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Various

"Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 102, April 16, 1892"

Don't talk to me, Sir! Don't tell me
any of these things are pictures. Look at _this_--a young woman in an
outlandish dress sitting on the floor--on the bare floor!--in a litter
of Japanese sketches! And he has the confounded impertinence to call
it a "_Caprice_"--a "_Caprice in Purple and Gold_." _I_'d purple and
gold him, Sir, if I had _my_ way! Where's the _sense_ in such things?
What do they _teach_ you? What _story_ do they tell? Where's the
_human interest_ in them? Depend upon it, Sir, these things are
rubbish--sheer rubbish, according to all _my_ notions of Art, and I
think you'll allow I _ought_ to know something about it?
_His Nephew_ (_provoked beyond prudence_). You certainly ought to know
more than _that_, my dear Unc--Are you going?
_The Uncle_ (_grimly_). Yes--to see my Solicitor, Sir. (_To himself,
savagely._) That confounded young prig will find he's paid dear enough
for his precious Whistlers--if I don't have a fit in the cab!
[_He goes; the Nephew wonders whether his attempt at
proselytising was quite worth while._
_A Seriously Elderly Lady._ I've no _patience_ with the man. Look
at GUTSTAVE DORE, now. I'm sure _he_ was a beautiful artist, if
you _like_. Did _he_ go and call his "_Leaving the Praetorium_" a
"Symphony" or a "Harmony," or any nonsense of that kind? Of course
not--and yet look at the _difference_!
_An Impressionable Person_ (_carried away by the local influence--to
the Man at the wicket, blandly_).


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