SOCIAL AND GENERAL CARICATURES.

January, 1808. The Discovery.

January, 1808. Wild Irish, or Paddy from Cork with his Coat Buttoned Behind.

February 16, 1808. Scenes at Brighton, or the Miseries of Human Life.

Plate 3. 'A Blackleg detected secreting cards &c., after drawing upon your purse on former occasions, is the properest of men to run the gauntlet, as he but too often produces substantial Miseries for Human Life.'

Plate 4. 'Suffering under the last symptoms of a dangerous malady, you naturally hope relief from medical skill and practice; but flying periwigs, brandished canes, and clysters, the fear of random cuffs, &c., intrude and produce a climax in the Miseries of Human Life.'

March 1, 1808. Miseries of High Life.—'Briskly stooping to pick up a lady's fan, at the same moment when two other gentlemen are doing the same thing, and so making a cannon with your head against both of theirs, and this without being the happy man after all.'

March 1, 1808. The Green Dragon. Rowlandson del. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—A clerical-looking and corpulent reprobate is receiving the upbraidings of his infuriated spouse, to whom the artist has playfully given some resemblance to a veritable dragon, with teeth, claws, and venom. The position of affairs is further explained by a spirited representation of 'Socrates and Zantippe,' which hangs on the wall. A pretty servant-maid, who is making a somewhat hasty exit, is supposed to have aroused the jealousy of the virago, whose vials of wrath have brought her stout helpmate to a state of stupefaction and terror. The picture is accompanied by the lines of Gay, from the Beggars' Opera:—

March 1, 1808. Description of a Boxing Match. June 9, 1806. Published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.

April 1, 1808. Soldiers on a March. 'To pack up her tatters and follow the drum.' Designed and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.—The progress of the regiment is much impeded by camp-followers. A stream happening to cross the route, the marching party are wading through; the soldiers bearing in addition to their knapsack the fairer burden of a wife, and in some cases two infants, with kettles, gridirons, and other culinary appliances, the latter swinging on the end of their muskets. The officer commanding the party has the advantage of securing a mount on the plump shoulders of a pretty damsel, whose skirts are tucked up as a preparation towards wading across the water, with the feathered hero on her back.

May 12, 1808. The Consultation, or Last Hope. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—'So when the Doctors shake their heads, and bid their patient think of Heaven—all's over, good night!'

From the picture, which rejoices in this comforting quotation, we judge the unfortunate invalid, introduced by the artist as the principal figure in this humorous plate, is in a bad case; his suffering face expresses all the forlorn terrors of his extreme situation, which seems tolerably hopeless, since he is attended by no less than ten learned practitioners, and a sick-nurse; it is hard if among them they cannot settle their patient's condition. The ten are by no means troubling themselves about their client all at once: it is sufficient that a brace of the brethren are feeling each a pulse, which operation does not seem to afford them much enlightenment, since one is consulting his chronometer, and the other is seeking inspiration from the head of his gold-topped stick. Their colleagues are more agreeably engaged in fortifying themselves for their arduous professional duties by attending manfully to the refreshment department. The gouty patient has evidently been a man of substance; over his mantel hangs a map of 'Rotten Boroughs,—Camelford, Devon, &c.'

May 21, 1808. Volunteer Wit, or not Enough for a Prime. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (227).—A party of Volunteer officers are gathered round the mahogany of their entertainer, who, it seems, is a notorious screw; the host is offering to fill the wine-glasses of the mess, but the dimensions of the glasses are somewhat miniature for bumper toasts. A challenge is given from the chair: 'Come, gentlemen-volunteers, to the right and left—Charge if you please to the King!' The vice-chair is winning the sympathies of the rest, and extracting a grin all round, by standing up, spectacles on nose, and responding: 'I should be very happy to obey your orders, Colonel, but really your glasses are so small, that, dash me if there's enough for a prime!' The Colonel's miserly disposition is hinted by the various papers thrown about, on the 'Current prices of Port wine,' and such maxims as 'A penny saved is twopence got'; with a statement pinned to the wall, 'How to get rich,' 'Pinch, squeeze, gripe, snatch, &c.'

1808 (?). The Anatomy of Melancholy. ''Tis a misery to be born, a pain to live, a trouble to die.'—A mixed scene of suffering and indifference. Propped up in a pillowed arm-chair, before the fire, is a melancholy invalid, old, decrepit, and ill-favoured. By his side is a list of 'Remedies against discontents,' 'Cure of jealousy,' &c.; on the mantel is an array of doctor's bottles, and a hatchment,—groans, griefs, sadness,—forms a cheerful adornment for the chimneypiece.

Behind the sufferer, whose last hour, it seems, is approaching—since Death has thrust his head, arm, and hour-glass through a window above his head—is seated a blooming young damsel, decked out in all the attractiveness of an evening toilette; planted at a table by her side is a dandified admirer; before them a dessert is arranged, and decanters of wine are ready to hand. The nonchalant pair are pledging one another amorously in bumpers, while the spirit of the founder of the feast is departing. A painting of Democritus, his face wearing an expression of grief on one side, and laughter on the other, explains the transitory nature of sorrow, and the key of the situation is further offered by certain lines inscribed on a paper under the lady's hand: 'Come what may, the cat will mew, the dog will have his day.'

May 21, 1808. The Mother's Hope. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside. (No. 228.)—The Mothers Hope is a pretty juvenile termagant, a Turk of the most irreclaimable order. The young rebel is dancing about in a fine rage, scattering his playthings, and 'making a bobbery' which is setting the entire house by the ears. The screams of the intractable elder are imitated by an infant in arms, and a canary is adding its shrill pipings to the general squall, after the nature of little warblers.

The wilful child is making a general statement of refractory resolutions:—'I don't like dolls—I don't like canary birds—I hate battledore and shuttlecock—I like drums and trumpets—I won't go to school—I will stay at home—I will have my own way in everything!' The horrified grandmother is growing prophetic on the strength of this irreconcilable prodigy: 'Bless the Baby—what an aspiring spirit—if he goes on in this way he will be a second Buonaparte!'

June 4, 1808. The Sweet Little Girl that I Love. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg. (167.)—A long military gentleman, wearing spectacles, a pigtail, and a powdered wig and whiskers, in the course of his perambulations has come across a quaint round little body, as broad as she is long, and perched on pattens: the hero is stooping low to salute the lips of the dwarfed lady. The picture is designed as a parody upon the lines:—

June 4, 1808. Odd Fellows from Downing Street, complaining to John Bull. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside (168).—John Bull, in his best clothes, and standing in the vicinity of the Treasury, is receiving a deputation, the members of which, as far as appearance goes, are singularly fitted for the order of Odd-fellows. The object of their interview is simply an appeal to the sympathies of the National Prototype: 'You must know, Mr. Bull, we are a society of Odd Fellows who had a Lodge in Downing Street, and were robb'd of our cash and accounts, notwithstanding we met at the King's Head, and so near the Treasury too! Is not it very hard? However, we have left Downing Street entirely.' John Bull, who, with his hand beneath his coat-tails, is ruminating over other more weighty matters applying to his own case, and peering through his huge spectacles, returns in reply: 'All I have to say, my good friends, is this—I am very sorry for you, but I must own I am of opinion if some more Odd Fellows in Downing Street were to quit their situations it would be very much to my advantage!'

June 20, 1808. A Snug Cabin, or Port Admiral. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—Very different cheer to the Volunteer Prime, is found on board the ship of the port-admiral. That worthy personage is drawn entertaining his naval colleagues, admirals, commodores, and captains, in his state cabin, with the best of cheer; baskets of prime vintage from the Isles of the Madeira, are ready to the nimble steward's hand, and the goodly flasks are uncorked in a twinkling. The jorums on the mahogany are capacious, and the glasses, which are freely emptied, would serve as goblets for more than half-pint bumpers; however, in spite of the hilarity, and the liberal circulation of the decanters, decorum is preserved, and the naval commanders are comporting themselves like 'fine old English gentlemen,' while the toast goes round:—

June 30, 1808. Accommodation, or Lodgings to Let at Portsmouth. Published by T. Tegg. (219.)—Certain smartly-rigged tars have just come on shore, evidently after a handsome haul in the way of prize-money, as the spruceness of their turn-out evinces. A highly presentable 'salt' has his wife in tow; the lady has evidently taken a share of his good fortune, being dressed in the height of the fashion, with ear-rings, necklets, and chains, heavy enough for cables, to which are suspended miniatures, seals, and watches. The happy pair are evidently about to set up housekeeping, and an advertisement-board has just arrested their attention, conveying the information, 'Lodgings for Single Men and their Wives,' with an invitation to ring the bell. 'Why, Nan,' exclaims the tar to his partner, 'this is the very berth we have been so long looking after!'

June 30, 1808. The Welsh Sailor's Mistake, or Tars in Conversation. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside. (220.)—The artist has assumed a little poetic licence to perpetrate a jokelet of a very harmless order. Groups of sailors are seated on the forecastle, some perched on coils of rope, others on sea chests; a British tar, on a barrel, with a canister of 'real Oronooko' by his side, is spinning a yarn to his messmates; he has arrived at the exciting incident of his narrative:—'and so then, do you see, David, we sprung a leak!' when his Welsh messmate, who cannot resist this allusion to a reputed national delicacy, rather irrationally interrupts him: 'Cot pless us—and save us—did you? and a ferry coot fetchitable it is; I should have liked to have had a pit with you.'

October 25, 1808. A Bill of Fare for Bond Street Epicures. Woodward del., engraved by T. Rowlandson. Published by T. Tegg.

