"Doubtless the pleasure is as great Of being cheated, as to cheat," he afforded evidence that he had never been a conjurer. There is a nervous strain, an excitement, in the act of cheating at conjuring that is entirely wanting when we are cheated. For the one who does the tricks there is a fascination that has never been known to be even alleviated, but, like the proverbial brook, "goes on forever." Yet, knowing this, I propose to lure my readers to this incurable habit by teaching them the whole art and mystery of deceiving one's neighbor--in an honest way. As an explanation of "palming," whether of coins, balls, or cards, or any of the preliminary exercises necessary in order to become a proficient conjurer, makes but dull reading, I shall postpone instruction in such finger movements until actually needed, and begin with a complete trick. I shall not content myself, however, with showing the mere bare bones of the illusions, but will present something more solid, and give such suggestions, with accompanying _patter_ and other details, as will enable the student in what the French call "White Magic," with some practice, to perform the tricks to his own satisfaction and the delight of his audience. At the start let me caution my readers against being too quick. The success of a sleight-of-hand trick depends on diverting the attention of the audience upon misdirection rather than on rapidity of movement. It is a fallacy that "the hand is quicker than the eye." The most accomplished conjurers this country has ever seen, men like Buatier de Kolta or the late Robert Heller, never made a rapid movement; they were deliberate. They relied more on a nimble wit, a turn of the head, a glance of the eye, a motion of the hand, and yet they successfully and artistically deceived the keenest-eyed witness of their performance. And now to begin with our first lesson. As an opening for a performance, something that will impress an audience with your skill, there is nothing better than THE EVANESCENT HANDKERCHIEF. The performer begins by rolling up his sleeves, and showing his hands to be empty. Yet bringing the latter together the next moment, he produces a piece of colored silk about twelve inches square, which, in spite of its diminutive size, he dignifies by the name of _handkerchief_. "This," he says, holding it out, "is property number One, and here," picking up a candle from his table, "is number Two. This candle is simply the _light_ and airy product of the chandler, and has not been tampered with by any _wicked_ trickster since it left his hands. And yet I propose to pass into its very centre this handkerchief." [Illustration: THE CANDLE.] A narrow strip of card-board, bent into semicircular form and having a round hole cut in its centre, serves as a candlestick, and in this the candle is stood.