H. C. Bunner

“ Nay, I am in no doubt that you have souvenirs of Barbizon—wherever it may be—of the most agreeable sort.
—I have, indeed, he responded, with a sigh—'tis the true home of Art.
—You are then, said I, an amateur of art?—At this, I thought, he was some what chill'd.
—I am a painter, he responded, with some dignity—with as much dignity, in fact, as he might have shown had he been an amateur and I had called him a Painter!—You are a painter of landscapes? said I.
—But no, he told me, he was a painter of figures. ”

“ O Native modesty! O ye gentle Nymphs of Diana, ye who once cast the shield of your own loveliness between Actæon and your Mistress!—I dare say Actæon scarce noted the difference—shall I tell you what I saw? ”

“ I love a trim waist but it must be in a neat bodice—a graceful .... walk—but 'tis best revealed in the undulations of a petticoat that is neither prudish nor trop coquet—a glove may be the most seductive thing in the world, if it go but to the elbow—or make but a discreet sally up a white arm—but to stretch the suitability of a glove to all imaginable purposes—to dress a woman as you bind a book—as an upholsterer covers a chair— —'tis a foul profanation, said I.—Do you know where you live? ”