Punch: Punch (33.1857)

July 18, 1857.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

27

LET US JOIN THE LADIES."

hose who are fond of
"the Society of Ladies "
will rush to No. 315,
Oxford Street, and there
enjoy an exhibition that
is the result of female
handiwork. It is not an
exhibition of stitching
or embroidery, such as
shirts made at home, or
anti-macassars, or floral
smoking caps, or butter-
fly braces, or sporting
slippers with a series
of foxes running helter-
skelter over the toes. It
is not an exhibition of
Berlin - wool work, or
potichomanie, or any
other mania that oc-
casionally seizes hold of
young ladies' fingers,
and makes them, for the
time being, excessively
sticky to squeeze, as
though you wereshaking
hands with a Sub-Editor in the full agony of paste and scissors. It is not an
exhibition of jams, or jellies, or marmalades, or preserves, or much less, pickles.
You must not expect vou are about to be invited to a choice collection of pies, or
tarts, or cakes, or puddings, of a most marvellous sweetness, such as is generally
imparted by white-looking hands that are more in the habit of playing with the
keys of the piano than the keys of the store-room. Nor is it wax-work with its
mossy baskets of blooming fruit, such as would certainly tempt birds to come and
peck at them, nor vases of paper flowers, so faithfully rendered as actually to cause
maid-servants to water them. It is nothing to eat, nothing to play with, nothing to
wear, nothing that you can adorn your magnificent person with. It is simply a
collection of 358 works of art, that have been contributed exclusively by the talent
and genius of English Ladies. A Frenchman would nickname the Exhibition : Les
Femmes peintes par elles-memes—though it must not be surmised that the painting is
in the ungallant sense that a Erenchman would satirically convey. If cheeks are
delicately coloured—if lips are strung into the precise shape of Cupid's bow—if
eyebrows are splendidly arched into so many Arcs de Triomphe—if eyelashes are
artistically pencilled—the pencilling and the painting are not upon their own fair
features, but on the faces of others; and there is no law as yet laid down,
we believe, by the tyranny of Man, that a Lady, though she may not colour her
own adorable physiognomy, is forbidden to paint the face of another.
, The Society, to which we have just introduced the reader, numbers none but
Ladies. The only doubt of that fact is the extraordinary silence that reigns
round the room; though, in opposition to that ungenerous sneer, we can state
that the likenesses of the ladies are all so perfectly true to their sex, that every
one of them is a speaking likeness ! Thus, there is a compensating balance in all
things, which, en passant, makes us only regret that there is not one at our
banker's. But away with regrets in the presence of such delightful company!
You are communing with the works of Anna, Julia, Kate, Agnes, Elorence,
Frances, and fifty other pretty names. Not a man's ugly cognomen is to be
found in the whole catalogue. It is a Book of Beauty, into which the admission
of the whiskered sex is rigidly prohibited. The visitor involuntarily takes his
hat off before so much unknown loveliness. That Brigand, who is taking your
fancy captive, first reared his musket in the Byronic imagination of Harriet.
Stand with respectful awe before that tender Brigand, for who knows,
Harriet may one day be your wife ? That Bivouac hi the Desert, which is
glowing before you with the crimson light of a hundred blazing Havannahs,
was encamped originally in the snug parlour of Louisa—that very same
Louisa, that probably you flirted with last week at a picnic at Birnam
Beeches; halt and warm your hands lovingly before that Bivouac, and admire
it, if it is only for the primrose glove you stole on that occasion. Be careful
of your remarks. Drop not an ugly word, lest you do an injury to the memory of
some poetic creature, who at some time or other handed you a cup of tea, or sang
you the songs you loved, or conferred on you some bright fleeting happiness that
for the_ moment deluged your heart with Italian sunshine. With Georgiana on
your right, Maria on your left; with Emma gazing from her gorgeous frame right
at you, and Sophia peeping from behind that clump of moon-silvered trees over
your shoulder, be tender, be courteous, be complimentary, be everything that is
gentle, and devoted, and kind. Not that there is any necessity for courtesy or
compliments; but still, we fancy, that every gentleman, who goes to an Exhibition,
carries always a little bit of the Buskin with him, and fancies he is " nothing,"
unless he is " critical."

