XIII

[20]Ernest Seton-Thompson inWild Animals I have known.

Deerstalking was long the favorite sport in England, dating from the early days of semi-barbarism, when the only serious pursuits of the rich were war and the chase. The forest laws of the old Norman kings set the punishment for killing a deer, except in the chase, as great as for taking a human life. Large tracts of land were reserved for hunting grounds in districts which might otherwise have been covered with prosperous villages. Down to our own times, a large pack of hounds was maintained by the English crown solely for the use of royal hunting parties. At length, at the beginning of the twentieth century, the new king, Edward VII., has abolished the custom.

It would seem that the deer was well fitted by nature to cope with his enemy the sportsman. His senses are so exquisitely delicate that he detects the approach of the hunter at a great distance. As soon as he takes alarm he flees from the danger, covering the ground in flying leaps with incredible speed. From time to time he pauses on some hilltop to locate anew the position of the enemy.

THE HUNTED STAG National Gallery, LondonFr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.THE HUNTED STAGNational Gallery, London

Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.THE HUNTED STAGNational Gallery, London

As he begins to tire, he resorts to stratagem as a substitute for speed. Sometimes another deer comes to his aid, taking the track he has made, while he hides in some thicket or flies in a different direction. One of his tricks is to run backward over his course for a number of yards, and then leap aside to start in another way. The story of the Sandhill Stag tells how a deer used this device three times in succession, the last time returning to a thicket near his track from which he could discern his pursuer long before the trail would bring him too near. After this, grown more desperate, the stag circled round till he joined his old track, and then bounded aside to let the hunter follow the cold scent.

When all such artifices fail, the hunted deer's last resort is the water. Plunging into a lake or mountain stream, he swims up the current, taking care not to touch any brush on the bank, lest he leave a scent for the hounds. It is said that he can even hide under the water, leaving only the tip of his nose above the surface.

The stag of our picture has reached the water too late; already the hounds are upon him. The mass of struggling animals is swept along the current of a mountain stream to an inevitable doom. The hunted creature raises his noble head in his dying agony, seeking to escape his tormentors. Even yet he strikes out in a brave attempt to swim, but the end is only too plain.

The painter's art has set the tragedy very forcibly before us. Behind is a lake, around which rises a range of high hills. A single break in their outline admits a ray of sunlight into the sombre grandeur of the scene. The narrow stream which issues from the lake falls between huge boulders, in a steep descent. The struggle of the dogs with their prey churns the torrent into foam about the body of the stag.

While we admire the art which can produce such a picture, the subject, like that of War, is too painful for enjoyment. We must turn again to the Monarch of the Glen, and from the contrast of the dying with the living, we enjoy the more the splendid vitality of the animal.

In the time of Landseer a familiar figure about the streets of London was the itinerant dealer in dog's meat. His outfit consisted of a square covered wheelbarrow in which he carried the meat, a basket, a pair of scales, knives, skewers, and similar tools of his trade. His assistant was a dog, whose duty was to guard the meat barrow while the butcher called for orders or delivered his goods. In this capacity a dog would serve even better than a boy, in keeping hungry animals from his master's property. There is a quaint old saying that "it takes a rogue to catch a rogue." The dog's wages were all the meat he could eat, and having satisfied himself to the point of gluttony, there would be no danger of any inroads on the meat from him.

In our picture a butcher has left his barrow standing on the cobble-stone pavement at the corner of the narrow entrance to a square. His dog Jack controls the situation in his absence, and rules with undisputed authority.

Such is the master's confidence in the dog's ability to manage, that he has taken no pains to put the meat away in the barrow. A large cut is left in the scale pan, and a basket on the pavement contains some choice bits. Naturally the tempting odor has drawn a number of stray street dogs to the place.

