February 10, 1813. Bachelor's Fare—Bread and Cheese and Kisses. Published by T. Tegg (285).

September 1, 1813. Summer Amusements at Margate, or a Peep at the Mermaids. Published by T. Tegg.

September 1, 1813. The Last Gasp, or Toadstools Mistaken for Mushrooms. Published by T. Tegg (210).—A physician has been called in, and, with his gold stick in hand, is examining the condition of certain patients who are suffering from the effects of too indiscriminate feeding. A gouty old gentleman, his wife, and their footman are all putting out their tongues—which are white and swollen to an inordinate length; their features express the greatest alarm, and the look of consternation which is thrown into the doctor's face conveys the reverse of comforting reassurance to the unfortunate gourmands.

September 20, 1813. Humours of Houndsditch, or Mrs. Shevi in a longing condition. Published by T. Tegg (213).—A member of the Hebrew tribe, who carries a bag slung on his arm, is bearing forbidden luxuries to two fair representatives of his race. A couple of Jewesses, whose persons are resplendent in jewellery, are leaning over the wicket-gate of their premises, lost in admiration at the spectacle of a little stranger—a sucking-pig—which the tempter, who has led the maternal sow and entire porcine family astray, is holding out for Mrs. Shevi—a sufficiently motherly-looking lady—to salute with a kiss. Another Hebrew gentleman, who is overlooking this transaction, has his face thrown into horrified contortions and his hair standing on end at making the discovery of this incredible depravity.

The secret of how the interdicted quadrupeds have come into the possession of the Jew clothesman is explained by a handbill advertising: 'Lost, supposed to have been stolen, a sow and seven pigs. A reward of five pounds is promised for information of the whereabouts of the wanderers.'

1813. Unloading a Waggon. Published by T. Tegg (214).

1813. None but the Brave deserve the Fair. Published by T. Tegg (231).—A gallant huzzar has ridden his charger through a pond which is supposed to isolate the walls of a park and mansion, from the security of which a damsel, 'all in white,' of redundant personal charms, is being helped to elope over the ivy-grown wall by the dashing horseman, to whose custody the lady is unreservedly entrusting the keeping of her fair person.

September 20, 1813. A Doleful Disaster, or Miss Fubby Tatarmin's Wig caught Fire. (Vide Bath Guide.)—A stout lady is in all the consternation of a blazing head of hair; the enormous superstructure piled on her head has caught fire at the top from the sconces on the mantel; her armchair is kicked over, and the whole of her household are making a desperate rush on to the scene of the conflagration; the footman has dragged the tablecloth from beneath the tea equipage, which has fallen to destruction, and is endeavouring to envelope the headdress of his mistress in the folds; a black page is discharging a flowerpot of water in the face of the distressed lady; female servants are flinging up their arms and screaming; and, in the rear, the elder servants are hurrying up in great distress.

November 5, 1813. The Two Kings of Terror. Copy of the transparency exhibited at Ackermann's Repository of Arts during the Illuminations of the 5th and 6th November, 1813, in honour of the splendid victories obtained by the Allies over the armies of France, at Leipzic and its environs.—'This subject, representing the two tyrants—viz., the tyrant Buonaparte and the tyrant Death—sitting together on the field of battle, in a manner which promises a more perfect intimacy immediately to ensue, is very entertaining. It is also instructive to observe that the former is now placed in a situation in which all Europe may see through him. The emblem, too, of the circle of dazzling light from mere vapour, which is so soon extinguished, has a good moral effect; and as the gas represents the dying flame, so does the drum, on which he is seated, typify the hollow and noisy nature of the falling usurper.'

The above description of the subject appeared in the Sun of Saturday, November 6, 1813. These printed comments arose from the picture itself having been transparent, and from a circle which surmounted the same, indicative of the strength and brotherly union of the Allies, composed of gas of brilliant brightness. (See January 1, 1814.)

