death, he was committed by the Mayor of Shrewsbury to the House of Correction in that city as a vagrant and impostor. Katerfelto mixed up with his quackery some real science, and by the aid of the solar microscope astonished the world with insect wonders. In one of his advertisements in the Morning Post, of July 1782, he says that, by its aid, the insects on the hedges will be seen larger than ever, and those insects which caused the late influenza will be seen as large as a bird; and in a drop of water the size of a pin's head there will be seen above 50,000 insects; the same in beer, milk, vinegar, blood, flour, cheese, etc., etc., and there will be seen many surprising indifferent vegetables, and above 200 other dead objects. He obtained good prices for his show 'The admittance to see these wonderful works of Providence is only-front seats, three shillings; second seats, two shillings; and back seats, one shilling only, from eight o'clock in the morning till six in the afternoon, at No. 22 Piccadilly.' He fully understood the advantages of puffing, and one of his advertisements commences with a story of a gentleman of the faculty belonging to Oxford University, who, finding it likely to prove a fine day, set out for London purposely to see those great wonders which are advertised so much by that famous philosopher, Mr Katerfelto;' that the said gentleman declared, 'if he had come three hundred miles on purpose, the knowledge he had then received would amply reward him; and that he should not wonder that some of the nobility should come from the remotest part of Scotland to hear Mr Katerfelto, as the people of that country in particular are always searching after knowledge.' He elsewhere declares himself 'the greatest philosopher in this kingdom since Sir Isaac Newton.' And Mr Katerfelto, as a divine and moral philosopher, begs leave to say that all persons on earth live in darkness, if they are able to see, but will not see his wonderful exhibition."" Katerfelto, who had been in trouble both in his own country and in France, showed an aptitude for distin

guishing himself in a similar way here, not only in the ways we have already quoted, but with regard to impositions practised on the confiding. He obtained £2000 from a

Captain Paterson, but had to return it. This he afterwards referred to as instance of his generosity and love of honesty, and his admiration for this country is shown by his avowed desire to stay in it, "though unpensioned, notwithstanding the many offers from the Queen of France, the request of his friend and correspondent Dr Franklin, and the positive commands of his liege lord the King of Prussia."

Mention of the Queen of France reminds us of another impostor, perhaps the greatest in his way that ever lived, Joseph Balsamo. As, however, he had little or nothing to do with advertising, and as he has already afforded work for many able and vigorous pens, we will be content to quote a few lines from Carlyle regarding the arch-quack's description and personal appearance: "The quack of quacks, the most perfect scoundrel that in these latter ages has marked the world's history, we have found in the Count Alessandro di Cagliostro, pupil of the sage Althotas, foster child of the Scherif of Mecca, probably son of the last king of Trebizonde; named also Acharat, and unfortunate child of nature; by profession healer of diseases, abolisher of wrinkles, friend of the poor and impotent, grand-master of the Egyptian mason-lodge of high science, spirit-summoner, gold-cook, grand cophta, prophet, priest, and thaumaturgic moralist and swindler; really a liar of the first magnitude, thoroughpaced in all provinces of lying, what one may call the king of liars. . . . One of the most authentic documents preserved of Joseph Balsamo is the picture of his visage. An effigy once universally diffused in oil paint, aquatint, marble, stucco, and perhaps gingerbread, decorating millions of apartments. Fittest of visitors, worthy to be worn by the quack of quacks! A most portentous face of scoundrelism : a fat, snub, abominable face; dew-lapped, flat-nosed, greasy, full of greediness, sensuality, ox-like obstinacy; a forehead

impudent, refusing to be ashamed; and then two eyes turned up seraphically languishing, as if in divine contemplation and adoration; a touch of quiz, too; on the whole, perhaps the most perfect quack-face produced by the eighteenth century." The subject of this flattering portrait was born in 1743, and died in the fortress of St Leo, Rome, after an imprisonment of six years, aged fifty-two.

The system of showing on oneself the effect of one's own specifics has had many admirers and practisers. A Mrs Harden, in Newman Street, Oxford Street, used to advertise some years ago a hair-dye, the effect of which was to be seen on her own hair at her private residence, or at ladies' own residences if preferred. In a similar manner a quack in the time of King Charles II. commenced his handbill with this statement: "Salvator Winter, an Italian of the city of Naples, aged 98 years, yet by the blessing of God, finds himself in health and as strong as any one of fifty, as to the sensitive part. Which first he attributes to God, and then to his Elixir Vita, which he always carries in his pocket adayes, and at night under his pillow. And when he finds himself distempered he taketh a spoonful or two, according as need requireth." He then goes on to state that people should call and see its effect on him, and purchase so as to ensure health.

