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Title: English Caricaturists and Graphic Humourists of the Nineteenth Century.

Author: Graham Everitt

Release date: February 6, 2010 [eBook #31195]

Language: English

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ENGLISH CARICATURISTS.

SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

“At last we have a treatise upon our caricaturists and comic
draughtsmen worthy of the great subject.... An entertaining
history of caricature, and consequently of the events, political
and social, of the century; in fact, a thoroughly readable and
instructive book.... And what a number of political
occurrences, scandals public and private, movements political
and secular, are passed in review! All these events Mr. Everitt
describes at length with great clearness and vivacity, giving
us a view of them, so to speak, from the inside.”—Pall Mall
Gazette.

“It is a handsome and important volume of 400 pages; the
letterpress being a brightly written commentary, abounding
with illustrative gossip, on the caricature of the century and
the merits of its graphic humourists.... It includes a great deal
of the more stirring social and political history of the time.
The illustrations so plentifully strewn through Mr. Everitt’s
volume give it a peculiar interest.”—St. James’s Gazette.

“The work, which contains a large amount of information
and some valuable lists of publications, is illustrated with
about seventy wood engravings.”—Literary World.

“A real contribution to the history of the social life of the
century. The book is very fully and well illustrated, forming
in fact quite a gallery of nineteenth century caricature.”—
Truth.

“The plates with which it is illustrated are remarkably well
produced, and are useful in themselves, and are neatly and
clearly printed, so that they give a capital idea of the originals
from which they are prepared.”—Saturday Review.

“Gives an elaborate estimate of the merits of the later
caricaturists and a complete account of their lives.”—
Graphic.

[Published 21st October, 1812, by S. W. Fores, 50, Piccadilly.

“A BUZ IN A BOX, OR THE POET IN A PET.”

Frontispiece.

English Caricaturists and Graphic
Humourists
OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

How they Illustrated and Interpreted their Times.

A Contribution to the History of Caricature from the Time of the First Napoleon Down to
the Death of John Leech, in 1864.

BY

GRAHAM EVERITT.

SECOND EDITION.

London:

SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO.
1893.

Butler & Tanner,
The Selwood Printing Works,
Frome, and London.

PREFACE.

The only works which, so far as I know, profess to deal with English caricaturists and comic
artists of the nineteenth century are two in number. The first is a work by the late Robert
William Buss, embodying the substance of certain lectures delivered by the accomplished
author many years ago. Mr. Buss’s book, which was published for private circulation only,
deals more especially with the work of James Gillray, his predecessors and contemporaries,
treating only briefly and incidentally of a few of his successors of our own day. The second
is a work by Mr. James Parton, an American author, whose book (published by Harper
Brothers, of New York) treats of “Caricature, and other Comic Art in all Times and many
Lands.” It is obviously no part of my duty (even if I felt disposed to do so) to criticise the
work of a brother scribe, and that scribe an American gentleman. Covering an area so
boundless in extent, it is scarcely surprising that Mr. Parton should devote only thirty of his
pages to the consideration of English caricaturists and graphic humourists of the nineteenth
century.

Under these circumstances, it would seem to me that, in placing the present work before
the public, an apology will scarcely be considered necessary.

Depending oftentimes for effect upon overdrawing, nearly always upon a graphic power
entirely out of the range of ordinary art, the work of the caricaturist is not to be measured by
the ordinary standard of artistic excellence, but rather by the light which it throws upon
popular opinion or popular prejudice, in relation to the events, the remembrance of which it
perpetuates and chronicles. While, however, a latitude is allowed to the caricaturist which
would be inconsistent with the principles by which the practice of art is ordinarily governed,

it may at the same time be safely laid down that it is essential to the success of the comic
designer as well as the caricaturist, that both should be artists of ability, though not
necessarily men of absolute genius.

It may be contended that Gillray, Rowlandson, Bunbury, and others, although
commencing work before, are really quite as much nineteenth century graphic satirists as
their successors. This I admit; but inasmuch as their work has been already described by
other writers, and the present book concerns itself especially with those whose labours
commenced after 1800, I have endeavoured to connect them with those of their
predecessors and contemporaries, without unnecessarily entering into detail with which the
reader is supposed to be already more or less familiar.

I am in hopes that the character in which I am enabled to present George Cruikshank as
the leading caricaturist of the century; the account I have given of his hitherto almost
unknown work of this character; together with the view I have taken of the causes which led
to his sudden and unexampled declension in the very midst of an artistic success almost
unprecedented, may prove both new and interesting to some of my readers.

I have to acknowledge the assistance I have derived from the 1864 and 1867 MS. diaries
of the late Shirley Brooks, kindly placed at my service by Cecil Brooks, Esq., his son; my
thanks are likewise due to Mr. William Tegg for some valuable information kindly rendered.

PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION.

Having been called on to write a Preface to a popular edition of this book, I seize the
opportunity which is now afforded me of correcting an error which occurred in the original
edition. By some unaccountable accident the printer omitted my sub-title; and it was not
unnatural that some of my reviewers should inquire why, in a work dealing with English
Caricaturists of the Nineteenth Century, no mention should be made of the graphic
humourists who succeeded John Leech. This question is answered by the restoration of the
original title, from which it will be seen that the work is simply “a contribution to the
history of caricature from the time of the first Napoleon down to the death of John Leech, in

1864.” To take in the later humourists, would be to carry the work beyond the limits which I
had originally assigned to it.

One word more, and I have done. My intention in writing this book was to show how the
caricaturist “illustrated” his time,—in other words, how he “interpreted” the social and
political events of his day, according to his own bias, or the views he was retained to serve.
While exhibiting him in the light of an historian—which he most undoubtedly is—I had no
idea (as some of my too favourable critics seem to have imagined) of writing a history of
caricature itself. For this task, indeed, I am not qualified, nor does it in the slightest degree
enlist my sympathy.

G. Everitt.

11th August, 1893.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Dr. Johnson’s definition of the word Caricatura.—Francis Grose’s definition.—Modern
signification of the word.—Change in the Spirit of English Caricature during the last Fifty
Years.—Its Causes.—Gillray.—Rowlandson.—Bunbury.—Influence of Gillray and
Rowlandson on their immediate Successors.—Gradual Disappearance of the Coarseness of
the Old Caricaturists.—Change wrought by John Doyle.—We have now no Caricaturist.—
Effect of Wood Engraving on Caricature.—Hogarth, although a Satirist, not a Caricaturist.
—Gustave Doré misdescribed a Caricaturist.—Absurdity of comparing him with
Cruikshank.—“Etching Moralized.”
pp. 1-11.

CHAPTER II.

Connection of Gillray and Rowlandson with Nineteenth Century Caricaturists.—
Napoleon Bonaparte.—The Causes of English Exasperation against him explained.—

Sketch of his Policy towards England.—The “Berlin Decree.”—English Caricatures
brought to the notice of Bonaparte.—“A Political Fair.”—The “Gallick Storehouse for
English Shipping.”—“Spanish Flies, or Boney taking an Immoderate Dose.”—“Boney and
his New Wife, or a Quarrel about Nothing.”—Birth of the young King of Rome.—“British
Cookery, or Out of the Frying-pan into the Fire.”—“General Frost Shaving
Boney.”—“Polish Diet with French Dessert.”—“The Corsican Blood-hound beset by the
Bears of Russia.” “Nap nearly Nab’d, or a Retreating Jump just in time.”—“Boney
Returning from Russia covered with Glory.”—“Nap’s Glorious Return.”—Rowlandson’s
Anti-Bonaparte Caricatures.—French Contemporary Satires.—Gillray’s Anti-Bonaparte
Caricatures.—His Libels on Josephine.—Madame Tallien.—Robert Dighton.—
Consequences of a Pinch of Snuff.—Master Betty—Impeachment of Lord Melville.—
Introduction of Gas.—Mary Anne Clarke.—Imbecility and Death of James Gillray
pp. 12-33.

CHAPTER III.

Re-opening of Drury Lane.—Dr. Busby’s “Monologue.”—“A Buz in a Box, or the Poet
in a Pet.”—“Doctors Differ, or Dame Nature against the College.”—Joanna Southcott.—
Flight of the Princess Charlotte.—“Plebeian Spirit, or Coachee and the Heiress
Presumptive.”—“Miss endeavouring to Excite a Glow with her Dutch Plaything.”—
American War of 1812-1815.—Hostile Temper of the Americans.—Disastrous Results of
their Invasion of Canada.—English Retaliatory Measures.—Burning of Washington.—
Expedition against Alexandria.—“The Fall of Washington, or Maddy in Full Flight.”—
British Defeated at Baltimore and New Orleans.—“Romeo Coates.”—Marriage of the
Princess Charlotte.—“Leap Year, or John Bull’s Establishment.”—Troubles of 1817.—
Narrow Escape of the Prince Regent.—“More Plots!!! More Plots!!!”—Edmund Kean and
Lucius Junius Booth.—“The Rival Richards.”—Congress of the Allied Sovereigns at Aix-
la-Chapelle.—“A Russian Dandy at Home: a Scene at Aix-la-Chapelle.”—“A Peep at the
Pump Room, or the Zomerzetshire Folks in a Maze.”—Death of Queen Charlotte.—“The
Hambourg Waltz.”—Invention of the Kaleidoscope.—“Caleidoscopes, or Paying for
Peeping.”—The Velocipede or “Hobby.”—“The Spirit Moving the Quakers upon Worldly
Vanities.”—“John Bull in Clover,” and “John Bull Done Over.”—Birth of the Princess
Victoria.—“A Scene in the New Farce, called The Rivals, or a Visit to the Heir
Presumptive.”
pp. 34-61.