From his elevated position Jack surveys them as a monarch receiving a throng of obsequious courtiers. As a matter of fact he is himself a low mongrel cur, vastly inferior in origin to some of the surrounding dogs. Circumstances having raised him to a position of authority he regards them all with supercilious disdain. A miserable, half starved hound approaches the basket with eyes fixed hungrily on the contents, the tail drooping between the shaking legs, the attitude expressing the most abject wretchedness. He is a canine Uriah Heep professing himself "so 'umble." Behind is a retriever, uplifting a begging paw, and farther away are other eager dogs. A puppy in front has just finished eating, and, still gnawing the skewer, looks up to ask for more.

Not one of them all dares touch the meat, though Jack moves not a muscle to prevent them. It is a question whether an overfed, tight-skinned animal like this would prove a very redoubtable enemy in a fight. Jack's influence, however, is due in no small measure to his sagacious air of importance. Seated on his haunches, he holds between his fore legs the handle of the scales as the insignia of office. A broad collar and a small leather harness show he has to take his own turn in serving another. Ignoring the appeal of the puppy, he turns to the group of larger dogs, regarding them with a contemptuous expression of his half-closed eyes. He has been a keen observer of dog nature, and knows what value to place upon the professions of these fawning creatures.

JACK IN OFFICE South Kensington Museum, LondonJohn Andrew & Son, Sc.JACK IN OFFICESouth Kensington Museum, London

John Andrew & Son, Sc.JACK IN OFFICESouth Kensington Museum, London

The situation inevitably suggests corresponding relations in human life. It often happens that a man of inferior qualities is raised to some position of authority which he holds with arrogant assumption. Himself the servant of another, he delights in the exercise of a petty tyranny. He is forthwith surrounded by a throng of flatterers seeking the benefits he has to bestow. It is pitiable to see how some who were originally his superiors humiliate themselves before him. Like the sycophant hound and the imploring retriever, they seem to lose all sense of self-respect.

One can see how easily the picture of Jack in Office could be converted into a caricature, and it is not surprising to learn that it has been used in England as a political cartoon. American politics might also produce many a parallel situation. The party boss in a municipal government holding petty appointments in his control is a veritable Jack in Office surrounded by his followers.

The humor of the picture is, as we see, a trifle keener than in Dignity and Impudence. Arrogance and sycophancy are such despicable qualities, whether in dog or man, that they are held up not only for our laughter but for our contempt.

As may be inferred from our previous illustrations, the greater number of Landseer's dog subjects were drawn from animals of the finer breeds. Jack in Office is unique in our collection as dealing with the commoner animals of the street. Even here, however, the painter found material for his favorite theme of the dog's fidelity to his master. Jack is, as it were, the butcher's business partner, sharing alike in his labors and his gains. As we are to see again in our next picture, the dog which is made the companion of daily labor is even more to his master than one which is merely a playmate.

It is instructive to examine one by one the details of the composition, which the painter has rendered with much technical skill. The vista of the square at the end of the alley is a pleasant feature of the composition, giving a more spacious background to the group.

While the mountains of the Scottish Highlands are haunted by deer, the valleys are the pasture ground for large flocks of sheep. Here our painter, Landseer, made the acquaintance of two unique characters, the Highland shepherd and his dog. In former times the shepherds of Scotland were no ordinary men. The loneliness of the life in these wilds left an impress upon their nature, making it stern and serious. Not infrequently great readers were found among them, and even poets. The Ettrick shepherd James Hogg was one of Scotland's first men of letters.

The poet Wordsworth, whose boyhood was passed in the north of England, describes in "The Prelude" his admiration for the shepherds of that region:—

"There, 't is the shepherd's task the winter longTo wait upon the storms: of their approachSagacious, into sheltering coves he drivesHis flock, and thither from the homestead bearsA toilsome burden up the craggy ways,And deals it out, their regular nourishmentStrewn on the frozen snow. And when the springLooks out, and all the pastures dance with lambs,And when the flock, with warmer weather, climbsHigher and higher, him his office leadsTo watch their goings, whatsoever trackThe wanderers choose.

* * * * *

A rambling schoolboy, thusI felt his presence in his own domain,As of a lord and master, or a power,Or genius, under Nature, under God,Presiding; and severest solitudeHad more commanding looks when he was there."

