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AMERICA IN LONDON.

"John Collins" and Other Drinls--Art and the Wild West.

In London Truth, just over, appear the following American notes:

We met Buffalo Bill at an "at home" the other evening. He was very quiet, indeed, but does not look so picturesque in a dress suit as he does in the untutored, or rather untailored, garments of the Wil 1 West. His daughter, a tall and dark-eyed girl, was in black and yellow, which has become quite a livery of brunettes this season, I felt quite angry with my fellow guests because they would not be quiet while Hollman played on the 'celio most divinely. Some lady, with the merest shred of a voice, sang in such perfect style and with such true feeling that every one wanted to hear her again. It was a triumph of art over nature. The "programme" of the evening consisted of a list of American drinks to be had in a room that proved very popular. Among sherry cobblers, champagne ditto and lemon squashes I noticed a beverage called "John Collins," but had not the hardihood to try what it was like. I delight in getting into the midst of an interesting crowd like that and listening to the talk that goes on all around. There is sure to be something worth hearing besides the music, which, indeed, however good it may be, the majority of guests that as an interruption and a bore. I am afraid we are ever so much more body than soul, we nineteenth century humans. No one treats supper as an interruption or a bore.

Americans are a proverbial touchy people, and I have no reason to suppose that American artists form an exception to the general rule. Wherefore, I fear that I shall previously offend many worthy spoilers of canvas by my remarks upon their efforts at the Wild West picture galleries. To tell the honest truth I came away from the show with the impression that never in my experience as a critic had I seen, anything more hopelessly bad; drawing, coloring, composition, and technique alike seemed to me to be quite preposterous.