tongue twice in quick succession to the roof of the mouth
making the sound at the back of the throat. This is as regards the letter

itself, but words commencing with “w” are quite easy. Practice on “which,”
“when,” “what.”
“y,” however, is a fairly certain test, and if you can comfortably manage
this without betraying the fact to the looking-glass (before which you
should carry out your practice) then you have mastered a great difficulty. A
quick exhalation should take place while words commencing with it are
being uttered.

Two Kinds of Ventriloquism

Ventriloquism may be divided into two classes—the first and more easy
of acquirement known as “near,” i.e. including all those vocal illusions
produced with the aid of automata; and “distant,” which takes in the various
illusions achieved by what is known as “throwing the voice.”
The most finished exponent of both these branches, of this or any other
age, was the great Lieutenant Walter Cole, and he introduced into his
entertainment such an exquisite blending of the two styles that his example
might well be imitated by other followers of the art.
When carrying on an animated conversation with the “lay” figures placed
at near quarters the proceedings would suddenly be interrupted by the low
sound of voices coming from afar, and this would gradually increase in
volume as the speakers were supposed to draw near, until at last they would
be heard outside the very room in which the entertainment was taking place.
This is alluded to now, as showing the latitude which ventriloquism
allows its exponents.
Of the two branches, “near” ventriloquism is much the simpler to
acquire, although some might hold that, in order to justify the title, “distant”
sounds should first be mastered.
For the purpose of adding interest to the work, students are recommended
to give precedence to the “near” effects. Briefly, the “near” voices come
from the mouth, the “distant” from the throat.
For the former five modified voices are generally used. These are: “The
old man,” “the old woman,” “the little boy,” “the little girl,” and “the
darky” or “the longshoreman.”
The first is a foundation for the last two. It has been spoken of as the
“grunt,” because, being the vocal production of an aged and uneducated

man, in its initial stages it much resembles the familiar grunting of a pig.
And here it should be noted that the speech of ventriloquial figures is
always harsh and toneless because the efforts to produce the sound in the
mouth without moving the lips rob them of that music and modulation
invariably associated with the speech of educated persons.
Do not attempt to speak ventriloquially, as you would naturally but slur
the endings of your words. Grunt and drag them out slowly, just as do many
countrymen and those unacquainted with the rules of proper speech.
To give the sound the necessary depth and loudness, keep the lips slightly
apart, the tongue lying loosely in the mouth; then make the grunt, using
some vowel sound like “ah!” fairly far back.
To a certain extent the vocal chords will have to be contracted and the
chin drawn slightly down into the chest.
At first only a spasmodic jerkiness of the breath will come, but after a
little practice “ah!” can be said quite easily, and then other and longer words
follow as a matter of course.

The Old Woman’s Voice

Known as the “theek” or “rush” voice, it partakes of the nature of the
squeaky, shrill sound produced by a reed instrument. Most people are gifted
with the power of singing “falsetto,” and the “theek” voice simply consists
of falsetto tones somewhat exaggerated. Either the words “queek” or
“theek” may be used for the preliminary practice, the latter perhaps being
preferable.
As it is not intended in these chapters to enter into a practical discourse
on the anatomy of the throat and vocal chords, technical terms relating to
such will be avoided as far as possible. However, the larynx must now be
mentioned—this is the part of the throat often spoken of as Adam’s apple,
and is the convex portion of the first cartilage of the larynx. It is, then, this
part of the larynx that has to be compressed by muscular contraction in
order to give the “theek” voice its proper quality; by a slight pressure with
the hand on the “apple” you will realize the position which this part of the
throat should occupy when muscular contraction takes place.
Now, taking in a deep breath and contracting the larynx, it will naturally
curl up the tongue, until the tip presses tightly against the roof of the mouth.

Open the lips fairly wide and say the word “theek” in a high-pitched falsetto
tone, sustaining the vowel sound as long as you can.
Your first efforts will probably end in dismal failure, but after a few
attempts the full sound settles down to the long drawn-out sound of full
roundness and tone.
Now you have acquired the “theek” voice, which is also the basis of the
voices used with the figures of little boys and little girls.
Very possibly your practice in the elementary stages of ventriloquism
will result in a slight soreness of the throat. To alleviate this, and, at the
same time, to strengthen the vocal chords, gargle with a weak solution of
salt and water, or better still, get a druggist to make up a gargle for you.
Curiously enough, the mere effort of gargling is in itself a valuable aid to
the production of ventriloquism, inasmuch as the subject is forced to emit
sounds while the water is in the throat, and these will be found to possess
quite a “distant” effect.
Having mastered the “grunt” and “theek” voices, use words consisting of
vowels, changing the words into sentences as progress is made.
At this point the young ventriloquist is sufficiently well equipped to
undertake a public exhibition of his powers, and this being so, it is perhaps
better to make mention of ventriloquial figures before the remaining “near”
voices are dealt with.
As a matter of fact, the practice of ventriloquism in its earlier stages is
not the most interesting of occupations, and not until the beginner awakens
to the full realization of his powers—as he does only when he is working
with automata—is the real fascination of the art felt.

Ventriloquial Figures

Perhaps it is hardly right to assume that every one has seen a
ventriloquial figure; certainly many will be unacquainted with its
peculiarities and modes of working.
The dummy is usually a humorous representation of some grotesque
character—an old man, with strongly accentuated peculiarities, such as a
red nose, wrinkled skin, and big jaws; an old woman, with thin, pointed
nose, sharp eyes, and scanty locks; a little boy grinning saucily, and having
the appearance of possessing the wisdom of all the ages; the little “miss,” of

perky manner; the good-natured, rollicking black man; and the
longshoreman, square jowled and cheeky.

Fig. 1.—Ventriloquist with knee figure. Fig. 2.—Working with two figures.

The one essential about the ventriloquial figure is that it shall have a
moving mouth. In reality the chin is cut away from the face, and the
movable portion working on a pivot or string, gives the same effect as when
a person is speaking.
There are many different forms of ventriloquial figures, some of which
are shown on this page (Figs. 1 and 2), but for the amateur the kind which
possesses only a moving mouth is quite suitable.

By means of a little ingenuity and
the expenditure of a few cents a
movable tuft of hair may be added
to the wig, but as the working of this
is liable at first somewhat to hamper
the manipulation of the automaton,
it should perhaps be left until
proficiency is more assured. The
hole in the back of the head or body
permits of the hand of the performer
pressing either upon a plate or upon
a circle of wire, which in turn moves
down the movable mouth, closing
automatically by means of a spring.
Figs. 3, 4 and 5 respectively show
the construction of ventriloquial
figure heads and another principle of
ventriloquial figure manipulation.
Fig. 3.—Showing construction of ventriloquial The number of mouth movements
head.
made by the figure should, of
course, coincide as nearly as possible with the number made by the mouth
in ordinary speech; thus a natural effect will be gained.
Placing a “dummy” on each knee, the ventriloquist opens up an amusing
conversation. The aim of the figures is to destroy the effect of the
performer’s remarks by the interpolation of absurd interruptions. The whole
matter resolves itself into a witty dialogue between three or four people, of
whom the entertainer is the central character. Such a dialogue should be
brisk and sparkling with humor, all vulgarity being carefully eliminated. It
is as well to write the dialogue out and learn it by heart.

Ventriloquial Figure Manipulation

Always adhere to a prearranged order of ventriloquial figures. If you
commence your entertaining career with the old man on the right knee and
the old woman on the left, keep to that arrangement all along. A change will

inevitably result in putting the wrong voice into the wrong mouth, and the
result will be disastrous.
Bear in mind that all the while the endeavors of the figures are to make
you appear ridiculous in the eyes of the audience, and they should turn all
your sensible remarks into nonsensical ones, so that the laugh is always
against yourself. Of course the audience will join in the laugh against you,
and it is the taking of this in the proper spirit that will signalize your success
as a ventriloquist.
When putting words into the mouth of an automaton, its face should be
turned towards you; inversely, whilst you yourself are talking the automaton
should be engaged in looking curiously about him at the audience, as if
taking not the slightest interest in your remarks. Suddenly, however, he will
snatch the opportunity of scoring off you, to the great enjoyment of his
partner, the old woman.

A. Pull Fig. 4.—Construction of laughing Fig. 5.—Principle of ventriloquial
darky’s head. figure manipulation.
B. Spring
C. Pin

Immediately you have finished speaking in your natural voice, keep your
lips absolutely fixed during the time the figure is supposed to be talking.

It is not proposed here to give specimens of ventriloquial dialogue,
because the humor of these depends so much upon the natural ability of the
performer in presenting the joke or funny story.
Undoubtedly the best plan is to form a cutting-book out of the tit-bits
extracted from the humorous periodicals of the day, and to paste them in. In
this way a voluminous collection of anecdotes, tales, and riddles will be
made, and by a judicious combination and selection of these, enough
material can be speedily gained to last months without fear of repetition.
The most entertaining form of presenting riddles is for the “old man” or
“little boy,” whichever is being used, to propound them, and the entertainer
to give some practical answer to them. The real point of the joke should be
brought out by the “lay” figure, to the accompaniment of considerable
mirth.
Home-made automata are not recommended, because the cost of
purchasing really serviceable “dummies” is so small as not to make it worth
while spending a deal of time and trouble, to say nothing of money, on their
construction. Moreover, the great point about the “lay figure” is that it
should possess a funny face, and such expressions are rather difficult for an
amateur to obtain.
Many entertainment emporiums deal largely in ventriloquian outfits, and
reliable “dolls” ought to be procured fully dressed for about $5 each.

Voice for “Little Boy”

When a child speaks he almost invariably does so in a high-pitched tone,
more or less directing the sound through his nose. This being so, the
“theek” voice is the one most suitable for him. The similarity between it and
the speech used for the “old woman” may be avoided by speaking in a
somewhat lower tone, and in a simpler and more disjointed fashion.
Suppose, for instance, that you ask the little boy a question? Get him to
repeat that question after you, and give the answer in short, jerky, broken
sentences.
For the “little girl” use a slightly higher tone, without directing the sound
through the nose. In her case also the mode of expression must be childish,
but with slightly more refinement.

The voice for the “longshoreman” and the “darky” are both of the
“grunt” order. For the former, the “old man” voice is used, with the addition
of the peculiar “tough” twang; whilst for the latter, employ speech of a
much lower and more resonant tone.
Place the chords as when using the “grunt” voice, breathing rather
heavily, and force the sound as far back in the throat as possible, at the same
time contracting the muscles of the stomach while the breath is being
expelled.
The word “yah! yah!” is a very good one upon which to practice, and the
vowel sound should be sustained to some length.

The “Distant” Voices

By this time the young ventriloquist should have attained sufficient
proficiency in the art of manipulating “knee” figures to feel confident of
venturing on the far more difficult and relatively more important “distant”
voices.
The real test of ventriloquial power is when the performer is capable of
making sounds appear to come from a distance, i.e. so modify his utterances
that they appear to the audience to proceed from some point remote both
from the entertainer and from themselves.
The basis of real ventriloquism, as apart from polyphony, i.e. “near”
effects, is known as the “bee drone,” because the first sound of which the
vocal chords are capable when placed in the required position much
resembles the droning of a bee in full flight.
The “bee drone” should be practiced in loosely fitting clothing, so that
neither the muscles of the throat nor of the chest are unduly hampered.
From a natural, upright position, inhale in a short, jerky manner, making
what is best described as a retching noise at the back of the throat.
Unpleasant as the practice of this undoubtedly is for the first few minutes,
after a short while the noise emitted will settle down to a softly sustained
hum. The tongue should lie flat, so that the sound waves produced partly in
the larynx and partly in the back of the throat are forced upwards by the
action of the abdominal muscles and directed towards the roof of the mouth,
the latter acting somewhat as a sounding board—modifying the sound and
conveying to the ears of a listener some distance away a “distant” effect.

The continuous practice of the word “ah,” with the vocal chords in the
position just described, will speedily produce the necessary droning quality.
It remains now only by a contraction of the throat to regulate the quality
of the tone and the distance from which you wish it to appear to come.
From this point progress will be found rapid and satisfactory. The various
modifications of the bee drone produce respectively,
1. The “roof” voice.
2. The “level” voice.
3. The “floor” voice.
The “roof” voice is extremely useful for illusions of all kinds, and
perhaps is the easiest of the three to acquire. Its purpose is to make sound
appear to come from any point above the audience, and the entertainer
practices it at first by standing erect, taking in a deep breath, and then
drawing backwards and downwards the lower jaw, holding it by muscular
contraction in that position. With the lips about an inch apart say your
words, whatever they may be, just as you would the “ah!” of the bee drone,
concentrating your mind on the effort of directing the sound waves towards
the roof of the mouth. In this case, however, exhalation should take place
very slowly, while the speech is uttered with unusual clearness.
The effect of the illusion, however, is destroyed if whilst using the “roof”
voice you look either straight before you or down to the ground.
The ventriloquist must bear in mind that it is important to deceive the
audience, just as a conjurer does, but the former has this advantage over his
magic brother, that the deception is both optical and oral.
Let him, therefore, when “throwing his voice” to the roof, glance sharply
upwards as soon as the words are uttered, and turn his head in a listening
attitude; his example will be followed immediately by the audience, who
naturally fall into the trap prepared for them, and, for the time being, are
quite satisfied that the sounds do really come from the roof.
This is an advantage on which the ventriloquist can trade to an enormous
extent, because the ear is so easily deceived. How difficult it is, when
listening from within a closed room to a street organ playing outside, to tell
whether the music comes from up or down the road. So with ventriloquism
—the performer has but to modify the position of the vocal chords as
indicated, and to fix his eyes upon the roof, when lo and behold! everybody
is perfectly satisfied that the speech does come from above.

“Level” Sounds

Of the three “distant” voices, the “level” is, perhaps, the most useful and
the most generally successful, because the mere fact of the entertainer being
on the same plane as the door and the windows, from behind which people
are supposed to converse with him, provides him with opportunities for
using the facial muscles and for distorting sounds, and so heightening the
illusion.
For instance, whereas he must turn full or three-quarter face when using
the “roof” voice, he can carry on a dialogue on the “level,” sideways to the
audience; or in the case where the stage possesses a door at the rear, he may
often be permitted for a moment to turn his back.
Practice as before in the “bee drone” voice, without endeavoring to any
great extent to shut off the sound in the throat. This may be done by curling
up the tongue so that its tip presses against the back of the upper teeth.
If you are practicing by the side of the door, as you open it towards you
the ventriloquially uttered sounds must be raised in tone and made more
distinct by lifting the shutter from the throat, or, in other words, by allowing
the tongue to resume its normal position, and the sounds to issue forth on
the principle of the “bee drone.”

The “Floor” Voice

This voice is extremely useful for such illusions as “the man in the cellar
attending to the gas meter,” &c. It calls particularly for a display of
histrionic powers, and the mere fact of bending down, as the sounds appear
to come from below, helps to give it the necessary subdued and “distant”
effect. Whilst speaking very slowly in the “bee drone” thrust the chin
forward, contracting the larynx as much as you possibly can; roll back the
tongue to stifle the sound in the throat, and the illusion will be complete.
Immediately you change from the “floor” to the natural voice, resume the
standing position and speak with unusual distinctness. The contrast cannot
fail to escape the notice of the audience, who will be quite convinced that
you have indeed carried on a conversation with some one below.

Ventriloquial Imitations

Although imitations can hardly be classed under the heading of pure
ventriloquism, yet they may be pressed into the service of the entertainer to
promote variety in his performance. They serve, too, another very useful
purpose, inasmuch as they provide a relief from what must inevitably prove
a strain on the vocal chords. As has already been said, ventriloquism
necessitates the placing of the vocal chords in a somewhat unnatural
position, and the result is that the exponent, particularly in the early stages
of the work, is apt speedily to become tired.
As a break between an exhibition of “near” ventriloquism—that is, with
the automata—and an exposition of distant effects, one or two vocal or
instrumental imitations will prove welcome both to the entertainer and the
entertained.
A witty person once remarked that the secret of success lies not so much
in what you can do, as in what you can induce other people to think you can
do. In other words, a little knowledge in the hands of a ready-witted and
competent ventriloquist can be turned to great advantage and become a
valuable asset in his undertakings. For successful imitations, self-
confidence is perhaps of even greater importance than the possession of real
ventriloquial powers. Self-confidence is a trump card that the ventriloquist
should always hold in his hand, because it will take all the tricks. Success is
impossible without it, and easy with it!
Perhaps there are few branches of entertaining in which self-assurance is
so necessary as in ventriloquial mimicry. The border-line between a
successful imitation and a ludicrous failure is oft-times so narrow, that a
sensitive soul would soon be disheartened.
The only difference between the efforts of the ordinary and the
ventriloquial mimic is that the latter, when giving expression to sounds
vocally produced, should place the chords in the same position as for the
“bee drone” and the “distant” voice.
A very good study is that of a hen as she cackles immediately before
laying an egg, and again after having done so. You will notice that the first
sounds are mostly of a guttural nature, and they should come from well
back in the throat, starting moderately high and descending four or five
notes. Of course the lips will have to be kept slightly opened, and for the

final jubilant crow considerably extended. To avoid the necessary facial
movement, it is as well when uttering the “crow” to turn sideways to the
audience. Again, while the first note of the cackling should be loud, the
successive notes grow quieter.

A Dog Fight

An imitation of a dog fight will form a spirited item in your programme.
By your actions you may suggest, for instance, a small cur yapping
vigorously until a larger and more ferocious animal endeavors to quiet him.
To produce the higher notes of the dog-bark, the falsetto or “thick” voice
must be used, while the deeper guttural tones already explained for use with
the “darky” serve for the larger dog.
It is a little difficult to intersperse the two sets of sounds without
expressing facial contortion, but you may obtain for yourself a certain
amount of license by pretending that the dog fight is taking place beneath a
covered table, behind which you may stoop in your supposed endeavors to
stop the tumult.
It is but natural to turn from dogs to cats. Whereas you have just given an
imitation, perhaps, of a fierce duel, your next effort should endeavor to
portray a feline courtship. This should be made as funny as possible. The
lady’s “marr-rr-ows” and “mia-a-a-ows” are easily copied after you have
been kept awake a night or two listening to the genuine article, whilst the
deeper tones of Mr. Tom are included in the repertory of every well-
educated schoolboy.
The mouth should be kept fairly wide open and a kind of sideways
motion given to it, whilst the cry should be drawled until the lips form for
the final “ow.” The spittings and growlings necessitate the bringing together
of the lips and teeth, a freedom which your audience on this occasion must
permit you. The doleful moans with which our feline friends endeavor to
solace one another can be produced by making the mouth very hollow, the
lips into the form of a large O, slowly contracted to a very small one.
For the die-away, distant effect, moaning more or less in the throat must
be resorted to. The finale can consist of a number of fierce spittings and
growlings, suddenly interrupted by an unmistakably human voice (your
own) “shoo-ing” the night visitants away.

