DOI Heft:
January 26, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17687#0058
48
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYARI. [January 2.6, 1889.
MIDDLE-AGED MASTERS AT THE GROSVEHOR.
Why, cert’nly. You have often heard of the Old Masters, and
you have frequently looked at the Young Masters (and, for the
matter of that, the Young Misses as well—but let us be serious).
Here we have a collection of pictures
between 1737 and 1837. Assuredly
not Old Masters — presumably not
young ; therefore they must be
Middle-aged! Ha! ha ! Never
heard of ’em before F Oh, haven't
you ? Have you not heard of Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Romney,
Hogarth, Cotman, Crome—not the
inventor of Chromo-lithography—
Wilkie, James Ward, Turner,
Morland, Stothard, Bonington,
Constable, Etty, Lawrence,
Wilson, Hoppner, Blake, and De
Loutherbourg ? Now you know
what the Middle-aged Masters are.
They have not the mellow majesty
of the Old, or the superficial skit-
tishness of the New ; but they have
t> • . , n ni . • , many excellent qualities of their
own, which may be studied to very
great advantage. In this pleasant Gallery you will find more
than three hundred specimens of this particular period of British
Art. Some will astonish you, and others will hugely delight
vou. Among the latter you will find specimens by one Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and one George Romney, which you would find
difficult to beat among the Old Masters or the New. Among a
number of curiosities in a glass case is a dead field-mouse, that John
Constable sat on. This was probably a critic of the day. We
wonder what Constable’s sitting-weight could he, for the poor
mouse is flattened out like a fern-leaf in a Family Bible. Constable,
having taken him up, seems to have put him down most effectually.
{Signed) Private Yiew, 1st R.A. Corps.
LITERAL LYRICS.
The Pork King's Daughter and the Impecunious Duke.
Euphrates Titus Blazer, U. S. A., reflected
“ I guess I ’ve cornered—wal, successfully in pork ;
And my financial status is, you bet, respected
In circles slicing slightly bigger than New York.”
And then he called his daughter to him, just remarking,
“ Look here, my gal, as you will have a pretty pile,
And no doubt air prospecting matrimonial larking,
We ’ll cross the pond and go a reglar bust in style.
For dollars can do anything across that water.
So, though, there’s catches here that might be fixed up fit,
A British nob’s the lead for E. T. Blazer’s daughter,—
For, darn them and their titles—they are real grit.”
Thereon they crossed the pond, and found themselves located
In princely circumstances at the Metropole,
And E. T. Blazer was delighted and elated
To find how much on this side dollars could control.
His every word was listened to as very weighty
Bv all who sought his pleasant company to gain,
He drenched his friends in Pommery and Greno, eighty ;
Each new acquaintance was cemented with Champagne.
He paid his way. He purchased friends by scores. Was caught up,
Asked out, invited, toadied, fawned on everywhere.
He spent his dollars freely, and at length he bought up
The entree to a Ducal palace in Mayfair.
It was His Grace of Basinghall’s well-known town mansion,
Where thingsffiad formerly been done in royal state,
But where to-day, his income showing no expansion,
The dinners, wines, appointments,—all, were quite third-rate ;
In fact its lordly owner simply was restricted
In showing hospitality through lack of means,
For all his tenants paid no rent, and unevicted
Had thus to wrack and ruin brought his wide demesnes.
His troubles to conceal his Grace made no profession;
At Basinghall closed shutters faced an unkempt lawn :
At Mayfair he allowed a man was in possession,
And all the famed ancestral jewels were in pawn.
Nor was this all. His last few thousands he had madly
Invested in a specious beef and ham concern,
And, as the speculation had turned out but sadly,
His Grace at last himself knew not which way to turn.
Then E. T. Blazer saw his chance ; approached quite hearty,
And said, “Wal, Mister Dook, you bet, I’ll make your game:
It’s flat that you ’re a blazin impecunious party,
^ And so, I guess, I’m fits on purchasing your name.
That means my daughter must be fixed up as your Duchess.'
I dessay that your price will he a tidy one,
And so I’ve drawn this cheque that seven figures touches.
That squares you! eh ? ” The Duke reflected, then said ‘‘ Done! ”
So at Mayfair no more a man was in possession,
No longer the ancestral jewels were in pawn ;
The Duke, he went it: lived well up to his profession,
And Basinghall again looked on its well-kept lawn.
And at his wedding all Society delighted
Rejoiced exceedingly, and hailed the welcome fluke
That saw, with sound commercial instinct, thus united,
The Pork Xing’s Daughter and the Impecunious Duke.
A GOOD SHILLING’S-WORTH.
At Burlington House. What an interesting collection in Galleries
Nos. II. and III., specially No. III., where we could spend a con-
siderable portion of the day in contemplating the portrait of “ Rem-
brandt—by
Himself
Yes,“REM-
BRANDT,
quite by
himself.”
Through
the open
door we
catch sight
of H.R.H.
the Duke
of Cam-
bridge in
full regi-
mentals’,
by the late
Frank
Holl, and turn again, with a sigh of relief, to the study of The
Old Master. Yet two or three of Hold’s portraits require only the
finishing touch of the Great Artist, Time, to merit a place not so
very, very far away from the inimitable Rembrandt by Himself.
