WRESTLING WITH WHISTLERS.

(A reminiscence of A recent exhibition.)

Scene—­The Goupil Gallery.  Groups of more or less puzzled Britons discovered, conscientiously endeavouring to do justice to the Collection, having realised that Mr. WHISTLER’s work is now considered entitled to serious consideration, but feeling themselves unable to get beyond a timid tolerance.  In addition to these, there are Frank Philistines who are here with a fixed intention of being funny, Matrons with a strongly domesticated taste in Art, Serious Elderly Ladies, Literal Persons, &c., &c.

A Lady (after looking at a representation of Old Battersea Bridge—­in the tone of a person who feels she is making a liberal concession).  Well, do you know, I must say that isn’t so bad.  I shouldn’t so much mind having that in the room, should you?

[Illustration:  A Brother Brush.]

Her Companion (dubiously).  Well, I don’t know.  He’s put a steamer in.  Should you think there were steamers in—­a—­(vaguely)—­those days?

First Lady (evidently considering Mr. WHISTLER capable of any eccentricity).  Oh, I don’t suppose he would mind that much.

First Literal Person (coming to the portrait of Miss ALEXANDER).  Well—­(plaintively)—­he might have put a nicer expression on the child!

Second Do.  Do. Yes—­very unpleasing. (Refers to Catalogue.) Oh, I see it says—­“It is simply a disagreeable presentment of a disagreeable young lady.”

First Do.  Do. (rejoicing that the painter has vindicated himself this time).  Ah—­that explains it, then.  Of course if he meant it—!

A Serious Elderly Lady. There’s one thing I must say I do like, my dear, and that’s the way he puts down all the unfavourable criticisms on his pictures.  So straightforward and honest of him, I call it.

Her Companion. Yes, but I expect he can’t help seeing how right and sensible the critics are, you know.  Still—­(charitably)—­it shows he would do better if he could!

An Advanced Nephew (who is endeavouring to convert a Philistine Uncle to the superiority of the Modern School).  Now here, Uncle, look at this.  Look at the way the figure looms out of the canvas, look at the learning in the simple sweep of the drapery, the drawing of it, and the masterly grace of the pose—­you don’t mean to tell me you don’t call that a magnificent portrait?

His Uncle. Who’s it of?  That’s what I want to know first.

Nephew (coldly).  You will find it in the Catalogue, no doubt—­No. 41.

Uncle (looking it up). “Arrangement in Black.  La Dame au Brodequin Jaune.”—­the lady in a yellow something or other.  Tchah!  And not a word to tell you who she’s supposed to be?  If I pay a shilling for a Catalogue, I expect to find information in it.  And let me ask you—­where’s the interest in looking at a portrait when you’re not told who it’s intended for?