CHAPTER IV.

Caroline of Brunswick.—Levity of her Character.—Result of the Commission to Inquire
into her Conduct in 1806.—Her Letter to the Regent.—Result of the Commission of 1813.
—Caroline rebels.—Wrath of Lord Ellenborough.-“A Key to the Investigation, or Iago
distanced by odds.”—Refusal of the Regent to meet her in 1814.—Her Protest.—Applies
for Permission to Travel Abroad.—Rumours prejudicial to her Moral Conduct.—“Paving
the way for a Royal Divorce.”—The Milan Commission.—Ministers averse to the
Prosecution of the Queen.—Their False Step.—Arrival of Caroline in London.—Opening
of the “Green Bag.”—Arrival of the Witnesses.—Strange Appearance of Caroline at the
Trial.—Satire upon Her and her Supporters.—“City Scavengers Cleansing the London
Streets of Impurities.”—Practical Failure of the Prosecution.—“The Queen Caroline
running down the Royal George.”—“The Steward’s Court of the Manor of Torre Devon.”—
Popularity of the King.—“Grand Entrance to Bamboozlem.”—Public Events of 1822-1825.
—Greek War of Independence.—Battle of Navarino.—“Russian Bear’s Grease, or a Peep
into Futurity.”—“The Descent of the Great Bear, or the Mussulmans in a Quandary.”—“The
Nest in Danger.”—“The Porte presenting a Bill of Indemnification.”—“Burking old Mrs.
Constitution, aged 141.”—Caricature Declines after 1830, and why.—William Heath and
other Caricaturists of the Period.—Theodore Lane.
pp. 62-88.

CHAPTER V.

Caricatures of Robert Cruikshank.—Forgotten, and why.—Artistic Training—“The
Mother’s Girl Plucking a Crow, or German Flesh and English Spirit.”—“The Horse Marine
and his Trumpeter in a Squall.”—Queer Fashions of the early part of the Century.—
Thackeray’s Difficulty.—Caricatures on the “Dandies” of 1818.—Robert and his Fellow-
Caricaturists ridicule the sham “Corinthians” and “Corinthian Kates” of their day.—Hollow
Pretensions of the “Dandies.”—“The Dandy Dressing at Home” and “The Dandy
Dressed.”—“A Dandyess.”—Robert’s Satires on the “Dandies” of 1819.—“The Mysterious
Fair One, or the Royal Introduction to the Circassian Beauty.”—Other Caricatures of his of
1819.—His Satires on the Trial of Queen Caroline.—His Caricatures of 1821.—Duel
between the Dukes of Bedford and Buckingham.—Other Satires by him in 1822.—
Interference of Louis XVIII. in Spanish Affairs.—Robert’s Satires on Louis and his Son.
—“The Golden Ball.”—Other Caricatures by Robert in 1823.—The Tenth Hussars.—Maria
Foote and “Pea-green Hayne.”—Other satires by Robert in 1824.—Colonel Fitz-Bastard
and Mr. Judge.—Cox v. Kean.—Sir Walter Scott.—“The Living Skeleton.”—Popple and
Stockdale.—Other Subjects of 1825.—“Cruikshankiana.”
pp. 89-108.

CHAPTER VI.

Book Illustrations of Isaac Robert Cruikshank.—The “Life in London.”—Injustice done
to Robert with reference to this Book.—The “Life” Dramatized.—Excitement it
Occasioned.—The Portly Stranger in the Duke’s Box.—Queer Visitors at Rehearsal.—
Horror of the Serious People.—The Mistake which they made.—“The Finish.”—Pierce
Egan’s Position with reference to the “Life.”—Origin of “Bell’s Life in London.”—Charles
Molloy Westmacott.—“The English Spy.”—“The Oppidans’ Museum.”—The “King at
Home.”—Rowlandson’s contribution to “The English Spy.”—Westmacott and the
Literature of Foote and Hayne.—Robert’s Carelessness.—“Points of Misery.”—“Doings in
London.”—“Cruikshank’s Comic Album.”—“Monsieur Nong-tong-paw.”—Three Books
Illustrated by Robert.—Death.
pp. 109-124.

CHAPTER VII.

