The public nowadays may be said to be satiated with amusements, but formerly it was quite otherwise, and anything new in this line was considered as a positive wonder. I well remember the sensation caused by the Exhibition of 1851, which in some mysterious manner was supposed to be the inauguration of an era of perpetual peace. I went there once alone with Charles Greville—“the gruncher” as he used to be called (a nickname which, I suppose, originated from the French word _grincheux_, for there were times when he could be anything but pleasant)—and we had to make our way through most tremendous crowds. I shall also never forget being nearly crushed to death on the last day of the same Exhibition, when I had gone quite alone. I got caught in the crowd, and being very small would have certainly been at least very seriously injured by the terrible crush, had not a friendly official thrust me into a place of safety in the shape of his little pay-box. In old days conjuring (now almost entirely a children’s amusement) was far more popular than is at present the case. The prince of conjurers was, of course, Robert Houdin, who carried sleight-of-hand and legerdemain pretty well to perfection; in addition to this he was also a very clever man, whose mind was constantly on the alert, as the following little incident will show. Houdin was very popular with the Sultan and performed before him on many occasions. Being one day asked to the palace to dine, he said to his imperial host, “Your Majesty has several times been pleased to express some very flattering opinions as to my magical powers, and it is true that I have performed some rather difficult tricks. They, however, are nothing to the feat I shall now perform, provided your Majesty accords me full permission to do what I like with the watch which lies on that table.” At the same time he pointed to a wonderful specimen of the watchmaker’s art which, beautifully enamelled and embellished in the Louis XV. style (a present indeed from that King himself to a former Sultan), lay in a glass case close at hand. The required permission was given, whereupon Houdin rose from the table, and to the horror of all present, and to the visible annoyance of the Sultan, took up the watch and in full sight of every one threw it out of the window into the sea.