January 1, 1815. Female Politicians. Published by T. Tegg. Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp.—The fair members of a well-to-do family are seated at table. The elder is reading the news of the Corsican's last outrages: 'They write from Hanover that when Boneyparte took possession of that country he ravished all the women.' 'Oh, the wretch!' cries an old maid. A less antiquated lady is giving her fair neighbour the comforting assurance, 'It's very true, ma'am: it's only a word and a blow with him; your honour or your property.' 'Well, ma'am,' declares a buxom creature, 'if he should come here, at all events I'll take care of my property.' To which a budding maiden is adding, 'So will I, mamma.'

March 1, 1815. Breaking up of the Blue Stocking Club. Published by T. Tegg (343).—The dissolution of this assembly is marked by a certain amount of animosity and fury. The learned ladies are engaging in pairs, and the subject under discussion is handled with more zeal than discretion, the arguments employed being chiefly forcible. The Blue Stockings are sadly mauled; garments and hair are alike torn and dishevelled. The table, the tea equipage, and the president's armchair have all come to grief; one fair and fierce debater is trying to impress her opponent with the kettle-stand, another has floored her adversary, and is pouring forth the boiling contents of the urn over a prostrate foe. Nails, fists, and feet are alike set to work; but the favourite method of attack seems to be a firm purchase of the enemy's tresses. Cats are leaping about in dismay, and the whole tableau is one of unrestrained ferocity and recklessness.

March 1, 1815. Defrauding the Customs, or Shipping Goods not Fairly Entered. Rowlandson del. Published by T. Tegg (344).—A scene of violence, since a pair of strapping damsels, the pride of their friends, are being carried off bodily, whether they will or no, by two naval officers, whose sailors are waiting by the shore, with a boat put to sea in readiness to bear them, and their abducted charges, off to a ship which is seen at a distance. These unprincipled marauders have made an attack, in broad daylight, on the two biggest and most handsome scholars of Mrs. Crostich's boarding-school for young ladies, while the remainder of the tender flock are taking their walks abroad, with the dame at their head. But neither the vigorous efforts of the schoolmistress, nor the exertions of an old gentleman, who has been knocked over in the escape, and is sprawling powerless like a turtle, nor the efforts of a dog which is worrying the retreat of the fugitives, seem likely to hinder the accomplishment of their flight or to prevent the successful completion of their lawless designs.

March 1, 1815. Hodge's Explanation of a Hundred Magistrates. Published by T. Tegg (347).—Hodge, 'a poor honest country lout, not overstocked with learning,' has been brought before the bench on some charge or another. The smock-frocked rustic, cap in hand, is scratching his tow-like locks and questioning the fairness of the tribunal. 'How,' cries the chairman, energetically thumping away at the table in his indignation, 'how dare you, fellow, say it is unfair to bring you before one hundred magistrates, when you see there are but three of us?' In reply to which Hodge is posing his interrogator: 'Why, please your worship, you mun know when I went to school they taught I that a one and two noughts stood for a hundred; so, do you see, your worship be one, and the other two be cyphers!'

March 1, 1815. Sailors Drinking the Tunbridge Waters. Published by T. Tegg (242).—The artist has sketched the old drinking-well at Tunbridge; a body of sailors, true British tars, find themselves, by some queer chance, which is totally unexplained, at the well-known watering-place, and, what is more mysterious, these sons of Neptune are in close proximity to the Springs. A comely, well-favoured, and smartly attired young damsel, the ministering nymph of the fountain—which, in this instance, it must be confessed, closely resembles a pump—is presenting a tumbler of the fluid, drawn by her own fair hands, to a sturdy ancient coxswain, impressing on the weather-beaten salt, 'Be assured it is an excellent beverage for gentlemen who have been a long time at sea.' The ancient mariner, in recalling the effects which the waters had on 'our Poll,' and remembering his own personal interior sufferings in the Mediterranean, is reluctant to rush into unknown dangers: 'Why, lookee, ma'am, I don't wish to be unpolite, but, if your ladyship's honour pleases, I'd rather hang fire a bit.' Another hardy tar is grappling with the distasteful difficulty and making frightful attempts to swallow the contents of his tumbler; but a good proportion of the water is spilt on the ground, while he is pronouncing the stuff 'Dashed queer tipple, to be sure!' Another smart sailor has his tumbler all safe in his keeping; but he is bribing a diminutive native, who is complacently staring at the prospective drinker, to run and fetch something to qualify the cup. 'Hark'ee, young two-shoes, go and get me a pint of half-and-half and a squeeze of lemon, for darn me if I could drink it neat if I was never to weigh anchor again.'

March 13, 1815. A Lamentable Case of a Juryman. Published by T. Tegg (Nos. 220 and 347).

