"Your worship," says he, "a true judgno ment, say I, for the like of that perversioner of the peace. I'm a statesman, ran', if you want a big job done in Heaven, I'm your man. If you want a a few choice orations on the duties of a Christian

"By your leave, Sir," says Lord Pythongrass, an' reads from the ledger, "Lawyer - place from - Mercury twenty years of consumned hypocritics an' not a clove of truth on his tongueno quotation for soul." Then lookin' aup ar up he says quick, “Alack for the brute sentence- eel for a hunder

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year, of ten apiece," an' readin' again he calls out "Schoolmaster!"-"Headmaster," pipes a ghost down two supercilic nostrils.- "Venus," reads on my Lord, "filled ten thousan' lads with a thirst for a certain precious metal allocuted in those parts - woodlouse," says my Lord, an' on all in a breath, "Parson ditto - billbroker -discount on soul ten talents ferret -millionaire"- "Lord Quid," pomps out a haughty voice. "Paid a mint of money for the title," answers Lord Pythongrass. "By the waters of Babylon," says he, "I'm moithered with the pack of ye. What do ye make of yourselves? Every man jack of ye, theologers, zoologers, sillerologers, quillologers, an' to the lastest cypher on the tale, ye come here astuffed with mortal arrogances, an' not a body with one act recorded, that can hold a tallow dip to either of yon felons on the Jerusalem 1 Crosstree; an' ye, with the very breath of God in your mother's womb for a honorable an' humble persuasionin'. An' with all your brains an' mortal powers ye buy yourselves a lousehood in the kingdom of Mammon. Away with ye to your hutches!" An' he banged to the fearsome ledger, an' the ghosses tumbled out of the dock, all but William Cussin' herself an' one Josiah Dudd, born in my own natal an' my

own parish an' a poor awk'ard loon he be to be standin' by a master seaman, an' a foolish fellow till the day he died an' the parish buried him. An' my Lord looks up sudden. "Who be ye?" says he.

“If her may make so bold," says I, speakin' respectful, "our names be William Cussin' mine, Josiah Dudd my neighbor's, my Lord; an' if it be no offense to your worship, speakin' for my mate here an' herself, howsomebeit we be two rare sinful men on our last tack - to give it short rope," says I, 'we two do be here standin' before your worship, to taste the bitters of our just an' lawful damnation."

"Cussin'?" says my Lord, openin' the ledger an' runnin' his long finger down the vellum.

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'Aye, seaman," says I, "with a power of a thirst on him.”

"Rum," he says, most mournful, an' he fixes me straight. "Thou be a sorry drunken wretch, but thou be what thou be, without pertences; an' I like 'ee well enough for speakin' out for your own damnation. I cannot put myself in mind nor of fish nor of fowl nor of creepin' reptile, that can besot itself such as the likes of thee; an' so I say, get thee back to thy old berth an' drink a quart less afore an' at after thy vittles. An' who be the mate?" he says. "A poor loon I beg your worship to compassionate," I says, speakin' uphill for Josiah, an' Josiah he stands by sayin' nothin' for himself. "Brains was forgot in his stew, my Lord. He tilled a bit of a soggy strip of clay in my own parish; but he never made much of himself; he always lived aft, as it might be; never tucked up to folk with a bit of brass, never pushed his nose in on fine days, nor got himself a morsel of credit. Nay, for a honest hard-workin' man I never did see one that cheated an' that set about with afflictions, an' that cheerful. Your worship, if I might

To most people there is undoubtedly a greater fascination in old shooting prints than is to be found in other prints relating to sport, but it would not be easy to explain why this should be. It is quite possible that, as we all seem to be born with an instinct to go out to kill something for our breakfast, we may have a special and hereditary liking for a print which shows us a means of obtaining that end. Or it may be that instantaneous photography, which has done so much good but has killed so many beautiful things, has not been able to disclose any imperfections in the delineation of men in the art of holding or firing a gun, whereas it causes the timid to wonder whether the old artists knew how to depict animals in motion. It seems almost certain that even in the far-off days when instantaneous photography had not even been dreamed of artists felt much more untrammeled when they were dealing with a shooting scene than when they were representing hunting or coursing or racing.

It will be generally noticed also that in the nature of things they were able to set their figures in a very pleasing and peaceful scene, with no disturbing influences such as are to be found in most other sports. The majority of the best artists who drew or painted the pictures which afterwards appeared as shooting prints were men who were very familiar with the gun. Hence they knew exactly how to make their sportsmen hold their guns as to the manner born, and a most interesting half-hour

may be spent in examining the skilful way in which the hands are nearly always rendered in old prints.

In looking at an old aquatint of 1804 representing Mr. Richard Badham Thornhill it is impossible to help regretting that it is indeed a thing of the past, with no descendants at all. It is true that there are a few modern artists who are trying to revive the aquatint, with very promising results, but unhappily they will have nothing to do with sport, confining their entire attention to landscape and seascape. Yet this old engraving, printed in delicate colors, would make a noble decoration for the walls of any room, whether it be a smoking room or a lady's boudoir, for it has all the charm and dainty appearance of the best old French prints. One cannot help feeling that the artist has succeeded in giving the very soul of the sportsman, a man who would have done his duty nobly in whatever state of life he might have found himself. The present generation has no means of handing itself down to the future in a pictorial representation except by an oil painting or a photograph, neither of which is as satisfactory as an engraving often is.

