32 MEMOIR OF THOMAS BEWICK. 



through many editions, with and without the letter- 

 press. 



pointed beggar leaving the gate open for the pigs and poul- 

 try to march over the good dame's linen, which she is lay- 

 ing out to dry; the thief who sees devils in every bush a 

 sketch that Hogarth himself might envy; the strayed in- 

 fant standing at the horse's heels, and pulling his tail, 

 while the mother is in an agony flying over the style; the 

 sportsman who has slipped into the torrent; the blind man 

 and boy, unconscious of " Keep on this side ;" arid that 

 best of burlesques on military pomp, the four urchins astride 

 of gravestones for horses, the first blowing a glass trumpet, 

 and the others bedizened in tatters, with rush-caps and 

 wooden swords. 



" Nor must we pass over his sea-side sketches, all inimi- 

 table. The cutter chasing the smuggler is it not evident 

 that they are going at the rate of at least ten knots an hour? 

 The tired gulls sitting on the waves, every curled head of 

 which seems big with mischief. What pruning of plumage, 

 what stalkings, and flappings, and scratchings of the sand, 

 are depicted in that collection of sea-birds on the shore! 

 What desolation is there in that sketch of coast after a 

 storm, with the solitary rock, the ebb-tide, the nrab just 

 venturing out, and the mast of the sunken vessel standing 

 up through the treacherous waters ! What truth and mi- 

 nute nature is in that tide coming in, each wave rolling 

 higher than its predecessor, like a line of conquerors, and 

 pouring in amidst the rocks with increased aggression ! 

 And, last and best, there are his fishing scenes. What 

 angler's heart but beats whenever the pool-fisher, deep in 

 the water, his rod bending almost double with the rush of 

 some tremendous trout or heavy salmon ? Who does not 

 recognize his boyish days in the fellow with the " set rods,'* 

 sheltering himself from the soaking rain behind an ol<J 

 tree ? What fisher has not seen yon " old codger," sitting 

 by the river side, peering over his tackle, and putting on a 

 brandling ? 



