Very early in our career we were, through our friend William Harvey, introduced to Charles Knight, the eminent publisher who did so much as a pioneer in introducing cheap and good literature to the people, as his "Penny Magazine," "Penny CyclopÆdia," "Charles Knight's History of England," and many other kindred works bear ample evidence. And not only in literature but in art as well he took a bold and leading part: see his elaborately illustrated edition of Shakespeare's Works, the Bible, "The Land we Live in," and many highly interesting and instructive books. Perhaps the most beautiful of all was the illustrated edition of Lane's "Arabian Nights' Entertainments," a book which must always hold a foremost place among the most tastefully decorated volumes this country has produced.

It was only in association with Landells and Charles Gray that we were at all connected with this work, not having, at that time, any personal transaction with Mr. Knight, though we subsequently did a great deal of work for him, notably in his "Shakespeare" and "The Land we Live in."

Mr. Ramsay, Mr. Knight's sub-editor and literary manager, used to tell a curious story about one of the literary contributors to these volumes, whose name, for obvious reasons, we will withhold.

In this gentleman's early connection with Mr. Knight, he called and had a serious conversation with Ramsay, confessing his uncontrollable weakness for strong drink, and that his only safeguard was an empty pocket. He therefore begged of Ramsay never, under any circumstances, to advance him one penny upon his work, no matter how hard he might plead, or what story he might tell in urging the necessity for an advance of cash. Ramsay was to be firm and refuse to listen to him, and on no account to let him have money, and that all payment for work was to be forwarded to his wife. Ramsay promised faithful observance, and so matters went smoothly on for a considerable time. But one day M. N. came with a sad, doleful face, begging for an advance of ten pounds. Ramsay positively declined, reminding him of their compact.

"Yes, yes, that's all right, old fellow," he answered; "but this business is quite away from everything else. I don't forget the injunction I laid upon you, but this is altogether different; it is a case of the most urgent necessity." Then he went on and told a sad, touching tale of his boy having died suddenly, and the shock having brought on a serious illness with his wife, while, unfortunately, he was totally without funds to meet the unexpected demands upon his purse, or procure a nurse to attend upon her, as well as the comforts that were absolutely necessary under the circumstances.

For a time Ramsay stood firmly out, always reminding M. N. of his own proposition, but the man was so impressively urgent, appealing again and again on the score of his wife's critical condition, that at last Ramsay's scruples gave way, and M. N., lavish in his thanks, left the office with the ten pounds in his pocket.

It is, perhaps, needless to say that M. N. was not seen in Fleet Street for many days, and when he did turn up, shaky and dilapidated in appearance, it was only to load Ramsay with the most crushing abuse for having broken faith with him, and when Ramsay tried to shelter himself under the pathetic tale he had told about his sick wife and dead son, he only replied:

"D—— the sick wife and dead son! Why didn't you stick to your promise? I told you distinctly that it was possible I might come with some trumped-up story of urgent necessity, and a lot of such rubbish, and now see what a hole you have let me into. My son is perfectly well, and as healthy a lad as ever lived, and as for my wife, well, she was never better in her life, and is only suffering from the misery brought about by your unaccountably bad behaviour to me. I tell you, Ramsay, you are a traitor and a false friend, who has used me shamefully—shamefully!"

With these words M. N. left the office, but returned within half an hour seeking condonation, begging that Ramsay would overlook the foolish words he had used in a moment of unjustifiable irritation, and further show his good feeling by advancing him a trifle—say, a sovereign? No? Well, then, let it be five shillings? Still no! Ramsay was obdurate, and M. N., muttering, "Cruel man! Cruel, cruel man!" went away.

In the year 1842 or 1843, through the kindness of the late Clarkson Stanfield, R.A., we were introduced to Mr. William Dicks, who officiated as art agent for Mr. Cadell, the Edinburgh publisher, then issuing a very elaborately illustrated edition of the Waverley Novels, which he named "The Abbotsford Edition," and employing on the work many of the very first artists of the day, both English and Scotch. We were entrusted to engrave a large number of the drawings. Among the first of these was a wonderfully life-like portrait of the Scotch actor, Mackay, in the character of "Bailie Nicol Jarvie," painted by Sir William Allan, R.A. and P.R.S.A.[2] The engraving of this portrait gave such entire satisfaction both to Mr. Cadell and Mr. Dicks that we were constantly employed upon the undertaking until its completion.

