THE PICK OF THE R.A. PICTURES. No. 2.
No. 139. Ça donne à penser. Not a more suggestive pose does any portrait possess throughout the Galleries. It is described tout court as "Albert Brassey, Esq.," and 'tis the work (and the pleasure) of W. W. Ouless, R.A. "'Tis a fine work!" says Bob to 'Arry. "O' course," returns 'Arry Joker. "Great! 'Ow less could be expected of 'im tho', I dun no." It represents an undecided moment in Mr. Albert Brassey's life. It is as if he were Mr. "All but" Brassey, and wasn't quite certain of what he should do next. There is the writing-desk,—shall he indite a letter? If he does so, shall he take off his thick-fur coat? Or shall he go hunting, since he has on, underneath the furrin' fur, the pink of hunting perfection? Likewise he has his whip and his horn, also his boots! He's "got 'em on!" He's "got 'em all on!" Or shall he hail the 5,000-ton yacht that's lying in the roads just a few yards from his open window, and go out for a cruise? He looks happy, but puzzled.
No. 543. The Picture of the Year. Lamp-light reading; or, Mr. Punch among the Pretty Pets. "Dulce est dissipere in joco." H. H. La Thangue.
No. 167. The Right Hon. H. H. Fowler, M.P. "Presentation Portrait," painted by Arthur S. Cope. "When the Right Hon. Gentleman rose to speak, the House, with the exception of a clerk at the table and two small boys (whose presence within the precincts has never been satisfactorily accounted for) was empty."—Extract from The Imaginary Times Parliamentary Report of that date.
No. 350. Mrs. Keeley at the age of Eighty-six. Looking so well and sprightly, that the Artist must have been at considerable pains to induce her to sit still just one moment for her portrait. Long may she remain with us! Our compliments to the Artist, Julia B. Folkard.
No. 434. Mr. Somerscales has given us the best sea-piece of the year. It shows a "Corvette shortening sail to pick up a shipwrecked crew." "A sale in sight appeared!"—and as the picture, so it is said, was immediately sold, so also were those who came too late to make a bid.
No. 524. Gentleman writing. "A nice quiet corner for a little composition away from all those speaking likenesses." J. W. Forster.
No. 533. This is a sad-looking little girl, painted by William Carter. She has an unsettled expression. Is she suffering from what the Clown calls "teezy-weezies-in-the-pandenoodles," and, as Sir John Millais's "Bubbles" served P**rs for an advertisement, is it beyond the range of probability that this, being associated with the name of "Carter," should be intended as a pictorial advertisement for the well-known "L-ttle L-v-r P-lls"?
An Artist's work "on the Line."
No. 535. Portrait (presumably) of C. R. Fletcher Lutwidge, Esq. By St. George Hare. Ha! Ha! Ha! By St. George you Ha're bound to laugh directly you look at it. You can't help it. "C. R. F. L." is chuckling to himself and saying, "Ha! Ha! I've just thought of such a funny thing! Ha! Ha! Ha!" And he is enjoying it so! As the song says, "O Mister (I forget the name), what a funny little man you are!"
No. 553. This, by Mr. Markham Skipworth, is a portrait of Dr. E. Ker Gray, LL.D of St. George's Chapel, Mayfair. "Ker Gray!" it ought to be "Ker Scarlet."
No. 862. Portrait of a Gentleman, by Phil R. Morris, A. The Portrait, annoyed at being next to Sidney Cooper's, R A., "Be it ever so humble, &c.," representing head of a jackass, and some sheepish sheep, is evidently saying to itself, "Hang the Hanging Committee! They show me as next door to a donkey."
No. 888. The Wedding Gifts. The pretty Bride is a bit frightened at seeing the Groom leading up two bare-back'd steeds. "Oh!" she cries, "I can't ride them! Why (to her husband) did you give me these?" "My dear," says he, "why not? Here are the bare-backed steeds, and you've already got the Ring." S. E. Waller.
No. 892. "Your Health!" A Birthday Party at Mr. Ernest Hart's. Painted by S. J. Solomon. As a subject, the wisdom of Solomon is questionable as a specimen of Hacademie Hart—ahem! However, to the toast of "Your Health!" as addressed to Mr. Ernest Hart, Master Sol might have added the words, "Most Ernestly and Hartily."
No. 928. Exhibition of Miss Biffin, "who has no legs to speak of." "If you saw my ancles," said Miss Mowcher, "I should go home and kill myself." But Arthur Hacker, whose capital work it is, calls it "Circe."
No. 937. "It might have been," by F. Stuart Sindici, represents Napoleon and Wellington out walking together, in 1847, near the Horse Guards. "It might have been" if .... But it wasn't—though F. Stuart Sindici went nap on it, and dreamt it. Why shouldn't Julius Cæsar and Lord Brougham have hobnobbed together over Pommery '74 at Frascati's in Regent Street, or why shouldn't the Great Duke of Marlborough and Admiral Hamilcar of Carthage, after leaving Hoi Adelphoi at the theatre, have taken supper at Rule's in Maiden Lane? Why not? "It might have been"—of course; why, when you come to think of it, there's hardly anything that mightn't have been, if it had only taken place. Such possible subjects would fill the most vast picture gallery in the Château d'If.