The St. James’s Theatre--Invasion of England by French Performers--A Fête patronised by the Queen--The Diplomatist and the Sleight-of-Hand Man--Three Thousand Pounds taken at one Haul--I perform at Manchester--The Spectators in the Pillory--What capital Curaçoa!--A Torrent of Wine--A Catastrophe--Performance at Buckingham Palace--A Wizard’s Repast. But it is time to return to St. James’s: the machinists, painters, and decorators have finished their work, for the 2nd of May has arrived, the day fixed for my stage being handed over to me. In fact, every one was admirably punctual: the new scenery was in its place at an early hour, and as, at Mitchell’s request, the rehearsals were suspended for that day, the theatre was entirely at my service; hence I could devote myself quietly to the preparations for my performance. However, all had been so well arranged beforehand, that I was in perfect readiness when the audience began entering the house. It may be supposed I had taken every possible precaution to insure success, for an experiment which must excite astonishment if it succeed, in the event of failure is ruin to the operator. Hence I sincerely pity those sorcerers whose supernatural power hangs on a thread. It is true that a skillful conjurer ought always to be able to escape any difficulty that may occur to him; still, this sort of repairs very rarely meets with success, for, after all, it is only a patching together, in which the cracks are only too visible. I had a mode of escape always at hand in any emergency, but I confess I was much vexed when compelled to have recourse to these secondary means, which, by prolonging the experiment, render it far less striking. When a failure happens in tricks of skill an escape is impossible, for a conjurer ought no more to fail in these than a good musician play a false note. Whenever he makes a mistake in such a case, it results from his want of adroitness, which only time can correct; but in our experiments accidents at times happen which the most careful man cannot foresee. In such an event, you can only trust to the expedients which presence of mind suggests. Thus, one day, I happened to break the glass of a watch lent me for a trick. My position was awkward, for it is a very clumsy termination to a trick to return an object lent you in any way injured. I quietly walked up to the gentleman who had lent me the watch, and offered it to him, while being very careful to keep the face downwards; but, at the moment he was going to take it, I drew it back. “This is your watch?” I said, confidently. “Yes, sir, it is.” “Well, I merely wished to prove the fact; will you, sir,” I added, sinking my voice, to a whisper, “lend it to me for another trick which I intend to perform presently?” “Willingly,” the obliging spectator replied.