personally, he completed over one hundred pictures, for which he
received a sum equal to a quarter of a million dollars.

Landseer's career was one of continuous prosperity. In his life there was
neither tragedy nor disappointment. His horses and dogs filled his
bachelor heart, and when Tray, Blanche and Sweetheart bayed and barked
him a welcome to that home in Saint John's Wood where he lived for just
fifty years, he was supremely content.

His fortune of three hundred thousand pounds was distributed at his
death, as he requested, among various servants, friends and needy
kinsmen.

Landseer had no enemies, and no detractors worth mentioning. That his
great popularity was owing to his deference to the spirit of the age goes
without saying. He never affronted popular prejudices, and was ever alert
to reflect the taste of his patrons. The influence of passing events was
strong upon him: the subtlety of Turner, the spiritual vision of Fra
Angelico, the sublime quality of soul (that scorned present reward and
dedicated its work to time) of Michelangelo were all far from him.

That he at times attempted to be humorous by dressing dogs in coats and
trousers with pipe in mouth is to be regretted. A dog so clothed is not
funny--the artist is.

The point has also been made that in Landseer's work there was no
progression--no evolution. His pictures of mountain scenery done in
Scotland before he was thirty mark high tide. To him never again came the
same sweep of joyous spirit or surge of feeling.

Bank-accounts, safety and satisfaction are not the things that stir the
emotions and sound the soul-depths. Landseer never knew the blessing of a
noble discontent. But he contributed to the quiet joy of a million homes;
and it is not for us to say, "It is beautiful; but is it art?" Neither
need we ask whether the name of Landseer will endure with those of
Raphael and Leonardo. Edwin Landseer did a great work, and the world is
better for his having lived; for his message was one of gentleness,
kindness and beauty.

GUSTAVE DORE

Lacroix told Dore one day, early in his life in Paris, that he
should illustrate a new edition of his works in four volumes, and
he sent them to him. In a week Lacroix said to Dore, who had
called, "Well, have you begun to read my story?" "Oh! I mastered
that in no time; the blocks are all ready"; and while Lacroix
looked on stupefied, the boy dived into his pockets a