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. 3, 1860.] heard in the air, or seemed to be heard in the air in different places. From all this I can make certain inferences as to his devices, but I do not arrive at the conclusion that he actually floated, still less that he did so by the assistance of spirits, whose function it was to chair him, like the candidate at an election.

The first inference I make is that he is a very adroit ventriloquist, aware especially of the chief source of ventriloquial effect, the art of directing the expectations of his audience to look for certain sounds in certain directions and places. “I am off the ground,” he exclaims, that is, ascending into the air; and in a moment or two, “his voice was in the air above our heads.” He told us that he should pass the window, and accordingly, “he spoke to us,” or seemed to speak to us from the appointed situation. “We could judge by his voice of the altitude and distance he had attained.” Let us rather say that imagination assented to his statements when he had previously given an intimation where he desired it to be supposed he would be; for, let me observe, it is extremely difficult to judge of a man’s situation in a room, by his voice only. It would scarcely be fainter if he were near the ceiling than if he were standing on the ground. Let my readers, who doubt this, mount a set of library steps, and ascertain it by experiment. In fact ventriloquial effects will be found to be generally false when they are tested by any true criterion of comparison. Ventriloquists almost always exaggerate nature, especially as a means of indicating distance; and they make up the illusion by prompting their audiences to imagine the effects they fail themselves to represent completely; as any one may see any night of his life in the case of Herr Von Joel, who persists in looking and inducing his audience to look for his “leetle singing lark,” up in the ceiling of Evans’s supper room.

With the assistance of this sort of prompting, it is really extraordinary what ventriloquists can accomplish, and the extent to which they can affect a sympathising audience. Even savages possess this power, and I will cite an instance, described by Capt. Lyons, in which he found a performer as skilful as Mr. Home among the Esquimaux of Igloolik. The whole narrative is so much to the purpose, and so clearly suggestive, that I extract it entire, as a means of comparison and a very opportune assistance to our judgment.

“This personage,” says Captain Lyons, of the Esquimaux Home, “was cunning and intelligent, and whether professionally or from his skill in the chace—but, perhaps, from both reasons—was considered by all the tribe as a man of importance. As I invariably paid great deference to his opinion on all subjects connected with his calling, he freely communicated to me his superior knowledge, and did not scruple to allow of my being present at his interviews with Tornga, or his patron spirit. In consequence of this, I took an early opportunity of requesting my friend to exhibit his skill in my cabin. His old wife was with him, and, by much flattery and an accidental display of a glittering knife and some beads, she assisted me in obtaining my request. All light excluded, our sorcerer began chanting to his wife with great vehemence, and she, in return, answered by singing the Amna-Arja, which was not discontinued during the whole ceremony. As far as I could hear, he afterwards began turning himself rapidly round, and in a loud powerful voice vociferated for Tornga with great impatience, at the same time blowing and snorting like a walrus. His noise, impatience, and agitation increased every moment; and he at length seated himself on the deck, varying his tones and making a rustling with his clothes. Suddenly the voice seemed smothered, and was so managed as to sound as if retreating beneath the deck, each moment becoming more distant, and ultimately giving the idea of being many feet below the cabin, when it ceased entirely. His wife now, in answer to my questions, informed me very seriously that he had dived, and that he would send up Tornga. Accordingly, in about half a minute, a distant blowing was heard very slowly approaching, and a voice which differed from that at first heard was at times mingled with the blowing, until at length both sounds became indistinct, and the old woman informed me that Tornga was come to answer my questions. I accordingly asked several questions of the spirit, to each of which inquiries I received an answer by two loud claps on the deck—which I was given to understand were favourable.

A very hollow yet powerful voice—certainly much different from the tones of Toolmak—now chanted for some time, and a strange jumble of hisses, groans, shouts, and gobbling like a turkey succeeded in rapid order.

The old woman sang with increased energy; and, as I took it for granted that all this was intended to astonish the Kabloona, I cried repeatedly that I was ''very much afraid. This, as I expected'', added fuel to the fire, until the poor immortal, exhausted by its own might, asked leave to retire.

The voice gradually sunk from our hearing as at first, and a very indistinct hissing succeeded; in its advance it sounded like the tones produced by the wind on the bass chords of the Æolian-harp. This was soon changed to a rapid hiss like that of a rocket, and Toolmak, with a yell, announced his return. I had held my breath at the first distant hissing, and twice exhausted myself, yet our conjuror did not once respire, and even his returning and powerful yell was uttered without a previous stop or inspiration of air.

Light being admitted, our wizard was, as might be expected, in a profuse perspiration, and certainly much exhausted by his exertions, which had continued for at least half an hour. We now observed a couple of bunches, each consisting of two stripes of white deerskin, and a long piece of sinew attached to the back of his coat. These we had not observed before, and were informed they were sewn on by Tornga while he was below.

The reader will perceive that Toolmak had great natural capacities similar to those which I ascribe to Mr. Home, and that, with a few lessons from the latter gentleman, he might also have floated about, as Mediums can float, with a “tranquil confidence” in their aërial capacities, inversely proportioned to the darkness of the atmosphere. I have yet, however, to account for the appearance of Mr. Home himself, seen to cross and re-cross the drawing-room window-blind, as in fig. 22; but I will, first of all, quote a letter from Dr. Gully, who was present at this very identical séance, and who, in a letter to the “Morning Star,” exhausts his theory of the artistic contrivances capable of producing this extraordinary spectacle. “Only consider,” says the ingenious Doctor, “that here is a man, between ten and eleven stone in weight, floating about the room for many minutes—in the tomb-like silence which prevailed, broken only by his