contemplating the meaning of the appearance of a man. The perfect
escorts of these groups, who would seem naturally to be rather gay young
men, look very serious indeed. Now one of them gracefully, though as if
careful not to make any noise, bends to one of the young ladies; and,
indicating by a solemn look one of the paintings, he whispers to her
apparently concerning it. She silently nods: it is, evidently, quite as
he says. When an art exhibition is so undertakery a thing you wouldn't
think that one would come. Though perhaps it is that one ought.

At any rate, there is quite a turn-out to-day moving beneath the ghostly
glow of the shrouded sky-light ceiling. Half the Avenue seems to be
here. What a play it is, this highly urban throng! Let us sit here on
this divan down the middle of the room. With what a stately march the
pictures go in their golden frames along the symphonious, burlap walls!
There, by that copious piece of intelligence, Manet's "Music Lesson," is--

But see! What has come over our earnest group? Those who compose it are
all quite changed. They look as happy as can be, all beaming with
smiles, their backs to the neighbouring walls. Friends, it seems, have
greeted them. How they all bubble on, all about the outside world! But
goodness! Now what is the matter? Suddenly one of the newcomers is
struck by a startled look. She sees, that is it, one of the pictures.
In an arrested voice she says: "Oh, isn't that perfectly lovely!" At
once the happy light fades from the faces of all. An awed hush falls
upon them as stiffly they turn their heads in the direction of her view.
"Charming!" one of the young men breathes, staring intently at the
painting which has come upon them. That it is awkward for everybody is
plain. But, happily, there is much rebound to youth. One of the young
ladies, at length, shakes herself free from the pall upon her spirits;
the mesmeric spell is broken; and presently all are chatting again, gaily
oblivious to Art.

By the way, there is the proprietor of the gallery, just before the three
Renoir pastels. Is there anything about art exhibitions that more
enlists the imagination than the study of the "dealers" themselves? The
gentlemen who preside at art exhibitions fall, rather violently, into
three, perhaps four, classes. You have, I dare say, been repeatedly
struck by the quaintly inappropriate character in appearance of those of
one of these classes. I