A variation can be made by giving an imitation of pouring out a glass of
wine. To produce the illusion of drawing the cork from the bottle, turn
slightly round, thrust the forefinger into the mouth against the cheek, close
the lips around the finger, slowly bring the end of the finger round inside
the cheek, and force it smartly out through the lips. The result will be a loud
pop. By moving the tongue from the back of the mouth quickly backwards
and forwards, making it strike against the inside of the gums, the “glug,
glug” of the wine being poured out will be plainly heard.

The Lion and the Cow

Under the cover of a screen, the roaring of a lion is simple of
accomplishment. Use an ordinary lamp chimney, and give vent to a series
of deep-throated roars from this. The effect will both be natural and
startling. With the same instrument the deep lowing of a cow can be
perfectly imitated, the lips producing the familiar “moo,” the sound being
gradually drawled through the glass chimney.
To copy a saw at work is quite easy. Get a ruler, or some similar article,
to represent the saw, and draw it backwards and forwards as though cutting
a piece of wood. The sound is best made by clenching the teeth, placing the
tongue a little forward between the upper and lower teeth, quickly inhaling
and exhaling the air. The resultant noise will be an exact imitation of the
saw cutting its way through the wood.
Quite an effective item is the ascent of a rocket. By blowing hard through
pursed lips, and striking the mouth rapidly with sharp little blows with
closed fingers, the curious sound of an ascending rocket may be reproduced
with perfect fidelity. This slowly fades away, there is a moment’s pause, and
then the final pop as the stars burst. Naturally such an imitation should be
performed in the shelter of the screen. As a last example, an imitation of the
itinerant knife-grinder may be attempted. Keep the lips and the teeth closed
to produce the rasping up and down of the steel upon the grindstone, the
while working an imaginary treadle with the right foot.

The Complete Entertainment

By this time the young ventriloquist should have at his command both
“near” and “distant” voices and imitations. It only remains to say a few
words regarding the manner of giving an entertainment.
Although smart dialogue is very entertaining, it is apt, after a little while,
to pall; and to obviate this it will be found well to introduce an occasional
song or comic recitation. In both cases these may take the form of parodies,
but in the former a serious song really well sung by the ventriloquial figure
will evoke both admiration and applause.
Those not possessed of particularly good vocal qualifications may feel
that the singing of a song successfully is beyond their capabilities. They
should, however, bear in mind that nothing like “finish” or cleverness in
execution is expected from a wooden figure. One or two verses and the
chorus are quite enough to venture upon, as singing ventriloquially is
extremely tiring.
The best time to introduce a song is when dialogue between yourself and
the automata has been in progress for seven or eight minutes. Either the
little boy or the old man or the old woman can essay to try his or her skill as
a vocalist, or the affair may be competitive. Much amusement may be
caused by the little boy extolling his own skill as a vocalist, and the darky
challenging him. To settle the matter, let one sing the first verse of a song
and the other the second, the little boy making a terrible hash of his part of
the performance. If his mistakes are greeted with groans of derision from
the old man, or cries of horror from the old woman, the audience will be
immensely pleased.
While the song is in progress, the ventriloquist should look about him
unconcernedly, feigning total disinterestedness in the affair. Towards the
end of the song he may glance sharply once or twice at the singer and
applaud him for his effort, which applause it is to be hoped the audience
will generously supplement.
It is not intended that these few observations on the art of ventriloquism
should be taken as covering all the ground over which this fascinating
subject spreads. Enough has been said, however, to show any one who is
sufficiently interested how to give a really pleasing drawing-room

performance which shall earn for him the reputation of being quite a
creditable exponent of the wondrous and mystifying art of Valentine Vox.

CHAPTER XX
CONJURING FOR ALL

Magic Memorized

It is said that at some period of his life every boy becomes stage-struck,
and it may be averred with equal truth that sooner or later every boy is
seized with a desire to become a conjurer.
Considering the fascination to old and young alike of a conjuring
entertainment, this is not to be wondered at. But when the would-be
conjurer begins to realize the years and years of practice necessary before
he can accomplish his desire, he soon despairs; and instead of proudly
mounting the platform as an entertainer, he finally satisfies himself by
humbly occupying a chair as one of the entertained.
It is the purpose of this chapter, however, to set forth a complete
conjuring entertainment in such a manner that anybody can easily learn and
perform it, in precisely the same manner as they would memorize and
deliver a recitation.
Before proceeding with the tricks themselves, it will perhaps be
advisable, for the sake of the uninitiated, briefly to describe how to fit up a
handy conjuring table.
Procure a small wooden box about six inches deep and one foot in length
and width, and stand it in the center of a small gypsy-table. Then artistically
drape one or two flags, or a brightly-colored cloth over it (Fig. 1).
It will be noticed that a portion of the table at the back of the box is left
vacant. This, in the dialect of the profession, is known as the servante. It is
used for secretly disposing of objects during the performance.
The magic wand simply consists of a decorated circular stick about ten
inches long.
Each trick will be dealt with in three separate parts. The first will
describe the illusion from the point of view of the audience; the second will
explain the apparatus required; and the third the “patter” accompanying
each trick.

Presentation.—As seen by the
audience, the first trick is as follows:
Two ping-pong balls are lying
upon the table, and the conjurer
requests a member of the audience
to choose one. This having been
done, the performer picks up the
selected ball and commences gently
rubbing it in the palms of his hands,
when to the amazement of the
audience, the ball is seen to change
into a couple of handkerchiefs!
The conjurer places one of these
upon the table, and proceeds to wrap
up the other in a piece of pink paper. Fig. 1.—A handy conjuring table.
Blowing out a candle which has
been standing in a candlestick upon the table, the performer wraps that also
into a similar parcel, using white paper instead of pink.
He next places the two parcels at opposite ends of the table, in full view
of the audience. After making one or two passes with the magic wand, the
conjurer picks up the parcel containing the candle. He then tears it open,
when it is found to contain the handkerchief. Upon the remaining parcel
being examined the candle is discovered within it.
Apparatus required.—(1) Two ping-pong balls. A large hole must be
bored in one by means of a penknife.
(2) Three small silk handkerchiefs. Two of these should be stuffed into
the prepared ball through the hole. Both balls must then be placed upon the
conjuring table—the hole in the prepared one being turned away from the
audience.
(3) An ordinary candle wrapped in a piece of pink paper, and concealed
in readiness on the servante. Another piece of pink paper and a piece of
white should also be ready at hand.
(4) A “false” candle. This is made by gumming a piece of white paper
into the form of a cylinder, and sticking a slice from a real candle in one
end. The third handkerchief must be stuffed into the “false” candle (Fig. 2),
which should then be placed in a candlestick. From a short distance it will

be impossible to distinguish this candle from the
genuine article, and the effect will be considerably
heightened by the candle-end being lit.
Patter.—The conjurer comes forward to the front of
the platform and delivers himself somewhat after the
following:—
“Ladies and gentlemen—you will observe upon my
table two ping-pong or table-tennis balls. They are
quite innocent-looking, and although in appearance
they somewhat resemble eggs, will not be found half so
deceptive. Will some lady or gentleman kindly select
one?”
If the ball containing the handkerchief is selected the
conjurer picks it up and proceeds with the trick. Should
the other be chosen, however, it makes no difference.
The entertainer simply hands it to the person who has
made the selection, and remarks: “Very well. Would
you mind taking the ball you have chosen and
examining it?” Upon the person complying with his
request, the conjurer picks up the remaining ball—the
Fig. 2.—False candle prepared one—and continues with the trick.
containing handkerchief.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, slowly rubbing the
ball between the palms of his hands, and carefully extracting the first
handkerchief from its interior (a simple effort in sleight-of-hand, quickly
acquired), “we will now see what effect a little friction has. Ah! Something
is happening already!”
The performer allows the second handkerchief to stream forth, and then
gradually opens his hands, taking care that one of the handkerchiefs
completely covers the ball and hides it from view. He then lays the
handkerchief sheltering the ball carelessly upon the table. If this is done in a
natural manner, the audience will not have the slightest suspicion that it
covers anything at all. Holding the remaining handkerchief up to view, he
continues:
“We will now see whether this inherits any of the marvelous properties of
the ball from which it was produced. I have here a piece of paper.” (Holds
up the red paper.) “It contains neither trap-doors, hidden mirrors, nor other
mechanical contrivances. The reason for my using pink paper is that it

insures the trick being performed to the pink of perfection. I will now
proceed to roll up the handkerchief in the paper.”
This is done, the performer taking care to make the parcel exactly similar
in shape to that of the candle on the servante. During the wrapping-up
process, however, he carelessly drops the parcel on the servante. With a
muttered excuse for his clumsiness, the conjurer again resorts to quickness
of the hand, and picks up the parcel containing the candle. The very
audacity of this movement will effectually keep the audience from
suspecting that a substitution has been effected.
“I will now take this candle and wrap it in the piece of white paper I have
here. By the way, can any one tell me what nobleman could very well be
represented by a burnt-out candle? No one? Why, the Earl of Wicklow!”
(He blows out the “false” candle and wraps it in the white paper.)
“You see I have now two parcels—the pink one containing the
handkerchief, the white one containing the candle. I will place them at
opposite ends of the table, and make a few passes with my magic wand.”
The performer waves the wand a few times. Then, seizing the packet
containing the “false” candle, he rips it open, thus tearing the paper
cylinder, and revealing the handkerchief. The small wax candle-end will
escape observation amongst the torn paper, and the audience will be under
the impression that the candle has changed to a handkerchief.
“Will a gentleman kindly step forward and examine the remaining
parcel?” (Upon the examination being made it is found, of course, to
contain the candle.) “What! The handkerchief and candle appear to have
disagreed with the quarters I originally allotted them, and have changed
places! I think you will agree with me that this little experiment has
terminated in a very interesting manner. I think you will also agree that I
have not once attempted to deceive you, as the whole of the experiment was
conducted before your very eyes.”
The second trick might very aptly be entitled

The Dye-Works

Presentation.—The conjurer hands round for inspection a small sheet of
white paper. Upon its being returned, he rolls it into a cylinder. Taking a
couple of red silk handkerchiefs from the table, he proceeds to poke them

into the tube by means of the magic wand. He continues to force them down
until they at length make their appearance at the other end. During this short
passage through the tube, however, an astonishing transformation has
ensued. Instead of the handkerchiefs being red, one emerges a deep blue
and the other yellow! Yet upon the roll of paper being passed round for
inspection it is found to be perfectly empty.
Apparatus required.—(1) Two red, one blue,
and a yellow silk handkerchief.
(2) A sheet of stout white paper about six
inches long by five wide.
(3) A small cardboard tube about three inches
long and an inch and a half in diameter. A section
cut from an ordinary postal tube will do
admirably.
A small bag of yellow silk must be sewn by its
edges to the interior of this tube (Fig. 3). The
yellow handkerchief should next be stitched by
its center to the bag, as is shown in the same
diagram. This done, both the yellow and blue
handkerchiefs must be forced into the cardboard
tube until they are completely hidden. There will
be no difficulty in doing this, as silk can be made
to occupy a very small space. The bag, of course,
will prevent the handkerchiefs coming out at the
Fig. 3.—Cardboard tube with
other end. silk bag and handkerchief
The cardboard tube and its contents should attached.
then be placed upon the table, and the two red
handkerchiefs laid carelessly over it in order to obscure it from the view of
the audience.
Patter.—“I have here an ordinary sheet of white paper. I intend, however,
to turn it to a rather extraordinary purpose; in fact, to manufacture with it a
dye-works!
“I first roll the paper into a cylinder—so. Please notice that I do not
attempt to insert anything as I do so.”
The performer rolls up the paper, taking care to make it sufficiently large
to admit the little cardboard tube.

“I have also two red silk handkerchiefs. Every lady present to-night will
know how very difficult it is to dye anything that is red. Nevertheless, I am
going to put these handkerchiefs down my dye-works’ chimney.”
He picks up the handkerchiefs—with the tube still hidden in them—and
apparently attempts to poke them into the cylinder. In reality, however, he
only inserts the cardboard tube, and then pauses, as though in doubt.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears as if I haven’t built my dye-works
large enough to receive both handkerchiefs together. I think it will be
advisable, therefore, to insert them singly.”
The conjurer proceeds to place first one and then the other handkerchief
in the tube. Then, taking up his magic wand he rams them well down. This
has the effect of forcing them both into the small cardboard tube, thus
liberating the blue and yellow handkerchiefs.
“Ah! I see that one of the handkerchiefs is issuing from the basement of
our dye-works. And the color has been altered during its journey! Here
comes the other straight from the mangle, and, as you will observe, it is
now dyed yellow. The dye-works has proved most successful. In fact, I
believe that if I’d inserted a third handkerchief it would have come out
folded and ironed!”

Fig. 4.—Handkerchief covering small cardboard tube drawn
from cylinder.

So saying, the conjurer takes the yellow handkerchief by its middle and
draws it from the paper cylinder. The cardboard tube, with the red

handkerchiefs safely in it, will, of course, be drawn out at the same time.
The folds of the yellow handkerchief, however, will completely hide it (Fig.
4). The conjurer then throws the paper cylinder amongst the audience, with
the remark—
“There you are, ladies and gentlemen. As I am of a philanthropic nature, I
will let you have my dye-works free of charge, with full permission to make
whatever use you like of them.”
The third trick may be called

The Dissolving Coin

Presentation.—The conjurer, standing a glass of water upon his table,
borrows a quarter, and places it in the center of a loaned handkerchief. He
then requests a member of the audience to hold it over the glass so that the
folds of the handkerchief hang around it and completely hide it from view
(Fig. 5).
The performer next asks the person holding the coin to let it drop into the
water. He does so, and the audience hear it tinkle as it strikes the bottom of
the glass. But when the handkerchief is removed, the quarter has
disappeared!

Fig. 5.—The dissolving coin. Fig. 6.—Quarter found inside the orange.

A dish containing a number of oranges is standing upon the table. The
conjurer picks up a knife and plunges it into one. Passing it to a member of
the audience, he requests him to cut it open. Upon this being done the
quarter is discovered embedded in the center of the fruit (Fig. 6).
Apparatus required.—(1) A glass of water. (2) A silver quarter. (3) A
watch-glass the size of a quarter. One can be purchased for five cents from
any watch repairer’s. (4) A dish of oranges. A small cut must be made in
one of them, and the quarter forced into the incision. The prepared orange
should then be replaced upon the dish, care being taken that its position is
remembered.
Patter.—“It is always a conjurer’s duty, during some part of his
entertainment, to borrow. The time is now ripe for me to perform that
pleasant duty. Will some one kindly supply me with a quarter and a
handkerchief?”
As the performer walks amongst the audience to obtain the handkerchief,
he secretly takes the watch-glass from his waistcoat pocket—where it has
been placed in readiness. As he returns to his table with the handkerchief
and the coin, and whilst his back is to the audience, he must again resort to
sleight-of-hand and substitute his watch-glass for the coin, which can either
be slipped into his waistcoat pocket, or dropped surreptitiously on to the
servante. The performer then faces the audience, holding up the watch-glass
instead of the coin in the center of the handkerchief.
“I have placed the quarter in the handkerchief, and should now like the
assistance of a young gentleman.
“Thank you, sir. Would you mind holding this coin over the glass and let
it fall into the water when I count three? Thank you! One—two—three!
You’re sure you dropped it? Well, will you please remove the handkerchief,
thus taking the quarter from the water.” (The watch-glass, being transparent,
will be invisible at the bottom of the glass, and the assistant will
immediately declare that the coin has vanished.)
“It’s gone, you say? That’s rather awkward for the gentleman from whom
I borrowed it. But perhaps you’d like to pay him back yourself? You
strongly object? Well, I must see what I can do!”
The conjurer walks over to the dish of oranges.
“In order to see how this trick is done, ladies and gentlemen, you must
keep one eye upon me, one eye upon that dish of oranges, and the other
upon the gentleman who is assisting me. What’s that? You haven’t three

eyes? I think you are mistaken. First there’s your right eye; then there’s
your left eye; and your nect(eye)ie makes the third.”
The performer then plunges a knife into the prepared orange and hands it
to his assistant.
“Would you mind cutting that in half?” (Upon doing so the young
gentleman will, of course, find the coin embedded in the fruit.) “You have
found the missing coin in its center? I consider it rather clever of me to
purchase for a few cents oranges that grow quarters. Would you mind
returning the coin to its owner; and I must thank you for the very able
assistance you have afforded me.”
The next trick may be called

The Watch and Target

Presentation.—The conjurer borrows a watch from a member of the
audience and wraps it in a piece of paper. He next places it in the muzzle of
a pistol, and then stands a target upon the table. Handing the pistol to a
gentleman in the audience, the performer requests him to fire at the target.
There is a loud report, and—hey, presto!—the watch is found swinging in
the center of the target! And upon the paper parcel which contained the
watch being removed from the pistol’s muzzle it is found to be perfectly
empty.

Fig. 7.—Conjuring pistol, showing flanged cap. Fig. 8.—Cup or pan to fit into
muzzle of pistol.

Apparatus required.—(1) A piece of paper in which to wrap the borrowed
watch; and a second piece of the same size and color. This must be folded to

create the impression that it contains a watch.
(2) An ordinary toy pistol. This must be taken to a tinsmith, in order to
have a tin muzzle of the shape shown in Fig. 7 soldered to the barrel. It will
also be necessary for the tinsmith to make another very important addition
to the pistol. It consists of the little pan illustrated in Fig. 8. This pan fits
into the muzzle. But in order that it may not sink down too far, and can be
removed easily, a flange must be made round the edge, as shown in Figs. 7
and 8. Before commencing the trick, the piece of paper folded into the
shape of a watch must be placed inside the muzzle, and the tin pan fitted
into position on top of it.

Fig. 9.—Showing front of target. Fig. 10.—Back of target with revolving
center.

