AGAIN I came to London, released my furniture from store, took a house at Balham, and started the fight with a good heart. I soon obtained an engagement at the Opera Theatre, Crystal Palace, where I presented my first illusion based on a new principle. It was called "Vice Versa", and consisted of changing a man into a woman in a skeleton cabinet which was so frail and thin in all its parts that to all appearances it could not possibly contain either secretly. Nevertheless, one was concealed there for the change.

This caused a mild sensation, and I had some wonderful Press notices over it.

To prove that "the show's the thing", I will explain how I obtained this engagement at the Crystal Palace. I got a friend to finance a venture for giving three nights' entertainment at the Baths at Balham, where I featured the above illusion. The manager of the Crystal Palace, Mr. Gillman, was persuaded to come along and see this show, and he gave me a contract to give an hour's performance, once daily for a fortnight, at the Opera Theatre.

The name of the trusting financier was G. Gordon-Powell, to whom I duly presented a balance-sheet, which only just balanced--if that, I am afraid. Suddenly the unexpected happened. Charles Morritt had left Maskelyne and was setting up a show of his own at the Prince's Hall, Piccadilly. He was an exceedingly smart conjurer, especially in thought-transference, and appeared with his wife. He had been doing this at the Egyptian Hall for years, together with many ingenious tricks with handkerchiefs. One illusion he invented while there is still being performed by Maskelyne's, for Mr. Maskelyne bought it from him before he left. It was called "Oh", and consisted of vanishing a man whilst held by members of the audience--a most effective illusion, introduced as a skit on Mahatma's "Being Precipitated".

Morritt was especially clever in seizing hold of the topic of the day and presenting an illusion to suit it. For instance, at the Prince's Hall he engaged the Tichborne claimant for an illusion in which a man vanished from a chair swinging in mid-air from a framework.

I now thought the time was ripe for approaching Maskelyne again, so I invited him to come to the Crystal Palace to see my show, especially the new illusion. He replied that it was impossible for him to go to the Crystal Palace, but if I could arrange for a show in the West End, he would be pleased to come and see it. This was good enough, so as soon as my Crystal Palace engagement was finished I set to work to obtain a show in the West End. The Trocadero had just been opened as a music-hall, before the present restaurant was thought of, and Sam Adams, who knew me, was the manager. It was at this hall that R. G. Knowles made his first appearance. Here I arranged for a trial show with the new illusion. It was to be in the morning, and I went and saw Maskelyne, who promised to attend.

Everything went according to programme, and Maskelyne, who seemed very pleased with the show, invited me to call at his office next morning and have a chat with him. At this interview he told me he liked the illusion, but that my apparatus was too big for the tiny stage at the Egyptian Hall. He showed me the stage and asked me to try and think out an illusion on the same principle which would be adaptable for the small stage. Five days after that I took him a model of "The Artist's Dream".

The stage at the Egyptian Hall

The model was proportioned to his stage and made to a scale of half an inch to the foot, if I remember rightly. It was roughly made by a frame-maker, but it answered the purpose, and showed Mr. Maskelyne at a glance exactly what the effects of the illusion would be. It was his idea to make it into a sketch and so make the most of it. He immediately suggested that we should consult Mr. Mel. B. Spurr, who, on being shown the model, was at once struck with the idea of writing a sketch in the form of a poem in blank verse. The words of the sketch appear in the Appendix, and were undoubtedly a great help to the success of the illusion, and the critics were unanimous in their praise of them.

In later years, when I went on the music-halls again, this time as top of the bill, I thought the words would be too long-drawn-out for a music-hall audience to listen to, and I performed the illusion as a sketch in pantomime.

To go back to my first contract with Maskelyne: it was for three months, at a moderate salary: but I had gained my ambition, and settled down to prove worthy of the Maskelyne traditions.

I should like here to recommend my plan of making a model of illusions before they are built. It is a great help in producing them, and by making a model one avoids many pitfalls which are apt to occur in attempting to build apparatus right away, or simply from blue prints or drawings.

An article of furniture always found in my study during the years I was in active practice was a miniature stage, complete with lighting effects, on which I was able to try out an illusion in miniature. It was also very useful in trying out colours and stage groupings, using dolls to represent the figures of actors or attendants.

Another great help in building illusions was to make a very rough model of the actual-size apparatus with a view to adjusting it and using the minimum space to get the effect. It is surprising what a small space you can press a human being into. The amount can only be found by actual experiment in the box, or whatever it is to be used. It is always a great point to have the apparatus as small as possible--anyone can perform an illusion with a four-poster bedstead on the stage, but it is more difficult with a baby's crib.

A close-fitting apparatus has one disadvantage, however: it is very warm quarters for the assistant, who must keep his wits about him and not look upon wine when it is red.

I remember in an illusion called "Squelch" (which afterwards I sold to Julian Wylie for a pantomime at the Hippodrome) a man was apparently put through a mangle and from thence projected through a glass tube, and, having been seen by the audience to be in an elongated state, entered a box at the other end of the tube and sprang up from that none the worse.

In this illusion I used a double of the man who was in the box the whole time, though this box was shown apparently empty to the audience. One night, at the critical moment, the man dropped from the back of the box; he had had a glass or two before the performance, and this had caused him to lose his balance, so spoiling my effect.

