people are a confounded nuisance at art exhibitions, and should not be
permitted to be there, to distract one's attention from the peaceful
contemplation of works of art, and to infuriate one by their asinine
remarks in the holy presence of beauty. I have heard it declared with
very impressive spirit, and reasoned with much force, that only one
person, or at most only one person and his chosen companion, should be
allowed in an art gallery at a time. It is debatable, however, whether
this intellectually aristocratic idea is altogether practicable. On the
other hand, was it not even Little Billie who found the people at art
exhibitions frequently more interesting than the pictures?

Anyhow, persons who write about art exhibitions confine themselves
exclusively to the subject of art. When they gossip it is about the
pictures, the painters, and the sculpture. True, of course, this is
their job, and then, these persons go on press days and so only see,
outside of that which is intentionally exhibited, other critics.

Now, there is nothing in all the world quite like art exhibitions.
Beyond any other sort of show they possess a spirit which (to use a pet
and an excellent critical expression of one of our foremost art critics)
is "grand, gloomy, and peculiar." You feel this charged atmosphere at
once at an art exhibition. You walk softly, you speak low, and you
endeavour to become as intelligent as possible. Art exhibitions, in
short, present various features indigenous to themselves which, so far as
I am aware, have not before been adequately commented upon. The
principal observations which they solicit are as follows:

First, art exhibitions are attended by two classes of people: very
fine-looking people, and funny-looking people. There is a very striking
kind of a young man goes to art exhibitions that I myself never