Academy would not be offended by these observations. But he was in the habit of addressing another Assembly, of a more distinctly representative character, the members of which were elected, not by their brother members, but by outsiders. That Assembly, he was proud to say, was in the habit of largely considering the interests of outsiders. The poorer and more helpless those outsiders, the more generous, as a rule, was the consideration of their interests. In fact, it was this consideration, which, in the Assemblage he referred to, had mainly governed the course of Reform, and the whole progress of legislation. He felt it ought to be so, he trusted it would be so, in that Parliament of Art, whose members he was addressing.

(From MR. LEIGHTON's Speech.)

He had returned thanks for the Volunteers, but he had lately been serving in a corps that was not exactly a Volunteer one he meant the Hanging Committee. (A laugh.), There was a general impression that it was not a pleasant thing to be hung. He shared that impression. But he could safely say it was a more unpleasant thing still to hang. Still he would remind their distinguished guest who had spoken on the subject, that the acceptance and rejection of pictures rested not with the hangers, but with the Council. He had taken part in that work too. For corroboration of his experience of it, he would appeal to all his brother Academicians who had fulfilled the same most painful duty. He begged to assure their Right Honourable guest that it was not possible humanly to avoid injustice. Let him consider what was involved. This year it was worse than ever: for there were one thousand five hundred pictures more than usual sent in, and no more time to judge them-nay, less, in fact, for the workmen were in the building, and the work of the Council and hangers was necessarily much interrupted. But here were more than four thousand pictures to be judged in three days, from ten to six, with an interval of about an hour. That gave twenty-one hours, or one thousand two hundred and sixty minutes to do the work or between three and four pictures to a minute! Among the four thousand, of course, there were many pictures that aroused a good deal of discussion, and had to be put to the vote. He left his hearers to judge how much cool judgment or deliberation was possible, under these circumstances. Of course there were many pictures so dírefully bad, and some so pre-eminently good, their reception or acceptance was settled by acclamation at a glance, as it were. But the mass of pictures came within neither of these categories. Great care and much time were often necessary to weigh fairly the merits of a modest unpretending picture, which had occupied inany months perhaps of thought and labour, but which might not have been seen by any member of the Council till it was swept before them in the rapid tide of pictures brought up for judgment. It might be in a style the Council were unfamiliar with-perhaps of a class most of them were ignorant of, or indifferent to. Landscape, for example. There were only two or three landscape painters in the Academy, None of them might be on the Council. What chance had a simple, natural, unconspicuous, yet faithful and meritorious, landscape, of fair judgment, under such circumstances? So far from wondering that some good pictures were rejected, his wonder was that cases of hardship and involuntary injustice were not far more numerous. Luckily, though some of the Council might get drowsy, others desperate, while all of course, grew fractious, they had, as a rule, a sense of duty among them, and felt they were sitting as judges, and tried to do their best. But it was physically impossible to get through the work properly, in the time allotted to it. Luckily a good many pictures were seen before-hand in the studios: and men had their friends and acquaintances, of course, and looked after their pictures. And a good deal was done by outside influence. There was a class of people it was impossible to refuse anything to, if they really set their minds on it. But, with all these correctives, he had no doubt that cases of cruel injustice did occur, particularly to the works of unknown and modest men, who had no friends on the Council, and no influential acquaintance outside it, or who shrank from setting that sort of influence in motion on behalf of their works. He, for one, was ready to confess all this, and to avow his penitence for any unintentional wrong that might have been done, and to submit to any penance that could be imposed upon him-except to serve again on the Hanging Committee. The truth was, the time allowed for selection was too short. He would give thrice as long to the work. He would like five hangers instead of three, and he would always have a landscape painter if not an architect, among them. He would not have the fate of pictures decided at one glance, but would leave time and opportunity for re-consideration, in all cases but those of pictures so bad that they carried their fate in their faces. He did not know whether a Council twice as numerous was not desirable, and whether it might not be an advantage for them to act in relays, so as to relieve the strain of too long-continued attention. After some hours of rapid picture-seeing, it became almost as difficult to distinguish good work from bad, as Port from Sherry after many hours of wine-tasting.

Again, it should be considered that this was their first year in the new rooms. The Council really were all abroad. They did not even know with any certainty, how many pictures could be hung. They began, as might be seen, by hanging wide, and leaving a great deal

of upper wall, but they kept hanging closer and closer, as they got on, till at last they hung almost as high and as close as in the Old Rooms. As it was, they had only hung about one hundred and fourteen more pictures, he believed than last year: and this was exactly the extra number sent by Academicians and Associates. Then, though there were sixty foreign exhibitors, he was very sorry to say the catalogue of 1869 showed forty-two fewer names of English exhibitors than that of 1868. Considering the large additional space at their command, he could not say he thought this satisfactory. He hoped they would manage better another year.

(From the PRESIDENT's Speech.)