But “by itself,” it will remain! The nearest to it, in the next
room, are Hold’s Lord Spencer and Piatti.
In No. II. there is a delightful Jan Steen, lent hv Lord North-
brook, showing a Comic Music Hall Singer—a Macdermott or
Leybourne of the period—rehearsing a comic song, and chuckling
over the point he is going to make. Mrs. Ram says that ‘ ‘ she had
always thought Steen was a painter of marine subjects, so called
from his having been a native of Brighton. If not,” she asks, “who
was the Old Steen ? ”
Look at Jacob Jordaen’s No. 78, “ A Quiet Dinner ! " Every-
body making a din at table : each one not a host, hut a “ dinner”
in himself.
Notice 80. By Jan Steen. The Hogarthian details tell the story. It
is called, The Doctor. ^
No. 86. Heureux Age. Lent by Mr. Alfred De Rothschild.
A charming Watteau, showing the infancy of cricket. Pretty design
for a Christmas Card.
No. 89. Called a “ Pastoral Scene." By Watteau. All em-
bracing, or trying to. “ Where innocence is bliss,” as Mrs. Rams-
botham observes. No. 95 is also lent by Sir Richard Wallace,
and represents Gllles, the celebrated Pierrot, playing a guitar.
Happy days! Nothing to do but to pic-nic, sing, dance, make love,
and masquerade! So they danced on until the mask fell off, the
tune changed,—and the time too.
No. 109. A gem of Greuze’s, called A Bacchante. From the
view, more like a Erontante. Another characteristic Watteau comes
from Mr. Alfred de Rothschild, L' Accor die da Village. _ The
centre figure is a dog, who is looking uncommonly knowing. “ Every
dog has his day,” and this particular dog is evidently having his day
kept by the entire village. He is a lucky dog, feted to be happy.
Here’s a Rembrandt, small and early, lent by Mr. Humphry Ward,
representing Robinson Crusoe's great-grandfather. But here we
finish our brief stay, and, before quitting Burlington House, we
must take one last fond look at Rembrandt, by Himself, No. 157,
round the corner. Magnificent! If you’ve only a quarter of an
hour to spare, go and pay your respects to this picture which
belongs to Lord Ilchester.
Seasonable Game for British Troops in Burmah.—Da-coits.
A Common Journalistic Outrage.—Beating the'Record.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether KS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any desenpiuon, will
in no case fee returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rulo
there will be no exception.
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYARI. [January 2.6, 1889.
MIDDLE-AGED MASTERS AT THE GROSVEHOR.
Why, cert’nly. You have often heard of the Old Masters, and
you have frequently looked at the Young Masters (and, for the
matter of that, the Young Misses as well—but let us be serious).
Here we have a collection of pictures
between 1737 and 1837. Assuredly
not Old Masters — presumably not
young ; therefore they must be
Middle-aged! Ha! ha ! Never
heard of ’em before F Oh, haven't
you ? Have you not heard of Sir
Joshua Reynolds, Romney,
Hogarth, Cotman, Crome—not the
inventor of Chromo-lithography—
Wilkie, James Ward, Turner,
Morland, Stothard, Bonington,
Constable, Etty, Lawrence,
Wilson, Hoppner, Blake, and De
Loutherbourg ? Now you know
what the Middle-aged Masters are.
They have not the mellow majesty
of the Old, or the superficial skit-
tishness of the New ; but they have
t> • . , n ni . • , many excellent qualities of their
own, which may be studied to very
great advantage. In this pleasant Gallery you will find more
than three hundred specimens of this particular period of British
Art. Some will astonish you, and others will hugely delight
vou. Among the latter you will find specimens by one Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and one George Romney, which you would find
difficult to beat among the Old Masters or the New. Among a
number of curiosities in a glass case is a dead field-mouse, that John
Constable sat on. This was probably a critic of the day. We
wonder what Constable’s sitting-weight could he, for the poor
mouse is flattened out like a fern-leaf in a Family Bible. Constable,
having taken him up, seems to have put him down most effectually.
{Signed) Private Yiew, 1st R.A. Corps.
LITERAL LYRICS.
The Pork King's Daughter and the Impecunious Duke.
Euphrates Titus Blazer, U. S. A., reflected
“ I guess I ’ve cornered—wal, successfully in pork ;
And my financial status is, you bet, respected
In circles slicing slightly bigger than New York.”
And then he called his daughter to him, just remarking,
“ Look here, my gal, as you will have a pretty pile,
And no doubt air prospecting matrimonial larking,
We ’ll cross the pond and go a reglar bust in style.
For dollars can do anything across that water.
So, though, there’s catches here that might be fixed up fit,
A British nob’s the lead for E. T. Blazer’s daughter,—
For, darn them and their titles—they are real grit.”
Thereon they crossed the pond, and found themselves located
In princely circumstances at the Metropole,
And E. T. Blazer was delighted and elated
To find how much on this side dollars could control.
