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, whose real name was John Thom, was undoubtedly mad. He never could have found followers, except amongst the most degraded and ignorant; and it is hoped he did better service to his countrymen than he ever dreamt of by drawing attention to the dreadful evils arising from the want of education among the rural population. Most of his followers could neither read nor write, and were so totally unacquainted with the simplest truths of Christianity that they believed him when he asserted that he was Gideon, Samson, and Jesus Christ all in one, and that he had descended from heaven to redress the wrongs of the poor, but more especially to reduce the price of bread!

"Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage."

Mr. Knight died at Addlestone, Surrey, March 9, 1873, and was buried in his native town of Windsor. A marble bust of him was placed by public subscription in the Council Chamber of that town, and two scholarships, bearing his name, were founded in the school of the Stationers' Company. It was well said of Charles Knight on the occasion of unveiling his bust at Windsor, that he set out in life with the desire to make knowledge a common possession instead of an exclusive privilege. He laboured for the good of his fellow-men rather than for the rewards of fame or fortune, and no man was more worthy of honour for his public services and his private virtues. The last time I saw him was at the grave of an old friend of his and mine; and as I recall the remembrance of his grey hair tossed in the wintry wind, I adopt in all seriousness what Douglas Jerrold said in jest, that two words would suffice for his epitaph--'good Knight.'

'Satire should, like a polished razor keen, Wound with a touch that's hardly felt or seen;'

FOOTNOTES:

The other advertisement referred to is of an entirely different character, being addressed to the commercial world:--

The first volume ends with the year 1842, and it has for a frontispiece a large view of London, a title-page drawn by Gilbert, and headings to preface and index by Kenny Meadows. The preface is written in the florid style of the introductory address in the first number; but the following passage refers, not inappropriately, to the value and interest of the work to the future historian:--

At the end of the preface is printed the following 'Dedicatory Sonnet:'--

In the following year was commenced a series of 'Parliamentary Portraits,' one of which I have selected to accompany the portrait of Lord John Russell. It is that of Mr. Disraeli, and it will perhaps interest the reader to compare the present estimate of Lord Beaconsfield with what was said of Mr. Disraeli in 1844. The following is a portion of the article which accompanies the portrait:--'The most remarkable speeches in the recent debates have been those of Mr. Disraeli, the Member for Shrewsbury. He has lately made himself more prominent in the sphere of literature and politics as the expounder of the views and opinions of that section of the Conservative party which has received the name of "Young England." His opinions however are too peculiar, have too much individuality ever to become those of a party. We scarcely think "Young England" capable of holding as points of belief the startling paradoxes to which Mr. Disraeli occasionally gives utterance. His speeches abound with happily turned sentences, in which a clever sarcasm is thrown into the antithetical form; they also contain a large amount of historical information, on which he draws almost as often as Macaulay himself. He rarely announces a positively new principle, but he often places old ones in a strange and startling light, and states the most extraordinary inconsistencies with an air of such perfect earnestness and conviction that his auditors are sometimes puzzled whether to admire or laugh at him. But he is not one of those men who can be laughed at; we have seen him turn the laugh most sorely against those who thought themselves securely trenched behind form and precedent. He can hit hard, and none have suffered more from his sarcasm than the present Premier and the Home Secretary. He seems to mangle them with peculiar gusto, and deals with them as if he was annihilating the Tadpole or Taper of his own "Coningsby." His speeches have not much metaphor, nor does he indulge in rhetorical glitter and ornament; we cannot call him impassioned, nor say he is eloquent; but he interests, informs, and amuses. A speech from Disraeli is sure to command attention. His manner is not calculated to set off his matter to the best advantage. His delivery is heavy, and of action he has none whatever. He thrusts his hands deep into his side-pockets, leans forward a little, or turns from side to side according to whom he may be addressing. But that is all. Though he sets the House cheering or laughing for minutes together, his countenance remains impassive; he says a good thing as if perfectly unconscious of it.'

The paper rapidly advanced in public favour and soon reached a circulation of 66,000. It celebrated the completion of the first year of its existence by the publication of a double number, profusely illustrated by Gilbert, Harvey, and Kenny Meadows.

