LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 335, 9 July 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A STUDIO PARTY. (From London Society.) ( Concluded. ) The sally is acknowledged with laughter and cries of ‘ oh, oh !’ whilst the shifting crowd brings into prominence other amusing elements. One particularly claims attention through the ear, for the strange appearance of some of the shining lights in the art world is now and then accompanied by strange sounds. Our dear, good friend Tarbox is disputing with a bystander the merit of a certain person’s painting. The artist’s name is inaudible, but the speaker says, ‘ Don’t tell me, sir 1 I say ’ee’ll never do anything worth a rap; the beggar’s got no ’eart, and and if ee’s got no ’eart in ’is bosom, 'ow can ’ee put it on to canvas?’ Now, Tarbox may be a self-educated man, but educated and refined he certainly is; and yet he has no more notion of the use of the letter H than the commonest cockney. The thing is incredible, but it is true; and a glorious confusion of ideas in this instance seems to have gone along with confusion of sound. He is not the only instance of this peculiarity either in the room. More than once during the evening, it will be heard in other quarters; and one is set wondering as much by it as by the strange attire, unkempt hair and beards, and the rest of the artist affectations, vanities, and eccentricities. What is it which renders men, who may be supposed to have achieved their greatness partly by the exercise of the faculty of observation, so singularly un-observant upon certain points? Highly gifted, refined, lawabiding, amiable citizens, who would as lief think of flying as of outraging the decencies and moralities of society, it is astounding (all affectations apart) to find them, here and there, making one wince by their systematic neglect of scissors, soap, and H’s ! Quite exceptional, however, be it understood, are these instances of obtuse perversity. The bulk of the company at this studio party, as in the best artistic society generally, is made up of sufficiently well-looking people to pass muster anywhere whilst here and there stand out men as distinguished in their appearance as by what they have done, and can do, in art. There is Francis BJandwin to wit. He is in the first rank of painters, if not at their head; he is also an accomplished scholar and linguist, and yet he is equally renowned for his refined, gentlemanly bearing, and sauve and charming manners. There again is Felix Spandril, who runs him hard at all points, and who is one of the most accomplished gentlemen as well as architects of the day. Indeed, it would be hard to find a handsomer, finer, or more thorough fellow in a day’s march or a night’s ramble. Finally, and bey end all too, there is Mark Wheeler; and when he, with his tall figure, fine head, and frank, handsome, intellectually powerful countenance, is seen towering above his compeers, there is no question about the tone of this studio party ; for, as surely he is pre-eminently striking to look upon as he is pre-eminently remarkable as a painter. Many other men of note might be quoted, as all-sufficient, the curmudgeons notwithstanding, to redeem the brethren of the brush and their kindred from ever being mistaken for the common herd. What wonder, then, that the oysters and Chablis, the beer and the sandwiches, slip down with a gusto enhanced by the tone of the company, and, that later on, after cigars and pipes have been renewed, and music has, through the instrumentality and vocality of the rarely-gifted performers also present, ‘ soothed the savage breast ’ into a fit condition for sleep, the stroll homeward under the stars clenches the conviction that this studio party has been the best and jolliest upon record.