November 1, 1808. Wonderfully Mended; shouldn't have known you again. One of the series bearing Rowlandson's name, and published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.—The scene represents the consulting room of some eminent quack of the day, who, dressed in his morning-gown and slippers, with glasses on nose, is receiving his decrepit and melancholy patients. The comforting assurance given by the practitioner to his patients is, it appears, totally without foundation; all his clients, judging from their condition, being in a fair way to supplement the Bills of Mortality.

November 1, 1808. The Last Shift. Published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.—Interior of a pawnbroker's shop; two St. Giles's demireps are shown in the act of raising a loan to replenish their gin bottle, at the expense of their wardrobe.

November 1, 1808. Breaking Cover. Published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.—A fox-hunting party is passing through a village; one of the Nimrods has seemingly formed an attachment for a fair neighbour: standing on the back and saddle of his horse, he has contrived to raise himself to the level of the lady's casement, and she is leaning out of window, and rewarding his gallantry with a tender embrace; meanwhile her husband in his nightcap, opening the shutter below, is securing a prospect of the proceeding, which has thrown an expression of idiotic consternation over his simple features.

November 1, 1808. Get Money.—One of a series engraved in rough facsimile of Rowlandson's original drawings, and bearing an imitation of his autograph in the corner; published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.

Below the print appear the following lines:—

Three conventional types of Israelites are indicated standing in Duke's Place, the resort of Jewish clothesmen, eagerly canvassing the above doctrine, and carrying out its first injunction.

November 1, 1808. Doctor Gallipot placing his Fortune at the feet of his Mistress. Published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.

Throw physic to the dogs.

Doctor Gallipot, a brandy-faced empiric, who is dressed in the height of the 'Frenchified' fashion, the better to support his quackeries, is laying the implements of his profession, as his fortune, at the feet of a slightly theatrical looking lady, whose figure is delineated with Rowlandson's accustomed grace and spirit.

November 1, 1808. Rum Characters in a Shrubbery. Published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.—Four demireps, of dissipated appearance and varied characteristics, are regaling themselves on Booth's gin at a public bar or Rum Shrubbery.

About 1808. Bartholomew's Fair. Nixon del., Rowlandson sculp.—The fun of the Fair is represented in full swing, and the humours of the scenes displayed on all sides are seized and hit off with the usual felicity of both artists. Judging from the caricature, the abolition of fairs in the City must have been a boon to public order and morality. The noise, disorder, and misrule of the festivity are taking place outside the hospital. Boat-swings are revolving, a few of the swings are getting into difficulties, upsetting, or the bottoms coming out, while some of the swingers find themselves indisposed from the motion. There are wandering sellers of sweets, pastry, and such things as were devoured at fairings, boys with links, for it is late, and dusk; booths for refreshments, where customers are eating hot cakes cooked on the spot. There are drinking stalls where tipplers are taking too much; as is illustrated in the person of a reveller who, finding himself overcome with liquor, has laid down in the gutter to take a little rest, an opportunity not lost sight of by the light-fingered gentry who have come for business; the toper's watch, purse, hat, and other portable property are swiftly transferred. There are booths for dancing, and there are merrymakers who are managing to dance outside; there are revolving wheel-swings and merry-go-rounds; there is a crowd of very miscellaneous merry-making company, and parties of jolly sailors arriving outside coaches. The harmony of the proceedings is varied by several rows; and, in more than one spot, rings are formed for fair fighting, and both men and women are exhibiting their prowess in the boxing line, or exchanging buffets and scratches. The signs and booths of famous showmen, once the splendours of by-gone fairs, are disposed around; among the spectacles which invited those of our forefathers who 'went to see the shows,' we may notice that Rowlandson has introduced Miles' Menagerie, Saunder's Tragic Theatre, Gingle's Grand Medley, Miss Biffin, Polito's Grand Collection, Punch, &c.

ROWLANDSON'S CARICATURES AGAINST BUONAPARTE.

As we have already seen, Rowlandson's pencil and graver were enlisted against the Corsican; it would seem that the artist's anti-Napoleonic proclivities ran strongly from this period until the downfall of the Emperor; or else—which is the more reasonable solution—English prejudices against the man whose almost frantic antagonism to this country is now forgiven, if not well-nigh forgotten, demanded an unlimited supply of pictorial satires to stimulate the national hatred, a state of things which pleased both the publishers and the public, and kept the caricaturist occupied, although it is to be regretted that these somewhat imaginative scenes of horror employed his ready skill to the exclusion of those representations of social manners, and the observances of the world around him, whose eccentricities he might have sketched from the life—scenes drawn from a quaint and picturesque generation of which his earlier career has left us such lively pictures, works which alone render his name worthy of his reputation, and which form in themselves an inexhaustible and valuable legacy to his followers.

July 8, 1808. The Corsican Tiger at Bay. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The mighty disturber of the peace of Europe is figured under the form of a savage tiger, with his natural head, and on which he wears the enormous military cocked hat with its long plume—most indispensable accessories in all the caricaturist's portraits of the great 'little Corsican.' The tiger's claws are rending four 'Royal Greyhounds,' which are quite at the mercy of the ferocious conqueror; but a larger and stronger pack of 'Patriotic Greyhounds' are giving tongue, and a fierce charge is being made by some very determined and mischievous-looking hounds who are rushing up to the attack. The Dutch Frog, isolated on his own little mudheap, is promising to join the fray: 'It will be my turn to have a slap at him next.' The Russian Bear and the Austrian Eagle, are kept in secure bondage by heavy fetters, but the triple-headed bird of prey is looking forward to a fresh onslaught, and prompting his fellow-captive: 'Now Brother Bruin, is the time to break our chains.'

John Bull, on his own island shores, has come out in the character of a sportsman; he is pointing his piece at the tiger brought to bay, and is singing nursery rhymes for the general encouragement:—

There was a little man, And he had a little gun, And his bullets were made of lead: D—- me, but we'll manage him amongst us!

July 10, 1808. Billingsgate at Bayonne, or the Imperial Dinner. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The members of the Royal family of Spain, decoyed to Bayonne, are sitting down to a very unruly repast, the entire company being at loggerheads. The Queen has risen from table, and in true fishfag style she is raving at her son Ferdinand, who is confronting her: 'Now, you villain, I'll tell you to your face—and before my dear friend Boney—you are no child of the King's—so you may shut up.' At this famous interview the Oueen of Spain, it may be remembered, after upbraiding Ferdinand for his usurpation, actually declared him illegitimate. This argument, according to the print, does not demolish her opponent, who is replying: 'Madam, I know all your tricks, and all the tricks of your Prince of Peace.' The Infants of Spain are encouraging the last speaker: 'Brother, don't mind her, we, the Infants, acknowledge you;' a terrific personage, with the emblem of a Royal crown on the back of his seat, is banging down his fist and demanding: 'Am not I the great Zavallos? will you be silent?' Those on the opposite side are more tranquilly disposed; Charles, who had abdicated by Buonaparte's compulsion in favour of his son Ferdinand, is crying: 'I wish they would let a poor old King play quietly on his fiddle!' while one of the diners is actually paying attention to his meal, and wishing 'they would leave him at peace.' Little Buonaparte in the uniform of a general, as he is usually represented, has risen from a high-raised throne, erected in accordance with his imperial state, at the head of the table; he is affecting to be in a passion at the general discord which he had ingeniously contrived to foster and bring about: 'I'll tell you what, if you make such a riot at my table, I'll be d——d if I don't send you to the Round House!'

July 12, 1808. The Corsican Spider in his Web. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.—The formidable Emperor is represented in a highly successful character as an overgrown spider; his body is formed of 'unbounded Ambition,' which is topped with his own head, he enjoys an amazing capacity for swallowing the surrounding insects, which seem unable to resist being drawn into his toils. The voracious Corsican Spider in the centre of his wide-spread web, is swallowing down a brace of Spanish Flies. 'Small Flies Innumerable' are entrapped in strings, and even the largest specimens seem powerless to disentangle themselves; the Austrian, Dutch, Portuguese, Hanoverian, Etrurian, Prussian, Hamburg, Italian, and Venetian Flies are all more or less effectually secured; the 'Pope Fly' is half entrapped, and is expressing a fear of being dragged in. The 'Russian Fly,' of more hostile disposition, has caught his feet in the snare: 'I declare I was half in the web before I made the discovery.' The 'Turkish Fly' is at present free, but its security is uncertain; 'I am afraid it will be my turn next.' Stout John Bull is figured as the 'British Fly'; he is observing the wiles of the 'Corsican Spider' without any anxiety on his own account: 'Ay, you may look, master Spider, but I am not to be caught in your web!'

July 12, 1808. The Corsican Nurse soothing the Infants of Spain. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside. (245.)—Buonaparte is acting as nurse to the rival Spanish claimants, still clad in his uniform and boots, with the indispensable cocked hat of Brobdingnagian proportions; the Emperor is lulling the entire royal family to sleep: with one foot he is rocking the 'Imperial Cradle,' which contains 'The good old King and his amiable Consort,' while Don Carlos, in swaddling clothes, with a padlock round his neck, is slumbering upon one of the Corsican's knees; upon the fellow is held Antonio under similar conditions, while the arch-deceiver is rocking a duplicate Imperial Cradle containing the unconscious 'Prince of Asturias,' with his other foot.

July 22, 1808. The Beast as described in the Revelations (Chap. 13), resembling Napoleon Buonaparte. Designed by G. Sauler Farnham. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The Beast, which has sprung from Corsica, is drawn with seven heads; the names of Austria, Naples, Holland, Denmark, Prussia, and Russia are on the respective crowns; the seventh head, which is of course that of Napoleon, is severed from the trunk, while vomiting forth flames. The distance shows cities on fire, where the beast has wrought destruction; on his body are the figures 666, the total of the numerals found in the name of Napoleon Buonaparte added together, taking a as one, i as ten, t as a hundred, and so on.