A most original, unique, and successful humbug, quite worthy of mention here, though not a dealer in medicines, was the late Monsieur Mangin of Paris. While passing through the public streets, there was nothing in his personal appearance to distinguish him from any ordinary gentleman. He drove a pair of bay horses, attached to an open carriage with two seats, the back one always occupied by his valet. Sometimes he would take up his stand in the Champs Elysées; at other times near the column in the Place Vendôme; but usually he was seen in the afternoon in the Place de la Bastille, or the Place de la Madeleine. On Sundays his favourite locality was the Place de la Bourse.

He then leisurely His round hat was

Mangin was a well-formed, stately-looking individual, with a most self-satisfied countenance, which seemed to say, "I am master here; and all that my auditors have to do is, to listen and obey." Arriving at his destined stopping-place, his carriage halted. His servant handed him a case from which he took several large portraits of himself, which he hung prominently upon the sides of his carriage, and also placed in front of him a vase filled with medals bearing his likeness on one side, and a description of the blacklead pencils in which he traded on the other. commenced a change of costume. replaced by a magnificent burnished helmet, mounted with rich plumes of various brilliant colours. His overcoat was laid aside, and he donned in its stead a costly velvet tunic with gold fringes. He then drew a pair of polished steel gauntlets upon his hands, covered his breast with a brilliant cuirass, and placed a richly-mounted sword at his side. His servant watched him closely, and upon receiving a sign from his master he too put on his official costume, which consisted of a velvet robe and a helmet. The servant then struck up a tune on the richly-toned organ which always formed a part of Mangin's apparatus. The grotesque appearance of these individuals, and the music, soon drew together an admiring crowd. Then the charlatan stood up. His manner was calm, dignified, imposing, indeed, almost solemn, for his face was as serious as that of the chief mourner at a funeral. His sharp, intelligent eye scrutinised the throng which was pressing around his carriage, until it rested apparently upon some particular individual, then he gave a start; then, with a dark, angry expression, as if the sight was repulsive, he abruptly dropped the visor of his helmet and thus covered his face from the gaze of the anxious crowd. Thus far he had not spoken a word. At last the prelude ended, and the comedy commenced. Stepping forward again to the front of the carriage, he exclaimed -"Gentlemen, you look astonished! You seem to wonder

and ask yourselves, who is this modern Quixote? What mean this costume of bygone centuries—this golden chariot -these richly-caparisoned steeds? What is the name, what the purpose of this curious knight-errant? Gentlemen, I will condescend to answer your queries. I am Monsieur Mangin, the great charlatan of France! Yes, gentlemen, I am a charlatan-a mountebank; it is my profession, not from choice, but from necessity. You, gentlemen, created that necessity! You would not patronise true, unpretending, honest merit, but you are attracted by my glittering casque, my sweeping crest, my waving plumes. You are captivated by din and glitter, and therein lies my strength. Years ago I hired a modest shop in the Rue Rivoli, but I could not sell pencils enough to pay my rent, whereas, by assuming this disguise-it is nothing else I have succeeded in attracting general attention, and in selling literally millions of my pencils; and I assure you, there is at this moment scarcely an artist in France or in Great Britain who does not know that I manufacture by far the best blacklead pencils ever seen." And Mangin so far differed from other mountebanks in the fact that his wares were everywhere said to be superior to any others.

Speaking of Mangin reminds us of another French itinerant who forms the central figure of a rather amusing story. In July 1817 a man of imposing figure, wearing a large sabre and immense moustache, arrived at one of the principal inns of a provincial city in France, with a female of agreeable shape and enchanting mien. He alighted at the moment the dinner was being served up at the table d'hôte. His martial appearance and bearing caused all the guests to rise with respect; they felt assured he must be a lieutenant-general or a major-general at least. A new governor was expected in the province about this time, and everybody believed that it was he who had arrived incognito. The officer of gens d'armes gave him the place of honour, the comptroller of the customs and the receiver of taxes