In three years more the dreams of universal peace created by the Great Exhibition were rudely swept away by the declaration of war with Russia and subsequent invasion of the Crimea. The long and disastrous siege of Sebastopol, the assaults on the Redan and the Malakoff, the battles of Balaclava and Inkermann, supplied the most exciting subjects for illustration. It was the first great war since Waterloo, and the national excitement being intensified by the maladministration of the Government, the British public eagerly bought the war sketches. The sale of the paper at this time was very great, yet it is a curious fact that it never reached so high a figure as during the peaceful exhibition of 1851,--a proof that, after all, the arts of peace are more attractive than the excitement of war.

All the countries of Europe, the United States, some of the cities of South America, the Colonies of Canada and Australia, have now their illustrated newspapers. Some of them supplement their own productions by reproducing the engravings from the English papers, and many have attained a high degree of artistic merit. The American journals are especially noteworthy for their excellent engravings.

How an Illustrated Newspaper is Produced--Wood-engraving--Boxwood--Blocks for Illustrated Newspapers--Rapid Sketching--Drawing on the Block--Method of Dividing the Block for Engraving--Electrotyping--Development of the Printing Machine--Printing Woodcuts--Machinery for Folding Newspapers--Special Artists--Their Dangers and Difficulties--Their Adventures in War and Peace.

The material used for wood-engraving is box-wood, which is preferred to all other kinds of wood on account of its close grain, hardness, and light colour. It admits of finer and sharper lines being cut upon it than any other wood, and great quantities are consumed in producing the engravings of an illustrated newspaper. According to Mr. J. R. Jackson, Curator of the Kew Museum, the box-tree is at the present time widely distributed through Europe and Asia, being found abundantly in Italy, Spain, Southern France, and on the coast of the Black Sea, as well as China, Japan, Northern India, and Persia. The box of English growth is so small as to be almost useless for commercial purposes. What is called Turkey box-wood is the best, and this is all obtained from the forests that grow on the Caucasus, and is chiefly shipped at Poti and Rostoff. The forests extend from thirty to a hundred and eighty miles inland, but many of them are in the hands of the Russian Government and are closed to commerce. Within the last few years a supply of box-wood has been obtained from the forests in the neighbourhood of the Caspian Sea; but Turkey box is becoming dearer every year and inferior in quality. After the wood is cut in the forest, it is brought down on horseback to the nearest river, put on board flat-bottom boats, and floated down to the port of shipment. It arrives in this country either at Liverpool or London, chiefly the former, and is usually in logs about four feet long and eight or ten inches across.

For the production of a pictorial newspaper a large staff of draughtsmen and engravers is required, who must be ready at a moment's notice to take up any subject, and, if necessary, work day and night until it is done. The artist who supplies the sketch has acquired by long practice a rapid method of working, and can, by a few strokes of his pencil, indicate a passing scene by a kind of pictorial shorthand, which is afterwards translated and extended in the finished drawing. The sketch being completed on paper, the services of the draughtsman on wood come into requisition, for it is not often that the drawing on the block is made by the same person who supplies the sketch. Sometimes the sketch to be dealt with is the production of an amateur, or is so hastily or indifferently done that it has to be remodelled or rearranged in drawing it on the wood. Faulty or objectionable portions have to be left out or subdued, and perhaps a point in the sketch that is quite subordinate, is brought forward and made to form a prominent part of the picture. All this has to be done without doing violence to the general truth of the representation, and with due consideration for the particular conditions of the moment, such as the amount of finish and distribution of light and shade suitable for rapid engraving and printing.

Though this system of subdividing the engraving effects a great saving of time, it must be admitted that it does not always result in the production of a first-rate work of art as a whole. For, supposing the subject to be a landscape with a good stretch of trees, the two or three engravers who have the trees to engrave have, perhaps, each a different method of rendering foliage; and when the whole is completed, and the different pieces are put together, the trees perhaps appear like a piece of patchwork, with a distinct edge to each man's work. To harmonise and dovetail these different pieces of work is the task of the superintending artist, who retouches the first proof of the engraving and endeavours to blend together the differences of colour and texture. This is often no easy task, for the press is generally waiting, and the time that is left for such work is often reduced to minutes where hours would scarcely suffice to accomplish all that might be done. Or the block to be engraved may be a marine subject, with a stormy sea. In this case, like the landscape, two or three engravers may be employed upon the water, each of them having a different way of representing that element. Here it is even more difficult than in the landscape to blend the conflicting pieces of work, and requires an amount of 'knocking about' that sometimes astonishes the original artist. All this is the necessary result of the hurry in which the greater part of newspaper engravings have to be produced. When the conditions are more favourable better things are successfully attempted, and of this the illustrated newspapers of the day have given abundant proofs.

