I often think this in the presence of critics, mebby if they should lay holt and paint a few picters, they wouldn't find fault with 'em so glib. It looks real mean to me to see folks find so much fault with what they can't do half so well themselves.
Then there wuz the wimmen at the tomb of the Christ. The door is open, the Angel is begenin' for 'em to enter.
In the faces of them weepin', waitin' wimmen is depictered the very height and depth of sorrow. You can't see the face of one on 'em, but her poster gives the impression of absolute grief and loss.
The quiverin' lips seems formin' the words—"Farwell, farwell, best beloved."
Deathless love shines through the eyes streamin' with tears.
In the British section there wuz one picter that struck such a deep blow onto my heart that its strings hain't got over vibratin' still.
They send back some of them deep, thrillin' echoes every time I think on't in the day-time or wake up in the night and think on't.
It wuz "Love and Death," and wuz painted by Mr. Watts, of London.
It showed a home where Love had made its sweet restin'-place—vines grew up round the pleasant door-way, emblematic of how the heart's deep affection twined round the spot.