April 7, 1815. The Flight of Buonaparte from Hell-Bay. Published by R. Ackermann.—We find the anticipations offered in the caricatures of the previous year completely upset by Napoleon's unexpected return. The method of the Corsican's evasion is treated figuratively; in place of the Isle of Elba he is supposed to have escaped from the clutches of the evil one and out of the depths of the infernal regions. The foul fiend, Old Scratch, is represented in person, amusing himself by letting his captive loose to work fresh mischief in the world above. A diabolic armchair of serpents is planted beside the fiery lake, and for pastime Satan is toying with a pipe and blowing air-bubbles, while an attendant imp is holding a saucer of suds. The Corsican has been mounted on a bubble blown by the tempter, and then sent careering back to earth; hissing dragons, and serpents of supernatural species, are hissing forth flames and blasts of fury, which are serving as winds to waft the bubble upwards, while the sulphurous fumes are inspiring the rider with a frantic thirst for vengeance.

April 8, 1815. Hell Hounds Rallying round the Idol of France. Published by R. Ackermann.—The enthusiasm with which the return of 'Boney' was hailed, from his landing in France till his arrival in the capital, and the devoted reception he encountered from his old followers, are made the subjects of more than one travesty. In the present case the head and bust of the Emperor, on a colossal scale—his throat encircled by a hangman's noose—is elevated on an immense pyramid of human heads, his decapitated victims; a brace of demons are flying through the air to encircle the brow of this apostle of freedom with a crown of blazing pitch. A ring of excited demons, with horns, claws, hoofs, and tails, but bearing the heads and faces of Napoleon's supporters, are dancing in triumph round the idol they have replaced. From labels attached to the ropes which surround the throttles of these enthusiastic Bonapartists we discover the so-called 'Hell Hounds' to be Marshals Ney, Lefebre, Davoust, Vandamme, Savery, Caulincourt, with FouchÉ, and others. The old slaughters have recommenced; towns are committed to the flames, English goods are once more destroyed, and heaped around are soldiers, some dead and others wounded, to serve the cause of a rapacious ambition which had drained the blood of France for years.

1815. Vive le Roi! Vive l'Empereur! Vive le Diable! French Constancy and French Integrity.—As might have been foreseen, Napoleon's old ascendency over the French army asserted itself more strongly than ever; the intermediate state of things and the humiliations to which the country was unavoidably forced to submit during the process of restoring the stolen property and possessions to the rightful owners had increased the national animosity with which the troops and the people continued to regard the foreign invaders, friends, allies, and upholders of Louis le DesirÉ. The more martial spirits, wearied of a restoration with which France felt no sympathy, began to languish for the presence of their great captain, under whose military empire their laurels had been won. The fickleness and instability of the Gallic race are set forth in the present caricature. A trooper has abjured his allegiance to the Bourbons, and is hailing his Corporal with a pinch from his snuffbox; his hat is still garnished with the white cockade, Vive le Roi! above it is a red one, Vive le Diable! and, on the other side, the famous tricolor, and Vive l'Empereur! French Constancy is illustrated in these interchanged emblems. French Stability appears figuratively likened to the sails of a windmill; as to French Integrity, the emblems of a monkey and cat, kissing and fondling, pictorially sets forth the 'union between the National Guard and the troops of the line.'

April 12, 1815. Scene in a New Pantomime, to be performed at the Theatre Royal, Paris. With entire new music, dances, dresses, scenery, machinery, &c., &c. The principal characters to be supported by most of the great potentates in Europe. Harlequin by Monsieur Napoleon; Clown by King of Wirtemberg; Pantaloon, Emperor of Austria. To conclude with a comic song, to be sung by the Pope, and a grand chorus by the Crowned Heads. Vivant Rex et Regina. Published by R. Ackermann.—The wonderful exhibition is taking place in the state rooms of the Tuileries. The great throne is empty, and the sceptre and crown are temporarily laid on the steps waiting for their owner. Presto! and in flies Harlequin Bonaparte, pursued at once by all the Powers of Europe, tumbling over one another in confusion, but all armed and aiming at the nimble sprite, who had given them so much trouble to capture and secure, and who is once more to be chased, caught, and bound down again. Clown Wirtemberg is letting off a brace of pistols; Dutch Mynheer and a Prussian grenadier are discharging their blunderbusses; Austria, as Pantaloon, is too startled to be effective; the Cossack is giving the fugitive a prod with his long lance; the King of Spain has drawn the sword and aimed such a blow that it has capsized the swordsman and shaken off his crown; the Pope is armed with an axe; and all the other potentates are crowding in, an irregular mob. The portrait of the Empress, as Columbine, is being taken off the walls. As to the Harlequin, his eye looks dangerous; a dagger is held in either hand-he evidently means mischief; one tiger-like spring, and he has eluded all his pursuers, and the blows they are intending for him recoil on themselves. The portrait of Louis the Eighteenth is in the pathway for which he is making, and the nimble Corsican, in his character of Harlequin, is jumping clean through the huge paunch of the tranquil Bourbon and regaining the security of his old strongholds.