They had been afraid of lowering their standard of excellence. The fact was, they could not afford to do it. The difficulty was to keep it up, particularly if old Academicians-good old boys, he was well aware, but regularly used up, would insist on sending pictures, as they often did. He had done his best, for insiders and outsiders too-and he thought, for his own part, the Council and the hangers had been too sharp in a good many cases-he had seen them at work, and could only say he was thankful his pictures hadn't to pass through their hands. When people talked of "levelling up"-and he didn't object to the phrase he agreed with their distinguished guest, the First Lord of the Treasury, that Academician's work-a good deal of it, at least mustn't be taken into account in fixing the standard. Perhaps it might be well to put a mark on a good many of the R.A.'s pictures to show they weren't to be considered by the students in the" levelling up" business. He wouldn't say some of his own Portraits mightn't be among the number-and perhaps his excellent friend, the Secretary, wouldn't object to two or three of his being "spotted," in the same way. Of course they had sent their full number. They were under the notion there'd be lots of room this year. It seems there wasn't, for he had heard even more grumbling about rejections, he thought, than usual. He had no doubt there was reason enough for it. There were a good many young fellows took to painting nowadays, who had better have stuck to shoemaking or tailoring, or some other honest trade: good fellows enough, he had no doubt, and clever, he dared say, but with no connections, and no fortunes, and no manners; who looked like guys, and could only live from hand to mouth, and were on their beam-ends if they didn't sell their picture as soon as it was painted. He pitied 'em; but he didn't see how that sort of thing was to be helped, if that sort of people insisted on coming into a gentlemanly profession. He was told their schools were to be improved. He understood they wanted improvement, and he was glad it was coming. There was another thing. The Academy had changed its quarters. It meant to change its manners. In future a politelyworded note would be sent to those whose pictures were rejected, informing them of the fact, and telling them when and where they would have their pictures returned. Then there would be arrangements for the orderly admission of applicants for rejected pictures at specified times, and for returning their pictures without their having to wait and hustle for them for hours-so that the bear-garden business of last week would be avoided. It was too bad to have a row round their place like that at the old Opera pit-door on the Jenny Lind nights, which he remembered. A civil notice would be sent to outsiders exhibiting, of the day on which they would be admitted to varnish or touch up their pictures. After all, the Academicians were gentlemen, whatever the artists might be as a lot, and he thought they ought to set an example to outsiders of good breeding and consideration. He was glad to see they had got a decent refreshment-room. He was told it was well managed: prices fair, and refreshments as good as they usually were at such places-rather better, if anything. That was an improvement. But there were the umbrellas. He was afraid improvement was sadly wanted in that department. The two poor devils he had seen at that work as he came through the hall, even at the private view yesterday, looked regularly baked-groggy he should have said-blown, dead beat. They knew what he meant. It was regular cruelty to animals. And if that was so yesterday, what would it be on Monday, all next week, and all through the season, in fact? They ought really to put on half-a-dozen fellows instead of two. They could afford it, and he thought some clever fellow might invent a spring clip, or something of the kind, to put on the umbrellas, instead of those big tickets with long strings that took such a deal of tying and untying. These were small matters, perhaps, but after all they told on people's comforts. And he thought the President of the Academy should be like an Elephant-he did not mean that he ought to have a trunk and tusks, but that he ought to be able to paint a portrait, or to pick up a pin. He had been picking up pins in Academy administration, and sticking them into his brethren-that is, not exactly his brethren, for he was President, and would allow no brother near the throne-he meant into the other Members of the Academy. He thought they ought to march with the times, whatever some obstructive old fogies might say; and he, for one, would be glad to march at their head. Live and let live" was his motto. He might not be as good a painter as some who had filled that chair, but he would yield to none of his predecessors in the desire to deal kindly and justly with all, in or out of the Academy, whom he had anything to do with. (Cheers.)

STANZAS TO SUMNER.

SAY that an Aristocracy, which fears

Plebeian rule too much, and street-made law,

And rough equality where all are peers,

Well pleased the cleft of your Republic saw,
And South Secession's sword against North draw;
Rejoiced to think that chasm would never close,
And huge Democracy the world o'erawe
No longer, split asunder, and at blows:
Withal took not your part, but sided with your foes.

Say that a Government the fact too soon

Proclaimed, which it needs must have, soon or late, Giving your rebels 'vantage, for which boon

From your own act they would have had to wait,
So much if you unblushingly can state:
Say that a better watch it might have kept,
And that you had just cause to be irate,
Because a pirate cruiser, while it slept,
Out of a British port, the Alabama, crept.

Suppose all this. How spoke the People's voice?
Your adversaries did they back or you?
Why, your War's issue hung upon their choice,
NAPOLEON Would have made your Nation two,
Would Englishmen his plan have helped him through.
Yet not for Manchester and all its poor,

Starved by your conflict, did they prove untrue;
Bearing dire loss with patience, they forbore

The cry that would have made your Union last no more.

What's your return for British sympathy,
SUMNER and Senate? On wild fiction based

You proffer us outrageous humble pie,

When meekness only can have earned its taste,
Yielding so much we were all but disgraced.

Bullies, before the French Imperial throne,
Let, if you dare, your dainty dish be placed.
There tender humble pie in hectoring tone.
Ah, but already there you've feasted on your own!

ROO-EY-TOO-EY-TOO!

MR. GOLDWIN SMITH writes from Boston to MR. POTTER, editor of the Beehive, to say that emigration to the United States had better not be thought of for the present, MR. SUMNER having aroused so bad a feeling against England. He thinks there will be no rupture, but "is prepared for a turn of affairs which will oblige the English to leave the States." Mr. Punch declines to prepare himself, at present, for anything of the sort, and unless the two foremost nations of the world are mad, he believes the re-publication of the "SUMNER'S TALE," by one G. CHAUCER, would be as likely to produce war as the Munchausen Manifesto of his friend CHARLES, with whom, moreover, he means to have a word shortly. However, as it is well to avoid the least misunderstanding between friends, Mr. Punch himself has paid MR. SUMNER'S Bill. The handwriting of the latter being indistinct, Mr. Punch is not quite sure whether he asks for Two hundred and Fifty Millions, or Billions, and therefore has sent over the latter sum. If there is a balance, MR. SUMNER can keep it for himself, or lay it out in building a lunatic asylum, into which, if the quarrel should really arise, the people of the United States will do well to insert every public man they have, from sober SUMNER down to drunken CHANDLER.