Never perform a trick twice. If the performer is weak enough to give way on this point, he must expect to have the secrets of half of his tricks the common property of his audience in a very short time. Such interludes as swallowing an egg, orange, &c., and finding it at the elbow, point of the toe, or other unexpected place, one may repeat with tolerable frequency, although it is as well to vary the precise method a little each time. The reason such feats are comparatively safe to repeat is, that they come unexpectedly. If people knew that it was intended to vanish any particular article, they would keep a sharp look-out, and endeavour to discover what really became of it; but, as the performer is particularly careful not to warn his audience of what is about to be done, the movement is executed before anyone has had time to think. I wish to lay particular stress on the suicidal policy of performing the same trick twice during the same evening, as I know it is a weakness to which young beginners are much addicted.
Conjurors must never fail; that is to say, they must never allow the audience to see that they have failed in arriving at any desired result. The surest method of avoiding this is to practise and rehearse everything, down to the minutest detail, in private, so as to be able to present it in its perfect form to the audience. The beginner feels a little awkward and stupid in rehearsing at first, but when he discovers, as he soon will, the necessity for it, he will soon become used to it. The great thing is to begin well, and this is best done if two persons commence studying together, in which case one will act as a critic to the other. My plan—and I recommend everyone else to adopt it—during the first six months, was to write down everything I had to do or say, accompanied by the most minute stage directions. Each hand and foot had its proper position at a given moment. Book in hand, my fellow-student would take up his position as audience, and keep me rigidly to my stage directions, besides giving such hints as seemed to him to be necessary. At first, this kind of thing feels somewhat irksome, but the good results derived will soon make themselves manifest, and compensate for all trouble. I have frequently spent a whole evening in getting perfect in a single trick, which would perhaps be rehearsed ten or twelve times. The properties of each trick should be written on a separate card.
One thing of paramount importance is the talk to be used with each trick. At the outset, this should invariably be written out beforehand, and committed to memory, if not word for word, very nearly so. By this means, one is best able to avoid a repetition of any well-marked points, which would pall upon the audience, and cause them to fancy the performer before them to be a man of limited ideas. At the same time, great care must be taken to avoid making anything approaching a speech, which is even worse than saying nothing at all. People come to conjuring entertainments expecting to see sleight of hand performed, and not to listen to speeches, however beautiful they may be in themselves. What is wanted is something to accompany the trick, just as a pianoforte-player accompanies a singer. If this simile be borne in mind, the learner will not go far wrong. The only occasions on which nothing should be said are when some feats of dexterity—corresponding to the runs and scales of the expert vocalist—are being performed: a verbal accompaniment would only spoil them. On the other hand, a very poor trick can be made a good deal of by the introduction of a few lively sallies, mingled with allusions to topics of the day, which will be made to appear to bear upon the matter in hand. I shall give but very few examples in my descriptions of tricks, for I think that a conjuror should be, before everything else, original; and this he would not be if he only repeated what other people had to say. I hope the reader is impressed with the absolute necessity of being as well up in "patter" as in sleight of hand.
Address in execution is another thing which cannot be too attentively studied. It is not enough that an orange is successfully vanished; the operation should be performed with all possible grace. This will naturally be impossible if the performer is not well up in his trick; but this he must not fail to be. The learner must study to acquire a manner that is neither hurried nor slow. Some tricks it is necessary to do with extra dash and rapidity; but the extra speed will never require to be sustained. As a general rule, audiences prefer a suave and easy style—one which appears free from the slightest exertion. Being in a hurry is the way to forget many little but telling points; whilst being too slow is the way to weary the audience. The worst possible style to adopt is that which impresses the audience with the idea that conjuring is nothing but a mere cheat—a swindle—from beginning to end. This impression is given when the performer wishes to appear extra sharp, and endeavours (to use a common idiom) to thrust everything down people's throats, whether they will or not. Always endeavour to impress spectators that they are being deceived by skilful manipulation, and not "bamboozled" by talk.
Be careful not to substitute impertinence for impudence. Too many beginners err in this respect. They mistake the precise nature of the impudence required by the conjuror. A better name for it would be audacity. To be successful out of the ordinary way, the conjuror must be audacious and venturesome now and again, although it is as well not to tempt Fortune too much or too often: the jade may fail at an awkward pinch. The warning not to play with edged tools should be taken to heart by the conjuror.
On no account play the buffoon, as I have seen conjurors do before now. When a laugh is raised, it should be with, and not at, the performer. Also, on raising a laugh at anyone's expense, let it be done in a polite and inoffensive manner, unless, of course, it be a punishment for previous misbehaviour.