had such a confidence in his magician, that, I do believe,
if the latter had told him to fling himself out of window, he would have
done so, without the slightest trepidation.

Among other mystifications in which the Portuguese enchanter plunged
him, was one which used to afford always a good deal of amusement. He
informed Poinsinet, with great mystery, that HE WAS NOT HIMSELF; he
was not, that is to say, that ugly, deformed little monster, called
Poinsinet; but that his birth was most illustrious, and his real name
Polycarte. He was, in fact, the son of a celebrated magician; but
other magicians, enemies of his father, had changed him in his cradle,
altering his features into their present hideous shape, in order that
a silly old fellow, called Poinsinet, might take him to be his own son,
which little monster the magician had likewise spirited away.

The poor wretch was sadly cast down at this; for he tried to fancy
that his person was agreeable to the ladies, of whom he was one of
the warmest little admirers possible; and to console him somewhat, the
magician told him that his real shape was exquisitely beautiful, and as
soon as he should appear in it, all the beauties in Paris would be at
his feet. But how to regain it? "Oh, for one minute of that beauty!"
cried the little man; "what would he not give to appear under that
enchanting form!" The magician hereupon waved his stick over his head,
pronounced some awful magical words, and twisted him round three times;
at the third twist, the men in company seemed struck with astonishment
and envy, the ladies clasped their hands, and some of them kissed his.
Everybody declared his beauty to be supernatural.

Poinsinet, enchanted, rushed to a glass. "Fool!" said the magician;
"do you suppose that YOU can see the change? My power to render you
invisible, beautiful, or ten times more hideous even than you are,
extends only to others, not to you. You may look a thousand times in
the glass, and you will only see those deformed limbs and disgusting
features with which devilish malice has disguised you." Poor
little Poinsinet looked, and came back in tears. "But," resumed the
magician,--"ha, ha, ha!--I know a way in which to disappoint the
machinations of these fiendish magi."

"Oh, my benefactor!--my great master!--for heaven's sake tell it!"
gasped Poinsinet.

"Look you--it is this. A prey to enchantment and demoniac art all your
life long, you have lived until your present