A RANDOM SHOT. 33 



are always to be found in the wake of lucky adventurers, looking out for any share of 

 the spoil which chance or flattery may bring within their grasp." 



Another picture of that year was Sir Edwin's portrait of his venerable father, to 

 which allusion has already been made. Of the three remaining subjects, by far the 

 most important was " A Random Shot," which bore as its motto the following lines : — 



" Full many a shot, at random sent, 

 Finds mark the archer little meant ; 

 And many a word at random spoken 

 May hurt or heal a heart that's broken." 



The impression conveyed to the mind of the spectator who examines this picture is 

 unmitigated pain — all the greater because of the consummate skill with which the 

 artist has wrought out the subject, adding horror to horror. A dead hind lying in the 

 rich purple heather would be a sad sight to witness ; but, as we find it here, lying in 

 the deep snow, is an aggravation of suffering, especially in conjunction with what else 

 the canvas shows. A writer in one of the public journals of the date of its exhibition 

 made these remarks: — "Landseer is the Sterne of his art; he moves us towards his 

 poor dead hind as Sterne did towards his dead ass. The fables, in which animals are 

 actors, pronouncing human sentiments, whence are deduced ethic lessons, are dwelt 

 upon only by the head, apart from every emotion. To move the soul something more 

 than fable is necessary ; it is that truth which touches the heart through a community 

 of feeling with the animal. The ' Random Shot ' has stricken a hind, which has by 

 her side a sucking fawn ; the scene is in the Highlands ; it is winter, and the hills are 

 covered with snow. The wounded deer has ascended the mountain-side until she has 

 fallen dead, her footmarks being printed in the snow with the blood that has trickled 

 down her fore-leg from the wound. The fawn, as shown on the snow, has walked 

 many times round her dead mother, and is now seen attempting to suck. Of the two 

 animals, all that can be said of them is, they are painted in the very best style of the 

 artist. The tongue protrudes from the mouth of the deer, and we just see her eye, 

 having on it the dull glaze of death. The snow is coloured with the beautiful pink 

 and purple hues it assumes on the mountains at sunset ; indeed, in every most minute 

 circumstance, the narrative is most scrupulous. The picture is, however, liable to the 

 very serious objection of causing intense pain to the beholder : real life has sorrows 

 enough in store for even the most fortunate, without giving to us those arising from 

 fiction. It is not in paintings as it is in books : the sufferings we endure from the one 

 are transient, while those which result from the other must be continuous; for a 

 picture must be continually in sight." 



It is no morbid sensibility that would turn away from this picture ; whoever is its 

 owner cannot, it may fairly be presumed, find any real pleasure in contemplating it, 



K 



