The collector will soon discover that in England allegory formed at no period, except, perhaps, in the days of Bartolozzi and Sherwin, a really national style in book-plates, but rather an occasional fancy indulged in by a particular individual here and there. Whilst in France book-plates on which was displayed allegory, and the wildest allegory, were actually abundant, in England they are decidedly rare; and it is indeed interesting to see how our English artists set to work when called upon to design them.

So far as I am aware, the earliest example of an English Allegoric book-plate as yet brought to light, is that of Thomas Gore of Alderton, which is fully described on p. 34. This may be dated somewhere about 1675, and was, as the signature shows us, the work of a Dutch artist, Michael Burghers; so that we may, perhaps, regard the allegory upon it rather as the outcome of Michael's brain than the carrying out of instructions given him by a Wiltshire squire!

The date of the next English book-plate I have noticed, in which allegory is introduced, is also the work of a foreigner,—a Frenchman,—Louis du Guernier, who, at the age of thirty, came over from Paris in 1708, and who died here in 1716. Soon after his arrival he executed a book-plate, decidedly foreign in appearance, for Lady Cairnes, wife of Sir Alexander Cairnes of Monaghan. The Cairnes arms, impaling Gould, are on a round shield in a scaly frame; this is placed on steps, at the back of which is classical masonry. The shield is kept from falling by three cupids,—two seated and one standing,—whilst two flying ones hold aloft a ribbon bearing the owner's name, thus: 'Lady Elizabeth Cairnes.' She was a sister of Sir Nathaniel Gould, so that her description on the book-plate as 'Lady' is clearly wrong; she should have been called 'Dame.' The error arose, most likely, from the engraver's imperfect knowledge of English titles,—a very general stumbling-block to foreigners. The book-plate is an exceedingly pretty piece of work. There is some of the Jacobean scale work used in it which English engravers were beginning to introduce into their designs; but the employment of allegory is certainly the most striking feature it possesses. I do not know of any other book-plates executed by Louis du Guernier while in England, and probably the people of this country were not yet quite prepared to confide—as Lord De Tabley puts it—their family escutcheons 'to the care of Minerva or the Delian Phoebus himself.'

But though Michael Burghers's somewhat unbeautiful allegory may not have pleased Thomas Gore or his other English clients in 1675, nor the prettier allegory of Louis du Guernier have generally commended itself to people in this country in 1710, allegory, if not in the work of these artists, was bound sooner or later to come into fashion on English book-plates, seeing that it was, and for long had been, fashionable across the Channel. There have been few outbreaks of disease on the Continent that have not infected this country,—at all events, slightly. The foreigners whom the foreign king, on his arrival in England in 1688, brought with him engendered foreign ways and foreign fashions at Court, and these ways and fashions were in turn adopted by people who did not go to Court, and that is how allegory crept into the book-plates of the rank and file of Englishmen.

The first English engraver, born and bred, to execute an Allegoric book-plate was John Pine, himself a man of letters, and one with whose features Hogarth has made us familiar. In 1736 he was employed to design and engrave a book-plate to place in the thirty thousand volumes of Bishop Moore's library, which George I. had bought, in 1715, to present to the University of Cambridge, but which were not suitably housed till 1734. No doubt Pine was fully impressed with the munificence of the gift,—a mass of volumes which the heavy-headed king would have never opened had he kept, and never understood had he opened them. His task was to design a book-plate commensurate with the royal munificence, and he probably considered he had been equal to the occasion when he produced what we see opposite the next page. Lord De Tabley's words so accurately describe this pompous production, that I will quote them:—

'The design represents a vast structure, rather like an ormolu chimney-piece clock, of which the arms of the University of Cambridge, in a plain, solid frame, represent the face. Behind this towers up a vast pyramid, on which the brick work is distinctly marked. As dexter supporter stands Phoebus Apollo in person, reaching out a wreath. A clouded sun rays out behind him. At his feet are deposited samples of the book collection of late so munificently bestowed. As sinister supporter sits Minerva with helm and spear and Gorgon-headed shield. Her feet are wrapt in cloud. In the centre of the bracket, beneath these gods, is inserted a medallion portrait of royal George, reading round its exergue, Georgius D.G., MAG. BR. FR. ET HIB. REX F.D. This is flanked by a laurel and a palm branch.' Pine—who had submitted proofs of this book-plate before August 1736, for at that date he offers to make George's portrait more accurate—engraved four sizes of this plate. The design is similar in three, but in the fourth, and smallest, the artist evidently felt that, in so limited a space, he could not do justice to Apollo and Minerva, and discreetly omitted them. He signs this smallest plate in full, 'J. Pine, Sculp.'

