My two subjects are soon sound asleep and I will awaken them as silver-tongued orators.

"The moment I pass my hands over your heads, you will awaken and be orators. The world has never heard the like before. Before you are thousands of people all anxious to hear your oratory. They are eager to greet you. This gentleman (touching one of the sleepers) is an orator on temperance and the other is a lecturer on political corruption. He is against all existing institutions that arc under political control and he will denounce them with all his might. Now, remember, you must both talk, and at the same time, as you have never talked before. The audience will be able to understand you both. Neither one must pay any attention to the other".

I pass my hands over their heads and they are on their feet almost immediately. How they do talk! It is not necessary to tell them again for they are drowning each other, as it were, in the deluge of sound that each pours forth. This is just what the audience wish to see and they greet it with shouts of laughter. I sometimes wonder if passersby do not think that the opera house has been turned into an asylum.

DRINKING MEDICINE.

There is really no comedy half so funny as that in which people, who have always been rational, are before their fellows laboring under a delusion or hallucination, going through grotesque movements and in the earnest belief that they are genuine and that things could not be otherwise!

I allow the orators to talk a couple of minutes and I step up and snap my fingers before them vigorously. They are awake in an instant, and as they look about the house, dazed and wondering and, incidentally perspiring, there is another burst of applause that would do justice to a prima donna.

But it is now time to have a number of the subjects passing out among the audience. That is a feature that tends to open a new avenue of merriment.

I will take four for this scene, having two pass down each aisle. They must be salesmen, and, to heighten the coloring, they must offer for sale something impossible.

"Now, if four of you gentlemen will kindly take these seats," I say, addressing my subjects and at the same time moving two more chairs forward, "I will be greatly obliged".

There is but little reluctance on the part of the subjects now. They enjoy it just as much as the audience and they rather like to pose as actors in any form before their fellow-citizens.

I seat them in their respective chairs and stand before them for a moment. Then I say, "I will pass before you and slowly count to ten and when I have reached the last number you will all be asleep. Your eyes will be fastened upon me as I pass before you. Now ready: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!" And they are sleeping soundly.

I let them sleep a few seconds and then give them the suggestions. In giving suggestions, it is highly essential that the audience hear every word distinctly.

"When I say three you will all be salesmen. You (touching one) will have blackbirds and roasted snakes to sell. You are going to call your products as loudly as possible. And you (touching the next) will have little Indians to sell; you must get them sold quickly or you will have them all left on your hands, which would be very, very sad. You (to the next) will be a Hebrew rag peddler. Call for rags, old iron and old bottles as loudly as you can. And you (to the last) will be a fisherman trying to sell whales. You all have baskets and each one has his respective wares in his own basket. When I awaken you, two will start down each aisle of this great hall. Don't forget to cry your wares as loudly as you possible can. Hundreds of people are awaiting your arrival and you will have lots of good luck! Now, one, two, three!"

They awake, look about them for a moment in a dazed manner, pick up what they consider to be baskets and are soon down the planks and in the aisles. The Hebrew labors under a great load of rags and he lustily calls for a greater bundle.

"Rags, rags! Old iron, old bottles, rubbers, rags!" He calls as he passes a company of school girls who cheer him on and nearly go into hysterics over the fact that one of their school-mates should sink so low as to imagine himself a Jewish rag-peddler I

"Blackbirds, roasted snakes; only a few more left! Right this way, blackbirds and roasted snakes!" And side by side he and the ragman go down their assigned aisle, oblivious to their real situation.

"Little Indians, assorted Indians, right here: I've just got a few of "em left! Little Indians; selling them cheap! Who wants a little Indian? Who wants to buy a papoose?"

And the dignified leader of a young men's church club goes through the audience with no thought of his future unhappiness that is sure to come when he is again a rational, thinking being. To see him, above all others, sets the audience wild with merriment.

"Fresh whales, come and buy my fresh whales; just caught this mornin'; fresh whales!" And the fisherman goes down beside the man with the young Indians, staggering under his heavy load of whales.

The mingled cries of "Little Indians!" "Fresh roasted snakes and blackbirds!" "Whales, fresh whales!" "Rags, old iron, bottles, rags!" produces a discord that is greeted with shouts of laughter from every one present, excepting the ones engaged in the sale of their imaginary wares. But the audience must be treated to something different now, so I call out to those who have cried their strange assortment of goods and bid them come back, telling them that they have sold out. But they do not hear me; they are calling to the tops of their voices, so I find it necessary to go down among the audience and remind them that they are through.

As I step down the planks, or the "gangway" as it might be called, a new burst of applause greets me. I might add that there is always an additional interest evinced by an audience when the operator finds it necessary to go among them. Sometimes it is to get a subject and at others it is to bring one back whom you have already "got".