The shepherd would be helpless without his dog, the collie, whose astuteness and skill can hardly be overstated. The trained sheep dog learns to know every individual member of the flock, so that if a straggler goes beyond bounds, he will reclaim it; if an intruder enters he will drive it out. When the flock is to be led home, he gathers the scattered portions into a compact body and keeps them in the way. A sagacious dog belonging to Hogg once amazed his master by gathering together a flock of seven hundred lambs which had broken up at midnight and scattered in three directions.

The collie is fitted by nature with special qualifications for his peculiar work. His neck is long and arched, that he may put his nose well to the ground and stretch it when running. His half pricked ears are the best possible for distinguishing sounds at a distance, and the part that falls over protects the inner ear from the rain. His thick coat is proof against rain, snow, or wind, and the heavy mane shields the most vulnerable part of his chest, like a natural lung protector. With bare hind legs, long and springy, he can make his way easily in the heather. The long, tapering muzzle gives a peculiarly intelligent look to the face. An authority on dogs says, "There is, if the expression may be used, a philosophic look about him which shows thought, patience, energy, and vigilance."

THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNER South Kensington Museum, LondonJohn Andrew & Son, Sc.THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNERSouth Kensington Museum, London

John Andrew & Son, Sc.THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNERSouth Kensington Museum, London

The shepherd and his dog are constant companions from dawn to sunset, sharing the responsibilities of their charge. Common hardships seem to knit the friendship, and the tie between them is unusually close. We can easily understand that a faithful dog deprived of his master would mourn him deeply. Such grief is the subject of our picture, The Highland Shepherd's Chief Mourner.

An old shepherd living alone in his rude cottage has thrown down his hat and staff for the last time. His neighbors have prepared his body for decent burial, the coffin has been closed and nailed, and now stands on the trestles ready for removal. The shepherd's plaid has been laid over it as a sort of pall, and a bit of green is added by some reverent hand. For the moment the house is deserted, and the dog is left alone with all that represents his master's life to him. His mute grief is intensely pathetic; speech could not express more plainly his utter despair.

A beautiful description by Ruskin suggests the important points to notice in the picture,—"the close pressure of the dog's breast against the wood, the convulsive clinging of the paws, 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 or 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."

The critic shows that the skill with which the painting is executed, remarkable as it is, is not so great a thing to praise the painter for as the imagination which could conceive so pathetic a scene. The picture is, he says, "one of the most perfect poems which modern times have seen."

The incident which Landseer imagined has doubtless many a parallel in actual life. There is a story of a traveller who was killed by a fall from a precipice near Mt. Helvellyn. Three months later his remains were discovered, watched over by the faithful dog. Scott's poem "Helvellyn" commemorates the incident,[21]and the line telling how—

"Faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,"

expresses well the spirit of our picture.

[21]Wordsworth's verses on Fidelity apparently refer to the same story.

Our conception of the range of Landseer's art would be quite inadequate if we failed to notice his studies of the lion. Though his works on this subject were not numerous, he was all his life greatly interested in the noble animal called the king of beasts. As a boy, he used to visit a certain menagerie called Exeter Change, and make drawings of the beasts there. A drawing of a Senegal lion, made here at the age of nine, is very creditable. The same menagerie furnished, many years later, the material for his first serious lion study. One of the animals having died, Landseer obtained the body for dissection. His methods of work were always thorough. He believed that it was only by mastering an animal's anatomy that a painter could faithfully reproduce its motions and attitudes. The result of his studies on this occasion was an interesting series of pictures,—A Lion disturbed at his Repast, A Lion enjoying his Repast, and A Prowling Lion.

Naturally opportunities for dissecting lions were not frequent, and the painter had to bide his time for further studies. A friend who could help him in this respect was Mr. Mitchell, secretary of the Zoölogical Society. Whenever the secretary happened to have a dead lion on his hands, he offered Landseer the first chance to obtain it. An amusing story is told of one of Mr. Mitchell's efforts in his friend's behalf. A company of guests was gathered one evening at Landseer's house, when suddenly a man servant appeared at the drawing-room door, and quietly asked, "Did you order a lion, sir?" The inquiry was made in a matter-of-fact tone, precisely as if ordering lions were an every-day affair, like ordering a rib of beef, or a leg of mutton. There was a sensation among the guests, and much merriment was caused by their pretended alarm. Tradition says that Charles Dickens was of the party, and it was he who often told the story afterwards. As it proved, Mr. Mitchell had sent the painter a lion which had died that day in the Zoölogical Garden of Regent's Park.