It is obvious that when a block is divided and the parts are distributed in various hands, if any accident should occur to one part the whole block is jeopardised. It is much to the credit of the fraternity of engravers that this rarely or ever happens. I only remember one instance of a failure of this kind within my own experience. An engraver of decidedly Bohemian character, after a hard night's work on the tenth part of a page block, thought fit to recruit himself with a cheering cup. In the exhilaration that followed he lost the piece of work upon which he had been engaged, and thereby rendered useless the efforts of himself and his nine compatriots.

When the block is finished the parts are screwed together by means of the brass bolts and nuts at the back of the block. It is then delivered to the electrotyper, who first takes a mould of the block in wax, which mould is then covered with a thin coating of blacklead, that being a good conductor of electricity. The mould is then suspended by a brass rod in a large bath filled with a solution of sulphate of copper and sulphuric acid. A strong current of electricity, obtained from a dynamo-electric machine close at hand, is conducted to the wax mould in the bath and also to a sheet of copper which is placed near the mould. The electricity decomposes the copper and deposits it in small particles on the mould, on which a thin coating of copper is gradually formed, producing an exact facsimile of the original engraved block. This copper reproduction of the woodcut is filled in at the back with metal, mounted on wood, and is then ready for the printer, who has his 'overlays' all ready, and the business of printing begins.

In these days of electric telegraphy Puck's notion of putting 'a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes' is not so very far from being realised. The London citizen as he sips his coffee at his villa in the suburbs runs his eye over the pages of his morning paper, and reads of events that took place yesterday many thousand miles away. Before he starts for business he is informed of what is passing on every side of the inhabited earth. This rapid transmission of intelligence is somewhat damaging to the illustrated newspaper, for by the time it can publish sketches of interesting events in far distant countries the freshness of the news is gone, and the public mind is occupied with later occurrences. Until some method is invented of sending sketches by electricity the pictorial press must endure this disadvantage, but in the meantime it spares no pains to overtake the march of events. Wherever there is any 'moving accident by flood or field' the 'special artist' of the illustrated newspaper is found 'takin' notes.' No event of interest escapes his ever ready pencil. He undergoes fatigues, overcomes formidable difficulties, and often incurs personal danger in fulfilling his mission. On the eve of a battle he will sleep on the bare ground wrapped in a blanket or waterproof sheet, and he will ride all night through a hostile country to catch the homeward mail. He is equally at home in the palace and the hovel, and is as ready to attend a battle as a banquet. He thought nothing of stepping over to China to attend the nuptials of the celestial Emperor; and on that occasion extended his travels until he had completed the circuit of the globe, winding up with a run on the war-path among the American Indians. He assisted at the laying of the telegraph cable between Europe and America, and diversified his labours, and showed the versatility of his powers by taking part in an impromptu dramatic entertainment which he and his comrades got up for the occasion, and which they appropriately called 'A Cable-istic Extravaganza.' He was at the opening of the Suez Canal, and he passed with the first railway train through the Mont Cenis tunnel. In pursuing his vocation the special artist has to encounter the perils of earth, air, fire, and water. Now he is up in a balloon, now down in a coal-mine; now shooting tigers in India, now deer-stalking in the Highlands. Dr. Schliemann no sooner announced that he had discovered the site of Troy than the special artist was down upon the spot at once. He is found risking his life in the passes of Afghanistan, and in Zululand assisting at the defeat and capture of Cetywayo. Now he is at the bombardment of Alexandria, and now facing the savage warriors of the Soudan at El-Teb and Tamasi. At the present time , he is on his way up the Nile with the expedition for the relief of General Gordon at Khartoum, and he is in India with the Boundary Commissioners exploring the dangerous passes of the Afghan frontier. In peace or war the special artist pursues his purpose with stoical self-possession in spite of cold, hunger, and fatigue.