April 16, 1815. The Corsican and his Blood Hounds at the Window of the Tuileries, looking over Paris. Published by R. Ackermann.—Boney, on his arrival in Paris, proceeded to his old quarters in the Tuileries, whence Louis the Eighteenth had but just departed. Napoleon, in spite of his fatigue—for he had barely rested since his landing—sat up all night, concerting fresh measures with his supporters; and in the morning he held a grand review in the Champ de Mars, where his presence excited the most frantic demonstrations of fidelity. France showed herself intoxicated with joy at the chance of receiving back a leader with whom she had, inconsistently enough, parted without expressing much emotion or regret, except so far as the Emperor's more immediate personal adherents were concerned. In the picture we have the streets of Paris represented as being filled with a surging multitude of enthusiasts, while standards, eagles, and heads of enemies are held up on pikes, by the wilder fanatics, as signs of encouragement. Death and the Devil are tempting the Corsican from the balcony of the Tuileries; in 'return for more horrors,' and in exchange for 'death and destruction,' all that he sees is offered the conqueror. The bony skeleton is pointing out the bargain with his dart; but Time's hourglass is standing unperceived at Napoleon's side and the sand is running forth. The figure of the Devil is resting his arms fraternally on the shoulders of Boney and Marshal Ney and drawing them into an ill-starred embrace. The other marshals and adherents are in the rear; but a marked expression of apprehension is shown on the faces of the entire party, with the exception of the two supernatural visitors, who are grinning at the anticipation of fresh iniquities and increasing deadly horrors, with which they entertain the certain prospect of being gratified by their pet protÉgÉ.

May 10, 1815. The Carter and the Gipsies. Published by T. Tegg.

1815. R. Ackermann's Transparency on the Victory of Waterloo.—The loyal supporters of the Government and that indomitable British nation which had declared 'no surrender to the Corsican,' and, either in victory or defeat, had persevered, while their allies were conquered and their subsidies wasted, were rewarded for the 'outpouring of blood and treasure abroad' and the hard times and anxieties at home by finding that at last, after Waterloo, their enemy was at their mercy. Rejoicings, fireworks, and illuminations became the order of the day; and our artist, who had traced the varying career of the dreaded bugbear Boney, now lent his assistance to commemorate his downfall. In Rowlandson's simple allegory Buonaparte, on his white Arab charger, is riding his hardest away from the British pursuit; he has lost his sword, and his crown is shaken off. Wellington, with his sword ready to smite, is rapidly coming up with the fugitive, whose flight, however, is unexpectedly brought to an end by finding old Blucher, on his sturdy charger, drawn up across the very path he is taking. The redoubtable veteran is discharging a huge blunderbuss full in the face of the common enemy. Incidents in the pursuit of the routed French legions are slightly indicated in the background, and a flight of certain gilded birds are scurrying out of the dangerous vicinity.

July 28, 1815. Boney's Trial, Sentence, and Dying Speech, or Europe's Injuries Revenged.—Napoleon is arraigned, as a criminal at the bar, before the Court of Europe and a crowded tribunal; the seat of chief judge is occupied by Prince Blucher, and the assembled potentates are seated on the bench, wearing their recovered crowns, which the prisoner, in his various triumphs, had so often caused to tremble and, in some cases, had carried off completely. The kings, it is true, do not make an imposing spectacle; with the exception of the Emperor Alexander, who is seated beside the Prince Regent, they still seem to look upon the lately dreaded foe with trepidation. The occupants of the court and the lawyers are regarding the criminal under sentence with abhorrence; a posse of tipstaves are drawn up below the prisoner's bar; and Napoleon, who is trying to move the compassion of his hearers by hypocritical humility, has a friend at his back, who is ready to seize his bond—the Black Fiend is his unseen attendant prompter in person. Old Blucher, clad in his field-marshal's uniform, with the addition of a judge's wig, is standing up, and, with emphatic gestures, is pointing to the act of accusation set forth at length on a screen in the court: 'Napoleon Bonaparte, the first and last by the wrath of Heaven, ex-Emperor of the Jacobins, and Head-Runner of Runaways, stands indicted: 1. For the murder of Captain Wright in the Temple, at Paris. 2. For the murder of the Duke D'Enghien, Pichegru, and Georges. 3. For the murder of Palm, Hofer, &c., &c. 4. For the murder of the twelve inhabitants of Moscow. 5. For innumerable robberies committed on all nations in Christendom and elsewhere. 6. For bigamy; and lastly for returning from transportation and setting the world in an uproar.' The inflexible judge is hurling forth his condemnation: 'You, Nap Bonaparte, being found guilty of all these crimes, it is fallen to my lot to pronounce sentence of death on you. You are to be hung by the neck for one hour till you are dead, dead, dead, and your body to be chained to a millstone and sunk in the sea at Torbay.' The fallen Emperor is naturally much moved at this final judgment, and he is interceding for a respite: 'Oh, cruel Blucher! oh, cruel Wellington! it is you that have brought me to this end. Oh, magnanimous Emperors, Kings, and Princes, intercede for me and spare my life, and give me time to atone for all my sins. My son, Napoleon the Second, will reward you for mercy shown me!'

November, 1815. Transparency Exhibited at R. Ackermann's, in the Strand, on November 27, 1815, the day on which the General Peace was celebrated in London.—As all England was exerting itself to display its loyalty and the universal delight occasioned by the conclusion of the Continental wars, Rowlandson contributed a characteristic cartoon, which appeared, like its predecessors, outside the Repository of Arts, allegorically commemorating the downfall of 'Boney' and the second restoration of the legitimate reigning house. The design of this transparency was arranged in the form of a monument, capped by a throne; at the base is a trophy; the Prince of Wales's plume is waving above two gilt tablets, inscribed with the names of the two victorious generals, Wellington and Blucher, and surrounded by pieces of dismounted artillery and groups of standards, with the Union Jack and the Russian and Prussian flags in front. Above this group is a base, inscribed, 'Peace throughout Europe,' with a tablet, 'Charlemagne, Nassau, Capet, Bourbon,' and two wreaths, dedicated to 'Humanity' and 'Justice.' Upon this platform a canopy is raised aloft, festooned above the throne of St. Louis, with the restored crown; a serpent, emblematic of eternity, and the three doves; the front of the seat is supported by bundles of fasces, with double axes, and classic wreaths and lyres. A flight of steps mounts up to the throne on either side. On the right is Wellington, supporting Louis XVIII., restored to his rights; his train are following the ascent of their sovereign, and the figure of Justice is floating on the clouds above the monarch's head. Fame is blowing her trumpet on the other side; while Bonaparte and his baffled supporters are effecting a rapid descent by the left-hand staircase; Blucher, standing on the top step, is making their defeat secure by a discharge from his huge blunderbuss. Bodies of the Allied troops are drawn up at the base; on the right a group of Cossacks, with Prussian and English cavalry; on the left is a gathering of the various foot-soldiers. A sturdy Highlander is putting the finishing stroke to a discomfited plotting Bonapartist with his bayonet, and summarily stamping out Imperialist intriguers.

July 14, 1815. Easter Monday, or the Cockney Hunt.—Designed, etched, and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi. In clearing a gate, after the hounds, a little antiquated sportsman has missed his seat and is going over his horse's ears; behind him is a dashing Diana, who is spurring her horse over the palings of a park in gallant style.

November 16, 1815. My Ass. Designed and etched by T. Rowlandson. Written by Mr. J. Tedir. Published by I. Sidebotham, 96 Strand.—The adventures of a hawker of vegetables and her faithful donkey, depicted in a series of six cuts, illustrating the invaluable qualities of the quadruped. The composition commences thus:—

The other verses being in the same strain.

1815. Measuring Substitutes for the Army of Reserve.—In 1815, owing to the French wars, soldiers were necessarily at a premium; and, from an advertisement in the justices' room, where the substitutes are being measured, we learn that the bounty was fixed at 30l. per man. Those great functionaries, a country justice and his clerk, appear seated in state, to warrant the proceedings. A commanding officer and his sergeant are labouring prodigiously, for the needs of the service, to force certain stunted and misshapen rustics, who have been enlisted to serve their country, up to the military standard. Further relays of ungainly 'chawbacons' are waiting their turn without.

1815. A Journeyman Tailor.—A half-clad slave of the thimble is shown squatting on his board in a squalid hovel; his half-starved 'helper' is seated by his side; both are pressing garments with hot irons, and a rough and ragged urchin is heating a further supply of the article known as 'a tailor's goose' at the grate; while a street hawker, a blowsy Hibernian, is screaming her wares (cucumbers and cabbages) in at the doorway. This picture bears some resemblance to a caricature published by Rowlandson in 1823, under the title Hot Goose, Cabbage, and Cucumbers.

1815. Neighbours. Published by T. Tegg (235).—The wooden casements of two windows, which turn on one post connecting the houses, are thrown back, and simultaneously a neat-looking young farmer and a well-favoured young damsel are stooping forward and their lips meeting in a cheerful salute, to the horror and scandal of two elderly witnesses, who are expressing their reprobation at the openness of the proceeding. The young swain at the same moment is trying to hang up a cage, which appropriately contains a pair of cooing doves.

1815 (?). An Eating-house.

1815 (about). Banditti.—The occupants of the house attacked, confined to the female members, are sleeping, without suspicion of the danger which is to surprise them. A band of ill-favoured and repulsive-featured freebooters, provided with a miscellaneous armoury of slaughterous-looking weapons, are stealing in on deadly mischief bent. The scene is dramatic.

1815. Virtue in Danger.

An old boy who has ventured unprotected—beyond the guardianship of an umbrella which bears a family resemblance to the holder—amidst the dangers of the wicked town, is forcibly taken possession of by two shameless nymphs; one is stealing his money, while the other is helping herself to his watch. The elderly and corpulent stranger is too astonished at this barefaced iniquity to offer the feeblest resistance. The night watchman is going his rounds, and enjoying a laugh at the expense of the victim; this trustworthy guardian of the streets is too evidently a confederate of the predative fair, and is personally interested in the plunder.

1815 (?). An Unexpected Return, or a Snip in Danger.

1815 (?). A Musical Doctor and his Scholars.

1815 (?). Slap-bang Shop.—The interior of an eating-house in the city. A tall, well-formed, and comely waitress is bringing in the dinner of a wicked old reprobate, who is leering his admiration of her personal attractions. All the venerable sinners, amateurs of female loveliness, shown taking their meals in the various boxes, are turning their heads to gloat over the charms of this favoured handmaiden, who is followed by a 'help' carrying pots of beer for the various customers.

