contents upon the head of the luckless serenader, who quickly makes his exit. [Illustration: EXERCISES FOR THE FINGERS BY TREWEY.] “The little accessories used in this act, such as the helmet for the policeman, the broom, bottle, etc., are cut from pasteboard and, where necessary, attached to the fingers of the performer by means of india-rubber rings. The water jug, however, is an actual little vessel, which is filled with sand. When this is poured out it simulates a flow of water in the most natural manner. “ ‘The pulpit orator’ is a clever silhouette. About the left arm of the performer is tied a small box, which represents the pulpit; the bent fingers make a canopy. Between the fingers of {338} the right hand is held a bit of pasteboard, cut in the shape of a mortar-board cap. The paraphernalia is very simple. You see the learned divine ascend the pulpit, bend forward in prayer, then begin to exhort an imaginary congregation. He thumps the pulpit rail vehemently, twists himself into all sorts of grotesque positions, and wipes his perspiring brow. After having blessed the people, he descends from his elevated perch.” I learned from him many interesting things about shadowgraphy and sleight of hand generally. To excel in the art of ombromanie requires long practice. The fingers have to be exercised continuously in certain peculiar movements, such as are depicted in the accompanying illustration. Dexterity is largely dependent upon the formation of the hand, one of the particular characteristics of skillfulness being “the faculty of reversing the metacarpal phalanges of the fingers, so that when the hand is extended it is convex.” Trewey possesses this faculty. Another peculiarity of his hands is the formation of the fingers: they differ very much in length. The middle finger exceeds the ring finger by nearly an inch. III. I met Trewey some weeks later, in London, at the Empire Theatre, and we struck up a great friendship which has lasted to this day. The story of his life is full of interest, and is a typical example of the folly of setting anyone to a vocation for which he has no particular taste. Intended at first for the priesthood by his parents, and subsequently for a mechanical trade, Trewey followed his own inclinations—conjuring and juggling. I will quote again from my paper in the “Cosmopolitan Magazine”: