If we mistake not, his immortality and fame is in
the woodcuts that accompany his History of
British Birds. To be sure his golden eagle is
a fine fellow; his wren is a nice little bobbing
bird; his peacock has almost colour in the eyes
of his tail; his swan, and, above all, his scaupduck,
breasts the waters proudly. Doubtless,
also, Bewick's text, though not equal to the
writing of White of Selborne, shows the lover
of nature; and, when odd birds have come into
our garden, we have looked them up successfully
in Bewick, and have got knowledge about them;
but it is not on these accounts that we value
our large-copy .two-volumed edition of the birds,
1797-1804, first edition, with the wicked piece
of humour in it, which was decently modified after
a few copies had been drawn, and which is dear
to a Bibliolater as proving the first edition. We
value our Bewick because nowhere else do we find
within the compass of two volumes such a full
and quaint pictorial exhibition of a lively fancy,
of a half-mournful satiric vein, of an acquaintance
with nature; such vivid proofs that the
artist has been on many a lonely moor, has leant
his ear in many a solitary place, has watched
the wild, the farm-house, the snow-storm, the
wimpling brook, and the ocean, at hours when
no eye but his was watching; has caught animal
motion and passion in the act of moving and
feeling, and has struck such a rapid diapason of
human life from infancy to age, that to call him
poet were not to exaggerate his achievements.
So much for the individuality of performance
which seems necessary to secure a man a niche
in the temple of fame. But Bewick has a hold
yet dearer than admiration on our personal
regard. He has a place in our affections. These
two volumes of his are the same that lay on
our father's study-table; volumes to which we
children—as sundry spots of ink, and one or two
birds daubed with colour do testify— had access
at leisure hours. What delicious winter evenings,
now for ever gone! What knowledge,
imbibed at a period when knowledge is stamped
for ever on the mind—what glee, at a time when
life is gleesome—what wonderment, what images
of things half fearful, what utter novelty of
impression, are gathered for us within the dark
morocco covers of those two books. Books?
They are to us more than books! They are
part and parcel of ourself. Since the days when
they were published, wood-engraving, of which
Bewick was the Captain Cook, has made voyages
more intricate; but though Bewick's woodcuts
cannot, like some of our time, be mistaken for
steel engravings, their spirit and character,
remain unapproached; and, so far from thinking
as we look at them, that our childish judgments
erred through partiality, we build on the very
power which took us captive at an impressionable
age, the truth, the poetry of Bewick. Is not
the genius which charms a child, genius indeed?

Let us review some of the most rememberable
of those delineations. At page 57, vol. i., at
the bottom of the text, there is the belated
traveller, going home with bag on back, and
stick in hand, who recoils from the ugsome
devils and long-necked monsters which the moon
creates out of the trees and bushes before him.
One very ugsome devil with goggling eyes, seems
to hold up frightful claws, to bar the traveller's
way. And how well the man's whole attitude
expresses doubt, perplexity, examination! His
head peeps forward, his stick is ready to be
raised. One sees that he does not quite believe in
the reality of the visions, and does not decide
whether they be robbers, or demons, or mere air. Here,
as in many others of Bewick's little drawings,
the small space of a vignette appears, by management,
to serve for the camera of a large picture.

Now come our favourite urchins, who have
just built up on a gigantic scale, a snow-man,
with a superb wig of snow, and a real pipe in
his mouth. One of the boys, chief artist we take
it, is intently giving, from the elevation of a
stool, the finishing touch to a part of the figure;
two others, clever at foundations, are with sticks
heaping up blocks of snow round the snow-man's
base, while two more— one blowing his fingers
to warm them: the other with folded arms, like
a connoisseur, oblivious of cold— are taking
different views of the superb achievement. Fields
and a hill, covered with snow, lie beyond; and;
before a snow-roofed cottage to the right, stands
at gaze, a horse, whose neck and head admirably
express that the white giant startles him.

A capital tail-piece shows four boys in a cart—
in which they manifestly have no business to be—
hurled alorng by a runaway horse with the reins
on his neck. A fifth boy lies just tumbled out
on the ground, behind the cart. A barking dog
snaps at the horse and aggravates his speed.
The history is plain. The man who runs from
the little inn behind, is a butcher, and master of
the cart, horse, and dog. He had left the cart
at the door, while he went into the public— only
fastening the reins to the saddle; the boys had
got into the cart with a row, the unusual weight
and hubbub had set off the horse, and the weakest
boy had tumbled out behind. The woman in
the distance, who lifts up her arms in horror,
is the mother of some of the tribe. Each
countenance of the four boys in the cart has a
different expression of alarm. One is especially
good. The urchin is not bellowing like the
others, but is looking careful, as if by clutching
the cart he should be able to stop the horse.
A huckster on horseback, with panniers (page 9,
vol. ii.), crossing a brook, whose hat is about to
be pulled off by the string of a kite, which a
boy and two others behind him are tugging at—
probably just to effect that object— is also a
good tail-piece. The horseman evidently thinks
it is the wind which attacks his hat, for everything
denotes a windy day. One boy holds his
hat on his head: another, whose hair is blown
about, in his hand. There is no need to
particularise more of the vignettes in which boys and
girls play a part; but the student who wishes
to estimate Bewick's powers, will find in The
Birds plenty of cheerful representations of little
troops of children sailing tiny ships on forest
pools, or engaged in pranks of broad fun which
have in them as much mischief as merriment.