There may now be seen at Cambridge, in many of the books which George I. presented, book-plates which at first sight appear to be modern impressions from Pine's plates, but, on examination, prove to be copies, though not exact copies, of Pine's work, and on these the signature is 'J. B.' The late Mr. Henry Bradshaw discovered that these copies were the work of John Baldrey, a Cambridge engraver, at the close of the last century. At the time that he was working for the University, a large number of the volumes given by George I. required re-binding, and, as Pine's plates were worn out or lost, Baldrey was commissioned to execute a copy of the earlier design, in order to supply a book-plate for the re-bound volumes.

Very soon after the 'Munificentia Regia' to Cambridge in 1715, the loyalty of Oxford to the 'illustrious House of Hanover' was seriously doubted, and the King sent a squadron of horse into the city, whereupon an Oxford 'varsity wit composed the following epigram:—

Though much later in date than the design just noticed, it may be as well to mention here another book-plate—also 'Allegoric'—which, was engraved by John Pine. This was executed by him from a drawing by Gravelot, for Dr. John Burton, about the year 1740. It shows us the interior of a library, presumably the doctor's, with a couple of cupids supporting a shield bearing the Burton arms. This design, which was subsequently appropriated by 'Wadham Wyndham, Esq.,' as his book-plate,[7] is a very 'slight' affair after the Cambridge plate; but Pine no doubt possessed a fitting sense of the difference to be observed in designing a book-plate for a mere Doctor of Divinity and in commemorating the gift of a royal donor.

After John Pine, the next designers of English book-plates in the Allegoric style are both famous men,—William Hogarth and George Vertue. We will speak of the works of the greater man first: they consist of two undoubted book-plates and of a few more possible ones, and were executed quite at the outset of Hogarth's career, say, about 1720. The first is described as done for the books of John Holland, herald painter. Minerva is seen seated among cupids, four in number, with her hand placed upon a shield bearing the family arms. The chief interest in Hogarth's other undoubted book-plate—that of George Lambart, the landscape painter, one of Hogarth's convivial crew—lies in the female figures, which sit right and left of the shield. It is figured over leaf, from the copy in Sir Wollaston Franks's collection, which is the only original example known to exist—other copies are from the plates in Ireland's work, and bear his initials. The collector is cautioned against certain plates signed 'W. H.,' which have been attributed to Hogarth, but are in reality the work of William Hibbart, a Bath engraver, working about the middle of the eighteenth century.

Turning now to the work of George Vertue in designing English Allegoric book-plates, we come to a very beautiful and very interesting example, which was probably engraved in, or very soon after, 1730—the book-plate of Henrietta, Countess of Oxford. I have already called attention to this engraving in speaking of old-time allusions to book-plates (p. 14), and do not here intend to do more than make passing reference to it, since I have spoken fully of it later on in what I have to say about 'ladies'' book-plates (pp. 186-199). It is only mentioned now in order to give a reference to it in its proper chronological position.

We have now to travel for some distance along the road of time before coming to another example of allegory on an English book-plate.

We find it, in 1740, on a plate which one J. Skinner engraved from a design by 'T. Ross.' This is really a very beautiful book-plate, as its reproduction (p. 83) shows. A shield—the shape and ornamentation of which is Chippendale—bearing the Wiltshire arms, is placed upon a platform and against a cippus, or small monumental column; Shakespeare stands on the right, and listens, with a pleased expression, to the music of a rustic piper, whose head appears at the back of the cippus, whilst, on the left, Pope weighs the eloquence of an orator, whose head and upraised hand also appear from behind the cippus. A medallion of Augustus is on a pedestal above. Lying on the platform are a globe and books and many emblems of the painter's and musician's arts, and amongst these sits Cupid thinking, perhaps, with which he will play next, and holding the end of a ribbon inscribed: 'John Wiltshire, Bath, 1740.' The design is certainly original, and makes us interested as to the identity of the owner.

It is quite possible that we have here not only an interesting book-plate, but the book-plate of an interesting man. When Gainsborough, the painter, moved to Bath in 1760 he found that the 'Pickford' of the day, who had the carrying trade of the Bath road, was no ordinary carrier, but a man of taste and culture, and ready to do anything he could to help art and artists. He was a certain John Wiltshire, and before Gainsborough had been long a resident at Bath he was Wiltshire's fast friend, and in the enjoyment of a very tangible proof of friendship: for Wiltshire carried to London, gratis, every picture that Gainsborough needed to send thither. Not a penny would he take for carriage. 'No, no,' he would say, when the painter's modesty led him to protest against such generosity, 'I admire painting too much for that.' No doubt he did, and it must be said that, in return for his goodness, Gainsborough gave him many a charming bit of work on which to feast his eyes. Let us hope we have before us the book-plate of this 'kind of worthy man,' as Allan Cunningham called him, who loved Gainsborough and admired his works.

