Mr. P. "AH! THEY'RE AN AWFULLY UGLY LOT! I DID THINK THE OLD GAUCHE-HEN—(AHEM!)—WOULD HA' DONE BETTER THAN THAT!!"
[Exit sadly.]
THE LAST VISIT (BUT ONE) TO THE ACADEMY.
|
No. 518. Left Leg Shrunk. |
No. 624. Her Serene Transparency. | No. 413. Hard Hit in a Town and Gown Row. |
| No. 647. What can we do with the Baby? | Warming his Back against the Soup Tureen | No. 253. Pulling the Stuffing out of Toy Terrier. |
A grand flare-up on Thursday last. A Jubilee Soirée worthy of the Jubilee Year and the Royal Academicians. Kings, Queens, Royal Highnesses, Grand Dukes and Duchesses have become so common this Jubilee month, that, when some blasé and well-seasoned Londoner is asked who such and such a decorated person is, he languidly replies, "Oh! only a King, or something of that sort."
There was a private Royal Night on Wednesday, when only Royalty and The Forty R.A.'s were present,—"The Forty" did something in the oil and colour line, as we gather from The Arabian Nights, revised edition, by Lady Burton,—and, of course, Mr. Punch, who is everywhere on every occasion, and who, in a general way, represents H.R.H. Everybody.