Lusignani, the artist, was painting a sunset, Aitor ho had painted it into coherency, he covered tho back of it with mucilage, and stuck it on his canvas. Tho (jrcat connoisseui-Taglinpole knocked at the door oi the studio and entered. Without speaking, lie advanced towards tho easel, calculated his distance over tho end of his noso, and became immovable. At the end of an hour and tmnty minutes he said, authoritatively, "This 6unsot is upside down,'.' The painter foil upon tho floor and drummed with his heels in agony! " I feared it! I feared it!" he cried. "Am I, then, no paintor ? Musfc-I hire myself to a dyer? Nay, hope there miist bo, Tngliapolo, else why that hour and twenty minutos oi'doubt ?" " Tliero is hope," pronounced'the connoisseur, decidedly. " All, tlion, toll mo what I must do?". Lusiguaui murmured, ■" said Tagliapolo, reflectively, 'youmight turn it downside up, or yoii might coll it a sunrise."
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WDT18820408.2.12.18
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Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1043, 8 April 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)
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153Untitled Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1043, 8 April 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)
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