s number of the 22nd of July, 1882, to
the memory of the last of the book etchers of the nineteenth century the
following graceful tribute:--

"The lamp is out that lighted up the text
Of Dickens, Lever--heroes of the pen.
_Pickwick_ and _Lorrequer_ we love, but next
We place the man who made us see such men.
What should we know of _Martin Chuzzlewit_,
Stern _Mr. Dombey_, or _Uriah Heap_?
_Tom Burke of Ours_?--Around our hearts they sit,
Outliving their creators--all asleep.
No sweeter gift ere fell to man than his
Who gave us troops of friends--delightful Phiz.

"He is not dead! There, in the picture-book,
He lives with men and women that he drew;
We take him with us to the cozy nook,
Where old companions we can love anew.
Dear boyhood's friend! We rode with him to hounds;
Lived with dear _Peggotty_ in after years;
Missed in old Ireland, where fun knew no bounds.
At _Dora's_ death we felt poor David's tears.
There is no death for such a man,--he is
The spirit of an unclosed book! immortal Phiz!"

FOOTNOTES:

[172] Fitzpatrick's "Life of Charles Lever."

[173] Now lately republished.

[174] And republished in "Poole's Miscellany."

[175] As I notice a similar remark in one of the obituary notices of
the artist's death, I think it necessary to observe that this chapter
was written while "Phiz" was yet living.

[176] Mr. Kitton's "Memoir," p. 19.

CHAPTER XVII.

_A BATCH OF BOOK ILLUSTRATORS:_

_KENNY MEADOWS; ROBERT WILLIAM BUSS; ALFRED CROWQUILL; CHARLES H.
BENNETT; W. M. THACKERAY._

In old and second-hand bookshops, and in booksellers' catalogues, may
often be found a book which is gradually becoming a literary rarity. It
dates from 1840, and is a curiosity in its way, not only on account of
the "portraits" which adorn its pages, but as a specimen of the literary
padding on which men of letters (some of them distinguished) were
content to employ their talents fifty years ago. It was published by
Robert Tyas, of 50, Cheapside; professed to give "Portraits of the
English" of the period, but served as a means of introducing certain
characteristic pictorial sketches, more or less true to nature, by Kenny
Meadows, an artist whose name and reputation, although he has been dead
scarcely ten years, are already forgotten. Connected with these
portraits are "original essays by distinguished writers," i