Various

The modern processes of photographic reproduction for the illustration of books and periodicals have given us one great advantage at least, irrespective of their rapidity of execution and comparative inexpensiveness: the pictures as printed are absolute facsimiles of the originals. Thus it is possible to present a scientifically accurate reproduction of any especially interesting document, drawing, plan, or picture, unimpaired by the interference of any other hand than that of the original writer or draughtsman; and one may, for all practical purposes, examine an autograph which, in its actual self, is inaccessible. The facsimiles which are here produced are all of an extremely interesting, though entirely diverse, character.

A CHINESE "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS."

THE PILGRIMS ESCAPING FROM DOUBTING CASTLE.

"The Pilgrim's Progress," illustrated by a Chinese artist, in drawings conveying the Chinese conception of Christian's adventures, cannot fail to be, at least, curious. Such a series of drawings was made and printed, not very long ago, in Canton. There is no text beyond the title printed at one of the top corners of each illustration. Three of these illustrations are here reproduced, representing respectively Christian's combat with Apollyon, Christian and Faithful escaping from Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, and the Shining One releasing Christian and Faithful from the Flatterer's Net. The absolute fidelity in detail of these pictures to the narrative is no less to be remarked than the very Chinese characteristics of those details.

A CHINESE "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS."

THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON.

Next we have a facsimile of a very different character from the last. This is a sketch, drawn by Nelson with his left hand, after he had lost his right, by way of explanation of his tactics at the battle of Aboukir (the Nile). The particulars of the occasion are inscribed by a witness in the left-hand bottom corner of the sketch. The sketch itself is naturally of the roughest description, as, indeed, would be the case with one drawn by the right hand if the sketcher were explaining his meaning by word of mouth as he went along. At the left, a very rough figure, intended to represent an arrow-head, indicates the direction of the wind. The horizontal line of oval figures in the middle represents the French fleet as it lay at anchor in the bay. The line marked "track of the English fleet" shows the direction in which Nelson approached, and the broken scorings in the middle of the French line show where part of the English fleet broke that line. The dotted line between half of the French fleet and the shoals just off shore marks the position taken up by one half of the English fleet, while the other half attacked the same ships on the opposite side, thus annihilating half of the enemy to begin with, while the other half were helplessly to leeward and unable to give assistance; afterwards working down the line and finishing off the rest, with the exception of the few ships that escaped.

Between this and our next pair of facsimiles there is every possible difference. Thackeray's fondness of and facility in sketching, and his ungratified ambition to excel as an artist, are well known. Great numbers of his earlier sketches have been unearthed and published, but we have here some that have never before been printed—and some by no means of the worst. They exist in a sketch-book, and appear to have been made in the year 1832, when Thackeray was just of age. There are five sheets of sketches (of which we here present two), embodying a burlesque melodrama, entitled "The Bandit's Revenge; or, the Fatal Sword." In the beginning we see the hero, Vivaldi, escaping from the Bandit's castle. Next there is an exhibition of the consequent rage of the Bandit chief. The cask labelled "gunpowder" is provided with a suspicious-looking tap, and the carelessness with which the Bandit has placed his torch on the cask-head hints that perhaps he keeps something more internally grateful than gunpowder in that cask. But Vivaldi's escape is only temporary, for in the next sketch he is captured, and being dragged back to the robber's stronghold; and in the last sketch of the first sheet his pitiable and starved condition in the "deepest dungeon beneath the castle moat" is well set forth. This completes Act I. Act II. begins with contrition on the part of the gaoler, who assists his escape by the loan of a mule, mounted on which the emaciated hero is taken, by the country folk, for Death on his Pale Horse. The Bandit's anger at this second escape culminates in a pyramid of heads, with the traitorous gaoler's on top; while the liberated Vivaldi, forgetful of his changed appearance, essays to jump his mule in at his Bertha's window, sending that lady into a very excusable swoon. This concludes Act II. In the next sketch (for which, unfortunately, and for those succeeding it, we have not room) Vivaldi, under the benign influence of good living, has grown comparatively fat, and converses lovingly with his Bertha. But the Bandit chief is not done with yet, and he waits in ambush with his retainers, variously armed, to attack the marriage train, which is seen approaching in the distance, bishops, dancers, and all complete. Next we see the fatal effect of the Bandit's attack. Bridesmaids, croziers, and ecclesiastical functionaries lie in a heap on the ground, but Vivaldi stands unharmed and defies his foes, while Bertha swoons comfortably against his back. Then with a lunge of his mighty sword (which has suddenly lengthened out to about fifteen feet) Vivaldi transfixes the whole robber band of six as they stand in convenient single file, driving his point also through a stout tree standing behind. The drama finishes with an "emblematic vision," wherein Vivaldi and Bertha, some years older, take hands in the centre under the shelter of that interminable sword, while on each side stand half-a-dozen children of various ages. The last sketch represents the manager addressing "the fullest house ever known in this theatre," consisting of four persons besides the orchestra, and thanking them for their approval. Finally follow two sheets of manuscript, purporting to be extracts from the rival local papers, taking opposite views of the performance and bullying each other. One comes out with some lines to the leading lady, lines with many of the characteristics of the local paper. The first verse runs as follows:—

These verses are, of course, abused violently by the opposition paper. Those who are curious to examine those of this set of drawings not here presented, together with facsimiles of the two pages of manuscript, are referred to The Picture Magazine of this month, in which the whole of the pictures here produced appear, with many others of equal interest. Among the rest there are nine more of the Chinese illustrations to "The Pilgrim's Progress."

"Variety is the spice of life," somebody once said, and here we have the facsimile of the horoscope cast for John Milton's birth, by Gadbury, the astrological contemporary of Lilly—a thing as little like what has gone before as may be. With the exception, perhaps, of the inscription in the centre, the whole affair is about as intelligible to the average person as any side of Cleopatra's Needle. An astrologer, however, reads it all as easily as if it were a bill of fare, and a modern practitioner (Mr. Alan Leo, of The Astrologer's Magazine) informs us that the indications set forth on this hieroglyphic tell a tale curiously in keeping with the actual facts of Milton's life. His pleasures, it seems, were to take a serious turn; he was to have a versatile genius in literature, but with a chief bent to serious work. His first marriage was to be a failure in consequence of some vagary on the part of certain moons, but he was to marry again. Mars so interfered with the Sun that it was evident that he would be blind in his forty-fifth year; and there are other prophecies, almost equally exact, and all very wonderful.

A facsimile of a photograph closes our present list. The photograph is that of an Indian fakir—one of the most celebrated in India at the present moment, if not actually the most celebrated. He is seventy years of age, and has worn the immense mass of iron chains shown in the photograph continuously, without a moment's cessation, for the past ten years. The weight of the iron is 670lb., and as may be seen, the "Jingling Fakir," as he is called, is by no means a man of muscular build—certainly not of the build best fitted to adopt such an amusement as the continual carriage of considerably more than a quarter of a ton of iron chain.

In addition to these, as has already been remarked, several other interesting pictures are to be seen in the present issue of The Picture Magazine, as, indeed, is usual every month. It needs but to see these to understand that a book of pictures alone may be something a great deal more important and interesting than a book for children merely.