Among the artists whose drawings we had to engrave during the progress of this edition of the great "Wizard of the North's" novels, we may especially mention William Harvey, Clarkston Stanfield, R.A., Sir J. Noel Paton, P.R.S.A., John Franklin, Edward H. Corbould, Sir David Wilkie, R.A., Alexander Christie, and Robert McIan.

Through the friendship that sprung up with several of these gentlemen, and our connection with the Institute of the Fine Arts,[3] we became acquainted with many of the young artists who were introducing a new and more realistic feeling into the black and white work of the day. Among them were John Tenniel, at that time just returned from his studies in Germany, and strongly impressed with German Art, and what was termed "The Shaded Outline School"; Alfred Elmore, R.A.; Fred Pickersgill, R.A.; F. W. Topham; Edward Duncan; George Dodgson; John Absolon; all, except the Royal Academicians, members of the Old Water Colour Society, and the New—now called the Royal Institute of Water Colour Painters—besides many others who have since risen to great eminence in their profession.

John Absolon being then engaged on a set of illustrations to Collins' Poetical Works, to be published by David Bogue, he placed many of the drawings in our hands to engrave, which was the commencement of a long and intimate friendship—not only with the artist, for it also opened up a connection with Bogue which enabled us to produce some very creditable works together.

Early in 1851 John Franklin, many of whose illustrations to "The Abbotsford Scott" and the "British Ballads" we had engraved, placed in our hands some drawings he was making to illustrate a series of Fairy Tales, edited by Sir Henry Cole, then known to the literary world as "Felix Summerly," to be published by Mr. Joseph Cundall of Bond Street, who was an enlightened publisher with strong artistic taste, his great idea being a desire to raise the character of children's picture books. This was about the time that Van Voorst published "The Vicar of Wakefield," with Mulready's illustrations; one of the first high-class books of the period, which was so highly thought of that Mulready said he had commissions offered to him for pictures from these designs sufficient to keep him at work for the remainder of his life. It was at this time that Cundall induced Mulready to make a set of drawings for a child's primer: and very beautiful they are.

This series of Fairy Tales was continued, with pictures by Frederick Taylor, P.R.W.S., H. C. Horsley, R.A., and other artists of high repute.

Our connection with these two London publishing houses, added to the work we were doing for Mr. Cadell of Edinburgh, tended considerably to increase our responsibilities. And this may be the most convenient place to state that it was at Mr. Cundall's we were first introduced to Mr. George Routledge, who had called for the express purpose of asking Mr. Cundall to recommend a "good man" to engrave a small drawing on wood, a portrait of Sir Robert Peel, which he then had in his pocket. The commission was entrusted to us, and thus commenced a connection and a friendship which continued with unabated confidence and harmony for a period extending over forty years.

George Routledge, a strong-minded, clear-headed man of business, in his early days used to go personally to the larger north country towns, and get orders from the booksellers. His capacity in this branch was said to be something marvellous. An old Quaker bookseller, of Darlington, told us that Routledge never said, "Will thee buy this book?" but that it always was with him, "Thee must take it"; and as his wares were always good, the results were said to be many times beyond those of any other man "on the road." In the publishing business, he, in combination with his partners, William and Frederick Warne—both clever, energetic men,—made a force which developed their vast business so rapidly that Henry G. Bohn, the big publisher of that day, felt so jealous of their great success, that he used to say, "Well, it has taken three strong men to do it." After having produced sets of pictures by various artists, to many sorts of books, the most important of which was a small octavo of Longfellow's Poems, with illustrations by John Gilbert, they invited our co-operation, assistance, and direction in such matters, and it was then determined to do another edition of the same poems, more extensively illustrated by the same artist. They agreed to give us one thousand pounds for the pictures, which was to include Gilbert's charges as well as our own. The book proved a great success from every point of view, and to this day holds its own as one of the most beautiful examples of Sir John Gilbert's work as an illustrator. After the first edition many other poems were added, including "Miles Standish," all having Gilbert's illustrations to them.[4]

The book when first completed created a sensation. We remember asking Routledge what he thought of it. He was a pure business man. His reply was:

"We will wait and see what the trade has to say about it first—see whether they will subscribe largely, and then I will tell you what I think about it."