1815. Jack Tar admiring the Female Sex.

1815. Accidents will Happen.—This, and the following subjects, to the number of half-a-dozen, are selected from prints in some degree pirated from Rowlandson, and, although bearing his name in the corner, in many instances the incidents of well-known caricatures have been altered, and prints have been issued, engraved in an inferior style, as new caricatures. The principal of these adaptations, or poor renderings of drawings, were published by Marks. Accidents will Happen introduces a cellar incident. A maid has begun to descend the stairs to draw some beer, and has come to grief, probably from fright, as files of scared rats are scampering away, and a cat is tearing up the wall, while a mischievous monkey has broken loose from his chain. The shock has caused the damsel to lose her balance, her pitcher is broken, and she is sprawling in an attitude which has astonished her master, who, candle in hand, is coming down the winding stairs of the cellar to survey the scene of the disaster.

1815. Sympathy.—This emotion is rendered in the feelings of a stern functionary, evoked in favour of a lady in Bridewell, who is being led out of the cells by the warder to be flogged, a punishment which, it would seem, had not been abolished in Rowlandson's day. The eye of the coarse and elephantine jailer is gloating over the fair back of the unfortunate criminal, laid bare for the application of the cat.

1815. Despatch, or Jack preparing for Sea.—Jack Tar is making the most of his opportunities on shore; he is surrounded by the delights which constitute the sailor's elysium; punch and grog galore, a brace of fiddlers, and a bevy of beauties, florid Pollies of Portsmouth, towards whom he is making tipsy demonstrations of affection. In those days, when prize-money fell in golden showers, the valiant sea-dogs who defended our shores, and made John Bull's name redoubtable on the ocean, were able to command, in their short intervals on shore, luxuries after their own hearts, for which, after the dangers and hardships of active service, they threw away their 'yellow boys' with the recklessness which characterised their habits, and proved a rich harvest to the plunderers who were on the watch for seamen just 'paid off.'

1815. Deadly Lively.—The coarse humours of a spirit-cellar are served up with a tragic accompaniment. A young female is stretched incapable and asleep, sunk in all the degradation of dead drunkenness. A man who is no longer master of himself is raising his tumbler, with a tipsy desire to have it replenished. The apparition of King Death, bony, frightful, and sinister, is grinning over the back of the soddened tippler's chair, recruiting his legions from a fruitful source; he is supplying the rummer of the drunken wretch from his own vial, little more fatal than the fluid which is debasing and deadening its victims around. A stout woman, also sinking into tipsy apathy, is roused by the shock of finding the king of terrors added to the company; she is thrown off her balance with a start, and, falling backwards on the stone floor of the vault, she will probably break her neck—as the artist's intention seems to hint—and furnish Death with another customer.

1815. The Fort.

1815. (Officer.) The Military Adventures of Johnny Newcome, with an account of his Campaigns in the Peninsula, and in Pall Mall, with sketches by Rowlandson and notes by an Officer. London: Printed for Patrick Martin, 198 Oxford Street. 8vo.

He jests at scars who never felt a wound.—Shakespeare.

• Frontispiece.—Johnny Newcome starting to join his Regiment.
• Johnny Newcome going to lay in stock.
• A Bad Billet.
• Taking his Breakfast.
• Introduced to his Colonel.
• Smells Powder for the first time.
• Johnny writes an Account of the action to his mother, which afterwards appears in the Star.
• Half Rations.
• Learning to Smoke and drink Grog.
• Poor Johnny on the sick list.
• Going sick to the rear.
• Johnny safe returned to his Mamma.
• Made an A.D.C. 'Dash'd with his suite for Santarem that night.'
• Johnny on duty with his chief.
• Presenting the Trophies (taken from Joseph Buonaparte) to the Prince Regent.

1815. The Grand Master, or Adventures of Qui Hi in Hindostan. A Hudibrastic Poem in eight Cantos by Quiz. Illustrated with twenty-eight engravings by Rowlandson. Plates dated October 1, 1815. (Quiz fecit, Rowlandson sc.) London: Printed by T. Tegg. The intention of this work seems an attempt to hold up the Governor-General (the Marquis of Hastings) to opprobrium, but whether deserved or not, Europeans have small chance of judging.

• Frontispiece.—A new Map of India from the latest authority. The Governor-General (Marquis of Hastings) and his Council (Imbecility) mounted on an Elephant. Tusks (marked Monopoly and Ambition) fettered by Restrictions (Board of Control and House of Commons) &c.
• Titlepage.—The End of the Pagoda Tree, and the ultimate fate of the Viceroy and his Council, &c. &c.
• A Scene in the Channel.
• The Modern Idol Juggernaut.
• Miseries of the First of the Month.
• The Burning System Illustrated.
• Missionary Influence, or how to make Converts.
• An Extraordinary Eclipse.
• Labour in vain, or his Reverence Confounded.
• Hindoo Prejudices.
• John Bull Converting the Indians.
• More Incantations, or a Journey to the Interior. (Nepaul War).
• Miseries in India. (Insects.)
• The Bear and Ragged Staff. (Viceroy and Council as Idols.)
• Hindoo Incantations. A View in Elephanta.

