III.I entered upon the practise of sleight of hand in the year 1877, after reading Hoffmann’sModern Magic. I adopted Houdin’s method of carrying a pack of cards and other articles in my pockets. On my way to school, over a long country road, I put in some hard practise, learning tosauter le coupe, and palm most any small object. While in class one day, I was caughtin flagrante delicto, with a pack of cards in my hand, by the dignified old Latin professor. I was sent to the Principal of the Academy for punishment, which I received like a stoic, but vowing vengeance on the Latin pedagogue, who was a very{206}orthodox religionist, the principal of a Baptist Sunday school, and consequently held cards in abhorrence. I often heard him remark that cards were the “Devil’s Looking Glasses.” One day, I slipped a couple of packs of cards in the sleeve of the professor’s overcoat, which hung upon the wall back of his desk, and tipped the wink to the boys. They were astounded at my audacity. When the class was dismissed, the scholars lingered around to see the fun. The professor went to put on his coat, whereupon the cards flew about the room in a shower, being propelled by the impact of his arm, which he thrust violently into the sleeve. The boys, with a great shout, began picking up the scattered pasteboards, which they presented to the teacher, commiserating with him in his trouble. The old man, who was very angry, disclaimed ownership of the detested cards, and got out of the room as speedily as possible. Perhaps it is needless to remark that I failed miserably in the Latin examinations that year. But it may have been owing to my stupidity and not to any animus on the professor’s part. Let us hope so.GLENWILLOW,GEORGETOWN,D. C.After long practise in legerdemain, I determined to give an entertainment, and selected as my assistant, my school chum, Edward L. Dent, a boy who possessed great mechanical genius. Later in life he graduated with honors as a mechanical engineer{207}from Stevens’ Institute, New Jersey, and founded a great iron mill in Georgetown. Poor fellow, he met with business reverses and lost a fortune. He died some five or six years ago. Young Dent lived in a historical mansion on the heights of Georgetown, surrounded by a great park of oaks. It was the home of John C. Calhoun, when he was Secretary of State of the United States. In the great attic of the house, Judge Dent had fitted up a superb carpenter shop and forge for his son.Here my chum and I manufactured our apparatus: the Washerwoman’s Bottle, the Nest of Boxesà laKellar; the Card Star; the Coffee and Milk Vases; the Sphinx Table, etc. When all was ready, about two hundred invitations were sent out for aSoirée Magique. The great drawing-room of the house was fitted up as a theatre, with a stage at one end and drop curtain. We fenced in the stage with rich draperies, after the style of Robert Heller, and our gilded tables and silver candelabra with wax tapers looked very fine against the crimson background. It was the most elaborate amateur show I ever saw. Twenty minutes before the curtain rang up, both magician and assistant were seized with stage fright. We had peeped through a hole in the curtain and taken in the sea of faces. We dared not confront that crowd of youngsters without a mask of some kind. Happy thought! We decided to blacken our faces with burnt cork and appear as negro necromancers. The performance went off very well indeed, until we came to the “Card Star.” O fatal Pentagram of Pythagoras! The cards were chosen from a pack and rammed down the mouth of a big pistol, preparatory to firing them at the star, on the points of which they were to appear. I began my patter, facing the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will give you an exhibition of magic marksmanship. I will fire this pistol (laughter) at the star on yonder table (renewed laughter), and the cards”—(ironical cat calls). I turned around, and to my horror, the duplicate cards were already sticking to the star; my assistant had let off the apparatus too soon. The curtain fell. I shed tears of rage at the fiasco. But, later on, I learned to act more philosophically. Magicians are subject to these mistakes. I have seen Alexander Herrmann’s{208}calculations all upset by comical contretemps of like character to the above, but he smiled benignantly and went right along as unconcernedly as ever. Conjuring certainly gets on the nerves of its devotees.
I entered upon the practise of sleight of hand in the year 1877, after reading Hoffmann’sModern Magic. I adopted Houdin’s method of carrying a pack of cards and other articles in my pockets. On my way to school, over a long country road, I put in some hard practise, learning tosauter le coupe, and palm most any small object. While in class one day, I was caughtin flagrante delicto, with a pack of cards in my hand, by the dignified old Latin professor. I was sent to the Principal of the Academy for punishment, which I received like a stoic, but vowing vengeance on the Latin pedagogue, who was a very{206}orthodox religionist, the principal of a Baptist Sunday school, and consequently held cards in abhorrence. I often heard him remark that cards were the “Devil’s Looking Glasses.” One day, I slipped a couple of packs of cards in the sleeve of the professor’s overcoat, which hung upon the wall back of his desk, and tipped the wink to the boys. They were astounded at my audacity. When the class was dismissed, the scholars lingered around to see the fun. The professor went to put on his coat, whereupon the cards flew about the room in a shower, being propelled by the impact of his arm, which he thrust violently into the sleeve. The boys, with a great shout, began picking up the scattered pasteboards, which they presented to the teacher, commiserating with him in his trouble. The old man, who was very angry, disclaimed ownership of the detested cards, and got out of the room as speedily as possible. Perhaps it is needless to remark that I failed miserably in the Latin examinations that year. But it may have been owing to my stupidity and not to any animus on the professor’s part. Let us hope so.
GLENWILLOW,GEORGETOWN,D. C.
GLENWILLOW,GEORGETOWN,D. C.
After long practise in legerdemain, I determined to give an entertainment, and selected as my assistant, my school chum, Edward L. Dent, a boy who possessed great mechanical genius. Later in life he graduated with honors as a mechanical engineer{207}from Stevens’ Institute, New Jersey, and founded a great iron mill in Georgetown. Poor fellow, he met with business reverses and lost a fortune. He died some five or six years ago. Young Dent lived in a historical mansion on the heights of Georgetown, surrounded by a great park of oaks. It was the home of John C. Calhoun, when he was Secretary of State of the United States. In the great attic of the house, Judge Dent had fitted up a superb carpenter shop and forge for his son.
Here my chum and I manufactured our apparatus: the Washerwoman’s Bottle, the Nest of Boxesà laKellar; the Card Star; the Coffee and Milk Vases; the Sphinx Table, etc. When all was ready, about two hundred invitations were sent out for aSoirée Magique. The great drawing-room of the house was fitted up as a theatre, with a stage at one end and drop curtain. We fenced in the stage with rich draperies, after the style of Robert Heller, and our gilded tables and silver candelabra with wax tapers looked very fine against the crimson background. It was the most elaborate amateur show I ever saw. Twenty minutes before the curtain rang up, both magician and assistant were seized with stage fright. We had peeped through a hole in the curtain and taken in the sea of faces. We dared not confront that crowd of youngsters without a mask of some kind. Happy thought! We decided to blacken our faces with burnt cork and appear as negro necromancers. The performance went off very well indeed, until we came to the “Card Star.” O fatal Pentagram of Pythagoras! The cards were chosen from a pack and rammed down the mouth of a big pistol, preparatory to firing them at the star, on the points of which they were to appear. I began my patter, facing the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will give you an exhibition of magic marksmanship. I will fire this pistol (laughter) at the star on yonder table (renewed laughter), and the cards”—(ironical cat calls). I turned around, and to my horror, the duplicate cards were already sticking to the star; my assistant had let off the apparatus too soon. The curtain fell. I shed tears of rage at the fiasco. But, later on, I learned to act more philosophically. Magicians are subject to these mistakes. I have seen Alexander Herrmann’s{208}calculations all upset by comical contretemps of like character to the above, but he smiled benignantly and went right along as unconcernedly as ever. Conjuring certainly gets on the nerves of its devotees.