The following extract from a letter I received from a special artist during the war, will give some idea of the trouble and danger of sketching:--

The same artist who made his sketches into pills, being at Bremerhafen, found himself so watched and dogged by the police and others who had observed he was a stranger, that he could not make the sketch he wanted. After much walking about he at length returned to the place where he desired to sketch, and sitting down at the edge of the harbour he began to draw lines with his umbrella on the mud, as if in a fit of abstraction, and soon had sketched in this way the principal points of the scene before him. This he repeated several times, until the view was fixed in his memory, when he retired to the railway-station, and there, unobserved, committed the scene to his sketch-book. On another occasion, in the neighbourhood of Mezi?res, he was driven at nightfall to seek a lodging in a very lonely and villainous looking inn. The occupants of the place looked upon him with evil eyes, and dreading lest one more should be added to the numerous graves already near the cabaret, he betook himself to a neighbouring wood, where he spent the whole night surrounded by the carcases of dead horses. At Lyons he penetrated into the theatre where the people were storing corn and flour in anticipation of a siege. He had made some hasty notes in his sketch-book, when he was observed and obliged to retreat, followed, however, by several men. He had noticed an umbrella shop round the corner in the next street, and into this shop he rushed, seized an umbrella, opened it, and kept it expanded between himself and the door, as if examining the quality of the silk, while his pursuers ran past, when he demanded the price of the umbrella, paid the money, and walked off, glad to escape at so small a cost. Sometimes his adventures had a more amusing termination. When the spy-fever prevailed very strongly both in France and Germany, he was one day looking into a shop-window when he became conscious that he was watched by two officers. 'Now,' thought he, 'I am in for it again, and shall certainly be arrested.' This feeling was confirmed as one of the officers advanced towards him, and raising his hand as if to seize him by the collar, addressed him thus: 'Permit me, monsieur, to adjust the string of your shirt collar, which has escaped from behind your cravat.' This gentleman was somewhat old-fashioned in his costume, and during his wanderings was sometimes mistaken for a sea-captain. He had even received confidential proposals to discuss the question of freight.

The requirements of special artists when on the 'war path' vary according to circumstances. Mr. Simpson, in France during the Franco-German war, found no scarcity of food, but could seldom get a bed to sleep in. On the other hand, Mr. Melton Prior, in South Africa and other hot countries, found that he was never sure of obtaining either food or drink. During the war in Herzegovina in 1876 the newspaper correspondents had to rough it pretty considerably. Sometimes, when the special artist got to a resting-place for the night, he would have to work up his sketches by the light of a single candle, which he kept in an upright position by holding it between his feet as he sat on the ground, while the correspondent of a London 'daily' scribbled his notes beside him. The difficulty of obtaining sleeping accommodation was experienced by another artist in Servia, who was obliged one night to go to rest in a sort of diligence or covered waggon which stood in the inn yard. It was the only 'spare bed,' and the tired 'special' was very glad to coil himself up within its recesses. These hardships, however, belong to the past. Just as the combatants in modern warfare fight their battles with the most scientific weapons, so the newspaper correspondent now goes to the field armed with the latest appliances against cold, fatigue, hunger, and thirst. He provides himself with an abundant supply of tinned meats and champagne, plenty of clothing, the latest improvements in saddlery; and when he arrives at the scene of action he buys as many horses as he wants for himself and servants. Acting on the experience of former campaigns, Mr. Prior was able in the Zulu War to travel much more comfortably than any member of the staff, not even excepting Lord Chelmsford himself. 'I had then no fewer than five horses: two in the shafts of my American waggon, one for myself, one for my servant, and one spare horse. I followed the army through all its marches in my travelling carriage, and on the eve of the Battle of Ulundi I was the only man who had a tent; all the others lay down in the open.'

During the Franco-German War Mr. Simpson often proved the advantage of his plan of always posting his sketches himself. At the fall of Strasburg he was in the advanced trench when the white flag was displayed from the tower of the cathedral. It was late in the evening when he got home to bed, but he was up with the first streak of dawn finishing his sketch of the historical event he had witnessed the day before. He then walked five miles to General Werder's head-quarters to post the sketch. He wasted no time in trying to get a horse or carriage, in which he might have failed, nor would he trust the packet to a messenger. He knew that the slightest delay would postpone the publication of the sketch for a whole week. The sketch arrived in time, as he had calculated, for the next publication, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that on this occasion, as on many others, his promptitude and energy had well served the interests of the journal he represented.