Caricatures of George Cruikshank.—“No Plan, no Ambition.”—The Assertion
Disproved.—Why George’s Caricatures possess so remarkable an Interest.—“The
Scourge.”—Lord Sidmouth’s Bill to amend the Toleration Act.—Opposition to the Measure
by the Nonconformists.—George’s Satire upon them.—Satire upon the Medical Profession.
—“The Satirist, or Monthly Meteor.”—“Fashion.”—“The Loyalists’ Magazine.”—An Early
Satire.—“Meditations amongst the Tombs.”—Other Satires of 1813.—“Little Boney gone
to Pot.”—Alexander of Russia and the Duchess of Oldenburg.—The Princess Caroline.—
Joanna Southcott.—The Obnoxious Corn Laws of 1815.—Satires thereon.—Escape of
Napoleon.—Outlawed by the Powers.—Excitement caused by this Event.—George’s
Satires thereon.—Napoleon endeavours to Establish Friendly Relations.—Silent Hostility of
Europe.—He Sets out for the Army.—George’s Satire thereon.—Surrender of Bonaparte.—
The Bellerophon off the English Coast.—Other Satires of 1815.—The Regent’s
Repugnance to Retrenchment and Reform.—Marriage of the Princess Charlotte.—Satire on
the Purchase of the “Elgin Marbles.”—Other Satires of 1816.—John Bull’s Bankruptcy
Proceedings.—Remanded for Extravagance.—His “Schedule.”—Seditious Troubles of
1817.—A Satire on the Princess Caroline.—Death of the Princess Charlotte.—Other Satires
of 1817—of 1818.—The “Bank Restriction Note.”—Satires of 1819.—Queen Caroline and
other Caricatures of 1820 and 1821.—Death and Funeral of the Queen.—The Populace
force the Procession to go through the City.—The Military fire on the People.—Alderman
Sir William Curtis in Highland Costume.—Indignation of the King.—Satires on both.—
Statue of Achilles.—Other Caricatures of 1822.—Satires of 1823 and 1824.—Joint Stock

Company Mania of 1825.—Undated Satires.—Amazing value of George Cruikshank’s
Caricatures.
pp. 125-166.

CHAPTER VIII.

George Cruikshank as a Book Illustrator.—Defects and Excellencies.—Women, Horses,
Trees.—“Greenwich Hospital.”—Sikes and the Dog.—Jonathan Wild.—Simon Renard and
Winwike.—“Born a Genius and Born a Dwarf.”—Its History.—Randalph and Hilda at
Ranelagh.—Sale of the Shadow.—Sailors Carousing.—Paying off a Jew.—Simpkin
Dancing.—The Last Cab Driver.—Dominie Sampson.—Dumbiedikes.—Fall of the Leaf.—
Taurus.—Libra.—Revolution at Madame Tussaud’s.—Theatrical Fun Dinner.—“Gone!”—
Duke of Marlborough’s Boot.—The Two Elves.—Witches’ Frolic.—Ghosts.—Jack o’
Lantern.—Devils.—The Gin Shop.—Redgauntlet.—Fagin in the Condemned Cell.—
Murder of Sir Rowland Trenchard.—Xit Wedded to the Scavenger’s Daughter.—Mauger
Sharpening his Axe.—Massacre at Tullabogue, etc.—His Genius.
pp. 167-188.

CHAPTER IX.

The Sleep of Thirty Years.—Causes of George Cruikshank’s Decadence Insufficiently
Understood.—Professor Bates’ Theory.—Charles Dickens’s Nervousness (?).—Why
Cruikshank was Unfitted to Illustrate his Novels.—The Rejected Illustration to Oliver
Twist.—Quarrel with Bentley.—Guy Fawkes Illustrations.—“Ainsworth’s Magazine.”—
Progress of the Cruikshank versus Bentley Campaign.—Cruikshank’s Declaration of War.—
His Tactics.—“Our Library Table.”—Quarrel with Harrison Ainsworth.—Cruikshank’s
Claim to be Originator of Two of his Stories Considered.—A word for Harrison Ainsworth.
—Popularity and Success of his Novels.—Charles Lever’s “Arthur O’Leary.”—
Cruikshank’s final Leap in the Dark.—Its Fatal Consequences.—Crusade against Drink.
—“Worship of Bacchus.”—His Work Falls away.—Thirty Years of Artistic Sterility.—Fairy
Stories turned into Temperance Tracts.—Forgotten!
pp. 189-207.

CHAPTER X.

Birth of Robert Seymour.—Starts as a Painter in Oils.—Death of George IV.—His
Contemptible Character.—Sale of his Wardrobe.—Order for General Mourning.—“The
Adelaide Mill.”—Revolution of 1830.—Dismissal of the German Band.—St. John Long the

Quack.—Administering an Oath.—The “Humorous Sketches.”—“Book of
Christmas.”—“New Readings of Old Authors.”—“Figaro in London.”—À Beckett’s
Editorial Amenities.—Feud between him and Seymour.—Seymour Caricatures À Beckett.
—“Figaro” passes into the hands of Mayhew.—Re-engagement of Seymour.—Origin of the
“Pickwick Papers.”—The Rejected Etching.—Suicide of Seymour.—His Claim to be the
“Inventor” of “Pickwick” considered.
pp. 208-234.