November 22, 1813. The Norwich Bull Feast, or Glory and Gluttony. Published by T. Tegg (232).—The success gained by the allied armies over Napoleon and his forces, and the series of French disasters which had culminated at Leipzig, gave rise to rejoicings all over the country, in celebration of the supposed final downfall of the Corsican Emperor, the traditional enemy of England, as the people had been taught to consider him. Norwich, according to the print, is the scene of disorderly revelry. A huge bullock has been roasted whole in the market-place, and the carcase is being cut up and distributed in the streets; the unruly mob fighting over the morsels and wrenching the bones from those who are ravenously picking them; scuffles, struggles, scrimmages, and savage onslaughts are the order of the day. At the same time a puncheon of beer or spirits is broached for gratuitous distribution, and a pretty spectacle of misrule is the consequence. The fair sex are represented as the chief competitors for the drink; pails, cans, and jugs are eagerly filled, and as greedily emptied; the contents being poured down the throats of the holders or down those of their friends, who are opening their mouths to receive the liquor, which is gushing forth in streams. The incidents surrounding the liquor-cart are, if possible, more disreputable and degrading than those transpiring on all sides of the trestles on which the ox is being dismembered by a pair of butcher's men, armed with a chopper and a huge carver. Some of the female patriots are reduced to insensibility, and efforts are being made to revive one poor creature, who is lying unconscious in the midst of the struggling mass, either overpowered by the potency of the drink or smothered by the pressure; buckets of the fluid are being emptied over the prostrate sufferer by tipsy Samaritans, without alleviating her condition.

The town of Norwich is given up to the gala; flags are flying, and illuminations and fireworks render the sight more animated. A tumultuous procession is struggling along, bearing guns, pikes, &c., and carrying the effigy of Buonaparte to be gibbeted or burnt at a bonfire. Flags head the mob, inscribed Downfall of the Tyrant; Peace and Plenty, &c.

November 25, 1813. A Long Pull, a Strong Pull, and a Pull All together. Published by T. Tegg (233).—The end of 1813 promised to witness the downfall of the great 'little Boney;' one misfortune followed another; ally after ally abandoned the conqueror, who in the hour of victory had behaved magnanimously to the subjugated States, and they in return deserted their new friend when disasters were pressing on him—a sure proof of the danger of confiding in alliances extracted at the point of the sword or made in bad faith on grounds of desperate expediency. As we have seen, the blow came from the North: the treachery of Bernadotte, King of Sweden, a man who owed his elevation to the Emperor, pointed the way to prostrate Europe to free herself from the ambitious thraldom of Napoleon; the Russian Bear broke his false slumbers, the Austrian and Prussian Eagles escaped from their chains, Spain was cleared of the invaders, and lastly the Kingdom of Holland revolted in the rear of the disabled Corsican. The king, Napoleon's brother, Louis, whom he had imposed on this kingdom, had voluntarily abdicated the crown in favour of his son, a minor, in 1810. The subject is treated allegorically by Rowlandson. The Sun of Tyranny is setting on the deep; the fleets of the allies are riding on the seas, which are once more free, and the Dutch are helping to push off the Texel fleet to join the common cause. As the Allies marched against France after Napoleon's defeat at Leipzig, a combined force was sent against Holland, which had been incorporated with the French Empire in 1810, and placed under the constitution of Jan. 1, 1811, the seventeen provinces of the Netherlands being united under the dominion of France. The Prussian and Russian forces, under General BÜlow, were joined by a detachment from England under General Graham; the old Orange party once more came into activity, and on November 30, 1813, the hereditary Stadtholder arrived at the Hague. The caricaturist has simplified his view of the situation by ignoring the change of affairs that had intervened since 1810, when the Duke of Piacenza became the Emperor's representative in Amsterdam until 1811, when the State was merged into the French Empire. The artist has assumed that the kingdom had remained as administered at the resignation of Louis, July 1, 1810; and accordingly the abdicated monarch, without his crown, is pictured dancing about in a distracted state on the soil of Holland, deploring: 'Oh! Brother Nap, Brother Nap, we shan't be left with half a crown a-piece!' Napoleon is represented, according to the usual fashion of the satirists, flying about in an ungovernable frenzy as he views the receding fleet and recognises the revolt of the Netherlanders: 'Oh! Brother Joe, I'm all fire; my passion eats me up! Such unlooked-for storms of ills fall on me! It beats down all my cunning; I cannot bear it! My ears are filled with noise, my eyes grow dim, and feeble shakings seize every limb!'

