“Out of my nose!” said the juggler. “Don’t you see?”
“It does look so, but thee can’t trust experience always, so Kant says. Let me see thee do that again.”
“Here you see the gold pieces in my hand. See! Now I will close my hand. See! Now the coins are in my nose. You can’t see. Now I will take them out again. See!”
He did.
“That is a very wonderful thing to do, my friend. I never saw the like of it before. Suppose now you put those gold pieces into my pocket here, and see if you can take them out again!”
GERMAN VILLAGE.
The man of wonders stared, and shook his head.
“Na, na. Where you come from? You be one Yankee. Goot day!”
The Plaisance was thronging with bright, happy faces. Orientals mingled with the people from all the States. Our trio stopped at the Indian Village, and thence went to the Dahomey Village. All the world seemed to be at home, and prosperous, happy, and hospitable. Here were Austrian houses; yonder Chinese pavilions, like golden air. Along one side of the avenue ran a sleighing track, where swift sleighs glided over a snow-scene under the burning sun. Here was the Roman Village; yonder the Tower of Babel loomed over the whole. Here was a Moorish palace, yonder Dutch settlements; here an ostrich farm, there Asian and African bazaars, and mid these neighboring families of the world, a glory of mosques and minarets.