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comfortable! Well, well,—another sacrifice to the Cause![ 32] <hr style="width: 85%;" /> <h2>AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.</h2> 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.[ 33] 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?[ 34] <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/p34.png" width-obs="481" height-obs="600" alt=""CAPTURED BY A DESULTORY ENTHUSIAST."" title="" /> "CAPTURED BY A DESULTORY ENTHUSIAST."</div> [ 35] 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.[ 36] 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![ 37] 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! COMING OUT. The Man who always makes the Right Remark. H'm. Haven't seen anything I could carry away with me. His Flippant Friend. Too many people about, eh? Never mind, old chap, you may manage to sneak an umbrella down stairs—I won't say anything! [Disgust of his companion, who descends stairs in offended silence, <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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