re etched by David Deuchar. In 1832
they were reproduced upon stone with great care by Joseph Schlotthauer,
Professor in the Academy of Fine Arts at Munich; and these were reissued
in this country in 1849 by John Russell Smith. They have also been
rendered in photo-lithography for an edition issued by H. Noel
Humphreys, in 1868; and for the Holbein Society in 1879. In 1886,
Dr. F. Lippmann edited for Mr. Quaritch a set of reproductions of the
engraver's proofs in the Berlin Museum; and the _editio princeps_ has
been facsimiled by one of the modern processes for Hirth of Munich,
as vol. x. of the Liebhaber-Bibliothek, 1884.

=The Present Issue=

The copies given in the present issue are impressions from the blocks
engraved in 1833 for Douce's _Holbein's Dance of Death_. They are the
best imitations in wood, says Mr. Linton. It is of course true, as he
also points out, that a copy with the graver can never quite faithfully
follow an original which has been cut with the knife,--more especially,
it may be added, when the cutter is a supreme craftsman like him
of Luxemburg. But against etched, lithographed, phototyped and
otherwise-processed copies, these of Messrs. Bonner and John Byfield
have one incontestable advantage: they are honest attempts to repeat
by the same method,--that is, in wood,--the original and incomparable
woodcuts of Hans Lutzelburger.

THE DANCE OF DEATH

(CHANT ROYAL, AFTER HOLBEIN)[1]

"_Contra vim Mortis_
_Non est medicamen in hortis._"

He is the despots' Despot. All must bide,
Later or soon, the message of his might;
Princes and potentates their heads must hide,
Touched by the awful sigil of his right;
Beside the Kaiser he at eve doth wait
And pours a potion in his cup of state;
The stately Queen his bidding must obey;
No keen-eyed Cardinal shall him affray;
And to the Dame that wantoneth he saith--
"Let be, Sweet-heart, to junket and to play."
There is no king more terrible than Death.

The lusty Lord, rejoicing in his pride,
He draweth down; before the armed Knight
With jingling bridle-rein he still doth ride;
He crosseth the strong Captain in the fight;
The Burgher grave he beckons from debate;
He hales the Abbot by his shaven pate,
Nor for the Abbess' wailing will delay;
No bawling Mendicant shall say him nay;
E'en to the pyx the Priest he followeth,
Nor can the Leech his chilling finger stay ...
There is no king more