At the Guelph Exhibition

IN THE CENTRAL HALL

A Thrifty Visitor (on entering). Catalogue? No. What's the use of a Catalogue? Miserable thing, the size of a tract, that tells you nothing you don't know!

His Wife (indicating a pile of Catalogues on table). Aren't these big enough for you?

The Thr. V. Those? Why they're big enough for the London Directory! Think I'm going to drag a thing like that about the place? You don't really want a Catalogue – it's all your fancy!

Mr. Prattler (to Miss Ammerson). Oh, do stop and look at these sweet goldfish! Pets! Don't you love them? Aren't they tame?

Miss Ammerson. Wouldn't do to have them wild– might jump out and bite people, you know!

Mr. P. It's too horrid of you to make fun of my poor little enthusiasms! But really, – couldn't we get something and feed them? —Do let's!

Miss A. I dare say you could get ham-sandwiches in the Restaurant – or chocolates.

Mr. P. How unkind you are to me! But I don't care. (Wilfully.) I shall come here all by myself, and bring biscuits. Great big ones! Are you determined to take me into that big room with all the Portraits? Well you must tell me who they all are, then, and which are the Guelphiest ones.

Considerate Niece (to Uncle). They seem mostly Portraits here. You're sure you don't mind looking at them, Uncle? I know so many people do object to Portraits.

Uncle (with the air of a Christian Martyr). No, my dear, no; I don't mind 'em. Stay here as long as you like. I'll sit down and look at the people till you've done.

First Critical Visitor (examining a View of St. James's Park). I wonder where that was taken. In Scotland, I expect – there's two Highlanders there, you see.

Second C. V. Shouldn't wonder – lot o' work in that, all those different colours, and so many dresses. [Admires, thoughtfully.

A Well-read Woman. That's Queen Charlotte, that is. George the Third's wife, you know – her that was so domestic.

Her Companion. Wasn't that the one that was shut up in the Tower, or something?

The W. W. In the Tower? Lor, my dear, no, I never 'eard of it. You're thinking of the Tudors, or some o' that lot, I expect!

Her Comp. Am I? I dare say. I never could remember 'Istry. Why, if you'll believe me, I always have to stop and think which of the Georges came first!

More Critical Visitors (before Portraits). He's rather pleasant-looking, don't you think? I don't like her face at all. So peculiar. And what a hideous dress – like a tea-gown without any upper part – frightful!

A Sceptical V. They all seem to have had such thin lips in those days. Somehow, I can't bring myself to believe in such very thin lips – can you, dear?

Her Friend. I always think it's a sign of meanness, myself.

The S. V. No; but I mean – I can't believe every one had them in the eighteenth century.

Her Friend. Oh, I don't know. If it was the fashion!

ABOUT THE CASES

Visitor (admiring an embroidered waistcoat of the time of George the Second —a highly popular exhibit). What lovely work! Why, it looks as if it was done yesterday!

Her Companion (who is not in the habit of allowing his enthusiasm to run away with him). Um – yes, it's not bad. But, of course, they wouldn't send a thing like that here without having it washed and done up first!

An Old Lady. "Teapot used by the Duke of Wellington during his campaigns." So he drank tea, did he? Dear me! Do you know, my dear, I think I must have my old tea-pot engraved. It will make it so much more interesting some day!

IN THE SOUTH GALLERY

Mr. Prattler (before a portrait of Lady Hamilton by Romney). There! Isn't she too charming? I do call her a perfect duck!

Miss Ammerson. Yes, you mustn't forget her when you bring those biscuits.

An Amurrcan Girl. Father, see up there; there's Byron. Did you erver see such a purrfectly beautiful face?

Her Father (solemnly). He was a beautiful Man– a beautiful Poet.

The A. G. I know – but the expression, it's real saint-like!

Father (slowly). Well, I guess if he'd had any different kind of expression, he wouldn't have written the things he did write, and that's a fact!

A Moralising Old Lady (at Case O). No. 1260. "Ball of Worsted wound by William Cowper, the poet, for Mrs. Unwin." No. 1261. "Netting done by William Cowper, the poet." How very nice, and what a difference in the habit of literary persons nowadays, my dear!

IN THE CENTRAL HALL

Mr. Whiterose, a Jacobite fin de siècle, is seated on a Bench beside a Seedy Stranger.

The S. S. (half to himself). Har, well, there's one comfort, these 'ere Guelphs'll get notice to quit afore we're much older!

Mr. Whiterose (surprised). You say so? Then you too are of the Young England Party! I am rejoiced to hear it. You cheer me; it is a sign that the good Cause is advancing.

The S. S. Advancin'? I believe yer. Why, I know a dozen and more as are workin' 'art and soul for it!

Mr. W. You do? We are making strides, indeed! Our England has suffered these usurpers too long.

