The hart above the rest, the hunter's noblest game GEORGE THOMAS
Upon the ruthless earth

HARRISON WEIR
JOHN GILBERT
W. H. ROGERS.
BIRKET FOSTER
E. M. WIMPERIS
JULIAN PORTCH

E. M. WIMPERIS
JOHN GILBERT.
JOHN GILBERT
JULIAN PORTCH
E. M. WIMPERIS
T. KENNEDY

F. CHIFFLART

JOSEPH NASH

BIRKET FOSTER

St. Augustine and Monica

With Cherubim and Seraphim to sing thy praise. JOHN FRANKLIN

I love the sea, she is my fellow-creature

The highest honours that the world could boast
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne.
Tailpiece.

Thrice happy he who by some shady grove

Thrice, oh thrice happy, shepherd's life and state.

By the streams of Tiber.

Summons all her sweet powers for a note

To war and arms I fly

E. M. WIMPERIS

PERCIVAL SKELTON

JOHN GILBERT

FREDERICK TAYLER

JOHN GILBERT

JOSEPH NASH
JOHN GILBERT

E M. WIMPERIS

E. M. WIMPERIS

F. PICKERSGILL

F. PICKERSGILL

F. PICKERSGILL

Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays. C. STONEHOUSE

River wealth and beauty.

Milton's home

Hence, loathed Melancholy

Mirth, admit me of thy crew

Till the dappled dawn doth rise

HARRISON WEIR
E. K. JOHNSON

C. W. COPE.

H. J. TOWNSEND.

T. CRESWICK

154

158

160

. 161

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher

Love has still something of the sea

Built uniform, not little, nor too great

To all you ladies now at land.

Little gossip, blithe and hale

Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tales.
In the vast abyss

Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow
'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet.
The setting sun adorned the coast
Taught the doubtful battle where to rage

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands GEORGE THOMAS
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean

.

.

T. CRESWICK

JOHN GILBERT
BIRKET FOSTER
T. KENNEDY
BIRKET FOSTER

W. H. ROGERS
FELIX DARLEY.
JOHN GILBERT
BIRKET FOSTER
JULIAN PORTCH

E. M. WIMPERIS
BIRKET FOSTER

BIRKET FOSTER

T. KENNEDY

E. M. WIMPERIS
HARRISON WEIR

M. A. MADOT

JOHN GILBERT

BIRKET FOSTER

. 176

177 182

. 197

Tailpiece. The grave-yard

.

.

.

And hamlets brown, and dim discovered spires
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Can storied urn, or animated bust
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
Some village-Hampden, that, with dauntless breast
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way
Some frail memorial still erected nigh
On some fond breast the parting soul relies.
His listless length at noontide would he stretch
Slow through the church-way path we saw him
borne

.

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade.
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest
These far-departing, seek a kinder shore.
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill.
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue
To spurn imploring famine from the gate
While resignation gently slopes the way.
The playful children just let loose from school.
All but yon widow'd solitary thing
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

Drawn by

T. KENNEDY

BIRKET FOSTER

BIRKET FOSTER
BIRKET FOSTER

E. V. B..

BIRKET FOSTER
GEORGE THOMAS
GEORGE THOMAS
E. V. B..
GEORGE THOMAS
E. V. B..
BIRKET FOSTER
E. V. B. . .
BIRKET FOSTER

BIRKET FOSTER
E. V. B. . .
H. C. SELOUS
H. C. SELOUS
H. C. SELOUS

T. KENNEDY

T. CRESWICK

T. CRESWICK
C. W. COPE.
H. J. TowNSEND
F. TAYLER

C. STONEHOUSE
J. C. HORSLEY.
F. TAYLER
C. W. COPE
T. CRESWICK

.

T. WEBSTER

325

He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain
The broken soldier kindly bade to stay
Beside the bed where parting life was laid
The village master taught his little school
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
In arguing too the parson own'd his skill

Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore
If to some common's fenceless limit stray'd.
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

T. WEBSTER.
T. WEBSTER.
T. WEBSTER.

J. C. HORSLEY.

Drawn by

.

T. CRESWICK

T. CRESWICK

C. W. COPE.

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green
The good old sire the first prepar'd to go
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail T. CRESWICK
As rocks resist the billows and the sky
And then his enemies began.

They have taken his very heart's blood
Stella's gentle touches.

In every object here I see.

Now see him mounted once again.

“Stop, stop, John Gilpin!—here's the house!" Whereat his horse did snort, as he

The cast-away at sea

.

Yet stay, fair lady: rest awhile

The old shepherd's dog

Wi kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben.
And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request
John Anderson my jo, John

The soldier's return

Soldier's cap and laurel .

Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack
And fondly whispered, "Thou must go to rest!"
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold

T. CRESWICK
BIRKET FOSTER
G. E. HICKS

E. K. JOHNSON
BIRKET FOSTER

GEORGE THOMAS

· 353

GEORGE THOMAS
GEORGE THOMAS

• 357

• 359

The sculptured dead on each side seemed to freeze.
At length burst in the argent revelry

Her maiden eyes divine, fix'd on the floor
Meantime, across the moors, had come young
Porphyro

And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand

He follow'd through a lowly arched way

HARRISON WEIR
BIRKET FOSTER
BIRKET FOSTER
HARRISON WEIR

HARRISON WEIR

"Ah wretch!" said they, "the bird to slay".
As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean
Instead of the cross, the Albatross about my neck)
was hung.

When looking westward I beheld a something in

the sky.

BIRKET FOSTER

480

W. SMALL

491

GEORGE THOMAS
PERCIVAL SKELTON
BIRKET FOSTER
HARRISON WEIR
BIRKET FOSTER

E. H. WEHNERT

E. H. WEHNERT
E. DUNCAN

E. H. WEHNERT
E. H. WEHNERT
E. H. WEHNERT

E. H. WEHNERT.

E. DUNCAN .

When that strange shape drove suddenly betwixt E. DUNCAN .

E. H. WEHNERT

E. H. WEHNERT

E. H. WEHNERT
E. DUNCAN .

E. H. WEHNERT

E. DUNCAN

I heard, and in my soul discerned two voices in E. H. WEHNERT

the air

The moon was high; the dead men stood together
And on the bay the moonlight lay.

I heard them talk, Why, this is strange, I trow!

E. H. WEHNERT
BIRKET FOSTER
E. H. WEHNERT

508