(3) A target (Fig. 9). This target, as might be anticipated, is not so simple
as it looks. The “bull’s-eye” at the center must be cut completely out with a
fretsaw, and then replaced again on the two pivots (B B, Fig. 10). A small
wooden clip should next be fixed in the position illustrated by C, and a

piece of elastic fastened to the “bull’s-eye” at A, and stretched to the other
side of the target.
It will now be observed that the tendency of the elastic is to make the
“bull’s-eye” revolve upon its pivots. The wooden catch C, however,
prevents this happening.
The catch is secured to the target by a single nail or screw, in precisely
the same manner as the “button” is fixed to an ordinary cupboard door. A
piece of black thread must be fastened to one end of the catch, and carried
down behind the target through a series of hooks made from bent pins (D,
Fig. 10).
A pull at the thread thus causes the wooden catch to release the “bull’s-
eye,” which will instantly be forced round upon its pivots by the elastic, and
show the other side:—which must be similarly painted with rings—to the
audience. To complete the target, drive a small hook into the center of the
“bull’s-eye.” The finished article must then be placed behind a screen in
readiness for the performance.
(4) Lastly, a small piece of black
elastic should be sewn across the V-
shaped opening at the bottom of the
conjurer’s waistcoat, as shown in
Fig. 11. This keeps the bottom of the
waistcoat perfectly tight, thus
making a handy receptacle for any
article the performer may poke up it
out of sight.
Patter.—“Ladies and gentlemen
—I was so successful in borrowing
for my last trick, that I am
encouraged to be a little less timid in
my requests. Will some gentleman
kindly lend me his watch? Thank
you, sir! I may muddle up the
wheels a bit during my experiment;
but I suppose you don’t mind that,
provided the watch looks all right Fig. 11.—The elastic at A will be found
when I return it? Now, sir, would invaluable to the young conjurer.

you mind wrapping your watch up in this piece of paper?”
Whilst the lender of the watch is engaged in wrapping up his property,
the conjurer walks to the table and returns with the pistol in his hand. He
then takes the parcel from the gentleman, and apparently places it in the
muzzle. In reality, however, it is put only into the small pan.
The performer turns round, and walks towards his table. Holding the
pistol well into the body so that it is completely screened from the audience,
he quickly places his right hand over the muzzle, and grips the flange with
his thumb and little finger. It is then only the work of a moment to lift the
pan and its contents from the pistol, and poke it under his waistcoat. As the
performer’s back is to the audience, these rapid movements escape
observation.
Upon reaching the table the conjurer lays down the pistol, faces the
audience, and says:
“Well, now that I’ve got my ammunition, I suppose I’d better get a
target.”
He retires behind the screen sheltering the target. Hastily taking the pan
from his waistcoat, he tears the watch from the paper, and hangs it upon the
hook on the reverse side of the “bull’s-eye.” Then, returning to the platform,
he places the target upon the table, and taking up the pistol, says:
“Will the gentleman who lent me the watch kindly take this pistol and
fire at the target when I count three?” (Upon taking the pistol the gentleman
will see the second piece of paper in the muzzle, and imagine that it
contains the watch.) “Are you ready? One!—I hope you are a good shot.
Two!—Mind you don’t hit me instead of the target. THREE!”
As he utters the last word the conjurer pulls the thread, and simultaneous
with the report of the pistol, the “bull’s-eye” flashes round and reveals the
watch hanging to its center.
Of course the thread must be sufficiently long to permit the performer to
stand a short distance from the target. Against a dark background the thread
will be quite invisible to the audience.
Upon the second parcel being examined it will, of course, be found quite
empty.

CHAPTER XXI
SOME KNOTTY POINTS

Secrets of Handkerchief Manipulation

Fig. 1.—Handkerchief twisted for the performance.

The following explanations are intended to provide the beginner with the
knowledge necessary to perform a few of the simple but neat tricks which
can be done with no other apparatus than a handkerchief. For a short turn or
“gag” these tricks are effective and useful, whilst their very simplicity
renders a quick return for the little trouble required to learn them.
A good-sized silk handkerchief must be procured. Before making any of
the knots it should be twisted like a rope (Fig. 1). Being of silk, the
handkerchief will not untwine easily.

The One Hand Knot

This knot is very simple to make. Hold the handkerchief, bent double,
across the right hand (Fig. 2). Now, suddenly drop the hand, letting the
fingers pass over the end, A, and catch the end, B, at the point, C, between
the first and second fingers. Let the remainder of the handkerchief slip off
the hand, giving it a sharp flick, which will tighten the knot already loosely
formed.
Practice constantly until the whole movement can be done very rapidly.
To the spectators it will appear as if you have suddenly flicked the
handkerchief into a knot, and the effect will be striking.

The Wrist Knot

Stretch the handkerchief between the
finger and thumb in both hands, as in Fig. 3.
Cast a loop towards the left hand, taking care
that it is thrown outwards. As the loop is
made, the left hand, still with the end of the
handkerchief between finger and thumb, is
passed smartly through the loop from the
outside—shown by the dotted lines in the
illustration.
This loop is now loosely round the left
wrist, and the knot can be made taut by
pulling the ends with both hands. The instant
it is drawn tight let go of the ends of the
handkerchief, and the result will be that a
simple twitch of the right hand has seemed to
tie a knot firmly round your left wrist.

The Double Bow

This very pretty trick can be accomplished
by making a double bow with a rapid turn of
Fig. 2.—The one hand knot. the hands.
Hold the twisted handkerchief in both
hands, as shown by Fig. 4. The two hands are marked L and R—i.e., left
and right respectively. Now bring the right hand round and past the left, as
indicated by the dotted lines, and nip the handkerchief at the point A with
the first and second fingers of the right hand.

Fig. 3.—The wrist knot.

Fig. 4.—The double bow.

By doing this you have naturally brought the point B opposite the first
and second fingers of the left hand, between which it should be similarly
nipped. During all these movements the remaining fingers and thumbs of
each hand should retain their original hold on the handkerchief.
Having now taken hold of both the points A and B, straighten your hands
and pull apart, still retaining the hold of the first and second fingers. As a
result you will find the handkerchief tied in a double bow, which, if the
movements have been done quickly and well, will seem to have been
accomplished by some strange effect of magic.

The Instantaneous Knots

These knots can be made at each end of the handkerchief by the
following method. Hold the handkerchief in the position shown in Fig. 5,
where it appears lying over the third and fourth fingers with the two ends, A
and B, hanging beyond the thumbs. The movements are done in the same
way and simultaneously with both hands, and it will therefore suffice to
describe the action of your right hand.

Fig. 5.—Instantaneous knots.

Bring the first and second fingers (1 and 2, Fig. 5) over C, catching hold
of the end, A, behind the wrist. This will be easy after a few attempts, but
you must be careful to see that the end A is of fair length, otherwise the
trick will be impossible.
Now bring the end A up through the resulting loop by means of the two
fingers. The consequence will be a knot in the end of the handkerchief. Your
left hand has, meanwhile, been doing the same thing and with equal
rapidity, so that it will appear to the spectators that, by a sudden flash of the
hands, you have formed two tight knots, one at each end of the silk.

A Flick Knot

Hold the handkerchief stretched between your two hands in the manner
shown in Fig. 6—that is, inside the first and second, and outside the third
and fourth fingers of each hand.

Fig. 6.—A flick knot.

Give the left hand a half turn, as in Fig. 7, thus enabling the first and
second fingers of the right hand to grip the end A, whilst at the same
moment the thumb and third finger of your left hand catch hold of the end
B.

Fig. 7.—Second stage of the flick knot.

Slip free the fingers of the left hand, excepting those holding the
handkerchief, and you will find a loosely made knot. A smart flick of the
right hand will now complete the trick, and if you have done all this very
rapidly none of the movements will have been noticed by the audience.

The Disappearing Knot

The foregoing remarks have dealt entirely with making knots in the
handkerchief. By following the instructions now given you will be able to
make a knot disappear entirely.
Take two differently colored handkerchiefs—red and white, for instance,
and cross them, as in Fig. 8. Now make a simple knot similar to that shown
in Fig. 9. By laying D over C and making another simple knot, as in Fig. 10,
the red end will appear on the left, whilst the white end will be on the right.
This is called a Grannie’s knot.

Fig. 8.—Colored silks for disappearing knot. Fig. 9.—Simple knot for disappearance.

Fig. 10.—Grannie’s knot.

It is now plain that if you take hold of each end of the red handkerchief it
can be pulled quite straight and entirely free of the turns so closely
resembling a genuine knot. Heighten the deception, however, by seizing the
end D and the bulk of the red handkerchief and pulling them with all your
strength. The knot will now appear to have been tied most securely.
Take several handkerchiefs and tie them in the same way, making
apparently a well-fastened rope to be exhibited to the spectators. Bunch
them all together on a table, and under cover of the folds pull all the ends
free, exhibiting as a result a number of separate handkerchiefs, not one of
which has a knot of any description.

CHAPTER XXII
BLACK STAGE MYSTERIES

A Wily Worker of Wonders

The best method by which to advocate the “black stage” as a means of
entertainment, will perhaps be to describe one of the many illusions that can
be produced with its aid.
The audience first witnesses the performer—who is generally made up as
a Chinaman—and a young lady dressed in white, standing in the center of a
small “black stage,” as shown in Fig. 1.

Fig. 1.—The floating head.

The performer then throws a white cloth over the lady’s head. Without a
moment’s pause he draws it away again, and—hey, presto!—the lady is

headless! The Chinaman next takes a larger cloth, and holds it before the
lady in such a manner that she is entirely hidden from the spectators. A
second later, however, he drops the cloth to the ground. This time the
audience is treated to the spectacle of the head of the lady floating in the air.
More wonderful still, the head can speak, sing, and answer any questions
that may be put to it.
After a while the illusionist picks up the cloth, and holding it before the
head, once more cuts off the view of the spectators. Upon its being drawn
away for the third time, nothing whatever is visible—even the mysterious
head has vanished. But when the cloth is held up again and withdrawn, the
young lady—in her entirety—appears, and after bowing to the audience,
walks unconcernedly off the stage.
Almost every well-known conjurer has stated at one time or another that
the secret of his success may be summed up in the one word—practice. But
there are very few young ladies who would have either the courage or the
ability to practice being decapitated. The ordeal might prove a trifle too
exciting. However, they may pass through it without fear if the following
method, given in explanation of the illusion, be adopted.
The interior of the stage must be fitted throughout with black cloth. The
lights in the room are lowered, the only illumination of any brilliance being
a row of candles or lamps, at the side of the stage. These are equipped with
tin reflectors, so that the light, instead of shining on the stage, is projected
into the eyes of the audience. The effect of this is that, whilst any white
object can be seen quite plainly by the spectators, everything black remains
invisible.
When the performer envelops the young lady’s head in the white cloth,
he at the same moment throws over her a piece of black material of similar
size and shape, attached to it by one corner. When he removes the white
cloth, however, he allows the black cloth to remain, thus veiling the head
and apparently causing it to disappear.
Another and larger piece of black material is similarly hidden in the folds
of the second white cloth. Directly the performer spreads this before the
lady assistant, so that she is hidden from the audience, she rapidly pulls off
her head-veil, and taking the large black sheet, muffles herself in it up to the
neck. Consequently only her head remains visible. In order to disappear
entirely, it is only necessary for her to replace the head-veil or to pull the
larger black cloth up over her face.

The Essential Assistant

It is usual when working illusions of this description to have the
assistance of a third person. This assistant must be dressed completely in
black, with black gloves and a black mask. The latter can very easily be
made from a piece of silk, or any other material that is slightly elastic. It
should be stitched into the form of a cylinder sufficiently large to pull over
the head. Two eyeholes are then cut in the desired position, and the mask is
complete (Fig. 5).
Garbed in this somber attire, the assistant is able to move about the stage
quite freely without being seen by the audience, and to lend powerful but
invisible aid in accomplishing many first-class deceptions. However, this
point will be referred to later, and attention should now be turned to the
construction of the “black stage” itself.

Fig. 2.—The finished frame.

Fig. 1 illustrates the appearance of the finished stage, and Fig. 2 shows
the framework of which it is constructed. This framework is comprised of a
number of laths fastened together by the method shown in Fig. 3. A small
metal rod—a long nail with the head filed off will suffice—is driven into
each upright lath. This must be done carefully or the wood will split. Next a
hole is bored by means of a drill or red-hot poker in each of the laths fitting

upon these uprights. By placing the hole in each cross lath over the nail in
the upright lath, as shown in Fig. 3, the framework can easily be put
together or taken to pieces, when it is necessary to convey the stage from
one point to another.

Fig. 3.—Laths fastened Fig. 4.—Method of joining Fig. 5.—Cloth or silk mask.
together. laths of frame.

Fig. 4 depicts the mode
of fixing two laths
together lengthwise. Instead of having one long lath, it considerably
facilitates conveyance if two smaller laths are joined by two thumbscrews
as shown in Fig. 4. A joint of this description is also shown at C, Fig. 2.
As can be seen by the diagram, the framework is simply a skeleton box;
but a little way beyond the center another lath should be carried across at
the top (A B, Fig. 2). Two curtains of black cloth must be obtained and
fastened to this lath so that they overlap at the center (D, Fig. 2).
It will now be noticed that this curtain divides the stage into two separate
compartments. The first of these is the stage proper, upon which the
illusionist performs his various mysteries. The second compartment is
reserved to provide an exit for the performer and his assistants, the flap in
the curtains acting as a doorway. Some of the apparatus required for the
various illusions may also be kept here during the performance.

The dimensions of the stage depend entirely, of course, upon the size of
the room in which the entertainment is to be given. The minimum width, or
“length of frontage,” should not be less than ten feet, and the distance from
the front of the stage to the beginning of the partition curtain not less than
six feet. The distance from the partition curtain to the back of the stage is
not of great importance. Provided there is room for the assistant to move
about, this is all that is required. Two and a half feet is ample.
The following dimensions will be found about as convenient as any; but
if the reader is in a position to construct a larger stage, so much the better.
Frontage, 12 ft.; height, 7 ft. 6 in.; distance from front to partition curtain,
7 ft. 6 in.; from partition curtain to back of stage, 3 ft.
Having decided upon the measurements of the stage, a further supply of
black cloth must be procured and fitted completely over the framework. It is
preferable to have this cloth already stitched into shape (Fig. 6), so that it
can be simply drawn on over the box-like structure of laths.

Fig. 6.—Cloth covering for frame.

It is also necessary to spread another piece of black cloth upon the floor.
Lastly, the stage front must be decorated. These decorations consist
merely of two curtains hooked at each side of the opening, and a frieze
draped along the top lath, as shown in Fig. 1.
The lighting arrangements must be left largely to the discretion of the
reader. If he be a “handyman,” he can fit four incandescent gas burners to
the front of the show. A very effective, although primitive, method of
lighting is illustrated by Fig. 7. Two pieces of wire are hooked to the top
lath, a pair at each side, and three small bull’s-eye lanterns fastened at
intervals to them (see diagram).

Fig. 7.—Method of lighting. Fig. 8.—Another method of lighting.

Yet another method is depicted in Fig. 8. About half-a-dozen holes are
bored in a piece of gas-piping, which is stopped at one end. Ordinary
burners are screwed into these holes and tin reflectors attached. The whole
arrangement is then bound securely to the top lath after the framework has
been fitted together. It is then necessary only to fix a length of gas-tubing
from the open end of the pipe to the nearest gas-fitting. If the reader decides
upon the latter method of illumination, his best course will be to go to a
plumber and place the job entirely in his hands.
The chief thing to bear in mind is, that no light must shine into the stage,
the only illumination being projected into the eyes of the spectators, thus
dazzling their vision as much as possible.
The stage described can, of course, be greatly improved upon. The above
description is intended simply as a rough guide for the boy whose skill in
carpentry does not extend much beyond knocking a nail or tin-tack properly
into a piece of wood, which, by the way, is not such an easy task as most
people imagine.
Having constructed a stage suitable for working purposes, we may
proceed with another illusion.

The Floating Barrel

The performer, who, as previously stated, should be dressed as a
Chinaman, or in a white costume of some description, stands alone in full
view of his audience. Presently he makes a beckoning motion, and a large
white barrel floats slowly into view. To the amazement of the spectators, it
drops gently to the ground at the magician’s feet.
He then turns to the other side of the stage and repeats the beckoning
motion. Immediately a second barrel makes its appearance, and deposits
itself on the ground a short distance from the first.
Turning to the audience the performer borrows a dozen or so rings,
chains, and other trinkets. Walking back to the stage, he holds the borrowed
trinkets above the mouth of one barrel, and clearly drops the mass of
jewelry into it. The next moment, without a second’s pause, the illusionist
seizes the barrel and turns it upside down.
Nothing falls out. It is perfectly empty!
Thereupon he darts to the other barrel, turns it over, and out shower the
trinkets.
The performer replaces them, and immediately overturns that barrel as he
did the first. But once again the jewelry is found to have disappeared. Nor
can it be discovered in the other barrel.
Retreating to one side of the stage, however, the illusionist waves his
hands. There is a slight flash, and a small Japanese table is seen standing in
the center of the stage, with the trinkets heaped upon it.
This is a very effective illusion, but it can be even improved upon, as the
reader will see when he has read the following simple explanation of the
trick.
Its success lies almost entirely with the “black” assistant previously
referred to. The “floating” barrels are simply carried in by this assistant,
who must take care to hold them in such a manner that his black-gloved
hands do not show up against the white wood.
Whilst the performer is collecting the articles of jewelry the assistant
holds a small bag or sack in the mouth of the barrel. Consequently, when
the performer drops the trinkets into the barrel, they in reality enter the
sack, when it is a simple thing for the assistant to transfer them to the
second barrel—the black bag rendering them invisible during transit.

