“The tears stood in the good lady’s eyes; and scarcely had she finished speaking when an unlucky dog was hurled from above, filling the house with his shrill and piteous howlings; and, lastly, the cat descended with a like precipitation. Our friend, despairing of meeting the artist in a rational state, now took his hat, his departure, and a resolution to visit him some other day when his employment was not ‘painting a sky.’”
VARIETY OF SKIES.
Ambrose Philips, the poet, was, in his conversation, solemn and pompous. At a coffee-house he was once discoursing upon pictures, and pitying the painters who in their historical pieces always drew the same sort of sky. “They should travel,” said he, “and then they will see that there is a different sky in every country,—in England, France, Italy, and so forth.” “Your remark is just,” said a grave old gentleman who sat by: “I have been a traveller, and can testify what you observe is true; but the greatest variety of skys that I found was in Poland.” “In Poland, sir?” said Philips. “Yes, in Poland; for there are Sobiesky, Poniatowsky, Sarbrunsky, Jablonsky, Podebrasky, and many more skys, sir, than are to be found anywhere else.”
SLANG OF ARTISTS.
The conversation of artists, when it has reference to their profession, is usually patched up with phrases peculiar to themselves, and which may not be improperly called Slang of Art. This jargon, when heard by persons unacquainted with its application, is apt to lead to awkward mistakes. A laughable instance of this kind once occurred. A party of artists were travelling in a stage-coach, in which, besides themselves, a sedate venerable lady was the only passenger. The conversation among the artists ran as follows:—“How playful those clouds are!” “That group to the left is sweetly composed, though perhaps a little too solid and rocky for the others.” “I have seen nothing of L——’s lately. I think he is clever.” “He makes all his flesh too chalky.” “You must allow, however, that he is very successful with his ladies.” The old lady began to exhibit symptoms of uneasiness, and at the close of each observation cast an anxious and inquiring look at the speaker. Her companions, however, unconscious of the surprise they were exciting (for she entertained doubts as to their sanity), went on in the same style. She heard them, to her increasing dismay, talk of a farm-house coming out from the neighbouring trees, and of a gentleman’s grounds wanting repose. At length they approached an old village church. A great many observations were made about the keeping, etc., of the scene, which the old woman bore with tolerable equanimity; but at last one of the party exclaimed, in a kind of enthusiasm, “See how well the woman in the red cloak carries off the tower.” The lady screamed to the coachman to stop, paid him his fare, although advanced only half way on her journey, and expressed her thankfulness for having escaped alive from such a set of madmen.
A PICTURE DEALER’S KNOWLEDGE OF GEOGRAPHY.
About sixty years back a picture dealer, selling his pictures by an exhibition at the Town Hall of Doncaster, had, among other performances, the following subject, according to his catalogue:—“‘A View in Italy,’ by Caracci, with a figure of John the Baptist baptizing in the river Jordan.”