Spain is represented as the champion who has had the courage to make a stand against the monster. The patriot has crippled the destroyer; the hero is armed with a sabre of True Spanish Toledo, and is crying, 'True patriotism shall thus subdue the monstrous beast, and quell the rage of war.' His shield is Catalonia, a mitre, St. Peter's, Rome, is his helmet; Spanish Patriotism has struck the decisive blow from his right arm, Asturias; his sword-belt is Madrid; his legs Cordova; and with his foot, Cadiz, he is strangling a serpent. The fleet of Admiral Purvis is seen on the seas; Hope, with her anchor, is stooping to catch the crowns of France, Spain, and Portugal, which have been shaken from the brow of the smitten beast.

August 18, 1808. From the Desk to the Throne. A New Quick Step by Joseph Buonaparte. The Bass by Messrs. Nappy and Tally. Designed by G. Sauler Farnham. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—This caricature was issued to burlesque the astonishing elevation of Joseph Buonaparte to the throne of Spain, of which, through his brother's ingenuity, he secured a brief and by no means tranquil possession.

On Napoleon's coronation, his brothers had been created princes, and Joseph had been made King of Naples before the Spanish intrigue. The caricaturist's version, though striking, is not literally true. According to the print Joseph Buonaparte has one foot resting on the rail of the desk at which he lately occupied a seat, with the other he is endeavouring to touch Madrid on the map of Spain and Portugal. His pen has fallen from his ear, and he is straining to clutch the royal regalia of Spain which is above his head. From a paper pinned to the wall we are informed this remarkable promotion is taking its rise from the office of a 'public notary, Bayonne.' His fellow-clerks, pausing with their quills uplifted, to marvel at this sudden flight of ambition, are making various pertinent observations: 'What a prodigious step for a notary's clerk!' One clerk is exclaiming, 'Why, Joseph, whither art thou going?'—'Whither?' replies the elevated clerk, 'Whither, but to fill my high destiny, and, like my noble brother, sway the sceptre of another!' His colleagues are adding as riders, 'He must needs go whom the devil drives, and should it cost his neck!'

August 21, 1808. King Joe's Retreat from Madrid. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.—The occupancy of the Spanish throne has not proved, if we may trust the print, a profitable sinecure of long duration. King Joseph is rushing away from his new dignity as fast as his legs will carry him; the crown has slipped off in the flight; the fugitive's invincible standards and the 'Legions of Honour' are in tatters, but the hands of the Frenchmen are not empty; king, officers, and troops are all loaded with bags of plate and bullion. The Spanish soldiers are up in arms; their priests are encouraging the pursuers, who are firing a volley into the midst of the scared invaders, while crying 'Stop thieves! stop thieves! they have stolen the plate from the palace.' Joseph's fears are too much for his self-command; he is appealing to his great little brother, 'Why don't you stop? the Philistines are pursuing us.' Napoleon is replying from his carriage, which is tearing away up hill as fast as his coachman can urge the horses, 'I can't, brother Joe, I am in a great hurry myself.'

August 27, 1808. King Joe on his Spanish Donkey. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.—King Joe, the new sovereign, is finding his seat anything but easy, and even his military saddle has proved a failure; the animal he has had the temerity to mount has become ungovernable; the usurper is losing his seat; the crown is flying one way, the sceptre another: 'Bless me, what a restive animal this is! I thought he would have been as gentle as a French pony, and was as easily managed as an Italian greyhound!' The Spanish donkey is neighing at a pack of 'Saddle-bags for the Spaniards,' and his heels are kicking to the winds the various proclamations, 'All found with arms to be shot!' 'No liberty to a Spaniard!' 'The road to fortune!' 'Joseph, King of Spain!' 'French news!' 'No quarter!' Thumbscrews for the rebels!'

September 12, 1808. A Spanish Passport to France. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—A Spanish don, dressed in all his ancient splendour, with a huge sombrero hat and feathers, a long Toledo rapier, and wearing his fierce moustachios turned up to his eyes, is kicking the French invader to France: 'Va-t'en, Coquin.' The usurper, whose courage has disappeared, is sneaking off in undissembled terror; he is receiving the indignities inflicted by the don with abject servility: 'Votre trÈs humble serviteur, monsieur.'

September 12, 1808. The Political Butcher, or Spain cutting up Buonaparte, for the benefit of her neighbours. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The Spanish don has put on a butcher's apron and sleeves; the body of the late 'disturber of the peace of Europe' is extended on his dissecting board, and the operator is cutting up the Corsican with professional zeal. The Spaniard is holding up his enemy's head, and encouraging the other powers, who have come to take a share in the dismemberment of the Corsican, 'Now, my little fellows, here are bones for you all to pick. The meat, being just killed, may be somewhat toughish, but I'll warrant it fresh and high-flavoured. True Corsican veal, I assure you, you see the head!' The Imperial double-headed eagle of Austria, is swooping over this morsel: 'I have long wished to strike my talons into that diabolical headpiece, and now I hope to do it effectually!' The Prussian eagle is crippled: 'Oh! the delicious morsel for an eagle to pick, but my clipt wings cannot bear me so high. Cruel Boney! why cut them so short?'

The Italian greyhound is practising a new concerto called, 'If you will not when you may, when you will it shall be nay.—The harmony by Spain and Portugal.' The Danish dog is picking all the flesh left on the arm: 'The nearer the bone the sweeter the meat; but,' alluding to the presence of England, 'the nearer that Bull, the less I can eat.' The British bull-dog, who has been enjoying portions of the joints, has started up: 'I should like to have the picking of that head, for I dare say it is hare-brained!' The Russian bear is indulging in the luxury of licking the Napoleonic boots, and he is beginning to long for a taste: 'This licking gives me a mortal inclination to pick a bone, as well as the rest. But Turkey's a fine garden, and would be a vast acquisition.' Sweden, a white-coated dog, is giving good counsel to her neighbour: 'Yes, but a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!'

The Dutch frog is seated on a cask of Hollands, beside a barrel of 'somniferous cordial' for King Louis; he is smoking a reflective pipe over his prospects. 'If I were sure matters are as they appear I should like to pick a bone, it is true; but wisdom bids us doubt, and prudence condemns precipitation, so I'll e'en take another whiff!'

In the slaughter-house at the rear are shown the carcases of Murat, Dupont, Junot, and others, suspended by the heels.

September 15, 1808. The Fox and the Grapes. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The Corsican fox, who is still at large, has turned his tail on certain rich vines heavy with ripe Spanish grapes, which are growing beside fine prolific Portuguese plum-trees. The fox, who bears Napoleon's head, with his inevitable huge cocked hat, is speciously trying to convince the Gallic cock that the fruit, which he cannot reach, is not worth gathering, 'Believe me, my dear doodle-do, you would not like them. I found them so sour that I absolutely could not touch them!' This excuse is not satisfactory to the hearer, 'But, my good friend, you promised to bring me home some Spanish grapes and Portugal plums; where are they?'

September 17, 1808. Prophecy Explained. 'And there are seven kings, five are fallen, and one is, and the other is not yet come, and when he cometh he must continue but a short space. Revelation, chap. 17, v. 10.'—The fulfilment of prophecy is pictorially set forth with a completeness which must have been felt eminently satisfactory: the five kings that have fallen, the crowned monarchs of Prussia, Bavaria, Holland, Saxony, and Wurtemberg, are all tumbling about in the 'Slough of Disgrace and Ridicule.' The one that is, is of course 'King Nap.' The little Emperor, in all his imperial state, robes, crown, orb and sceptre, is still left standing, but his face wears an apprehensive expression, as he is gazing on the fate of the one that 'continued but a short space'—'King Joe,' to wit, who is driven beyond the Pyrenean Mountains in a state of consternation, while a fair goddess, the figure of Spanish liberty, floating on the clouds, is depriving the usurper of the Spanish crown.

September 20, 1808. Napoleon the Little in a Rage with his Great French Eagle. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—Napoleon, in his general's uniform, with his sword drawn, and bristling with rage up to the tip of his preposterous feather, is menacing his huge French eagle, which is much larger than himself; the Imperial crown is on the bird's head, and one of his legs is tied up—the results of damages sustained in the recent flight from Spain. It will be remembered that Joseph Buonaparte evacuated Spain August 1808. Napoleon is furiously rating his fugitive slave, 'Confusion and destruction! what is this I see? Did I not command you not to return till you had spread your wing of victory over the whole Spanish nation?'—'Ay, it's fine talking, Nap, but if you had been there, you would not much have liked it; the Spanish cormorants pursued me in such a manner that they not only disabled one of my legs, but set me a moulting in such a terrible way that I wonder I had not lost every feather; besides it got so hot I could not bear it any longer!'

September 24, 1808. A Hard Passage, or Boney Playing Base on the Continent. The design suggested by G. Sauler Farnham. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—Buonaparte, with a drum for a seat, and standing on the map of the Continent, with his foot placed on Spain and Portugal, is trying to scrape through a difficult piece of music, Conquest of Spain and Portugal; the music book is open on a desk before him. 'Plague take it, I never met with so difficult a passage before. But if I can once get over the flats we shall do pretty well, for you see the key will then change to B sharp.' The Russian bear, with a muzzle on his jaws, is trying to accompany his leader: 'Why, that is natural enough, brother Boney, though this French horn of yours seems rather out of order, I think!'

September 25, 1808. King Joe & Co., Making the Most of their Time previous to Quitting Madrid. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.