Immediately the performer appears to deposit the trinkets in the barrel for
the second time, the assistant again secures them in his small sack. This
time, however, he carries them to the side of the stage, where a Japanese
table has been placed in readiness out of sight of the audience. This table is
draped with black cloth, which, as already explained, makes it invisible.
The assistant merely lifts up this cloth and empties the trinkets from the
sack on to the table. Then, replacing the cloth, he carries the table and its
contents to the middle of the stage.
Next he simply whisks away the black cloth when the performer gives
the signal, and the table, with its small heap of jewelry, stands revealed.
As previously stated, this illusion can easily be improved upon. For
instance, the “black” assistant can place a live rabbit in one of the barrels,
giving the audience the impression that the jewelry has undergone a
somewhat extraordinary, though unprofitable, transformation.
The performer should attempt to vary the nature of his entertainment as
much as possible, and the following illusion could very well occupy the
next place upon the programme.
In obedience to the performer’s command, a large white box or wicker-
basket floats on to the stage. This, as the reader will have been able to
gather from the explanation of the previous illusion, is simply carried on by
the “black” assistant.
After having shown that the box or basket—as the case may be—is
perfectly empty, the illusionist raises it from the stage by placing four
blocks, one under each corner. This is to prove the impossibility of a “false
bottom” or trap-door being used.
A man now walks on to the stage, with a white sheet wrapped round him,
and looking like a Dervish or bernoused Arab. Stepping into the basket, he
coils himself up until he is concealed at the bottom.
There is a pause of a few seconds, after which a low groan issues from
the interior of the basket. A moment later the sheet is seen to shoot up into
the air, and collapse in a heap upon the stage. Both sheet and basket are
examined; but their human occupant has disappeared—has vanished, as it
were, into thin air!
The illusionist next throws the sheet back into the basket. No sooner has
he done this than it is seen mysteriously to raise itself on end. Then for a
second time it collapses. A moment later, however, a second disturbance is

seen to be in progress inside the basket, and this time the white-robed man
rises from it, and steps out upon the stage.
The secret of this illusion lies in the fact that the “black” assistant and
white-robed man are one and the same person.
Directly the assistant has carried the wicker basket in, and whilst the
illusionist is showing the audience that it is perfectly empty, he slips
“behind the scenes,” and, taking off his black mask and gloves, hastily
arrays himself in the sheet.
In this guise he again makes his appearance, and steps into the basket. No
sooner has he snuggled down at the bottom, however, than he quickly
throws off the sheet and replaces the gloves and mask. Giving vent to a
hollow groan, he flings the sheet into the air. This for a moment diverts the
attention of the spectators, and gives the assistant time to step from the
basket, behind which he remains in readiness to continue with the second
part of the illusion. In his black clothes he will, of course, be quite unseen.
When the performer puts the sheet back into the basket, the assistant
merely stoops and slowly lifts it up, until he can step back into the basket
under cover of it.
As he allows the sheet to collapse for the second time, he sinks down
with it out of sight. He then again removes his black mask and gloves, and
envelops his body in the sheet.
This done, the hard-worked “black” assistant in his Dervish disguise has
simply to step from his place of concealment into full view of the audience,
and the illusion is complete.

The Vanishing Man

Another good effect, which would act as an excellent climax to the
entertainment, can be brought about as follows:
The performer makes his appearance carrying a large white shawl. This
he spreads upon the ground. Taking the shawl by its two top corners, he
holds it before him so that he is completely hidden.
Next he commences slowly to wave the shawl to and fro, to advance to
the front, and then to retreat to the back of the stage. As he is advancing for
the second time, however, the shawl is suddenly dropped, and—hey, presto!
—there is nothing behind it; the illusionist has gone!

But at the very moment the shawl collapses, a loud shout is heard, and
the illusionist is seen standing to the rear of the audience!
In this illusion, as in the others, the “black” assistant plays an important
part. His task is not nearly so difficult, however, as those he has already
been called upon to undertake. In fact, the whole illusion, although it can be
made one of the most effective on the programme, is the easiest to
accomplish.
Directly the illusionist picks up the shawl and holds it before him, the
“black” assistant steps up and takes it. Still under cover of the shawl, the
two slowly retreat to the back of the stage until they come to the opening in
the partition-curtain (D, Fig. 2). It is then an easy matter for the illusionist
to slip through the opening and get clear away. The assistant continues to
wave the shawl slowly backwards and forwards, giving the audience the
impression that the original performer is still behind it.
In the meantime the illusionist has made his way out of the room by a
door in the vicinity of the stage. Thence he hurries to a door leading to that
portion of the room containing the audience. Pushing this slightly open so
that he may obtain a view of the stage, he waits until he sees the shawl
drop, when he unexpectedly and dramatically makes his presence known.
The assistant being arrayed in black apparel will, of course, remain
invisible.
The only drawback to this illusion is, that it necessitates there being two
doors to the room in which the “black stage” is erected. Then again,
although a room may possess the requisite doors, one of them may be so
placed that it is impossible for the performer to reach it without being first
seen by the audience. In such a case, however, the difficulty may be
overcome by an ordinary screen placed from the door to the back entrance
of the stage.
As already observed, these illusions can be easily added to and improved
upon. In fact the “black stage” and its “black” assistant offer tremendous
scope for a really first-class entertainment, teeming with bewildering and
mystifying illusions.
If the stage is large enough, two assistants may be employed, and still
more complex effects attempted. But having described several illusions of
an entirely different nature, and having explained the principle upon which
all such illusions are worked, it must be left to the reader to invent other
“black stage” mysteries with which to entertain and bewilder his friends.

CHAPTER XXIII
CONCERNING GHOSTS

Mirror Frauds

If the Honorable Society of Stage Ghosts were to choose a motto, they
would find few more suitable than the old adage, that “People who live in
glass houses should not throw stones.” As the following remarks will serve
to show, their very existence depends upon a sheet of glass, and if this be
cracked or broken, farewell to the apparition and all its attendant mystery.
If you look out of the window of a lighted room upon a dark night, you
will notice that the pane, instead of being transparent, acts as a mirror and
reflects the room behind you. It is on this principle, applied to a stage, that
the greater number of ghost effects are produced. Owing to the fact that
apparitions are usually seen at night, a good excuse is found for having the
stage darkened, whilst the gloom serves to conceal several things highly
undesirable the audience should observe.
The ghost effect, as seen by the spectators, is somewhat of the following
description. Any person from the audience is requested to come upon the
stage and seat himself in a chair already provided. He has scarcely taken his
seat when a white figure approaches him, passes in front, in doing so
showing that it is transparent. Kneeling by his side, it lays a hand—a
ghostly white hand—upon his arm, and appears to plead with him in a most
touching manner. But the gentleman from the audience is implacable; he
takes no notice whatever of his ghostly supplicant, appearing utterly
unconscious of its presence.
Suddenly the object of the ghost’s entreaties becomes clear. Fumbling
amongst its white robes it produces a ghostly cigar, again begs our friend
with most urgent entreaties for a match, and finally, disgusted at his callous
indifference, shakes a sepulchral fist at him, throws aside the cumbersome
white shrouds, and appears to the spectators as a very well-dressed young
man in immaculate attire. He is still a ghost, however, and calmly walks
right through the gentleman from the audience, lights his ghostly cigar with

an equally ghostly match, pats his friend condescendingly upon the head,
and vanishes.

Unseeing and Disbelieving

“Ghost? What ghost? I saw no ghost, but I got very tired sitting up there
all that time without anything happening.” So says the gentleman from the
audience when he returns to his seat, and it is not until he has seen it all
happen to some one else that he will believe anything really did occur.

Fig. 1.—Arrangement of stage for ghost-producing.

He is probably provoked when he finds that the next apparition takes the
form of a fascinating young lady who vainly endeavors to make the young
man who has taken his place kiss her. Indeed, such indifference is
astounding, and all her pretty wiles and enticements are as wasted upon him

as though he did not see her. As a matter of fact he does not know what
pleasant temptations surround him.
In Fig. 1 the stage is shown in section, and the phenomenon is explained.
C, G is the stage, upon which is a chair, H, occupied by the gentleman from
the audience, I. A sheet of plate glass, A, B, rises from the floor of the stage
to the flies, and extends from one wing to the other. This sheet of glass is
tilted forward at an angle to be determined by circumstances. Between the
footlights, D, and the end of the stage, C, is a space or well, to be occupied
by the original of the ghost, K.
When the curtain is raised, the glass, A, B, is quite invisible to the
spectators owing to its transparency, and the extinguishing of the footlights
at D renders the whole of the stage more or less dark. The space, D, G, is
also invisible to the spectators, to whom the stage appears to present
nothing more exceptional than an ordinary chair.
Mr. I, as he may be called, is brought up from the auditorium, round by
the wings and taken to his chair, whence, looking into the theater before
him, he sees nothing of the plate of glass intervening.
Being already dressed in the conventional garb of a ghost, the actor, K,
places himself in the space between D and C, whereupon strong lights on
the walls, D, E, and C, F, are switched on, throwing their glare upon the
actor.
Owing to the principle of reflection mentioned above, the glass, A, B,
having a fairly dark background, becomes a mirror upon which is cast the
reflection of the actor K. Of course, Mr. I in his chair is visible the whole
time, but the spectators see in addition to him the reflection of K, which
naturally appears transparent, and moves about the stage exactly as K
moves in the space D, C.
The position of the chair, H, is already known to K, who is accordingly
able to kneel in his space in such a position that his reflection appears
kneeling to I, to go through the rest of the performance with perfect ease,
and to leave our friend I perfectly ignorant of what has occurred. Returning
for a moment to the example of a pane of glass in a lighted room, it must be
remembered that the spectators are in the position of the persons within the
room and see a reflection of what is their own side of the glass, whilst I is
like a person outdoors who looks into the room unhindered. To him the
stage and the audience remain the same throughout the whole performance.

A Paris Illusion

An interesting variation of this scene is
produced in Paris at an old café, known as the
“Cabaret du Néant,” in the Montmartre quarter.
The whole interior of this restaurant is fitted up
to appear as funereal as possible. Guests are
served with refreshments upon coffins by waiters
dressed as mourners, whilst the walls are covered
with notices and advertisements of a similarly
doleful character.
Upon payment of a small fee the guests are
taken into a cellar, completely dark except for a
small glimmer at the farther end. Having seated
themselves they observe this light slowly
increase until it is sufficient to disclose an open
coffin standing upright.
Some person from the audience is then
requested to accompany one of the attendants
upon the stage, where he is asked to stand
upright in the coffin. His friends and the
remainder of the spectators are then informed in
sepulchral tones that they are about to witness a
change which it will some day be the lot of every
one to undergo, being at the same time reassured Fig. 2.—The coffin trick.
that the subject of the experiment will suffer no
harm from what is taking place.
A white cloth, stretching from the chin to the heels, is then tucked round
the figure in the coffin, and after a few moments the living face gradually
fades away and a skull is seen in its place, whilst a skeleton now fills the
coffin (Fig. 2). This in its turn fades away, giving place once more to the
original living occupant, who soon descends from the stage and expresses
himself much surprised at what his friends describe, as he himself has seen
nothing of the ghastly change.
As in the former experiment, a large sheet of plate-glass is interposed
between the audience and the rear of the stage where stands the coffin. This

plate of glass is placed diagonally, as can be seen in the plan, Fig. 3. The
coffin, C, is lighted by several electric lamps when the man takes his place
in full view of the audience. At D is another coffin in the wings, invisible to
the man at C, as also to the spectators. When the white cloth has been
wrapped around the living person, the lights are slowly switched off at C
and on at D, with the result that the skeleton in the latter coffin is reflected
in the glass, A, B, in such a manner that it appears to be actually within the
coffin, C. To bring the man back to life the operation is reversed.

Fig. 3.—Plan explaining coffin trick.

The object of wrapping the white cloth about the living person is simply
to hide any difference in size between him and the skeleton in D. Both
coffins have, of course, been properly arranged to suit the reflections before
the commencement of the experiment.

The Sea Nymph

The Sea Nymph, shown in Fig. 4, is really a beautiful illusion. The
scenery represents a rolling sea beneath an azure sky, flecked here and there

with skimming clouds. Suddenly from out the waves a graceful form is seen
to appear, and, rising steadily, gambol in the billows. Circling in the air, she
plunges down into the waves, only to reappear once more, and repeat her
charming sport.
The sheet of glass is arranged for this performance as in the case of the
ghost, Fig. 1. The scenery, A, B, Fig. 5, is painted as described, to represent
the sea, and at L and M are placed additional waves, close to the footlights.
The glass, H, K, descends diagonally. D, E is a large circular disc revolving
upon an axle, F, which is connected by a rope or wire to a barrel and handle,
G. At C and M strong lights are thrown upon this disc.

Fig. 4.—The sea nymph.

The young lady who performs the part of the nymph is suitably attired,
and takes her place, lying upon the disc, D, E. At the proper time the lights
are thrown upon the disc, with the result that the spectators see her

reflection in the glass, H, K, as though she were really standing upright
amongst the scenery on A, B. By turning the handle at G, the disc is made
to revolve, carrying with it the recumbent nymph, who now appears to be
turning elegant somersaults amongst the waves.

Fig. 5.—Plan explaining sea-nymph illusion.

The only difficulty about presenting any of these effects at home is the
inconvenience of obtaining and handling so large a sheet of plate glass as is
necessary. A good ghost effect can be easily produced, however, in a room
with a large French window.
The window must be fastened open at an angle that will have to be
ascertained by experiment. The room should then be thrown into complete
darkness. The ghost takes his place outside the window and against the
wall, D, F (Fig. 6), with two lamps, B, so arranged as to cast their light
upon him. These lamps should be shaded in such a way that they cast no
glare except upon the figure of the ghost.

Fig. 6.—Plan of room for ghost illusions.

What happens is very plain. The open window, G, C, reflects the
shrouded figure of the ghost at A, making it appear to stand in the doorway,
pointing ominously at some startled person sitting in the dark room. It may
be added that it is but fair to inform the spectators of what is about to take
place, as many people are alarmed at apparitions, and have nerves too weak
to stand the sudden appearance of a ghost.

CHAPTER XXIV
SOME STAGE ILLUSIONS

For Home Presentation

Although from earliest times wizards and conjurers have attempted to
create illusions to impose upon the more credulous of their dupes, it was not
until the great Robert Houdin devoted his attention to the matter that any
real progress was made in the art. Yet such was the genius of Houdin that
his inventions have hardly been superseded in the many years which have
elapsed since his death, whilst in the greater number of cases his original
plans have barely been improved upon.

Fig. 1.—The principle of reflection.

Having dealt with the subject of stage apparitions in the previous chapter,
it is the intention here to describe and explain the best illusions in so simple
a manner that, with the minimum of trouble, any amateur can construct the

apparatus necessary for their production. The successful working of the
performance depends entirely upon the skill of the exhibitors.
A great number of stage illusions are based upon the principle that a
person looking into a mirror from any angle sees the reflection of objects at
a similar angle from the opposite direction. This is borne out by Fig. 1.
Supposing A, B to be the mirror, with the spectator standing at D, he will
see the reflection of an object at E, the angle D, F, B being equal to the
angle E, F, A.
A simple adaptation of this principle is seen in

The Magic Cupboard

This is a large cupboard, of sufficient height to hold a man comfortably,
and about 4 feet wide by 21⁄2 feet deep (Fig. 2). The doors should be double,
and meet at the center post H. The cupboard can be lined with some simple
paper of an unobtrusive pattern, and the doors should close easily and
securely.
Now to describe the performance as it appears to the audience.

Fig. 2.—The magic cupboard. Fig. 3.—Plan of magic cupboard.

The cupboard is opened, and anybody allowed to mount the stage and see
for himself that there is no false bottom or trap in the floor. When he is

perfectly satisfied and has returned to his seat, the magician introduces his
assistant. At a nod from him she enters the cupboard, which is then closed.
The wizard makes a few mystic passes with his wand, utters the words
“Imshi! Imshi!” meaning in Arabic, “Depart! Depart!” The cupboard is then
opened and—found to be empty!
Once more the doors are closed. The magician reverses his passes, claps
his hands, looks upward, and again opens the doors. The pretty young lady
stands inside, smiling radiantly!
The mystery is understandable by a glance at Fig. 3. At E and F are
hinged two mirrors, identical in size with the walls of the cupboard. When
opened inwards these mirrors meet at the post, H, which serves to conceal
the line of their meeting.
Now the whole deception lies in the walls of the cupboard. When
inspected by the audience the two mirrors were flush against their
respective sides, and, having their backs covered with the same paper used
to line the whole interior of the cupboard, they were mistaken for the real
walls against which they were pressed. But when the mirrors are opened
inwards the spectator can see only the reflection of the actual walls cast
upon the mirrors in such a way that he imagines he sees the back of the
cupboard. Of course this is really hidden from him by the opened mirrors,
but they reflect the paper-lined walls so accurately that a discovery of the
deception is impossible.
When the lady is introduced into the cupboard the mirrors stand flat
against the sides of the box, which is really empty, but as soon as the
magician closes the outer doors upon his assistant, she pulls out the sides,
shuts herself into the triangle E, H, F, and awaits the opening of the
cupboard. When this takes place the mirrors are, of course, in the position
indicated by Fig. 3. The spectators, seeing in them the reflection of the
walls, think they see the back E, F, and thereby conclude that the box is
empty. This process is reversed when the lady makes her reappearance.
It need scarcely be said that the object of the wizard’s passes and
incantations is to give the assistant time to open and close the mirrors, as
the case may be.
Care must be taken when making such a cupboard that the mirrors shall
be flush with the sides at every point, and that when drawn out they meet at
an angle of 45° from the walls. This is imperative in order that they shall
reflect the actual walls of the cupboard exactly.

The illusion known as

The Mandarin’s Head

is arranged upon a principle
somewhat similar to the foregoing.
To the spectators the effect is this.
A box, standing upon a simple card-
table, is opened and seen to contain
a human skull. Remarking that he
will call up the original owner of the
skull, the wizard closes the box,
mutters a few incantations, reopens
it, and displays a living human head
as shown in Fig. 4.
This head laughs, speaks, and
nods, and in numberless other ways
shows itself to be no mere imitation.
The box having been closed again,
Fig. 4.—The Mandarin’s head.
the incantations are reversed, and on
the casket being opened once more the skull is found inside as at first.
The secret of this remarkable illusion requires but little explanation. In
the first place, the table has a hole in its top sufficiently large to allow of the
passage of a human head. The hole is closed by a trap from below, after the
manner shown in Fig. 5, which may be described in detail thus: A, B, C, D
is the table, and E the lid filling the circular hole. This lid is hinged by G to
the table, whilst a bolt, F, running through the loops I, I in the table and H,
H in the lid, secures the latter in its place. Upon drawing this bolt the lid
opens downwards.
As a matter of fact, the simple card-table is not so innocent as it looks.
Indeed, the spectators do not really see under the table at all. The
surrounding screen is reflected in a couple of mirrors shown in Fig. 6. Let
A, B, C, D be the four legs of the table, and A, E, D, E two mirrors placed
in the form of a V between them, and reaching from the table top to the
floor.