The Long Pull, Strong Pull, and a Pull all together is taking place on the mainland. The weight and persevering force of John Bull is telling on the towing-line; the Don Spaniard is hand-over-hand with the national prototype, a condition of things marvellously altered since the days of the caricature. A Russian, in furs, is the next in energy; an Austrian huzzar has the rope well over his shoulder; a Prussian and others are throwing their exertions into the haul; and all is moving as merrily as could be desired.

November 27, 1813. The Corsican Toad under a Harrow. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The Corsican, who is represented as both prematurely aged and haggard, is sprawled, spread-eaglewise, on the ground; upon him is a formidable harrow, which is kept in its place by the obese figure of a traditional Hollander, who is leisurely smoking, with his hands in his pockets and an Orange favour in his hat, in philosophic indifference to the situation and sufferings of the victim, who is exclaiming, 'Oh! this heavy Dutchman! Oh! had I not enough to bear before!!!'

A Cossack is goading on the prostrate leader of the French with his lance; and a bird of prey is swooping down, attracted by the smell of carrion. The harrow is in vigorous hands, representatives of Austria, Prussia, and other German Powers; Spaniards, Portuguese, and a British tar are tugging away with hearty good-will.

November 27, 1813. The Execution of two celebrated Enemies of Old England, and their Dying Speeches, November 5th, 1813. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The effigy of Guy Faux, with his lantern, is suspended by a rope round his neck to a gallows, and facing him, on another gallows, is the figure of the Emperor Napoleon, in his uniform as general of the French army. A bonfire is blazing up bravely, and a party of schoolboys and villagers are the delighted spectators. A note informs us that the scene is not an imaginary one, but is a faithful representation of a 'bonfire at Thorpe Hall, near Louth, Lincolnshire, on 5th November, 1813, given by the Rev. W. C—— to the boys belonging to the seminary at Louth, in consequence of the arrival of news of the decisive defeat of Napoleon Buonaparte by the Allies, at 11 o'clock p.m. on the 4th, and Louth bells ringing all night.'

Guy Faux's Dying Speech.

I, Guy Faux, meditating my country's ruin by the clandestine and diabolical means of Gunpowder Plot, was most fortunately discovered and brought to condign punishment by Old England, and here I bewail my fate.

Napoleon Buonaparte's Dying Speech.

I, Napoleon Buonaparte, flattered by all the French nation that I was invincible, have most cruelly and most childishly attempted the subjugation of the world. I have lost my fleets, I have lost the largest and finest armies ever heard of, and I am now become the indignation of the world and the scorn and sport of boys. Had I not spurned the firm wisdom of the Right Hon. William Pitt, I might have secured an honourable peace, I might have governed the greatest nation; but, alas! my ambition has deceived me, and Pitt's plans have ruined me.