Of course the plate is twenty years earlier than the commencement of Gainsborough's residence at Bath and of his friendship with Wiltshire; but what of that? Wiltshire had been, likely enough, a lover of things beautiful and the owner of books, long before; there is no necessity for imagining that his was a sudden conversion to a self-sacrificing love for art, produced by intimacy with Gainsborough.

Another interesting English book-plate, in which allegory plays a part, is that, also by J. Skinner, of William Oliver,[8] doctor of medicine, philanthropist, and inventor of biscuits. It is, judging from the form of the engraver's signature, of about the same date as the Wiltshire book-plate. The shield, bearing the Oliver coat-of-arms, rests upon a platform on which stand two figures, as in the example last described; but instead of these figures being representative of the drama and of literature, they are an ancient and a modern medical practitioner: the former, perhaps, even the god of medicine himself. This was quite appropriate, for Oliver, though a man of cultured tastes in varied walks of life, and one who might have appropriately committed the care of his family escutcheon to the allegoric representatives of many arts, was first and foremost a doctor of medicine. The modern doctor is arrayed in cap and gown, and stands on the left of the shield, with hand outstretched towards his fellow of old time. Below the platform, on a triangle, is a club, around which the serpent of Æsculapius entwines itself.

Oliver's life lasted for hard on seventy years—1695 to 1764; after settling at Bath and commencing practice, his rise to fame was remarkable for its rapidity, and, as quite early in his career he busied himself with hospital building, hospital management, and other good works, he soon made for himself a number of enemies amongst his fellow-practitioners less capable and less energetic than himself. As a physician and philanthropist he is now forgotten; as the inventor of a biscuit he is remembered—for the 'Bath Oliver' still holds its own against the multitude of modern competitors, and is still—so the makers say—prepared from Dr. Oliver's original receipt. That receipt he confided, when on his death-bed, to his coachman, giving him £100 in money and ten sacks of the finest flour wherewith to continue the production of the then already popular biscuits. With the money the coachman opened a shop in Green Street, Bath, and so got together a comfortable fortune. Of Skinner, to whom we owe these two plates, we shall have more to say presently (pp. 203-212), in referring to the engravers of English book-plates.

Ten years after the Wiltshire plate comes our next distinctly Allegoric book-plate, engraved by a second-rate engraver for 'John Duick.' I have not seen this plate, but Lord De Tabley, whose word-pictures are always good, thus describes it:—'Apollo with a broad ray effect round his head, playing the lyre to the nine Muses, who are grouped around him; the musical ones also assist in the concert with various instruments. Below are clouds, above them appear the abrupt cliffs of Helicon, with Pegasus launching himself into the air therefrom; the fountain Hippocrene, tapped by his galloping hoofs, descends the cliff-side in a cascade.'

Allegory also appears in the two book-plates engraved by Sir Robert Strange about the middle of the eighteenth century; those of his brother-in-law, Andrew Lumisden, secretary to Prince Charlie, and of a Dr. Thomas Drummond. The circumstances under which the former was engraved have been already referred to (p. 11). It is a sombre book-plate, showing us, before a dark background, a slab with a bust at either end; 'Cupid' plays on the ground before the centre of the slab; the Lumisden arms are on a shield that lies in the left-hand corner; and a heavy curtain hangs over the upper part of the design, which is signed 'R. Strange, sculpt.'

Dr. Drummond's book-plate (see p. 89) is a less heavy, but not so finished a production, and is drawn by T. Wale: Aurora soars at the top of the design, and with her left hand pulls aside a curtain, thus disclosing a view of the doctor's library. In the centre is placed a table covered with cloth, except at the right-hand corner; here the drapery is raised so as to display the ornate workmanship of the table-leg. On the cloth are a number of books, some music, and a flute; before the table a globe, and, leaning against that, a violoncello. The general decoration of the room is classical, and busts and statues are introduced, though not with sufficient detail to be recognisable. In Aurora's right hand is a flaming torch, held in dangerous proximity to the curtain.

