For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. SONGS SENT SOUTH. BY M. M. M. I. My love, beside the southern sea, Tired of the billowy thunder made When the sou'-wester calls so loud, Tired of the glittering long parade, And all the changeful restless crowd. She sees the Grampians' heathery blue, The snow-fed river rushing by, The Ochils, steeped in emerald hue, Kinnoul, dark-stemmed against the sky; And far above, the briar-bush sweet, That only passing airs betray To lovers who, with tardy feet, Are lingering on their homeward way. 'Tis these she loves. O constant hills! I cannot all forsaken be: Something of her from you distils, Some of her heart you give to me. II. Chafed by these swaddling-bands of fate, One day stands out o'er other days In vision of the "might have been: " The vision flies, the hard world stays, And rears its wall of brass between. They two had climbed the mountain's brow Higher than morning mists have birth : Life seemed one endless wondrous now; They were alone in all the earth. Above them but the solemn blue Whose hush of noon no motion stirred, And as their hearts together grew Between them was no need of word. And thou wast there, poor heart! Thine own Beats feared to break the silence through; So darkly deep her eyes had grown, So strong the spell her presence threw. Her thoughts were far away from thee, IV. The long June sun could hardly bear To leave the north he loves so well: All night the soft glow hovered there As of his swift return to tell. But now he hurries down the sky Spring will return; but if she stays, And yet such hope is in the air, Such stir of promise in the trees; "The world's year has its June of mirth, AYSGARTH. WHERE Aysgarth's arch spans Ure's resplendent river, Where down the rock the shining cataract leaps, And flashing from between its marble steeps, From ledge to ledge the silver lightnings shiver, I gaze, o'erwhelmed with stress of joyous thought, And backward trace the path of those sweet forces Which, from their home among the far hill sources, This tumbling wealth of beauty here have brought. Ravine-born, mid the many-chasmed moun tains, A thousand brooklets trickle into life, Mingling their myriad murmurs in sweet strife, And fill the constant stream from lonely fountains. So spring thy truest peace and holiest power, From The Month. RICHARD DOYLE, PAINTER AND HUMORIST. is not found in one in a million, gifted with an artistic skill which will secure an immortality for the works of his pencil, Richard Doyle was still more notably than any of these, a man whom no attractions of gain or honor would induce to deviate a hair's breadth from his lofty principle; a Christian who carried his religion with him unobtrusively, but none the less really, into every scene and every com pany; a Catholic faithful to his religion with all the faithfulness of his loyal heart, and ready to make any sacrifices rather than even appear to throw in his lot with those who ridiculed or misrepresented it. Such a man ought not to pass unnoticed in the pages of a Catholic magazine. Wherever English is spoken, the inimitable sketches of his pencil are familiar to the readers of the works of Thackeray and Dickens. If his water-colors are less widely known, it is not that they are at all IT is a happy thing for mankind that God has different vocations and widely varying careers, to be allotted to men according to their varying characters and dispositions. It would be a great misfortune if none were called to the peaceful retirement of the cloister. It would be a greater misfortune still if he counted his faithful servants only among those who devoted themselves to what is called a life in religion, for then outside the monastic and conventual walls there would be nothing but a barren desert, rank with vile weeds and poisonous herbage, whereas now there bloom in the world's wilderness sweetly scented flowers which make the name of wilderness almost unsuitable. The world is rather a garden, overgrown indeed with many a weed and bramble, but yet flowering here and there with flowers, often unnoticed, often hid-inferior in merit to his pen and ink den, often trodden down, but yet, in spite sketches, but that the latter were essenof all, always loved, always honored, tially popular, suited to the popular taste, always cherished by those who know and spread throughout the English-speakthem best. Wherever they grow, what-ing world through the medium of a popuever the path of life that they adorn, they lar periodical and the writings of popular seem to breathe an atmosphere of fra- novelists, whereas a painter has necessagrance and to dispel the noxious odors rily a smaller public, at least until many of the weeds around; and when they long years have elapsed. But some at have been gathered by the Master to least of our readers have admired on the deck the garden where all are flowers of walls of the Grosvenor Gallery his sylvan beauty and not a weed can be found, they scenes and their fairy occupants, or have leave behind them the sweet perfume of seen