FAME!
Evans Evans, E.A., the famous Artist, Knight of the Order of Merit in Germany, Officer of the Legion of Honour in France, Ac., Ac., visits his native place in
Wales, and meets his first and only love, who married (alas!) the Village Doctor.
She. “Dear me! To think of our meeting again after so many years! How well I remember you! You used to go in for Fainting and Sketching, and all that—and do you go in for it still?”
NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A CITY WAITER.
Robert at the Royal Academy.
For tho first time in my long perfeshnal experience I found myself on Saturday at the Royal Acaddemy Dinner. ,
I don’t think upon the whole it’s a very satisfaetry place to dine in, the picturs interferes with the Dinner and the Dinner with tne Picture, so you can t give your whole mind to eithor. 1 don’t know who was
the Arkitecof the buildin, but he must ha’ knowed preshus little about serving of dinners or he wood have made better erangements than he has done for this, of corse, the most important day of the year. By merely giving up one or two of the Galery’s as they calls ’em, tho I’m slire I don’t know why, he could have made it a splendid dining place, almost equal to Goldsmiths’ All.
It wasn’t a bad dinner, nor a bad company, but the guests was mixed.
The one perfeshonal thought that forced itself upon me while performing my umble duties was, how huniwersal is the love of Sparrow Grass ! Whether it be among Royal Princes or Royal Academy missions, among Home Ministers or Forren Ministers, among the Dramandattic Professnun or the numerous but not humourous Parsons at the
Manshun House, from the Royal Hair Apparent to the Poor Painter, they all loves it. I don’t enjoy it so much myself now they ’re growed such a size and such a colour. I likes my grass green as seems more natural.
As for the speetchis I quite agrees with Mr. Gladstun as there was too many on ’em, but I wunder if he’d a liked to have left out his as a xample ? Not he, thinks I. Whioh his were more like a sirmun than a speetoh.
The Chairman seemed a nice sort of Gent, and ain’t at all a bad speaker, and with a little more practice might do for the Washupfool Master of the
Painters’ Company some day, but nine speetchis is what I calls overdoing of it.
Of course the Lord Mare made the best speech of the evening, but they didn’t seem quite to understand it,
and kept laughing in the wrong places, but of course they’re not quite used to that sort of thing, so their ignorense was quite excusable.
And so ended the Royal Academy Banquet, and I’m akshaUy told it will be quite 12 months afore the poor Painters get such another. For my part give me the Painter as surplies the Tuttle-soup.
Poor fellows! how I pities ’em, it wouldn’t at all sute my City patrons.
THE GROSVENOR GALLERY.
A LAY OF THE PRIVATE VIEW.
The Grosvenor ! the view that’s called private,
Yet all the world seems to be thore ; Each carriage that comes to arrive at
The door, makes the populace stare. There’s Gladstone, severe of demeanour,
It’s plain that the pictures don’t please ; And there, with an aspect serener,
Her Highness.the Princess Louise. The haunt of the very aesthetic,
Here come the supremely intense, The long-haired and hyper-poetic
Whose sound is mistaken for sense. And many a maiden will mutter,
When Oscar looms large on her sight, “He’s quite too consummately utter,
As well as too utterly quite.”
The dresses! What thinks Mr. Gilbert,
Who’s given us some dainty designs, Of folds like the dead leaf or filbert,
That fall in such Florentine lines.
I trow on the whole that there’s not a
Costume that looks better to-day, Than wraps of a warm terra-cotta
Two elegant ladies display.
A frock that’s the tone of a tartlet,
A hat medifevally wide, Must startle our Burdett-Coutts-Bartlet,
Who’s here with his Baroness bride.
But come, we’ve the pictures to Btare on, And scarcely can see for the throng,
Coutts-Lindsay’s remarkable “ Charon ”— Another good DoRf; gone wrong!
Here’s Whistler paints Miss Alexander,
A portrait washed out as by rain;
’Twill raise Ruskin’s critical dander,
To find James is at it again. The flesh-tints of Watts are quite comic ;
There’s Herkomer’s chaos of stones; But where is the great anatomic
Improver on Nature, Burne-Jones ? A Grosvenor without him so strange is,
We miss the long ohins and knock-knees, The angel of bronze, who for change is
Tied up to the stiffest of trees: Limp lads with their belli capelli,
Mad maidens with love smitten sore, Oh, shade of defunct Boticelli,
Burne-Jones comes to startle no more!
Bad Eggs.
The Nihilists at Moscow have been trying to propagate Nihilism by means of manifestoes enclosed in F,aster eggs, wliioh, charged with those incendiary contents, they scatter, broadcast, about the streets. Better shells of this kind than bombs charged with physical explosives such as dynamite. Is it by means of these eggs the Nihilists hope to get rid of the yoke ?
The First of May: a Fairy Masque. By Walter Crane. A book of rare designs and quaint fancies, all out of his owna cranium. A orano was made to give any
thing a lift, and this particular Crane uses his power to elevate Art.
