The metempsychosic era at the Polytechnic in 1879 was marked by the production of various stories, which were nicely edited and corrected by a lady of well-balanced, tasteful, and poetic mind—viz., by Miss Walker, the sister of the author’s very able coadjutor. The entertainment opened with a vacant stage, disclosing a sort of inner apartment about twelve feet square, tastefully upholstered, and closed by a curtain which could be lowered at pleasure, without interfering with the great roller and white curtain upon which Dissolving Views were shown. The author’s adopted son, for he never had any children of his own, was now seen walking through the inner apartment to the foot-lights, where he bowed and, addressing the audience, had hardly got as far as the words, “Ladies and Gentlemen,—I am sorry to inform you that something has detained Professor Pepper—” when my voice was heard crying out: “Stop, stop; I am here!” and, appearing out of nothing and without the aid of trap doors or descent by the help of the copper wires, the author stood in the midst, and bowed his acknowledgments for the hearty greeting kindly given him by his audience. The entertainment now proceeded, and, after apologising for the gloom he was about to cast upon the meeting by the harassing story he was about to relate, finally stated that his subject would be those “fearful bags of mystery” called “sausages,” remarking incidentally that though, thanks to Government analysts, many persons had heard of the examination and analyses of this dietetic refresher of the inner man, no one probably had ever seen sausages put together again, as it were, and formed into the very animal from which they were originally educed. A large white dish of sausages was now produced. They were placed in a wire basket, such as pot-plants are suspended in from windows and verandahs, and hung up in the inner chamber. About one minute elapsed; the sausages were gone, and out of the basket came the author’s dear little sagacious white poodle, with his blue ribbon and little bells, wagging his tail, barking at the audience, and coming down to lick the hand of his master. The poor little creature was accidentally poisoned by eating bits of meat the rats had dropped whilst scuttling to their holes to die of the too rapid poison prepared by the author for those pests of domesticated people.