Edmondson, the binder, was so in love with his part of the work that, holding the volume in his hands, he said, "It is a beautiful book! a very beautiful book!" then added, in a slightly condescending tone, "And a good book inside, too."

William Warne dying rather early in life, Frederick Warne, his younger brother, separated from the Routledges, after the sons of George entered the firm, and built up a large publishing house of his own. We were on the very best of terms with all of them, and continued to work for both houses for many, many years.

Frederick Warne, a really clever, many-sided man, has now retired, but his three sons—all men worthy of their father—continue to conduct their large business on the old lines.

Of the many illustrated books which it has been our lot to superintend and issue to the world, there are two for which we are to a great extent exclusively responsible: these are "The Spirit of Praise," a collection of hymns, and "Golden Thoughts from Golden Fountains," a collection of such literary extracts from favourite authors as the title of the book will fully explain—one of us having spent much of his leisure hours in collecting and arranging their contents. The first of these volumes was originally published in the usual quarto form, with decorative borders and initial letters, printed in gold and colours, and subsequently much enlarged by the addition of many hymns as an octavo volume. The other, "Golden Thoughts," was in its main lines uniform with the first edition of "The Spirit of Praise." In both of these books are many of our own contributions, both in pen and pencil, in addition to several very fine examples of A. B. Houghton.

"The Abbotsford Edition" of the Waverley Novels did not prove a marked financial success, and when the property was acquired by Messrs. Adam and Charles Black, Edward H. Corbould, R.I., was commissioned to do a large number of illustrations for their new edition of these books, nearly all of which were entrusted to us to engrave.

In the early part of Queen Victoria's reign Corbould held a high position as a painter in water colour, and was one of the original members of the "Royal Institute of Water Colour Painters"—then called the "New Water Colour Society"—and so highly was his artistic ability appreciated by the Prince Consort that he was selected as art tutor to the Royal children. Perhaps no better selection could at that time have been made; for, though somewhat severe in style, he was a good draughtsman, painstaking, and of a kindly, genial disposition. He was ever full of amusing anecdotes of the sayings and doings of the Queen, Prince Albert, and his pupils.

Corbould did not appear to think it possible for any of those young people to commit a fault. In his eyes they were all sweetness and the perfection of goodness, "being," as he said, "without the least appearance of affectation." When asked if any of the young Princes or Princesses were clever, he invariably evaded a direct answer by saying:

"Er—well, you see, the Princess Royal makes up for the shortcomings of all the others, she is so very clever. Er—er—they are all clever and very nice."

During Corbould's connection with the Royal Family, on one occasion he wrote to us saying the Prince of Wales had got a scrapbook, and he was commissioned by the Prince to say how pleased he would be if we would give him some proofs of our engravings to put into it. We sent a large parcel, and in return Corbould wrote that the Prince was delighted with our contribution and wished him to express his "Warmest thanks to Messrs. Dalziel for their great kindness and liberality."

During the early part of our career we became associated with Mr. Samuel Carter Hall, who was originator, editor and at that time proprietor of the Art Journal, and in a somewhat desultory fashion did a considerable amount of work together. Among other matters, we engraved many of the illustrations for "A Book of British Ballads," which was edited by Hall and published by Messrs. How and Parsons of Fleet Street. The drawings by Sir J. Noel Paton, P.R.S.A., John Franklin, W. B. Scott, E. H. Corbould, Henry Warren, and other artists, passed through our hands. When the great International Exhibition of 1851 was in preparation, and during the time it was open to the public, Hall published a series of profusely illustrated supplements to the Art Journal, showing the various classes of objects exhibited. On this work we were very liberally employed. These supplements were subsequently put together and published in one large, handsome quarto volume as an Illustrated Catalogue of that great and important Exhibition.

Many other catalogues, official and non-official, were published of the Exhibition, which contained a marvellous amount of every conceivable class of handicraft and ingenious device, but certainly, for comprehensive completeness, none of them at all approached the very beautiful volume which Mr. Hall gave to the world.

When we had finished our portion of the engravings, he was so grateful for the help we had given that he volunteered the promise that no other wood engravers should ever be employed upon his works. But perhaps it is only characteristic of the man to say that this promise was never carried out.

