Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, October 8, 1892

First Female Spectator (to Second). MARIA MANGLES do take a time sending off, don't she?

Second F.S. (also a friend of Miss MANGLES). Yes, that she do--it gives her such a silly look, sitting there, the on'y one with her senses about her!

First F.S. It's all affectation--she could shut her eyes fast enough if she liked!

Second F.S. The 'Ipnotiser's coming round to her now--she'll have to go off now. (With a not unpleasurable anticipation.) I expect he'll make her do all manner o' ridic'lous things!

First F.S. Well, it will be a lesson, to her against making' herself so conspicuous another time. I shan't pity her.

The Hyp. (after a brief colloquy with Miss MANGLES). I see I am not likely to succeed with this Lady; so, with many thanks to her on behalf of myself and the audience for coming forward, I will detain her no longer.

[_Applause, amidst which Miss M. descends to her seat in the body of the hall, with a smile of conscious triumph._

First F.S. (disappointed). I don't see what she's done to clap their hands about, myself!

Second F.S. Nor I neither--taking up his time all for nothing--depend upon it she wouldn't have gone up if he hadn't been so nice-looking!

First F.S. I wouldn't like to think that of her myself; but, anyhow, she didn't get much by it, did she? He soon sent her packing!

Male Spectator (to a Woman in front of him). Evening, Mrs. MIDGELLY--I see they've got your good man up on the platform.

Mrs. M. He will go, Mr. BUDKIN! He's gone up every night the 'Ipnotiser's been here, and says he feels it's going to do him good. So this evening I said I'd come in too, and judge for myself. What good he expects to get, laying there like a damp dishclout, I don't know!

[_Meanwhile the Hypnotist has borrowed a silver-handled umbrella from the audience, and thrust it before the faces of one or two loutish-looking youths, who immediately begin to squint horribly and follow the silver-top with their noses, till they knock their heads together._

Mr. Budkin (to Mrs. MIDGELLY). He's going to give your husband a turn of it now.

[_The umbrella-handle is applied to Mr. M., a feeble-looking little man with a sandy top-knot; he grovels after the silver-top when it is depressed, and makes futile attempts to clamber up the umbrella after it when it is held aloft._

Mrs. M. (severely). I haven't patience to look at him. A Kitten 'ud have had more sense!

The Hyp. (calling up one of the heavy youths). Can you whistle, Sir? Yes? Then whistle something. (The Youth whistles a popular air in a lugubrious tone.) Now you can't whistle--try. (The Youth tries--and produces nothing but a close imitation of an air-cushion that is being unscrewed.) Now, if I were not to wake him up, this young gentleman's friends would never enjoy the benefit of his whistle again!

Voice from a Back Row. Don't wake him, Guv'nor, we can bear it!

Hyp. (after restoring the lost talent, and calling up another Youth, somewhat smartly attired). Now, Sir, what do you drink?

The Youth (with a sleepy candour). Beer when I can get 'old of it.

A Friend of his in Audience. JIM's 'aving a lark with him--he said as 'ow he meant to kid him like--_he_ ain't 'ipnotised, bless yer!

Hyp. But you like water, too, don't you? (JIM admits this--in moderation.) Try this. (He gives him a tumbler of water.) Is that good water?

Jim (smacking his lips). That's good water enough, Sir.

Hyp. It's bad water--taste it again.

[_JIM tastes, and ejects it with every symptom of extreme disapproval._

Jim's Friend. Try him with a drop o' Scotch in it--_'e'll_ get it down!

Hyp. (to JIM). There is no water in that glass--it's full of sovereigns, don't you see? (JIM agrees that this is so, and testifies to his conviction by promptly emptying the contents of the glass into his trousers' pocket) What have you got in your pocket?

Jim (chuckling with satisfaction). Quids--golden sovereigns!

Hyp. Wake up! Now what do you find in your pocket--any sovereigns?

Jim (surprised). Sovereigns? No, Sir! (After putting his hand in his pocket, bringing it out dripping, and dolefully regarding the stream of water issuing from his leg.) More like water, Sir.

[_He makes dismal efforts to dry himself, amidst roars of laughter._

His Friend. Old JIM didn't come best out o' that!

Hyp. (to JIM). You don't feel comfortable? (Emphatic assent from JIM.) Yes, you do, you feel no discomfort whatever.

[_JIM resumes his seat with a satisfied expression._

An Open-minded Spect. Mind yer, if this yere 'Ipnotism can prevent water from being wet, there must be something in it!

Hyp. I will now give you an illustration of the manner in which, by hypnotic influence, a subject can_ be affected with an entirely imaginary pain. Take this gentleman. (Indicating the unfortunate Mr. MIDGELLY, who is slumbering peacefully.) Now, what pain shall we give him?

A Voice. Stomach-ache!

[_This suggestion, however, is so coyly advanced that it fortunately escapes notice._

Hyp. Tooth-ache? Very good--we will give him tooth-ache.

[_The Audience receive this with enthusiasm, which increases to rapturous delight when Mr. MIDGELLY's cheek begins to twitch violently, and he nurses his jaw in acute agony; the tooth-ache is then transferred to another victim, who writhes in an even more entertaining manner, until the unhappy couple are finally relieved from torment._