Before taking their hurried departure, the 'Intrusive King' and the French invaders are helping themselves to the spoils of the Spaniards; 'Joe' is assisting himself to the regalia; the generals are packing the royal and ecclesiastical plate of Spain into chests for transport; strong boxes are being filled with bags of ducats and medals; the troopers are making off with sacks of treasure; the curtains are torn down; pictures are wrenched from the walls, and such objects as statues, which cannot be carried away, are ruthlessly destroyed. The French, it appears, wantonly damaged or burnt all the property which came in their way when they were unable to carry it off. The wardrobe, carriages, and plunder from Madrid were retaken by the British army. The numerous carriages, of all descriptions, and tumbrils so completely blocked the road, and filled the contiguous fields, it was difficult to pass. The carriages were completely loaded with baggage, and the miserable animals pushed into deep and wet ditches. The four-wheeled tumbrils were loaded with ammunition and money; the soldiers got thousands of dollars and doubloons; it is said that one man alone secured doubloons to the value of 8,000l. The entire plunder, baggage, money, artillery, and the supplies of the French army were taken, carriages, animals, and a great many ladies. Joe always travelled with a suite of the latter, generally beautiful women. It is said there were ten ladies of his private family with him; those were all taken; it is said he only escaped with the clothes on his back, having lost his hat. By way of replenishing his goods and chattels he actually stole the linen, plate, and clothes from every place he stopped at, until he reached the French frontier.'

September 29, 1808. Nap and his Partner Joe. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.—The Dons of Spain and Portugal, reunited in a body, are heartily kicking the two Buonapartes into the mouth of a mysterious monster, opened for the reception of the pair and vomiting forth flames from a cavern supposed to represent the entrance to the infernal region.

October 1, 1808. Nap and his Friends in their Glory. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—A remarkably well assorted quartet, according to English views at the period, consisting of Napoleon, seated beside his friends Death, the Devil, and Joseph, ex-king of Spain. Napoleon, at whose back is a view of Malmaison, has risen to propose a toast: 'Come, gentlemen, here is success to plunder and massacre!' Two of the guests are receiving this sentiment with rapture, but 'Joe, the intruder,' is sitting in sulkiness, discomfited by the late experience which had been forced on him.

A NEW SONG—NAP AND HIS FRIENDS IN THEIR GLORY.
To the Tune of 'Drops of Brandy.'

October 3, 1808. John Bull arming the Spaniards. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—John Bull has arrived to assist the Spaniards. The national prototype, grasping his cudgel of oak, and surrounded by an array of stores of his own liberal providing, is addressing friendly encouragements to the Don: 'My good friend, you see I have brought you clothing for ten thousand men, viz., cheese, shoes, stockings, belts, and small clothes, besides arms and ammunition, and if that won't do I'll bring you Gully and Gregson, and the Devil is in it if they won't do!'

His new ally is grateful, and especially looks forward to the assistance of the prize-fighters: 'We thank thee, Johnny, for all thou hast brought, and if thou canst bring the other two we shall be more obliged to thee!'

John Bull has furnished his friend with a tolerably liberal outfit, piles of guns, bayonets, and swords, barrels of powder, shot galore, bales of stockings, shirts, coats, belts, shoes, with (for what reason is not shown) a marvellous selection of cheeses—Stilton, Cheshire, Gloucester, Cambridge, Yorkshire, Leicestershire, Cottenham, Bath, Wiltshire, Cream, Derbyshire, &c.; a sack of gold pieces is also included amongst the supplies: we learn that at one time, on the Peninsula, 'English guineas had no attraction, the dollar or moidore was the medium; but since guineas have been introduced in payment of the army the natives seem to appreciate their value.'

October 17, 1808. Junot disgorging his Booty. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—General Junot has been seized by a British tar, who is making the invader disgorge his plunder, consisting of utensils of gold, jewels, and specie; the Spanish Don is holding a receptacle for this costly booty in course of restitution. The French officers are stamping in despair over the disasters of their chief: 'Morbleu! comme il a mal au coeur, notre pauvre gÉnÉral.' Jack Tar, evidently thinking of 'the yellow boys,' is replying, 'More blue? why, ye lubber, what do ye mean by that? don't ye see it's as yellow as gold?'

November 19, 1808. The Progress of the Emperor Napoleon. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.—The career of the Corsican is set forth pictorially in a progressive series of eight pictures. 'First, A ragged-headed Corsican peasant; second, Studying mischief at the Royal Military Academy at Paris; third, An humble ensign, in a Republican corps, requesting a situation in the British army; fourth, A determined atheistical Republican general ordering his men to fire on the Parisians volleys of grape-shot; fifth, A Turk at Grand Cairo; sixth, A runaway from Egypt; seventh, A devout Catholic; eighth, An Emperor on a "throne of iniquities," O tempora, O mores!' On the back of the imperial seat, on which the last step of Napoleon's progress leaves him, is posted a list of murders set down to the Corsican's account:—'Duke d'Enghien, prisoners at Jaffa, Palm, Captain Williams, Pichegru, Caton, Toussant, &c., &c.'

AN ACADEMY FOR GROWN HORSEMEN, AND ANNALS OF HORSEMANSHIP.

Communicated by Geoffrey Gambado, Esq.

Riding Master of the Horse, and Grand Equerry to the Doge of Venice.

Illustrated with plates, designed by H. Bunbury, etched by T. Rowlandson.

GEOFFREY GAMBADO, ESQ.

'As I shall be as concise and explicit as possible in the valuable instructions and discoveries I am now about to communicate to the world, it will be the reader's own fault if he does not profitably benefit by them. When I have told him how to choose a horse, how to tackle him properly, in what sort of dress to ride him, how to ride him out, and, above all, how to ride him home again, if he is not a complete horseman in the course of ten or a dozen summers, I will be bold to foretell that neither the skill of Mr. Astley, nor the experience of Mr. John Gilpin, will ever make him one.

'Nil desperandum, me duce Teucro.

'DIRECTIONS FOR THE ROAD.

'In riding the road, observe in passing a whisky, a phaeton, or a stage-coach, in short, any carriage where the driver sits on the right hand, to pass it on that side, he may not see you on the other, and though you may meet with a lash in the eye, what is the loss of an eye to a leg, or perhaps a neck.

'Take care never to throw your horse down, it is an unlucky trick, and fit only for boys. Many gentlemen of my acquaintance, and I too, have been thrown down by our horses; yet I scarce know an instance upon record of a gentleman throwing his horse down, but many have complained to me of their servants doing it for them.

'In passing a waggon or any tremendous equipage, should it run pretty near a bank, and there be a ditch and an open country on the other side, if you are on business and in a hurry, dash up the bank without hesitation, for should you take the other side, and your horse shy at the carriage, you may be carried many hundred yards out of your road, whereas by a little effort of courage you need only graze the wheel, fly up the bank, and by slipping or tumbling down into the road again go little or nothing out of your way.

'ACCIDENTAL EXPERIMENTS AND EXPERIMENTAL ACCIDENTS, COMMUNICATED BY VARIOUS CORRESPONDENTS.

'Letter to Mr. G. Gambado.

'"Sir—I want your advice, and hope you will give it me concerning a horse I have lately bought, and which does not carry me at all in the same way he did the man I bought him of. Being recommended to a dealer in Moorfields (who, I think, is no honester than he ought to be), I went to him and desired to look into his stable, and so he took me in, with a long whip in his hand, which, he said, was to wake the horses that might perhaps be asleep, as they were but just arrived from a long journey, coming fresh from the breeders in the North. There were some fine-looking geldings, I thought, and I pitched upon one that I thought would suit me, and so he was saddled, and I desired the dealer to mount him, and he did, and a very fine figure the gelding cut; and so the people in the street said, and a decent man in a scratch-wig said the man who rode him knew how to make the most of him, and so I bought him. But he goes in a different manner with me, for instead of his capering like a trooper he hangs down his head and tail, and neither whip nor spur can get him out of a snail's gallop. And I want to know whether by law I must keep him, as he is certainly not the horse I took him for, and therefore I ought to have my money again.

'"The limner in our lane was with me when I bought him, and has taken a picture of him as he was with the dealer on his back, and another as he now goes with me upon his back, by which you will see the difference, and judge how better to advise me upon it.

'"I am, Sir, your humble servant,

'"Tobias Higgins.
'"Lavender Row, Shoreditch."

'Mr. Gambado's Reply.

'"Sir—Upon a strict examination of the two pictures by the limner in your lane, I am clear you are in possession of the identical horse you intended to purchase, although he does not exhibit quite so much agility under you, or make so tearing a figure as when mounted by Mr. ——, who I am well acquainted with, and who, you may depend, is as honest a man as any that deals in horseflesh.

'"You could have no right to return the horse if he went no better than one with his legs tied. You stand in the predicament of Lord ——, who gave twenty guineas for Punch, and when he found he could not make him speak prosecuted the showman; but my Lord Chief Justice adjudged the man to keep his money, and my Lord his Punch, although he could not get a word out of him.

'"My opinion is, sir, as you ask it, that the decent man in the scratch-wig made a very sensible remark when he observed that my friend Mr. —— knew how to make the most of a horse, and I am satisfied that you, sir, know with equal facility how to make the least of one.

'"I am, Sir, your humble servant,

'"G. Gambado.

'"P.S.—I am sorry to add my maid tells me that two shillings out of your five were very bad ones."

'Letter to G. Gambado, Esq.

'"Sir—Being informed that you are now at home, and desirous of giving every information in your power to those who may stand in need of it respecting their horses, I beg leave to submit my case to you, which, considering how fond I am of the chase, you must admit to be a lamentable one. Relying, however, sir, as I do, on your philanthropy (I should more properly say Phillipigy) and that zeal in the cause which has so long characterised you, I make no doubt but the small difficulties I now labour under will be soon surmounted.