As already stated, we engraved a very large number of drawings for Mr. Hall with undeviating approval, and we were much gratified by the following passage in a letter addressed to him by E. M. Ward, the Royal Academician, on our submitting a proof of an engraving we had executed:

Almost as a matter of course we became associated with Kenny Meadows, a clever, erratic genius, and an artist of great ability. He had a wonderful and strangely fanciful imagination, and perhaps will be best known in time to come by his "Illustrated Shakespeare" and his "Heads of the People"; there is one other work which is not likely to be forgotten, "A Head of 'Old Father Christmas,'" which did good service for a Christmas number of the Illustrated London News. He was intimately connected with Orrin Smith, the distinguished wood engraver; their earliest work being character sketches and heads of the people done for Bell's Life in London, which was somewhat a pioneer in illustrated journalism. Meadows at that time was generally known as "Iron Jack," from the fact of his robust health, which he attributed entirely to a simple style of living in his early life, much of which was spent in a lighthouse, where, he declared, they never had enough to eat. He said, "I used to devour my food like a ravening wolf."

No amount of alcohol ever appeared to hurt him, and to those who suffered from excess of indulgence he attributed it entirely to over-eating in their early days, before the constitution was fairly and properly formed.

We were so closely connected with him that when he was first asked to work for Punch, he stipulated that we should have all his drawings to engrave. This arrangement did not last long, for he was of a very uncertain nature, and changeable in his moods. His friendship was not of the kind that would stand much, if any, strain, and after he had "imbibed" a little, he not infrequently became "nasty." Once at a public dinner, on the name of Punch being mentioned, he started from his chair, saying, "Gentlemen, I am Punch!" which really was more than insulting to several Punch men who were present.

At one of the early Illustrated News dinners, Herbert Ingram, speaking of the great success of the journal, said, "And, gentlemen, we all share in the credit of producing this wonderful paper." Meadows was immediately on his legs, saying, "Yes, but have we all shared and shared alike in the recompense?" "Yes, Mr. Meadows," said Ingram, "we have all shared alike, according to what we put into the venture."

While Meadows worked for the Illustrated London News we engraved many of his drawings and saw much of Herbert Ingram and his partners, Nathaniel Cook and William Little. Ingram was the founder and principal proprietor of the paper; a man of strong character, self-willed, but both generous and just. We were in the habit of suggesting and procuring subjects for them.

We had induced Richard Doyle to make twelve drawings of the months for the Illustrated London Almanack. Nathaniel Cook disputed our charge, but we stood out. Ingram sat quiet whilst the talk went on. At last he said, "Have Messrs. Dalziel done the work well?" "Oh! there is no dispute about that; the work is well done." "Then," said Ingram, "pay the money and let there be no dispute about it."

That is a single, but a true, illustration of the sort of man Herbert Ingram was.

Meadows used to say that Nature put him out, and so it did. Looking at his raised hand with pointed finger, he would say, "I cannot see a hand as I would draw it."

The first time Meadows met John Leech after he began to draw on Punch, he raved about the drawings, said Leech was the greatest man who had ever drawn on wood, that he, Meadows, ought to retire from art altogether and seek some other occupation, that his light was out, and much more to the same purpose. But as the bottle went round, the feeling gradually changed, and it ended in Meadows praising his own work and telling Leech that he must alter his style altogether if he ever hoped to take a position as an artist—that his work was mere commonplace drivel, and that he must put imagination into his work "such as I do in mine, sir."

But judged by his time, Meadows was a very clever man with much quaint fancy. Many of his initials are singularly pretty, and his "Shakespeare" will always have a place in the history of black and white work.

In Kenny Meadows' days, the artist in black and white had not thought of the advantages of drawing from the living model; neither William Harvey nor Sir John Gilbert ever drew from Nature, and George Thomas was one of the first, if not indeed the very first, to draw on wood direct from life. This was about the early part of the Crimean War, and his subjects were chiefly of sailors and their doings, and very clever they were. It created something of a sensation at the time, for the idea of an illustration being drawn from the life had not before been heard of except in special cases. No doubt Mulready had life models for his "Vicar of Wakefield" drawings, and later on Millais never drew without the life, nor did any of the pre-Raphaelite School, but this was the gradual and natural development of a new method, and innumerable drawings by the younger artists which passed through our hands were all drawn direct on wood from the life.