Evans Evans, E.A., the famous Artist, Knight of the Order of Merit in Germany, Officer of the Legion of Honour in France, Ac., Ac., visits his native place in
Wales, and meets his first and only love, who married (alas!) the Village Doctor.
She. “Dear me! To think of our meeting again after so many years! How well I remember you! You used to go in for Fainting and Sketching, and all that—and do you go in for it still?”
NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF A CITY WAITER.
Robert at the Royal Academy.
For tho first time in my long perfeshnal experience I found myself on Saturday at the Royal Acaddemy Dinner. ,
I don’t think upon the whole it’s a very satisfaetry place to dine in, the picturs interferes with the Dinner and the Dinner with tne Picture, so you can t give your whole mind to eithor. 1 don’t know who was
the Arkitecof the buildin, but he must ha’ knowed preshus little about serving of dinners or he wood have made better erangements than he has done for this, of corse, the most important day of the year. By merely giving up one or two of the Galery’s as they calls ’em, tho I’m slire I don’t know why, he could have made it a splendid dining place, almost equal to Goldsmiths’ All.
It wasn’t a bad dinner, nor a bad company, but the guests was mixed.
The one perfeshonal thought that forced itself upon me while performing my umble duties was, how huniwersal is the love of Sparrow Grass ! Whether it be among Royal Princes or Royal Academy missions, among Home Ministers or Forren Ministers, among the Dramandattic Professnun or the numerous but not humourous Parsons at the
Manshun House, from the Royal Hair Apparent to the Poor Painter, they all loves it. I don’t enjoy it so much myself now they ’re growed such a size and such a colour. I likes my grass green as seems more natural.
As for the speetchis I quite agrees with Mr. Gladstun as there was too many on ’em, but I wunder if he’d a liked to have left out his as a xample ? Not he, thinks I. Whioh his were more like a sirmun than a speetoh.
The Chairman seemed a nice sort of Gent, and ain’t at all a bad speaker, and with a little more practice might do for the Washupfool Master of the
Painters’ Company some day, but nine speetchis is what I calls overdoing of it.
Of course the Lord Mare made the best speech of the evening, but they didn’t seem quite to understand it,
and kept laughing in the wrong places, but of course they’re not quite used to that sort of thing, so their ignorense was quite excusable.
And so ended the Royal Academy Banquet, and I’m akshaUy told it will be quite 12 months afore the poor Painters get such another. For my part give me the Painter as surplies the Tuttle-soup.
Poor fellows! how I pities ’em, it wouldn’t at all sute my City patrons.
THE GROSVENOR GALLERY.
A LAY OF THE PRIVATE VIEW.
The Grosvenor ! the view that’s called private,
Yet all the world seems to be thore ; Each carriage that comes to arrive at
The door, makes the populace stare. There’s Gladstone, severe of demeanour,
It’s plain that the pictures don’t please ; And there, with an aspect serener,
Her Highness.the Princess Louise. The haunt of the very aesthetic,
Here come the supremely intense, The long-haired and hyper-poetic
Whose sound is mistaken for sense. And many a maiden will mutter,
When Oscar looms large on her sight, “He’s quite too consummately utter,
As well as too utterly quite.”
The dresses! What thinks Mr. Gilbert,
Who’s given us some dainty designs, Of folds like the dead leaf or filbert,
That fall in such Florentine lines.
I trow on the whole that there’s not a
Costume that looks better to-day, Than wraps of a warm terra-cotta
Two elegant ladies display.
A frock that’s the tone of a tartlet,
A hat medifevally wide, Must startle our Burdett-Coutts-Bartlet,
Who’s here with his Baroness bride.
But come, we’ve the pictures to Btare on, And scarcely can see for the throng,
Coutts-Lindsay’s remarkable “ Charon ”— Another good DoRf; gone wrong!
Here’s Whistler paints Miss Alexander,
A portrait washed out as by rain;
’Twill raise Ruskin’s critical dander,
To find James is at it again. The flesh-tints of Watts are quite comic ;
There’s Herkomer’s chaos of stones; But where is the great anatomic
Improver on Nature, Burne-Jones ? A Grosvenor without him so strange is,
We miss the long ohins and knock-knees, The angel of bronze, who for change is
Tied up to the stiffest of trees: Limp lads with their belli capelli,
Mad maidens with love smitten sore, Oh, shade of defunct Boticelli,
Burne-Jones comes to startle no more!
Bad Eggs.
The Nihilists at Moscow have been trying to propagate Nihilism by means of manifestoes enclosed in F,aster eggs, wliioh, charged with those incendiary contents, they scatter, broadcast, about the streets. Better shells of this kind than bombs charged with physical explosives such as dynamite. Is it by means of these eggs the Nihilists hope to get rid of the yoke ?
The First of May: a Fairy Masque. By Walter Crane. A book of rare designs and quaint fancies, all out of his owna cranium. A orano was made to give any
thing a lift, and this particular Crane uses his power to elevate Art.