• Phantasmagoria. A View in Elephanta.
• The Modern Phaeton, or the Hooghly in danger.
• Qui Hi arrives at the Bunder Head.
• Qui Hi in the Bombay Tavern.
• Pays a Nocturnal Visit to Dungaree.
• Attends General Koir Wig's Levee.
• Qui Hi's Introduction and cool Reception.
• Qui Hi shows off at the Bobbery Hunt.
• Qui Hi at Bobbery Hall.
• All alive in the Chokee.
• Last Visit from the Doctor's Assistant.
• Qui Hi's last March to Padree Burrows's Go Down.
• Strange Figures near the Cave of Elephanta, 1814. Auspicio Regis, et Senatus AngliÆ.

June 1, 1815. Naples and the Campagna Felice, in a series of letters (by Lewis Engelbach). With Illustrations by Rowlandson, &c. 8vo. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand. (Reprinted from Repository of Arts, 1810–13.)

• Frontispiece.—The Colonel (Don Luigi) awakened from a sleeping tÊte-À-tÊte by a serenade from his fair, and lately unconscious, companion.
  
  Se tanto a me piace
  Si rara beltÀ;
  Io perdero la pace,
  Quando si sveglerÀ.
  

  If, while entranced in balmy rest,
  His charms can give such pain;
  When he awakes, my wounded breast
  Will ne'er know peace again.
  
• Don Luigi's baggage seized by four Lazzaroni.
• Ancient Greek Paintings from Herculaneum: Ariadne, Bacchante and Satyr, &c.
• Don Luigi meets Donna Anna in the Museum.
• Ancient Greek Paintings from Herculaneum: Centaurs, Chiron teaching Achilles to play the lyre, &c.
• Sleeping tÊte-À-tÊte at a first visit of Don Luigi.
• Don Michele getting up the ship's side.
• Don Luigi's Ball.
• A Bacchanalian Scene at Don Luigi's Ball.
• Don Michele preparing for his Triumphal Expedition.
• The Letter Writer, Naples.

The Letter Writer.—'On our way to the mole we had some difficulty in passing through a crowd of people, who, with great eagerness, and with Neapolitan clamour, had assembled round a man, sitting with pen and ink before a frail table, busily employed in committing to paper the crude thoughts of a country clown in the attitude of dictating to him; for the noise was too loud to hear what was going forward. A board above the head of the engrosser proclaimed his calling: 'Qui si fanno memoriali, lettere, ed altre scritture, nel ottimo stilo moderno.' (Here are drawn up memorials, letters, and other writings, in the best modern style.) Ever eager to seize any opportunity of observing the manners and national character of a people whom I have every reason to think better of than some of our superficial magpie-tourists, I pressed forward to obtain a nearer view of the transactions of this universal secretary, when my companion, Don Michele, pulling me back by the skirt of my coat, begged I would not demean myself by thus mixing with the vulgar.

'The composer of letters was just receiving from an elderly woman the sum of six grani (about threepence) for an epistle he had indited to her son at Bari; after which a farmer, next in rotation, was admitted into presence. His business appeared to be on secret service, for the corresponding oracle politely requested some of the more curious auditors to step a little aside. At first, indeed, the farmer's instructions were conveyed in a whisper; but as a Neapolitan loves dearly to talk as loud as his lungs will let him, and to accompany his sermocinations with the most expressive gestures, it soon became less difficult to discover that the subject under present consideration was a horse which had been sold to a cavalry officer, and for which a balance was still owing; the prompt payment whereof was to be peremptorily insisted on by a respectful dun. As soon as a period was happily brought to paper, it was read over to the listening clodhopper, who, in a manner, beat time to the emphatic and rhythmical reading of the professor by periodical nods of the head, and at the end of the sentence expressed his astonishment at the sagacity with which his obscure ideas had been caught up and classified. This literary production, owing probably to the importance of the subject, was disposed of for the valuable consideration of eight grani (fourpence), paper included; and its possessor, with inward satisfaction, left the oracular tripod, in order to make room for a Turkish captain of a polacca, whose literary necessities consisted in a memorial claiming the restitution of some goods illegally seized.... When the document was ready for signature, Ibrahim Reis, who could neither read nor write, was desired to make his cross at foot, which he refused with religious abhorrence; but, dipping his little finger into the inkstand, imprinted on the paper a correct facsimile of the tortuous furrows of his cuticle by way of signet. To my great surprise, this state paper was valued at no more than one carlin (fivepence), although engrossed on a folio page and decorated with some fancifully flourished initials.

'The Turk no sooner discharged his literary debt than a well-dressed young lass gained his place. (This interview is pictured forth in the artist's illustration.) The despatch, however, which was to be written for her, must have been on secret and confidential service, for the instructions she gave to the engrosser were communicated in so low a whisper that, from my observatory, the scene appeared one of purely pantomimical action. When I relate that the time employed by this universal author in the production of the farmer's dun and the Turk's memorial did not exceed half an hour, and that the contents, although somewhat fustian, were very much to the purpose, you will agree with me that Signor Bucatelli possessed talents far above his station. Indeed, Don Matteo assured me that he was as good a poet as an epistolary writer, and that his sonnets on any particular occasion, such as for a wedding, a birthday, &c., may be obtained on the shortest notice, and at equally reasonable rates; in short, that he could wield his pen on any subject whatsoever.