After spending much time and labour in experimenting, as well as spoiling a great many blocks, we succeeded in getting fairly good photographs for the engraver's purpose on other pieces of wood, and so the valuable original drawings were preserved. This success was obtained about the beginning, though not at the very beginning, of our operation on the Bible illustrations. Then followed, as a matter of course, the constant practice of making drawings upon paper which were photographed on wood. By this means nearly all the exquisite drawings in black and white made by Leighton, Poynter, Houghton, and many other of the artists who worked in association with us have been preserved, and now adorn some of the public permanent galleries.

Among the early drawings by John Leech that passed through our hands were those he made for Thackeray's "Irish Sketch Book," which were probably copied from Thackeray's own pencil work, for he was not above having help on his drawings, the result not always being such as he expected. One day he said to Joseph Swain, "Why don't you engrave my drawings to come out like John Gilbert's—his work always looks so strong and mine so weak and scratchy?" Swain tried other helping hands, but seldom with satisfactory results. It was in this way that Fred Walker's connection with Thackeray began, Swain having induced him to work on the author's drawings, which he did on one or two, but very soon declined to go on with them. Walker asked that he might make original drawings direct from the story in his own manner, to which Thackeray agreed; and the result was a fine set of drawings for "Philip" and for other stories, as well as a close friendship between author and artist, only broken by the death of the great novelist.

We engraved many of Leech's drawings, notably the first he did for Punch—"Foreign Affairs" (as before mentioned). It was a full page, and had to be worked at from the moment it came into our hands till it was given to the printer.

John Leech, speaking of Frith's picture of "The Derby Day," could not understand how it was that Frith, in this carefully thought out and elaborate work, had missed one of the most notable facts at such places—inasmuch as he had not depicted anyone of the crowd smoking a pipe or cigar.

The vain, versatile George Cruikshank believed himself another "Admirable Crichton." He really thought he could do anything, and that most of his time having been spent as an illustrator was the result of circumstance and not of choice. He was impressionable in the highest degree, and depending on the subject under notice, immediately realised and expressed his ideas of what "should be done, and what he would have done if things had favoured him for a career in that direction." Once, the question being of a naval character, he said, "It was by the merest chance that I did not go into the Navy; and with my knowledge of such matters, no doubt I would have been a Rear-Admiral." He was great, also, on the Army, and no doubt felt that had circumstances drifted him in that direction, he would have become another Duke of Wellington. No man ever had greater faith in self than the clever, excitable George Cruikshank.

On the occasion of his exhibiting a small oil picture at the British Institution, called "The Dropped Penny," the fact that it was purchased by Prince Albert no doubt called extra special attention to it, to the extent that it might have been sold many times over. One gentleman was most anxious to have it; or, if this was impossible, would he make a replica? This George declined to do, but undertook a commission, only on the understanding that choice of subject and of size were to be left to him. This was readily agreed to. "The Dropped Penny" was a little thing about 18 by 24 inches. It was a comic picture—two urchins in church, one of whom having dropped a penny on the stone floor is about to pick it up, but they are observed by the Beadle.

When the new work was completed, the gentleman was invited to see it. He found, to his amazement, a picture 16 feet by 20 feet; subject, "The Raising of Lazarus."

George always thought his true forte was the Grand Historical, and with much cause, when we think of his wonderful illustrations to Harrison Ainsworth's "Tower of London," "Windsor Castle," and other romantic histories.

In the illustrated edition of the "Ingoldsby Legends," published by Messrs. R. Bentley & Son, we had the good fortune to engrave nearly all the drawings contributed by John Tenniel and George Cruikshank. During the progress of the work we saw much of the latter gentleman, who was an exceedingly entertaining companion, being always ready with some anecdotes or reminiscences of his experience. Amongst his many grievances (and George Cruikshank's stock was an assorted one) he complained bitterly of the treatment he had received at the hands of Charles Dickens, with reference to the authorship of "Oliver Twist." Cruikshank maintained "that he had not only suggested the subject to Dickens, but that he had also given him the entire plot, sketched the characters, arranged all the incidents, and, in fact, constructed the entire story; so much so, indeed, that the book was, to all intents and purposes, HIS; for all that Dickens had to do with it was TO WRITE IT OUT, and any man who could hold a pen might have done it better"; concluding with, "I am only sorry now I didn't do it myself." Those were the old man's identical words, as spoken to us.