On another occasion an assistant, slightly intoxicated, went fast asleep in a box he had been tied up in, and, of course, did not escape when he should have done. When we eventually opened the box in the ordinary manner, he was so tightly wedged into it that we were unable to pull him out, and he was too befuddled to help us. I passed the incident off on this occasion by pretending the man was ill and appealing to any doctor in the audience to come up on the stage. He never had the chance of getting into that box again.

The work at the Egyptian Hall was very much to my liking, and my wife, who played the part of the girl in the picture and in other sketches, also liked it much better than travelling, though it was hard work with two performances every day, and private performances to boot. I gave about a third of the performance at the Egyptian Hall, and some of the private performances lasted an hour.

At times I have given as many as eight performances in one day: two at the Egyptian Hall; one at the Albert Hall (this was for Dr. Barnardo's Homes, where I did giant hand-shadows); two parties, an hour each; one afterbanquet performance of a quarter of an hour; and two "smokers" of similar duration.

It was very difficult sometimes to be punctual at all these performances, especially as on one occasion at a children's party, after I had made a magical distribution, the children got so excited that they seized upon my handkerchiefs, flags, and other things I had been using in the tricks, and also carried a couple of rabbits away. I had to chase them about the house to retrieve them, as I was using them at the Egyptian Hall the same night. After that experience I always had a duplicate set at the Hall.

I believe Mr. Maskelyne was the first to introduce the magical sketch or playlet. His plan was to take two or three illusions, or even one, and weave them into a sketch with three or four characters. This is a very entertaining way of showing illusions, but somehow it is difficult to make them convincing. It is so hard to find a plausible cause for the effect: either the drama kills the illusion or the illusion kills the drama. Probably the best magical play ever written was "The Brass Bottle", by F. A. Anstey, while "Aladdin's Lamp" was probably the first of all magical plays.

At the Egyptian Hall two of these magical sketches were preceded by conjuring, and generally there was an interlude of musical sketches at the piano. Mel. B. Spurr was a genius at the piano sketch, and one of his most successful songs was "The Tin Gee-gee". Many people thought he ranked with George Grossmith and Corney Grain as an artist. Certainly he was extraordinarily prolific in his writing of songs and recitations, and he had a large and entertaining repertoire, which also included several zither solos.

Our little company at the Hall included J. B. Hansard, a very funny Irish comedian, Mr. and Mrs. Elton, Mr. Nevil Maskelyne, Mr. G. A. Cooke, and Mr. John Nevil Maskelyne himself. Mr. Cramner presided at the piano and organ. This organ was a weird instrument, and not only played bells, gongs, and cornets all over the Hall, but gave an imitation of thunder and lightning in a selection called "The Storm". So realistic was this thunder that some people were frightened, and Nevil Maskelyne's son, when brought to the Hall by his mother, once asked if that was "Grandpa's thunder, or Dod's thunder':

The business at the Egyptian Hall was very regular its very position being an advertisement in itself. Situated as it was opposite the south end of Bond Street, it came under the direct notice of visitors to London. Therefore Mr. Maskelyne found it unnecessary to change his programme often. I found he had a rooted idea that nothing but illusions could ever prove to be an added attraction. Spurr left soon after my advent for a tour in Australia, and I introduced to Maskelyne a clever musical-sketch artist whom I had met at Harrogate.

After hearing his performance, he was engaged in place of Spurr. He had been there some time, when I noticed he had a great gift for facial expression. I therefore suggested that he should give an entertainment of "Twenty Faces Under One Hat", which had been popularized by Trewey, and I gave him the first ring of felt he used. He produced this novelty with great success at the Hall, adding to it one or two original conceptions, notably the head of a nun and a representation of a vivandière. This artist's name was R. A. Roberts.

Later on, when Biondi came to London with his marvellous "quick change" act, I suggested to R. A. Roberts that he should join in a revival of the fascinating protean art. He agreed, and wrote a sketch called "Lucinda's Elopement", in which he played all the characters.

This was splendidly received by our audience, but Roberts was so discouraged by our Chief's conviction that nothing apart from the conjuring business could ever be an attraction to the programme that he got the manager of the Palace Music-Hall, which was just then established and awaiting high-class novelties, to see his sketch. The management at once engaged him at a large salary.

Mr. Roberts stayed at the Palace many months, and proved a great attraction; in fact, he has been a star artist ever since, and is now retired. I, also, had many tempting offers at this time, but I refused all and sundry, so happy was I at the Egyptian Hall.

"The Artist's Dream" had a long run--August 1893 to Christmas 1895, after which I produced a new illusion called "The Birth of Flora".

In this I fastened a silk banner on to a small trapezelooking arrangement that hung from the borders. A slender table was then wheeled beneath the suspended banner, and from a silk handkerchief I produced a bowl of fire. Next I plucked a rose from a lady's garment, generally a feather boa, which was handed to me from a lady member of the audience, and I pulled the flower to pieces, scattering the petals in the fire. I then lowered the crossbar on which the silken banner was hung so that it touched the table-top and momentarily concealed the bowl with its still blazing contents.

The trapeze was then drawn up, disclosing on the table a huge object shrouded with white silk. Coloured lights were played upon this, and a figure gradually arose, and a voice was heard singing, "I am the Queen of the Roses", when suddenly the cloth dropped, disclosing a large gilt basket filled with roses with Flora standing in their midst. This was a new rôle for Mrs. Devant, who thought it the prettiest illusion I had ever done. Again the Press were very complimentary.

A list of programmes given at the Egyptian Hall from 1886 to 1904, showing most of the changes, appears in the Appendix as a matter of interest to conjurers.