There is an Emigrant Ship of Mrs. M'Tan's, that many a B. A. would have
been proud to have launched into fame. There are some Teneriffe views by Mrs.
MuRRAY,_that are so beautiful, and seem so true, that you may almots swear for
the remainder of your fife, and maintain stoutly too, without suspecting even you
are committing perjury, that you have been to Teneriffe and know it thoroughly,

from its curious-coloured houses, its hanging vineyards, its
luxuriant fruit down to the rich tawny gipsy-looking
beauties that sell them. How you hate the unpicturesque,
applewomen and orange girls when you come into Oxford
Street afterwards!

There are, also, water-colours, and copies from the Old
Masters, and a Tennysonian picture by Mrs. Ward, and
a genre subject by Miss Breadstreet, and wonderful
portraits of lace collars and Crinoline dresses (look at the
Hon. Mrs. Bashleigh ! No. 180), that would send our
Chalons and Bubvfes into fits of envy • and oil paintings,
large and small, modest and ambitious, and such suctorious
birds'-eggs and glorious odoriferous flowers by Mrs. Har-
rison, that you suspect she must have borrowed the
palette and brushes of Hunt to have painted them!
Besides these, there are little pieces of sculpture, and
an infinity of agreeable pictures, the majority of which are
ticketed in the corner, " Sold." And, for a picture, many
consider the height of criticism is to be " Sold ! " and, in
truth, but few artists go beyond it, while hundreds of poor
struggling fellows never get so far. However, we must
reluctantly leave the " Society of the Ladies." Agree with
us, reader, that as in most societies of the same kind (and
it always is kind), that there is plenty to admire, plenty to
praise, and very little to condemn.

However, we have one great fault to find. We do
strongly object to the Secretary and the Checktakers. We
have nothing to say against those gentlemen, excepting
that they are gentlemen. They should have belonged to
the opposite sex. That round collar, that black coat, those
Wellington boots, have no right to he in a room that, as
they write over railway carriages, is "Engagedfor Ladies."
They are an intrusion, a living anachronism, two black
spots on the uniform beauty of the picture. Away with
them ! Turn them out!

This is the "Ladies'" debut in the artistic world. Of
course, they will go on improving (if any improvement is
possible in the sex !) year after year. And, who knows, but
in time the Boyal Academy may have a female Bresident ?
Not so very improbable either, considering that Sir
Charles Eastlake's predecessor was well known to be a
Shee !

The River and its Rulers.

The Conservancy of the Thames was formerly the
brightest jewel in the civic crown. This jewel, by the
Thames Conservancy Bill, will be torn from the diadem of
the City Monarch, and split into fragments, which will be
distributed between him and certain of the magnates of
his Court. That too many cooks will spoil the broth in
this case is not much to be feared, as the river flows with
a gruel thick and slab, which can hardly be rendered more
nasty than it is. It is to be feared that the new Conser-
vators of the Thames will not find their charge a conserve
of roses.

O, Sham, where is thy Blush ?

" Sham—a word, the English of which I doubt, and the Parlia-
mentary use of which 1 would almost deprecate."—Mr. Disraeli, July 7.

" There is a word I'd never use,
'Tis Sham," remarked the Asian Mystic:

Henceforth, who '11 venture to accuse
Dizzy of being—egotistic ?

Body-Armour for the Ladies.

Forty thousand tons of Swedish iron have been imported
for the manufacture of Crinolines ! The metal which used
to be converted into mail-coats is now appropriated to
female petticoats. Among the tortures of the Inquisition
of Avignon was one called "the maiden"—a fair figure,
into whose arms unhappy prisoners being pushed, found
themselves clasped by strong steel springs, and so squeezed
to death ! Every lover will risk the same fate, under our
present regime of steel jupes a ressorts.

comeort eor the higher classes.

A Crowded Dwellings Brevention Bill is in progress
through Bariiament. If this measure becomes law, surely
St. James's Palace will be no longer used for Drawing
Booms. «