them in private houses for whose their virtues. Even those who ridicule owners they were painted. It is through them during life, when they hear of the his talent (though not through his alone, death of one of these chivalrous servants since Leech and Tenniel among his con of God, know in their secret hearts that temporaries, to say nothing of those who one is gone whose standard was different have come after him, must share his laufrom their own, and to whom they were rels) that the illustrations in the represencompelled to look up by reason of their tative journal of English humor are of instinctive consciousness that he was alto- their kind unequalled in the world. gether superior to themselves. Who has not laughed and laughed again over the "Manners and Customs of the English in the Nineteenth Century," over the "Adventures of Brown, Jones, and Robinson," over "Mr. Pepys' Modern Diary," and above all, over that inimitable picture of a "Christian gentleman denouncing ye Pope," in which each face deserves a careful study, and tells the tale of bigotry, prejudice, and gaping cre. There has lately passed away one who, amid the world's turmoil, never failed to raise the moral and religious standard of the society in which he lived. In the world, but not of it, possessed of talents which gave him the first place in his own special line of art, a favorite everywhere, possessed of an intensity of humor and an appreciation of the grotesque such as dulity which has made Exeter Hall a by- | helped to give to his genius its special word among men ? Richard Doyle's life was not an eventful one. He was born in London in September, 1824, and was the son of Mr. John Doyle, the political caricaturist, whose sketches, under the signature of "H. B," exhibit a talent not less remarkable than that of his gifted son.* Dicky never went to school: in his childish days a governess, in his boyhood and early youth a tutor, came every day to his father's house. Almost from infancy his talent began to show itself, as well as his kind heart and religious nature. There is still extant a little sketch of the Crucifixion which he drew to console his governess for some passing disappointment in her prospects. The absence of school training had not on Dicky's character that enervating effect that we sometimes witness; on the contrary, it seems to have been a real benefit to him. It did much to preserve in him that domestic sweetness, that simplicity and innocence of heart which was one of his greatest graces before God and man. But he was no spoilt child: a boy who grows up with brothers and sisters around him is rarely spoilt. Besides, his father devoted himself from the first to the careful training of his children. Every Sunday they had to write a letter to him detailing all the little events of the week and the work they had been doing. When Dicky, like most children, had not much to tell, he would cover the sheet with fantastic designs, crude, of course, and childish, but full of promise for the future. It was from his father that he not only inherited his artistic talent, but received, and that almost exclusively, his artistic training. Mr. Doyle would not allow him to draw from models - his plan was to teach the boy to observe with watchful eye the leading features of the object before him, and then some little time after reproduce them from memory as nearly as he could. It was this method of education which "Whoever H. B.' is, he is a man of great genius, and has an instinct for expression and power of draw ing without academical cant, that I never saw before." (Extract from the Journal of R. B. Haydon, quoted in his Life by Tom Taylor, vol. ii., p. 292.) characteristics; it nurtured side by side those apparently incompatible qualities, accuracy and the play of fancy, and both of these are prominent in all that he drew or painted. He had no regular training in academy or school of art; he painted in the studio of no master save his father; and it is curious to see how his genius overleapt what would have been serious disadvantages to an ordinary man. Like Horace's philosopher, he was literally nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri. He attached himself to no school; he was not familiar, strange to say, with the mas terpieces of foreign artists. He had never been in Paris, or Rome, or Vienna. No one owed less than he did to those who had gone before him; and if this rendered his works less elaborate and conventional, it gave them a freshness and originality which might have been hampered if he had been forced into conformity with the accepted canons of the professional studio. It has been said of him that he had no models, no masters, and belonged to no school of art. All this is true, but all things around were his models, his own genius was his master, and nature's school of art was enough for him. Yet we cannot say he was self-taught. Through all his early years he was guided and trained by his father with wise and judicious care, besides the aid and instruction derived from a young artist