coaxing leer, to join his pastime.

A few others claim our more particular attention. Among them is a
Knight, armed cap-a-pie, who is run through and through, from back to
front, by Death, himself half armed in mockery. There is a concentrated
vigor in the thrust of the lance, and a cool venom in the countenance
of the assailant, that we may seek in vain in the works of famous
battle-painters; and it must always be remembered that Holbein's figure
is entirely without those indications of muscular movement by which we
express our feelings,--in fact, a mere bare-boned skeleton.

A Bride at her wedding-toilet, whom Holbein has contrived to make almost
beautiful, receives a robe from one attendant; another clasps round her
neck a collar--of gold and jewels? No,--of bones, and with bony fingers.
And the next cut to this shows us the Bridegroom and Bride walking
through an apartment hung with arras, while before them dances Death,
beating a tabor, like a child beside himself with joy.

One of the finest and most touching conceptions in the whole series
represents a dilapidated Cottage,--a mere shanty, so wretched that the
love of those who live in it is all their happiness,--nay, all their
comfort. The mother is preparing for two little children the simplest
and poorest of meals, at a fire made of a few small sticks. She finds
consolation in the very pranks that hinder her humble task. Death
enters,--there is no door to keep him out,--and, seizing the hand of the
younger child, who turns and stretches out the other imploringly to his
mother, carries him off, remorseless and exulting, leaving her frantic
with grief. We may look with comparative indifference, and sometimes
even with sympathy, upon his other feats,--but who is there that does
not hate that grinning skeleton?--And yet, perhaps, he exults that he