beheld the picture for the
first time I was simply struck dumb by the excessively bad work which it
contained. The dictates of courtesy of course required that I should say
all the civil things I could about it, but I could hardly repress a
smile when I heard someone else pronounce the portrait to be charming.
However, as my host seemed to think that perhaps I was too near, and
that the work might gain in enchantment if I gave it a little distance,
we moved towards the other end of the gallery and, at his suggestion,
looked into an antiquated mirror, where I got in the half light what
seemed a reflection of it. The improvement was obvious, and I told my
friend so. I told him that the effect was now so lifelike that the
figure seemed to be moving; but when he in turn gazed into the glass he
explained somewhat testily that I was not looking at his wife's portrait
at all, but at the white parrot in the cage hard by. The moral of this
incident is that if patrons of art in their pursuit of eccentricities
will pay large sums to an artist for placing a poor portrait in a
massive frame with drapery hanging round it in the most approved modern
style, and be satisfied with such a result, they must not be surprised
if a parrot should be mistaken for a framed type of beauty. I was,
however, not satisfied until I had examined the picture in question
closely and honestly in the full light of day, when I saw that Mr.
Slapdash, R.A., had sold his autograph and a soiled canvas in lieu of a
portrait to my rich but too easily pleased friend.

As I walked back into the drawing-room, one of the musical humorists of
the day was cleverly taking off the weak points of his brother
musicians, and bringing out into strong light their peculiarities and
faults of style. The entertainment, however, did not tend to raise my
drooping spirits, for I was sad to think how low our modern art had
sunk, and with a heavy heart and a sigh for the profession I pursue, I
went sadly home. Of course my pent-up feelings had to find relief, so my
poor wife had to listen to an extempore lecture which I then and there
delivered to her on portraiture past and present--a lecture which I fear
would hardly commend itself to the Association for the Advancement of
British Art. Further, I asked myself why should I not take a leaf out of
the musical humorist's book and like him expose the tricks and
eccentricities of British art in the present day?

The following morning,