In 1859 Landseer received an important commission from the English government requiring all his knowledge of the lion. His task was to model some lions to ornament the Nelson monument in Trafalgar Square, London. This monument had been erected more than fifteen years before (1843), in memory of the admiral under whose leadership the English fleet had won their victory off Cape Trafalgar, October 21, 1805. It consisted of a tall granite column surmounted by a statue of Nelson. To make the base of the column more imposing, it now seemed desirable to place colossal bronze figures of lions at the four corners.

A LION OF THE NELSON MONUMENT Trafalgar Square, LondonFr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.A LION OF THE NELSON MONUMENTTrafalgar Square, London

Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.A LION OF THE NELSON MONUMENTTrafalgar Square, London

With characteristic thoroughness, the artist made his preparatory studies. Two of these are rough sketches on canvas in the National Gallery of London, and show distinctly the original data for his final conception. Apparently they are studies from menagerie animals. One is in profile, showing the beast as he creeps in snarling discontent within the limited area of his cage. The other sketch has caught the attitude of the animal lifting his head to scan an approaching visitor. In these two studies, Landseer obtained the proper proportions of the side face, from nosetip to ear, and the length of the front face, from the crest of the mane to the lower jaw. They also show completely the manner in which the mane grows, both along the back and on each side the face.

It could not be expected that a man who had been all his life a painter would immediately acquire proficiency as a sculptor. Landseer had his lions under way nearly ten years, and in the mean time practised himself in the new art by modelling the figure of a stag. Certain qualities of sculpture he had already shown in some of his paintings. The pose of the Newfoundland dog called A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society is conceived in the spirit of plastic art. So also is The Sleeping Bloodhound. When it came, therefore, to modelling a figure, the artist understood well how to secure a monumental pose. In this point his work is especially successful.

The lion lies in a grand, majestic attitude. The mane rises like a crown on his brow, and falls in splendid masses on either side his head. The mouth is open, and the expression a little mild for dignity. One is reminded of the tamed spirit of the menagerie captive rather than of the proud majesty of the animal in his native wilds. A work of this sort must necessarily have a certain stiffness and conventionality which we should not like in a painting.

It is said that Landseer modelled only a single figure, and the others were cast from the same model with slight variations. When at last the work was completed, the colossal figures were mounted on huge pedestals radiating diagonally from the four corners of the square base of the monument.

The story of Landseer's art career was a series of continuous successes from his precocious boyhood to his honored old age. He was an exhibitor at the Royal Academy when he was in his teens, and early in his twenties he was successful enough in his profession to set up an establishment of his own. He then took a small house in a pleasant part of London known as St. John's Wood, and fitted up the barn into a studio. The place was called Maida Villa, as a compliment to the famous staghound which was Sir Walter Scott's favorite dog. Here Landseer lived, like Sir Walter himself, surrounded by dogs. He never married, and his sister, Mrs. Mackenzie, was for many years his housekeeper.

His life was, of course, a very busy one, filled with commissions which came much more rapidly than he could execute them. His house was enlarged as his means permitted, and became a delightful resort for many favored guests. The painter was of a frank nature, genial and kindly among his friends, witty in conversation, and a clever mimic. An invitation to one of his parties was a privilege. Many were the distinguished patrons who visited his studio; even the royal carriages were sometimes seen standing at the door of Maida Villa.

His work was duly rewarded with the proper honors. At the age of twenty-eight, the painter was elected to membership in the Royal Academy, and twenty years later he was knighted. Thereafter he was known as Sir Edwin Landseer, probably the most popular painter of his day.

