The place of honour in the Academy is occupied by Mr. Abbey’s remarkable work, “Columbus in the New World” (143). Columbus, in armour, kneels on the seashore, priests in their robes kneeling a few paces in rear. The air is thick with scarlet flamingoes—the brilliant Florida species—in flight. The blaze of vermilion dazzles and bewilders the eye, and the indifference of the Discoverer, and his followers to the marvel of bird-life strikes one as unnatural. A very fine piece of work is Mr. James Beadle’s “Les Braves Gens” (150), a scene of the Franco-Prussian War; the horses of the cavalry are cleverly modelled, and the grouping, bound by military conditions, is very artistic. Mr. S. J. Solomon (R.A.-elect) has a pleasing picture (151) of a little girl in pink with a horn, astride a pony, with a couple of frisking terriers, which he entitles “The Field.” Mr. Arthur Wardle takes us to different scenes in “A Sylvan God” (157); the lithe suppleness of the leopard in the foreground is beautifully rendered. Mr. Briton Riviere’s portrait of Professor Frank Clowes (161) comes within our purview, inasmuch as the artist has represented the Professor with his golf clubs. “Winter’s Victim” (189) is the title of Mr. Edwin Alexander’s picture of a dead stag stretched on the snow, with a carrion crow about to begin its meal. The stag is in rather better condition than might be expected of one that has been starved to death, but this, perhaps, is a concession to artistic requirements. Mr. Max Bohm’s “Nearing the Bar” (226) is skied, but its merits are too striking to be overlooked; in the stern of a fishing boat rushing before the wind an old man sits, tiller in hand, his gaze fixed on the unseen “bar.” The intentness of the man’s visage compels admiration, and not less the mingling of excitement and apprehension on that of the boy by his side; a very clever picture. Mr. Edmund Brock in “The Spring-time of Life” (245) has a portrait group, a young man pulling two girls in a skiff, restful and pleasing. In the same room Mr. H. W. B. Davis, R.A., has one of his pictures of Highland Cattle in “Ben Eay, Ross-shire” (279). Mr. Charles E. Stewart’s “Fire!” (285) is a powerful piece of horse painting; the pair of greys harnessed to the engine, approaching the foreground at the gallop, are beautifully modelled; the action is at once vigorous and correct. Good, too, are the horses in Mr. W. B. Wollen’s “The Sun of Austerlitz” (321). Mr. Edgar Fischer has two tigers in “Dawn” (331), one drinking (why is the tiger drinking so popular with the brethren of the brush?), the other growling at some invisible foe across the pool. We might find some minor defects in the equine anatomy in Miss Eleanor Wigram’s “Water Jump at Sandown” (349), but regarded as a whole it is a very successful attempt to represent horses in attitudes difficult to catch, save by instantaneous photography; one horse has landed over the water, the rest are in air or rising to the fence. There is a freedom of handling in the composition which entirely satisfies.
In this gallery we find the most striking and successful horse picture of the year in Miss Lucy Kemp-Welch’s great canvas, “The Joy of Life” (356), a small mob of horses careering about the open fields in the utter abandonment of vitality. They are splendidly modelled, and the work is instinct with vigorous movement. Mr. Simon Vedder’s “King of the Desert” (369) is not very easy to see, being skied. The lion is roaring, with his head up, and the crouching lioness has apparently paused in drinking to cast an enquiring look at him from her baleful green eyes. Mr. Ernest Spence has a good portrait of “Sir John Wallington, K.C.B.” (385), in the uniform of the Badminton Hunt, and hard by is Mr. Alfred Munning’s “Ponies at a Horse Fair” (416), half a dozen cheap animals tied to a low hedge; the blemished piebald on the right is not the class of nag that satisfies the artistic eye, and the painter deserves much credit for the unflinching accuracy with which he has treated a rather sordid equine subject. “Newcastle Fair” (410), by Mr. John Atkinson, a group of gipsy vans with their worn-out horses, is treated in much the same spirit. Miss Mabel Hollams has chosen a rather depressing subject in “His Last Fence” (468); the horse has evidently broken his back over the rather insignificant hedge and lies prone, with his owner kneeling at his head. The coats of the hunting men are rather too bright, but otherwise the picture is a good one. Miss Maud Earl’s “End of the Trail” (477) is a study of wolf-like sledge dogs on a desert of snow; the texture of the coat of the principal figure is equal to anything Miss Earl has ever given us. Mr. William Wall’s “Death of the Roebuck” (504) satisfies as far as the greyhound is concerned; the dog, panting from his exertions, has evidently pulled down the roe single-handed; it is, perhaps, an open question whether a greyhound could do this in the woodlands affected by these deer. Mr. John Charlton has a large and admirably composed picture in (520) “Gone to Ground”; the earth is under a sandy bank among tree roots, and the hounds are grouped round it, their interest in the fox having, it would seem, evaporated. The grouping of the hounds is excellent and the whole work satisfies the eye. “Recuperation” (531) is a clever study of hounds in kennel by Mr. J. Walter Hadland; the grouping here is also good and the artist has been particularly successful with the heads of his hounds. Mr. Munning’s “Meet at the Bell” (540) has merit, but is too crowded; or perhaps it were more accurate to say the figures are too large for the canvas; a pity, as the horse ridden by the master is the true hunter stamp and is admirably painted, while the artist knows how to put a man in the saddle. Mr. Charlton’s other work in the same room, a lady reining in a good-looking chestnut in a woodland glade, “Hark! Back!” (557) shows the artist at his best as a painter of horse-flesh. Miss Margaret Collyer calls her clever and vigorous little picture (594) of two Irish terriers fighting, “Home Rule”; the prophecy political may be overlooked in appreciation of the merit of the drawing. Miss Florence Jay’s “Run to Earth” (637) shows once again that she has studied foxhounds closely and can paint them with fidelity. Mr. Harold Pearson, M.P., was formerly Master of the Oxford Drag, and it is hunting dress that Mr. Glazebrook has elected to portray him in No. 695. Mr. Sanderson Wells’ coaching picture “Rushing the Hill, Derby Day” (714), is a strong and vigorous piece of work; the whip is springing his cattle up the slope almost directly at the spectator; it was no means an easy point of view from which to paint a team, but the action of Mr. Sanderson Wells’ browns is most lifelike. Mr. Charles Ward’s “A Coombe in the Quantocks” (821) will appeal to followers of the staghounds on Exmoor.
