XXXV.THAT OF THE ARTIST AND THE MOTOR-CAR.(Tragedy.)
There lived an artist,Not unknown to fame—Wild horses wouldn'tDrag from me his name.Besides, it doesn't matter,—not a bit,—It is sufficient, painting was his lit-Tle game.He copied Turner-Esque effects with ease,And painted cattle,—Miniatures,—or seas;Yet found some difficulty, I've heard said,In making both ends meat, (or even bread,And cheese).He sat one day with-In his stu-di-o,Grieving that times wereBad, and prices low,When, suddenly, this thought occurred to him,(Of course, 'twas but a fancy, or a whim,You know):"How strange 'twould be ifWhat I painted hereUpon the canvasReally should appear!I wish it would, and then remain for good.Upon my word, ha-ha! I say! That wouldBe queer!"No sooner had theThought occurred to himThan round and round theStudio seemed to swim.A fairy voice declared: "On your behalfThe wish is granted!" then "Ha! ha!" ('Twas laugh-Ter grim.)"Absurd," the artistCried. "Of course, there areNo fairies now; we'reToo advanced by farTo think it; still, with just a line or soUpon the canvas here, I'll draw a mo-Tor-car."
There lived an artist,Not unknown to fame—Wild horses wouldn'tDrag from me his name.Besides, it doesn't matter,—not a bit,—It is sufficient, painting was his lit-Tle game.He copied Turner-Esque effects with ease,And painted cattle,—Miniatures,—or seas;Yet found some difficulty, I've heard said,In making both ends meat, (or even bread,And cheese).He sat one day with-In his stu-di-o,Grieving that times wereBad, and prices low,When, suddenly, this thought occurred to him,(Of course, 'twas but a fancy, or a whim,You know):"How strange 'twould be ifWhat I painted hereUpon the canvasReally should appear!I wish it would, and then remain for good.Upon my word, ha-ha! I say! That wouldBe queer!"No sooner had theThought occurred to himThan round and round theStudio seemed to swim.A fairy voice declared: "On your behalfThe wish is granted!" then "Ha! ha!" ('Twas laugh-Ter grim.)"Absurd," the artistCried. "Of course, there areNo fairies now; we'reToo advanced by farTo think it; still, with just a line or soUpon the canvas here, I'll draw a mo-Tor-car."
There lived an artist,Not unknown to fame—Wild horses wouldn'tDrag from me his name.Besides, it doesn't matter,—not a bit,—It is sufficient, painting was his lit-Tle game.
There lived an artist,
Not unknown to fame—
Wild horses wouldn't
Drag from me his name.
Besides, it doesn't matter,—not a bit,—
It is sufficient, painting was his lit-
Tle game.
He copied Turner-Esque effects with ease,And painted cattle,—Miniatures,—or seas;Yet found some difficulty, I've heard said,In making both ends meat, (or even bread,And cheese).
He copied Turner-
Esque effects with ease,
And painted cattle,—
Miniatures,—or seas;
Yet found some difficulty, I've heard said,
In making both ends meat, (or even bread,
And cheese).
He sat one day with-In his stu-di-o,Grieving that times wereBad, and prices low,When, suddenly, this thought occurred to him,(Of course, 'twas but a fancy, or a whim,You know):
He sat one day with-
In his stu-di-o,
Grieving that times were
Bad, and prices low,
When, suddenly, this thought occurred to him,
(Of course, 'twas but a fancy, or a whim,
You know):
"How strange 'twould be ifWhat I painted hereUpon the canvasReally should appear!I wish it would, and then remain for good.Upon my word, ha-ha! I say! That wouldBe queer!"
"How strange 'twould be if
What I painted here
Upon the canvas
Really should appear!
I wish it would, and then remain for good.
Upon my word, ha-ha! I say! That would
Be queer!"
No sooner had theThought occurred to himThan round and round theStudio seemed to swim.A fairy voice declared: "On your behalfThe wish is granted!" then "Ha! ha!" ('Twas laugh-Ter grim.)
No sooner had the
Thought occurred to him
Than round and round the
Studio seemed to swim.
A fairy voice declared: "On your behalf
The wish is granted!" then "Ha! ha!" ('Twas laugh-
Ter grim.)
"Absurd," the artistCried. "Of course, there areNo fairies now; we'reToo advanced by farTo think it; still, with just a line or soUpon the canvas here, I'll draw a mo-Tor-car."