November 29, 1813. Dutch Nightmare, or the Fraternal Hug Returned with a Dutch Squeeze. Published by R. Ackermann.—The great Emperor is stretched, sleepless, on his imperial state bed, with the diadem above and a row of captive crowns embroidered round the canopy, the fasces of Roman lictors at the feet, and the furniture powdered with golden eagles and fleur-de-lis. This luxurious couch is not to be coveted, since tranquil rest is out of the question. The Emperor is writhing in agony, saddled with a nightmare which is not to be dislodged. The Hollanders at this time contrived to shake themselves free from their fraternal friends the French, who had laid their country under contributions until the disciples of freedom prayed to be delivered from their tutors. The example of Holland and the victories ending with the triumph at Leipzig gained by the Allies, and especially the successes secured under Wellington, re-encouraged the subjugated and prostrate Powers to look forward to the recovery of their freedom, and to take their revenge on the little conqueror. A stout Dutchman, dressed in his national costume, and wearing the Orange cockade, is, according to the picture, returning the lesson in fraternity which had cost him dear at the hands of the French, by showing his instructor the vigour of a hearty Dutch squeeze. This heavy incubus, with his hands in his pockets, is smoking his pipe, and puffing the distasteful fumes full into the face of the powerless and disgusted Corsican, and crying, 'Orange Boven!'

November 30, 1813. Plump to the Devil we boldly Kicked both Nap and his Partner Joe. Published by T. Tegg (234).—The heavy Hollander, still sporting his Orange colours, is finally roused to dispose of the intruders by the most summary and quickest method possible; with his pipe in one hand and a squab bottle of Schiedam, or Dutch courage, held like a mallet in the other, Mynheer is giving Nap a taste of Dutch weight; one vigorous kick has propelled the little Corsican high into the air and plump into the arms of the Father of Evil, who is emerging from his 'Brimstone Lake' to make sure of his friend. In the distance another Dutchman, provided with a pitchfork, is prodding Napoleon's brother Louis—who had been created King of Holland—towards the same refuge for the destitute; the usurper's crown being left behind in the flight.

December 4, 1813. The Corsican Munchausen—humming the Lads of Paris. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The Emperor, with all the bombast, bravado, and speciousness of which he had an excellent command, has summoned a meeting of his faithful subjects and supporters—who, judging from the expression of their faces, appear but an unwilling and disaffected audience—in order to present his infant son to the people. The scion of the great captain is dressed in a miniature uniform, with a long sabre trailing on the ground, and a gold stick, which he is trying to fancy is a riding-horse. The Imperial throne, the back of which bears a Medusa's head and a globe of the world, is capsized by Munchausen's manoeuvrings. The Corsican is vapouring on a grand scale, trying ineffectually to raise the ardour of his dupes: 'Did I not swear I would destroy Austria? Did I not swear I would destroy Prussia? Did I not leave the Russians 1,200 pieces of cannon to build a monument of the victory of Moscow? Did I not lead 498,000 men to gather fresh laurels in Russia? Did I not burn Moscow, and leave 400,000 brave soldiers to perish in the snow, for the good of the French nation? Did I not swear I would destroy Sweden? Did I not swear I would have colonies and commerce? Did I not build more ships than you could find sailors for? Did I not burn all the British produce, bought and paid for by my faithful merchants, before their faces, for the good of them and of my good people of Paris? Have I not called my troops from Holland, that they might not winter in that foggy climate? Have I not called my troops from Spain and Portugal, to the ruin of the English? Did I not change my religion and turn Turk, for the good of the French nation? Have I not blown up the corporal for blowing up the bridge? Have I not robbed the churches of twenty flags to send to my Empress, for the loss of my own flags and eagles? And now, for the good of my Empire, behold, O ye Lads of Paris! I have put the King of Rome in breeches!!!'