CHAPTER XI.

The Agitation for Reform in 1830-32.—The Marquis of Blandford’s Scheme of Reform.
—Strange State of the English Representative System of those Days.—O’Connell’s
Scheme.—Lord John Russell’s “Resolutions” Rejected.—Dearth of Political Caricaturists at
this Time.—HB.—Secret of the Success of his “Political Sketches.”—His Style a Complete
Innovation.—“I’ll be your Second.”—Unpopularity of the Duke of Cumberland.—“My
Dog and my Gun.”—Lord John Russell Introduces a Reform Bill.—Second Reading
Carried by a Majority of One.—General Election.—Lord John Russell’s Second Reform
Bill Passes the House of Commons.—Deputation to the Lords.—“Bringing up our Bill.”—
The Lords Throw it Out.—Lord John Russell again brings in a Bill.—Ministers again in a
Minority in the Lords.—Earl Grey tenders certain Alternatives.—Excitement caused by the
Opposition of the Lords.—Perplexity of the King.—How he Overcame the Opposition of
the Peers.—William IV. as Johnny Gilpin.—The King as Mazeppa and Sinbad the Sailor.—
Outrage on the Duke of Wellington.—“Taking an Airing in Hyde Park.”—“Auld Lang
Syne.”—“A Hint to Duellists.”—“A Great Subject Dedicated to the Royal College of
Surgeons.”—Sir Francis Burdett.—“Following the Leader.”—“The Dog and the
Shadow.”—“A Race for the Westminster Stakes.”—“A Fine Old English
Gentleman.”—“Jim Crow Dance and Chorus.”
pp. 235-253.

CHAPTER XII.

Political Sketches of HB. (continued).—Lord John Russell.—“Jonah.”—Reduction of the
Stamp on Newspapers.—How it was evaded.—Arguments of the Opponents of the
Measure.—Hard and Soft Soap versus Newspapers.—Strange Arguments of the Newspaper
Proprietors of the Day.—“The Rival Newsmongers.”—Brougham Watches for the Door of
Preferment being Opened.—“The Gheber Worshipping the Rising Sun.”—Made Lord
Chancellor.—“A Select Specimen of the Black Style.”—A Scene in the House of Lords.

—“The Duel that Did Not Take Place.”—Dissolution of Parliament in 1834.—Brougham’s
Royal “Progress” through Scotland.—Annoyance of William IV., who Determines to Get
Rid of Him.—“The Fall of Icarus.”—“The Vaux and the Grapes.”—The Irish Coercion Bill
of 1833.—Irish Disaffection which led Up to It.—List of Irish Crimes for One Year.—
Scenes between English and Irish Members.—“Prisoners of War.”—Good Effects of the
Coercion Bill.—Irish Agitators of 1833 and 1883 Compared.—O’ Connell and the Irish
Peasant.—Unscrupulous Political Conduct of O’Connell.—“The Comet of
1835.”—“Doctor Syntax [i.e. Peel] on his Faithful Steed in Search of the Picturesque.”—
Amazing Number of HB’s Political Sketches.—His failings.—His Imitators and their Fate.
pp. 254-276.

CHAPTER XIII.

John Leech.—Birth.—At Charterhouse.—The “Coach Tree.”—Early Efforts in Drawing
brought to the notice of Flaxman.—Apprenticed to Whittle, an Eccentric Medical Man.—
Transfer of Leech’s Indentures.—Early Work.—Applies to Illustrate “Pickwick.”—Style
not Matured till 1840.—An Attack on Dickens.—Attack on “Phiz.”—Attack on D’Israeli.
—“Bentley’s Miscellany.”—Joins Punch.—Marriage.—The “Right-hand Man in Punch’s
Cabinet.”—“Illuminated Magazine.”—Portraits of Leech in Punch.—Douglas Jerrold and
Albert Smith.—Douglas Jerrold and À Beckett.—Leech at a Fancy Ball.—Albert Smith and
the Wide-awake Innkeepers at Chamounix.—George Cruikshank Borrowing from Leech.—
Influence of Cruikshank on Leech.—The Two Compared.—Abhorrence of Frenchmen.—
Mistake in “The Battle of Life.”
pp. 277-293.

CHAPTER XIV.

