ed by the abuse of free-will;
happiness equally distributed, and in every one's reach. "Oh!" said he,
"this is a bonny world as God made it; but man makes a packhorse of
Providence." He held that innumerable things might be converted to our use
that we ignorantly neglect, and quoted with great ardour, the whole of
Friar Lawrence's speech in Romeo and Juliet to that effect. Again, Mr.
Dovaston says, "Every body loved Bewick; all animals love him; and
frequently of mornings I found him in the inn-yard, among the dogs, ducks,
or pigs, throwing them pieces of biscuit, and talking to them, or to the
boors, beside them, waiters, _chay_-boys, or boots." "Frequently,"
observes Mr. D., "as I walked with him along the streets of Newcastle, it
was gratifying to witness how much and how generally his character and
talents were respected." Of all esteem there is none more gratifying than
that shown to a good man in his native place.

Bewick's powers of whistling appear to have been extraordinary. "His ear,"
says the agreeable reminiscent already quoted, "(as a musical feeling is
called) was so delicately acute, and his inflexorical powers so nice and
rapid, that he could run in any direction or modulation, the diatomic or
chromatic scale, and even split the quarter-notes of the enharmonic;
neither of which, however, did he understand scientifically, though so
consummately elegant his execution: and his musical memory was so
tenacious that he could whistle through the melodies of whole overtures;
and these, he said, he could obtain having once heard from the orchestra
of a playhouse, or a holiday band, in both of which he took extreme
delight." Bewick's contempt for luxury was remarkable. He generally slept,
even in the depth of winter, with the windows of his chamber open, though
in consequence he sometimes, on awakening, found the snow lying on his
bed-clothes. For money, which men in general prize so highly, Bewick had
all the indifference of a philosopher.

But we must let Mr. Dovaston tell Bewick's last labours, and the close of
his well-spent life:

"Having exhausted the quadrupeds and British birds as vehicles to his art,
instruction, and amusements, he, late in life, took up a fervent
resolution to engrave all the British _Fishes_, and write their histories.
To this his mind was well trained, having been ever a lover of the
fountains and rills, the still pools and broad waters, the majestic rivers
and the mighty ocean. Here