The result of this arrangement is that the two front legs, B, C, are
reflected in the mirrors in such a way as to appear to the spectators to be the
back legs, A, D, whilst, as in the former experiment, the reflections of the
walls G, H, F, K, appear to be the actual back F, G, of the screen.

Fig. 5.—Base of table. Fig. 6.—Plan of screen and table.

When the magician first opens the box the lid of the table is closed, and a
skull, imitation or otherwise, rests upon it. But no sooner does he close the
box than the lid is let down by a confederate, concealed in the space A, E,
D, and the skull removed by him.
This confederate, who has already been properly prepared, protrudes his
face through the hole, and, when the box is opened, acts his part to life.
When the box is closed he removes his head from the hole in the table,
replaces the skull on the lid, and the trick is done!
The arrangement of mirrors has all along concealed his body, whilst, as
already explained, the audience has been deceived into thinking they can
see beneath the table.
The wizard must take great care to make all his approaches to the table
directly from the front, as, should the reflection of his legs appear in the
mirrors, the “game would be all up.”
An illusion known as

“The Head of Mary Queen of Scots”

is worked almost in the same manner.
The effect of the trick is shown in Fig. 7, where the head of the
unfortunate Queen is seen resting upon the hafts of two axes laid over the
arms of a chair.

Fig. 7.—The Queen Mary illusion. Fig. 8.—The Queen Mary illusion.

It need scarcely be said that the whole trick lies in the construction of the
chair, illustrated by Figs. 7 and 8. The peculiarity about the chair is that the
back only reaches down to the spot where the arms join it, thus leaving a
space behind the seat. This space is concealed from view by a slanting
mirror, the bottom of which rests on the seat, whilst the top comes between
the arms of the chair. This mirror must incline at an angle of 45° from the
seat.
The haft of one of the axes laid across the chair arms serves to conceal
the upper edge of the mirror, so that when a head is thrust upwards, it has
the appearance of resting upon the ax handle.
In the curtain against which the chair is placed there must be a hole
exactly corresponding to the empty space in the back of the chair.

Now, through this hole a girl, whose face and hair have already been
made up to look like that of the murdered Queen of Scots, thrusts her body
just far enough to allow the head to appear above the edge of the mirror.
Owing to the angle at which it is placed the mirror reflects the seat of the
chair in such a way that it appears to be the missing portion of the back. The
spectators see nothing of the girl’s body; all that is presented to their
horrified gaze is the trunkless head of the beautiful but unfortunate Queen.

When Three are a Crowd

Most people know the old saying, “Two
are company, three are a crowd,” and a
Fig. 9.—When three are a crowd. glance at the illustration shows this may
really be true.
If three persons stand in a prism-shaped arrangement of mirrors, as
indicated in plan in Fig. 9, an innumerable series of reflections would
appear and the three would in reality become a crowd.

The Floating Lady

A most interesting illusion is that of The Floating Lady, which, perhaps,
should first be described from the point of view of the audience.

Fig. 10.—The floating lady.

The magician appears upon the stage leading by the hand a fairy-like
lady. Introducing her to the spectators as Mademoiselle Volatile, he

describes her susceptibility to his powers of mesmerism, in proof of which
he offers to keep her suspended in the air for any length of time.
Mlle. Volatile accordingly lies upon a board supported by two trestles or
chairs of the same height. Next the wizard walks round her, carefully
disposing of her drapery and tucking it neatly about her feet. He makes a
few mesmeric passes, examines her pulse carefully, and removes the
trestles. The lady is seen suspended in the air as in Fig. 10. After a short
time the magician reverses his passes, and smilingly helps Mademoiselle to
the ground.
All this is very mysterious until Fig. 11 “gives the show away.”
A, B represents the back of the
scenery through which a hole, E, is
bored. This hole is concealed by a
little drapery on the face of the
curtain. Behind the scenes is a
simple contrivance, the principle of
which can be seen from the cut. It
consists of a strong upright F, which
branches into two arms, each of
which terminates in a journal, H, H.
Through these journals runs an iron
bar, D, which, terminating at one
end in the handle, G, has the other
end protruding through the hole in
the scenery.
In the board, C, upon which the
lady lies, is a socket to receive the
end of the handle.
Fig. 11.—Key to floating lady illusion.
Now, whilst the lady is putting
herself in position on the board, the magician can walk right round her, for
the bar has not yet been protruded through the scenery. But, at a signal from
him, an assistant behind the curtain seizes the handle, G, thrusts the bar
through the hole as far as it will go, and holds the handle firmly.
Whilst adjusting the lady’s robe the magician fits his end of the bar into
the socket in the board, and, still arranging the folds of her drapery,
carefully conceals any sign of what he has done. Having ascertained that

everything is safe, he removes the trestles, and the board, with its living
burden, is maintained in the air by the iron bar.
After replacing the supports the bolt is withdrawn by the assistant behind
the scenes, and no one suspects the existence of the very material support
which has kept the lady in the air.

Houdin’s Mesmerism

Robert Houdin used to exhibit to large audiences with startling success
the following example of his mesmeric powers. For the sake of clearness,
let it be supposed that the magician and Mademoiselle Volatile are
performing the trick.
After the usual remarks as to his powers of mesmerism, and how they set
at nought the laws of gravitation, the magician introduces the fair lady, who
wears a short skirt for the occasion.
Taking two sticks, each about five feet long, the wizard requests
Mademoiselle to step upon a stool. Placing one of the sticks beneath each
arm-pit, he then begins the incantation.
When the mystic words have been pronounced and the correct passes
made, the magician removes the stool, and Mlle. Volatile appears suspended
between the two sticks. One or two more passes are made and then the
wizard removes the stick from beneath her left arm, Fig. 12, slowly raising
her body to a horizontal position, as in Fig. 13, and passing a hoop around
her to show there is no hidden support from behind.
Having left the lady thus suspended for some time, he lowers her to the
perpendicular once more, replacing the stick under her left arm and putting
the stool beneath her feet. She is then awakened from the trance.
The stick beneath Mademoiselle’s right arm is of special construction,
having a core of iron extending its entire length. The lower end fits firmly
into a socket in the floor, whilst the upper end itself contains a socket the
use of which is explained later.

Fig. 12.—Houdin’s mesmerism.

Fig. 13.—Houdin’s mesmerism.

Beneath the lady’s clothing, in fact next her skin, is a well-padded iron
cage, shown in Fig. 14. This cage consists of an iron band, H, G, F, which
passes round the body beneath the arm-pits of the wearer. It is straight
behind and somewhat V-shaped in front. A strong leather strap, E, is
fastened to the band at I, passing between the legs and up the back, where it
is fastened to the band again at G. Another piece of iron stretches from H by
the side of the body to a point above the right knee, where it terminates in a
loop of sufficient size to encircle the leg. Every part of this cage must be
well covered to avoid any discomfort to the wearer.

Fig. 15.—The hinge.

Fig. 14.—Cage for suspended-lady
illusion.

At H (Fig. 15) is a small bar hinging at B to a piece of iron, A, which, in
its turn, fits into the socket already mentioned in the prepared stick. This
hinge, B, contains several notches, X, X, X, the use of which is now
explained. The bolt G, is fastened to the leg-piece D, and catches the
notches X, X, X at the other end.
It will be obvious that when Mlle. is in her cage with the bolt C in the
lowest notch X, she will be maintained perfectly securely in a perpendicular
position. When the wizard lifts her horizontally, he releases the bolt and
moves the cage with its occupant upon the hinge B. Having placed her in
position, he shoots the bolt into the top notch, where it holds the cage
firmly.

The whole cage, being beneath her costume, is quite invisible to the
audience, and as soon as the experiment is completed Mlle. runs off the
stage and divests herself of this somewhat uncomfortable arrangement.

The Indian Basket

This familiar deception is yet sufficiently thrilling to prove fascinating to
the most blasé of spectators. With a little practice it can easily be worked at
home, and the following hints will explain the performance.
The magician, dressed as Bluebeard, leads Fatima on the stage, and,
during the course of a short conversation, discovers that she has been prying
into matters which had better have been left alone. In a fit of passion he
draws his sword and rushes upon her, whereupon Fatima falls to her knees,
crying for mercy. Bluebeard is obdurate, but after many tears from his wife
he consents that she shall be blindfolded, to prevent her being a witness of
her own fate. He binds a black scarf across her eyes, but has barely finished,
when she breaks away, and rushes from the stage.
Bluebeard pursues hotly, and in another moment returns dragging the
blindfolded girl after him. He puts her into a wicker basket, fastens the lid,
and with a savage grin, thrusts his sword through and through the basket,
his victim shrieking at every stroke.
Having worked the spectators to a pitch of agonized excitement, the
murderer throws down his sword, unfastens the lid of the basket, and stoops
to gaze on his sanguinary work.
The basket is empty!
Staggering back with a look of horror, he suddenly perceives the
“slaughtered” Fatima herself appearing from amongst the spectators,
pointing at him accusingly!
The deception in the trick is twofold. Firstly, the basket is of special
construction, and secondly, there are two Fatimas.
With regard to the basket the solution is shown in Figs. 16 and 17. The
first illustrates the appearance of the basket when Fatima is thrust inside.

Fig. 16.—The Indian basket trick. Fig. 17.—The Indian basket trick explained.

The lid, A, B, is plain, and hinged to the top at C, D. The back, E, G, F, J,
is similarly hinged at G, J. The top, E, C, F, D, is double, having a
duplicate, L, K, hinged at E, F.
Having placed Fatima in the basket, Bluebeard thrusts his sword through
and through the wicker-work, carefully avoiding the spot where, as he
knows, the girl is lying. At each stroke she screams lustily, as though the
blade were piercing her body.
Then, deftly pushing down the back of the basket, E, G, F, J (Fig. 17), she
rolls herself out upon it, drawing after her the false top, E, K, by doing
which the original back is entirely replaced. She is now lying outside the
basket, which is, of course, empty when opened by Bluebeard.
Now comes the question of the two Fatimas. The girl who is put into the
basket is not the one who was blindfolded by Bluebeard. When Fatima
rushed away pursued by her murderer her place was taken by another girl
waiting behind the scenes similarly dressed and of the same height and
figure. The bandage upon her eyes hid from the spectators any difference in
features.
The substitute having been apparently slain by Bluebeard, the original
Fatima slipped in at the back of the auditorium, slowly walked down
amongst the spectators (who recognized her face) and confronted the
assassin. In the confusion that naturally followed, the substitute managed to
leave her place behind the basket and vanish from the stage.

The Disappearing Princess

This is an illusion originally produced at one of the French ballets.
A train of slaves appears, bearing a palanquin, in which reclines a
dazzlingly beautiful Princess. The slaves march slowly round the stage,
allowing the spectators ample opportunity to inspect the palanquin from all
sides.
Suddenly a band of brigands rushes upon the scene, with the obvious
intention of seizing the lovely Princess. Flourishing their glittering swords
and brandishing all manner of fearsome weapons, they surround the
palanquin and its terrified bearers.
The robber chieftain advances with uncouth flattery, assuring the lady
that not a hair of her head shall be touched. But the only answer she makes
is to lower in his face the curtain of the litter.
Furious at such an insult, the robber stretches out his hand, and with a
single touch causes the curtains to fly open.
The Princess has disappeared!
Gazing at one another in astonishment, the villains search for the
vanished lady, but their endeavors proving fruitless, they eventually decide
to butcher the slaves and carry off the palanquin as booty.
At this moment a handsome young Prince springs into view; the robbers,
startled at his sudden appearance, take to flight, and abandon all thought of
their prey.
In his turn the Prince approaches the palanquin, sees it empty, and
questions the slaves, who can only say that their mistress was there, but has
disappeared. Pulling the curtains aside to see if they offer a solution to the
mystery, he releases them almost instantly, and the lovely Princess is found
reclining upon the litter, smiling so charmingly that the Prince then and
there loses his heart.

Fig. 18.—The disappearing Princess.

The explanation of all this is very simple. In Fig. 18 the lady is sitting
upon what appears to be the bottom of the palanquin. In reality it is a false
floor placed upon the real one. At each corner are attached cords that run up
the four columns and are counterpoised by heavy weights.
When drawing the curtains, the Princess releases a catch, whereupon the
counterpoise and cords immediately draw her, together with the false floor
upon which she rests, to the roof of the palanquin, which has been so
painted as to make it appear shallower than it really is. By pressing another
spring she is enabled to lower herself once more, in time to appear before
the fortunate and admiring Prince.

CHAPTER XXV
THE ROOM OF MYSTERY

How to Make a Haunted House

One winter evening three boys—Jim Thompson, his cousin Will White,
and a friend named Handley—approached the door of Bobbie Cargill’s
house. Bobbie was a genius for inventions, and they all felt a desire to see
his home.
As they reached the door, White, who was a cynic in his own way, raised
his hand to the knocker and was about to give a thundering “rat-tat,” when
the door silently opened, revealing an empty hall in which the light
flickered dimly.
After a glance of surprise at one another the guests entered.
“Close the door! Wipe your boots, and come upstairs!”
The visitors started violently as these words were uttered by a hollow
voice, coming from nowhere in particular, and yet quite close to where they
were standing.
After a moment Handley said in a whisper, “I don’t much like this. It
seems——”
“Hang up your hats, and be quick about it,” the ghostly voice
interrupted sharply. “Are you going to stand chattering there the whole
night? Hang up your hats, I say!”
This was not a pleasant beginning, yet none of the guests cared to show
the white feather.
“Come on!” said White. “Let’s see it through”; and setting an example he
placed his hat upon the nearest peg.
Crash! Amidst a clatter as of broken glass the hat and peg fell to the
ground. The three boys looked at one another in consternation!
But before they had time to remark on this misfortune, a shriek of weird
laughter rang in their ears. “Ha! Ha! Ha!” The invisible person seemed in
paroxysms of mirth at their disaster.

“I don’t care for this a bit,” muttered Handley; “let’s clear out.” They
were all about to beat a hasty retreat when Bobbie Cargill appeared,
apparently much surprised at finding his visitors making an awkward group
in the hall.
“How did you fellows get in,” he said, “and what have you been doing?
Has there been an accident? Never mind, come along upstairs and have a
‘feed’; perhaps you will feel better then!”
Nothing loth, the three guests followed their host to his own room, which
usually went by the name of “The Den.” The upper part of the house was
totally dark, and it was with a feeling of relief that they saw a glimmer of
light beneath the door of “The Den.”
“Step inside and make yourselves at home,” said Cargill. “I will just run
and say that you have arrived,” and he disappeared into the darkness.
Followed by the others, White turned the handle and threw the door open,
glad to find a light once more. But the pleasure was short-lived, for the door
had scarcely opened half-way when the light went out.
White, however, strode into the room, and his friends were about to
follow, when there was a heavy stumble, a crash, and a smothered shout
that was instantly drowned in the violent clatter and ringing of bells about
their very ears.
“What has happened?” gasped Handley, scarcely able to hear his own
voice in the deafening clamor. Advancing into the darkness, a violent report
beneath his feet caused him to leap into the air with alarm, whilst in the
gloom White was trying to make himself heard above the pandemonium.
“Here, Cargill, get a light for goodness’ sake!” howled Handley, as their
host appeared. “I don’t know what on earth has happened; it seemed like a
pistol going off.”
“You fellows are making a fine noise between you,” shouted Cargill.
“Get inside, Jim, and turn on the light; it’s just to the left.” Jim had no
sooner stepped across the threshold and begun searching for the switch,
than bang! bang!—the very floor seemed thundering beneath him, whilst a
rattle as of a thousand pots falling to the ground made the confusion worse.
Leaping back hastily, he collided with Handley, and the couple sat down
with a ponderous thud.
“That’s right; make yourselves comfortable!” laughed Bobbie Cargill. As
he spoke the light was turned on, the jangling bells ceased, and the three

guests were discovered gazing ruefully at one another, whilst their host,
calm and collected, smiled down on them from the doorway.
It was some time before Bobbie could pacify his guests. Indeed, the
situation might have become painfully awkward had they not happened to
glance at the table, which certainly looked inviting. Knives and forks
glistened cheerfully on a spotless white cloth, whilst dainty mats and
sparkling cruets promised a really substantial “feed.” A large center-piece
full of flowers added to the appearance of the table, and showed that Bobbie
Cargill knew how to do things “in style.”
Following their host’s example, the three chums took their seats at the
table and glanced round the room. It was a cozy “Den,” and looked
cheerful, with a sparkling fire on the hearth. A thick curtain was drawn
across the window at Cargill’s back, lending an air of comfort to the place.
Before each guest was a napkin, neatly mitered, with a piece of bread
reposing between the horns, and scarcely noticing what he was doing,
White drew this piece of bread from its resting-place.
A sharp exclamation drew attention to him. There he sat, a mass of bread-
crumbs before him, and a look of surprise on his face!
“Have you had an accident?” grinned Cargill. “Never mind the crumbs,
they can soon be scooped up; wait a minute until I fetch the tray.”
He had scarcely risen when a roar of laughter burst from Jim and
Handley. By some strange means the entire mass of crumbs had been swept
off the cloth and scattered all over the place.
“You might have waited for me to clear them away,” grumbled Bobbie,
and this was the beginning of a heated discussion, which would probably
have ended violently had not the host turned the conversation by asking Jim
if he would take a piece of tongue.
“Yes, please,” answered Jim.
Sharpening his knife in a business-like manner, Cargill made ready to cut
a slice.
But at this point a strange thing happened. As soon as the knife and fork
got near the tongue, it leaped from the dish and clung tenderly to the knife.
For a moment or two it hung suspended, and then flopped back into the
dish.
“Let’s have another try,” said Cargill in a puzzled way. Up it jumped
once more, apparently too anxious to be carved to remain still on the plate.