John Leech’s Punch Cartoons.—The “Albert” Hat.—O’Connell.—Sir James Graham.
—“Peel’s Dirty Little Boy.”—“How do you Like the New Whig?”—“The Premier’s
Fix.”—“The Railway Juggernaut.”—Between Free Trade and Protection Sir Robert Peel
falls through.—“Dombey and Son.”—Lord Brougham “in order.”—Smithfield.—Louis
Philippe.—The Year of Unrest, 1848.—French Expedition to Rome.—“A Bright Idea.”—
General Haynau and Barclay & Perkins’ Draymen.—“Joe” Hume.—The “Papal
Aggression” Cartoons.—“The Boy who Chalked up ‘No Popery’ and then Ran Away.”—
Great Exhibition of 1851.—The Coup d’état.—The Peace Society.—“The Old ‘Un and the
Young ’Un.”—War with Russia.—Evils of the Purchase System.—Generals Janvier and
Fevrier.—“The Return from Vienna.”—Incapacity of English Generals.—“Urgent Private

Affairs.”—“Staying Proceedings.”—The Royal Levées.—The French Colonels.—“Religion
à la mode.”—Fête at Cremorne.—Plots against the French Emperor, and their
Consequences.—“Invasion of French Light Wines.”
pp. 294-314.

CHAPTER XV.

Exhibition of Leech’s “Sketches in Oil” at the Egyptian Hall in 1862.—What Thackeray
said of them.—Gradual Decrease in the Numbers of his Cartoons for Punch.—Overwork.—
Goes to the Continent with Mark Lemon in 1862.—“A day at Biarritz.”—Returns with no
Benefit.—Leech and Thackeray at Evans’s in December, 1863.—Thackeray and Leech at
Charterhouse on “Founder’s Day.”—Thackeray at the Wednesday Punch Dinner, 15th of
December, 1863.—Death of Thackeray.—Death of Mr. R. W. Surtees.—The Punch Council
Dinners.—John Leech a faithful Attendant.—“Moses Starting for the Fair.”—John Leech’s
Illness described.—No Falling off in the Quality of his Designs.—“St. Genulphus.”—Starts
off for Homburg with Mr. Alfred Elmore.—Death of Thomas Frederick Robson.—His
Wonderful Powers Wasted.—Leech goes to Whitby.—Shirley Brooks joins him.—“The
Weinbrunnen Schwalbach.”—Reminiscences of the Whitby Visit.—Opening of Fechter’s
Season at the Lyceum.—John Leech at a Party at Mr. W. P. Frith’s, 13th of October—At the
Weekly Punch Dinner, 26th of October.—Serious Change for the Worse.—His Death.—
Shock caused by his Death in London and the Provinces.—His Funeral.—Shirley Brooks’
Memorial in Punch.
pp. 315-335.

CHAPTER XVI.

Hablot Knight Browne (“Phiz”).—Invincible Tendency to Exaggeration.—Charles
Lever’s Opinion.—Weakness and Attenuation of his Figures.—Compared with John Leech.
—Tendency to Reproduce.—All his Heroes closely Resemble One Another.—Charles
Lever’s Complaint on this Score.—Great Ability of the Artist.—“Ralph Nickleby’s Visit to
his Poor Relations.”—Newman Noggs.—Squeers.—Mrs. Nickleby’s Lunatic Admirer.
—“Pecksniff’s Reception of the New Pupil.”—“Pleasant Little Family Party at Mr.
Pecksniff’s.”—“Warm Reception of Mr. Pecksniff by his Venerable Friend.”—Quilp and
Samson Brass.—Quilp and the Dog.—Mrs. Jarley’s Waxwork Brigand.—Capture of
Bunsby by Mrs. Macstinger.—“Sunday under Three Heads.”—The Jack Sheppard Mania of
1840.—“The Way to the Gallows made Easy and Pleasant.”—“Phiz” not a Born Comic
Artist.—Excellence in Depicting Graver Subjects.—“The Dombey Family.”—“Mrs.
Dombey at Home.”—“Abstraction and Recognition.”—“The Dark Road.”—“Carker in his

Hour of Triumph.”—“Bleak House.”—Why Browne suited Charles Dickens’s
Requirements.—Coolness between Artist and Author.—One of Browne’s Finest
Illustrations.—Decline of Book Etching.—Browne without an Idea of his Own.—Powerful
Assistance rendered to Novelists by Book Illustrators of his day.—Sketches and Studies.—
Death of the Artist.
pp. 336-354.

CHAPTER XVII.