After the date of these two plates comes another long interval—twenty years or so—before we reach the next truly Allegoric book-plate designed in England. We then find a decidedly graceful piece of work. A hooded Sibyl, seated at the foot of a pyramid, peruses attentively an open volume. She leans her cheek upon her right hand, whilst the left rests upon the book. A caduceus, against which rests a shield of arms, lies at her feet. The whole is contained in an oval wreath of berried laurel. Below is written: 'E libris Johis Currer de Kildwick, Arm.' This book-plate was afterwards altered for 'Danson Richardson Currer, de Gledston, Arm,' and an inferior copy was used by a certain R. H. Alexander Bennet; this is a much commoner book-plate than the Currer—in either form.

Of much the same date is the far less graceful representation of allegory, which appears on the book-plate of 'T. Gascoigne, Parlington, in Yorkshire.' Here we have a representation of what, we must presume, is the interior of the Parlington Library; but neither 'T. Gascoigne,' nor yet any other eighteenth century Yorkshire gentleman, is tasting the sweets of his literary collection; the library is tenanted by a couple of mythological females, of such substantial forms that Lord De Tabley thinks they must represent two Yorkshire damsels masquerading, one as a muse and the other as Apollo. The muse writes down either notes or words from Apollo's dictation. Columns support the roof of the library, and in a niche in the wall stands a small statue of Minerva. If Mr. Gascoigne obtained the services of some Yorkshire relatives to stand as models for the figures on his book-plate, he probably did so when they were in town for the season, for the work is signed by a Bond Street engraver.

About the year 1775, English Allegoric book-plates became more numerous, and the allegory upon them assumes a grace in conception and execution not before known. Cipriani, Bartolozzi, and his pupil Sherwin, were showing Englishmen how allegory could be represented on book-plates without being clumsy and ridiculous, and the lesser artists were imitating their work with more or less success.

One of Bartolozzi's earliest book-plates was executed for Sir Foster Cunliffe, Bart., the descendant of a very famous Liverpool merchant. The Cunliffe arms appear in mid-air, resting upon a bank of clouds; two exquisitely drawn cherubs support the shield, over which is folded drapery. The cherub on the dexter side is seated, and holds a caduceus in his right hand. The one on the sinister side is furnished with two trumpets, and is blowing that in his left hand. On a medallion above the shield is the Cunliffe crest, with the motto Fideliter. The plate, which was afterwards altered for Sir Robert H. Cunliffe, Bart., is, in all probability, Cipriani's design, for that artist signs his name as designer of an almost similar book-plate for Jean Tommins, which was engraved by Ford several years before. A very coarse imitation of the design was also used by Thomas Anson of Shughborough, who intrusted the imitation to Yates.

Sir Foster Cunliffe was a grandson of Foster Cunliffe, King Charles the Second's godson, the Liverpool merchant, who, according to Foster's Lancashire Families, 'became not only the first man in Liverpool, but was supposed to have a more extended commerce than any merchant in the kingdom, and declined all solicitations that he should represent Liverpool in Parliament.'

The remarkably large example of Bartolozzi's work which has often been described as the book-plate of George III., does not appear ever to have been used as such. In the previous edition of this book I alluded to it (at p. 67) as, possibly, a gift to the King, in which, at the expense of utility, Bartolozzi sought to display his gratitude to, and admiration for, the sovereign, under whom he had come to reside; it does not, however, seem that Bartolozzi intended the engraving for a book-plate at all, but designed it for the title-page of a folio volume, issued in 1792, which contained engravings of thirty-six statesmen of the reign of Henry VIII., from drawings by Holbein. I will give a short description of the engraving in question, so that it may be more easily recognised by the collector, if offered to him as a book-plate. It shows us the arms of England, as borne by George III., prior to the Union with Ireland, upheld in mid-air by three inhabitants of the skies. Above the shield a fourth celestial being is flying, and at the same time holding aloft His Majesty's crown. On the left side of the plate is the figure of Fame, who, on a long trumpet placed to her lips, is evidently giving a sonorous blast. This is perhaps the most uncomfortable part of the design, for the whole weight of this somewhat massive young lady is upon the shield, which we have said is in mid-air, and only supported by three cherubs, whose united muscular powers strike one as totally inadequate to bear the burden imposed upon them.

