Judge — June 20, 1885 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

y De Funct, it once befell, Went forth to woo hys deare— The bonoye ladye Dowsabel, Who in Somwhayreshire As in ber arboure k: Hee saya, till aye “If but Lwinne thee, ladye bri If you'll be mine, PI sweare— Then upp And tushinge searlette redde, Shee sayd: * Syr knighte, Llyke nott whatt you sayd It ye knighte, with ge te, ¢ rose comelye Dowsabel, you speak not well, i” * You'll sweare? Else A cursing Hee briuges hys ladye You'll sweare? wand [are twain husband eauseth woe, Nay, siye not soe, ayne.” s oaths, Tontie meant, F my fayre Mistake not For other swe Hath soyled n 1 besecehe; e—trust me—ne'er partes of speceh hunne men’s s—I never sweare, No friar's lips n (Oh eryte: Av e chaste! take care, sing Truthe may haste at swore last You'll sweare And yett you say y That lye you'll some daye ‘en, you swore thys morn, row, 100 sve never sworn! we.) The New School Artist. “SAND STORM ON THE DESERT OF GREAT Sanat.” ** That?—oh, that’s a trifle IT dashed off order—a pot boiler, you know,” said the ew School Artist, in response to the query of a visitor to his atelier. “You saw ‘The Knocked Urn,’ I be- liev By the way, did you see what th cricket of the Paleffe said in regard to tha work?—and that, too, was only a pot boiler. He wound up a very fair and. flattering cricketism in this facetious way: “<The sledge-hammer was ull our fancy could have painted it, and more, too, our fancy not being in the business. Not having scen all the sledge hammers in the world, we can’t conscientiously this resemble some one particular sle mer—we are nothing if not fair. mer may not have been true to the very ter of steel, in looks—to some steel’ that | looks like it, no doubt it was—but was suf- ficiently true to nature to steel our heart, make us wish it was genuine Bessemer, and that we could clutch the handle, which was toward our hand,’ here the cricket put in his jolliest fun, ‘and brain the artist on the spot!’ ‘They're funny fellers, these crickets. “The commi > ham- The ion for this picture came fr Of course, it was plain Brown once, bar makin’ a fortune in the war, he added an , to make the name look more aristocratic, Y know, and you see how he spells bell— adds an_e to that, too—‘ belle’! ¢ Paint me a society belle,” he writes, P'traps he was a sexton once—who knows?—and wants something to remind him of old times; so ordered a church society bell, and I shall ring him in to the tune of a twenty spot. “The bell, although p sing tone, is not in my vein at all, as it gives itself away, as it were, but not tothe extent that did the ‘Knocked Urn. There it is, a bell; still imagination--you know I paint to fire the does not | a man named Browne—with an e, you | THE JUDGE, YE MEDIAEVAL FLEA. self—ima .with the bell before the One can imagine the sexton ring the bell for chureh, for a marriage party, or tolling it for the dead; ing it for fire, or Fourth ¢ daly But this isu mild sort— What, that picture there? Ah! there, , isone of my own subjects—a picture after my own heart and the new school, of which Iam the father and embodiment—the Alpha, but I hope not the Onega—the School for the Development of the Im tion! In the contemplation of that picture the imagination can soar into the ultra- mundane, dive into the submarine, and spread from zone to zone, as it were. ‘Ther imagination « tality—e like a sh cand. pi are decidedly prosy. but stop; is. “On that canvas, sir, | have portrayed a Sand Storm on the Desert of Great Sarah! Ha! now you sce it, don't yon? TP knew yc would. Now your imagination can take ¢ the thousand league boots of electricity, as the handicap of mor- Looks and feels My friend, you F Your iiagination— you don’t know what the subject it were, and on the great desert named, face a sand storm. ‘The storm strikes’ you. | What do you sce? Sand; only t id nothing more, above, below, and around you. But here, safe from the fearful sand- blast, you can imagine, gazing on that work of art, assisted by nature, “for real sand is spread all over the surface of that ca giving a truly realistic effect—you can imagine ‘the caravan, with its countless camels laden with | Arabs, Jews, Kurds, and other and more precious sorts of merchandise, struck and rwhelmed by the direful sand storm of the desert; going down like rock and ri before the onslaught of the G. A. Army of G uzzlers- deteriorated, like rye and roc! going down for keep: id | nh sometimes, , but mostly *Imegination pictures the cunning camel 41 Heigho! Has Truth, een eth how unne, false Sye Guy Hee squirms aud twists, like ouue undone— Hy features awry Hee shakes hys cote of mail—poor mant Hoe grits hys teeth Hee eurvets Uys physi Whatt Medieval ac Whatt knightlee I blushe to own hys ailment is— A vicious, byting the prances, wheels—do scanne whomee! is hys? paladie? A flea St wneathe © of mail! ndrew! don’t you see, There is no waye you can assail— Dislodge that sclf-same flea! Syr Guy forgotte (To pen And fairly raised her goldenne hayr By roaring out—an oathe ys lndye fayr ye reste I'm loth), Tis thus hys lye w Ry Truthe showed tl \ foe to blespl > exposed ud eke the flea mayd he'd falsely posed my Fayr Dowsabel hi And nowe beneath ye She'll ne'er beare lat a worlde of wrong isters p stron WALLAce reex, burving his head in the hot sand to escape the hot t And can’t you see, with the eyes of imagination the men burying fran- tically in the sand like gophers, even to save lives not worth in this market six shillings a dozen? And can’t you see the dark- eyed and dark-haired daughters of Arabia and contiguous ranches wrapping the cashmere and camel’s hair shawls around their heads, regardless of the damage done to frizzes, Langs, spit-curls, scallops, ete, and the ostrich and peacock feathe! dorning their heads? — What care they for these luxuries, when the sand blast is upon them, and they pe to save their charms even at the ex- pense of the camel’s hair shawls, which the hot sun blast ruins? Not a cent do they eare for their frizzes and things in such @ trying moment, but sacrifice their shawls though they could be bought at a closing- out sale for 99. each? Can't you see ’em, ch, in imagination? Can't you see the entire panorama, as it were, with the ma- terial eye closed and the eye of imagination peeled to its utmost? If you can’t you are as devoid of imagination as a billiard ball of beard, or a turtle of topsail halliards, Wh to one whose imagination starts at par, or not above 80 even, this work appeals—” “You laugh, sir. See here, my friend, how would you paint a sand storm, when nothing is seen but sand, sand, sand, and more sand a-coming, backed up by sand in quantities too numerous for anything? P’raps you'd paint it scooting over the car: nahalf «a mile high or so, showing the rade in all the glory of gaily caparisoned amels, resplendent houris, langh and chat- tering and chawing gum!— “Oh, you’re gone are you? Well, you | don’t amount to shucks as aconnoozer of fine arts, You don’t know a work of true art from a bar of soft soap. Your imagination is no more vivid than that of a hen clam gone to seed, or a cucumber after asix weeks sojourn in brine. You'd better saturate your brain with Tupper’s Proverbial Philoso- comicbooks.com