A murmur of surprise escaped the guests as all eyes were fixed upon this
strange behavior. Once more the carver thrust his knife near the tongue,
caught it neatly as it ascended, and carried it away to a side table, where he
was obliged to bury his face in a handkerchief, presumably overcome with
grief.
Having recovered somewhat, the host resumed his seat, remarking, “I
think that tongue is best out of the way. I am afraid I have nothing better to
offer you than some potatoes. You might help them round, Handley.”
Before his friend had time to reply, the lid of the tureen arose slowly and
deliberately—ascended and then remained stationary in the air. Only for a
moment, however. Suddenly rising yet higher it was followed by each
individual potato, as one by one they rose sedately to the ceiling, leaving
but one of their number in the tureen.
Their eyes fairly bulging with surprise, the boys looked at one another, at
their host, and then at the tureen with its solitary occupant. But this last
potato had suddenly awakened to a sense of its loneliness, and sprang into
the air to join its companions. Next the whole party of vegetables slowly
crossed the ceiling and disappeared behind the curtain, to be seen no more.
Jim wanted to jump up and see where they had gone, but his host
dissuaded him, and, anxious to change the subject, asked what he would
have to drink.
“I don’t quite know. What is there?”
A wine bottle that had been quietly standing in front of White lurched
suddenly forward, as though in answer to the question. At the same moment
the table began to heave, the glasses to rattle, and a little stool, covered with
books, toppled over with a prodigious crash.
“Haven’t you some other room we can go to?” stammered Jim.
“Nonsense, it is only some silly trick of Cargill,” said White.
Nevertheless all three guests wished themselves well out of it, especially
when the dim light suddenly grew dimmer, and the shadows in the room
increased. In a few seconds the boys were barely able to see one another.
At this point a mournful moan rang through the room, the curtains were
seen to open, and a white figure glided from between them and passed out
through the door.
“Let’s get out of here, the place is haunted!” cried White, rising from his
chair.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” a ghostly laugh issued from the flowers in the center of
the table, and was echoed by the clock on the mantelpiece.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!”—but the guests could stand it no more, and, scrambling
and struggling, they rushed downstairs, with White at their head. Panting
and scared they did not stop until the hall was reached, when they stood
still, staring at one another in dismay.
“What is the matter?” a sweet voice greeted them. The whole party
turned to find Cargill’s sister standing at the dining-room door, looking
from one to the other in frank amazement. None of them cared to reply. It is
no pleasant thing to tell a pretty girl that you have been afraid.
“The ghost, Dolly,” gasped her brother after a moment, and in a shaky
voice he recounted their mysterious adventures.
“So the silly old ghost would not let you have any tea! You must all come
in here and enjoy yourselves. I believe there is plenty to eat,” and leading
the way Miss Dolly ushered them into the dining-room, where the table was
laid with enough good things to cheer a king.
But when she had shown each of the four friends his seat there still
remained a vacant place at the head of the table.
“Now, gentlemen,” she said with a naughty smile, “as you are all feeling
much braver now, I am sure you will not mind if the Ghost sits down and
has something to eat, too.”
The boys looked at one another and then at her, but Miss Dolly, taking no
notice of their surprise, quietly seated herself in the vacant chair, passed a
plate to White, and said—
“Now, Mr. White, please give the Ghost something to eat.”
· · · · · · · · ·
After they had all had a good tea, of course Bobbie Cargill and his sister,
the Ghost, had to tell the others how it was done. This is the gist of what
they said:—
The opening of the door was a very simple matter. A loop was tied in one
end of a long piece of strong cord or string, which was carried across to the
wall by means of staples, to a concealed corner. The loop was slipped over
the door-catch, so that when the other end was pulled this catch was drawn
back, whilst the continued pull on the string made the door open. This loop
was made of such a size, that as soon as the door had opened to its full

extent the string slipped automatically from the
catch, and could then be pulled away and out of
sight.
In the angle formed
by the wainscoting and
the floor a piece of
simple tubing was
placed, one end
reaching a room on the
ground floor, whilst the
Fig. 1.—Apparatus for
other was carried up
producing ghostly sounds. behind the hat-stand to
the height of about five
feet. To this end a cardboard funnel was fixed, as
in Fig. 1, which, sticking out from the wall, was
concealed by a hat or scarf upon the rack. A
similar funnel was placed upon the other end, so
that the voice of any person speaking through the
tube from the room was carried with
undiminished force to the hall, thus transmitting
the ghostly messages and weird laughter to the
guests.
In most hat-stands the pegs are screwed to the
back, and taking advantage of this, Bobbie Cargill
had unscrewed those pegs most likely to be used
by his visitors, putting “fakes” in their place. To
Fig. 2.—Mysterious hat-stand.
all appearances there was no difference between
the “fakes” and the proper pegs, but in reality the former were simply
gummed against the rack, just strong enough to bear their own weight, but
too weak to support a hat.
By the contrivance of a piece of string the fall of the hat-peg was made to
work a kind of booby trap, explained by Fig. 2, which shows the hat-stand
in section. The false peg, A, is lightly gummed to the stand, B, C, against
the hole D, where the real peg is screwed. A bent pin or nail is driven into
this end of the peg, as seen in Fig. 3, the end bending downwards. A thin
piece of string, F in Fig. 2, is fastened round this pin with a loop, passed

through the hole D, and supports at the other end a tin, G,
filled with bits of broken glass, marbles, and such like.
Naturally, when White hung his hat on the peg the strain
brought the peg away from the stand, in its fall releasing the
string and causing the tin to clatter to the floor. So simply
was the whole thing arranged, however, that Bobbie Cargill
had fixed it up in less time than it has taken to describe.
The absence of lights in the house served a twofold
purpose. In the first place, it made the mystery and eeriness
more marked, whilst at the same time it concealed several
little matters which had to be hidden in order to insure
success.
It will now be necessary to glance at the arrangement of
Fig. 3.—Prepared
the “Den,” shown by Fig. 4. The room was entered by the
hat-stand peg. door A, whilst in the opposite wall is the fireplace B. The
window C is hidden by the two heavy curtains at D and E.
In the center of the room stood the table F, around which were placed the
chairs G, G, G, G. Between the curtains and the window stood the ghost,
who after all turned out to be none other than Dolly.
Over the center of the table hung the gas, which, being incandescent,
naturally had a burner with a by-pass, and was easily manipulated by means
of a piece of string running up the chandelier, carried across the ceiling
where it was painted white, and down to Miss Dolly behind the curtains. A
weight should be fastened to the switch to make it fall when not pulled by
the string, as in Fig. 5.

Fig. 4.—Plan of the room of mystery.

When White opened the door the young lady lowered the gas by means
of her string, and as it was a by-pass the light did not actually go out,
although it went sufficiently low to plunge the room in darkness.

Fig. 5.—The weighted Fig. 6.—An exploding
by-pass. cap.

It was an easy matter to cause a collision between the visitors. A piece of
cord stretched across the room, at L, L, quickly did its work, and was then
pulled away behind the curtain.
The “Den” had not been fitted up so neatly for beauty alone, and if they
had looked, the guests might have found a couple of strong electric bells
concealed beneath the dainty hangings of a picture by the door. Dolly had
but to push a button and these two bells were set ringing like an alarm
clock, and with a persistence calculated to arouse the Seven Sleepers.
Handley’s experience required even less preparation. Several good
percussion caps were placed beneath the carpet and covered with a piece of
tin as shown in Fig. 6. In the center of this piece of tin, a hole was pierced
with a nail, making ragged edges on the further side. These ragged edges
were placed over the powder in the cap, with the result that so soon as
Handley trod upon the carpet over the plate the cap was exploded with a
loud report.
Meanwhile Bobbie Cargill, arriving under cover of the darkness, added to
the uproar by banging a tin can with a heavy stick, and performed this
office so lustily that nothing else could be heard.
It is scarcely necessary to remark that sending Jim into the room to turn
on the switch was merely a feint to get him out of the way, and to plunge
him into the fracas.
A signal from Bobbie was enough to make his sister turn on the light and
release the bell pushes, so that when silence was restored, and the darkness
dispelled, there was nothing to show how all the commotion had occurred.
By adjusting a screw in the gas-burner Bobbie had previously arranged
matters so that even when the gas was turned full on the light was not very
strong. Although sufficient to illumine the room, it was feeble enough to
hide several tell-tale features.
Besides being an ornament to the table, the large center-piece of flowers
served to conceal the end of a piece of tubing which passed beneath
Bobbie’s chair to the far side of the curtain. Amongst the frilled mats, too,
there were one or two other contrivances to be explained in their turn.
It had been Miss Dolly’s business to make the fake pieces of bread.
Taking a piece of bread and breaking it up into very small crumbs, she had
then added just enough milk to enable her to mold the crumbs into the
shape of a piece of bread again, and had then let the concoction dry, when it
had become sufficiently brittle to suit her purpose.

Concealed by the mat in the center was a small indiarubber tube, one end
pointed directly to the spot where White had dropped his mass of crumbs,
whilst the other ended in a bulb conveniently placed to Bobbie’s hand. He
had nothing to do, therefore, but to press the bulb suddenly, and laugh as the
wind thus caused sent the crumbs flying.

A Deceitful Member

The tongue is proverbially a deceitful member, and the one lying before
Bobbie Cargill was no exception to the rule. Indeed, except for its
appearance there was really very little tongue about it. It consisted of a
round tin, in which had been placed a small bar of highly magnetized iron.
By fixing a slice of real tongue to the top of the tin, and disguising the sides
in a similar manner, Bobbie had made such a good resemblance to the real
thing, that it would have been hard to discover the deception in the subdued
light of the “Den.”
It is very easy to see what happened. So soon as the steel knife
approached the dish, the magnet within the faked tongue made the latter
leap up to meet the knife and cling to it. Of course, when the fork was
plunged through the thin outer coating of meat it struck the tin, making it
crack in a strange manner. In Fig. 7 is shown the method of fixing the
magnet, the whole faked tongue being shown in section. A number of
experiments had to be undertaken before the trick could be made to work
satisfactorily, but in the end Bobbie was quite pleased with the result of his
labors.
The whole success of the potato
trick depended upon Dolly, who
worked the simple apparatus to
perfection. Attached to the handle of
the lid was a strong piece of wire,
which the half-light rendered
invisible. This passed through a loop
in the ceiling and over to the curtain,
to enable that young lady to pull. A
second wire was attached to it that
Fig. 7.—The mysterious tongue. pulled the cover and the potatoes out

of sight. Fig. 8 will show how this was arranged. A ring C is put in the
ceiling A B over the tureen. From the lid E a wire D passes up through this
ring and along the ceiling to the back of the curtain G. Upon the wire D a
ring H is threaded, whilst attached to this ring is another length of wire F,
that also passes behind the curtain.
By pulling the wire D the lid of the tureen is naturally raised to the
ceiling at C. When it has reached the top, it is only necessary to pull the
wire F, and pay out the wire D, to make the whole lid travel towards G.
Each of the potatoes had been previously attached to the lid by a wire about
ten inches long, with the exception of the small one that remained in the
dish, which had a separate arrangement of thread, similar to that of the lid,
all to itself.
The movement of the bottle upon the table was caused by the inflation of
a little india-rubber bulb beneath the cloth, and worked by the host as he sat
at the table.

Fig. 8.—The disappearing potatoes.

The excitement of his guests having been thus aroused it was a very
simple matter for Bobby Cargill to move the table with his knees, whilst by
dexterously pulling a string Dolly was able to overturn the little table laden
with books (Fig. 4, H). To add to all this confusion Dolly then began slowly
to lower the light, tap the wall by her side, and utter dismal groans. She then
clothed herself in a white sheet, opened the curtains, and made her way out
of the room with all haste. Little wonder that general consternation ensued!
It only remains to be mentioned that the speaking tube concealed
amongst the flowers in the center-piece was sufficient to carry the laughter
from one of the servants, who, acting under instructions, stood without the
room. It proved the climax, and peace was scarcely restored until they were
all sitting below with the Ghost herself, and partaking of a real supper
without any faked tongue.
As they all agreed, it was not a bad scare for the money, as a very small
sum represented the entire outlay for working The Mysterious Room.

CHAPTER XXVI
MECHANICAL SECOND-SIGHT

Approaching the Supernatural

An exhibition of so-called hypnotism and second-sight is a favorite item
in the programmes of many professional entertainers. If well managed, the
performance appears miraculous, and is sure to impress the majority of the
audience as savoring strongly of the supernatural. The exhibition is usually
somewhat of the following nature.
A young lady is presented to the audience as being possessed of the
marvelous faculty of second-sight, so keenly developed that she is able to
see and describe whatever falls under the observation of her double.
Needless to say, this individual is the performer who introduces her. Having
given this explanation, Prof. B, as he may be called, bandages the eyes of
the gifted young lady, Mlle. C, and seats her on the stage in full view of the
spectators.
The Professor now walks amongst his audience and asks some person to
whisper a number. This having been done, he calls out to Mlle. C, desiring
her to state this whispered number, which she cannot possibly have heard.
Without the least hesitation Mlle. answers correctly.
The Professor will perhaps now ask for a coin, and at his request she will
describe it accurately, give its date and value, and any other particulars
desired. In the same way she will give the number of a bank-note, describe
any article the Professor may happen to be holding in his hand, or even tell
to what he is pointing.
With many other tricks as wonderful and mysterious does the Professor
attempt to beguile the audience into a belief in his occult powers. It may be
very uncharitable to give the Professor’s deceptions away, but that is what
this chapter will do for the benefit of its readers.
The whole secret lies in a private code understandable only by the two
performers. By using this Prof. B tells his accomplice exactly what she has
to answer, gives her the numbers and describes the objects, quite unknown

to his listeners. All that is necessary is a good memory and quick hearing.
Given these essentials, the rest is simple.
Let us begin by describing the code with which the Professor apprises
Mlle. C of the various numbers chosen by the audience.
The units are expressed by letters from which Prof. B forms sentences
when addressing Mlle. C. A very commonly used code is this:—
1 is represented by t
2 „ „ n
3 „ „ m
4 „ „ r
5 „ „ l
6 „ „ h
7 „ „ k, g, or c
8 „ „ f, v, or w
9 „ „ p or b
0 „ „ s or z
To use this code properly two things are necessary. Mlle. C must know
how many figures the number consists of, and she must also know when the
code is finished.
The latter point is easily settled. When she hears the words, “if you
please,” she knows that whatever follows has no code meaning whatever,
whilst everything that precedes these words carries a hidden meaning.
By the use of the following words the number of figures is conveyed in a
perfectly unmistakable manner.
For one figure use the word figure.
„ two figures „ „ number.
„ three „ „ „ very well.
„ four „ „ „ very well, sir (Mlle. or madam).
„ five „ „ „ very good.
„ six „ „ „ very good, sir (or madam).
The following explanation shows how to put this into practice. Taking all
the numbers successively from one to ten (a thing that would never be done

in an ordinary way), Prof. B conveys to his fair friend the desired
information by means of the sentences subjoined.
Prof.—Tell this figure. (t = 1; “figure” = one number.)
„ Now, what is this figure? (n = 2.)
„ Might I ask this figure? (m = 3.)
„ Repeat this figure. (r = 4.)
„ Let me know this figure. (l = 5.)
„ Have you understood? (h = 6.)
„ Give me this figure. (g = 7.)
„ Will you repeat this? (w = 8.)
„ Please tell me this figure. (p = 9.)
Prof.—This seems an easy number. (t = 1, s = 0; “number” means two
figures. Ans. 10.)
Prof.—Now, please, tell this number. (n = 2, p = 9; word “number”
means two figures. Ans. 29.)
Prof.—Very well, let me know this. (“Very well” means three figures; l =
5, m = 3, k = 7. Ans. 537.)
Prof.—Very good, Mlle. Now repeat clearly what this is, if you please.
(“Very good, Mlle.,” means six figures; n = 2, r = 4, c = 7, w = 8, t = 1, s =
0. Ans. 247810.)
Sometimes the Professor asks some person present to come upon the
stage, and write certain figures upon a blackboard provided for the purpose.
The method of communicating the numbers is the same, but the Professor in
this instance points to each figure in turn, tells it to the lady, and awaits her
reply before proceeding. For example, suppose the number 638219 to have
been written by a gentleman.
Prof.—Very good, sir (turning to Mlle. C). How many figures have been
written upon the board?
Mlle.—Six.
Prof. (pointing to first figure)—How about this? (h = 6.)
Mlle.—Six.
Prof.—May I ask this? (m = 3.)
Mlle.—Three.
Prof.—Well! (w = 8.)
Mlle.—Eight.

Prof.—Now, if you please. (n = 2.)
Mlle.—Two.
Prof.—This? (t = 1.)
Mlle.—One.
Prof.—Please. (p = 9.)
Mlle.—Nine.
Prof.—That is all right. (This is invariably understood to mean that the
experiment is completed.)
Should any smart person write a number like 99999, and smile
expectantly, awaiting the Professor’s confusion, he will be doomed to
disappointment, for Prof. B merely says to him “Very good”: and turning to
Mlle. C, says “Please,” and she answers immediately, “There are five
nines.” Of course the Professor’s “very good” has told her that there are five
figures, and the “please” has told her that they begin with nine. Finding that
the Professor does not say anything more, she presumes they are all the
same, and replies accordingly.
This system of coding is applied in a similar manner to the letters of the
alphabet, and by this means any word can be easily spelled. But to avoid
detection, the letters have to be transposed somewhat after the following
fashion, which must only be considered as an example, being too easy of
detection for practical use.
A becomes B
B „ C
C „ D
D „ E
E „ F
F „ G
G „ H
H „ I
I „ J
J „ K
K „ L
L „ M
M „ N
N „ O

O „ P
p „ Q
Q „ R
R „ S
S „ T
T „ U
U „ V
V „ W
W „ A
X „ “now”
Y „ “easy”
Z „ “plain”
To show how this is used, it may be supposed that the Professor has in
his hand a brown cap, which some little boy in the audience has given him.
“Do be quick, if you please, and tell me what I have in my hand?” (d = c,
b = a, q = p.)
“A cap,” answers Mlle. C.
“Come, say precisely, if you please, what color?” (c = b, s = r, p = o.)
“It is a brown cap,” answers she.
This system can be simplified yet further by coding the various objects
most likely to be required, in a way similar to the following:—
Touch = part of clothing.
Look at = part of the room.
Point = part of figure.
Oh yes! = letter or piece of paper.
Most certainly = coin, other than money.
Yes, if you like = a watch.
This is harder = some trinket.
I am afraid this is harder = a ring.
An excellent idea = a playing card.
As an example of how this code can be employed, it may be imagined
that the Professor lays his hand casually upon a gentleman’s coat-sleeve.
Prof.—What am I touching?
Mlle.—A part of some one’s clothing.