"Absurd," the artist
Cried. "Of course, there are
No fairies now; we're
Too advanced by far
To think it; still, with just a line or so
Upon the canvas here, I'll draw a mo-
Tor-car."
He drew, and scarce hadFinished it beforeHis servant knocked. (Up-On her face she woreA puzzled look.) "Sir, here's your coat and hat,And, if you please,your motor-car is atThe door!"The artist hardlyCould believe his eyes,For what he saw quiteFilled him with surprise:There stood theverymotor-car he'd meant,In make, and pattern, most convenient,And size."Well! as it's here, I'llUse the thing," he cried.(Indeed, what was thereTo be done beside?)So, watched by quite a crowd about the door,He turned the crank, and off he started forA ride.On went the motor-Car, on—"pop-pop-pop!"—On through the streets, andOn past house and shop,Through country lanes, and over hill and dell,Delightfully,—until he thought it wellTo stop.But stop he couldn't,Try whate'er he would—He hadn't drawn quiteEverything he should;Some little crank, or something, he'd not done,Because the mechanism he'd not un-Derstood.Result? Poor fellow!To this day, he fliesAlong the roads, withStarting eyes, and criesFor help—which nobody can give him, forHe's doomed to ride until the thing busts, or—He dies.
He drew, and scarce hadFinished it beforeHis servant knocked. (Up-On her face she woreA puzzled look.) "Sir, here's your coat and hat,And, if you please,your motor-car is atThe door!"The artist hardlyCould believe his eyes,For what he saw quiteFilled him with surprise:There stood theverymotor-car he'd meant,In make, and pattern, most convenient,And size."Well! as it's here, I'llUse the thing," he cried.(Indeed, what was thereTo be done beside?)So, watched by quite a crowd about the door,He turned the crank, and off he started forA ride.On went the motor-Car, on—"pop-pop-pop!"—On through the streets, andOn past house and shop,Through country lanes, and over hill and dell,Delightfully,—until he thought it wellTo stop.But stop he couldn't,Try whate'er he would—He hadn't drawn quiteEverything he should;Some little crank, or something, he'd not done,Because the mechanism he'd not un-Derstood.Result? Poor fellow!To this day, he fliesAlong the roads, withStarting eyes, and criesFor help—which nobody can give him, forHe's doomed to ride until the thing busts, or—He dies.
He drew, and scarce hadFinished it beforeHis servant knocked. (Up-On her face she woreA puzzled look.) "Sir, here's your coat and hat,And, if you please,your motor-car is atThe door!"
He drew, and scarce had
Finished it before
His servant knocked. (Up-
On her face she wore
A puzzled look.) "Sir, here's your coat and hat,
And, if you please,your motor-car is at
The door!"
The artist hardlyCould believe his eyes,For what he saw quiteFilled him with surprise:There stood theverymotor-car he'd meant,In make, and pattern, most convenient,And size.
The artist hardly
Could believe his eyes,
For what he saw quite
Filled him with surprise:
There stood theverymotor-car he'd meant,
In make, and pattern, most convenient,
And size.
"Well! as it's here, I'llUse the thing," he cried.(Indeed, what was thereTo be done beside?)So, watched by quite a crowd about the door,He turned the crank, and off he started forA ride.
"Well! as it's here, I'll
Use the thing," he cried.
(Indeed, what was there
To be done beside?)
So, watched by quite a crowd about the door,
He turned the crank, and off he started for
A ride.
On went the motor-Car, on—"pop-pop-pop!"—On through the streets, andOn past house and shop,Through country lanes, and over hill and dell,Delightfully,—until he thought it wellTo stop.
On went the motor-
Car, on—"pop-pop-pop!"—
On through the streets, and
On past house and shop,
Through country lanes, and over hill and dell,
Delightfully,—until he thought it well
To stop.
But stop he couldn't,Try whate'er he would—He hadn't drawn quiteEverything he should;Some little crank, or something, he'd not done,Because the mechanism he'd not un-Derstood.
But stop he couldn't,
Try whate'er he would—
He hadn't drawn quite
Everything he should;
Some little crank, or something, he'd not done,
Because the mechanism he'd not un-
Derstood.
Result? Poor fellow!To this day, he fliesAlong the roads, withStarting eyes, and criesFor help—which nobody can give him, forHe's doomed to ride until the thing busts, or—He dies.
Result? Poor fellow!
To this day, he flies
Along the roads, with
Starting eyes, and cries
For help—which nobody can give him, for
He's doomed to ride until the thing busts, or—
He dies.