paper-stock factory at Chiswick in 1809; and how the Chiswick Press came into being, hard by. And in the same decade we shall note the advent of stereotyping, and of the cylindrical printing-machine, neither device of any direct value at that time to the woodcut printer, but both serviceable in giving a new direction to the printer's efforts. But of no less value than these several new aids was the invention of the composition-roller, which enabled the printer to ink his types and cuts with nice discretion.

At the beginning of his business life the Uncle Whittingham, like most of his rivals, avoided woodcut work. Before the year 1800 woodcuts were rare in his books; after that date they increased rapidly. The cuts he then printed (made to the order of the publishers) not only gave him experience in presswork, but a knowledge of the adaptability of different styles of design and cutting to the newer methods of printing. When the time came for him to provide woodcuts in his own books he knew how they should be made. He has not told us of the difficulties that beset him in following the engravers, but his troubles must have been many and serious. Then, as now, few artists of reputation could be persuaded to draw on wood. Those who consented were more inclined to paint on the block than to draw upon it. In this way they made bad copy for the engraver, who groped in the dark over uncertain outlines and confused shadings. The printer blamed the engraver for shallow cutting; the engraver blamed the designer for thickening his block with blotches of paint, so that he could not tell whether he was cutting wood or paint; and the artist blamed the engraver and the printer for mutilating his designs. As the printer was the last person who handled the block, he

was always blamed for the sins of his predecessors. It was no light task to coax an artist to make his design so that it could be properly cut; to persuade an engraver to put upon the block no more work than was really needed; to compel a pressman to deftly reproduce the work of the engraver. Laboring apart, with small knowledge of and little regard for the needs of those who should have been coöperators, each workman was in the habit of doing as he pleased, and each was irritated by the suggestion of an alteration in his accustomed method.

The Uncle Whittingham's first efforts to secure improved engraving seem to have been directed against the flatness and grayness of the ordinary woodcut. Bewick had shown in his blocks the value of patches of solid black, and of high lights and gradations of tint that gave the full rounded octave of color; but his teachings had been timidly followed. One by one Bewick's pupils and successors drifted back to the old channels. Finically sharp and exposed hair-lines, overworked shadows, and even the cross-hatchings of copper-plate, were more carefully imitated in the second quarter of the nineteenth century than they had ever been before. Many designers of that period regarded strong contrasts of black and white as inartistic. In their view the development of an illustration by means of intermediate tints was a more masterly performance. They persisted in this style, although they must have known that the wet paper and the spongy blanket used by all printers tended to thicken and blend the intermediate tints.

What the Uncle Whittingham actually did in his office for the improvement of woodcut printing we cannot know in detail. We may be sure, though, that he did

not discard wet paper or the woolen blanket, because the effects produced by these ancient friends are apparent in the crumbly and broken hair-lines of outlined clouds or exposed pencil scrabble. These lines are lighter and more delicate than those made by rival printers, but they show unmistakably that they were produced by an elastic impression. The patches of velvety black that are brought out in force show also that the Uncle used finer and cleaner inks than his competitors, and that he derived every advantage and mitigated every disadvantage pertaining to the woolen blanket. No doubt the blanket was of the finest broadcloth, and the tympan of the thinnest vellum. Stories about these, and other refinements of practice, were listened to with wonder by printers in their youth as explanations of the methods by which the elder Whittingham achieved his brilliant results.

The illustrations that won for him most distinctionthe Northcote "Fables," of 1833; "The Tower Menagerie," of 1829; "The Gardens and Menagerie," of 1830 and 1831-are vivid with sharp contrasts of black and white. Nowadays no one can say whether this treatment was suggested by designer, engraver, or printer; but the evidence is that in the making of these books the designers, engravers, and printer worked together with zeal. The illustrations are not servile facsimiles of the original pencil-sketch and india-ink wash, nor are they imitations of line-engraving. They are honest and intelligent efforts on the part of the artists to aid the printer, and to meet the conditions of the printing craft as it was then practised. For the smoothness of the tints, and the brilliancy of the impressions, Whittingham was largely indebted to the iron hand-press then in general use. The presswork

of these books could never have been done on the oldfashioned wheezy hand-press; nor could the cuts have been properly printed on the rough hand-made paper of the previous century.

The woodcut printing of the Chiswick Press was highly appreciated, but the quantity done was relatively small. Collectors of "Chiswicks" are often surprised at Whittingham's apparent preference for copper-plate work. Line engravings are more frequent than woodcuts as frontispieces to titles. Even in the admirable edition of Walton's "Angler," of 1836, engravings on copper are frequently printed on the pages that are usually reserved for types.1 The cost of engraving and of double printing must have been very much more than that of printing from wood in association with type. The reticent Whittingham never told why he sent outside for copperplate printing, when in his own shop he could produce excellent impressions from the wood. But experienced printers who know the difficulties of woodcut presswork can divine his reason. Woodcut printing was unprofitable, even at the highest remuneration then current. There were few pressmen who could do the work properly. Unless they had instinctive appreciation of form and perspective, of light and shade, it was useless to instruct them in overlaying. They could spoil blocks, but they could not print them. In all probability the best woodcut printing of the Chiswick Press was done by not more than three or four pressmen, and their success was largely due to the daily oversight of the master. Considering the slowness and costliness of the work, and the necessity for devoting much time to its supervision, we

1 See edition of 1836, vol. i, pages 113, 122, and others.

can understand why Whittingham often chose copperplate instead of wood-block illustrations.

The rapid development of the changed style in woodengraving brought new difficulties to the printer. At no earlier time did London claim so many able engravers on wood as Clennell, Thompson, Branston, Nesbit, Williams, Jackson, Linton, Harvey and their fellow experts who charmed the public eye in 1830 and afterward. But these engravers were in advance of the time. They could engrave better than printers could print. All of them had the same desire to cut their blocks finely and delicately, and to show, with not less perfection than the brush could bring, minutest gradations of shade. On India paper, and sometimes on hot-pressed paper, it was possible for the printer to reproduce exactly all the fine work of the engraver; on the ordinary paper of commerce, usually provided by the publisher, and often against the protest of the printer, this nicety was impossible.

There are many evidences-of which the presentation plate of the "Anniversary " (of 1829), the "St. Barbara" and the "Madonna,” copied from an illustrated missal, are good examples-that the Uncle Whittingham reproduced to their entire satisfaction the work of the best engravers. But printing of that kind must have earned him honor at a loss of cash; so, as a thrifty man, he did no more of it than he thought expedient. The neverending difficulty of finding designers, engravers, and pressmen who would work together in sympathy led him to abandon gradually the graven reproduction of

eminent artists' work.