The Argosy — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

Lights and Shadows of Sketching. A7 to relate with great glee, and with his extraordinary powers of mimicry, one of his sketching experiences. E. M. Ward was a tall strong man of large limbs, and (in appearance at least) of great muscular power. Whilst he was sketching one day, a typical British farmer came and stood behind him ; silent of speech, but now and then giving vent to a loud snort. Ward, growing nervous under this treatment, looked up into the farmer’s face, and, in his politest manner, said: ‘‘I hope I am not trespassing ?” ‘“'Trespassing ?” said the farmer. ‘‘ Trespassing? I don’t know about ¢vespassing! but why don’t you go and work, you beggar? You’re strong enough—you’re big. enough—why don’t you go and work?” And with another indignant snort he strode away, leaving Ward speechless. Scenes of a similar character take place on most sketching expedi- tions. Once, and once only, did the victory rest with me in one of these encounters. I was working (in oil) inside the church of dear old Winchelsea. I sat in the aisle, near the alabaster tomb, and my subject was the Sedilia in the corner. Suddenly the big key grated in the lock, the heavy door swung round, and a number of people camein. Nota fashionable party from Hastings this time ; I could tell this much by their walk. No dainty pit-a-pat of small shoes, but the heavy tramping and squeaking of country-made boots. No gay chatter of indiscriminate gush over worm-eaten pews, but complete silence for awhile. After a few minutes, however, one of the visitors began to ask short questions in a hard, sharp voice, that resembled a bark. I looked over my shoulder at the speaker, and took stock of him. He was a small, brisk man, with a fresh face, a turned-up nose, and bold eyes—evidently an impudent man. I classed him at once as an auctioneer and surveyor in a small country town; a man accustomed to speak in public, and probably given to ‘shutting up” slow bidders. He was clearly the esprit fort of the party ; their mouth- piece ; his friends looked up to him, and expected much of him. In due course they all came my side of the church, and gathered thick and close around me, the surveyor keeping his spirits up by slapping his right leg hard with his walking-stick. I was becoming impatient. Suddenly he tapped my canvas smartly and con- temptuously with his stick, and said, in his loudest, and most bark- like voice : “Dye doo thaat by measure or by heye, young man?” I looked up into his face pleasantly, and with marvellous presence of mind and exquisite wit, replied: To my intense surprise, the man was utterly floored. I cannot make out why to this day. Perhaps he had not expected such readi- ness and brilliancy of repartee on the part of a mere artist. Perhaps I cConnicloooks (C(O)