On one of his visits he related the following interesting circumstances in connection with his famous publication of "The Bottle."[6] This was a series of pictures, the first showing a young, well-conditioned mechanic, sitting in his small, comfortably furnished room surrounded by his wife and three or four children; then followed in order how, in consequence of a constantly increasing habit of intemperance, they sink gradually down in the scale of life, until they go entirely to ruin; his sons to penal servitude, and his daughter to degradation, while both his wife and himself die in the greatest misery and want.

When on the eve of publication, Cruikshank obtained permission to submit the etchings to Dr. Blomfield, the then Bishop of London. The Bishop took great interest in looking at the pictures, and asked many questions as the series was turned over, expressing his great admiration in the warmest terms. Then turning and looking Cruikshank full in the face, he said:

"And am I right in coming to the conclusion, Mr. Cruikshank, that you are a staunch total abstainer?"

Cruikshank, in relating this incident to us, said he never in all his life felt himself in such an awkward position, for he was obliged to confess that he did indulge in a little alcohol—occasionally—and that in great moderation.

"You astonish me, Mr. Cruikshank!—you very greatly astonish me!" said the Bishop. "For how a man who is able to depict so forcibly all the misery, the horrors and degradation arising from the indulgence in strong drink as you have done, and himself indulge, even in a moderate degree, is a mystery which I cannot understand."

"On my way home," continued Cruikshank, "I felt so inexpressibly ashamed of myself, and how true the Bishop's remarks were, that I resolved at once to begin the change which I had long contemplated, and I subsequently succeeded in bringing about the desired effect.

"It so happened that a few days after my interview with the Bishop, I received an invitation to dine with a gentleman who was famous in Society for the recherchÉ character of his frequent dinner parties, where the wines were of the choicest brands and most tempting quality, and everything was served in the most dainty and perfect fashion.

"Now is the time, I said to myself, to prove my strength of purpose. I was successful in resisting all temptation, and left the house after spending a delightful evening without having tasted a single drop of any other liquid than water.

"The next morning when I went into my study," continued Cruikshank, "I patted my head and said, 'George, old boy, you have done well! You have succeeded, George. You have gained a gigantic triumph, and now you must go on, unflinchingly, and conquer!'—and I did. From that day no alcohol of any description ever crossed my lips, and never shall! Never! I'd rather die first!"—here the gallant old fellow posed himself in a dramatic attitude, and throwing out his left arm, and striking his right hand sharply upon his breast, cried in his ringing voice, "Fire!"

During the latter half of his active life he gave much of his time to the cause of temperance, and no doubt his influence had very great effect. At one of his lectures on the subject at Exeter Hall he held up a brand new "pot" hat of shiniest kind and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this hat as you see it represents George Cruikshank, the temperance advocate, as he now is." Then throwing the hat to the ground, the brim being undermost, he jumped on the crown, crushing it flat, then holding it up to the audience, shouted, "And this represents George Cruikshank, the drunkard, as he was!"

The old man stuck to his resolution for the remainder of his life, and even on his death-bed, when his medical attendant, the late Sir W. B. Richardson, himself a staunch total abstainer, prescribed that small quantities of brandy should be taken—of course medicinally—he persistently refused to drink it, and so died at an advanced age, firm in the determination which he had formed many years before that not a drop of alcohol of any description should ever pass his lips again.

The first drawings by F. R. Pickersgill that came into our hands to engrave were for "Poems and Pictures," an early "fine art" book, published by J. Burns, of Orchard Street, which contained designs by many of the leading artists of the time, including several by W. Dice, R.A., Cope, R.A., Creswick, R.A., and others. Our connection with Pickersgill—one of the kindest and best of men—soon ripened into a close friendship, and it was to him that we gave the first commission at our own cost for a set of drawings to illustrate "The Life of Christ," desiring to follow the example of Rethel's "Dance of Death," which had just been published in Germany at a very small price.

