This showed that the artist’s brain was acting in two directions at

once, controlling two distinct limbs in similar but diverse operations,

for it was observed by our informant that the acts of draughtsmanship

were strictly simultaneous and not alternate. Had the latter been the

case the feat would have been of deft draughtsmanship, about which no

one would have questioned the ability of Landseer. This feat far

surpasses that of chess-players who continue six games at chess at one

sitting, without seeing any board. Feats like that of the chess-players,

however wonderful, differ in kind from the unparalleled one we have

described. These are efforts of astoundingly powerful memories and acts

of the clearest mental vision combined with that faculty with which

chess-players seem to be specially endowed, possession of which,

however, by no means proves superior mental ability. Landseer’s feat was

another sort, and proved him capable of “doing two things at once,”

things which singly were, no doubt, easy of accomplishment by an artist

of his faculties, but when simultaneously performed in duplicate were

such as have not hitherto been recorded. Mrs. Mackenzie has enabled us

to confirm this account of her brother’s feats in draughtsmanship.

“The Stone-breaker’s Daughter,” a picture of the year 1830, engraved by

J. Burnet, shows a group by a Highland roadside; an old man, with a

plaid over his head, squats on the ground, hammer in hand, snuff-mull by

his side; his pretty daughter, of twelve years or thereabouts, has

brought the old fellow’s dinner in a basket; a dog licks her hand

affectionately, as the damsel loiters to gossip with her father. This is

an agreeable picture, but possesses no particular interest of sentiment

or technical value.

[Illustration: _Cow and Calf._

_Chal. G. L. 1847._]

“Waiting for the Deer to rise,” 1831, otherwise “Poachers

Deer-stalking,” represents three Highlanders crouching near the summit

of a hill, one of whom holds a dog round the neck to restrain him, while

another, with a gun in one hand and a branch in the other, looks for the

coming of the game. It was painted for Mr. E. Holden, of Aston Hall,

Derbyshire, and some years afterwards sold for 819_l._ It measures two

feet three inches by one foot eight inches and a half.

“Hawking,” 1832, shows a lady mounted on a white horse, with attendants

riding and on foot, with dogs and hawks; the group is on the border of a

lake; a falconer in the mid-distance flies a hawk at a soaring heron on

our left; a bare-headed page stands at the head of the lady’s palfrey,

holding its bridle. “Waiting for the Countess,” a portrait of a dog

belonging to Lady Blessington, engraved by Wass, was painted in this

year.

In 1833 Sir Edwin painted the figures of “The Harvest in the Highlands,”

of which Callcott produced the landscape. This combination was sent to

the Academy in the same year, when an unusual number of Landseer’s

pictures were exhibited. For our present purpose, the most important is

the inimitable “Jack in Office” (in the South Kensington Museum,

Sheepshanks Gift). The faculty of Landseer’s mind which is most popular,

because most obvious in its manifestations, was humour, of which few

painters possessed a greater share. True humour, however, contains

pathos, and sets us thinking even when we smile. This sort of humour is

shown in “A Jack in Office.” An itinerant dealer in dog’s-meat has left

his barrow in an alley, and under the guardianship of a satiated

mongrel, whilst he transacts business, probably across the counter of a

tavern. The tight-skinned custodian has seated himself on the barrow, as

on a throne, where he receives the courtier-like attentions of his

hungry and less fortunate fellow-creatures. One wretched beast exhibits

his lean carcase, pleading for pity; another, seated on his tail, begs

_in formâ pauperis_, with dropped paws, and adulatory whine; a third

appeals to the guardian’s gallantry and devotion to her sex: but in

vain; he sits in calmness and pride; a half-twinkle is in his eye, as

though he saw the motives of all, and scorned the meaner supplicants.

Also, he seems experienced in the canine world, for under his

half-closed and disdainful eyelids is a sharp look at the self-degrading

beggar: he thus watches because he feels this beast to be devoid of

principle, a rascal who might, if the eye should only wink, dash upon

the spoil and fly. A _coup d’état_ of this kind must, let it be noted,

be successful; and, by dogs of bolder spirits than these, could be

attempted. One must, in that case, sacrifice himself for the common

good; there is none to do so. The meagre beast in front is a pointer,

and all about him is pitiable; he must have lost his character ere he

sunk so low as this; his drivelling mouth, sunk chaps, nervous and

imploring eyes, shaking limbs and quivering tail indicate a born

gentleman driven to implore charity, with signs of utter famishing as

the utmost appeal. A contrast is seen in the person of a dark puppy,

who, having devoured his “ha-porth,” nervously gnaws the skewer which

held it, and quivers with unsatisfied greed. One discerns that the

guardian is a thorough dog of business, because he pays not the

slightest attention to this little customer, who, having legally

acquired his portion, is not under surveillance. Besides, if he did

anything wrong, has he not a responsible master? There is such a hateful

disdain about the “Jack in Office,” that the spectator, heedless of

morality, and reckless of the rights of property, hopes one of the dogs

will sacrifice himself for the general luck, and engage the watcher in

combat, while the others fall to. There are volumes of character in this

picture, which are sustained even by the placing of a dog in the

distance, looking on, as if in hopes to profit by the chances of a

_mêlée_.

“The naughty Boy,” exhibited at the British Institution in 1834 as “A

naughty Child,” and well known by means of Finden’s engraving, was a

portrait of a sulky little urchin whom Landseer essayed to paint on

account of the determination his features exhibited and the sturdiness

of his handsome face and frame. The boy being in a rebellious frame of

mind, was brought straight from his school to the workshop of the

painter; sulky at first, he became outrageous when he saw his enemy

seated with a kindly laugh on his face; pouting, the boy frowned and

hugged himself with his own arms, blew bubbles between his compressed

lips, scowled, and obstinately turned his knees in. Pending the

preliminaries of the picture, the irate young gentleman was left

standing alone in the centre of the room. Wrath overcame him at seeing

resistance would be useless; with dreadful clangour, he flung down his

slate like the shield of a wounded Homeric hero and, skulking into the

corner, savagely cried, “I _won’t_ be painted!” and was painted for the

admonition of all “naughty” boys, so that “his knit and furrowed

forehead” gathers itself under a fine head of flaxen hair, twisted into

Gorgonian curls, and quivering with determination and wrath. It is right

to notice how the self-devouring passion of the child makes him shrink

into the smallest possible space, and turn his toes in, huddling his

feet together, while his arms are pressed against his sides, and his

shoulders raised, as though every power of body and mind concentrated

itself. The artist introduced accessories from an infants’ school,

including a book lying on a form, &c.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V.

A.D. 1834 TO A.D. 1842.

SUSPENSE--HIGHLAND SHEPHERD DOG--BOLTON ABBEY--DROVER’S

DEPARTURE--SHEPHERD’S CHIEF MOURNER--DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE--OTTERS

AND SALMON--THE SANCTUARY.

In 1834 many place the attainment of Sir Edwin Landseer’s highest level

in art; “Suspense” then appeared at the Academy, with “A Highland

Shepherd Dog rescuing Sheep from a Snowdrift,” “A Scene of the olden

Time at Bolton Abbey,” and other works. Of these, to our minds,

“Suspense” is by far the best picture, and aptest illustration of

genius; on this, if we chose, his honour should rest. “In some cases,”

says Mr. Redgrave, with reference to it, “the invention of the artist is

exerted rather to exercise and call forth the imagination of the

spectator than to display his own.” “Suspense” is an excellent example

of the pictures of this class. A noble bloodhound is watching at a

closed door, shut out, one may imagine, from the wounded knight, his

master. There are the steel gloves removed from the now powerless

limbs--the torn eagle-plume tells of the deadly strife, and the

continuous track on the floor shows how his life-blood flowed away drop

by drop as he was borne within. Who does not watch with the faithful

hound in deep “suspense” for some token that his master yet lives?

Others, again, can read the picture far differently: these may imagine

that the dog has tracked the author of some act of violence or deed of

blood; the plume, torn from the casque of the struggling man, lies on

the floor sprinkled with the blood shed in the struggle ere the victim

was borne within the now closed portal; we recognize the scuffle of the

moment, his hand clutching the door-post with fearful energy to prevent

the closing, the stifled cries, the hopelessness of resistance. Yet

there, like a watchful sentinel, waiting in silence, the animal

crouches, whose instinct teaches him to follow untiringly the object of

his search; the spectator himself waits in anxious eagerness for the

reopening of the door, anticipates the spring of the animal and the

renewed struggle that will ensue. In the course of Mr. Ruskin’s

magnificent criticism on Tintoret, Titian, Velazquez, Veronese, and

Landseer, as dog-painters, are remarks on the last-named artist which,

however true they are in respect to Landseer’s “drawing-room” pictures,

award but scanty justice to the masculine author of “Suspense” and its

class.--See “Modern Painters,” 1860, v. pp. 260-3.

“The Highland Shepherd Dog rescuing a Sheep from a Snow-drift” tells its

own tale, and needs no explanation from us. The sheep is almost

smothered, its struggles avail little, but the sagacious “collie” aids

it by clearing away the snow.

“Bolton Abbey in the olden Time,” engraved by Mr. S. Cousins, has been

interpreted in many ways.[38] It is, perhaps, the most popular of the

painter’s productions, and yet, except “Windsor Castle,” it is that

which least satisfies the critic. Primarily, the difficulty of fairly

and naturally interpreting it, the lack of imagination it evinces, and

the artificial posing of the figures, are defects which the analytical

mind hardly overcomes; secondly, it has the air of a collection of

portraits of modern folks, and so belies its title. The dogs and game

pertain to another category, and deserve differing judgment. The work

belongs to the Duke of Devonshire. Of this our artist said that it was

the first picture for which he got £400. It looks as if it had been

“done on purpose,” is really only less spontaneous than the deplorable

“Windsor Castle.” The monk was a portrait of Sir A. W. Callcott; Mrs.

Mackenzie sat for the girl with the fish; the falconer’s boy was one

Sidney Smith, a frequent model of Sir Edwin’s--not the Canon of St.

Paul’s. The picture has been engraved three times, and, separately, more

than one of its elements.

In the Sheepshanks Gift is a picture exhibited in 1834, the humorous and

characteristic “Highland Breakfast,” showing several sheep dogs and

terriers anxiously waiting the cooling of a mess of hot milk, which has

been put before them in a pan. That impatient beast whose back is

towards us risks his nose and vainly demurs to the delay; the next, a

canine mother, yields a meal to her puppies, but gets none herself;

another, longing but prudent, sniffs, and feeding in imagination, licks

his mouth; beyond, a staid, experienced, and dignified retriever is

content to bide his time, knowing that he, at least, will get a lion’s

share; a little white terrier, toady to the last, vainly imitates his

self-command. The mistress of the shieling, a fair young mother,

nourishes her babe in the most approved fashion.

“The Drover’s Departure, Scene in the Grampians,” was at the Royal

Academy in 1835; a picture arising out of the departure of herds from

the Highlands. In the foreground the grandfather has his horn filled

with “mountain dew” by his daughter, whose husband, just behind,

caresses their youngest child. The plighted lovers in the background

discuss probabilities. The droves are assembled, the old dog suckles

her puppies for the last time, the old white pony has lost his front

teeth, therefore bites sideways the last meal of home grass, the hen

defends her chickens against an aggressive and hilarious puppy, the boy

promotes the strife, the old woman “fidgets” every one about her. Note

the position of the lovers’ hands. For the old shepherd on our left of

the foreground of the composition, Mr. John Landseer was the model, Mr.

R. Leslie, the marine painter, son of the first R.A. of that name, sat

for the boy, who, in front, is engaged with the puppies. This picture is

at South Kensington, part of the Sheepshanks Gift; “The tethered Rams”

is a study for part of it. The last-named work was at the Royal Academy

in 1839, is now part of the Sheepshanks Gift, and may be referred to

here. The official description is the best, “Two rams are tethered to an

old and fallen tree, and watched by two sheep dogs; in the mid-distance

the flock is feeding under the care of a shepherd, who is talking with a

Scottish lassie near him. A loch and mountains form the background.”

We have remarked that Landseer contributed some of the most popular as

well as some of the best pictures to the British Institution; an

instance, which has a very interesting anecdote attached to it, occurred

in respect to “A sleeping Bloodhound” (“Countess”), sent to Pall Mall in

1835, a date to which our remarks have reference. This work is now in

the National Gallery, bequeathed by Mr. Jacob Bell, Landseer’s constant

friend and zealous “man of business.” It represents “Countess,” a dog of

the kind indicated by the title, lying as if asleep, with the body

slightly curved, the jowl resting on the floor and the forepaws

extended. The picture has been admirably engraved by Mr. T. Landseer.

