Since the ghost was produced at the Polytechnic years ago, the author has visited America, and seen not only the chief cities of the United States of America, but also those of patriotic Canada; and about ten years ago, paying a casual visit to Messrs. Walker, the eminent organ builders, he enquired of Mr. James Walker what he had done with a model shown him during the height of the popularity of the ghost, by which an empty glass goblet, or one full of water, was gradually filled with, or changed into, wine (or coloured water resembling it), thus unwittingly and apparently embodying or putting into an illustrated form the miracle of the conversion of water into wine. I was too busy and too well paid at the time to think of a new illusion, but I praised it much, and said if not confined to too small stage limits, it was certainly as good, if not better, than the ghost illusion. The time had now arrived when the London world was ready for something new (as commercial men would say) in the ghost line, and although Mr. James Walker, with the modesty of a truly scientific man, disclaimed the merit due to his invention, he did at last, at my request, throw himself, with the author, heart and soul into the production of the new illusion, which we called Metempsychosis. We now took out a patent for the new optical wonder, and having thus secured the invention from that piracy and robbery which too often dog the otherwise successful steps of inventors, causing nearly every patent to be called by the legal fraternity a _damnosa hereditas_, we looked about for a good place—hall or theatre—where the illusion could be started. None better could be thought of than the old Royal Polytechnic, where we offered at a moderate sum per week to produce it, paying for every stick, decoration, or engraved looking-glass ourselves. But it appeared that the funds of the institution were so reduced—it was supposed, by the immense expenditure on armies, warlike material, and ladies’ legs required to produce a work emulating friend Barnum’s gigantic “Nero,” and called, with an alarming stretch of imagination, the “Siege of Troy,” or “Destruction of Troy”—that the directors were unable to guarantee the weekly salary Mr. James Walker and myself demanded. Luckily for us, a percentage on the gross receipts was suggested, and brought in a great deal more money to our exchequer than the modest weekly salary would have given us. The public came in goodly numbers to see the new optical wonder, and all went well as long as the author remained in London and could devote his time and energies to the daily exhibition; but the time was now drawing rapidly near when, according to contract, he must leave for Australia. Professor Pepper has invariably told his numerous patrons that, although obliged to keep secret for a reasonable time all optical illusions that he produced, he would ultimately tell the public all about it.