Our brother magician, Signor Blitz, tells us the following tale, which
is useful as a warning:—
While conversing in a grocery store with the proprietor, an Irishman
came in to make some purchases. The trader was extremely anxious for me
to astonish him by performing some feat, which I complied with. Before
concluding I requested the loan of a quarter of a dollar from the
Hibernian, which he at first refused, and even when the storekeeper
pledged himself responsible for it, he reluctantly gave it to me. I
desired him to close his hand, and hold the money secure, and I would
change it into a five-dollar gold piece.
“Faith!” he muttered, as he grasped the quarter, “it is just as I would
like to have ye after doing, but I don’t believe you can coin money so
aisy. Let me see if you can do it!” he exclaimed.
“It is already done,” I said. “Open your hand and see.”
The man cautiously relaxed his fingers, and, at the first glimpse of the
gold, jumped and hurrahed wildly, as an Irishman only can; but when his
curiosity was entirely satisfied as to its reality, he carefully
deposited it in his pocket, with many thanks, declaring me to be the
most wonderful man in the world.
I here desired him to replace the money in my hand, and I would again
convert it to the original quarter.
“Sure, afther Mike being rich, would ye make him poor again?”
“But you know it is only a trick,” I answered.
“A thrick? Divil a one! Sure, man, it is a rale piece of
goold,”—thrusting his hand into his pocket to protect it from any sudden
or unperceived effort on my part to extract it.
“You know it is but a joke,” I repeated. “Return me the gold, and I will
astonish you by transforming it into silver once more.”
“By St. Patrick, you had better not do that.”
“Yes, you must give me back the gold.”
“I would not part with it if Priest McDermott bid me.”
Finding my efforts to procure the money a failure, I resorted to
artifice by exciting his fears of my power to do good or evil. I assured
him that unless he returned the piece of gold, he would be a miserable
man all his life; for it was Satan’s coin, who was always in search of
his own, and would take him away with the gold.
“Och, shure, yer honour, the Holy Father will save Mike, and if ye want
any more silver quarters to change into goold, come to Michael MacCarty.
He is the man for you.” And with these consoling words he walked rapidly
away, leaving me minus my half-eagle, while the storekeeper laughed
immoderately at the magician being outwitted by a son of the Emerald
Isle.
All Louisville became cognizant of “the joke,” as they called it, and
hugely enjoyed it at my expense; but I could not see it.