“Like the late Bilboquet, I have tampered with every _banque_ except the Banque de France, but this does not prevent me from living a quiet, unobtrusive life; my only wish is that no one should annoy me (this is very difficult to get), to live a long time and to die without pain. “I add for the edification of the reader that my sons bear my name, an item which my father forgot to bestow upon me (he was so heedless).” Clam, who—as you may judge from this narrative—has some claim to be noticed in any complete anthology of [p095] French writers in prose, has “teased the muse” at times. But his poems echo the prevailing note of his century—they are cynical and melancholy. You may judge by these three verses on the death of a comrade in the show. Clam dedicated them to me: “Elle est morte, la cabotine, Sans avoir essuyé son blanc, A la bouche une cavatine, Son bouquet de fleurs sur le flanc. Dans sa “caravane,” on la garde Entre un cierge et des litres bus; Sa mère l’habille et la farde Comme elle a fait pour ses débuts. Elle attend qu’on lève la trappe Et qu’on frappe au rideau trois coups, Elle attend . . . Hélas! on les frappe, Mais c’est sur des têtes de clous.”[4] A man who has so many strings to his bow is not anxious about the future. One day when I hinted before Clam that old age might surprise him, without any provision for it, he replied: “When I am no good for anything else my friends will [p096] make a politician of me. But I have still some chest left, and I shall put off the death of the show for many years yet.” The improvements, the tricks of every kind which have destroyed the “outside shows,” have enriched the entertainments given inside the booths, and have most successfully transformed the conjuring performances like those found in the establishments of Adrian Delille and Pietro Gallici. Since Delille bought the theatre and tricks of Laroche he is the king of showmen conjurers. He is third representative of the name. The first Adrian, the grandfather, was conjurer to King Charles X., and, since that remote date, at every fair held in Paris or any large town, a magician bearing the name of Delille has been seen making omelettes in hats, juggling with balls, &c., without the aid of pointed hat, long sleeves, wand, or cabalistic words—a modern sorcerer in evening dress and lavender kid gloves. The Delilles first introduced the trick of the _Speaking Head_ into France. They bought the patent for 4,000 francs, never hesitated to bring a lawsuit against any one who infringed it, and always won their case. The science of white magic has made great progress since that date. There are always some means of improving an old trick, and every year Adrian Delille spends his six months of enforced rest in preparing for the summer season. [Illustration]