Our first Part contained six large pictures, printed with a flat tint, the price being one shilling. The second Part, "The Miracles of our Lord," contained the same number of pictures, and at the same price. Our attempt to produce high class art at what was then thought to be a nominal price was not responded to. Other interests were too strong for us; and although we tried the aid of some first-class publishers the scheme would not take. We well remember calling on a well-known publisher of Scripture work, who, admitting the excellence as well as the cheapness of the publication, summed up his refusal to purchase copies with the remark, "I really cannot afford to set your cask of wine alongside my barrel of beer."

Pickersgill made drawings for many of the fine art books produced under our care. He also made a series of large drawings on the subject of "The Lord's Prayer," the text of which was paraphrased in verse by Dean Alford; the book being published by Messrs. Longman & Co. He also contributed many beautiful drawings for our Bible Series.

A friend of Pickersgill, the Rev. T. J. Judkin, an eloquent preacher and clever amateur artist, and a pupil of Constable's, produced a Volume of Poems to which many of his artist friends contributed drawings, amongst whom were F. R. Pickersgill, R.A., W. Mulready, R.A., Clarkson Stanfield, R.A., E. M. Ward, R.A., and W. E. Frost, R.A., all of which we engraved for him.

F. R. Pickersgill, R.A., J. C. Hook, R.A., and W. E. Frost, R.A., formed a trio in their student days, working much together, and all illustrating the same subjects—chiefly passages from Spencer's "Fairy Queen," and Italian or Venetian History, basing their style very much upon the Early Italian School. Later in life a closer tie existed between two of these artists, Pickersgill marrying Hook's eldest sister.

Pickersgill told us a somewhat comical experience Hook had with the Council of "The Art Union of London," who were then procuring a set of drawings on wood by various artists. One subject having been entrusted to Hook, he sent his drawing in, and was asked to call at a stated time, which he did. He saw at once there was something wrong, as the gentlemen sat looking at each other. At last one mustered courage to speak, saying:

"We like your drawing very much, Mr. Hook, but—er—doesn't it want colour?—er—where—er—where is your bit of black?"

"I don't want a bit of black," said Hook.

"Oh, but we must have a bit of black. There's Mr. B——, now, he always gives a bit of black."

Hook, feeling fearfully annoyed, took up the drawing, and dipping his finger in a glass of water, smeared it over, saying:

"There, gentlemen, there is your 'bit of black,'" and throwing down the drawing, left the room.

The following short letter from Mr. Hook, which bears upon this subject, will be of interest:

In a conversation with Richard Doyle he told us that his father (who was the celebrated "H.B.," a political caricaturist during the thirties and forties) always urged his sons to practise drawing from memory, taking all sorts of subjects; that in their walks they should always try to remember one or more figures they had seen, and immediately on their return home, make the best drawing they could in pen and ink; also to frequent the National Gallery or other important picture exhibitions, remaining in front of any one picture that might attract their attention until they had fairly mastered the subject, and then to make the best recollection of it in pencil or colour as they felt inclined. He highly approved of this method, and felt he had derived great benefit from the process himself.

Doyle had a facile pencil when once fairly at work, but he was singularly deficient as to the value of time, which appears strange in one who produced so many elaborate drawings; but little reliance could be placed upon him even when working for periodical publications. On one occasion when illustrating a story by Thackeray, the number had to be issued short of certain pictures that had been arranged for. Thackeray was a good deal annoyed and asked Doyle if he could give any reason why he had not done the drawings. He replied in his cool, deliberate manner: "Eh—er—the fact is, I had not got any pencils."

The matter of pencils was always one of some trouble and difficulty with Doyle. The following letter is a fair example of what was a not infrequent occurrence:

My dear Sir

I send two large drawings for Jack, and on Tuesday I expect two more, which will make seven.

On Thursday I leave town for 12 or 14 days, and when I return I hope it will not be too late to send the remainder.

Ten, I think was the original number of large drawings we agreed upon, but you said you would rather have less of them and more small ones, and consequently I determined on having eight large and twenty or thirty small. I shall not however, be strict as to number, but will do as many as you can give me time to do.

As I may safely say that more than half are now done it would be agreeable to me if you will let me have half of the L.S.D. at your earliest convenience.

As I have worked two of the blocks, I have got into a mess with rubbing out. I shall be glad if you will send one me or two more.