We had a faint recollection of having heard this story before, and quite pleased Aunty Delluvian by telling her so; she considered it quite a tribute to her uncle's popularity.
The second feature of the evening's programme was of a less cheerful character than the first, consisting of the display of a no more pleasing object than a bodyless head. Our illustration on next page will at once place the scene before our readers, bereft, however, of some of the grim features of the real spectacle; for, as we beheld it, there was the real flesh tint, and the eyes rolled fearfully.
Startling and complete as is the illusion in this case, it is very simply managed. Get some person with a high forehead and tolerably long hair, and paint under the eyes a pair of eyebrows, and on the forehead a nose and pair of moustaches, as represented in the annexed cut. Then make the person lie down on his back under a table, in such a way that you can arrange a curtain so as to conceal all the body and half the face. Brush the hair out to resemble a beard, and you have a perfect representation of a bodyless head.
For painting the moustaches and eyebrows, Indian-ink or burnt cork will answer.
There is one advantage which the spectacle can boast of: it affords the ladies an opportunity for giving those sweet little musical shrieks which are so charming, and of being frightened generally—some ladies look very bewitching when they are frightened—besides giving ladies an excuse for clinging to gentlemen's arms, which is very pleasant for the gentlemen.
Mr. Merryweather now introduced to our notice a young gentleman who was detailed to amuse us with some specimens of ventriloquism. We had no notion before this time, when our attention was particularly drawn to the subject, how much suitable action has to do with ventriloquial illusions. As performed before us by the young gentleman in question, whose name was Noddles, the deception was capital; but when the sounds were reproduced in a private room, without action, for our special instruction, we marvelled that any one could have been deluded by them. First of all, Mr. Noddles imitated the drawing of a cork. To give effect to this, he turned his back to the audience, and feigned to have a bottle between his knees. The method of doing this is so simple that we think we can almost describe it in words. First you make three or four chirps in succession, such as people are in the habit of making to birds; this sounds like driving in the corkscrew. Then you place your fore-finger in your mouth, and force it out so as to make a loud pop, which signifies that the cork is drawn. Then you smack your lips together, producing a sound something like "Pop—pop—pop—pop—pop—pop" rapidly, to imitate the wine bubbling from the bottle. Voilà tout!
After that, Mr. Noddles pretended to call to a mason up the chimney, the mason answering in a husky voice from above, and finally proceeding with his work of knocking out a brick. The knocking was produced much in the same way as the pouring out the wine, by parting the lips suddenly; only, in the case of the brick, the note was in a deeper key, more resembling "Bubp—bubp—bubp—bubp." We noticed particularly that when the performer addressed the person up the chimney, he spoke with especial clearness, delivering the words, as much as possible, from the lips. This was in order to produce a strong contrast to the tones of the man up the chimney, which were produced far down in his own throat.
Another of his performances was to pretend that a dog was under the lounge, which refused to come out, and finally bit him when he tried to drag it out by the leg.
Still another consisted in imitating a man outside the door trying to force it open. Sometimes the supposed man would succeed in forcing the door a short way, when a gush of his loud voice would rush in, to be immediately cut short by the sudden closing of the door.