The following is its history:--The hound whilst lying on a parapet at

the Clock-House, West-hill, Wandsworth, Mr. Jacob Bell’s house,

overbalanced herself, and falling between twenty and thirty feet, died

during the night, and was taken on the following morning (Monday) to

St. John’s Wood, in hopes of securing a sketch of his old favourite, who

had long been waiting for a sitting. Speaking of Sir Edwin, Mr. Bell

said:--“The sight of the unfortunate hound suddenly changed an

expression of something approaching vexation (at the interruption during

his work) into one of sorrow and sympathy, and after the first

expression of regret at the misfortune, the verdict was laconic and

characteristic--‘This is an opportunity not to be lost; go away; come on

Thursday, at two o’clock.’ It was then about midday, Monday. On

Thursday, two o’clock, there was ‘Countess’ as large as life, asleep, as

she is now.” Another authority states that she knew Mr. Jacob Bell, and

lived in the house at Wandsworth, from the balcony of which the dog

fell. She had often heard Mr. Bell give the following version of the

circumstances:--“The hound was, one dark night, anxiously watching her

master’s return from London. She heard the wheels of his gig and his

voice, but in leaping from the balcony where she watched, she missed her

footing and fell all but dead at her master’s feet. Mr. Bell placed the

hound in his gig and returned to London, called Sir Edwin Landseer from

his bed, and had a sketch made then and there of the dying animal.”

The rapidity with which this picture was produced is another

illustration of the facility of Sir Edwin’s brush; the canvas is no

little one, it measures three feet three inches high, by four feet one

inch wide.

“Comical Dogs,” now at South Kensington, shows two large, rough

terriers, who have been decorated by their master, the one with an old

woman’s cap, and a pipe in its mouth, the other with a great Scotch

bonnet. There is a good deal of humour in this picture, but it is not

one of the artist’s best paintings.

“Odin,” engraved by Mr. W. H. Simmons, a fine picture of a famous dog,

and others, were exhibited in 1836. “Odin” belongs to Mr. W. Russell. We

have already related an anecdote of its execution. “Odin” was a smooth

mastiff, the property of Mr. Russell. In 1836 was published

[Illustration: _Donkey and Foal._]

“The Sportsman’s Annual,” with illustrations by Edwin Landseer, A.

Cooper, and C. Hancock, thirteen lithographs of dogs, with a descriptive

text.

In 1837 came “The Highland Shepherd’s Chief Mourner,” which is far more

touching than direct appeals to the imagination: a lonely shepherd has

finished a long life, and the picture represents his coffin covered by

his maud for a pall, with his dog, the trusty companion of his later

years, and chief mourner, the single and faithful guardian of the dead.

The expression and attitude of the friendless animal suggest almost

human woe; his limbs seem relaxed and without life, as, pressing close

to the coffin and resting his head on it, he broods over his loss. The

pious life of the shepherd is hinted by a Bible on a stool in front, his

age and infirmities by the spectacles beside the book, never more to be

used.[39]

“The Shepherd’s Grave,” painted in 1837--which appeared with the Art

Treasures at Manchester, in 1857--was a picture of similar inspiration.

A sheep dog lingers by his master’s grave, his head declines over the

fresh heap of earth, with its bindings of withy. The moon is rising on

the horizon, yet the dog remains. To show how recent has been the

master’s decease, the white stone displays an incomplete inscription;

the carver will return in the morning, his tools lie ready, but the dog

will remain all night, and until there is no more day for him. The

picture belongs to Mr. W. Wells, M.P.

“The Portrait of the Marquis of Stafford, and the Lady Evelyn Gower,”

placed before the public in 1838, is a pretty picture of a girl with a

fawn, round the neck of which she has placed a garland; a spaniel sits

“begging” before her; a boy in a short dress, with bare shoulders and

legs, is seated on the grass in front and looks up, while a noble

deer-hound lolls against a tree; it is probably Landseer’s best

portrait-picture. It was beautifully engraved by Samuel Cousins.

“The Life’s in the old Dog yet,” exhibited in 1838, and now the property

of Mr. John Naylor, is poetical and pathetic. An old deer-hound,

champion of many a hunting, was over-eager in pursuit of the deer which

lies shattered at the foot of a cliff. The deer fell in a desperate

leap, the dog, being close on his haunches, overran himself and fell.

When the hunters came the difficulty was to recover the old dog and

bring up the deer. An ancient sportsman was let down by a rope, and, in

the words which give a title to the picture, hails the folks above,

while he sustains the head of the dog.

When this picture was comprised in the Art Treasures Exhibition at

Manchester, in 1857, it hung close to Mr. J. R. Herbert’s, “Lear

disinheriting Cordelia,” a subject the artist had treated with

sufficient demonstrativeness in the action and expression of the king. A

humorous mistake was made by a person who was attracted by the effective

design of Landseer’s brother Academician. In the broadest “Yorkshire” he

demanded of a companion, “What’s 329?” The latter blundered, and read

from the catalogue the title of No. 331, “There is life in the old Dog

yet.” “So there is, _to be sure_!” ejaculated the inquirer, in happy

ignorance.

The year 1838 was remarkable in the annals of Landseer, for in the

Exhibition of that year was one of the finest of his works, “A

Distinguished Member of the Humane Society”--the large Newfoundland dog,

with a black head and a white muzzle, reclining on the last stone of a

quay, while the summer ripples slowly rise at the sea-wall, where the

mooring-ring catches the lapsing wavelet as it runs along the stone. The

likeness of the dog is a wonderful representation; this may be truly

said, notwithstanding all that can be averred in respect to the _chic_

and dexterity, of the painter. The trick of an earnest expression, the

semi-human pathos of the dog’s eyes, is not less effective than

truthful. He lies in the broad sunlight, and the shadow of his enormous

head is cast sideways on his flank as white as snow. He looks seaward

with a watchful eye, and his quickness of attention is hinted at by the

gentle lifting of his ears. The painting of the hide, here rigid and

there soft, here shining with reflected light, there like down; the

masses of the hair, as the dog’s habitual motions caused them to grow;

the foreshortening of his paws as they hang over the edge of the quay;

and the fine sense of chiaroscuro displayed in the whole, induce us to

rank it with the painter’s masterpieces. Superbly engraved by Mr. T.

Landseer, it now belongs to Mr. Newman Smith.

“Dignity and Impudence” was at the Art Treasures Exhibition, Manchester,

and first shown at the British Institution in 1839, with the title

“Dogs.” The noble bloodhound of the Duke of Grafton’s breed who calmly

regards an approaching person, has received on terms of intimacy a

snappish little Scotch terrier, whose irritability is not soothed by

grand companionship. The big dog’s name was “Grafton,” a name of his

family; that of the little one is unknown to fame. The picture was

bequeathed by Mr. Jacob Bell to the National Gallery. It was engraved

admirably by Mr. T. Landseer, and, again, severally, by Mr. Zobel and

Mr. Davey.

In the year 1839 appeared “Van Amburgh and his Animals,” a different

work from that which belongs to the Duke of Wellington and was at the

Academy in 1847. The latter is the less acceptable of the two; both have

merits, but in the eyes of critics neither, nor any of Landseer’s later

paintings of lions, approach those works of his youth we have named, “A

prowling Lion,” and “A Lion enjoying his Repast.” The artist had, during

a considerable portion of his life, continued his studies from lions,

and whenever Mr. Mitchell, Secretary of the Zoological Society, had a

dead lion on his hands, the refusal of the corpse was offered to

Landseer. Until the painter was consulted, there was small chance of a

zoologist dissecting “a king of the beasts.” There is a story, told

originally by Charles Dickens, or at least so often fathered on that

writer that it may belong to him. It is the counterpart of the tale of

Sydney Smith, on “Is thy servant a dog?” Some of our artist’s ways were

strange to visitors, and stories float about them which are untrue, but

there is strong probability in that which tells how one evening, while a

few friends were assembled at the house in St. John’s Wood, the door of

the room was suddenly opened by a man-servant, who said,--with

_sang-froid_ which indicated volumes as to the nature of a speaker to

whom nothing seemed unreal,--“Did you order a lion, sir?” If such beasts

had arrived daily at the door, the question could not have been uttered

with more imperturbability. The guests looked to their host for an

answer. It is said that some were afraid, or pretended to fear, that a

living lion was loitering at the gate, waiting Sir Edwin’s word to

enter. No one could be quite sure; but none present expected to be given

to the lion. The explanation that calmed all real or pretended fears was

soon obtained; Landseer was no more prepared than his company for the

question of the henchman. A lion had died suddenly at the Zoological

Gardens, Regent’s Park--a lion well known to Sir Edwin. It was evening

when this occurred, and the Secretary had the dead beast put in a cart,

and driven to No. 1, St. John’s Wood Road, where the party was

assembled, as a present acceptable to the host. As lions do not die

daily in this country, the gift was worthy of the Society and the

receiver. It was from this model that the picture “Nero” was painted;

and it is said that the lion of that name left his skin to the British

Museum; at any rate it is certain that, being duly stuffed with straw,

his hide received popular admiration in a glass case in one of the upper

galleries of Bloomsbury.

Sir Edwin’s lion pictures were by no means numerous. “A Lion disturbed

at his Repast,” 1821, before alluded to, was the first, and accompanied

by “A Lion enjoying his Repast.” The next was “Van Amburgh and his

Lions,” 1839; the other, derived from the same materials, appeared in

1847. The lions of Trafalgar Square were the last we owe to Sir Edwin.

Our readers remember how tardy was the appearance of these

sculptures--how long Nelson’s monument remained unfinished. Besides the

above, Landseer painted a picture which has not been exhibited, styled

“The Lion’s Den.” This was engraved by John Landseer.

“The Lion-Dog of Malta--the last of his Tribe,” was exhibited at the

Royal Academy in 1840, and shows the white flossy little creature, with

a hawk’s-bell at his neck, lying on a table close to the head of a huge

Newfoundland dog, on whose nose the smaller beast has placed a puny,

long-fringed paw. The latter looks with glittering ferret’s eyes through

its overhanging mane. The enormous head of the larger dog is bigger than

the whole carcase of the little one; and his eyes have the trick of a

deep, earnest expression, which none caught so well as Landseer. On the

front of the group are instruments for drawing, a porte-crayon, brushes,

pencils, a stump, and quill pen. Before these lies a piece of bread for

rubbing out; a mouse has stolen into light, and hastily nibbles at the

bread.

Many stories have been told of Landseer’s _bonhomie_ in general company,

but probably the best was that Leslie related of a dinner-party at which

the two friends met in Sir Francis Chantrey’s house. This meeting

happened in one of the later years of the life of Sir Francis, some time

before his death in 1841. This story is best related in Leslie’s words,

and as follows, from “The Autobiography” of that artist:--“Edwin

Landseer, the best of mimics, gave a capital specimen of Chantrey’s

manner, and at Chantrey’s own table. Dining at his house with a large

party, after the cloth was removed from the beautifully polished

table,--Chantrey’s furniture was all beautiful,--Landseer’s attention

was called by him to the reflections, in the table, of the company,

furniture, lamps, &c. ‘Come and sit in my place and study perspective,’

said our host, and went himself to the fire. As soon as Landseer was

seated in Chantrey’s chair, he turned round, and imitating his voice and

manner, said to him, ‘Come, young man, you think yourself ornamental;

now make yourself useful, and ring the bell.’ Chantrey did as he was

desired; the butler appeared, and was perfectly bewildered at hearing

his master’s voice, from the head of the table, order some claret, while

he saw him standing before the fire.”

The “Roebuck and rough Hounds,” a picture of 1840, represented a broken

hill-side, where a young deer has fallen from one of its ledges to a

lower table of rock, where the dogs have found it, and now guard the

spoil until the huntsmen come. There are four dogs; one behind the prone

head of the prey has the vantage-ground for watching, and looks out with

globe-like, glistening eyes. Lower is a rough deer-hound, lapping blood

as it flows from the buck. In front, and at the foot, are the heads of

the other dogs, one with a placid expression, the other expectant of a

step. It is now at South Kensington.

Another work of this year was the famous “Laying down the Law.” The

picture belongs to the Duke of Devonshire, and is too well known to need

description here; suffice it that, in our opinion, it shows one of the

best of Landseer’s designs of that class, by investing animals with

human expressions and feelings; it is to be looked on less as an

animal-picture proper than as a representation of human passions in

animal forms. We must accept this non-natural characteristic, this

artistic heresy, otherwise the work is naught; notwithstanding all

possible objections, it is never less than a fascinating satire, one of

those works which override principles by innate strength. In 1841 Sir

Edwin did not contribute to the Academy.