In 1796, Bartolozzi, then a Royal Academician, executed his most beautiful book-plate. It is inscribed 'H. F. Bessborough,' and was made for Lady Henrietta Frances Spencer, who, in 1780, married Frederick, third Earl of Bessborough. The design shows us a Roman interior with an exquisitely drawn Venus, seated, and holding in her left hand—which is uplifted—a burning human heart, and in her right, a dove. Behind her is a vase of flowers. The other inmates of the room are two cupids, who hold above the goddess a long scarf bearing Lady Bessborough's name. The design is Cipriani's. Besides his signature and that of the engraver, there is also on the book-plate, 'Published Dec. 30, 1796, by F. Bartolozzi.' It will be remembered that in 1735 Hogarth, by his own exertions on behalf of his brother artists, managed to get an Act through Parliament—a body that then probably cared little for art or artists—by which designers and engravers obtained a copyright in their own works; and it is a singular testimony to the popularity of Bartolozzi's work, that on so trivial a work as a book-plate it was found necessary to adopt this formula of publication. By the kindness of the Hon. Gerald Ponsonby, I am enabled to state that Bartolozzi's receipt for this 'ticket plate,' as he calls it, bears as its date the 29th December 1796, the day before the date of 'publication.' It is noteworthy that Bartolozzi received £20 for his work. The book-plate is given on the previous page.

Quite distinct from this 'joyous' book-plate is another, executed by the same artist for a Spanish lady, which we may class as English, since it was no doubt engraved by him in England. Isabel de Menezes, the lady for whom this book-plate was designed, was, as she tells us on it, in the seventy-first year of her age. Allegoric figures disporting themselves in youthful frolic would, perhaps, have been out of keeping on the book-plate of a lady at that sombre time of life, and so the designer has run to the other extreme. Gloominess predominates in this book-plate. A partly ruined square-built tomb is erected on a promontory above the sea; briars and other creepers have grown round it and had covered it, till the kneeling female figure drew them down in order to place upon the tomb a commemorative inscription. Beside the figure is a Cupid, who points to the newly-cut words. It has been thought that this may have been designed for a visiting card; it is quite in the fashion of such things at the date, and it is likely enough that Isabel de Menezes used the plate both as a card and as a mark of ownership for her books.

There are, besides those described, a number of English book-plates which in style much resemble Bartolozzi's work. If they are his, they probably date before 1796, for the adoption of the publication formula, before noticed, makes it improbable that he executed any work, whilst in England, that he did not thus protect. After his departure from this country, he produced, from a drawing by Signeira, a book-plate for Sir Thomas Gage, Bart., of Hengrave Hall, Suffolk. In this, a female figure sits upon a stone, against which is a plain shield bearing the Gage arms. The plate is signed 'Bartolozzi, Lisbon, 1805.' There is a distinct resemblance in this book-plate to that which was engraved, either in 1786 or 1787, for Richard Hoare, eldest son of the Lord Mayor of London. He was created a baronet in the former year, and died in the latter. In this we have a seated female, classically draped, who rests her left elbow on a cippus, on which is engraved a shield bearing the arms of Hoare. Richard Hoare married the heiress of Stourhead, and his son was Sir Richard Colt Hoare, the famous antiquary and author. The date at which this plate must have been executed, 1786 or 1787, does not allow the absence of the engraver's name and formula of publication to tell against the work being Bartolozzi's; his fame was not then so great, and he found it less necessary to protect his engravings from piracy (see p. 197).

Beautiful as are Bartolozzi's book-plates, it cannot be said that his capabilities as a designer or an engraver are demonstrated in these; works of a larger kind showed forth his talents far more.

So, then, allegory at length came to be almost popular with English book-plate owners, and various lesser artists—Henshaw, Roe, Pollard, and some others—produced it in imitation of Bartolozzi, with only indifferent success. But before ending this chapter, we must say something about the book-plate work of Bartolozzi's chief English pupil, John Keys Sherwin. In 1773, the year after he gained the Royal Academy's gold medal for drawing, he executed an extremely pretty Allegoric book-plate for John Mitford of Pitt's Hill. It represents an infant Neptune, with his trident, seated on a large shell, which is upon the back of a sea-horse. Young Neptune's drapery forms a graceful canopy, and he supports in his right hand a small shell, which displays the Mitford arms and crest. A dolphin, spouting water in fountain-like sprays, swims by his side. There are two states of this plate, one having the arms incorrectly shaded: both are signed by Sherwin.

In closing our remarks on English book-plates, designed after this fashion, notice—though only a passing one, for it is spoken of fully later on—must be taken of the charming book-plate which Agnes Berry designed in 1793 for her friend Mrs. Damer. I mention it here only to associate it in the reader's mind with 'Allegoric' book-plates.

So much for allegory on English book-plates. It is to the credit of Englishmen that Allegoric work did not become popular until something really artistic in this particular style was produced, and that, even before that time, allegory never ran quite so wild on English book-plates as it did on foreign examples. M. Poulet Malassis assures us that into one French book-plate of the last century were crowded the whole personnel of Olympus!