"Snap."
By Frank Staff M.I.M.C.
Brevity, dash, snap, eclat. That is what you require now-a-days.
Effect: Nothing in this hand, nothing in that hand; blazing fire bowl! Pass hand over fire bowl, it disappears (the bowl) and rabbit takes its place. Clap hands and complete vanish of rabbit. Requirements: Two hands, fire bowl, rabbit, one yard of elastic, and a reel of black thread; and as for the explanation, I leave it to you partner. Things are made much too easy for the present day conjurers. Think it out, Mr. Compiler, and write to me.
Cards, eggs, and silk handkerchiefs have no part in my short dissertation. Gone are the days of the two hours' conjuring entertainment, at least I think so; and the average one hour's show is apt to pall, unless a ventriloquial figure is introduced at half-time, and, believe me, even with this break, an hour's entertaining show requires (pardon me Mr. Compiler) a bit of wangling. When the intelligent conjurer recognises this fact, he will probably introduce a short display of paper tearing. This will get the conjuring portion down to about twenty-five minutes, and as opinions have been expressed that fifteen minutes of conjuring is about as much as a present day audience will reasonably stand, what about ten minutes with a sheet of drawing paper, an easel, and a few words on the manners and customs of the Cow (also pronounced "Coo," in the North of England; and I once heard it referred to as "Kah," during a domestic argument between two ladies residing at Hoxton).
However, I am forgetting my excellent beginning. Snap! That's the key-note. Snap! I talk too much. I would love to be a real silent, or rather a silent, real conjurer. I did try once for a wager, and one of these days you will hear about it. "Reminiscences of Frank Staff," book 3, chap. xx., para. 5. You wait. Talking of Snap reminds me of a story related some years ago by a dramatic author. "Laddie," he said, "the day of the five act melodrama is over. Snap is what the people want: Chord from orchestra. Curtain up. Biff, biff, biff. Five minutes chord. Curtain. Snap! Here's my idea for a One Act Drama. Listen! I'll tell it to you. Play opens with a man and woman, in a private room of hotel, seated in a large arm chair and caressing. Enter suddenly, a middle-aged man, with umbrella and suit case. Exclaims, 'My wife!' (Picture--hold it for three seconds.) Husband drops umbrella and produces automatic pistol. Two shots ring out. He has killed them both. Taking out spectacles and placing them where they will do most good, he looks about him, gives tragic start, 'Great Scot! I'm in the wrong room!' Chord. Picture. Curtain. There's snap for you."
Phew, it has made me hot writing about it.
Procure a few sheets of white filtering paper from chemist, and soak well in a solution of sulphate of iron; any chemist, and three-pennyworth will suffice. Let sheets dry well, and then lightly trace on one of them the outline of a Cow, comic or otherwise. The drawing paper for the easel is now ready. Upon painting the outline with brush, using a strong solution of tannic acid crystals (colourless in water) a black outline will appear. Should you desire to elaborate your drawing, two additional brushes and solutions will be necessary, namely: phenolphthalein and ammonium hydrate; apply the first, then the second (both colourless), and you will be able to portray a Cow with deep red spots. However, the black outline from a glass of clear water, has quite a good effect and is less trouble.
As to patter; before dealing with the lecturette to be delivered during the aforementioned period, let me give credit where credit is due, and the credit, or to be honest, the discredit is not mine. The dissertation was brought to my notice by an old friend, a short time ago. He was turning out sundry magazines, and newspaper cuttings, when he remarked: "Here, Frank, this reads something like the tosh you hand over to an enlightened audience." I took it with silent dignity, and having made apology, would Suggest the following as suitable persiflage.
"Art for Art's sake: on the paper before you, I propose to make a drawing of any animal suggested by a member of my audience. Your choice is free. Pigs, elephants, rhino--rhincer--bother! Dogs, cats, hippo--hip, pip,--dash it; cows, lions, cows, giraffes, wolves, cows, and Uncle Tom Cobbly and all. A Cow? Thank you, madam. Cows have four legs, as you will observe as the sketch proceeds. One on each corner. They are essentially of the land, although they hold a regatta annually. The cow is a good mother, and will look calfter her offspring in a loving manner. By the Cow is the milk made. Time will not permit, otherwise I would draw the milkmaid by the Cow. When a Cow stumbles against a blade of grass and sprains it's ankle, the veterinary surgeon provides supports, which are termed acoustics. Hear, hear. Cows, like conjurers, are restful creatures, and will lie for hours--on the green sward. Cows are housed in a byre, and sheep in a pen; thus illustrating an ancient proverb, byre poet whose name has escaped me: 'The pen is mightier than the sward.' Cows are full of resource, and even after death will make both ends meat. Many calves die young, and the reason was revealed to me by our butcher. The sketch is now complete, ladies and gentlemen, and the curtain will descend to the popular strains of 'For Heifer and for Heifer.'"