In 1840, 1841, 1842, 1843, and 1844, the Queen and Prince Albert amused

themselves by etching certain designs by Landseer: impressions from

these plates are very scarce. These transcripts are named in Mr.

Algernon Graves’ catalogue of Sir Edwin’s works, p. 41.

“Otters and Salmon,” one of the pictures of 1842, shows the fruit of one

of those visits to the Highlands which, since the tour was made with

Leslie, were annual: it has been finely engraved by Mr. Gibbon. It

exhibits a huge silver salmon lying on its flank, and a long-bodied,

long-waisted, brown otter, cringing stealthily at the side of the fish,

showing his teeth, and turning half round, snarling in the fashion of

his kind. The year 1843 found the painter at work on the fresco for the

garden-house at Buckingham Palace; it represents “The Defeat of Comus,”

of which the sketch in oil was given to the nation by Mr. Jacob Bell.

But to return to the otter. This proved the artist at work on a novel

theme, which he made his own by the well-known “Otter speared” of 1844.

So various had been the painter’s studies in sporting

subjects,--including wild cattle, dogs of all kinds, horses of all

sorts, fish, deer, ptarmigan, swans, rats, ducks, eagles, hawks,

falcons, otters, to say nothing of lions; and huntsmen of all English

ranks--that people naturally fancied Sir Edwin was a keen sportsman.

Nevertheless, such was by no means the case; in truth, he often carried

the gun as an introduction to the sketch-book.

This is proved by the story we obtain from a painter, who, while

sketching in the Highlands, fell in with Ewen Cameron, an old

forest-keeper of Glencoe, who for more than four-and-twenty years

accompanied Landseer with the sketch-book and the gun; he had been with

him from his first shooting excursion, and described the knight as but a

poor shot at first, but one who improved as he grew older. He was,

nevertheless, often laughed at. But one day Sir Edwin had the laugh at

all the party, for, knowing that he was not the best of shots, they had

deliberately posted him where the herd was not expected, “when,” as the

old forester said, “it so happened that the greater number of the stags

went his way, and he just made by far the biggest bag of the party;” in

fact, “we found him surrounded with dead stags lying all about.”

On another occasion the gillies were astonished, just as a magnificent

shot came in the way, to have Sir Edwin’s gun thrust into their hands,

with “Here, take, take this,” hastily ejaculated, while the sketch-book

was pulled out. The gillies were often disgusted by being led about the

moors, walking with more sketching than shooting; and they grumbled

dreadfully in their own tongue; “but,” said Ewen, “Sir Edwin must have

had some Gaelic in him, for he was _that angry_ for the rest of the day,

it made them very careful of speaking Gaelic in his hearing after.” “The

last time he was here,” repeated the forester, referring to but a few

years ago, “I could not but observe to him, ‘Sir Edwin, ye’re becoming

like the ptarmigan,’” alluding to that bird’s turning white as the

winter approaches.

Another picture of the year 1842 was the pathetic “Highland Shepherd’s

Home,” which was engraved by Mr. Gibbon, and is very popular. This was

at the Academy; but a not inferior picture, painted in the Highlands,

is, “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like Home,” which was at the

British Institution in that year, and is now comprised in the

Sheepshanks Gift at South Kensington; it was bought by Mr. Sheepshanks

from Landseer, A spaniel cowers at the entrance

[Illustration: _Goat and Kids._]

of his home in a quiver of glad recognition of the shelter; he looks up

with a whimper, and gleefully wags his tail, for the beast has been a

vagrant. In the foreground occurs one of those little points of by-play

such as often occur in Landseer’s designs. Here a snail, who does not

quit his home, but rather carries it on his back, is travelling slowly

and noiselessly towards the water-dish of the spaniel.

In 1842 there likewise appeared, but at the Academy, the most

dexterously painted “Pair of Brazilian Monkeys, the property of the

Queen,” the dashing form of “Breeze,” a retriever, which has been

engraved by Mr. C. G. Lewis, and the ever-beautiful figure of “Eos,”

that model of grace, a greyhound belonging to Prince Albert, which Mr.

T. Landseer engraved faultlessly. In this picture Sir Edwin must

have been happy, for the grace, fulness of refinement, high feeling

for beauty, and that defect of the animal which arose from

over-civilization, were here, and he painted them perfectly. The very

defect of his art suited the truth of the subject, and “Eos” in the

engraving seems the finest example of the finest strain of Landseer’s

art.

“The Sanctuary” was of this year, and akin in its inspiration to those

which showed Landseer at work in snow and ice, with new subjects, and

hardly ever tried by an artist of his standing. The latter are the

admirable “Coming Events cast their Shadows before them,” of 1844, and

“Night and Morning,” the noble designs of 1853. “The Sanctuary”

illustrated the refuge of a long-hunted stag on an island, or on the

coast of Loch Maree; the swimming beast approaches the shore, and

perfectly represents the pathos of the verses:--

“See, where the startled wild-fowl screaming rise,

And seek in marshall’d flight those golden skies;

Yon wearied swimmer scarce can win the land,

His limbs yet falter on the watery strand.

Poor hunted hart! the painful struggle o’er,

How blest the shelter of that island shore!

There, whilst he sobs, his panting heart to rest,

Nor hound nor hunter shall his lair molest.”

We all remember the water dripping from the flanks of the beast, the

swerving line, a little too mechanically drawn, of the flying fowl, the

even colour of the twilight sky, the gleaming of the water, a surface

broken only by the track of the ripples the exhausted swimmer’s

shoulders had set in motion. The picture belongs to the Queen, and was

in the International Exhibition, 1862, and at the Exposition

Universelle, Paris, 1853; and while there attracted much less attention

than it deserved from the French, who demand qualities which Landseer

did not always succeed in furnishing. We do not think it was on account

of the pathos of this picture that the jury awarded him the great gold

medal, he being the only English painter to receive it; many Englishmen

desired that Mulready should obtain this distinction, and the award in

Landseer’s favour puzzled many, because he was much less a painter _per

se_ than Mulready, who expected a decision in the reverse direction.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI.

A.D. 1843 TO A.D. 1850.

WINDSOR CASTLE--NOT CAUGHT YET--THE OTTER SPEARED--SHOEING--THE

RANDOM SHOT--DIALOGUE AT WATERLOO--LANDSEER KNIGHTED.

The pictures contributed to the Academy in 1843 were not very important:

one was a scene in Windsor Castle, with portraits of Her Majesty, Prince

Albert, the Princess Royal, and four of the Queen’s dogs; another was

“Not caught yet”--a fox examining a trap.

Most visitors to the Academy, who recal “The Otter speared” of 1844,

which appeared with “Coming Events cast their Shadows before them,”

remember the profound impression caused by these works. The former is an

“upright” picture, showing a huntsman standing to mid-leg in a stream,

surrounded by a numerous pack of yelping dogs, while he, having driven

his spear through the loins of the poor otter, raises that ignoble prey

on high, in his last agonies, transfixed, writhing, biting the staff of

the spear, and helplessly contorted in the air. The dogs follow their

nature, and the man follows his; the otter will be thrown to the hounds,

and torn to pieces. There is an immense amount of diverse action and

intense passion in the dogs, who leap, yell, yelp, bark, struggle,

bound, howl, and even fight each other in their fury for the prey. The

design was admirable, but the execution of the picture was a little

flat--a defect which strongly affected the public--the colour was cold,

not improved by the introduction of the crude scarlet coat of the man in

the centre without an effectual echo or compensating piece of colour.

The flatness of the execution made the perspective of the group of dogs

look incorrect, which was not really the case. The drawing of the dogs

was worthy of Sir Edwin’s skill: they belonged to the Earl of Aberdeen.

“Coming Events cast their Shadows before them,” sometimes called “The

Challenge,” and now in the collection of the Dowager Duchess of

Northumberland, was another of the pictures of 1844. Although it has not

appeared since its display at the Academy in this year, it is well known

by means of engravings, and therefore the subject being as simple as it

was effectively told, it will not be needful to describe it here.

“Shoeing,”[40] another picture of this year, was painted for Mr. Jacob

Bell, and is now comprised in the Bell Gift in the National Gallery (No.

606). The scene is a forge, with its open door and anvil, and utensils

lying about the place. A bay mare, a portrait of “Old Betty,” the

property of Mr. Bell, stands near the anvil, while a farrier tries a new

shoe on her near hind hoof, the other animals being an ass and a

bloodhound, the name of which was “Laura;” these, like the figure of the

man, are portraits. The painting of the mare is worthy of Landseer’s

peculiar skill; her skin is glossiness itself, while the likeness is so

completely faithful that she stands exactly as she was accustomed to

appear “at ease,” and without a halter; the latter, Mr. Wornum told us,

was an appendage the creature would never tolerate. Mrs. Mackenzie adds,

that the mare was so fond of being shod that she would go of her own

will to the farrier. Mr. Lewis engraved this picture three times, an

extraordinary proof of its popularity.

In 1845 appeared a nameless work, signalized in the Academy catalogue as

“141 * * *,” and now described as “The Shepherd’s Prayer,” which has

been engraved by Mr. T. L. Atkinson.

The pictures “Peace” and “War,” both of 1846, now in the National

Gallery, require only the briefest mention. The scene of the former is

the summit of a high chalk cliff looking over Dover harbour--not too

faithfully painted, by the way--with the calm blue sea, a little

defective in clearness of colour, the whole lying in sunlight, as Sir

Edwin was accustomed to paint that effect. A cannon has been tumbled

from its place, and is here topsy-turvy on the grass; in its harmless

muzzle a pretty lamb is grazing; other sheep and a few goats are

browsing near; close by are three bright-faced, heedless children, the

shepherds of the flock, one of whom has placed grass in the cannon’s

mouth for the lamb. These elements complete the design, of which the

idea is a little too melodramatic to be acceptable to critics, but it is

most welcome to less fastidious judges. “War” is simpler still, and a

design of less challengeable quality; there has been a battle, a cottage

is in ruins, lurid smoke dashes the still sunny walls with shadows, the

torn roses of the porch shine in the desolation, a dying horse and his

dead rider, a dragoon in steel, and sword in hand, lie near the door; a

dead horse and a second dead man lie close to the others.

“The Stag at Bay,” belonging to the Marquis of Breadalbane, which

appeared in the same year, had a more energetic design than that of

“War;” it is one of the strongest of Sir Edwin’s pictures, and well

known by Mr. T. Landseer’s engraving. “The Drive,” produced in 1847, was

a hunting-piece, representing the shooting of deer in a pass of

Glenorchy Forest; it is the property of the Queen, and was engraved by

Mr. T. Landseer.

At the same exhibition some readers remember the large but not very

fortunate “Portrait of Mr. Van Amburgh, as he appeared with his animals

at the London theatres.” Many years had passed since Sir Edwin had

painted a “lion picture,” and his reputation was uninjured in that

respect, although there were not lacking grumblers who averred that his

earlier works far surpassed in artistic qualities the more attractive,

more popular and, it must be admitted, far more poetical productions of

his middle life. At this date our artist had hit the chords in popular

feeling to which it would best suit him to appeal, and he did so

vigorously and constantly; the chords were two--that of sad pathos and

that of gentle, semi-human satire.

The pictures of 1848, to which we now turn, being “A random Shot” and

“Alexander and Diogenes,” were apt illustrations of the concurrent

powers of Landseer’s mind at the best. Technically speaking, he had lost

prodigiously by this period; his works were not half so solid as when

his spurs were won, but in the higher intellectual and imaginative

qualities they now far surpassed their forerunners, notwithstanding

occasional dashes of melodramatic taste. “Van Amburgh,” was injurious to

the reputation of the painter. The works of the next year--1848--set

this higher than ever.

In 1848 we were presented with “A random Shot,” one of the most pathetic

and epical of Landseer’s works. It is a snow-piece, the scene high on

the mountain, whose more distant ridges rise above the mist. The snow

lies smooth; and for miles, so far as the eye can penetrate the vapour,

there is nothing but snow, which covers, but does not hide, the shapes

of the hill-tops. A few foot-prints show that a doe has come hither,

attracted, doubtless, by her knowledge of a pool of unfrozen water which

would assuage her thirst. Some careless shooter, firing into a herd of

deer, had hit the doe whose fawn was with her, and, mortally wounded,

she came to die; the poor fawn had followed. There the victim fell,

there the innocent one strove, long after the mother’s form was cold, to

obtain milk where an unfailing source had been. The mother has fallen on

her side, the long limbs, that once went so swiftly, are useless, and

the last breath of her nostrils has melted the snow, so that, stained

with her blood, the water trickled downwards until it froze again.

