ground, in letters of gold, the title of the Society," and
that "to this Mr. Whistler, during his presidency," _did not_ "add
with his own hand a decorative device of a lion and a butterfly." This
damning evidence, though in principle irrelevant--for what becomes of
the soul of a "Diocesan member of the Council of Clapham" is,
artistically, a matter of small moment--I nevertheless bring forward
as the only one that will at present be at all considered or even
understood.

The "notice board" was of the familiar blue enamel, well known in
metropolitan use, with white lettering, announcing that the exhibition
of the Incorporated Society of British Artists was held above, and
that for the sum of one shilling the public might enter.

I myself mixed the "red ground," and myself placed, "in letters of
gold, the" _new_ "title" upon it--in proper relation to the decorative
scheme of the whole design, of which it formed naturally an
all-important feature. The date was that of the Society's Royal grant,
and in commemoration of its new birth. With the offending Butterfly,
it has now been effaced in one clean sweep of independence, while the
lion, "not so badly drawn," was differently dealt with--it was
found not "necessary to do anything more than restore it in permanent
colour, and that," with a bottle of Brunswick black, "has accordingly
been done;" and, as Mr. Bayliss adds, with unpremeditated truth, in
the thoughtless pride of achievement, "the notice board was no longer
the actual work of Mr. Whistler!"

This exposure of Mr. Bayliss's direct method I have wickedly withheld,
in order that the Philistine impulse of the country should declare
itself in all its freshness of execration before it could be checked
by awkward discovery of mere mendacity, and a timid sense of danger,
called justice.

Everything has taken place as I pleasantly foresaw, and there is by
this time, with the silent exception of one or two cautious dailies,
scarcely a lay paper in the land that has been able to refrain from
joining in the hearty yell of delight at the rare chance of coarsely,
publicly, and safely insulting an artist! In this eagerness to affront
the man they have irretrievably and ridiculously committed themselves
to open sympathy with the destruction of his work.

I wish coldly to chronicle this fact in the archives of the _Athenaeum_
for the future consideration of the cultured New Zealander.

[Illustration]

_An Official L