THE ZooLocist—SEPTEMBER, 1872. 3199 
life. I can readily imagine that not to know the painter argues 
myself unknown; but, nevertheless, Iam bound to confess that 
when I found that a Mr. Davis was the artist, I felt myself infinitely 
humbled by my entire ignorance of the name. Here is a painter 
displaying perfect mastery of his subject, consummate skill in 
manipulation, wonderful knowledge, great taste in arrangement; a 
painter who rivals Rosa Bonheur, who challenges our own Ward 
or Paul Potter himself on their own ground, and even gives them 
odds,—for their bulls are quiescent, and his bull is “ rampageous;” * 
who paints motion; who represents cattle in their wildest and 
most turbulent mood;—and yet whose name as a painter I had 
never heard. That white animal galloping in front is a triumph of 
art, a triumph over the greatest difficulty with which a painter has 
to contend. I use the word “animal” advisedly, as I observe my 
brother critics call it a bull, a designation in which I cannot 
concur; but there ¢s a bull in the picture, exuberant in health and 
strength, and vitality and power, and such a bull as one would not 
wish to meet in a narrow lane. Perhaps, however, the head of 
the red cow, in the right-hand lower corner of the picture, is the 
greatest success. Here the artist brings us face to face with his 
handy-work, and challenges criticism: “ Examine it closely,” says 
he; “I am perfectly aware it is a violation of your laws; it is, 
indeed, an exact transcript of Nature; but I trust to my skill; I 
trust that when you see the result of the transgression you will 
condone the offence: as Ipperides trusted to the effect of Phryne’s 
beauty on her judges for absolution of her crime, so do I appeal to 
the merits of my picture for your forgiveness.” And here, having 
incidentally entered the domain of sculpture, let me notice 
No. 1409, Trotting Bull, by Mr. Davis, evincing powers as a - 
sculptor equal to those he has displayed as a painter. 
I turn to “ Daniel,” by Breton Riviére, No. 539; and let me 
observe, in the first place, that there is something very happy in 
the title of the picture. Only a man of first-rate taste and ability 
would have trusted to this one word, and yet how ample, how 
satisfying is that word; how effectually would the title have been 
vulgarised by adding “in the lion’s den.” Most of my readers will 
recollect “Circe,” by the same painter, last year; and it is 
delightful to contrast these two great paintings, as restored by 
memory now that the realities are withdrawn, and in all probability 
* Dickens, ‘ Great Expectations.’ 