'"You must know, sir, I am very fond of hunting, and live in as fine a scenting country as any in the kingdom. The soil is pretty stiff, the leaps large and frequent, and a great deal of timber to get over. Now, sir, my brown horse is a very capital hunter, and though he is slow, and I cannot absolutely ride over the hounds (indeed the country is so enclosed that I do not see so much of them as I could wish), yet in the end he generally brings me in before the huntsman goes home with the dogs. So thus far I have no reason to complain. Now, sir, my brown horse is a noble leaper, and never gave me a fall in his life that way, but he has got an awkward trick (though he clears everything with his fore-legs in capital style) of leaving the other two on the wrong side of the fence, and if the gate or stile happens to be in a sound state, it is a work of time and trouble to get his hind-legs over. He clears a ditch finely indeed with two feet, but the others constantly fall in; that gives me a strange pain in my back like what is commonly called lumbago, and unless you kindly stand my friend, and instruct me how I am to bring these hind-legs after me, I fear I shall never get rid of it. If you please, sir, you may ride him a-hunting yourself any day you will please to appoint, and you shall be heartily welcome. You will then be better enabled to give me your advice; you can't have a proper conception of the jerks he will give you without trying him.

'"I am, Sir, with due respect,

'"Your very humble servant,

'"Nic. Nutmeg, Clerk."

'The Answer.

'"Reverend Sir,—Your brown horse being so good a hunter, and, as you observe, having so fine a notion of leaping, I should be happy if I could be of any service in assisting you to make his two hind-legs follow the others, but, as you observe, they seem so very perverse and obstinate that I cherish but small hopes of prevailing upon them.

'"I have looked and found many such cases, but no cure.

'"However, in examining my papers I have found out something that may prove of service to you in your very lamentable case.

'"An hostler has informed me that it is a common trick played upon bagsters or London riders, when they are not generous to the servants at the inn, for a wicked boy or two to watch one of them as he turns out of the gateway, and to pop a bush or stick under his horse's tail, which he instantly brings down upon the stick, and holds it fast, kicking at the same time at such a rate as to dislodge the bagman that bestrides him. Here, sir, is a horse that lifts up his hind-legs without moving his fore ones, and just the reverse, as I may say, of yours, and perhaps the hint may be acceptable. Suppose, then, when your horse has flown over a gate or a stile in his old way, with his fore-legs only, you were to dismount and clap your whip or stick properly under his tail and then mount again, the putting him in a little motion will set him on his kicking principles in a hurry, and it's ten to one but, by this means, you get his hind-legs to follow the others. You will be able, perhaps, to extricate your stick from its place of confinement when you are up and over (if you are not down), but should you not it is but sixpence gone. I send you this as a mere surmise; perhaps it may answer, perhaps not.

'"I beg to thank you for your offer, which is a very kind one, but I beg to be excused accepting it; all my ambition being to add to the theory with as little practice as possible.

'"I am, Rev. Sir, your most humble servant,

'"G. Gambado."

'Letter to G. Gambado, Esq.

'"Good Sir,—I am in great haste, having a great quickness of pulse, and my bed being now warming, but cannot get into it without first informing you how fast I came home from market to-night, and upon my old mare, too, who was always unkind before as to going. But so it happened. The old mare, that I could never get to go above three miles an hour, as soon as ever I was up, set off, and the devil couldn't stop her till she got home—ten miles in about fifty-eight minutes. I'm in a heat yet. But I have found out her motive, and now the public may make use of it. I had bought a couple of lobsters to carry home, had their claws tied up, and put one into each of my great-coat pockets. Well, the old gentleman in my right pocket (a cunning one, I warrant him) somehow or other contrived to disengage his hands, and no doubt soon applied them to the old mare's side, and, I imagine, had got fast hold of a rib by the time I reached the first mile-stone, for she was mad, I thought, and my hat and wig were gone in a twinkle. However, when I got off, and had taken a little breath, I went into the kitchen to unload, but missed one of my lobsters; so I ran back into the stable, and there was the hero hanging at the old mare's side; she'd had enough of it, and so stood quiet.

'"I thought myself bound to inform you of this, hoping it would prove a great national discovery. I mean to keep lobsters on purpose, for it's cheaper than buying a horse instead of my old mare; and I can go faster with one of them in my pocket than I could post. When my boys come home from school, to hunt in the forest, I mean to treat each of them with a cray-fish for his pony, and then, I think, we shall head the field.

'"I am, sir, yours, ever in haste,

'"Peter Puffin."

'Letter to Mr. G. Gambado, editor of various learned performances.

'"Sir,—You have no doubt heard of a description of Natural Philosophers, called Pigeon Fanciers, who breed the bird of that name, and all its varieties. I was once, sir, a member of this community, till growing tired of punters, tumblers, nuns, croppers, runts, &c., &c., I was resolved to enlarge my ideas, by extending my researches and abandoning the biped, to obtain a closer acquaintance with the quadruped. I became a horse-fancier. Being fond of riding, and daily observing, in my airings to Brentford, a great variety of horses, and a still greater variety in their motions, I, some years since, set about making a collection of such as were singular and eccentric in their shapes and actions, and I flatter myself no private museum can boast of a more admirable variety than I have possessed.

'"As amongst pigeons, so amongst horses, there are tumblers. The feat is, however, performed differently, and varies considerably in its effect on the performers. As the pigeon executes this without anything on its back, so the horse seldom achieves it without somebody upon his. To the latter, therefore, we must give the greatest share of merit, who ventures to perform upon a hard road what the other does only in the air, without even a cloud to brush against. The one preferring, it seems, the Milky, and the other the Highway.

'"Among horses, I have never discovered a pouter; but I have had a fine puffer. The noise he made, however, and particularly when at his business, was not pleasant; and I let a neighbour have him cheap, who had a good three-stall museum, and a very heavy vehicle to draw; so that in all weathers he might enjoy the entertainment of his very extraordinary qualifications.

'"It is well known that there is a horse that is called a carrier, so there is a pigeon likewise. But as it may not be known to every one, I must inform you that from very long observation, I find the pigeon is the most expeditious of the two.

'"I am, sir, your very humble servant,

'"Benj. Buffon."

'ADVICE TO WOULD-BE HORSEMEN.

'I have given you the hints contained in my previous letters supposing you are at home enough on horseback to ride out alone, and may possibly be tempted to travel the road, as either the lucre of gain, or the universal passion, as a celebrated author calls the love of fame, may send you forth.

'Let me entreat you to examine your tackling well at setting out, particularly from an inn and after dinner. See that your girths are tight; many a good fall have I got by not attending to this. Ostlers are too apt to be careless, and ought never to be paid till we see them the next time.[7] An instance of a singular nature occurred at Huntingdon a few years since to the Rev. D. B., of Jesus College, in Cambridge, which has given a discovery to the world (productive, indeed, of a paper war), but which may turn out beneficial to mankind, as it proves 3 to be equal to 4.

'The Doctor dined at the "Crown"; it was dusk when he set out northwards. I myself saw 3s. charged in his bill for wine; this accounts for his want of observation. As for the ostler's, I must attribute it to his having been paid beforehand. The Doctor went off at a spurt pretty much in the manner I have recommended, and having got clear of the pavement he wished to (what is called) mend his pace; but his horse was obdurate, and all his influence could not prevail. The Doctor fancied at times he went oddly, and therefore brought to at Alconbury, five miles from Huntingdon, and alighted for an examination, when he discovered that the ostler, through inattention, had buckled up one of the horse's hind-legs in the surcingle; and to this alone he had to attribute his hobbling way of going.

'There was an ostler[8] at Barnet who was a moralist, possibly this at Huntingdon was an experimental philosopher, and thought an old member of the University the most proper subject to put his experiment in execution. It certainly answered as far as five miles; but how it would succeed in bringing horses of different forms together over Newmarket, I am not competent to determine. It seems as if one might work a lame horse thus and keep his unsound leg quiet. If this experiment has been repeated it has been in private, for I have not heard of it; and I much question if it would ever be generally adopted. When I say generally, no reflection upon general officers. A timid major, however, might keep his horse in due subjection on a review day by this method.

'Geoffrey Gambado.

'Letter to Mr. Gambado.

'"I return you my most hearty thanks for the very salutary advice you have been good enough to give me, from which I have derived much improvement, and should have acknowledged sooner had I made sufficient trial of the fine machine you recommended in such warm terms. My hobby, as I told you before, is an admirable animal, and finely calculated for a pensive man like myself to take the air upon. It was a pity he was prone to tumble, and that, too, in stony roads the most, for he was otherwise bordering on perfection. So I sent for a carpenter on the receipt of your recipe, and had a large puzzle of oak made for him, after the pattern of those worn by the Squire's pointers, and I have found it answer prodigiously.

'"I have had nothing like a bad fall lately, except one day in cantering over a ploughed field, where, upon a blunder, the machine entered the ground with such force as to introduce a portion of the hobby's head along with it. We came clean over, and for some time I thought my hobby's neck was broken. I did not mind it myself; but I shall take care in future always to gallop on the hard road, and then such another catastrophe cannot ensue.

'"I am, sir,

'"Your very obsequious humble servant,

'"Caleb Cassock.

'" P.S.—I forgot to tell you my parishioners stare at me a good deal. The machine has an odd appearance, I own, but not altogether unpicturesque. I got the drawing master of Mr. Birch's school to send you a sketch of us. It is esteemed a likeness. That of the hobby is rather flattering."

'My Remarks.

'"I am happy to find the puzzle has answered so well; and I doubt not now it has been tried and approved by such a right-headed reverend gentleman, one who is also so good a horseman, and understands all the matter so well, that, by producing his name, I shall be able to get a patent for it, which cannot but prove very lucrative, for who has the horse that he will swear will never tumble down?