Kenny Meadows.—“Portraits of the English.”—A Thoroughly Useful Man.—Some
Works Illustrated by Meadows.—His Merits Unequal.—His Contempt for Nature.—An
Early Illustrator of Punch.—His Illustrated Shakespeare.—Some Excellent Work of
Meadows.—His Death.—Robert William Buss.—Recommended to Illustrate “Pickwick”
on Seymour’s Death.—Etchings Suppressed.—The “Buss Plates” not his at all.—His
Paintings.—Lectures on Caricature and Graphic Satire.—Comic Publications which
preceded or ran side by side with Punch.—Alfred William Forrester (Alfred Crowquill).
—“A General Utility Man.”—Crowquill a Caricaturist.—His Talent and Cleverness.—
Some of His Paintings.—Charles H. Bennett.—“Shadows.”—“Shadow and
Substance.”—“Origin of Species.”—Taken on the Punch Staff.—Early Death.—Theatrical
Performances for the Benefit of his Family.—Kate Terry.—Thackeray as a Comic Artist.—
Satire on Charles Lever.—Unfitted to Illustrate his own Novels, and why.—His Genius
Displayed in Literature not in Art.—Illustrations to “Vanity Fair” Considered.—Anthony
Trollope on this Subject.
pp. 355-380.

CHAPTER XVIII.

First Work of Richard Doyle.—Receives his Art Training from his Father.—Joins Punch.
—The Peace-at-any-Price Party.—The Troubles of 1848.—The Sea-Serpent of Revolution
Upsetting the Monarchical Cock-boats.—Lord Brougham.—Richard Doyle’s Dream of the
Future of Ireland.—The Window Tax.—“Manners and Customs of Ye Englishe.”—“The
Month” upon Exeter Hall.—Establishment of the Papal Hierarchy in England.—The Causes
of Doyle’s Retirement from Punch Explained.—Unselfishness of His Conduct.—Ultimate
Consequences on his Prospects.—Number of his Punch Illustrations.—Caricatures of
Richard Doyle.—“Brown, Jones, and Robinson.”—Works Illustrated by Doyle.—Mr.
Hamerton’s Criticism on his Illustrations to “The Newcomes.”—His Death.—John Tenniel.
—Joins Punch at the Commencement of Troublous Times.—Death of the Duke of
Wellington.—Battle of Oltenitza.—Lord Aberdeen as the “Courier of St. Petersburg.”—

Lord Aberdeen tries to Hold in the British Lion.—England the Unready.—“Peace” Seated
on the Garrison Gun.—Punch’s Low Estimate of the Third Napoleon.—An “International
Poultry Show.”—“The Eagle in Love.”—“Playing with Edged Tools.”—“An Unpleasant
Neighbour.”—Louis Closes his Firework Shop “to please Johnny.”—Miss Britannia
Refuses to Dance again with Louis.—Mr. Tenniel one of the most Versatile of Modern
Designers.—Examples of his Graphic Satire.—Notice of his Cartoons Closes with 1864, in
Accordance with the Plan of the Work.—His Comic Powers.
pp. 381-400.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

ANONYMOUS.

PAGE

A Buzz in a Box Frontispiece

From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

Grand Entrance to Bamboozlem 81
From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

Leap Year; or, John Bull’s Peace Establishment 50
From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

A Peep in the Pump Room 57
From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

BENNETT, CHAS. H.

“Creeping Like a Snail” 371
From Original Woodblock in possession of the Publishers.

Old Enough to Know Better 372
From Original Woodblock in possession of the Publishers.

BROWNE, HABLOT K. (“PHIZ”).

The Departure 336
Dick Swiveller and the Lodger 340
The Rioters 346
Sam Weller and his Father 352
Woodcut Reproductions of the Original Sketches.

BUNBURY, W. H.

Interior of a Barber’s Shop 5
Salutation Tavern 11
Strephon and Chloe 11
By Permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

CROWQUILL, ALFRED.

Frozen Out Gardeners 368
“Swearing the Horns” at Highgate 369
Both by permission of Messrs. W. & R. Chambers.

CRUIKSHANK, GEORGE.

Absent-mindedness 175
Bat Boroo 175
The Braintrees 171
The Deaf Postilion 171
The Dentist 175
The Elves and the Cobbler 180
Above six by permission of Messrs. Geo. Bell & Sons.

The Gin Shop 184
From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

The Old Commodore 182
By permission of Messrs. Geo. Routledge & Son.

Russian Condescension 133
From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

A Scene in Kensington Gardens 152
From Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

“A Tall Figure her Sight Engrossed” 182
By permission of Messrs. Geo. Routledge & Son.

The Tête-a-Tête 175
The Waits of Bremen 180
The Witch’s Switch 175
Above three by permission of Messrs. Geo. Bell & Sons.

CRUIKSHANK, ROBERT.

John Bull Flourishing 99
Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

Cuts From “The Universal Songster” 110
By permission of Messrs. Geo. Routledge & Son.

DORÉ, GUSTAVE.

The Abbot of Marmoustiers 8
The Landlord of the Three Barbels 9
Monseigneur Hugon 9
Serjeant-of-the-Justice Taupin 8
Above four by permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

GILLRAY, J.

