June 13, 1823. Not at Home, or a Disappointed Dinner-hunter. Published by John Fairburn. Broadway, Ludgate Hill.—The dinner-hunter, evidently a well-to-do but miserly person, to whom avarice dictates the pursuit of the victuals of his acquaintances, has called at the well-appointed house of a friend at the exact dinner-hour, since a boy from an adjacent public-house is handing in the beer; but the footman, who recognises the visitor's object, is prepared with the chilling information, 'Not at home.' On the opposite side of the street is represented an À la mode beef shop, to which sundry stout diners are resorting. The execution of this plate is above the average, the etching being worked out with both care and spirit. A companion print, executed with similar finish, was issued by the same publisher.

June 19, 1823. An Old Poacher Caught in a Snare.—The old poacher has evidently come on a dangerous quest, and is fairly trapped. The object of his snares, a handsome and elegantly-drawn lady, is thrusting the old sinner, suddenly disturbed by the unexpected return of the husband, into the embrasure of the fireplace, and endeavouring to conceal the marauder with the board which was used to close the chimneypiece. The injured spouse has evidently been out hunting, and has purposely returned on a more particular quest; whip in hand, he is bursting into the room. The hat and stick of the hoary poacher are thrown to the ground, and the hunter's hounds are tearing in on a good scent which promises fitting retribution to be dealt on the head of the detected evil-doer.

1823. Hot Goose, Cabbage, and Cucumbers.

September 18, 1823. The Chance-seller of the Exchequer Putting an Extinguisher on Lotteries. Published by Tom Brown, Peter Street, Westminster.—The Chancellor of the Exchequer is literally extinguishing Fortune, who is represented as a comely and youthful winged female holding a well-filled purse in one hand and a lottery prize for 2,000l. in the other. At her feet are caskets of gems and jewels; she is seated on well-filled sacks; behind her is the wheel of fortune. A crowd of Bluecoat Boys are urging their entreaties. 'Come, madam,' cries the Chancellor, 'put on your nightcap.' A chorus of cries of disappointment proceeds from a mob of persons in front. One agonised lady of elegant exterior is praying: 'Stop; let me get a prize first.' A laundress, pointing to the washing-tub, cries, 'Let her alone; take off the soap tax.' 'Shut up the subscription houses,' urges another. A cobbler shouts, 'Give us a lottery, and no leather tax;' another cries out, 'No tax on tallow,' and a parson denounces horse-racing. On the column behind Madame Fortune suggestive placards are pasted: 'Races, King's Cup,' 'Reform Parliament, Public Morals,' and 'Fudge: a Farce.' Various Ministerial and Parliamentary critics are discussing the new measure. One is saying, 'Little Van [Vansittart] knew better than to abolish a voluntary tax;' another is pointing out, 'He's only a young Chancellor;' while a third, alluding to the popular outcry in relation to existing imposts, remarks, 'Hear, hear! I knew they'd grumble.' A less disinterested party is taking the opportunity to secure prize bags, gold-dust 'pickings and fillings' from the upset of Fortune's cornucopia; he cries, 'Persevere, and the saints shall praise you.'

1823. Third Tour of Doctor Syntax. Royal 8vo.

1823. The Three Tours of Doctor Syntax. Pocket edition, 3 vols. 16mo. (See description of The Three Tours of Doctor Syntax, 1812.)

1823. Oliver Goldsmith. The Vicar of Wakefield. 8vo. Illustrated with 24 plates by Thomas Rowlandson. (See 1817.)

1823. C. M. Westmacott. The Spirit of the Public Journals for the years 1823–4–5. 3 vols. 8vo. (See 1825.)

1823. The Toothache, or Torment and Torture.—The village Jack-of-all-trades, a very imposing, grave, and learned professor in appearance, is drawn in the exercise of one branch of his multifarious vocations. A stout wench has called in to have an obstinate grinder dragged out of her head; 'torment and torture' are mild terms for the operation. The patient is seated in the chair of agony. Factotum's assistant, a lad whose offices seem as diversified as those of his master, has brought an elegant pair of horse-pliers for the delicate process of extraction. A dog is setting up a sympathetic howl; this animal is one of the grotesque nondescripts which Rowlandson delighted to depict after his own theories, careless whether literal critics, unfamiliar with his admirable studies after nature, took upon themselves to assert that he could not master the drawing of animals. From the agonised expression which the artist has succeeded in throwing into the canine features it would appear as if Toby was also a patient attending the dentist's tender offices in his turn. An old country dame who is also distracted with a raging molar is waiting without. One branch of our friend's business is obviously flourishing. Although the rustic practitioner does not display his diploma from the College of Surgeons, or his licence to kill by authority, he has nailed up a certificate with which, it is probable, he is equally satisfied: 'Barnaby Factotum; Draws Teeth, Bleeds and Shaves; Wigs made here; also Sausages. Wash Balls, Black Puddings, Scotch Pills, Powder for the Itch, Red Herrings, Breeches Balls, and Small Beer by the Maker. 'In Utrumque Paratus.' There is an air of verisimilitude about this advertisement which reads like an actual transcript.