The coin may be made to appear as if taken from the leg by merely dropping it to the tips of the left-hand fingers, which must then be laid on the spot it is desired to have it appear. If, instead of a coin, a small ball is used, a very laughable effect may be produced by appearing to swallow it. To do this show the ball, throw it into the air once or twice, and at last palm it. Place the gathered-up tips of the fingers and thumb to the lips, and at that moment thrust the tongue into the left cheek, which will give it the appearance of having the ball there. Point to the cheek with the right forefinger; then let the right hand drop to the side, holding the ball palmed. To reproduce it lift the lower front of the vest with the left hand, and thrusting the right hand under, let the ball find its way to the finger-tips; leave it under the vest a second, and then withdraw it slowly. THE HIDDEN TREASURE OF KING OBANI. BY RICHARD BARRY. This is the story of an American boy in far-off Africa. He was sixteen years of age--very near seventeen, in fact--at the time of this tale; but he had led such a strange life and had been in so many places that he had probably seen more of the world than many grown men who consider themselves great travellers. The boy's name did not have an American sound; it was Malcolm McFee, and that is Scotch, as any one can tell at half a glance, and the only reason he was an American was because he happened to be born in the United States, on the slopes of the Sierra Nevada. In his early youth Malcolm's father had been a sailor, and after that a soldier of the Queen in India, where, after serving bravely, and being wounded in one of the campaigns against the mountain tribes, he had taken it into his head to leave before his time was up, and start on the peculiar crusade which filled the next thirty years or so of his life, and which, at the end of that time found him in the far-away diamond and gold country of the dark continent. One day Malcolm McFee was sitting in front of the little sheet-iron house in which he and his father lived off in the interior of one of the British Colonies in South Africa, when he saw the latter coming rapidly towards him with his arms swinging. Mr. McFee was a small wiry man, all thews and sinews. He had never abused himself in any way, and he could strike a trot and hold it open-mouthed all day like a dog. He was loping along through the dust, and Malcolm saw that he was evidently laboring under some excitement. Now his father was never despondent or cast down, but he was sometimes more enthusiastic than at others, that was all, and never had the boy seen his father so wrought up as at this very moment. He entered the house and closed the door behind him. Then, not even breathing hard from his running, he put both hands on Malcolm's shoulders, and exclaimed, "Laddie, laddie, but we are going to strike it rich!"