This year was one of unusual good fortune for Sir Edwin’s admirers; two

of his best pictures were exhibited, besides the beautiful “Old Cover

Hack,” a horse standing with an air of being at home, at the door of a

stable.

“Alexander and Diogenes,” another of the pictures of 1848, is well

known; the big white bulldog Alexander pays a visit to the philosopher

in his tub, personified by a dingy, meditative little beast in inferior

condition of health and of poor belongings. He appears to be a farrier’s

tyke, to judge by the box of nails, with its thumb-hole, and the hammer,

which lie before the tub; and he is undoubtedly of abstemious habits, if

we may judge by the “rope” of onions and the herbs suspended at the side

of his place of shelter, and the potatoes which lie on the flag-stones.

The big white bully, with his “military” collar, stands before the tub,

and, regarding its cynical occupant askant, knits his brows--not a dog’s

action, by-the-bye--at once inquiringly and with hauteur. The courtiers

are commonplace; two are whining, with hypocritical mouths turned down,

the one has upcast eyes, the other is self-absorbed in meditation, and

with his eyes dreamily half-closed, occupies part of the background. A

greyhound, of the gentler sex, whose collar is decorated with a hawk’s

bell, and is herself a courtier, is courted by the sneaking little

spaniel with the set smile on his lips, and adulatory eyes as lustrous

as globes of glass. A contumelious spaniel of another breed is near,

and, with nose upturned and scornful, looks at the more scornful and not

less insincere cynic, who, with greater pride, tramples on the pride of

Alexander. This year (1848) produced the “Sketch of my Father,” that

capital portrait of John Landseer to which we have already alluded. In

the same year appeared a series of etchings by C. G. Lewis, styled “The

Mothers, by Edwin Landseer,” from drawings made in 1837. This

publication was the last in which our artist had direct concern.

In 1848 Landseer received from the “Commissioners on the Fine Arts” a

charge to paint in oil three subjects connected with the chase, for

compartments of the Peers’ Refreshment Room in the Houses of Parliament;

the absurdly inadequate price was not to be more than 500_l._ each. It

is evident that Landseer accepted these tasks patriotically rather than

in hope of profit. However, the matter came to nothing, for after a

sharp debate, rather a skirmish than a fight, when this great sum of

1500_l._ was proposed as the national payment to a great artist for

three important pictures, the House of Commons, piqued at the conduct of

the scheme for decorating the Palace of Westminster, struck the sum from

the estimates, and put an end to the affair; more to the artist’s profit

than ours.

The pictures of 1849, although comprising “The Free Church” and “The

Evening Scene in the Highlands,”

[Illustration: _Sow and Pigs._]

present no features which need detain us. It was at this period Landseer

made his first visit to Belgium, to procure studies and sketches for the

capital “Dialogue at Waterloo,” which appeared in 1850, and is now

comprised in the Vernon Gift; it represents the Duke of Wellington and

his daughter-in-law, the Marchioness of Douro, at the scene of “the

famous victory.” This visit naturally attracted a great deal of

attention from the Dutch and Belgian artists, who listened to strange

stories of Landseer’s mode of painting, and his, to their notions,

luxurious mode of life; that he went out into the woods near the place

of his sojourn, Brussels, accompanied by a man servant, and made careful

studies on millboard, was not so surprising to our neighbours as that he

was reported to regale himself with champagne. It had been the artist’s

custom during the greater part of his life, especially during that

period which has now been described, to make his studies on millboards

of a generally uniform size; great numbers of works of this size exist,

and their artistic qualities are of a high order. The sale of his

artistic remains brought to light numerous millboard studies, including

first thoughts for not a few of Landseer’s finest designs, studies for

pictures, and bold versions of thoughts which were never elaborated into

pictures, or placed before the world. These studies realized a

considerable sum, and thus increased the handsome fortune which he

obtained by means of a long life’s labours.

* * * * *

In 1850 Edwin Landseer was made a knight.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII.

A.D. 1851 TO A.D. 1861.

SIR EDWIN LANDSEER--THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN--MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S

DREAM--MAID AND MAGPIE--THE FLOOD IN THE HIGHLANDS.

“The Monarch of the Glen,” exhibited in 1851, was a stag, executed with

vigour and soundness of modelling, which recalled some of the finest

works of the artist.[1] The group styled “Geneva,” which appeared with

this, was a large painting of several asses, a bull, a mule, &c.,

gathered under an arch. The head of the mule struck us as the best part,

where all portions were worthy of the painter. “The last Run of the

Season” showed a fox leaving his earth; the texture of the beast’s hide

was rendered with dexterity, and the head characterized the painter’s

peculiar craft in such subjects, but there was not enough of the

“varmint” in its expression.

“Titania and Bottom--Fairies attending,” was a happy specimen of Sir

Edwin’s poetical invention, and one of the most agreeable pictures which

illustrate Shakespeare. The graceful nature of the Queen of the Fairies

was shown in Titania, whose figure expresses the love-languor of her

absurd dream; she leans with a confiding caress against the most

complacent Bottom, who extends his huge paw to handle a fairy. The head

of Titania is decorated with a diadem of leaves and glow-worms. Fairies

mounted on white rabbits add quaintness to the whole. “A Highlander in

a Snow-storm, holding an Eagle he has just shot,” and “Lassie,” were

summer and winter scenes which effectively contrast each other. These

concluded the pictures of 1851. The year 1852 gave us nothing of

immediate profit, but the year after made ample amends.

What one may call the progress of ultra-facility, the decline of Sir

Edwin’s power of solid painting, was illustrated by the pictures of

1853, being the dramatic designs--they were little more--styled “The

Combat,” and, severally, “Night” and “Morning,” the subjects being a

duel of stags, and the ruin of both. The pictures were at the Academy,

and, later, at the International Exhibition of 1862. The contrasted

effects were those of, 1, romantic gloom, much less than twilight, with

a dim moon, with screens of rain flying by a tumultuous lake, and, 2,

dawn growing rosier as the day grows over the fields; the subject of the

death struggle, and of death. In the one picture the beasts were

fighting, with such intensity of action as no one but Landseer could

have given, so that they are “locked horn in horn in fight.” The second

picture shows the combatants still locked together by their

horns--indeed it was this which decided their fate; they are both dead

on the hill-side, the day has come, the gusty night winds are hushed and

the lake is a mirror again; growing light reveals the outlines of the

hills, grey mist creeps on the strand, the bird of prey wheels in the

air above the dead, and the fox has come from his lair in the rotting

fern; the royal dead are carrion prey. Here is a moral forcibly

depicted, on which we need not enlarge. The pictures belong to Viscount

Hardinge, and have been engraved by Mr. T. Landseer, to whom not a

little is due on their account, for it is certain that the magnificent

design lost little in translation, and that the picture was not

pre-eminent. “The Children of the Mist,” a group of deer on a

cloud-laden moor, was exhibited with these more powerful examples which

we have just described.

Whatever may be the defects of the Royal Academy as a society--and most

of these are, we trust, in the course of correction--there can be no

doubt that collectively it has done many fine things; the members have

often acted in a noble manner; the number of instances of sacrifice of

cherished advantages to fellows or rivals is considerable, and the story

has been told of many Academicians who have taken their own pictures

from the walls in order to place those of others in good situations. We

believe it was about 1853, or it might have been at an earlier date,

that Sir Edwin was one of the Hanging Committee for the Royal Academy

Exhibition; it does not signify who was his fellow, but it is certain

that he was a landscape painter, and therefore no rival of M. Gudin, an

animal painter. Sir Edwin found among the contributions which had been

set aside as “doubtful,”--_i.e._ its chance of being hung was but a poor

one,--a work which pleased him greatly, but which had no artist’s name.

Taking it to his fellow-hanger, Sir Edwin found that both agreed as to

its merits, and that it ought to be hung, and well hung. The difficulty

was where to put it; at last the other hanger found that a place

accorded to a painting of his would suit this one extremely well, he

therefore took down his own and put M. Gudin’s production in its stead.

Thus the animal painter found an animal painter’s work, and was the

means of inducing a considerable sacrifice in order that it might be

seen. It may be asked, why did not Sir Edwin take down one of his own

paintings instead of allowing his companion to do so? The answer is,

that it is possible that Sir Edwin had no pictures at that gathering; or

it is still more probable that M. Gudin’s contribution would not fit one

of the places occupied by Landseer. We have an impression that Sir

Edwin’s generous companion was W. Daniell, R.A., in which case this

circumstance must have happened long before 1853; but this date has been

given as that of the circumstance.

The year 1854 was not one of those in which Sir Edwin’s powers shone at

the Exhibition; in 1855 he gave nothing; in 1856 he contributed the

capital “Saved!”--a fine picture, good enough to have made the

reputation of another artist--to the Royal Academy. In 1857 we had the

grandest stag which came from his hands, being “Scene in

Brae-mar--Highland Deer, &c.,” a magnificent stag, standing in the mist,

but not concealed by the vapour, and on the brow of a hill, bellowing

defiance to the hunter or to other males of his own kind; a group of

does are about him; a rabbit appears on the grass. The stag is superbly

drawn, and his action instinct with pride. “Rough and Ready” was of this

year; a portrait of a favourite mare, in the yard of her stable. The

humour of the picture, one of those capital pieces of by-play which none

introduced more happily than Landseer, was presented by the passionate

emotion of a hen, who, having just laid an egg, calls all the world to

witness the fact. “Rough and Ready” turns a questioning eye on the bird,

but is not deeply moved by the event; indeed she looks a little bored by

the uproarious mother-bird. This was a good example; but “Uncle Tom and

his Wife for sale,” which accompanied it at the Academy, showed that

Landseer had occupied some of his time during the years before this one

in reading a now almost-forgotten United States novel. “Uncle Tom” is a

dog of humble breeding and sturdy constitution; he has been brought to

the market for sale, and is chained to his wife, for whom a similar fate

is purposed. The best part of the picture was the tearful look of the

wife at the dog of her heart. This was a masterpiece wherein Sir Edwin

often triumphed--the humanizing of animal expression, or rather, the

animalization of human expression.

“The Maid and the Magpie,” given by Mr. Bell to the nation, with better

pictures, is, however, by no means unworthy of Landseer. The scene is a

shed, where a pretty Belgian girl, with a gay red cap on her head, has

come a-milking; the cow is willing, and turns with affectionate docility

to her friend; but the girl, whose expression is happy, is ardently

listening to her lover, who, leaning against a post, sighing and

longing, speaks to her. Thus far she neglects her immediate duties. She

is supposed to get into further trouble, because, having placed a silver

spoon in one of the wooden shoes at her side, she did not observe how a

malicious magpie pilfered the treasure, which, being missed, cause her

to suffer grievously. The story belongs to that of Rossini’s “La Gazza

Ladra,” with an older source, as Mr. Wornum said, in the French _Causes

Célèbres_. A calf and some goats were Landseerian, one cannot have a

better word.

The most remarkable work which Landseer had for some years exhibited was

the immense cartoon styled “Deer Browsing.” It is in coloured chalks,

black, red, and white, used in a manner analogous to that which Mulready

employed for his famous studies from “the life,” and it represented a

herd of deer grazing, while hunters have stolen on them from the heights

of the mountains, and prepare to fire from behind rocks. A royal stag

browses unsuspiciously; but two does have detected the intruders, and,

looking up with startled air and erected ears, are about to take to

their heels. In the same year we found at the British Institution, to

which gathering Sir Edwin had not then contributed for a considerable

period, the humorous and characteristic “Twa Dogs,” an illustration of

Burns’ poem with the same name. The gentlemanly dog, “they ca’d him

Cæsar,”[41] had all the marks of his education about him; not only in

“his lockit, letter’d, braw brass collar,” but in the gravity and

cleared-eyed dignity of his face, which is wonderfully represented. The

other dog, “that gash and faithful tyke,” is evidently for rougher

service; and if not so much to be admired, is perhaps to be liked more.

There is not the slightest doubt that

“His honest, sonsie, braws’nt face

Ay got him friends in ilka place.

In the same exhibition appeared the portrait of Sir Walter Scott to

which we have referred, styled “Extract from a Journal whilst at

Abbotsford.” The poet sits laughing at the gambols of his dogs. Maida,

the old deer-hound, famous in his master’s verses, is looking with

“inane benevolence,” the humour of which is exquisite, on a little puppy

on the floor; the little dog nibbles his senior’s tail. At their side is

a letter directed to Sir Walter. In this, as the catalogue lets us

infer, a proof of one of the Waverley novels had been received. By means

of this, Landseer was convinced that the authorship of those novels was,

as many suspected, due to Scott. This was, relatively, not a good

picture. As a sketch of canine character and a dexterous piece of

painting it had great merits; but the story was incomprehensible without

the catalogue. In this respect it was less explicable at sight than “The

Maid and the Magpie;” for the latter might be taken for no more than it

really was, a picture of lovers gossiping, and the incident of the

magpie and the spoon ignored.