December 6, 1813. Funking the Corsican. Published by R. Ackermann.—The situation of the Emperor, as pictured by Rowlandson, is becoming critical; he is elevated on a cask of 'real Hollands Geneva,' on the top of which he is dancing about in exasperation, unable to assist himself, and surrounded by his enemies, who are all putting the great conqueror to his wits' end and revenging themselves by smoking out the Corsican; each of the representatives of the rebellious States and Powers being armed with a pipe, and pouring volumes of the fumes round the person of the tortured general; Spain, Portugal, Hanover; the Cossack, the Pole, Austria, Sweden, Bavaria, and Prussia, seated on a cannon, are all assisting; the King of WÜrtemburg is provided with a flask of 'WÜrtemburg drops;' John Bull has his foaming jug of 'brown stout;' while the Dutch Mynheer, seated on a cask of Dutch herrings, with his tobacco-pouch and twists of pigtail, is drawing a flagon of Geneva to drink success to his Serene Highness, sending out a volume of tobacco-fumes, which are completing the irritation of the badgered Corsican, who is kicking off the head of the Hollands cask, into which he will evidently plump head over ears—

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.

Before disappearing condign vengeance is threatened on the heads of his enemies: 'Oh! you base traitors and deserters! Eleven hundred thousand Lads of Paris shall roast every one of you alive, as soon as they can catch you!'

December 10, 1813. The Mock Phoenix!!! or a vain attempt to rise again. Published by R. Ackermann.—Holland, in the person of a Dutch skipper, and Russia, in that of a Cossack, are blowing and stirring a fire which is to consume the Corsican. Flames are issuing from the furnace, and, in spite of the exertions of the stokers, the figure of the Emperor is seen dwarfed, but still intact, in the thick of the fire, but whether he will rise seems doubtful; his diadem is in full blaze, while the orb and sceptre are snatched away by certain diabolic claws, and the phoenix process threatens to prove a signal failure. Serpents are crawling out of the mouth of the furnace; showers of snakes, dragons, devils, and all kinds of monsters, kin of the phoenix, are hovering amidst the smoke, and making hostile demonstrations against the declining conqueror.

December 12, 1813. Friends and Foes—up he Goes—Sending the Corsican Munchausen to St. Cloud. Published by R. Ackermann.—The Emperor is left, unsupported, in the hands of his enemies, now turned into tormentors: he is thrown into a blanket and tossed up into the air, and is suffering worse discomforts than did Sancho Panza under a similar infliction; crown, sceptre, and sword are shaken off. 'O misericorde!' cries the flying Munchausen as he is sent up to the clouds. John Bull (whose wig and hat have been thrown aside), the Dutch Mynheer, and Spanish Don are performing wonders with their side of the blanket; then come the Cossack, the Pope, the Pole, the Prince Imperial of Austria, the Emperors of Russia and Austria, and the Kings of Prussia, Hanover, and WÜrtemburg, who are all lending a hand to torment the Corsican.

December 14, 1813. Political Chemists and German Retorts, or Dissolving the Rhenish Confederacy. Published by R. Ackermann.—A delicate operation, which has engaged the attention of all the leading Powers of Europe, is supposed to be proceeding. The colossal power of the Corsican is undergoing transmutation, and the conqueror is gradually being resolved into his original elements. A German Stove supplies the furnace, and the fuel is recruited from John Bull's Coal Tub; that patriotic person is assisting the process as one of the leading experimental chemists; Dutch bellows are furnishing various powerful blasts; the Spanish Don is pounding some effectually irresistible chemicals in his famous mortar, Saragossa. The Corsican has been forced into a receiver; Bernadotte is pouring in a portion of sulphate of Swedish iron before the cover is fixed on; the Emperor, who has been reduced to mere pigmy proportions, is praying for time: 'Oh, spare me till the King of Rome is ripe for mischief yet to come!' In various retorts are seen the several elements which entered into the Imperial analysis, now resolved apart—Intrigue and Villany, Ambition and Folly, Gasconade and Lies, Arrogance and Atrocity, Fire and Sword, Murder and Plunder. All the leading States of Europe are engaged in the operation; the King of WÜrtemburg is giving his instructions; Prussia, Austria, Hesse, &c., are all interested in the success of the operation. The Pope has contributed two potent agents, Fulminating powder, and Drops from the vial of wrath. Russia, Poland, the Emperor of Austria, &c., are seated, as chemists, at a table dividing out the agents selected to dissolve the structure raised by Napoleon. From certain tracts at the Cossack's feet we learn that the 'liberty of Germany' and the 'downfall of Boney' are settled projects; while the name of Napoleon, as protector of the Rhenish confederacy, is crossed out, and that of 'Francis, Emperor of Austria, restored 1813,' is substituted in its old ascendency.

