en through the
gallery where the picture hangs, could not have failed to pause and
point the moral.

Our picture emphasizes the fact that Landseer's artistic skill was not
limited to the portrayal of animal life. How natural it was to think
of him chiefly as a painter of dogs is illustrated in the familiar
witticism of Sydney Smith. Being asked if he was about to sit to
Landseer for a portrait, he asked, "Is thy servant a dog that he
should do this thing?" Had not Landseer's tastes gradually limited
his work to animal subjects, he might have become well known both for
his landscapes and his portraits. He was especially happy in the
delineation of children, whose unconscious motions display the same
free play of muscle as do the animals. We have seen in our picture of
Peace how sympathetically he entered into the heart of childhood.

Two English painters who preceded Landseer are famous for their
pictures of children, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Sir Thomas Lawrence. It
has not been thought unsuitable to compare Landseer with these great
men, in the treatment of child subjects. His works, says a critic,[19]
"without the color or subtlety of character of Reynolds or the
superfineness of Lawrence, are quite equal to the first in naturalness
and to the second in real refinement, and are without the mannerism or
affectation of either."

[Footnote 19: Cosmo Monkhouse.]

XI

THE SLEEPING BLOODHOUND

If a universal dog-lover like Landseer could be said to have a
preference for any particular kind, it was certainly for the
bloodhound. This noble animal is of very ancient origin, known
apparently to the Romans, and introduced early in English history into
Great Britain. Apparently many gentlemen of Landseer's acquaintance
were possessors of fine specimens. One of these we have already seen
in the picture of Suspense, where the dog's senses are all in intense
concentration. Here, by contrast, the Sleeping Bloodhound is seen in
complete relaxation.

We might almost fancy the picture a sequel to Suspense, and carry on
our story to another chapter, in which, the knight's wounds being
stanched, the door is opened and the dog admitted to his master's
presence. Quiet having fallen on the household, the hound retires to a
corner for a well-deserved nap. He lies on a fur rug spread in front
of an ottoman, beside which stands his master's helmet. His forelegs
are stretched out straight before him, his body curled around, his