Prof.—Tell me fully what, if you please? (t = s, m = l, f = e, w = v; which
reads “sleeve.”)
Mlle.—I can dimly see a sleeve.
Prof.—Have you found only a sleeve? (h = g, f = e, o = n; reading
“gent.”)
Mlle.—Yes, I see a gentleman’s sleeve.
Or as another example, imagine that some one produces a seal.
Prof. (loud enough for Mlle. C to hear)—This is harder. This fairly
bothers me (looking at it closely).
Mlle. (who has understood “This is harder” to mean a trinket, and “this
fairly bothers me” to read Seal)—I can see quite plainly that it is a seal.
Prof.—Both initials, if you please.
Mlle.—A, and then H.
Prof.—Hurry up, if you please. What metal is it made of?
Mlle.—It is made of gold.
This last answer is based upon another code for the various metals, which
may be something like this:—
Brass is represented by T
Copper „ „ C
Silver „ „ D
Gold „ „ H
Iron „ „ J
Tin „ „ M
Some person in the audience hands the Professor a silver cigarette case,
and, looking up to the stage, he remarks—
“This is harder. Come, perfectly, now!” (c = b, p = o, now = x.)
“I see a box,” murmurs Mlle. C dreamily.
“Describe it.” (d = silver.)
“It is made of silver.”
“Do just have something further, if you please.” (d = c, j = i, h = g, s = r, f
= e—making “cigre.”)
“It looks like a cigarette box—a cigarette case.”
“Let us know the number of cigarettes in it?” (l = 5.)
“There are five cigarettes.”
“Well, just say, if you please, what kind?” (w = v, j = i, s = r.)

“They are cigarettes of Virginia tobacco.”
Money should be designated by N, which, as you remember, is the code
letter for M. The following will then come in handy:—
Gold is coded as 1, silver as 2, copper as 3, and paper as 4.
“Now, if you please, tell me what I have in my hand?”
“I see money.”
“Nature?” (n = 2 = silver.)
“Silver.”
“Let’s see, if you please, how you would describe this coin?” (l = 5, s =
0.)
“I see a fifty-cent piece.”
“The piece seems new?” (t = 1, p = 9, s = 0, n = 2.)
“The date is 1902.”
Holding out a handful of money, containing say, a five-dollar gold piece,
two fifty-cent pieces, four quarters, and five cents in copper,
The Professor says, “Tell this, if you please, the number of coins in my
hand?” (t = 1, t = 1.)
“Eleven,” answers Mlle. C.
“True. Now, Mademoiselle, if you please, tell me the nature of it?” (t = 1
= gold, n = 2 = silver, m = 3 = copper.)
“Gold, silver, and copper.”
“Leaving, if you please, the others, let us start with the gold.”
“A five-dollar gold piece.”
“Now, if you please, silver.”
“I see two dollars in silver.”
“Likewise, if you please, the copper?”
“Five cents.”
“All right.”
The code for playing cards should be formed in much the same way. The
following is a suggestion of what might be arranged:—
The cards, commencing with the ace and finishing with the king, should
be numbered one to thirteen inclusive. The suits can then be distinguished
thus:—
Good = hearts; very good = diamonds; well = clubs; very well = spades.
Supposing that the Professor has handed a pack of cards to some person
among the spectators, who has drawn the knave of clubs.

“Very well, sir,” says the Professor. “There tell, if you please, what card
this is?” (Very well = clubs, there tell = eleven, i.e. the knave.)
“You are holding the knave of clubs in your hand,” replies Mlle. C.
“Good. Look, if you please, and tell what this is?”
“The five of hearts.”
“Very good, Mademoiselle. Tell me, if you please, what this card is?”
“The king of diamonds.”
“Well, this?”
“The ace of spades.”
At this point it is not an uncommon thing for some skeptical person
present to take a card and demand to know its value without having shown
it to the Professor. The latter rises to the occasion immediately. He explains
that Mademoiselle can only see what he actually sees himself, her sight
being second to his own. Casually drawing a card, and not showing it to
anybody, he remarks, “Very well, Mademoiselle, tell me, if you please,
what this is?”
“The three of clubs,” she answers; and the Professor then shows the card
to all, demonstrating the skill of the gifted lady.
For an extensive programme a greater number of codes is necessary. We
give an idea for some of these which may prove of use. An unfailing
memory is essential to second-sight, and the greater the number of codes
that can be learned, the more sure of success can both performers feel.

Clothes and Materials

Coat C
Overcoat OC
Dress Coat DC
Waistcoat G
Trousers T
Boots B
Shoes S
Handkerchief N
Bodice E
Skirt F

Shawl H
Wrapper A
Silk Q
Cloth P
Serge O
Cotton M
Touching a lady’s wrapper, the Professor says: “What do I touch? Answer
quickly, if you please.” (Touch = part of clothing, A = wrapper, Q = silk.)
“You are now touching a silk wrapper,” replies Mlle.
Again there may be a separate code for flowers, to be introduced by
“What is this before me?” to show Mlle. C that the Flower Code will
follow.
Rose S
Violet W
Snowdrop T
Pansy Q
Carnation D
Orchid P
Narcissus E
Pink R
White A
Red B
“What is this before me? Be descriptive.”
“A red carnation,” replies the lady unhesitatingly.
“Well, if you please, what is this flower?”
“It is a violet.”
The Professor and Mlle. C have nearly finished their entertainment. But
before bowing farewell to the company, he approaches a little girl, let us say
in the audience, and in a whisper asks her age. With the utmost secrecy she
informs him that she is just nine.
“Pray, how old is my little friend here?” he demands of Mlle.
“Nine years old,” she replies at once.
“What is your name?” whispers the Professor to the little girl.
“Margery,” she whispers back.

“Now! Be sure! Having found so easily, if you please, her age, what is
the young lady’s name?” (N = m, b = a, s = r, h = g, f = e, s = r, easily = y.)
“Her name is Margery,” is the reply; and with this pretty example of his
power, the Professor will close the evening.
I have dealt at such length with the Professor and his codes, because it is
the easiest and most general system of mechanical second-sight. But
Professor B and Mlle. C have yet another system of second-sight, more
puzzling still to the spectators, as not a word is exchanged between either of
the confederates during the whole performance.
Seating the lady upon the stage, facing the audience, and omitting to
bandage her eyes, Professor B goes down amongst the spectators as before,
examines various articles, is told different numbers and touches sundry
objects exactly as in the former entertainment. Without speaking a single
word he merely glances at Mlle. C, who after a few seconds mentions the
number or describes the article as the case may be.
All this is highly mysterious, and is the result of a very ingenious mode
of signaling which may be thus explained.
As soon as Professor B raises his eyes to Mlle. C they both start counting
to themselves, and the instant he drops his eyes they cease. This has been
practiced over and over again until they have learned to count exactly at the
same speed. The result is that when the Professor has counted five, let us
say, Mlle. C has counted five also, and so with any number.
The alphabet is then coded with numbers according to the following
system.

1 2 3 4 5 6

1 F E D C B A

2 G H I J K L

3 R Q P O N M

4 S T U V W X

5 — — — — Z Y

The letters are represented by the vertical figures on the left and the
horizontal figures on the top, and by this ingenious means are
communicated.
To signal the letter A the Professor would glance up at Mlle. C, count
one, and then glance down again; he would then look up and count six and
lower his eyes once more.
Supposing that some lady had lent a diamond ring, the process would be
the following:—
(The letter U shows when the Professor raised his eyes, and the letter D
when he lowered them. The dots designate the numbers he would count in
the interval.)
Prof.—(without speaking). U . . . D, U . D = R, U . . D, U . . . D
= I, U . . . D, U . . . . . D = N, U . . D, U . D = G.
Mlle.—You have a ring in your hand.
Prof.—U . D, U . . . D = D, U . . . D, U . . . . . . D = M, U . . .
D, U . . . . . D = N.
Mlle.—It is a diamond ring.
Prof.—U . D, U . . . . D = C = 3.
Mlle.—It has three stones.
With reference to this last answer it must be explained that the numerals
are represented by the letters of the alphabet, A = 1, B = 2, C = 3, &c.
Or again some person holds a bank-note numbered 15498. The Professor
communicates this number thus:—
U . D, U . . . . . . D = 1, U . D, U . . D = 5, U . D, U . . . D = 4, U
. . D, U . . . D = 9, U . . D, U . . D = 8.
Mlle. C then remarks, “The number is 15498.”
Cumbersome as this may seem at first, a little practice enables the
signaling and translating to be done with great rapidity. All the codes
previously described can be introduced, numbers being substituted for
letters, or letters for numbers, as may seem expedient.
Mechanical second-sight has an extraordinary effect in an entertainment
if well done. Both the Professor and his accomplice must be sharp and sure,
the least mistake being not only disconcerting, but likely to arouse the
suspicions of the spectators. If a mistake be made, the only thing to be done
is for the Professor to pretend that he has himself mistaken the number or
not noticed the object properly, and if this fail he must have recourse to pure
“bluff.”

All things considered, the number of out-of-the-way objects likely to be
produced is really very few, and there is no reason why an intelligent couple
of amateurs with retentive memories should not provide a successful
exhibition of second-sight wherewith to amuse their credulous friends.

CHAPTER XXVII
PAPERGRAPHY

How an Excellent Entertainment may be Given with a Sheet of Paper

The greatest attraction wielded by Papergraphy is, perhaps, the extreme
simplicity of the apparatus required.
At first sight it seems utterly impracticable that a first-class
entertainment, of almost a quarter of an hour’s duration, can be given with a
sheet of paper. Moreover, very little practice is necessary.
Cartridge paper is the kind usually employed by professional
entertainers, and a suitable size is 54 inches by 36. A sheet of these
dimensions may be purchased from any stationer’s or dealer in artists’
requisites.

Fig. 1.—Paper folded. Fig. 2.—Paper pleated. Fig. 3.—Rosette.

The paper must be marked out lengthwise into five parts; the central
section being 12 inches wide and the two on each side 6 inches in width.
The paper should next be folded along these lines (Fig. 1), and once again
folded into a series of pleats, as depicted in Fig. 2. A convenient width for
these pleats is 1 inch.
All being now ready for the first demonstration in Papergraphy,
commence by forming a Rosette (Fig. 3).
Close up the pleated paper, and pull round the corners of each until they
meet.
Table Mat (Fig. 4). Keeping hold of the ends of the rosette, stretch out the
pleats as far as possible.
A Primitive Boat (Fig. 5). With the pleats still fully extended, turn each
end up, almost at right angles.

Fig. 4.—Table mat. Fig. 5.—Primitive boat.

Church Window (Fig. 6). This is formed very similarly to the table mat,
the difference being that one end is allowed to hang straight down.
Fan (Fig. 7). Close up the pleats and spread out one end in the form of a
semicircle.
For the next series of transformations, the first fold (A, Fig. 1) must be
opened.

Fig. 6.—Church
window.

Fig. 7.—Fan.

Fig. 8.—Mushroom.

Mushroom (Fig. 8). Pull both ends round to form a cylinder, with the
open fold at the top.
Candlestick (Fig. 9). This is made by simply turning the mushroom
upside down.
Clown’s Hat (Fig. 10). Press the top of the candlestick together, making it
as pointed as possible, and place upon the head, with the folded bottom
acting as a brim.
The second fold—on the same side as the fold already employed—must
now be opened.
Flower Vase (Fig. 11). Keeping the two folds well open, pull the ends
round, into the form of a cylinder.
Eastern Water-Jug (Fig. 12). Bend the paper round in the reverse
direction to that forming the flower vase. Then close the bottom end, and
place on the shoulder, as though carrying a pitcher.

Fig. 9.—Candlestick. Fig. 10.—Welsh hat.

Chinese Mandarin (Fig. 13). Turn the Eastern Water-Jug upside down,
and place it upon your head. Slight facial contortions can always be made
with good effect whenever the three hats included in this list are formed.

Fig. 11.—Flower vase. Fig. 12.—Eastern water-jug.

The first fold (A, Fig. 1) must next be opened on both sides.
Sentry Box (Fig. 14). Pull round the two corners of one end until they
meet, allowing the other end to hang down to its fullest extent.
Wash Bowl (Fig. 15). Pull round the corners of both ends until they meet,
and press the pleats together.
Foot-Bath (Fig. 16). Still grasping the ends of the wash bowl, draw the
pleats out as far as possible.
Fatigue Cap (Fig. 17). Turn the foot-bath upside down and place upon
the head.
For the remaining papergraphs, all the folds must be opened.

Fig. 13.—Chinese Mandarin. Fig. 14.—Sentry box.

Dumb-Bell (Fig. 18). With the folds open on both sides, pull the pleats
round into a cylinder. Then grasp the dumb-bell by the center with your
right hand, and bending your forearm, flex the biceps as though exercising.
Bon-bon (Fig. 19). Bend the paper round the reverse way to that forming
the dumb-bell.

Fig. 15.—Wash bowl. Fig. 16.—Foot-bath.

Granny’s Cap (Fig. 20). Open out the pleats,
and place the paper upon the head, pulling the
sides down over the ears, to the chin.
After a little practice, all that it is necessary to
do in order to give a successful entertainment is
to learn the correct order in which the
transformations take place.
For the first two or three performances it is a
good plan to write out a list of the various
“folds” upon a small slip of paper, which should
be placed in such a position that a hasty glance
can be thrown at it in case of the memory failing.
As will doubtless have been noticed, the
different folds have been so arranged in the Fig. 17.—Fatigue cap.
article that each transformation leads up to the
next. It is therefore of great importance that the performer should remember
their correct order. Otherwise he may suddenly find himself attempting to
make a fold with only one pleat opened, when really three are required.
It is at such moments as these that the young entertainer wishes the
ground would open beneath him, that a cyclone would whisk him away, or
that any other phenomenon might occur which would carry him beyond the
gaze of his inquisitive audience.
When making a fresh transformation, the performer should move his
arms gently from side to side, and sway slightly from the hips—very much
as though he were holding a concertina. This will lead the audience into the

belief that he is engaged upon some extremely difficult fold, and will
completely hide the simple movement he is really making.
If the performer is a good elocutionist, and possesses plenty of self-
confidence, he might prepare some “patter” to go with the performance. An
excellent alternative, however, is to ask somebody to play a dreamy waltz
from the piano throughout the performance.
It will then only be necessary for the entertainer to make a few
introductory remarks before commencing his “show”; to announce the
name of each transformation as he makes it, and finally to thank the
audience for the attention with which they have followed his few
experiments in Papergraphy.

Fig. 18.—Dumb-bell. Fig. 19.—Bon-bon.

Fig. 20.—Granny’s cap.

CHAPTER XXVIII
JUGGLING

How to Master the Principles of the Art

There is no reason why any boy possessed of an average
amount of dexterity should not be able to perform many
juggling tricks after a certain amount of careful and patient
practice. By a close study of the following instructions, a
clear idea of the principles of the art can be obtained; and
when these principles have been mastered, the beginner
should have no difficulty in elaborating the tricks to suit his
own fancy.
As the system of juggling with knives, plates, or clubs is
founded entirely upon the methods employed in manipulating
balls, the simplest plan is to learn the tricks with these last
before adapting them to larger objects.
Any kind of ball may be employed for juggling, but the
specially-prepared balls, made of heavy metal, are the best,
and can be purchased for a small sum in a set of four from
any dealer in games.

Fig. 1.—The 1. The Vertical Fall
vertical fall.

A ball should be thrown into the air in such a manner that it will descend
to the exact point from which it was projected, as in Fig. 1. It is quite
unnecessary to throw the ball higher than four feet. By an observation of the
usual method of catching a ball, it will be noticed that the hand usually
follows the course of the ball; but the great object of the juggler is to learn
to catch without moving the hand from the position it occupied when
throwing the ball into the air.

The great point of the vertical fall is to teach the beginner to move his
hands as little as possible, and for this reason the exercise should be
practiced with both right and left until such precision is acquired that the
movement can be accomplished with the eyes closed.

2. Inside and Outside Falls

The inside fall is done by throwing the ball with the right hand, in such a
way that it describes a curve and drops towards the left, as in Fig. 2. But
instead of catching it with the left hand, catch it with the right by a rapid
movement of the hand across the body. The ball being held in the right
hand, it should be thrown back from left to right in a similar way, as in Fig.
3. The latter is called the outside fall.
This exercise is intended to teach the beginner to throw the ball several
times in succession from side to side without its deviating from its course.
The principle involved is very important for jugglery, and must be
thoroughly acquired before proceeding with other tricks.

Fig. 2.—The inside fall. Fig. 3.—The outside fall.

3. The Parallel Fall

This fall presents greater difficulties. The ball should be thrown with the
right hand, as in the vertical fall, although the hand must be kept in a line
with the shoulder. As soon as the ball has been caught, the hand must be
rapidly brought into line with the left shoulder, the ball thrown from that
position, and caught (Fig. 4).
Having learned the trick with the right hand, it is essential to become
accustomed to perform it equally well with the left hand, moving it to the
right shoulder.

4. Falls from Right to Left

Both hands are required for these falls, which are simply an adaptation of
what has just been described. The ball should be thrown exactly as
described in No. 2, but instead of moving the right hand across the body to
catch the ball when it falls on the left side, the left hand should catch it, as
in Fig. 5, and should immediately return it by means of the outside fall to
the right hand. But little practice is required to learn this perfectly, and
when smartly performed it makes a pretty display.

Fig. 4.—The parallel fall. Fig. 5.—Falls from right to left.

5. The Horizontal Pass

In this exercise the ball should be thrown from hand to hand in as straight a
line as possible (Fig. 6), whilst the beginner must endeavor, by continually
increasing the distance between his hands, to maintain a rapid volley.

Fig. 6.—The horizontal pass.

6. The Double Vertical Fall

This is the first trick requiring two balls, and will need some attention. A
ball should be taken in each hand, and the simple vertical fall performed with
the right. Before this ball has descended, however, the ball in the left hand
must be thrown in the air, as in Fig. 7, so that the two balls are continually in
motion. It is at this point that the juggler will find the advantage of being
proficient in the use of both hands for the single vertical fall.

Fig. 7.—The double vertical fall. Fig. 8.—Variation of double fall.