NapolÉon le Grand. InventÉe par Dubois; Alex. Tardieu effigiem del. DeposÉe À la BibliothÈque ImpÉriale.—A parody of the French plate of Napoleon's apotheosis—

The head of Napoleon appears as the centre of the constellation, Polar Star, elevated, in this case, like that of a traitor, on a pole, and surrounded by entwined and hissing serpents. Above is the face of Satan, wearing a crown of Damnation, supported by two escutcheons, marked Heart of Tyrant, and Vulture, with scourges and pronged forks. The pole is elevated on the great globe; in either corner is a French eagle; above the Imperial ensigns are pikes, axes, and standards, 'flags manufactured for the Empress,' &c.

The lustre of the constellation, Napoleon, is likely to suffer an eclipse from the sudden descent of a Dutch comet—a philosophic Hollander, seated astride on a barrel of Hollands Schiedam, the contents of which he is ignominiously discharging over the head of the solitary star of the firmament. The golden rays with which the astre brillant is illuminating the universe owe their source to the following luminous achievements:—

• Assisting in the assassination of Louis the Sixteenth, my Benefactor.
• Murdering the citizens of Paris under Robespierre.
• Murdering the citizens of Toulon.
• Insulting the Pope, robbing and plundering the churches, &c., &c.
• Poisoning my own sick soldiers at the hospital at Jaffa.
• Murdering the Duke d'AngoulÉme.
• Treacherously betraying the King of Spain and his family.
• Murdering the inhabitants of Madrid in cold blood.
• Murdering Captain Wright in the Temple, at Paris.
• Marrying two wives and intriguing with the daughter of one of them.
• The murder of Palm, of Hofer, &c., &c.
• Leading 500,000 Frenchmen to perish in Russia by the severity of the season 1812.
• Losing another similar army the following year in Germany, 1813.
• Writing lying bulletins.
• Losing all the colonies, commerce, and shipping.
• And for all these brilliant exploits I am now to be sent headlong to the Devil.

December 25, 1813. Mock Auction, or Boney Selling Stolen Goods. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—Napoleon is pictured, before his reverses became of a decided character, contemplating realising the conquests he had in hand, with a possible view of retiring from the trade. The Emperor has a sale-pulpit, and is himself officiating as auctioneer; the lot which is being offered is the crown of Spain; an old general is holding up the diadem, and the auctioneer, impatient at the indifference of the purchasers, is crying, 'What! no bidding for the crown of Spain? Then take the other crowns and lump them into one lot'—referring to a pile of diadems, the crowns of Russia, Austria, Prussia, the Papal tiara, &c., thrown into a corner, with bundles of standards, 'lots of useless eagles,' &c. Lot 2, 'Twenty flags, the property of the Empress,' 'Kingdom of Prussia,' 'Kingdom of Westphalia,' 'Saxony,' 'United Provinces,' &c. The Empress is standing behind her husband, with the infant prince in her arms. Napoleon's heir is dressed in a uniform like his father's; his face is that of a monkey. 'I suppose daddy will put us up for sale?' he is represented as saying to the Empress.

The Mock Auction has drawn plenty of company together. The Dutchman is smoking his pipe with his accustomed philosophy; a British tar is patting him on the back, as his very cordial ally, and ridiculing the Corsican's failure. The King of WÜrtemburg, Russia pictured as a Cossack, Austria as a huzzar, Prussia, Bavaria, and other Powers are present. The Spanish Don is making light of Buonaparte's pretence of offering his crown for sale; 'That a crown!' he is shouting. 'It's not worth half a crown!'

