ART AT A CATTLE SHOW.
First Small Boy. I say, Bill, what’s he a doing of?
Second Ditto. Can’t you see he’s a-taking that old gent’s picture, and isn’t it like him?
WHAT AN ARTIST HAS TO PUT UP WITH.
“O! look’ee ’ere, Jane, ’ere’s one of them hacrobats a-goin’ to do the ladder-trick!”
Titian. Alas! my favourite work—my Bacchus! Cleaned! Oh Ghost of Gonzaga! Barbarians!
Leonardo da Vinci. Nay, weep not, my beloved friends and brothers. Is it not all of a piece? Art-Unions, royal lap-dogs, condescensions which are insults, and your great pictures ruined and destroyed. Why should you wish to exist in a country where your works have been impotent to implant the seeds of Art, or aid in their growth and nurture.
Titian. Oimè for Venice.
Rafael. Oh Roma, Roma!
A. Durer. Nay—Nüremberg, also, is a town of burghers, and it is not so with them.