(_A Legend of the Opening of the Royal Military Exhibition._)
The Lady got out of her picture in the Morning Room, and glanced at
herself in the Club glass. She had been painted by Sir PETER LELY, and
consequently was scarcely in a costume suitable to a May Day at the
close of the Nineteenth Century.
"I' faith," said the Lady, "but I must get me a cloak to cover me,
otherwise I shall have a crowd a following me."
It will be seen from this observation that, although the Lady had
flourished (very considerably) in the time of CHARLES THE SECOND, she
had not kept up her Carolian English. It is possible that the chit-chat
under her frame by the fire-place had corrupted the purity of her--to an
antiquary--interesting lingo. Be this as it may, she glided down the
large and handsome staircase, and selecting the furred and hooded coat
of a member who had just returned from abroad, annexed it.
"This will do nicely," she murmured; "quite the mode," a remark which
proved that she had seen no fashion-plates lying on the Club table, and,
therefore, was entirely ignorant of the modern mysteries of ladies'
dress. However, she passed in the crowd--partly because no one appeared
to notice her. A Lady from a portrait by Sir PETER LELY without her
frame and background, after all, is rather a shadowy creation.
When she had turned from Garrick Street into St. Martin's Lane, she
looked about her in surprise. What had been fields when she was in the
flesh were now sites of houses. She glided along, perplexed to a degree,
until she got to Charing Cross; then she recognised the statue of
CHARLES THE FIRST, and what was standing of White Hall.
"By my troth, this is not an improvement! Houses, houses, nothing but
houses! I will e'en take the water to Chelsea, and see the hospital I
persuaded ROWLEY to give to his poor soldiers. There should be some
stairs hereabouts."
But if the Lady did not find stairs, she came across a landing-stage.
She got on to the Westminster Pier, and was soon aboard one of the best
vessels of the Victoria Steamboat Association, Limited. Within half an
hour or so she was landed opposite the building it had been her
privilege to secure for the benefit of the British Army. The place was
brave with bunting. There were enormous sheds full of battle pictures
and portraits, and in the grounds was an arena suitable for the holding
of military sports. Then there was a huge band-stand, and the electric
light was laid on with great liberality in the gardens.
"Gad'sooks!" exclaimed the Lady of the Picture; "and what are they doing
in the precincts of Chelsea Hospital?"
She was immediately supplied with information. A Military Exhibition was
being held in aid of the Church of England Institutes--establishments
(so she was told) of a strictly unsectarian character. The
entertainments would be of a most popular character,--weather
permitting, _al fresco_. The commissariat would be excellent. In one
place only temperance beverages would be served, but elsewhere there
would be--well--there would be drinks. At that very moment the
Exhibition was being opened by the Most Illustrious Gentleman in the
Land accompanied by H.R.H.'s most charming and most beautiful partner.
Would the Lady like to see the place?
"Another time," she replied. "Stay, I would like to see myself. Have you
a picture of me? I am Mistress NELLIE GWYNNE."
Her courteous informant bowed, and shook his head. He had heard it
suggested at the inaugural lunch that she should be represented, but
there were so many things to do--the Military Sports, the eating
and drinking, the Royal Patronage, and the Church of England
Institutes,--that, in point of fact, the matter had been overlooked.
"Well, never mind," said good-natured NELLIE, "I daresay you will get on
very well without me. But look to this, my master. Here we are very near
the site of old Cremorne, and a part of the grounds over yonder is
called Ranelagh. You have lights and bands, and subtle beverages, some
of which will cheer but not inebriate,--and others that may possibly
reverse the operation. Well, well, my portrait is not in your
collection,--the best I can wish you is that you may keep your night
_fetes_ as select as your picture-gallery."
And with this the Lady returned to her frame beside the fire-place in
the Club Morning Room.
* * * * *
"NUTS" FOR THE COAL TRADE.
[Under the 29th Section of the Weights and Measures Act "the person
in charge of the vehicle," when coal-frauds are perpetrated, seems
to be alone punishable.]
Not a sack was full, not a weight was true,
As the coals to their cellar we hurried;
Not an eye could see were they many or few
In the crypt where our cobbles we buried.
We buried them gaily, at luncheon time,
All Acts of Parliament spurning;
There were "Kitchens," composed of slate and slime,
And Wallsend, "dimly burning."
No fussing servants surveyed our cart--
(If they had, we'd have kept them shivering)
--They were busy serving the family tart
At our chosen hour for delivering!
Few and brief the remarks we made;
Not of coals, but of beer, we chattered;
And we thought of the tricks of an opulent trade
As the coal-dust we liberally scattered.
We thought of our "dealer," our wealthy boss,
How he's spared by the law just created;
How we carmen are made to suffer the loss
When for fraud by a Court we are "slated."
Lightly they'll talk of his "ha'porth of sack,"
On his weights make unhandsome reflection;
But little he'll reck, as fines fall on our back,
And _he's_ "doubly-screened" from detection!
But half of our "heavy task" was done
When a spy of the Council--drat it!--
Came pushing his nose in our sacks, every one,
Tried our weights, and our bill--looked at it!
Slowly and sadly we slunk out of sight,
Objecting to get into hobbles;
We breathed no farewell, and we said no good-night,
But we left him alone with the cobbles!
* * * * *
LAST REPORT.--The Dean and Chapter of Westminster have discharged a
Canon. No one was seriously injured.
* * * * *
THE PICK OF THE PICTURES.--No. 1. ROYAL ACADEMY.
[Illustration: No. 1004. Tally Ho Ho Ho! Going over a Ha! Ha! Ha! Quite
the picture of the year, and will probably be presented by subscription
to Colney Hatch, Esq., Master of the Hanwell Hounds.]
[Illustration: No. 243. The Determined Bather. Temperature so cold that
drapery is frozen.]
[Illustration: No. 110. Curiosity in Animal Life. Escaped from
Barnum's.]
[Illustration: No. 437. Advertisement for Provincial Tour of Griffiths
Brothers as "The Blondin Donkey."]
* * *
No. 5. The First Storey in the Royal Academy Annual is entitled, _The
Hungry Messenger_. Good STOREY.
No. 44. Never put off till to MORO PHILLIPS what you can put on to-day.
Illustration of an elderly Blue-coat Boy unable to leave off an old
habit.
No. 53, with No. 98 and No. 91. Ought to have been hung together,
portraits "_en soot_."