December 30, 1813. How to Vault in the Saddle, or a new-invented Patent Crane for the Accommodation of Rheumatic Rectors. Rowlandson delin. and publisher.—The incident depicted is taking place at the door of the rectory, beside the church porch, where a crane has been erected for the accommodation of the gouty and unwieldy divine. Two frisky and solidly-built damsels are hauling away at a rope, to which a sling is attached. The corpulent rector is swinging in mid air, preparatory to being lowered into the saddle; in his pocket is shown a discourse on the apposite text—'He that humbleth himself shall be exalted.' A grinning groom is holding the head of a high-cruppered horse; the minister's steed is a curiously constructed instance of equine anatomy, fondly reviving the image of the faithful Grizzle, rendered memorable as the Rosinante of Doctor Syntax, the long-enduring companion of his famous Tour in Search of the Picturesque.

1813 (?). Witches in a Hayloft. Woodward delin., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (226).—Two witches of orthodox type, with broomsticks, red cloaks, and steeple-crowned hats, are seated at a cauldron, working incantations, to assist at which serpents, hobgoblins, and various weird monsters are conjured up. A rustic clown, with a lantern and hayfork, who has thrown back the trapdoor, and is ascending to the hayloft for some purpose, is paralysed with horror and affright at the unholy spectacle suddenly revealed to his sight.

1813. Business and Pleasure. Published by T. Tegg. (272).

1813. The Glutton. Published by T. Tegg (274).

1813. The Quaker and the Commissioners of Excise. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (276).—Four well-fed Commissioners, the members of a board, seated at the green baize, are cross-questioning a Quaker, represented in a suit of conventional sad-coloured apparel, and wearing the typical broad-brimmed hat. The humility of the sectarian has proved too deep for the inquisitors, whose exactions he is evading. The chairman is indignantly remarking, 'What an impertinent fellow to keep on his hat before such a dignified assembly!' Cries one of the examiners, 'None of your thees and thous here, sir—come to the point—we know you have evaded certain duties.' 'Pray, sir, do you know what we sit here for?' pertinently demands another commissioner; to which the Quaker, with clasped hands, and rocking himself, like Mawworm, on his toes, responds, 'Verily I do—some sit here for five hundred, others for a thousand; and moreover I have heard it reported that some sit here for two thousand pounds per annum!'

1813. Doctor Syntax, in the Middle of a Smoking Hot Political Squabble, wishes to Wet his Whistle. Published by Thomas Tegg, Cheapside (209).

1813 (?). A-going! A-going! Newton del., Rowlandson sculp., Published by T. Tegg.—A wretched invalid—propped up in an armchair, without the power to assist himself—has evidently done with the 'prescriptions, boluses, and blisters' at his side, since the ranges of physic-bottles which ornament his apartment have, to all appearance, finished the patient's business effectually; he is visited by a corpulent self-satisfied practitioner, whose hat is under one arm and his cane under the other; the doctor is addressing his unconscious patient: 'My dear sir, you look this morning the picture of health; I have no doubt at my next visit I shall find you utterly cured of all your earthly infirmities.'

1813 (?). Giving up the Ghost, or one too many. Newton del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (292).—Stretched on a poor pallet, in a bare chamber, lies a wretched sufferer; by his side, sleeping in an armchair, is a lace-ruffled and powdered doctor, in whose pocket appears a dose labelled Final. An undertaker, in professional weeds, is coming in at the door, with his crape-bound mute's wand in his hand, and a coffin strapped on his shoulder. The ghostly personification of Death, as a skeleton, holding up his hour-glass, is pointing his dart through the latticed window. Below the chair of the smug slumbering practitioner appears a paper bearing the well-known lines:—

1813. The Cobbler's Cure for a Scolding Wife. Published by T. Tegg (294).

1813 (?). Cracking a Joke. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (296).