He is described as a man of heavy figure, six feet in height, with a weather-beaten countenance. He used to wear a sober gray tweed suit, and had the general appearance of an English country gentleman. His movements were quick and energetic.

Our portrait shows him at the age of sixty-two, when his beard was white. His face is attractive because of the kindly expression, but it is by no means handsome. The redeeming feature is the high broad forehead, the sign of the fine poetic temperament of which so many of his works are proof.

It was characteristic of Landseer to paint his portrait with his dogs. Neither the man nor his art can be separated from the animal to which he devoted his best gifts. The dogs give the title to the picture, and with the genial humor natural to the painter, he represents himself as the subject of their criticism. Holding his sketch-book across his knees, he appears to be making a pencil study of some dog subject, while over each shoulder peers the grave face of a canine "Connoisseur." The dog at the painter's right seems to express approval, while his more critical comrade on the other side reserves judgment till the picture is completed.

It would appear that Landseer's dog pictures were faithful enough to satisfy the judgment of the originals. "We cannot help believing," writes an admiring critic,[22]"that the manner in which Landseer drew the forms and expressed the character of the canine race would have been rewarded with the gratitude, if not the full satisfaction of such a critic.... On the whole, seeing that he was but a man [the Connoisseurs] must, we fancy, have allowed that he was a good artist, a fair judge of character, and meant kindly by them."

[22]Cosmo Monkhouse.

The honors bestowed upon Landseer culminated at the time of his death in the magnificent funeral ceremonies attending his burial at St. Paul's Church, London. His body was laid near those of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Turner, Fuseli, and other famous English painters. In the memorial sermon following the funeral, the painter's character was fittingly summed up in a few lines from Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner."

"He prayeth well who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast,"He prayeth best who loveth bestAll things, both great and small,For the dear God who loveth usHe made and loveth all."

"He prayeth well who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast,

"He prayeth best who loveth bestAll things, both great and small,For the dear God who loveth usHe made and loveth all."

Sample of the portraits in "Masterpieces of American Literature" and "Masterpieces of British Literature," described on the second page of this circular.

Oliver Wendell HolmesOliver Wendell Holmes

Oliver Wendell Holmes

We have received so many calls for portraits of authors and pictures of their homes suitable for class and note-book use in the study of reading and literature, that we have decided to issue separately the twenty-nine portraits contained in "Masterpieces of American Literature" and "Masterpieces of British Literature," and the homes of eight American authors as shown in the Appendix to thenewly revisededition of "Richardson's Primer of American Literature."

Ten, assorted, postpaid, 20 cents.

Each additional one in the same package, 1 cent.

In lots of 100 or more, assorted, 1 cent each, postpaid.

For mutual convenience please send a remittance with each order. Postage stamps taken.

4 Park Street, Boston; 11 East 17th Street, New York; 378-388 Wabash Avenue, Chicago.

Of Whittier, Lowell, Emerson, Hawthorne, Longfellow, Holmes, Bryant. Size, 24 by 30 inches. Lithographs, $1.00,net, each, postpaid. Teachers' price, 85 cents,net, each, postpaid.

For descriptions and prices see other pages of this circular.

A colored lithograph of the historic mansion ("Washington's Headquarters") at Cambridge, in which Mr. Longfellow lived for forty years. Size, 12 by 16 inches. Price, 50 cents,net, postpaid.

(The size of cabinet photographs) of over ninety of the most celebrated American and European Authors. The 25-cent portraits and the 75-cent portraits are printed on paper measuring 9 by 12 inches, and the $1.00 portraits 11 by 14 inches.A list with prices to teachers may be had on application.

4 Park Street, Boston; 11 East 17th Street, New York: 378-388 Wabash Avenue, Chicago.

Sample of the pictures of author's homes in the newly revised edition of Richardson's Primer of American Literature, described on the second page of this circular.

HOLMES'S BIRTHPLACE The Gambrel Roofed House, CambridgeHOLMES'S BIRTHPLACEThe Gambrel Roofed House, Cambridge

HOLMES'S BIRTHPLACEThe Gambrel Roofed House, Cambridge

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