This is an art book. The idea first occurred to me at a friend's house, when my host after dinner took me into the picture gallery to show me a portrait of his wife just completed by Mr. Slapdash, R. A. It stood at the end of the gallery, the massive frame draped with artistic care, while attendants stood obsequiously round, holding lights so as to display the chef d'oeuvre to the utmost advantage. As I beheld the picture for the first time I was simply struck dumb by the excessively bad work which it contained.