1813 (?). The Ghost of my Departed Husband, or whither, my Love, ah! whither art thou gone? Rowlandson sculp.—A grotesque scene in a churchyard. An old lady is rolling over in consternation amongst the graves, and with apparently some substantial motive for her alarm; a fantastic monster, in a red nightcap, has tripped her up, while an old gentleman, cautiously proceeding with staff and lantern, is very considerably shocked at the lady's sudden upset.

1813. Hopes of the Family, or Miss Marrowfat at Home for the Holidays. Published by T. Tegg (296).

1813. Engelbach (Lewis). Letters from Italy, (Repository of Arts, 1809–13). Republished as Naples and the Campana Felice. Seventeen plates by T. Rowlandson. (See 1815.)

1813. Poetical Sketches of Scarborough. Text signed 'J. P.' (J. B. Papworth), text initialled 'W.' (Rev. Francis Wrangham), and anonymous text written by William Combe. The titlepage runs thus:—'Poetical Sketches of Scarborough. Illustrated by twenty-one engravings of humorous subjects. Coloured from original designs made upon the spot by J. Green, and etched by T. Rowlandson. London: Printed for R. Ackermann, 101 Strand. 1813.'

'Advertisement.—The originals of the plates introduced in this volume were sketches made as souvenirs of the place during a visit to Scarborough in the season of 1812. They were not intended for publication; but being found to interest many persons of taste, several of whom expressed a desire to possess engravings of them, and some gentlemen having offered to add metrical illustrations to each, the present form of publication has been adopted.

'The several authors were not personally acquainted with each other. If this circumstance, and that of every design having been made previously to the composition of a single couplet, be considered fair ground of extenuation for faults, they claim its advantages.'

Illustrations.

• Frontispiece.—Widow Ducker, and her Nymphs.
• A Trip to Scarbro'. (The Coach upset in a Duckpond.) (York.)
• The Breakfast. (Parlour of the 'Old Bell Inn.')
• The Spa. (Spa Well Stairs.)
• Spa Terrace.
• Boot and Shoe Shop.
• The Castle (and North Shore).
• The Warm Bath.
• Cornelian Bay.
• Sea Bathing.
• A Drive on the Sands (Newby and Scalby).
• The Church and Churchyard.
• The Shower Bath.
• The Library.
• The Promenade.
• The Theatre.
• The Ball-room.
• The Terrace Steps.
• The Water Party.—Wet Quakers.
• The Post Office.
• The Departure.

August 16, 1813. The Tour of Doctor Syntax in Search of the Picturesque. A Poem. Illustrations drawn and etched by T. Rowlandson.

[Dr. Syntax originally appeared, in parts, in the Poetical Magazine.]

• Frontispiece.—The Rev. Dr. Syntax.
• The Rev. Dr. Syntax Setting out on his Tour to the Lakes.
• "" Losing his way.
• "" Stopped by Highwaymen.
• "" Bound to a Tree by Highwaymen.
• The Rev. Dr. Syntax Disputing his Bill with the Landlady.
• "" Copying the Wit of the Window.
• "" Entertained at College.
• "" Pursued by a Bull.
• "" Mistakes a Gentleman's House for an Inn.
• "" among the Tombstones.
• "" Tumbling into the Water.
• "" Loses his Money on the Raceground at York.
• "" at a Review.
• "" with my Lord.
• "" made Free of the Cellar.
• "" Sketching the Lakes.
• "" Drawing after Nature.
• "" Robbed of his property.
• "" Sells his horse 'Grizzle.'
• "" Rural Sports.
• "" with the Dairymaid.
• "" at Liverpool.
• "" Reading his Tour.
• "" Preaching.
• "" with the Bookseller.
• "" at Covent Garden Theatre.
• The Doctor's Dream: 'The Battle of the Books.'
• The Rev. Dr. Syntax returned from his Tour.
• "" taking Possession of his Living.