extended the capacity of the wood-engraver’s art for the suggestion of colour, showing how far more pliable it may be in the hands of the artist who cuts his own designs and gives his imagination play upon the block. It was through the wood-engraver’s art, too, that, contemporary with Blake, yet beginning earlier than he to handle the block, another man of genius stamped himself on the history of English book-illustration, and exerted an extraordinary influence. Indeed, in the hands of Thomas Bewick the craft of wood-engraving awakened from a moribund condition to new life, invigorated by his revival of the “white line,” used in a pictorial way of his own, to serve the illustrator’s art through many a year and one glorious decade, while Bewick’s inimitable vignettes and tail-pieces gave English book-illustration fresh inspiration in the direction of original fancy. And Bewick’s influence was splendidly transmitted through his gifted disciples and followers, Luke Clennell, William Harvey, and W. J. Linton. But book-illustration about the end of the eighteenth century and the earlier years of the nineteenth had at its service reproductive methods other than wood-engraving and the graven line. Innumerable books were published with pictorial plates in coloured aquatint and etched outlines, for the most part of merely topographical interest, and therefore scarcely illustrations in the strictly artistic acceptance of the term; yet it was through this medium that the illustrative genius of Rowlandson was reproduced. Notably in his famous “Tours of Dr. Syntax,” he represented a phase of book-illustration the influence of which in more recent times we may trace in the delightful work of Randolph Caldecott. One does not think of Turner strictly as an illustrator, although countless books were “embellished” with his exquisite landscape drawings and vignettes, translated to a nicety of reproductive art by a remarkable school of line-engravers on copper and steel, trained by the great artist himself to mix the etched with the graven line in a manner never previously imagined. Glorious as he was in interpreting his own visions, when Turner set himself to illustrate another man’s poems, such as Campbell’s “Lord Ullin’s Daughter,” or “The Soldier’s Dream,” or “The Last Man,” one can hardly regard his vignettes as impressive illustration. But the Turner-illustrated book loomed large in its day, and that was not yet the day of any distinguished ideal of interpretative and decorative illustration, Blake’s remaining still unique.