'"This I believe would be a question that would pose (upon oath) every man on horseback in Hyde Park on a Sunday.

'"Though Dr. Shaw, who is a great traveller indeed, has the modesty to assure us that the Barbary horses never lie down; yet even he has not the effrontery to say that they never tumble down!

'"G. G."

'To G. Gambado, Esq.

'"Sir,—Hearing much of your knowledge in horses, I beg leave to ask your advice in a business where my delicacy, as a gentleman, is deeply concerned, and flatter myself that you will sensibly feel for my situation, my future fortune in life depending on your decision. I have the happiness to be well received by a young lady of fortune in this town, who rides out every morning, and has had the goodness to permit me to join her for some days past. I flatter myself I am beloved, but, sir, the horse I ride is my father's, and he will not allow me to part with him: and this horse, sir, has an infirmity of such an embarrassing nature, that our interviews are unpleasantly interrupted at frequent intervals, and my dear Miss S—— will perhaps ride away with some other gownsman who is more decently mounted.

'"Be pleased, sir, to send me a recipe for this complaint, or I may lose my dear girl for ever. I have tried several experiments, but all in vain, and unless you stand my friend I shall go distracted.

'"I am, dear Sir, in a great fuss, yours most truly,

'"George Gillyflower.
'"St. John's Coll. Cam."

'Note from my Farrier to the above.

'"Honoured Sir,—By advice from Mr. Gambado of your horse's complaint, I have sent you a powder so strong, that, if administered night and morning in his corn, I will be bold to say, no horse in England shall ever suffer from the like again after Thursday next. Shall be very thankful for your Honour's custom in the same way in future, and your lady's too, if agreeable; being, Honoured Sir,

'"Your servant to command,

'"Jo. Wood".

'To Geoffrey Gambado, Esq.

'"Kind Sir,—I have an extraordinary story to tell you, that happened to me t'other day, as I was bringing two pair of stays to Miss Philpot's, at Kentishtown. I lives, sir, at Finchley; and a-top of Highgate Hill, my horse makes a kind of slip with his hind feet, do you see, for it was for all the world like a bit of ice the whole road. I'd nothing for't but to hold fast round his neck, and to squeeze me elbows in to keep the stays safe; and egad, off we set, and never stopt till I got to the bottom. He never moved a leg didn't my horse, but slided promiscuously, as I may say, till he oversate somebody on the road; I was too flurrisome to see who: and the first body I see'd it was a poor man axing charity in a hat. My horse must have had a rare bit of bone in his back, and I sit him as stiff as buckram.

'"Your honor's obedient servant,

'"James Jumps."'

The Art of ingeniously tormenting, with five plates by Woodward and Rowlandson (Tegg).

The Caricature Magazine, or Hudibrastic Mirror, in numbers.

THE CARICATURE MAGAZINE OR MIRROR OF MIRTH
BEING A COLLECTION OF HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL CARICATURES
DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED
By THOMAS ROWLANDSON, Esq.
LONDON
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS TEGG
111 CHEAPSIDE

The Beauties of Tom Brown, embellished with engravings by Rowlandson, one vol.

1808. Chesterfield Travestie, or School for Modern Manners, embellished with ten caricatures. Engraved by Rowlandson from original drawings by Woodward. Published by Thomas Tegg, 111 Cheapside, 1808. Republished under the title of Chesterfield Burlesque, 1811.

Mottoes.

• Folding plate to face the title.
• Votaries of Fashion in the Temple of Folly.
• How to walk the Streets.
• The Art of Quizzing.
• How to keep up a conversation with yourself in the Public Streets.
• How to break a shop window with an umbrella.
• Behaviour at table.
• Notoriety, Singularity, Whimsical.
• Gentleman and Mad Author.

'I will allow you twelve shillings a week to be my amanuensis!—What do you think of that?'

How to look over your husband's hand while at cards, and find fault with him for losing.

The Nobleman and the little Shopkeeper.

Chesterfield Travestie, or School for Modern Manners.

1. How to keep up a conversation with yourself in the public streets.—An absent-minded orator (passing the Forum Debating Society), is rehearsing, with lavish declamatory action, his peroration to the amazement and alarm of the passers-by.

2. Notoriety.—A buck in a Jean-de-Brie. Singularity.—An antiquarian oddity in the costume of three-quarters of a century earlier than the fashion prevailing at the date of the drawing. Whimsical.—A dwarf of a woman wearing a cloak down to her toes, and peaked poke head-dress.

3. The Art of Quizzing.—Three dandies are promenading arm-in-arm, and unceremoniously criticising aloud a fine and pretty woman, who is walking with a 'squab-old-put': 'D——d fine woman, pon honour, but what a quiz of a fellow she has taken in tow there!'

August 25, 1808. Behaviour at Table. Woodward del., Rowlandson sc. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.—The author offers four excellent directions touching the genteel 'behaviour expected at table,' and if his injunctions were strictly carried out, there is no question that his pupils would be accepted in every society as remarkably polished and well-bred young gentlemen, who had studied Lord Chesterfield's 'advice' to some purpose; perfect ornaments, indeed, to any company amongst which they might find themselves, and desirable patterns for imitation.

• 1. Place your elbows on the table like a Church Warden at a parish vestry.
• 2. Stretch your arms across the table to get at what best suits your appetite.
• 3. Cough and yawn over the dishes.
• 4. Loll on two chairs while making use of your toothpick.

1808. A Lecture on Heads, by G. A. Stevens,[9] with additions as delivered by Mr. Charles Lee Lewis, embellished with twenty-five humorous characteristic prints, from drawings by George Moutard Woodward Esq. Engraved by Thomas Rowlandson. Published by T. Tegg.

Frontispiece: Interior of Covent Garden Theatre. C. Lee Lewis delivering 'A Lecture on Heads' to a crowded audience.

• Sir Whisky Whiffle.
• Jockey.
• Half Foolish Face.
• Drunken Head.
• A Freeholder.
• Female Moderator.
• Master Jacky.
• London Blood.
• A Lady of the Town.
• A Connoisseur.
• A worldly-wise man; or a man wise in his own conceit.
• Male Moderator.
• Italian Singer.
• An Old Maid.
• An Old Bachelor.
• The Crying Philosopher.
• Counsellor.
• Frenchman.
• British Sailor.
• Spaniard.
• Dutchman.
• Politician.
• Methodist Preacher.

1808. British Sailor. Frenchman. Spaniard. Dutchman. Four characters on a sheet, published by T. Tegg.—The same etchings are given, under similar descriptions, in the 'Lecture on Heads,' by G. A. Stevens, with illustrations by G. M. Woodward, engraved by T. Rowlandson.

December 1, 1808. Miseries of Human Life (Plates issued in previous years and collected in 1808). Designed and etched by T. Rowlandson, and published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—Frontispiece: The title in a frame; below it a gouty old miser, wrapped in flannel, is being dragged off in his chair by Death, in spite of his crutch and his struggles to get back to his riches, spread in the strong box, over which he has lost all control; his heirs in the meantime are helping themselves, making light of his hoarded savings, and taunting the impotent money-grubber, who has accumulated riches for them to fling away.

Miseries of Human Life.—Introductory dialogue: 'Sickness befriends temperance by the simplicity of diet which it introduces; it wards off the varied injuries of the open air by requiring the party to inhale a thousand times over, the cherishing, equable, and safely treasured atmosphere of a chamber.'

The picture treats all these fanciful advantages from a burlesque point of view: a sufferer is on his pallet surrounded by all the inconveniences of washing, cooking, and other domestic arrangements, limited to one apartment, to serve him as 'kitchen, parlour, and bed-room, and all.'

Miseries of the Country.—Following on horseback a slow cart, through an endless narrow lane, at sunset, when you are already too late, and want all the help of your own eyes, as well as your horse's feet to carry you safe through the rest of your unknown way.

More Miseries.—'Being overpersuaded to stand up in a country dance, when you know, or, what is equally bad, conceive that a bear would eclipse you in grace and agility.' (April 1, 1807.)

Fabricious's Description of the Poets. Vide 'Gil Blas.'—'People think that we often dine with Democritus, and there they are mistaken. There is not one of my fraternity, not even excepting the makers of Almanacs, who is not welcome to some good table. As for my own part, there are two families where I am received with pleasure. I have two covers laid for me every day, one at the house of a fat director of the farms, to whom I have dedicated a romance, and the other at the house of a rich citizen, who has the disease of being thought to entertain wits every day at his table; luckily he is not very delicate in his choice, and the city furnishes him with great plenty.' (1807.)

Miseries of Human Life.—Struggling through the curse of trying to disentangle your hair, when by poking curiously about on board of ship it has become clammed and matted with pitch or tar, far beyond all the powers of the comb. (1807.)

More Miseries.—Having so flaccid a cheek that the parish barber, who shaves you, is obliged to introduce his thumb into your mouth to give it a proper projection, cutting his thumb in this position with the razor. (1807.)

Miseries of Social Life.—Escorting four or five country cousins, on their first importation into London from the Terra Incognita of England, to the lions, the waxworks, the monuments, &c. &c.

Miseries Miscellaneous.—Stepping out of a boat at low water on a slippery causeway, upon a stone which slides under you, and you descend in the mud up to the chin. (1807.)

A Stag at Bay, or Conjugal Felicity. A Romance.—A matrimonial dispute; the wife is attacking her spouse incontinently, and he is protecting himself, and keeping the aggressor at arm's length with a dirty mop.

The Shaver and the Shavee. H. Bunbury del., Rowlandson sc.

Showing off.—A pair of horsemen are endeavouring to put on a sportsmanlike appearance, which is somewhat disturbed by the restiveness of their steeds; one rider is slipping off, and the other, while his horse is going down on his knees in a reverential posture, is flung over the animal's head.

