Between whiles he painted subjects which were not borrowed from ancient history, illustrating the friendship between man and dog, as Landseer had done before him. For instance, in "His Only Friend" there is a poor lad who has broken down at the last milestone before the town and is guarded by his dog. In "Old Playfellows," again, one of the playmates is a child, who is sick and leans back quietly in an armchair covered with cushions. His friend the great dog has one paw resting on the child's lap, and looks up with a pensive expression, such as Landseer alone had previously painted. But in this style he reached his highest point in "Sympathy." No work of Briton-Rivière's has become more popular than this picture of the little maiden who has forgotten her key and is sitting helpless before the house-door, consoled by the dog who has laid his head upon her shoulder. [Illustration: _Scribner._ ALBERT MOORE. YELLOW MARGUERITES. (_By permission of W. Connal, Esq., the owner of the picture._)] Since the days of Reynolds English art has shown a most vivid originality in such representations of children. English picture-books for children are in these days the most beautiful in the world, and the marvellous fairy-tales and fireside stories of _Randolph Caldecott_ and _Kate Greenaway_ have made their way throughout the whole Continent. How well these English draughtsmen know the secret of combining truth with the most exquisite grace! How touching are these pretty babies, how angelically innocent these little maidens! Frank eyes, blue as the flowers of the periwinkle, gaze at you with no thought of their being looked at in return. The naïve astonishment of the little ones, their frightened mien, their earnest look absently fixed upon the sky, the first tottering steps of a tiny child and the mobile grace of a schoolgirl, all are rendered in these prints with the most tender intimacy of feeling. And united with this there is a delicate and entirely modern sentiment for scenery, for the fascination of bare autumn landscapes robbed of their foliage, for sunbeams and the budding fragrance of spring. Everything is idyllic, poetic, and touched by a congenial breath of tender melancholy. [Illustration: _Scribner._ ALBERT MOORE. WAITING TO CROSS. (_By permission of Lord Davey, the owner of the picture._)]