'Pheasant Shooting,' the aquatint by Pollard, 1812, is a good example of the shooting print which, charmingly naïve in its arrangement of the figures, is scrupulously accurate in all its details, and must at once bring similar scenes to the mind of everybody who looks upon it. The aquatint by Alken after George Morland is a typical Morland

scene with more than usual elaboration. Here again, though conditions have changed so wonderfully in these last hundred years, the scene recalls late afternoons when after a good day's shooting the sportsman, perhaps in a comfortable motor car, takes a similar short rest with as much enjoyment as his great-grandfather. 'Pointers and Hare,' by Burford after Seymour, was produced before the time of aquatints, for its date is 1754. It is a mezzotint, boldly designed and carried out, but lacks something which is generally present in the aquatints which followed it. The other engraving, 'Gamekeepers Refreshing,' is an aquatint by Himely after S. J. E. Jones, and represents what may perhaps be termed the practical side of shooting. Few sporting artists have succeeded in choosing a more pleasing setting for their figures than is to be found in this engraving.

All the engravings which have been given here are such as can still be obtained at a small price by anyone who will take a little trouble, for, curiously enough, the ordinary small secondhand or antique dealer does not feel greatly excited about them. It is hardly too much to say that the well-known shooting prints such as 'The First of September,' by William Ward after Morland, 'Morning' and 'Evening,' by Alken after Morland, "The Sportsman's Return,' by William Ward after Morland, can no longer be obtained except at a very high price, or by amazingly good luck, or in almost worthless reproductions. It is true that shooting prints are not so often copied and reproduced as many other sporting prints, but fakes and reprints are sometimes met with. They may generally, but not always, be known by apparently old paper of a yellowish color which is not quite like anything else on earth and certainly not like the color of the paper on which the old engravings were

printed, though it deceives many who are looking out for rare bargains.

The ordinary second-hand or antique dealer in a small way may perhaps not know very much about paintings, though he almost invariably has an uncanny instinct for recognizing anything which is of great value. So, in the same way, although the many well-known shooting prints very seldom indeed come in his way, he knows well enough that he has a good thing when by chance some print of great value gets into his hands. The opportunity of the collector who does not want the earth but only a little of it comes in when the question of shooting prints not so well known is concerned. As a rule the small dealer attaches but little importance to them, and even in these hard times a fine aquatint, a mezzotint, a line-engraving, or an etching representing shooting in some form or other may often be obtained at reasonable prices, and sometimes even at prices which would have seemed low in pre-war days. A wise man who looks ahead will not go far wrong if he buys some of the really beautiful old shooting prints in chromo-lithography, and also mezzotints and line-engravings after Landseer, George Armfield, Richard Ansdell, and other once-famous men who are now more or less under a cloud. Such prints, despised now, beautiful as many of them are, must come to the front in the future, and even now fashion seems to be showing signs of veering round to Landseer. Prints of this kind may be met with almost anywhere, for nobody seems to want them.

Some of the old chromo-lithographs were so finely colored that it is impossible to understand why they have been neglected for so long. A great deal might also be said in favor of the old lithographs, plain as well as colored. Two reasons are generally given to explain why the old lithograph is not

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valued by the present generation. One of them is that so many copies 1 could be printed that they might be scattered broadcast into the world. But this reason is slowly beginning to lose its weight, for naturally it was never worth while to reproduce them, and the number of existing copies is becoming smaller and smaller every year. The other reason is that the cheap German lithograph found its way all over England in such enormous numbers that it at last absolutely killed the art, and in addition made it lose its high caste. But some of the very best lithographs were works of art in every way, and among them are many shooting prints which are most decidedly worth placing in any sportsman's portfolio. Although they are becoming more and more scarce, they may still be found scattered about in the small dealers' shops among other prints which are accounted as of very small value.

There are still to be found other old shooting prints which imitated pencil, chalk, and wash drawings by wellknown and sometimes famous artists. Several of the prints after wash drawings by Hardy and Frederick Taylor are astonishingly faithful to the originals. Another kind of print which may still be found without difficulty and at a very reasonable price is the portrait of 'The Man with the Gun.' This may be found in aquatint, mezzotint, line, and, indeed, in every kind of engraving, and most interesting things of the kind may often be unearthed by looking through a portfolio of portraits. But a word of warning may be given. Shooting prints, or for the

matter of that any other prints, taken out of books such as the Sportsman's Magazine and Rural Life are often remarkably good and remarkably clever, but they are not, and are never likely to be, worth more than a very few pence each. The reason is that entire books, containing dozens of engravings, may be bought anywhere for a few shillings. Nevertheless, because of the pleasure they give to other people, as well as to the owner, they ought not to be entirely neglected. A word may be said about woodcuts. Some people think that they will come into their own in course of time, and in any case a few of them ought to be in a collection of shooting prints. The worst of woodcuts is that so many of them are badly printed, but really good woodcuts by Bewick, which may still be obtained, are very beautiful things. Some of the old English woodcuts of shooting scenes are so amusingly quaint that, roughly printed and designed as they are, they cannot very well be passed over.

The woodcut, like the lithograph today, is an art which has had its ups and downs of popularity. The revival of the craft (which incidentally has achieved in the last twenty years some very remarkable results looked at from whatever way you will, even the 'highly artistic') has indeed stimulated those to whom it was but the name of a forgotten art, or an accepted dull one, to probe a little deeper into the subject. Though woodcuts cannot be said to include the finest sporting pictures, as I remarked above there are some very beautiful and amusing things among them.