The Production of a Post-House.—The stable-door of a post-house is opened, and a sorry broken-kneed ramshackle horse is trotted out, to the amusement of the people standing about, and to the horror of a gentleman who has evidently come for a mount.

Symptoms of Choking.—A corpulent individual has suddenly left the dinner-table, under an impulse to choke; the rest of the company are thrown into such alarm at his critical situation, that the table-cloth, soup-turreens, wine, decanters, plates, glasses, and all the service are dragged on to the floor in universal destruction. (1806.)

The Enraged Vicar.—A smaller version of this subject (see March 1, 1807).

Symptoms of Restiveness.—The restiveness referred to appears to be nothing more than a tendency to rest in one spot; a sailor, probably at Portsmouth, from the view of the sea and shipping, is mounted on a steed which he is vainly belabouring with a cudgel, while an old hag is banging away at the poor brute with a long and heavy broom, to the delight of a convivial party, assembled to drink outside a public-house, within view of the dilemma. (1808.)

Pall Mall.

Miseries of Public Places.—After the play, on a raw, wet night, with a party of ladies, fretting and freezing in the outer lobbies and at the street-doors of the theatre, among chairmen, barrow-women, yelling linkboys, and other human refuse, in endless attempts to find out your servant or carriage, which, when found out at last, cannot be drawn up nearer than a furlong from the door. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries Miscellaneous.—The necessity of sending a verbal message of the utmost consequence by an ass, who, you plainly perceive, will forget (or rather has already forgotten) every word you have been saying. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries of Reading and Writing.—As you are writing drowsily by the fire, on rousing and recollecting yourself, find your guardian in possession of your secret thoughts, which he never ceases to upbraid you with. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries Personal.—When in the gout receiving the ruinous salutation of a muscular friend (a sea captain), who, seizing your hand in the first transports of a sudden meeting, affectionately crumbles your chalky knuckles with the gripe of a grasping-iron, and then further confirms his regard for you by greeting your tenderest toe with the stamp of a charger. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries of the Country.—While you are out with a walking party, after heavy rains, one shoe suddenly sucked off by the boggy clay, and then, in making a long and desperate stretch (which fails), with the hope of recovering it, the other is left in the same predicament. The second stage of ruin is that of standing, or rather tottering in blank despair, with both bare feet planted ankle-deep in the quagmire. (January 1, 1806.)

Miseries of London.—Chasing your hat (just blown off in a high wind) through a muddy street—a fresh gust always whisking it away at the moment of seizing it; when you have at last caught it deliberately putting it on, with all its sins upon your head, amidst the jeers of the populace. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries of Travelling. 'O Miserabile mihi.' Published by T. Rowlandson, Adelphi.—A restive horse in a gig backing into the windows of a potter's shop; alarmed at the terrific crash, you become panic-struck, with the perspiration starting from every pore. (April 12, 1807.)

Miseries of Travelling.—Being mounted on a beast who, as soon as you have watered him on the road, proceeds very coolly to repose himself in the middle of the pond, without taking you at all into his counsel or paying the slightest attention to your remonstrances. (1807.)

Miseries of Social Life.—Sitting for hours before a smoky chimney, like a Hottentot in a kraal; then, just as your sufferings seem at last to be at an end, puff, puff, whiff, whiff, again, far more furious than ever. Add to this a scolding wife. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries of Social Life.—Walking in a wind that cuts to the bone, with a narrating companion, whose mind and body cannot move at the same time; or, in other words, who, as he gets on with his stories, thinks it necessary, at every other sentence, to stand stock-still, face about, and make you do the same; then, totally regardless of your shivering impatience to push on, refuses to stir an inch till the whole of his endless thread is fairly wound out. 'Dixit et adversi stetit ora.' (1807.)

Miseries of the Country.—Losing your way on foot at night in a storm of wind and rain, and this immediately after leaving a merry fireside. (1806.)

More Miseries.—Being nervous and cross-examined by Mr. Garrow (in a Law Court). (April 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—Endeavouring to make violent love under the table and pressing the wrong foot. (April 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—Sitting on a chair which a servant has fractured and put together the preceding morning, and upon attempting to lean back falling to the ground before a large party; a country servant bursting into a roar of laughter. (April 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—Being obliged to kiss a remarkably plain woman at forfeits, when you engaged in the pastime only with the hope of being able to salute a lovely young lady, to whom you are particularly attached. (April 1, 1807.)

Miseries of Travelling.—Starting for a long ride, on a dinner engagement, without a great-coat, in a mist, a mizzle, a drizzle, a rain, a torrent. On arriving at the house at last, completely drenched, you have to beg the favour of making yourself look like a full or empty sack, by wearing your host's clothes, he being either a dwarf or a giant, and you the contrary. (January 1, 1807.)

Miseries of Games, Sports, &c.—In skating, slipping in such a manner that your legs start off in this unaccommodating posture; from which, however, you are soon relieved by tumbling forwards on your nose, or backwards on your skull. Also learning to cut the outside edge on skates that have no edge to cut with—ice very rugged. (January 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—In the country, going to a party to dinner, getting very tipsy, quitting the house in a dark night, and getting upon your horse with your face towards the tail, and wondering during the few minutes that you are able to keep your seat, amidst the jeers of your companions, what freak can have entered the brain of the beast to go backwards. (April 1, 1807.)

Miseries of the Table.—Inviting a friend, whom you know to be particularly fond of the dish, to partake of a fine hare, haunch, &c., which you have endeavoured to keep exactly to the critical moment, but which is no sooner brought in than the whole party, with one nose, order it to be taken out. (1807.)

More Miseries.—At an inn, going into a bed too short, with a wooden leg, which you were too fatigued to unstrap, drawing up the living one, going to sleep with the other sticking out at the bottom, which, when the chambermaid comes in for the candle, she conceives to be the handle of the warming-pan, which she has carelessly left in the bed. (April 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—Sending a challenge, requesting a timid friend to attend you to the field, who, you think, will not fail to acquaint the magistrate of it; going with honour to the appointed spot, anxiously looking back at every step to see if the Bow Street officers are coming, without seeing a soul but your antagonist and the seconds. (April 1, 1807.)

Miseries Domestic.—Squatting plump on an unsuspected cat in your chair. (January 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—Being persuaded to put your finger into the cage of a parrot and to rub its poll, upon an assurance, from its doating mistress, that it is the most gentle bird in the universe, suddenly feeling the sanguinary effects of its beak. (April 1, 1807.)

More Miseries.—Having a newly-rolled gravel walk, finding some friends whom you had asked to dine with you amusing themselves before dinner by drawing each other in your child's chaise, which disastrously stood at the bottom of the garden, within sight; seeing the narrow wheels cut up the walk most unmercifully, and being deterred by a false notion of politeness from giving them a hint to desist. (April 1, 1807.)

Cold Broth and Calamity.—A smaller edition of this subject, the disasters of various parties on the ice, but treated with perfect originality as regards the various incidents.

Miseries Domestic.—Waking in the middle of the night in a state of raging thirst, eagerly blundering to the washing-stand, and there finding the broad-mouthed pitcher, which you lift to your lips, so full that, besides amply satisfying your thirst, it keeps cooling your heated body, and purifying your linen with the overplus. (1806.)

Miseries of the Country. Published by T. Rowlandson, Adelphi.—Passing the worst part of a rainy winter in a country so inveterately miry as to imprison you within your own premises; so that by way of exercise, and to keep yourself alive, you take to rolling your gravel walks (though already quite smooth), cutting wood (though you have more logs than enough), working the dumb-bells, or such other irrational exercise. (April 12, 1807.)

Miseries of the Country.—While deeply, delightfully, and, as you hope, safely engaged at home in the morning, after peremptory orders of denial to all comers whomsoever, to be suddenly surprised, through the treachery or folly of your servant, by an inroad from a party of the starched, stupid, cold, idle natives of a country town, who lay a formal siege (by sap) to your leisure. (1807.)

Miseries of London.—Being a compulsory spectator and auditor of a brawling and scratching match between two drunken drabs, in consequence of the sudden influx of company, by whom you are hemmed in a hundred yards deep in every direction, leaving you no chance of escape till the difference of sentiment between the ladies is adjusted. Where you stand you are (that is, I was) closely bounded in front by a barrow of cat's meat, the unutterable contents of which employ your eyes and nose, while your ear is no less fully engaged by the Tartarean yell of its driver. (1807.)

Miseries of Travelling.—On packing up your clothes for a journey, because your servant is a fool, the burning fever into which you are thrown when, after all your standing, stamping, kneeling, tugging, and kicking, the lid of your trunk refuses to approach within a yard of the lock. (1807.)

More Miseries. Published by R. Ackermann.—Being pinned up to a door, round the neck, by the horns of an enraged overdriven ox. (April 1, 1807.)

Miseries of the Country.—While on a visit in the Hundred of Essex being under the necessity of getting dead-drunk every day to save your life. (See 1807, p. 78.)

Et propter vitam vivendi perdere causas....

Miseries of Social Life.—Dining and passing the whole evening with a party of fox-hunters, after they have had what they call 'glorious sport;' and, while you execrate the very name of a hound, being gorged with the crambe recocta of one chase after another, till you wish the country was underground. (January 1, 1807.)

THE MICROCOSM OF LONDON,

OR

LONDON IN MINIATURE.

With Illustrations by Pugin and Rowlandson.

Published by R. Ackermann, Repository of Arts, 101 Strand.