The S. S. Yer right. But we'll chuck 'em out afore long, and it'll be "Over goes the Show" with the lot, eh?

Mr. W. I had no idea that the – er – intelligent artisan classes were so heartily with us. We must talk more of this. Come and see me. Bring your friends – all you can depend upon. Here is my card.

The S. S. (putting the card in the lining of his hat). Right, Guv'nor; we'll come. I wish there was more gents like yer, I do!

Mr. W. We are united by a common bond. We both detest – do we not? – the Hanoverian interlopers. We are both pledged never to rest until we have brought back to the throne of our beloved England, her lawful sovereign lady – (uncovering) – our gracious Mary of Austria-Este, the legitimate descendant of Charles the Blessed Martyr!

The S. S. 'Old on, Guv'nor! Me and my friends are with yer so fur as doing away with these 'ere hidle Guelphs; but blow yer Mary of Orstria, yer know. Blow 'er!

Mr. W. (horrified). Hush – this is rank treason! Remember – she is the lineal descendant of the House of Stuart!

The S. S. What of it? There won't be no lineal descendants when we git hour way, 'cause there won't be nothing to descend to nobody. The honly suv'rin we mean to 'ave is the People – the Democrisy. But there, you're young, me and my friends'll soon tork you over to hour way o' thinking. I dessay we 'aint fur apart, as it is. I got yer address, and we'll drop in on yer some night – never fear. No hevenin' dress, o' course?

Mr. W. Of course. I – I'll look out for you. But I'm seldom in – hardly ever, in fact.

The S. S. Don't you fret about that. Me and my friends ain't nothing partickler to do just now. We'll wait for yer. I should like yer to know ole Bill Gabb. You should 'ear that feller goin' on agin the Guelphs when he's 'ad a little booze – it 'ud do your 'art good. Well, I on'y come in 'ere as a deligate like, to report, and I seen enough. So 'ere's good-day to yer.

Mr W. (alone). I shall have to change my rooms – and I was so comfortable! Well, well, – another sacrifice to the Cause!

AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY

IN THE VESTIBULE

Visitors ascending staircase, full of enthusiasm and energetic determination not to miss a single Picture, encounter people descending in various stages of mental and physical exhaustion. At the turnstiles two Friends meet unexpectedly; both being shy men, who, with timely notice, would have preferred to avoid one another, their greetings are marked by an unnatural effusion and followed by embarrassed silence

First Shy Man (to break the spell). Odd, our running up against one another like this, eh?

Second Shy Man. Oh, very odd. (Looks about him irresolutely, and wonders if it would be decent to pass on. Decides it will hardly do.) Great place for meeting, the Academy, though.

First S. M. Yes; sure to come across somebody, sooner or later.

[Laughs nervously, and wishes the other would go

Second S. M. (seeing that his friend lingers). This your first visit here?

First S. M. Yes. Couldn't very well get away before, you know.

[Feels apologetic, without exactly knowing why

Second S. M. It's my first visit, too. (Sees no escape, and resigns himself.) Er – we may as well go round together, eh?

First S. M. (who was afraid this was coming—heartily). Good! By the way, I always think, on a first visit, it's best to take a single room, and do that thoroughly. [This has only just occurred to him.

Second S. M. (who had been intending to follow that plan himself). Oh, do you? Now, for my part, I don't attempt to see anything thoroughly the first time. Just scamper through, glance at the things one oughtn't to miss, get a general impression, and come away. Then, if I don't happen to come again, I've always done it, you see. But (considerately), look here. Don't let me drag you about, if you'd rather not!

First S. M. Oh, but I shouldn't like to feel I was any tie on you. Don't you mind about me. I shall potter about in here – for hours, I dare say.

Second S. M. Ah, well (with vague consolation), I shall always know where to find you, I suppose.

First S. M. (brightening visibly). Oh dear, yes; I sha'n't be far away.

[They part with mutual relief, only tempered by the necessity of following the course they have respectively prescribed for themselves. Nemesis overtakes the Second S. M. in the next Gallery, when he is captured by a Desultory Enthusiast, who insists upon dragging him all over the place to see obscure "bits" and "gems," which are only to be appreciated by ricking the neck or stooping painfully

A Suburban Lady (to Female Friend). Oh dear, how stupid of me! I quite forgot to bring a pencil! Oh, thank you, dear, that will do beautifully. It's just a little blunt; but so long as I can mark with it, you know. You don't think we should avoid the crush if we began at the end room? Well, perhaps it is less confusing to begin at the beginning, and work steadily through.

IN GALLERY NO. I

A small group has collected before Mr. Wyllie's "Davy Jones's Locker," which they inspect solemnly for some time before venturing to commit themselves to any opinion

First Visitor (after devoting his whole mind to the subject). Why, it's the Bottom of the Sea – at least (more cautiously), that's what it seems to be intended for.