“Doubtful Crumbs,” at the Academy in 1859, was hardly equal to its

origin; a mastiff lolls at the door of his kennel, and a smaller dog

looks anxiously for permission to pick up scraps. The picture, with a

title in Highland jargon, in the catalogue of the Royal Academy

Exhibition of this year, displayed how a hunted stag escaped two dogs by

taking to the water. One of the dogs is hurt to death; the other is

about to leave the stag. It was finely and vigorously designed, not less

slight than of late from the painter. “The Prize Calf” showed, with a

slight touch of humour, a frightened girl leading a calf through a

mountain pass. “A kind Star” illustrated a Highland superstition, but in

such a manner as proved that the designer’s mind was not in its usual

fine tone when it was conceived. The superstition is that hinds are

under the protection of beneficent stars: a hind lies dying on the banks

of a lake. So far nothing could be said; but the introduction of a

spirit, with a star in its hair, to bend over the poor beast, was of

quite another order of invention. The production of this idea was the

first decided sign of decay in the powers of our artist. Those who owed

him much delight stood aghast before it. Some of these tried to ascribe

its exhibition, and even its production, to obedience to some unfrequent

impulse--deference to some inferior mind, subservience to some vulgar

taste. However this might be, there, unfortunately, it was.

The year 1860 put the artist before us as effectively as before, and

gave what is probably the strongest of all his pictures, the “Flood in

the Highlands,” as to which I cannot do better than borrow from the

“Athenæum” of the time the following description, which has the freshest

impression because I wrote it on the day when, in the well-known St.

John’s Wood studio, and before the picture was sent to the Royal

Academy, Mr. Millais introduced me to Sir Edwin Landseer:--“By right of

seniority let Landseer come first. His subject is a flood in the

Highlands, one of those catastrophes to which villages situated in

gorges of a mountain country are exposed by the sudden melting of snow

on the hills, or heavy falls of rain, which, swelling the little

rivulets, often overwhelm a valley-hamlet at a sweep. The great flood,

rushing from the hill-side, rages through the street; up to the very

thresholds of the houses it pours along, a torrent irregular and

resistless. Behind the village a range of low hillocks bear a few scanty

trees, in the boughs of which some black birds have taken refuge,

telling the wide extent of the inundation. The water has drowned the

adjacent country, bearing along with it multitudes of farming implements

and the _débris_ of the swept district. The inhabitants have taken

refuge on the roofs of their cottages. Upon one, in the mid-distance,

are men urgently endeavouring to save a team, which, borne onwards by

the torrent, struggles relentlessly against its force, and, mad with

fear, nigh baffles the efforts of the rescuers, straining to the utmost

a rope held by them, whose entire strength fails to check the terrified

animals that have already been swept past

[Illustration: _Sheep and Lambs._]

the place of safety, and come driving full on to another cottage, nearer

the front of the picture; an exhausted ox has reached this spot, and

now, breathless, with bloody nostrils and eyes possessed with the

madness of fear, strives in vain to save itself. The dumb agony of this

beast is fearful; being nigh spent with the violence of the flood which

sweeps over its flanks, the forefeet wrestle fruitlessly, and the animal

will soon be borne away to destruction. The principal group, in which

the chief interest of the picture concentrates, is placed on the roof of

the nearest cottage. The people have saved themselves, but little else,

so sudden was the coming of the flood. Right in the front sits a woman

with a cradle beside her, of which the clothes are tossed aside, and the

infant who occupies it lies in her lap; round her neck the child clings,

ignorant, but yet alarmed. The woman’s action tells the horror and fear

predominating in her soul. Fear for herself and fear for the infant

relax even her grasp on its body, letting it rest almost wholly on her

knees (the hands, however, instinctively making a guard), which terror

has drawn up towards her; while, with forth-thrust neck and head, she

glares at the approaching torrent out of large, rounded and dilated

eyes, that have no glance for the infant now, but see in the struggling

beast a presage of death for both. Her jaw is set back, paralyzed with

dread; her mouth is open, the lips are retracted and hard, the eyebrows

are up and yet compressed, the cheek pallid and rigid with lines of

fear, her hair is dishevelled and her dress is disarranged. In short,

this figure is a perfect study of expression, the success of which does

honour to the artist. He has done well to show her momentary

indifference to the child; for this is a new point of character, beyond

question just and natural, which alone would remove the picture from the

conventional order of works of Art.

“Behind this group sits an aged man, half imbecile, and scarcely

recognizing the danger which threatens his family; but, with his dress

drawn about him, keeping steadfastly in the seat where their heedful

affection has placed him. Beyond, squats a boy, wrapped in a plaid wet

from the flood, and caressing a dog he has rescued from the water, and

now holds it, shivering, in his bosom. On a ladder raised against the

side of the house, by which the people have ascended to the roof, are

perched some poultry, fussily alarmed at the distress about them; a

hen--as is the wont of such creatures when terrified--has laid an egg,

which, falling on a step below her perch, much astonishes a cat that has

established herself there, and now rises to examine the phenomenon. Here

is a point some hypercritical people will get hold of. The egg is broken

by the fall, the shell being hard and set. No egg is otherwise than soft

at this moment of exclusion, these critics will say. Let us leave them

their discovery, and proceed to point out an incident of the design that

marks the genius of the artist. Close under the eaves of the house, and

just emerging from the water, is a poor hare, endeavouring to burrow a

way into the thatch, with struggling feet and ears laid back; the flood

has brought this timorous beast into the neighbourhood of man, and it is

pitiful to see its frantic efforts to make a place of refuge in the very

habitation of its enemies. Above, grey wreaths of rain-clouds haste

along, and the whole aspect of the picture bespeaks terror and

desolation. The very fault of its execution aids this appearance, for

the want of appreciation of colour, which is alone to be lamented, helps

the motive of the theme by a certain chilly opacity. This, under another

aspect, would seriously mar the credit of so marvellous a work. Sir

Edwin has done his best in the picture, and the result of many years’

study shows how profitably they have been employed in ensuring him fresh

honour.”

So far the critic, and present writer, sees no reason for changing his

opinion of this masterpiece of Sir Edwin’s. If it was not his finest

work, it was at any rate his culminating one; he painted none so good

afterwards--indeed, even before it was finished, the painter, always a

man of extreme nervous susceptibility, had hints that the human mind and

the body which surrounded it are mortal. He was constitutionally

subject to nervous depression, but these attacks accumulated force as

years went on, and threatened the end which came with all its

painfulness.

I remember him, during the painting of this picture, on the Tuesday

before it was sent to the Academy--putting a few touches on the canvas.

He looked as if about to become old, although his age by no means

justified the notion; it was not that he had lost activity or energy, or

that his form had shrunk, for he moved as firmly and swiftly as ever,

indeed he was rather demonstrative, stepping on and off the platform in

his studio with needless display, and his form was stout and

well-filled. Nevertheless, without seeming to be overworked, he did not

look robust, and he had a nervous way remarkable in so distinguished a

man, one who was usually by no means unconscious of himself, and yet, to

those he liked, full of kindness. The wide green shade which he wore

above his eyes, projected straight from his forehead, and cast a large

shadow on his plump, somewhat livid features, and in the shadow one saw

that his eyes had suffered. The grey “Tweed” suit, and its sober trim, a

little emphatically “quiet,” marked the man; so did his stout, not fat

nor robust, figure; rapid movements, and utterances that glistened with

prompt remarks, sharp, concise, with quick humour, but not seeking

occasions for wit, and imbued throughout with a perfect frankness,

distinguished the man. Even in 1867 there was little outward change,

although not long after that date the attacks occurred with fewer and

briefer intervals. These intervals caused the reports which flew about,

“Sir Edwin is better,” “much better,” as some would have it, and, anon,

“much worse,” as many said.

After the “Flood in the Highlands” had set Landseer’s reputation on a

basis which was apparently firmer than ever, he produced pictures of

value, even judging them by the standard proper to our estimate. In 1861

we had “The Shrew tamed”--“_la jument domptée_” of its French admirers,

in 1867--a riding-mistress, who, having overcome a vicious thoroughbred

mare, (for, this picture echoed the wandering voices of the hour, and

“horse-tamers” were then in vogue) has made the beast lie on straw, and

triumphantly reclines her own head on the mare’s flank, as the dame,

supine and smiling, rests beside the steed, while the latter gently and

obediently caresses her hand; the former, conscious of her victory, pats

the animal’s head. The horse is exquisitely faithful in the handling,

the glossy muscle-binding hide is all a-shine with health and horsehood;

her powerful hoofs; her eye of fire, subdued but not depressed, and full

of vigour; the strong, unmastered neck, that turns gracefully in its

vigour towards the slender lady resting among the dreadful feet, as if

there were no more harm in them than in her own, that peep daintily

beneath the blue riding-robe. Among the straw, and painted as only

Landseer could paint lapdogs, was a saucy little beast of that kind.

Besides this very telling picture, Sir Edwin contributed three large

cartoons in distemper, a triptych of “stag subjects.” In the centre was

“The fatal Duel,” two mighty stags that have been fighting to the very

death: here was an echo of a former picture, the noble notion again

worked out. They lie in the snow on a mountain side, the surface of

which, crisped by frigid winds after a thaw, was given with power and

truth. One stag, wounded to the death, is prostrate, and dying on the

ensanguined snow, while the torn and bleeding fragment of a horn attests

the stubbornness of his defence. Over him the conqueror, with gory flank

and limbs, bellows victory to the mountain side. The wings of the

triptych are styled, “Scenes in the Marquis of Breadalbane’s Highland

Deer Forest;” the first, stags and hinds traversing snow-covered hills;

the second, a similar subject in mist. All these were capitally drawn

and designed.[42]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII.

A.D. 1862 TO A.D. 1873.

MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES--THE CONNOISSEURS--THE SWANNERY

INVADED--CLOSING YEARS--DEATH OF LANDSEER.

The years 1862 and 1863 were, so far as the Exhibitions were concerned,

significantly void of the fruits of Sir Edwin’s art. But 1864 brought

good news and good work again; and we all rejoiced over the vigour which

was apparent in “Man proposes, God disposes,” an Arctic incident

suggested by the finding of the relics of Sir John Franklin. The scene

is a piece of rugged ice, the coast-line of that remote land, broken by

inlets of dark water. Over all is the greenish light of an Arctic noon;

a purple veil of mist is drawn aside, as if a secret were displayed, and

in order that we might see what had become of our long-lost countrymen.

The veil gone, the rose tints of sunlight fall on the nearest and the

highest points of rock-like ice, while light itself penetrates the

sea-green blocks, and lurid shadows appear among the masses that strew

the shore. Right across the front lies the mast of a boat, covered with

brine as hard as a stone, and with a hoary fringe of icicles. A rag of

tarpaulin--that may at one time have been the roof of a hut formed

amongst the angular blocks--lies over this spar. Beneath this spar are a

few planks, bleached in the long frost; and from below them peer a few

bones--the rib bones of a man; above these lies a coat of navy blue. A

huge white bear, her head on high, holds between cruel jaws a whitened

bone. At the other side of the picture, and at the back of the so-called

hut, sprawls the formless bulk of a larger bear, whose flattened head is

laid along the ice, dragging between its jaws and from beneath the spar

the ragged length of a piece of bunting, part of a Union Jack. This work

now belongs to Mr. E. V. Coleman. With this painful picture we received

that charming piece of manual dexterity, and keenest feeling for animal

character, “A Piper and a Pair of Nutcrackers,” a bullfinch perched on a

bough, just above the seat of a pair of squirrels. It is now in the

possession of Mr. C. Booth.

At the British Institution for this year (1864) we had “Well-bred

Sitters, that never say they are bored,” a large painting of dogs,

produced with all Sir Edwin’s dexterity although, it may be, not showing

all his soundness of drawing, or that finish in which, of yore, he

delighted. An enormous black dog sits, as if before an artist, a model

of dignity and self-possession; in his mouth is a badger-hair brush,

such as painters style a “softener.” By his side a fawn-coloured dog is

posed with great elegance. In the foreground are several dead doves, a

pheasant, a purple velvet cigar-case, the colour of which serves as a

chromatic echo to that of the pheasant’s neck. This was a vigorous

picture, showing all we were accustomed to find in Sir Edwin’s later

works.