The late Mr. S. Read, who was one of the first special artists employed on the pictorial press, travelled much abroad, yet he knew little or nothing of any language save his mother tongue. Germany, Italy, Austria, Spain, France, Belgium, Switzerland, were all visited by him, and he got on very well without speaking the language of any of those countries. He was a man of genial humour, accustomed to make the best of everything, and not easily put out by trifles. He was once travelling in the south of France when a fellow-passenger in the train accosted him in French, and was much surprised to find he was not understood.

'Vat!' said the Frenchman; 'you travel and speak no French! Speak you German?'

'No.'

'Nor Italian?'

'No.'

'Spanish?'

'No.'

'Ah, mon Dieu! you travel and speak noting!' and with a pitying grimace and shrug of the shoulders he looked round at the other passengers. Presently our artist took his revenge. As they were passing a town with a ruined castle on a hill he said, with much fervour, addressing the Frenchman,--

'How beautifully that old tower is relieved by the dark foliage! What a splendid contrast is the cold grey of the hill behind! How harmoniously the distance is blended with the middle distance, and the middle distance with the foreground, by means of the bridge across the river!' The Frenchman stared, stammered, and confessed he did not comprehend.

'What!' said our artist; 'you travel and do not understand English!'

'Ver leetle.'

'Do you speak Scotch?'

'Non, m'sieur.'

'Nor Irish!'

'Non.'

'Welsh?'

'Non.'

'Suffolk?'

'Non, non, m'sieur.'

With an exact imitation of the Frenchman's contemptuous shrug our friend turned to their fellow-travellers amid the loud laughter of those who understood the joke.

When the special artist exercises his vocation at home, though he lacks the excitement of danger, he meets with many amusing incidents. An artist who attended the meeting of the British Association at Lincoln many years ago desired to sketch the house which was reputed to have been the residence of John o' Gaunt, and asked the waiter at the hotel if he could direct him to it. 'Johnny Gaunt, Sir?' said the waiter, evidently puzzled; 'I don't know him, Sir, but I'll inquire.' In a few minutes he returned and said he had inquired at the bar, but that no such person as Johnny Gaunt resided thereabouts. Another, who was something of a wag, was once making a sketch in the heart of St. Giles's; there were no School Boards in those days, and numbers of idle street boys surrounded our sketcher, performing all manner of bewildering gymnastics. Not at all disturbed, however, he amused himself by asking his young friends numerous questions, all of which were answered with rapid pertness. At last he inquired of one active imp if he could read. 'No, I can't read,' said the young gentleman, 'but I can stand on my head and drink a quartern o' gin.'

What may be called the shorthand notes for a sketch are sometimes difficult to make out without explanation. On one occasion a sketch was under consideration, when the editor made certain suggestions to the artist, who was very good natured, and of a most pliant disposition. 'I think, you know,' said the editor, 'if you were to add two or three more figures in the foreground it would improve the composition and help to detach the principal group from this windmill.' 'Well, the fact is,' replied the artist, 'what you call a windmill I intended for a man on horseback, but if you think it will come better as a windmill I'll alter it with pleasure.'

FOOTNOTE:

The cause of this wide diffusion and extended employment of the art of wood-engraving is undoubtedly its close alliance with the kindred art of printing. No other method of engraving lends itself so easily to the rapid productions of the printing-press. From the earliest days of printing the two arts have advanced hand in hand, aiding in the growth of knowledge and the spread of civilisation. The application of steam to the art of printing revolutionised the world of typography, and wood-engraving was not slow in adapting itself to the new conditions. The advancing spirit of education created a demand for cheap knowledge. Penny magazines and pictorial newspapers came into existence. The steam printing-press spread them far and wide, and wood-engraving since the time of Bewick has shown that it possesses capabilities which that genuine old artist would have rejoiced to behold.

When the history of our own age comes to be written the pictorial newspapers will form an inexhaustible store-house for the historian. The following list of cities in Europe, America, and the English colonies, with the names of the illustrated newspapers published by them, will convey some idea of the extent to which pictorial journalism has spread during the last forty years:--

PARIS:

BERLIN:

STUTTGART:

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