'To a publisher in England a man like Signor Bucatelli would be an invaluable treasure, a host within himself, by the versatility of his genius and the despatch of his literary labours: his charges of authorship, as you have seen, are consonant with the modesty of true genius. His elevated style of writing (truly nel ottimo stilo moderno) would soon render him a most popular author with us. I was just going to step down to give him the substance of a poetical epistle as a specimen of his abilities, when a little girl brought him a small dish of stewed Windsor beans, a large raw cucumber, and a crust of bread. This frugal fare, and a glass of iced water from the neighbouring stall, well calculated to preserve his intellectual powers unclogged, Don Matteo informed me, was the whole of his dinner; which, together with a cigar by way of dessert, interrupted his official duties for about half an hour, after which, if matters of pressing service remained to be despatched, he would resume his quill, and suspend his siesta, or afternoon nap, to a late hour of the day.'

Don Luigi's Ball.—Before leaving his apartments on the Infrescata the writer was anxious, as a slight return for the kindness of his host and the hospitalities he had received in Naples, to give a dance to a few friends of his own and of his entertainer, his host and friend Don Michele undertaking the entire responsibilities of inviting the guests, ordering refreshments, decorating the chambers, and other preliminaries.

'"First, as to the company," reports the Don, "there will be ten couples, besides our family and odd ones, if they all come, of which there is little doubt; and what is more, gente di garbo (people of quality), such as you might suppose my friends to be. Three or four will come in their own carriages; and some of the lasses will show you what is called dancing at Naples. Care, too, has been taken that they should not want for good music; you will have, Signor Don Luigi, the first oboe of St. Carlo, two excellent violins, a flute, tenor, and violoncel; my son will play the tambarine."

'"Six musicians, Don Michele, for this little dance! Why, that's out of all reason. Half the number——"

'"Are hired; and the others, gentlemen high in the profession, who for my sake have promised to assist as friends at your party. Money, of course, is out of the question. You see, good sir, Don Michele can command a thing or two. As many more would have come if I had asked them, but these will be sufficient to begin the evening with a little concert; my friend will give you a concerto on the oboe; one of the ladies will sing a scena from an opera, to which we may add a duet or two; and at ten o'clock the dance shall begin. As to the refreshments, I have almost run my legs off to get you the rum (the ladies were to be treated with ice punch, as a rarity). Seventy ices are ordered, cakes and sweetmeats as you desired, and a friend of mine will lend us a dozen of wall chandeliers." These lights, connected with festoons of artificial flowers, and a number of pots of flowers exhaling their fragrance over the rooms, gave the place an elegant appearance.

'The musicians arrived in good time, and the company dropped in fast after eight o'clock. To receive such a number of strange faces appropriately was a most irksome task,' continues the writer; 'but it was alleviated by the sight of many a good-looking young lass, and two or three real beauties, and one especially, Donna Carlina. My English friends from the city, and the lieutenant and doctor from the frigate, likewise made their appearance in due time; and healthily as their countenances shone forth, and well-dressed as they were, they greatly eclipsed my Neapolitan bucks, and found much grace among the ladies. I could not help remarking the contrast of manners between two Christian countries. In a more northern latitude, persons coming to the party of a perfect stranger would have conducted themselves with that cautious, anti-social reserve which some people call good manners; some of the ladies would have sat down on their chairs as prim and as stiff as so many hop-poles, cast down their modest looks until spoken to by charity, and then rebuffed a second attempt by a monosyllabic reply, a "Yes, sir," an "Indeed, sir?" a "You are very good, sir," &c. Now I will just tell you how matters went on in the Infrescata. Monstrous bows and introductory compliments: this over, all these people seemed as though they had been twenty times in my company.' The Don describes the improvised introductory concert, at which nearly all the company assisted, the Neapolitans having a natural taste for melody, and most of them being fair musicians; the entertainer next gave orders to prepare for the dance, and to hand refreshments in the interval.

'My punch,' he continues, 'found much favour with all present, the ladies not excepted, who emptied their glasses as rapidly as if it had been lemonade. Although not dancing, I was fully employed in another way. With all our windows open, the strains of my numerous orchestra propagated their sound over the whole neighbourhood, some of whose inhabitants, impelled by the attraction of sweet sounds, could not resist favouring me with their company. The circumstance of their not being invited to the feast appeared to them a mere trifle not worthy of their attention; and an extraordinary celerity in decorating their exterior (which is all the essential part of a Neapolitan's full dress), would soon enable them to appear in company with Neapolitan decency. To my great surprise, therefore, Don Michele and I had to receive, from time to time, an influx of these unbidden guests, who in most submissive language begged a thousand pardons for their freedom and intrusion. As Don Michele, my master of the ceremonies, seemed to know them all, and, moreover, as I could neither help their coming, nor, when once arrived, turn them out, I thought it best to put a good face on the matter, and receive every one, especially the ladies, with a hearty welcome (as pictured forth in the plate), assigning them places in the adjoining room, where I contrived to form another set of dances; for the number of these parasitical guests soon grew nearly equal to that of my standard company. As my company were now capering away in two of my apartments, I blush to confess that my resolution to keep my toes in a state of quiet quiescence was shaken at last. I could have withstood the pressing solicitations of half-a-dozen of these exhilarated damsels, but for the irresistible temptation of their animated example, and of the excellent music. Fancy the loving smiles, the glistening eyes, the seducing attitudes of these pretty Neapolitan bacchantes, and then ask your conscience how long any Christian, were he even a Quaker or Moravian, could have stood proof against such attraction? The worst of the thing was, that having once broken my vow by dancing with Miss Carlina, a kind of rivalry ensued among the other ladies, most of whom now laid a successive claim to be led down a country dance by il Signor Colonello.