Second V. Ah, and very well done, too. I wonder, now, how he managed to stay down long enough to paint all that?

Third V. Practice, I suppose. I've seen writing done under water myself. But that was a tank!

Fourth V. (presumably in profound allusion to the fishes and sea-anemones). Well, they seem to be 'aving it all their own way down there, don't they?

[The Group, feeling that this remark sums up the situation, disperses

The Suburban Lady (her pencil in full play). No. 93. Now what's that about? Oh, "Forbidden Sweets," – yes, to be sure. Isn't that charming? Those two dear little tots having their tea, and the kitten with its head stuck in the jam-pot, and the label and all, and the sticky spoon on the nursery table-cloth – so natural! I really must mark that. (Awards this distinction.) 97. "Going up Top." Yes, of course. Look, Lucy dear, that little fellow has just answered a question, and his master tells him he may go to the top of the class, do you see? And the big boy looking so sulky, he's wishing he had learnt his lesson better. I do think it's so clever – all the different expressions. Yes, I shall certainly mark that!

IN GALLERY NO. II

The S. L. (doubtfully). H'm, No. 156. "Cloud Chariots"? Not very like chariots, though, are they?

Her Friend. I expect it's one of those sort of pictures that you have to look at a long time, and then things gradually come out of it, you know.

The S. L. It may be. (Tries the experiment.) No, I can't make anything come out – only just clouds and their reflections. (Struggling between good-nature and conscientiousness.) I don't think I can mark that.

IN GALLERY NO. III

A Matron (before Mr. Dicksee's "Tannhäuser"). "Venus and Tannhäuser" – ah, and is that Venus on the stretcher? Oh, that's her all on fire in the background. Then which is Tannhäuser, and what are they all supposed to be doing? [In a tone of irritation.

Her Nephew. Oh, it tells you all about it in the Catalogue – he meets her funeral, you know, and leaves grow on his stick.

The Matron (pursing her lips). Oh, a dead person.

[Repulses the Catalogue severely and passes on

First Person, with an "Eye for Art" (before "Psyche's Bath," by the President). Not bad, eh?

Second Person, &c. No, I rather like it. (Feels that he is growing too lenient). He doesn't give you a very good idea of marble, though.

First P. &c. No —that's not marble, and he always puts too many folds in his drapery to suit me.

First P. &c. Just what I always say. It's not natural, you know.

[They pass on, much pleased with themselves and one another

A Fiancé (halting before a sea-scape, by Mr. Henry Moore, to Fiancée). Here, I say, hold on a bit – what's this one?

Fiancée (who doesn't mean to waste the whole afternoon over pictures). Why, it's only a lot of waves —come on!

The Suburban L. Lucy, this is rather nice. "Breakfasts for the Porth!" (Pondering). I think there must be a mistake in the Catalogue – I don't see any breakfast things – they're cleaning fish, and what's a "Porth!" Would you mark that – or not?

Her Comp. Oh, I think so.

The S. L. I don't know. I've marked such a quantity already and the lead won't hold out much longer. Oh, it's by Hook, R.A. Then I suppose it's sure to be all right. I've marked it, dear.

Duet by Two Dreadfully Severe Young Ladies, who paint a little on China. Oh, my dear, look at that. Did you ever see such a thing? Isn't it too perfectly awful? And there's a thing! Do come and look at this horror over here. A "Study," indeed. I should just think it was! Oh, Maggie, don't be so satirical, or I shall die! No, but do just see this – isn't it killing? They get worse and worse every year, I declare!

[And so on

IN GALLERY NO. V

Two Prosaic Persons come upon a little picture, by Mr. Swan, of a boy lying on a rock, piping to fishes.

First P. P. That's a rum thing!

Second P. P. Yes, I wasn't aware myself that fishes were so partial to music.

First P. P. They may be – out there – (perceiving that the boy is unclad) – but it's peculiar altogether – they look like herrings to me.

Second P. P. Yes – or mackerel. But (tolerantly) I suppose it's a fancy subject.

[They consider that this absolves them from taking any further interest in it, and pass on

IN GALLERY NO. XI

An Old Lady (who judges Art from a purely Moral Standpoint, halts approvingly before a picture of a female orphan). Now that really is a nice picture, my dear – a plain black dress and white cuffs – just what I like to see in a young person!

The S. L. (her enthusiasm greatly on the wane, and her temper slightly affected). Lucy, I wish you wouldn't worry so – it's quite impossible to stop and look at everything. If you wanted your tea as badly as I do! Mark that one? What, when they neither of them have a single thing on! Never, Lucy, – and I'm surprised at your suggesting it! Oh, you meant the next one? h'm – no, I can't say I care for it. Well, if I do mark it, I shall only put a tick – for it really is not worth a cross!