His every word was listened to as very weighty
Bv all who sought his pleasant company to gain,
He drenched his friends in Pommery and Greno, eighty ;
Each new acquaintance was cemented with Champagne.
He paid his way. He purchased friends by scores. Was caught up,
Asked out, invited, toadied, fawned on everywhere.
He spent his dollars freely, and at length he bought up
The entree to a Ducal palace in Mayfair.
It was His Grace of Basinghall’s well-known town mansion,
Where thingsffiad formerly been done in royal state,
But where to-day, his income showing no expansion,
The dinners, wines, appointments,—all, were quite third-rate ;
In fact its lordly owner simply was restricted
In showing hospitality through lack of means,
For all his tenants paid no rent, and unevicted
Had thus to wrack and ruin brought his wide demesnes.
His troubles to conceal his Grace made no profession;
At Basinghall closed shutters faced an unkempt lawn :
At Mayfair he allowed a man was in possession,
And all the famed ancestral jewels were in pawn.
Nor was this all. His last few thousands he had madly
Invested in a specious beef and ham concern,
And, as the speculation had turned out but sadly,
His Grace at last himself knew not which way to turn.
Then E. T. Blazer saw his chance ; approached quite hearty,
And said, “Wal, Mister Dook, you bet, I’ll make your game:
It’s flat that you ’re a blazin impecunious party,
^ And so, I guess, I’m fits on purchasing your name.
That means my daughter must be fixed up as your Duchess.'
I dessay that your price will he a tidy one,
And so I’ve drawn this cheque that seven figures touches.
That squares you! eh ? ” The Duke reflected, then said ‘‘ Done! ”
So at Mayfair no more a man was in possession,
No longer the ancestral jewels were in pawn ;
The Duke, he went it: lived well up to his profession,
And Basinghall again looked on its well-kept lawn.
And at his wedding all Society delighted
Rejoiced exceedingly, and hailed the welcome fluke
That saw, with sound commercial instinct, thus united,
The Pork Xing’s Daughter and the Impecunious Duke.
A GOOD SHILLING’S-WORTH.
At Burlington House. What an interesting collection in Galleries
Nos. II. and III., specially No. III., where we could spend a con-
siderable portion of the day in contemplating the portrait of “ Rem-
brandt—by
Himself
Yes,“REM-
BRANDT,
quite by
himself.”
Through
the open
door we
catch sight
of H.R.H.
the Duke
of Cam-
bridge in
full regi-
mentals’,
by the late
Frank
Holl, and turn again, with a sigh of relief, to the study of The
Old Master. Yet two or three of Hold’s portraits require only the
finishing touch of the Great Artist, Time, to merit a place not so
very, very far away from the inimitable Rembrandt by Himself.
But “by itself,” it will remain! The nearest to it, in the next
room, are Hold’s Lord Spencer and Piatti.
In No. II. there is a delightful Jan Steen, lent hv Lord North-
brook, showing a Comic Music Hall Singer—a Macdermott or
Leybourne of the period—rehearsing a comic song, and chuckling
over the point he is going to make. Mrs. Ram says that ‘ ‘ she had
always thought Steen was a painter of marine subjects, so called
from his having been a native of Brighton. If not,” she asks, “who
was the Old Steen ? ”
Look at Jacob Jordaen’s No. 78, “ A Quiet Dinner ! " Every-
body making a din at table : each one not a host, hut a “ dinner”
in himself.
Notice 80. By Jan Steen. The Hogarthian details tell the story. It
is called, The Doctor. ^
No. 86. Heureux Age. Lent by Mr. Alfred De Rothschild.
A charming Watteau, showing the infancy of cricket. Pretty design
for a Christmas Card.
No. 89. Called a “ Pastoral Scene." By Watteau. All em-
bracing, or trying to. “ Where innocence is bliss,” as Mrs. Rams-
botham observes. No. 95 is also lent by Sir Richard Wallace,
and represents Gllles, the celebrated Pierrot, playing a guitar.
Happy days! Nothing to do but to pic-nic, sing, dance, make love,
and masquerade! So they danced on until the mask fell off, the
tune changed,—and the time too.
No. 109. A gem of Greuze’s, called A Bacchante. From the
view, more like a Erontante. Another characteristic Watteau comes
from Mr. Alfred de Rothschild, L' Accor die da Village. _ The
centre figure is a dog, who is looking uncommonly knowing. “ Every
dog has his day,” and this particular dog is evidently having his day
kept by the entire village. He is a lucky dog, feted to be happy.
Here’s a Rembrandt, small and early, lent by Mr. Humphry Ward,
representing Robinson Crusoe's great-grandfather. But here we
finish our brief stay, and, before quitting Burlington House, we
must take one last fond look at Rembrandt, by Himself, No. 157,
round the corner. Magnificent! If you’ve only a quarter of an
hour to spare, go and pay your respects to this picture which
belongs to Lord Ilchester.
Seasonable Game for British Troops in Burmah.—Da-coits.
A Common Journalistic Outrage.—Beating the'Record.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether KS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any desenpiuon, will
in no case fee returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rulo
there will be no exception.