With reference to the illustrations, which form the principal feature of this work, we borrow a paragraph from the 'Introduction':—

'The great objection that men fond of the fine arts have hitherto made to engravings on architectural subjects has been that the buildings and figures have almost invariably been designed by the same artists. In consequence of this the figures have been generally neglected, or are of a very inferior cast, and totally unconnected with the other part of the print; so that we may sometimes see men and women in English dresses delineated in an English view of an Italian palace, and Spanish grandees in long cloaks and ladies in veils seated in one of our own cathedrals.

'To remove these glaring incongruities from the publication, a strict attention has been paid, not only to the country of the figures introduced in the different buildings, but to the general air and peculiar carriage, habits, &c., of such characters as are likely to make up the majority in particular places.

'The architectural part of the subjects that are contained in this work will be delineated, with the utmost precision and care, by Mr. Pugin, whose uncommon accuracy and elegant taste have been displayed in former productions. With respect to the figures, they are from the pencil of Mr. Rowlandson, with whose professional talents the public are already so well acquainted that it is not necessary to expatiate on them here. As the following list comprises almost every variety of character that is found in this great metropolis, there will be ample scope for the exertion of his abilities; and it will be found that his powers are not confined to the ludicrous, but that he can vary with his subject, and, wherever it is necessary, descend

Rowlandson and Pugin del. et sc.

• 1. Drawing from Life at the Royal Academy, Somerset House.
• 2. Exhibition Room, Somerset House. Great Room at the Royal Academy, at the time of the annual picture Exhibition.
• 3. Board Room of the Admiralty, Parliament Street.
• 4. A View of Astley's Amphitheatre, Westminster Bridge.
• 5. The Asylum, or House of Refuge for Friendless and Deserted Girls, Lambeth.
• 6. Christie's Auction Room.
• 7. The Great Hall, Bank of England.
• 8. Bartholomew Fair, Smithfield.
• 9. Billingsgate Market.
• 10. The Hall, Blue Coat School, during the orations on the grand anniversary, St. Matthew's Day, September 21.
• 11. Bow Street Office. An Examination before the Magistrates.
• 12. Pass Room, Bridewell.
• 13. British Institution, Pall Mall (late Alderman Boydell's 'Shakespeare Gallery').
• 14. The Hall and Staircase, British Museum, Montague House.
• 15. The Great Hall, Carlton House, Pall Mall.
• 16. The Roman Catholic Chapel, Lincoln's Inn Fields.
• 17. Coal Exchange.
• 18. The Royal Cockpit, Bird Cage Walk, St. James's Park.
• 19. Water Engine, Coldbath Fields Prison.
• 20. The College of Physicians, Warwick Lane.
• 21. House of Commons. (During a Debate.)
• 22. Court of Chancery, Lincoln's Inn Hall.
• 23. Court of Common Pleas, Westminster Hall.
• 24. Court of King's Bench, Westminster Hall.
• 25. Court of Exchequer, Westminster Hall.
• 26. Covent Garden Market. Westminster Election. Hustings in front of St. Paul's Church.
• 27. Covent Garden Theatre. (During the performance of an Oratorio.)
• 28. The Custom House, from the Thames.
• 29. The Long Room, Custom House.
• 30. The Debating Society (the Athenian Lyceum), Piccadilly.
• 31. Doctors' Commons (Great Rider Street, St. Paul's.)
• 32. Drury Lane Theatre.
• 33. The Corn Exchange, Mark Lane.
• 34. Exhibition of the Society of Painters in Water Colours, Old Bond Street.
• 35. Fire in London. (Albion Mills, Surrey side of Blackfriars Bridge; burnt March 3, 1791.)
• 36. Fleet Prison (the Debtors' Prison, as rebuilt after the riots in 1780), Ludgate Hill.
• 37. Foundling Hospital. (The Chapel.)
• 38. Freemasons' Hall (Freemasons' Tavern), Great Queen Street.
• 39. Great Subscription Room at Brooks', St. James's Street.
• 40. Guildhall.
• 41. Guildhall, Court of King's Bench. Examination of a Bankrupt before his Creditors.
• 42. Common Council Chamber, Guildhall.
• 43. The Hall, Heralds' Office, or the College of Arms, St. Benet's Hill, Doctors' Commons.
• 44. Middlesex Hospital, Charles Street (Ward Room).
• 45. East India Company. The Sale Room.
• 46. King's Bench Prison (Debtors, &c.), St. George's Fields.
• 47. King's Mews, Charing Cross.
• 48. Lambeth Palace, 1809.
• 49. Lloyd's Subscription Room. (Underwriters' Room.)
• 50. Leadenhall Market.
• 51. Egyptian Hall, Mansion House.
• 52. House of Lords.
• 53. Lottery Drawing, Coopers' Hall.
• 54. Magdalen Chapel, Magdalen House.
• 55. The Mint. Stamping the Impression (Tower).
• 56. Mounting Guard at St. James's Park (Horse Guards).
• 57. Newgate Chapel. ('The Condemned Sermon.')
• 58. Old Bailey. (Examination of a Witness.)
• 59. Opera House, Haymarket. (A Ballet Scene.)
• 60. The Pantheon. (A Masquerade.)
• 61. The Philanthropic Society's Chapel (St. George's Fields).
• 62. The Pillory, Charing Cross.
• 63. The Post Office, Lombard Street. (Sorting Office.)
• 64. Quakers' Meeting (Bishopsgate Street).
• 65. The Queen's Palace, St. James's Park. (Buckingham House.)
• 66. The Royal Circus, St. George's Fields.
• 67. The Royal Exchange.
• 68. Library of the Royal Institution, Albemarle Street.
• 69. Sadler's Well Theatre. (An Aquatic Representation.)
• 70. Sessions' House, Clerkenwell.
• 71. Society for the Encouragement of the Arts, &c., Adelphi.
• 72. Society of Agriculture, Sackville Street, Piccadilly. (An assembly of members in the Great Room.)
• 73. Somerset House, Strand.
• 74. Stamp Office, Somerset House.
• 75. Stock Exchange, Capel Court, Bartholomew Lane.
• 76. Drawing Room, St. James's Street.
• 77. St. Luke's Hospital, Old Street.
• 78. St. Margaret's Church, Westminster.
• 79. The Church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.
• 80. St. Paul's Cathedral.
• 81. Surrey Institution. Lecture Theatre.
• 82. Synagogue, Duke's Place, Houndsditch.
• 83. Tattersall's Horse Repository, Hyde Park Corner.
• 84. The Temple Church.
• 85. View of the Tower of London.
• 86. Horse Armoury, Tower.
• 87. The Board of Trade, Treasury, Whitehall.
• 88. Trinity House, Great Tower Hill.
• 89. Vauxhall Gardens. (The Orchestra.)
• 90. Church of St. Stephen, Walbrook.
• 91. The Watch House, St. Mary-le-Bone.
• 92. West India Docks.
• 93. Westminster Abbey.
• 94. Westminster Hall.
• 95. Chapel Royal, Whitehall.
• 96. The Workhouse, St. James's Parish.
• 97. Greenwich Hospital. The Painted Hall.
• 98. The Hall, Chelsea Hospital.
• 99. Military College, Chelsea.
• 100. Covent Garden Theatre.
• 101. South Sea House. Dividend Day.
• 102. Excise Office, Broad Street.
• 103. View of Westminster Hall and Bridge.
• 104. A View of London and the Thames. Taken opposite the Adelphi.

1808 and 1809. An Essay on the Art of Ingeniously Tormenting. Illustrated with five prints. From designs by G. M. Woodward, Esq. (author of 'Eccentric Excursions'). Rowlandson, sc. 12mo. London. Printed for Thomas Tegg.

Folding frontispiece.—A Savoyard with a barrel-organ and a troupe of dancing dogs; a Frenchman with a dancing bear; a showman dragging about a dromedary, with a monkey perched on its hump, and pulling the animal's ears. A bird made to fire off a gun, in the rear of a half-starved individual who is lost in hungry longing outside the window of an eating-house; while the proprietor is taunting the famished gazer with a huge round of beef. A cat is torturing a mouse. A woman is eavesdropping. Another cat is getting a bird out of a cage. A woman is emptying a vessel over the heads of a crowd gathered round a tussle. A cat is launched in the air on bladders. A pair of ruffians are racing on donkeys, and flogging the beasts unmercifully. All these episodes set forth various phases of the fine art of Tormenting.

1. A old vixen is tormenting a pretty maid, who is in tears: 'Don't cry, child. You cannot help being handsome; but I assure you I have often wept from my dreadful apprehensions for you, lest you should come to walk London streets!'

2. A family scene.

Train up a child in the way it should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.

Solomon.

Two children have strung up a pair of kittens by their tails; the tabbies are clawing one another in the air. Two boys have tied a saucepan to the tail of a frightened dog, and a little girl is singeing a cat's whiskers with a brand from the fire. The father is smoking his pipe and declaring, 'Dear little innocents, how prettily they amuse themselves!' while the mother is made to say, 'I love to see children employed!'

3. A husband, with literary tastes, is vainly trying to interest his lady in his reading: 'Now, my dear, now for the passage; I am sure it will delight you. Shakespeare, "Tempest," act the fifth. "The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces——"' The wife is bouncing up to the bell, although there is a blazing fire, interrupting the reading with, 'I wonder the girl don't bring the coals, one might as well sit in an ice house, but I was born to be tormented!'

4. An old curmudgeon is seated in his armchair, a decanter of wine before him, with a chart of the gold mines of Peru and Mexico at his back; a young gentleman, who has been unfortunate, is standing before him in an attitude of despondency, little encouraged by the friendly advice of the hunks whose assistance he has vainly implored: 'Ah, my young friend, I told you what it would all come to, but you have brought it all on yourself. I'll not ask you to sit down, because you seem in a hurry; however, I'll give you my advice: as you say you are not worth a guinea, I'd advise you to quit London, and purchase a small estate in the country!'