rather older than himself, who used often to accompany him on long suburban and country rambles, in which the object was to train the eye and develop the love of nature's beauty. Richard Doyle's first work was the "Eglinton Tournament, or the Days of Chivalry Revived," published when he was only fifteen years old. Young though he was, it is eminently characteristic of the special bent of his genius. There is a dashing boldness in it which is one of the advantages that we often see in the works of youth as compared with those of later age. There is an ignoring of diffi• culties of which men often become painfully conscious after the hard lessons that experience is wont to teach. There is the courageous hopefulness of youth and the absence of self-criticism and its twin brother discouragement. Three years frequently his work. Perhaps the best later he produced a somewhat similar work, but one in which his talent had greatly developed itself. It is called "A Grand Historical, Allegorical, and Classical Procession," and combines into a humorous pageant a curious medley of men and women who played a prominent part on the world's stage, bringing out into good-humored relief the characteristic peculiarities of each. known of all is the Political Sea Serpent of 1848, Revolution suddenly appearing above the surface of the sea, and upsetting one after another the cockle-shell boats in which the various European monarchs are sailing o'er the main. The picture was drawn in the early part of the year, before the Roman revolution, and the holy father is still riding safely unharmed by the monster which is working havoc in France and Germany and Austria and Spain. England of course shares this political security, and is loyal to her queen. Other cartoons of note were, Louis Philippe as the Napoleon of Peace; Disraeli as Gulliver, inspected by the Brobdignag statesmen, Robert Peel, and Sir James Graham; Cobden, with long strides, hurrying Peel along the road of Reform, while the pupil is scarcely able to keep up with his master's steps. In 1843, when he was only nineteen, he was asked to be regular contributor to Punch, a great compliment to one who was a mere boy. Mark Lemon, who was by origin a Jew, a man of generous heart and liberal mind, was then editor, and the young recruit was set to work first of all on a set of theatrical sketches. But the managers of Punch soon found that it was wiser to give his genius freer play. He was allowed to choose his own subjects. Initial letters the most fantastic, tail-pieces the most quaint, pictorial head ings the most humorous for poem or paragraph, were produced with astonishing rapidity and fertility of design. We remember one of these early pieces in which Punch as Orpheus is surrounded by the animals entranced by his music. Each country of Europe is represented by the animal which symbolizes it, and the expression on some of their faces is inimitable. Most prominent of all, the British Lion, with his tongue out and his eyes half shut, lying at Punch's feet, is a picture of indolent, good-natured, self-satisfied strength. Before Doyle's time the cover of Punch had varied each half-year, as our readers will see if they refer to the earlier volumes, but when his master hand had drawn a design, it was agreed that henceforward it should always remain unaltered. Half a year after his first design some modifications indeed were intro-er's friends and fellow-artists took up his duced into it, but substantially it remained the same. Since then no sort of change has been made in it. It has been stereotyped more than once, and the readers of Punch at the present day have before them, as a familiar monument of his talent, identically the same frontispiece that Doyle designed for them. After the first year or two the large cartoons were very One characteristic of all Mr. Doyle's pictures is the absence of any sort of bitter ridicule of authority. He was most intensely loyal, and did not at all approve of some of the liberties Punch from time to time took in pictures of her Majesty. Douglas Jerrold now became one of the chief contributors to Punch, and it was not likely that a man with his radical opinions would show any great spirit of reverence for the throne. Doyle's influence was always used to prevent any sort of disrespect to the queen, and in his eyes the shadow of the reverence due to her fell also to some extent over the prince consort. He was sadly offended at one or two of the pictures which threw ridi. cule on the prince's doings, and protested more than once. There was a certain cartoon in Buckingham Palace, by a celebrated figure-painter, which Prince Albert did not like and had removed. The paint defence, and the prince's action was severely criticised, and attributed to ignorance and to the want of appreciation of high art. There was an article in Punch, in which the prince was attacked on this subject. Doyle did not like this, and persuaded Thackeray, who was one of the most prominent writers in Punch at the time, and was himself a trained artist, to |