The most interesting, if not the best, picture of 1865 by Landseer was

his own portrait, styled “The Connoisseurs,” a humorous piece,

comprising portraits of two dogs, who look appreciatively over his

shoulder while he makes a drawing. “The flesh painting is too white as

well as pinky to be true to nature, opaque and rather coarse, but the

dogs who look over his shoulder at the sketch he is making, supply the

title to the picture. Canine meditation and the result on a dog’s face

of critical habits were never even thought of before, much less ever

painted, as they are here. The dog on our right will not, it seems, give

a hasty verdict in favour of his master’s work, that on our left will,

like other critics, follow his neighbour. If anything could justify a

man’s wish to be a dog it would be that Sir Edwin might paint him. What

a gentle dog is he on our right!” “Déjeûner à la Fourchette,” a donkey

feeding, a boy near, was not a fortunate picture. “Adversity” and

“Prosperity” had contrasted subjects in the life of a horse. In the

latter we had a superbly elegant bay horse; his hide has an inner glow

such as would delight Titian to paint it; he sniffs the air gladly and

looks from on high far off; his limbs are perfectly formed, and his body

is a model for a Greek sculptor, and although too small in proportion

for the body, his head is elegant. By his side is a dandy groom, the

least satisfactory part of the picture. “Adversity” gives the other side

of the same medal. A cab-horse in a low inn-yard sniffs wearily a mass

of corn that is locked up; the shabby collar of servitude is about his

neck, and, worse than all, has rubbed to bleeding some of that golden

bay skin, which, a little too perfectly it may be, remains to the poor

beast of all his beauty, pride, and delight in life; he sniffs in vain,

almost afraid to go too near the locked food, and feebly,

apologetically, paws the stones with worn hoofs. The artist never told a

tale better than by these pictures, and probably never painted a horse’s

hide better than that of the youthful model. These works were sold with

Mr. Albert Grant’s pictures, April 28, 1877; the former for £1480, the

latter for £1501.

The next year, 1866, produced the unfortunate “Lady Godiva’s Prayer;”

the finely painted white “Mare and Foal” lying on the grass by the side

of an Indian tent; “Odds and Ends, a Trophy for a Hall,” a collection of

bucks heads, hunting weapons, &c., grouped with three living dogs, an

unlucky grouping. There was likewise a large cartoon, recalling the

triptych we have described, and showing a stag rushing at full speed,

and followed hard by a great hound, both full of action. In this year

Sir Edwin made his first appearance as a sculptor with the vigorous

“Stag at Bay,” the fruit of practice of which the then long-delayed

Lions for Trafalgar Square were expected to have the benefit. “Wild

Cattle at Chillingham Park, Northumberland,” one of the pictures of

1867, gave a fine painting of a magnificent bull, companied by a cow and

a calf, standing among heather and rocks. This and a companion picture,

“Deer in Chillingham Park,” were destined for a chamber at Chillingham

Castle, the seat of the Earl of Tankerville.

In January of this year the Lions were placed in Trafalgar Square: they

had been commissioned from Sir Edwin Landseer so long before as 1859.

They have monumental poses, with by no means wholly fortunate realistic

execution. Their attitudes are undeniably grand, the surface treatment

of each figure is excellent; but the incongruity of the two

characteristics is injurious to examples of architectonic art. This may

be admitted by those who have recognized in the statues from the

pediments of the Parthenon, similar characteristics combined in works

which, like the Lions, were intended for architectonic service.

The pictures of 1868 do not call for any particular mention. On the

other hand, there was one in the Academy in 1869 which recalled to our

minds all the artist’s power. This was entitled “The Swannery invaded by

Sea-Eagles,” and came a great deal nearer to Snyders’s manner than any

Landseer had produced for many years; indeed, since youth had ceased

with him he rarely worked with so much solidity, firmness, and with such

skill as in that which we think his last noble picture. It shows a group

of swans’ nests near the mouth of a mountain river. “From the hills that

overlook the ocean, the fierce brown birds have descended on the white

brood, and attacked them with beaks and claws. One has a big wader by

the throat, and just below the bill that vainly bites his thigh, while

with a yellow dreadful claw he tears the downy breast of the victim, so

that the red blood streams over it, dashing the plumage of snow to the

black foot-webs themselves, which vainly quiver on the ground. Yet the

swan fights well, and delivers smashing blows with his wings at his

tyrant. The effect of this mode of defiance is seen on the body of

another eagle, which, with the ravenous yelp of his kind, returns to the

attack on a second swan, and will certainly get the best of it. Already

dead between her still fighting fellows, a third swan lies prone, with a

grey cygnet beside her. In the air above the nest, other swans flutter

away, but in vain, for other eagles are there to destroy the last of

those who built near the robbers. The design of the picture may be thus

explained, but it would be hard to illustrate the painting of the

plumage, or the largeness of the style which pervades this, one of the

best painted of Sir Edwin’s works. It belongs to Lord Northampton.

With this noble painting Sir Edwin’s artistic biography, his

_auto-biography_, may well be closed. Succeeding works added nothing to

our knowledge of his skill, nor were they calculated to illustrate his

genius more fortunately than those which have been enumerated and

described.

An exceptional painting may fitly have place here; it is described by a

correspondent to the “Athenæum,” No. 2396: “To your list of

distinguished English artists who have practised scene painting, should

be added the name of Sir Edwin Landseer. I have myself seen, in the

theatre at Woburn Abbey, a scene painted by him. In the time of the late

John, Duke of Bedford, private theatricals were much in vogue at Woburn,

and Sir Edwin was then a frequent and honoured visitor, and on one of

these occasions he painted the scene in question, which represents the

interior of a room, opening in the centre on to a terrace or balcony. In

the doorway stands a lady’s dog, marvellously touched, in a listening

attitude, with one of the fore-paws uplifted, exhibiting, in a striking

degree, all the artist’s wondrous power, even in the coarse and hasty

manner incidental to a scene-painter’s art.--H.B.”

* * * * *

A few notes of the prices said to have been obtained for some of the

artist’s works may not be unwelcome to the reader, especially as these

will show how greatly they increased in value as popular applause

justified his labours, and did honour to his achievements. We believe

the sums named are substantially correct, but, of course, cannot verify

every statement.

In 1831 Edwin Landseer conveyed the copyrights of “Lassie and Sheep,”

and “The Widow,” to John Burnet for 150 guineas. In 1850 Sir I. K.

Brunel gave £450 for “Scene from a Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It was sold

with his pictures, April 21, 1860, for £2800. Mr. Pender gave £3500 for

each of the pair of pictures by Sir Edwin, which were in his collection.

Mr. Coleman gave the artist £2500 for “Man proposes, God disposes;” Mr.

Huth gave him 1000 guineas for “A Piper and a Pair of Nutcrackers.” The

painter received £400 for “Bolton Abbey,” £100 for “A Cat’s Paw;” Mr.

Vernon gave him £1500 for “Peace” and “War.” For the copyright of these

the publisher of the engravings gave, it is said, £3000. £3600 is said

to have been paid for the copyright of “A Dialogue at Waterloo.” “The

waiting Horse” cost £2500. The four pictures at the Academy in 1846,

_i.e._ “Peace,” “War,” “The Stag at Bay,” and “Refreshment,” cost, it is

said, for copyright and engraving, at least £10,000. “The tired Reaper,”

which measures 14 × 10 inches, was sold in 1858 for 200 guineas. In

August, 1860, on the dispersion of Mr. Houldsworth’s collection at

Glasgow, “Uncle Tom and his Wife” sold for £800. In 1861 this picture

obtained no higher bidding than £590. “A Study of a white Horse,” given

by Landseer to Leslie, sold at the latter’s sale for 44 guineas; “A

Goat’s Head,” for 240 guineas. In April, 1860, “The Stone-breaker’s

Daughter” was sold, with the Redleaf Collection, for 1000 guineas; and a

“Portrait of Lord Alexander Russell” for 825 guineas. At Mr. Windus’s

sale, March, 1859, Lord Ward bought “A River Scene,” which has not been

exhibited, for 440 guineas; “The Sentinel” was sold for £126, in 1861.

The sale of Mr. Gillott’s Collection, April, 1872, comprised several

works by Landseer; the prices obtained for these are interesting to us;

for examples, take “A Landscape,” with a monk proceeding to a cell, an

illustration to one of Scott’s novels, £183; “A View in Scotland, with a

ruined Abbey,” £110; “Waiting for the Deer to rise,” £1412; “Mount St.

Bernard Dogs,” £1827; the “Pointers, To Ho!” (exhibited in 1821)

obtained the enormously disproportioned price of £2016. “The Otter

Hunt,” 1844, painted for Lord Aberdeen, was sold with Mr. Albert Grant’s

pictures, April 28, 1877, for £5932 (?).

Landseer’s “remaining works” were sold by Messrs. Christie, Manson, and

Woods, May 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15, 1874. On this occasion “Lady

Godiva’s Prayer,” 1866, sold for £3360.

It was amusing to read the lamentations of an “able editor” at the time

of the selling of “Peace” and “War.” There was a gentleman of this class

who expressed his horror and wrath at the facts in question, and stated

himself to be in dread lest Sir Edwin’s success would swallow up all

other art, and he declared it to be gravely injurious, as tending to

“lock up” the capital of publishers of prints!

It is necessary to add here that most of Landseer’s earlier pictures,

show deterioration; others, among which “Bolton Abbey” has prominence,

are in a deplorable condition. Extensive cracking, or parting of the

outer layer of pigments into what resemble irregular tesseræ, is the

common defect. In a less degree Wilkie’s works have suffered in the same

manner, and show, notwithstanding repairs, too obvious signs of crack.

* * * * *

With this our subject is exhausted. Further, as to the honours won by

Sir Edwin Landseer, and to enumerate them at once: he was knighted in

1850, and received the large gold medal from the authorities of the

Paris Universal Exhibition of 1853, being the only English artist who

was so distinguished. He declined the Presidency of the Royal Academy

when the death of Sir Charles Eastlake and the modesty of Mr.

Maclise--who would not receive an honour he merited--induced most of the

artists to beg Landseer’s acceptance of the dignity. When Eastlake was

elected on the death of Shee, Edwin Landseer had one vote given in his

favour as President of the Royal Academy, Mr. George Jones obtained two

votes, Eastlake twenty-six.

* * * * *

The closing years of Sir Edwin’s long, otherwise not unhappy, and

generally laborious life were darkened in the manner we have already

indicated rather than described. He died on the morning of the 1st of

October, 1873, and on the 11th of the same month was buried in St Paul’s

with full honours.

[Illustration]

CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PICTURES BY SIR EDWIN LANDSEER, MENTIONED IN THIS

VOLUME.