'In the course of these pedestrian evolutions I thought I observed in several of my fair partners, cheerful as they had been before, an unusual and extraordinary access of spirits and gaiety; which, with every allowance for the southern latitude and the ice punch (now administered to them the more frugally by reason of the unlooked-for increase in my numbers), I was at a loss to account for, till I saw my man Benedetto whisper something into Don Michele's ear, which the latter telegraphed into mine.

'But before I let you into this secret it is proper that, like a skilful general, I should in my report give a correct description of the localities of the field of battle. The kitchen belonging to my apartments is on the same floor with them, and in this particular the Neapolitan system of domestic architecture is not different from what you may have observed in a set of chambers, or in many old-fashioned mansions in England. Right opposite to the entrance of this kitchen of mine there is an elevated shelf, on which stand (I had better say stood) my three wine-bottles, of immense calibre; the first (having been emptied since my stay in the Infrescata) then, and now, containing from six to eight gallons of excellent atmospheric air (such as you breathe at this altitude); the second, of similar dimensions, about half full of delicious old Pozzuoli wine; and the third, not less in size, brim-full of the like grape-juice, with its fluid oil-bung floating at the top.

'No sooner did one of the damsels espy the forbidden shelf than the assault thereon was a settled matter: veni, vidi, bibi, was the word; and my delicious Pozzuoli wine fell an easy prey to their sacrilegious hands and palate. Implentur veteris Bacchi, or, in plain English, mesdames tippled till they had their fill, and what they left was very nearly finished by four or five half-starved footmen and other hall rabble in attendance on their worthy masters; for when Don Michele went into the kitchen he found but a small remnant in one of the bottles, which he secured in his own room.

'Inspired with the juice and further excited by the agitation of dancing, most of my fair guests became still more exhilarated; some grew ecstatically merry, and a few scarcely manageable. Surrounded by these voluptuous "bacchÆ," I feared the fate of Orpheus. Their frolics, however, I must say to their credit, were chiefly levelled at Don Michele, probably because he had spoiled the continuation of their sport. The poor man had now to suffer all sorts of mischief for refusing to join in their revels, till at last, for the sake of peace, he consented to dance one minuet, and no more. All was hushed in an instant, when he placed himself with his fortunate partner in the middle of the room, as stiff as buckram and as serious as if he were occupied with the solution of an algebraic problem. But no sooner had he performed the first step or two, than, in turning his body with grave elegance on the pivot of his toe, a pair of white silk garters were seen gracefully dangling down his back, and describing, at every turn of his automaton body, a variety of flowing irregular curves in the circumambient air. The merriment which this unusual sight occasioned, was in vain attempted to be stifled in a muttered titter; it soon burst out with increased violence, his wife not excepted, who heartily joined the general laugh, but informed her better half of the cause of the satisfaction he gave the company. When I learned the extent of the spoliation committed upon my bin, I did not so much regret the actual loss I thereby sustained, as apprehend some unpleasant scenes of interruption to our festivity and mirth from the excessive indulgence in the forbidden juice. However, whether it was owing to the excellence of the vintage, or to strength of constitution in the fair partakers, only one casualty occurred.

'The dawn of morn was the signal for the gradual separation of the company, from all of whom, whether of the establishment or extra guests, I had received in the course of the evening the most pressing requests to make their house my own; and to their credit I must say that, as far as I have yet had time or inclination to try the sincerity of their invitations, I have had no cause to regret my complaisance.

'When I relate that five leaden ice-moulds and eight of the confectioner's pewter spoons were missing, you will scarcely suppose that any of the good things, such as cakes, sweetmeats, &c., were suffered to remain on the sideboard at the departure of my guests. Whether this practice not to "leave a wreck behind" is as general here as in Malta, I am unable to decide. At the latter place, let the provision be ever so abundant, what the stomach cannot compass the pockets are sure to hold, and in stuffing those no great nicety is observed; so the article is portable at all, it finds its way into one or the other of the pedestrian saddle-bags as by instinct. I have been assured by one of our officers that, at a great fÊte which General Fox recently gave at Malta, one of the inhabitants (of sufficient rank to be of the party) very dexterously, and, as he fancied, unobserved, slipped a small pullet, wrapt in his pocket-handkerchief, into one of his side receptacles. Unfortunately, an officer near him, seeing the sleight-of-hand transaction, poured a dose of parsley and butter after it, saying very coolly, "Allow me, sir, to help you to a little sauce at the same time."'

1815. The Dance of Death. With illustrations, 2 vols., royal 8vo. Published by R. Ackermann. (See 1816.)