and every object vied with each other
at sea. On
[a] smack, and a letter of credit
several portraits left on
his best works, they called on
in the best parlour. On my asking
upon an unfinished picture on
with so much truth and beauty; and, on
of Italian scenery. On
in some measure on the eye
to make a drawing on his slate
with cool grey
on I have no doubt
not a stone lies on that road to me unknown
—
every object on each bank
on a foundation
on account of his chaste colour, and
the effect candle-light produces on objects
or of large masses of obscurity
on the piano
—
in the morning. on his way
when afloat on
on the river side. The setting sun
—
ideas they have heard on the stage
and a stroll on the green
and on tasting his own
—
and on these established his theory (of colour)
on canvass, the size of life
his small pictures on
his observations on their general appearance and individual character
on sauntering to the bottom
the shadows on the ground very dark
—
on their journey homewards
on their progress up the river
a group of thistles on its bank
—
their boat on the shallow gravel
for years afterwards. On his making
never to be forgotten, as
on the reflection of near and distant objects in the water
the Seasons. On reaching (the bridge)
on Sunday, at six
—
on the cloth being removed
the one to touch on his pictures, and the other
stretched out on the grass
—
on, cutting down the willow
—
pass on to Light and Shade
on their faults and beauties
that feature alone that stamps it on the memory
on the horizontal line
on the frontispiece
on the present occasion
an object on the horizon
on any difficulties that might arise
branches grafted on the parent stem
—
a few words on the subject
a few remarks on Perspective
a leek in his hat and rides on a mountain goat
—
attendant on talent
reflecting on the precarious profession
on the contrary, looked cold
—
since taste is on the carpet
I often reflect on
books on morality
—
under a bushel. On
high on walls
dry on the morrow
envoi
all nonsense. I should like it of all things
equally absurd and in place of reading
all the nonsense
derived from on phrases, scraped/sifted/reordered ex John Burnet (1781-1868 *), his novel The progress of a painter in the nineteenth century. 2 vols. [in 1] . London, 1854
Bodleian copy, digitized September 7, 2006
*
aside —
on reading again, 1 May 2019, think this might be prun’d, somewhat. but leave it stand.
tags:
derivations; on; on’s; Light and Shade; obliquities
John Burnet, The Progress of a Painter (1854)