PAGE

1809} Drawings and Etchings made before Edwin Landseer was

to } thirteen years of age 20-28

1814}

1815. Portrait of a Mule 29

Portraits of a Pointer Bitch and Puppy 29

1817. Portrait of “Brutus” 41

Portrait of an Alpine Mastiff 42

1818. Fighting Dogs getting Wind 42

Portrait of a Donkey 44

White Horse in a Stable 44

1819. The Cat disturbed 47

1820. Alpine Mastiffs re-animating a distressed Traveller 47

A Lion disturbed at his Repast 48

A Lion enjoying his Repast 48

1821. Seizure of a Boar 48

A prowling Lion 48

The Ratcatchers 48

Pointers To-ho! 50

1822. The Larder invaded 51

The watchful Sentinel 51

1824. Neptune 52

The Cat’s Paw 52

1825. Taking a Buck 55-59

The Widow 55

The Poacher 55

Portrait of Lord Cosmo Russell 59

1826. The Dog and the Shadow 59

The Hunting of Chevy Chase 55-60

1827. The Chief’s Return from Deer-stalking 61

The Monkey who had seen the World 61

Scene at Abbotsford 62

1829. The illicit Whisky-still in the Highlands 62

A Fireside Party 62

1830. The Stone-breaker’s Daughter 68

1831. High Life 63

Low Life 63

Waiting for the Deer to rise. (Poachers Deer-stalking) 63-69

Too Hot 63

1832. A Lassie herding Sheep 63

Spaniels of King Charles’s breed 64

Hawking 69

Waiting for the Countess 69

1833. The Harvest in the Highlands 69

Jack in Office 69

1834. The Naughty Boy 70

Suspense 72

Highland Shepherd-dog rescuing a sheep from a snowdrift 72

Bolton Abbey in the Olden Time 72

A Highland Breakfast 74

1835. The Drover’s departure 74

A Sleeping Bloodhound 75

1836. Comical Dogs 76

Odin 76

1837. The Highland Shepherd’s Chief Mourner 77

The Shepherd’s Grave 77

1838. Portraits of the Marquis of Stafford and Lady Evelyn Gower 78

The Life’s in the old Dog yet 78

A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society 79

1839. Dignity and Impudence 79

Van Amburgh and his Animals 80

1840. The Lion-dog of Malta 81

Roebuck and rough Hounds 82

Laying down the Law 82

1842. Otters and Salmon 83

The Highland Shepherd’s Home 84

Eos 85

Pair of Brazilian Monkeys 85

Breeze 85

1843. The Defeat of Comus 83-85

Not Caught yet 87

The Sanctuary 85

1844. Otter Speared 83

1844. Shoeing 88

Coming Events cast their Shadows before them; or, the Challenge 85-88

1845. The Shepherd’s Prayer 89

1846. Peace, War 89

The Stag at bay 90

1847. The Drive 90

Portrait of Van Amburgh 90

1848. A random Shot 90

Alexander and Diogenes 90

Old Cover Hack 91

Sketch of my Father 92

1849. The Free Church 92

Evening Scene in the Highlands 92

1850. Dialogue at Waterloo 93

1851. The Monarch of the Glen 94

Geneva 94

The last Run of the Season 94

Titania and Bottom 94

A Highlander in a Snowstorm 95

Lassie 95

1853. The Combat 95

Night 95

Morning 95

The Children of the Mist 95

1856. Saved 97

1857. Scene in Brae-mar 97

Rough and Ready 97

Uncle Tom and his Wife for Sale 97

The Maid and the Magpie 97

Deer browsing 98

Twa Dogs 98

Portrait of Sir Walter Scott 99

1859. Doubtful Crumbs 99

A kind Star 99

The Prize Calf 99

1860. Flood in the Highlands 100

1861. The Shrew tamed 103

The Fatal Duel 104

Scenes in the Marquis of Breadalbane’s Highland Deer Forest 104

1864. Man proposes, God disposes 105

1864. A Piper and a pair of Nutcrackers 106

Well-bred Sitters 106

The Connoisseurs 106

Déjeûner à la Fourchette 107

Adversity 107

Prosperity 107

1866. Lady Godiva’s Prayer 107

Mare and Foal 107

Odds and Ends 107

1867. Wild Cattle at Chillingham Park 108

1869. A Swannery invaded by Sea Eagles 108

INDEX OF NAMES.

Bell, Mr. Jacob, 56, 75

Boydell’s Shakespeare, 5

Byrne, William, 2

Christmas, Mr. T., 46

Cust, Sir Edward (letter from), 24

Fuseli, 42

Haydon, 32

Hayter, J., 30

Hunt, W. H., 19

Landseer, Charles, 14

“ John, 2-12

“ Thomas, 4, 13

Leslie, C. R., 30, 65

Lewis, C. G., 54

Macklin’s Bible, 6

Mackenzie, Mrs., 18, 59, 68

Meteyard, Eliza, 17

Potts, Miss, 6

Raphael’s Cartoons, 45

Redgrave, Mr. R. (Crit. &c.), 65, 72

Romilly, Peter, 1

“ Sir Samuel, 1

Ruskin, Mr. (Criticisms), 63, 73, 77, 88

Simpson, Mr. W. W. (letter to), 41

Smith, Sydney (anecdote of), 60

Vernon, Mr., 64

Wilkie, Sir David, 51

Wornum, Mr. R., 17

GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN’S SQUARE, LONDON.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] An _Edition de luxe_, containing 14 extra plates from rare

engravings in the British Museum, and bound in Roxburgh style, may be

had, price 10_s._ 6_d._

[2] According to another and generally excellent authority that event

occurred in Lincoln eight years later.

[3] It is interesting to trace what may be called the technical

descent of these artists. Thus, Aliamet was a pupil of J. P. Le Bas,

who studied under Nicholas Tardieu, who learnt his art from Le Pautre

and Jean Audran. The master of the last was his uncle Gerard of the

same name, who, again, was instructed by his own father Claude and his

uncle, Charles Audran, all of them men in the foremost ranks of the

engravers. Charles, the first of the great family of “_graveurs_” named

Audran, formed his style upon that of Cornelius Bloemaert, a member

of another famous line of artists on metal, well known by his superb

plate of Guercino’s “St. Peter raising Tabitha from the Dead,” and

transcripts of Raphael’s, Titian’s, Parmigiano’s and his own father’s

(Abraham Bloemaert’s) pictures. Now, to trace the stream of skill a

little farther, and, it must be admitted, to find it getting shallow at

this point, let us add that Cornelius Bloemaert’s master was Crispin de

Pass, the younger, about whom centres the third family of engravers to

whom we have occasion to refer in this long line of tutorage. This De

Pass had a brother, William, who came to England, as also did a third

brother, Simon, the reproducer of so many “Van Dycks” and “Van Somers.”

Crispin de Pass the younger studied his craft under his father, Crispin

the elder, who had for a master Theodore Cuernhert, beyond whom, as he

was born in 1522, it is needless to carry our recollections, or trace

the art-genealogy of the instructor of John Landseer--who, almost three

hundred years after the line is first brought into sight here, taught

his sons Edwin, Charles, and Thomas.

[4] Boydell and Macklin maintained so close a rivalry that they

contended not only as publishers but by means of picture exhibitions,

the former as promoter of the “Shakespeare Gallery,” the latter as

proprietor of the “Gallery of the British Poets.” These exhibitions

contained originals of the engravings which both “patrons” published.

[5] A relation, probably, of the distinguished surgeon, one of whose

benevolent labours was that of trying to revive the hanged Dr. Dodd.

See Wraxall’s “Posthumous Memoirs,” 1836, ii. 28.

[6] This picture is now in the possession, says Mr. Tom Taylor in “Life

and Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds,” of Mr. Gosling, of Portland Place.

[7] Queen Anne Street East was the thoroughfare now called Langham

Street and Foley Street, and distinct from Queen Anne Street West,

where Turner lived, which retains its name. When Portland Place was

extended to Oxford Street, and the new thoroughfare became part of the

freshly made Regent Street, Foley House, which till then closed the

southern end of Portland Place, was removed. The gardens of this house

had separated Queen Anne Street West from Queen Anne Street East; the

latter extended to Cleveland Street, and when the changes in question

were complete, received the name of Foley Street, which it now bears

with the addition of Langham Street. The numbers have been altered. At

the back of the present 33, Langham Street is a fine large room with a

north light, used as a studio by Mr. Eyre Crowe, A.R.A. In regard to

Landseer’s birthplace see a note to Chapter II., below.

[8] This defect was the more remarkable because the French Academy,

on which the English one relied for some of its rules, as well as the

Academies of Milan, Venice, Florence and Rome, admitted engravers to

the highest grades. The effect of British narrowness was to drive

Woollett, Sharp, and Strange from the ranks of the Royal Academy,

and to evoke from the last of these noteworthy artists an important

criminatory tract called “An Inquiry into the Rise,” &c., “of the Royal

Academy of Arts,” 1775.

[9] “Diary,” &c., of H. C. Robinson, 1869, i. 505-6.

[10] Evidence before the Select Committee of the House of Commons on

Arts, &c., 1836. Question and Reply, No. 2046.

[11] “The Literary Gazette,” No. 1834.

[12] For this locality, see above. The number, 83 for 33, may or may

not be a misprint. On this point the testimony of Mrs. Mackenzie is

all-important, as conveyed thus to the author:--“The house in which

my brothers were born stands in the bend of Foley Street, not far

from Portland Street; and at the time my father lived in it there

was a long garden where the dog was kept. Among some old letters of

my mother’s I found the enclosed little note, showing that before my

father’s marriage he lived in Queen Ann Street, altered to Foley Street

afterwards, but not the same house, but a smaller one nearer Cleveland

Street, which house, when my father left, was occupied by Mr. F. Lewis,

father of John Lewis, who was born there.--Yours truly, EMMA MACKENZIE.”

[13] Mrs. Mackenzie (born Emma Landseer) has a capital drawing, made

in these fields, of a hollow oak, with horses gathered about it, and

standing gaunt and branchless in a field, which was doubtless executed

at the time in question, and from this tree, which still remains (1880).

[14] At South Kensington is a very interesting collection of early

drawings and etchings, of various dates, by Edwin Landseer. These

were, for the most part, presented to the nation with the Sheepshanks

Gift of Pictures and Drawings. Some of them, we believe, came with

the Vernon Gift, and many were undoubtedly for a considerable time in

the possession of Mr. Vernon before they passed into the hands of Mr.

Sheepshanks. In the Exhibition of Landseer’s works, held at the Royal

Academy in 1874, were several sketches executed when he was ten years

old. See No. 133, likewise Nos. 136, 139.

[15] It ought to be noted here that the Queen has a considerable

number of drawings by Sir E. Landseer, which, with examples from other

collections, have been carefully described by Mr. Cosmo Monkhouse, in a

richly illustrated work called “The Studies of Sir E. Landseer,” n. d.

[16] Mr. Algernon Graves’s excellent catalogue of the works of Sir E.

Landseer enumerates, under “Etchings,” p. 40, a class of examples of

this nature, the earliest instance of which is dated 1809, and appears

to be that named at the beginning of the next paragraph of our text as

“Heads of a Lion and Tiger.”

[17] The author is indebted to Sir Edward Cust for a correction of

statements on this head, made in a former edition of this work. As Sir

Edward’s letter is interesting on its own account, the reader will

accept it entire:--

“Leasowe Castle, near Birkenhead, Oct. 21, 1874.

“SIR,--I am induced to believe that you will thank me for pointing

out to you some errors in your ‘Memoirs of Sir E. Landseer’ in a

matter in which I am naturally well conversant.

“At page 32 you speak of ‘the etching of Mr. Thomas Landseer

of an Alpine mastiff of the great St. Bernard breed’ that had

been ‘imported to this country by a gentleman residing in the

neighbourhood of Liverpool,’ and by a note to this you refer to the

Exhibition at Spring Gardens in 1817 of ‘Brutus,’ the property of

W. H. Simpson, Esq., as following another and that is asserted to

be an earlier work of Landseer’s--‘a mule’ in 1815.

“At page 60 you speak of ‘the magnificent dog to which we have

formerly referred’ as ‘the property of a gentleman in Liverpool or

a Mr. Bullock, having reference to the famous picture, ‘Travellers

in the Snow.’

“Without giving any opinion as to ‘the minor works of the painter,’

when ‘he was little more than an infant,’ of which of course I

know nothing, but I unhesitatingly claim a precedence of the dog

before the Mule and Pointer of W. H. Simpson, Esq., in 1815, as

well from the facts I will state as from the intercourse with

Sir Edwin Landseer himself. ‘The dog’ was the property of my

mother-in-law, who resided _here_, and who received it in 1814

from a Swiss gentleman who had obtained ‘Lion’ and another direct

from the Monastery of St. Bernard. You will perceive that Thomas

Landseer records, in his etching ‘from the drawing by his brother

Edwin, that he did it, _aged thirteen_;’ as he was born in 1802,

consequently, the etching was made in 1815. Now, Sir Edwin himself

told me that it was his _first work_, and of course could not

forget any of the circumstances; ‘that he met the dog in London

streets under the care of a man servant, whom he followed to Mrs.

L. W. Borde’s residence, who permitted him to make a sketch of

it.’ Your remark that the drawing was done by Sir Edwin when he

was nineteen years of age, and in the year 1821, is clearly a

mistake, for ‘Lion’ was never in London since 1815, and died in

1821. There were several litters of puppies in that interval, one

of which, a brindled dog that was named ‘Cæsar,’ is with ‘Lion’ in

the picture of ‘Travellers in the Snow,’ and I myself sold this one

at Tattersall’s, where he fetched thirty-five guineas at open sale,

but I never heard who bought him. The breed is now quite extinct.

“I had the pleasure of often speaking with Sir Edwin on this

subject, and he told me he had the original sketch somewhere, and

that if he could find it I should have it, but of course this was

some years ago.

“Yours truly,

“EDWD. CUST.”

[18] At Landseer’s sale, 1874, lot 316, “Old Brutus” realized 630_l._

It must not be forgotten that there are many pictures and studies which

bear the names of this dog, and that of his son, another “Brutus.” See

below.

[19] In 1874 “A French Hog,” 1814, belonged to the late Mr. J.

Hogarth, who then owned another early picture of Sir Edwin’s, called

“British Boar,” 1814, which is doubtless the same as the “English Hog”

of the text; the animal belonged to Squire Western. As these works

were painted in 1814 and etched by E. Landseer in 1818, we have but

to remember the national circumstances of that period in order to

recognize them as political satires.