There are in the Water-colour Room some pictures which should not be missed; notably Miss Lucy Kemp Welch’s “Horse Drovers” (925); the scene a country lane, with half a dozen carthorses in varying attitudes. The horses in Mr. Sheldon Williams’ “Labourers” (951) are well done. In the Black and White room we find Mr. John Emm’s clever hound study, “The Pride of Belvoir” (1284), and Mr. Victor Focillon’s very successful engraving of Mr. Napier Henry’s yachting picture of a year or two ago, “Youth.” Mr. A. D. Greenhill Gardyne’s “Captain S. C. Crawfurd and a Giraffe” (1356) shows the sportsman resting against the body of the great beast which has fallen to his rifle. “Coaches at Ascot leaving the Course,” by Mr. Arthur J. Gough, also deserves praiseworthy mention. There is little in the sculpture room that calls for notice from us. Miss Geraldine Blake’s statuette “The Stock Rider” (1706) is a good piece of modelling, and Miss Katherine Wallis has been successful with her bronze statuette of a dachshund (1753). So animated and clever is the figure of a little girl delightedly but fearfully holding out a frog by the hind-leg (La petite grenouillière), we cannot forbear to draw attention to it. Herr Paul Hüsgen must be congratulated on the success with which he has caught the likeness in his bronze medallion of Sir Walter Gilbey.
Notes and Sport of a Dry-fly Purist.
THE GRAYLING SEASON, 1905.
During the past season I enjoyed the privilege of fishing for grayling in the very best stocked portions of the Itchen at Twyford and Shawford.
On August 11th, 5 brace were killed; on the 12th, 3½ brace; on the 19th, 4 brace; on the 23rd, 4 brace; on the 26th, 1 brace—their weights varying from 14 oz. to 1¼ lb. On August 28th the evening was stormy, and until seven o’clock no signs of flies or of fish breaking the surface of the swollen, breeze-rippled, and strongly running stream could be noticed. I was standing near the swampy margin of the west bank above Shawford Bridge, and with little hope of the prospect for sport improving, when a single dark olive dun floated down, and just as its struggles to dry its wings seemed effectual it rose, but fell on the water again, and instantly a grayling flashed up and took it. Well hooked and played from the bended rod, it was felt to be a heavy one; nor could it be much restrained without risk until it had drifted to the ford, where I was in the act of trying to draw it over the shallow side to dry land, not intending to use the net, when a man watching from the bridge, a black retriever at his side, called out, “Shall I come and land him for you, sir?” At that instant his dog rushed round to the shallows, and wildly jumping about, repeatedly tried to seize the fish—in fact, to retrieve it as he would a moorhen. The chance of hooking the dog was so likely, and the consequent breakage of my tackle, perhaps losing the fish also, that I promptly used the net handle to beat him off, and as I landed and unhooked the grayling (afterwards found to weigh 1 lb. 7 oz.), the dog looked on, wagging his tail and barking excitedly—possibly he expected praise rather than a beating.
For the next half hour, at intervals, a few dark-winged Ephemeræ were seen to emerge on the surface. I knotted on to the fine-drawn gut point of my cast a red quill dressed on a cipher hook, and after many attempts, baffled by the wind, to present it just right, a grayling that could plainly be seen in a clear run close under my bank rose to it and was hooked and brought to net, weighing 15 oz. Another an ounce heavier soon followed. Afterwards, about 8 p.m., when the wind had lulled, some sedgeflies hovered over the surface in mid-channel, occasionally dipping on to it as they dropped their eggs. A larger red quill on a No. 2 hook was therefore tried, as it was similar in size to the natural sedges, and, presented by the horizontal back-handed casting method, it sailed lightly down over the ring of a feeding fish, and when he rose again and snatched at it he hooked himself, giving three minutes of exciting sport ere the landing-net secured him, a grayling of 14 oz., making up two brace weighing 4½lb.
On the 30th, after the total eclipse of the sun in the afternoon, the evening was dull, and low clouds threatened rain. I fished in the same place as last. The river was clear but brimful; indeed, here and away overflowing its banks, and running so wildly that a dry fly cast up stream in the usual manner immediately dragged, and if thrown across, the line sagged or bellied, and consequently, whenever a fish took my fly, it was most difficult, on the slack line, to strike and hook him. To let the fly drift was easier and the only alternative, and in this way 2½ brace of grayling, from 10 to 13 inches in length, were creeled by 8.10 p.m. At which time, having lost my fly in an overhanging branch, it was too dark to see to tie on another, and I reluctantly had to leave off. It was particularly provoking, for the fish were then rising in that reckless way they often do for a brief time at dusk.