A variation of this double fall can be acquired in the following manner:—
Both balls should be thrown up at the same time, as in Fig. 8, the hands
being kept about two feet apart, care being taken that neither of the balls is
thrown higher than the other.
The beginner must practice these thoroughly until perfectly accustomed to
having the two balls in motion simultaneously.

7. The Double Inside Fall

This is a repetition of the outside and inside falls, but performed with two
balls at once, and with both hands. The utmost care must be exercised to avoid
a collision as they pass one another, and for this reason one ball must be
thrown higher than the other, as in Fig. 9. Until proficiency is attained the
balls should be thrown at various heights, and the hands well apart.

8. The Triple Pass

Having acquired the last trick perfectly, the beginner should now bring into
use a third ball. A glance at Fig. 10 will show that the triple pass is nothing but
the double inside fall performed with an additional ball.
Two balls are held in the left hand, and one in the right, the former being
numbered 1 and 3, and the latter 2. Ball No. 1 is thrown from the left hand,
and as soon as it is in the air, No. 2 is sent off from the right, after which No. 3
is thrown from the left hand. It will be noticed from Fig. 10 that No. 1 is sent
the highest and No. 3 the lowest, and by this means a collision can best be
avoided. The greatest care must be taken to throw the balls regularly,
otherwise confusion will ensue.

Fig. 9.—The double inside fall. Fig. 10.—The triple pass.

To keep up the volley, each ball must be sent off again as soon as it has been
caught, so that after the first throw neither hand holds more than one ball at a
time.

9. The Triple Over Pass

The only difference between this and the Triple Pass is that each ball, as
thrown, passes over instead of under the ball that precedes. This is shown in
Fig. 11, where No. 2 passes over No. 1, whilst No. 3 is thrown the highest of
all. This trick is usually combined with the ordinary Triple Pass, and from the
spectator’s point of view presents no difference.

10. The Shower

This is one of the prettiest of all the tricks of Juggling, and should be
learned with two balls. Take a ball in each hand and throw the right one in the
air towards the left, whilst as soon as it is in the air pass the left hand ball to
the right hand, as in Fig. 12. The moment this latter ball has been caught it
must be thrown up in the wake of the first ball, and the whole trick continued
as quickly as possible, so that one ball is always in the air.

Fig. 11.—The triple over pass. Fig. 12.—The shower.

This should be practiced continually until perfection is attained, as it forms
an introduction to—

11. The Triple Shower

Two balls must be taken in the right hand, and one in the left. The first two
should be thrown in rapid succession from the right to the left, the ball in the
latter hand being passed to the right, as in the Simple Shower. As each ball
reaches the left hand pass it rapidly across, as in Fig. 13, and start it off in the
air once more.
The trick has the effect of making the spectators imagine that you have a
large number of balls in your hands, and the more quickly the trick is done the
greater the deception. By starting with three balls in the right hand and one in
the left a still prettier display can be provided with little extra trouble. In this
case, however, the balls will have to be thrown rather higher to give the left
hand more time to catch the balls and pass them successfully.
As a final exercise the beginner should learn—

12. The Double Over Fountain

Four balls are required for this, a couple being taken in each hand, Nos. 1
and 3 being in the left and Nos. 2 and 4 in the right hand.
Nos. 1 and 2 are thrown up simultaneously in the simple Vertical Fall, as in
A, Fig. 14. The hands are then rapidly moved apart and balls Nos. 3 and 4 are
thrown over the first two balls in such a manner that they cross each other and
are caught in the opposite hands (Fig. 14). The volley with those two balls is
immediately returned and the hands are brought nearer together to catch and
throw Nos. 1 and 2 again. Thus the fountain is kept up indefinitely. It will be
observed that the two hands constantly approach and separate, as the two sets
of balls are caught in turn, and such action must be very smartly performed.

Fig. 13.—The triple shower. Fig. 14.—The double over fountain.

The substitution of clubs or knives for balls can be easily effected, although
the performance is none the better for the change. In using knives, the juggler
should see that the handles are well weighted to insure that part of the object
falling into his hand. The substitution of knives is not sufficiently interesting
to compensate for the additional risk, and the amateur may very well dispense
with them.
Plates and clubs are equally unwieldy, and the juggler can scarcely do better
than content himself with the plain balls, the manipulation of which is certain
to provide a pretty and interesting entertainment at all times.

CHAPTER XXIX
PLATE-SPINNING AND WALTZING

An Exciting Entertainment

Few things are productive of such literally breathless interest as plate-
spinning. In what a state of agonized anxiety your audience will be as they
watch you imperturbably spinning a soup-plate on the end of a rod. How they
will catch their breaths as they expect it to fall, and how surprised they will be
when it keeps its position! Yet if you inform them that it is not so difficult as it
looks, you will be stating a fact, although the art is acquired only after
considerable practice and at the cost of several plates.
To minimize the breakage of crockery it will be as well to begin your
experiments with a mattress laid upon the floor, or failing this, with a good
substantial down comforter. The first attempts will not then be accompanied
by such mortality amongst the plates.
Procure a rod or wand upon which the plates are to be spun. A round stick,
about 2 feet long, is the most suitable for the purpose. Care should be taken to
see that it is straight, and it must be well sand-papered in order to remove any
roughness (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1.—Spinning wand.

Now reduce one end of the stick to a dull point, which must further be
prepared by a rather strange process. Place this pointed end in your mouth and
moisten it until it is quite soft and all the hardness of the wood has been
removed. When properly softened the fiber of the wood will remain whilst all
the “starch”—if one may so call it—has disappeared. This preparation gives
the stick a certain grip on the plate which is indispensable for successful
spinning.

Next take a soup-plate, as in Fig. 2, and make it revolve rapidly upon the
dull end of the rod. To do this the following instructions and hints should be
noted.
The rod should have a rapid circular motion imparted to it by the wrist, so
that it cuts a circle of about the same circumference as the soup-plate. The arm
should be motionless, the whole movement being confined to the wrist. The
beginner must not expect immediate success, but after considerable practice
the knack of describing the circle with the end of the rod will be acquired.
Now, by making these circles with the plate upon the end of the wand you
will find that the plate itself begins to spin rapidly, and at length, when it has
attained a certain velocity, it finds its center upon the point of the rod and
revolves so steadily as to appear motionless (Fig. 3).
Practice spinning with the left hand as well as with the right, for in many
cases it is necessary to transfer the wand from one hand to the other. Probably
you will find greater difficulty with the left hand, but perseverance is all that is
required—perseverance and the mattress!

Fig. 2.—The first stage. Fig. 3.—The plate finding its
center—second stage.

It is a great mistake to choose a light plate for spinning. The heavier it is the
easier it will be to spin, and you will find that dishes (not necessarily round)
will be the best spinners of all. Do not forget that very heavy dishes soon tire
the wrist and make it too unsteady for successfully exhibiting other tricks.
So far the modus operandi with unprepared and ordinary plates has been
described. It is quite as well that the learner should begin with these, as the
greater difficulty in balancing and spinning will have taught a lesson that will
render him more at ease with the prepared plates.
Procure another wand, which need not be “softened.” Sharpen one end into
a point, not so dull as in the former case, but with a clearly defined apex.

Prepared Plates

As to the prepared plates. Take for example a thick soup-plate. From the
center of the bottom of this plate a small, shallow piece must be drilled away,
as in Fig. 4, which represents a section of the article. Any china riveter will do
this for you, and will, at your request, polish the cavity after it has been
drilled. Explain the purpose for which you want it done, as that will insure his
making the hole in the dead center.

Fig. 4.—Plate with drilled cavity for spinning.

You will now find that this plate not only spins much more easily, but will
continue revolving upon the rod for a great while, even after you have ceased
working the latter with your wrist. This is an important consideration in view
of the balancing feats to be accomplished.
The next thing to practice is catching the plates in mid-air upon the tip of
your wand. This is not so difficult as it sounds, and should be easily learned.
Toss the plate upwards, as you do so giving it a smart turn or twist to the right,
so that it revolves rapidly upon its own center while ascending.

Now bring the point of the rod under it, and as the plate reaches its highest
point in the air it will turn over and you will have an opportunity to get the
stick into the hole in the center. The plate will then spin upon the point of the
rod, and a few turns with the wrist will increase its speed and keep it going
steadily for a time.

Fig. 5.—Holding rod for catching. Fig. 6.—Plate ready for tossing.

Having mastered the principle of catching the plates in the manner
described, practice holding the rod and tossing the plate with the same hand.
Hold the stick near to the point and between the fingers and the thumb (Fig.
5), whilst the outspread fingers are in the bowl of the plate, as in Fig. 6. These
are shown separately to give a clearer idea of the meaning. Now, toss the plate
into the air, as has been explained, again giving the wrist a smart turn to the
right. Bring the rod sharply into position and catch the plate in the usual
fashion.

Further Feats

Take a couple of rods, one in each hand, and send a plate spinning on the
point of the right-hand rod. By giving a sharp upward jerk you will send the
plate high into the air, and upon its descent you can catch it upon the end of
the other rod. If the plate has been tossed very high, and is therefore likely to
descend with some force, care must be taken when catching it not to shatter it
into pieces. As soon as the plate touches the point of the wand, lower the latter

some distance with the plate, and thus break the force of the impact—instead
of breaking the plate.
This performance will prepare you for successfully achieving the following
very effective show. Two persons are required for it, however, and both must
be good spinners.
Let each performer take a plate and a rod. Then
both should spin their plates, and throw them to
each other, catching the plates upon their respective
wands. The volley may then be returned in the
same manner, increasing the speed each time until
the plates fly from one to the other like tennis balls.
The first attempts will probably result in a
shower of broken crockery, but practice will
obviate such a palpable disadvantage, and after a
time you will be able to complicate the exhibition
by taking a rod and plate in each hand, thus having
four plates flashing to and fro at the same time.

Balancing

Having graduated as a master of spinning and
catching plates, the opportunity has arrived for
attempting to balance the spinning dishes. This is
largely a matter of knack, although a sure eye and a
steady hand are indispensable. Fig. 7.—Plate spinning and
Start a plate spinning on a rod, and pass it to the balancing.
left hand. Do the same with a second plate, holding
the rod likewise in the left hand, taking great care, of course, that the plates do
not collide.
Now with the right hand start off a third plate, and balance the rod upon
your forehead or chin, having done which pass one of the rods back from the
left to the right hand. This makes quite a pleasing exhibition, as can be seen by
Fig. 7, and is well worth learning.
Presuming you are now facing the spectators, with the three plates spinning
as in Fig. 7, the question naturally arises, how to stop the plates in a graceful
manner? There are several ways of doing this, but the following will be found
the simplest.

Lower the rods in the two hands simultaneously until the plates can be
grasped in the fingers. Then, with the plate and rod still balanced upon your
face, lay the two plates upon a convenient table, and taking one of the rods
transfer the rod upon your chin to its point, and thus balancing one upon the
other bring the plate to rest.
Supposing you have a plate spinning upon a wand, balanced upon another
as in Fig. 8, practice the following method of dispensing with one of these
rods.
By a sharp upward movement jerk the
plate into the air from the point of rod No. 1.
This will, of course, by relieving the stick of
its burden, make it fall. You then catch the
falling rod smartly with the other hand. But
you must not forget during this time the plate
which you have sent, still spinning, towards
the ceiling. Upon its descent catch it neatly
upon the tip of wand No. 2, and the trick is
completed.
Such are the rudiments of the arts of
Fig. 8.—Plate being spun upon two rods. spinning and balancing. Having acquired a
thorough knowledge of the various exercises
and feats described, the amateur spinner will have no difficulty in inventing
new things for himself, and will be able to emulate the feats of professional
jugglers. Much patience and long-suffering are necessary, but with a quick eye
and a sure hand there is no reason why any person should not be able to
provide a good plate-spinning entertainment.

Plate Waltzing

There is a kindred branch of the art which may be described here, and that
is plate waltzing. It is really nothing but an extension of the trick of spinning a
coin upon the table, which every one has done at some time or other.
A perfectly level table is essential. To insure this it is a good plan to have a
smooth, unpolished board that can be laid upon a table and made perfectly
level by adjusting small pieces of cardboard at the corners. Around the edge a
slight border should be made, rounded to the surface of the board, as shown in

Fig. 9. This will prevent the plates from dancing off the table and on to the
floor.

Fig. 9.—Showing section of table prepared for plate waltzing.

Fig. 10.—The plate waltz.

Plates of any description and size, from the delicate tea-plate to the burly
wash-basin are eligible for the dance (Fig. 10).
The following is the easiest way to start twirling a plate. Take a dinner-plate
and stand it upon its edge on the table with the bottom of its upper edge
resting against the extended forefinger, as in Fig. 11. Describe a small circle
with this finger rather quickly, and the plate will follow its motion. Continue
passing the finger round and round, accelerating the motion with each
revolution. The plate will then begin to revolve very quickly. Take your finger
away when it has acquired sufficient impetus, and leave the plate to dance by
itself.
Begin learning with one plate. You will find that as it loses its impetus it
begins to go slower and slower, tending to settle bottom upwards upon the

table. But this is where your skill must be proved in
preventing the fall from lack of momentum.
Whilst the plate is revolving and before the first signs of
falling are apparent, touch the bottom of the plate fairly near
the center with the tip of your finger, moving this latter
round in the direction followed by the plate. This will have
the effect of preventing the fall, and will send the plate
dancing on with renewed vigor.
Considerable experience will be required to perform this
successfully, as the exact spot to be touched with the finger
can only be ascertained after much practice.
Large and heavy plates make the best dancers, and it will
be necessary sometimes to use two fingers when preventing
the fall, for the pressure must in all cases be firm and steady.
An ordinary plate is better than a soup-plate, for not only is
it more elegant, but its even poise renders the revolutions
Fig. 11.—How to set
the plate in motion. steadier.
Practice the use of both hands, remembering, however,
that the plates will revolve in different directions according to which hand you
use. The right hand will send a plate twirling from left to right, whilst the left
hand causes an opposite motion.
The plates will keep admirable time to regular waltz music, and produce a
pleasing effect. Keep your eye upon all of them, being ready to render
assistance to any of your dancers that show signs of subsiding upon the table.

CHAPTER XXX
THE TIGHT-ROPE

Trick Balancing

There are probably few actions more graceful than those of a skillful
equilibrist. The necessity of maintaining a symmetrical posture and disposing
the body in a well-balanced manner can produce nothing but a pleasing effect.
To a lithe and healthy boy there are endless opportunities for creating new
figures, whilst many will find an attraction in performing feats rarely
attempted by any but professionals.
The whole strain of tight-rope walking is centered in the back. The rigidity
of the legs is also an important factor in maintaining the balance. For this
reason no child under ten years of age should ever be allowed to attempt
anything of this sort, for his bones and muscles will not be sufficiently
developed until then.
All the arrangements for a tight-rope exhibition can be made in an ordinary
drawing-room. Very few fixtures are required, and the following instructions
will give an idea of what must be done.

Fig. 1.—Method of fixing bars of wood.

The rope should be about four feet from the ground, although if the room is
lofty the rope may be even higher. A length of good strong sash-cord should be
used, and thoroughly tested before every performance.
Assuming that the rope is to be stretched at a height of 4 feet, the supports
should be made in the following manner:—
Two stout bars of wood, not less than 1 inch in diameter and 6 feet long,
should be fastened together in the form of an irregular St. Andrew’s Cross, as
in Fig. 1. They must be fastened by running a bolt through them at a distance
of 1 foot from the top. The lower ends should then be beveled off at such an
angle that the bars will rest evenly upon the floor. To these beveled ends a
metal plate should be fastened, projecting outwards, with a hole through which
a thumb-screw can be passed, as shown in Fig. 2. These plates, together with
the metal screw-plate, which should be fastened over the holes in the floor,
can be bought for a few cents from any hardware store. The cross-pieces can
then be erected and screwed into position, as shown in Fig. 1.
Strong hooks should now be driven into the floor just below the
wainscoting and in a line with the screw plates. Lengths of very strong wire
are to connect these hooks with the cross at H (Fig. 1). When it is remembered
that these pieces of wire bear the whole strain of the rope, it will be evident

that too much care cannot be exercised in making them
secure and trustworthy.
A similar cross with its attachment must then be
erected at the other side of the room where the tight-rope
is to terminate. At the spot H of this latter cross a piece of
bright-colored cloth should be fastened, for a purpose
which will appear later.
The rope can now be stretched between the crosses,
every care being taken to see that it is securely fastened
and is not in the least slack.
To simplify explanation, the two ends of the rope, with
their respective supports, will be called A and B, the latter
having the piece of colored rag. In Fig. 3 will be seen the
arrangements so far completed.
For the purpose of mounting the rope and resting Fig. 2.—Metal screw.
plate and

between the turns, a pair of steps should be placed
between A and the wall, and so adjusted that the top step is on a level with the
rope, or even slightly higher, say at 41⁄2 feet.

The Balancing Pole

There is much difference of opinion amongst acrobats regarding the
balancing pole. Some prefer it long and heavy, whilst others dispense with it
altogether. Amateurs can scarcely hope to do the latter, however, and 4 ft. 6 in.
may be considered a suitable length. The pole should be smooth, round, and
even, rather heavier than an ordinary broom-handle. It will probably prove
useful to mark its exact center by a notch.
A mattress must be laid beneath the rope to break any falls. Thin-soled
dancing pumps should be worn, the soles being well chalked before use.
Such is the apparatus connected with the public performance of tight-rope
walking. The first attempts should be, however, on a rope suspended much
lower, not more than 1 foot from the ground, as it is useless to try a high rope
until the knack of balancing has been acquired.
The assistance of two friends will be necessary for the first few trials. Each
must hold a strap fastened around the performer’s waist to support him until
he has learned to find the center of gravity. As he grows accustomed to the

work their help will become less necessary, and he will soon be able to
dispense with their services.

Fig. 3.—Tight-rope ready for walking.

With the pole balanced in his hands, his eyes fixed steadily upon the colored
rag at B, known as the “point of sight,” and, supported by his two friends, the
first essay is made upon the rope. The feet should be turned out as much as
possible, and at each step the heel first and then the great toe placed upon the
rope.

The “Forward Walk”

According to the recognized canons of the art, the first thing to be learnt is
the “Forward Walk.” The gaze must never leave the “point of sight.” Each step
must be made with the utmost care, and perfect confidence gained before any
attempt is made at more difficult tasks. As soon as the feet begin to feel sore or
tired, practice should be abandoned for that day.