[20] The “H.” is always understood as indicating an Honorary

Exhibitor, in which capacity the young artist is thrice represented

in the catalogue of this the Academy Exhibition for 1815. See below.

“Queen Anne Street East” had become “Foley Street” between 1802 and

1815. Landseer, as his sisters tell me, was accepted as an “Honorary

Exhibitor” on account of his youth, which was supposed to preclude him

from being considered an artist in full.

[21] See “Autobiographical Recollections of the late C. R. Leslie,

R.A.” 1860, vol. ii. p. 44.

[22] At the Academy Exhibition, Winter, 1874, No. 144. was “Sir E.

Landseer when a Boy.” Drawn by J. Hayter, Esq. Pencil, J. Hayter, Esq.

[23] There appear to be doubts of the extent of E. Landseer’s

obligations to Haydon, and the terms employed by the former on this

subject (see his “Correspondence,” 1876, ii., p. 288) affirm that the

writer had been serviceable to Landseer in making him known, rather

than by direct teaching:--“I lent him my dissections from the lion,

which he copied, and when he began to show real powers, I took a

portfolio of his drawings to Sir George Beaumont’s one day at a grand

dinner, and showed them all round to the nobility when we retired to

coffee. When he painted his “Dogs,” I wrote to Sir George and advised

him to buy it.” “In short, I was altogether the means of bringing him

so early into notice. These things may be trifles, but when I see a

youth strutting about and denying his obligations to me, I may as

well note them down.” “His genius was guided by me.” Again, p. 318

of the same volume, Haydon averred:--“My influence upon English art

has certainly been radical. Edwin Landseer dissected animals under my

eye, copied my anatomical drawings, and carried my principles of study

into animal painting. His genius, thus tutored, has produced sound and

satisfactory results.” P. 472 of the same repeats the same claims,

and discriminates between the degree of instruction said to have been

given to the Landseers generally:--“This was the principle I explained

to my pupils; to Eastlake first, and to the Landseers and others

afterwards. To Edwin I lent my anatomical studies of the Lion, which

guided him to depict dogs and monkeys. Charles and Thomas, Bewick,

Harvey, Prentice, Lance, were all instructed in the same principle.” We

may add that Mrs. Mackenzie (born Landseer) still owns a human skeleton

which was prepared and articulated by her brothers, Thomas and Charles,

who occupied a studio at Blenheim Steps, Oxford Street, where they

dissected a “subject.”

[24] Forty years before these recollections of ours begin, Foley

Street, of the history of which we have already written, was

comparatively splendid, and inhabited by persons of distinction. Fuseli

had lived in Queen Ann Street East. The neighbourhood was much affected

by artists. Mulready had lodged in Cleveland Street, not far off;

Newman Street, always artistic, but now so dull and grimy, was then

thronged with painters and sculptors; Benjamin West had built himself

a gallery there; Stothard (at No. 28) and Banks were numbered among

its past, and then present inhabitants. A. E. Chalon was living at No.

71 in Great Titchfield Street; Shee was in Cavendish Square, in the

house which had been occupied by F. Cotes and G. Romney; Collins, who

was born in Great Titchfield Street, was then at 118, Great Portland

Street, and had a house in New Cavendish Street in 1815; Northcote

still worked in his gloomy den, 39, Argyll Street; and Edridge, then a

fashionable miniature-painter, was at 64, Margaret Street, Cavendish

Square; Constable at 63, Upper Charlotte Street, now 76, Charlotte

Street, next house on the north side to the church; W. Daniell resided

in Cleveland Street, No. 9. Thompson was at No. 11; James Ward at

6, Jackson at 7, Dawe at 22, and Howard at No. 5, in Newman Street;

Leslie, as well as Flaxman, in Buckingham Street, Fitzroy Square; the

former, with Allston, was at No. 8, the latter at No. 7; Hilton was

not remote, at 10, Percy Street; De Wint in the same house; James

Heath in Russell Place, Fitzroy Square, No. 15; Hazlitt, then painting

portraits in considerable numbers, lived at 109, Great Russell Street,

Bloomsbury. Even so early in the century as the period of which we

now write, some painters had flown to the then far west region of

Kensington; thus, Wilkie sought the quiet of Phillimore Gardens; and

Mulready had settled in the Gravel Pits on the Bayswater Road.

[25] See, on a later page of this volume, Mr. Ruskin’s criticism on

“Shoeing,” quoted with the account of the pictures painted in 1846.

[26] It has been stated, and probably with truth, that Edwin Landseer

obtained a medal, or a silver palette, from the Society of Arts, and at

an earlier date than that in question here. But as artists rarely set

much store on lay awards of similar kinds to this, it is only necessary

to mention this matter. Contributing a work in a competition like that

in view can hardly be classed with the act of exhibiting pictures in

the Royal Academy.

[27] It is amusing to see how Wilkie puts the Scotchman first in this

note, and of a piece with that story of his having, when a “hanger” of

one of the Royal Academy exhibitions, actually filled the “line,” or

best part of the whole wall-space in the best room, with pictures by

Scotch artists. This piece of injustice was too shameless to be allowed

to stand, so when Wilkie’s fellow “hangers” discovered the attempted

trick, he was told, “This will never do, we must change all this;” and

that was done. At another time Wilkie was observed to be carrying a

picture through the rooms, and trying to fix it into one place after

another, always proceeding from a good to a better position, until

attention was attracted by his earnestness, and the question asked, why

he was so anxious to promote the work in question. “Oh,” he replied,

with exquisite _sang-froid_, “It’s Geddes’s!”

[28] Etty’s pictures of this year were, 59, “The Blue Beetle;

Portraits:” 232, “Portrait of the Rev. W. Jay of Bath;” 320, “Ajax

Telamon;” and, 375, “A Study.”

[29] The “Elymas” was not one of the Cartoons exhibited in 1818, the

two shown in that year being “The Beautiful Gate” and “Christ’s Charge

to Peter.” “Elymas” appeared in 1817.

[30] At a later date, when appointments were given to Dyce and others

to superintend the Schools of Design, Haydon--who believed himself

not only the originator of all modern English movements for promoting

the Fine Arts, but the one competent authority respecting them--was

bitterly indignant that he was not invited to accept the directorship

of the new institution. He asserted the peculiar incompetence

of Dyce, and spoke very frankly of his colleagues. See Haydon’s

“Correspondence,” 1876, ii., p. 475. No doubt Haydon rightly estimated

his own powers in this respect; his real vocation was teaching, which

was at that time a faculty rarer than it is now, when we are by no

means overstocked with good teachers, practical or literary, in art. He

was never so happy as when giving technical counsel, or in lecturing;

his published “Lectures” are probably the most practical and potent of

their class.

[31] On Mr. Charles Christmas, Sir Edwin’s brother-in-law, see “Notes

and Queries,” 5th series, XII. 383. By this it appears that he was an

animal painter, who, discovering the superiority of E. Landseer in

that line, gave up the race. There were two brothers of this name,

Thomas and Charles, (see before). The latter was not a painter, but, we

believe, an architect.

[32] The phrase, “lay-element” is already, 1880, passing out of

recognition; when this book was formerly published it was in vogue, and

understood to refer to those gentlemen who were willing to share the

honours of the Royal Academicians; conferring, in return, the prestige

which was due to their “distinguished social position and love of art.”

These persons were the “lay-element” of the Commission of the Royal

Academy. See “Report,” 1864.

[33] Our readers will recollect that, owing to the protest of Sir Edwin

Landseer and others, the idiotic practice has abated of cropping from

dogs’ ears those flaps which kindly nature placed to keep earth from

the organs of earth-burrowing creatures.

[34] Since Landseer’s death this house and studio have been occupied by

Mr. H. W. B. Davis, R.A.

[35] This example of extraordinary facility in artistic work may

be paralleled, if not surpassed, by the feat which Smith, in his

“Nollekens,” ii. p. 143 relates of Sherwin, who engraved, in _four

days_ (!), the fine plate from the portrait of the Earl of Carlisle,

now at Castle Howard, by Romney. Sherwin engraved Mrs. (“Perdita”)

Robinson’s portrait at once upon the copper, without a drawing.

[36] “Art Journal,” where the picture is represented by an engraving.

[37] Mr. William Russell was Accountant-General of the Court of

Chancery, fourth son of Lord William Russell, who, May 6, 1840, was

murdered by B. E. Courvoisier, his valet.

[38] It has been said that many years ago the Queen and her Consort

made etchings after Landseer’s designs, especially from parts of

“Bolton Abbey.” Her Majesty and her Consort made at least a dozen

etchings from other works of Landseer’s. (See Mr. Algernon Graves’s

Catalogue, p. 41.) Speaking of copies of engravings from pictures by

our artist, it may be mentioned that many of foreign origin, including

a large proportion of piracies, have appeared; among these are,

repeatedly, “Bolton Abbey;” “Favourites” (1835), ponies belonging to

the Duke of Cambridge; “Dogs of the Great St. Bernard;” “Dignity and

Impudence;” “The Return from Hawking;” “Laying down the Law;” “The Lion

Dog of Malta;” “A distinguished Member of the Humane Society,” and “A

Jack in Office.”

[39] One of the finest and most pathetic of Mr. Ruskin’s criticisms

applies to this picture so happily that we ought to quote it

here:--“Take, for instance, one of the most perfect poems or pictures

(I use the words as synonymous) which modern times have seen--the

‘Highland Shepherd’s Chief Mourner.’ Here the exquisite execution of

the crisp and glossy hair of the dog, the bright sharp touch of the

green bough beside it, the clear painting of the wood of the coffin and

the folds of the blanket, are language--language clear and expressive

in the highest degree. But the close pressure of the dog’s breast

against the wood, the convulsive clinging of the paw which has dragged

the blanket off the trestle, the total powerlessness of the head laid,

close and motionless, upon its folds, the fixed and tearful fall of

the eye in its utter hopelessness, the rigidity of repose which marks

that there has been no motion nor change in the trance of agony since

the last blow was struck on the coffin-lid, the quietness and gloom

of the chamber, the spectacles marking the place where the Bible was

last closed, indicating how lonely has been the life--how unwatched

the departure of him who is now laid solitary in his sleep;--these

are all thoughts--thoughts by which the picture is separated at once

from hundreds of equal merit, as far as mere painting goes, by which

it ranks as a work of high art, and stamps its author not as a neat

imitator of the texture of a skin, or the fold of a drapery, but as the

man of mind.”--“Modern Painters,” ii., 1851, p. 8.

[40] On this picture Mr. Ruskin delivered an admirable

criticism:--“Again, there is capability of representing the essential

character, form, and colour of an object, without external texture.

On this point much has been said by Reynolds and others; and it is,

indeed, perhaps, the most unfailing characteristic of a great manner of

painting. Compare a dog of Edwin Landseer with a dog of Paul Veronese.

In the first, the outward texture is wrought out with exquisite

dexterity of handling, and minute attention to all the accidents of

curl and gloss which can give appearance of reality, while the hue

and power of the sunshine, and the truth of the shadow on all these

forms is necessarily neglected, and the larger relations of the animal

as a mass of colour to the sky or ground, or other parts of the

picture, utterly lost. This is Realism at the expense of Ideality, it

is treatment essentially unimaginative.” In a note to this paper the

critic added:--“I do not mean to withdraw the praise I have given,

and shall always be willing to give, such pictures as the ‘Highland

Shepherd’s Chief Mourner,’ and to all in which the character and

inner life of the animals are developed. But all lovers of art must

regret to find Mr. Landseer wasting his energies on such inanities as

the ‘Shoeing,’ and sacrificing colour, expression, and action to an

imitation of a glossy hide,”--“Modern Painters,” ii., 1846, p. 194.

There is a grain of fallacy mixed with the noble truth of this--it did

not follow that the sacrifices here enumerated were due to love for

painting the horse’s glossy hide. The picture was defective as stated

here, but not because of the realism it exhibited. The defects were

inherent, not due to the imitation. Lacking the nobler qualities, the

meaner ones became unworthily and ungracefully prominent. The superb

_tour de force_ in the painting of the feathers of “Spaniels of King

Charles Breed” (see above) does not appear mean, although it is at

least equal in successful imitation to the hide in question.

[41] His name “in the world” was “Neptune;” “in society” his female

companion’s name was “Venus.”

[42] Several of the descriptions here given have been adapted from

fuller ones made by the author before the pictures, and for previous

publication in the _Athenæum_ journal, during a long series of years.

They thus partake of the character of studies from nature.

End of Project Gutenberg's Sir Edwin Landseer, by Frederick G. Stephens