A Connoisseur 24
The Gout 5
A Lesson in Apple Dumplings 24
Napoleonic Caricatures 18, 20

The National Assembly 26
A Peep at Christie’s 14
Royal Affability 24
Above seven by permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

Shakespeare Sacrificed 12
Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

Twopenny Whist 16
By permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

HOGARTH, W.

Marriage à la Mode 7
Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Sketch.

LANE, THEODORE.

The Gallery 85
The Non-Paying Audience 85
Woodcut Reproductions of the Original Sketches.

LEECH, JOHN.

The Election 286
“I hope, Mr. Smug, you don’t Beat your Boys!” 292
The Mayor and Corporation of Swinestead 278

ROWLANDSON, T.

“All the Talents” 3
“Anything will do for an Officer” 2
The Cobbler’s Cure for a Scolding Wife 29
Desire 11
Spitfires 28
Trumpet and Bassoon 2
Above six by permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

SANDBY, PAUL.

A Mountebank Painter 7
By permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

SEYMOUR, ROBERT.

The Adelaide Mill 213
Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Caricature.

The Dying Clown 233
Woodcut Reproduction of the Original Sketch.

THACKERAY, W. M.

Angelica Arrives just in Time 379
By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co.

Brown, Jones, and Robinson 392
By permission of Messrs. Bradbury, Agnew & Co.

Gruffanuff 378
By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co.

Marginal Sketches (2) 375
By permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

Monks of the Order of Flagellants 378
Prince Bulbo 378
Both by permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co.

WOODWARD, G. M.

Desire 11
“General Complaint” 11
Both by permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus.

“The Farthing Rushlight.”
THE PRINCE OF WALES, WITH FOX, SHERIDAN, AND HIS WHIG ASSOCIATES, TRYING IN VAIN TO BLOW
OUT POOR OLD GEORGE.

The author desires to express his sense of obligation to the several publishers who have courteously granted him
permission to reproduce drawings, the copyrights of which are vested in themselves; and at the same time to state his
regret that other publishers, similarly situated with respect to other works, have not seen their way to render it
possible for him to supply specimens of the style of certain artists, two of whom in particular, John Leech and H. K.
Browne, must needs be conspicuous by their comparative absence.
Such Caricatures and Book Illustrations as have seemed specially desirable—of which the copyrights have lapsed
and no editions are at the present day in print—have been engraved for this work by Mr. William Cheshire.

ENGLISH CARICATURISTS.

CHAPTER I.

OF THE ENGLISH CARICATURE AND ITS DECAY.

If you turn to the word “caricatura” in your Italian dictionary, it is Definition of Caricature just
possible that you will be gratified by learning that it means “caricature”; but if you refer to
the same word in old Dr. Johnson, he will tell you, with the plain, practical common-sense
which distinguished him, that it signifies “an exaggerated resemblance in drawings,” and
this expresses exactly what it does mean. Any distinguishing feature or peculiarity, whether
in face, figure, or dress, is exaggerated, and yet the likeness is preserved. A straight nose is
presented unnaturally straight, a short nose unnaturally depressed; a prominent forehead is
drawn unusually bulbous; a protuberant jaw unnaturally underhung; a fat man is depicted
preternaturally fat, and a thin one correspondingly lean. This at least was the idea of
caricature during the last century. Old Francis Grose, who, in 1791, wrote certain “Rules
for Drawing Caricaturas,” gives us the following explanation of their origin:—“The
sculptors of ancient Greece,” he tells us, “seem to have diligently observed the form and
proportions constituting the European ideas of beauty, and upon them to have formed their
statues. These measures are to be met with in many drawing books; a slight deviation from
them by the predominancy of any feature constitutes what is called character, and serves to
discriminate the owner thereof and to fix the idea of identity. This deviation or peculiarity
aggravated, forms caricatura.”

As a matter of fact, the strict definition of the word given by Francis Grose and Dr.
Johnson is no longer applicable; the word caricature includes, and has for a very long time
been understood to include, within its meaning any pictorial or graphic satire, political or
otherwise, and whether the drawing be exaggerated or not: it is in this sense that Mr. Wright
makes use of it in his “Caricature History of the Georges,” and it is in this sense that we
shall use it for the purposes of this present book.

Rowlandson.] [January 1st, 1796.
“ANYTHING WILL DO FOR AN OFFICER.”
“What shall we do with him?”
Rowlandson.] “Do with him? Why, make an officer of him!”
THE TRUMPET AND THE BASSOON. [Face p. 2.

T. Rowlandson.] [April 13th, 1807.
“ALL THE TALENTS.”
The “Broad-Bottom Administration,” known as “All the Talents,” showing the several qualifications of the Ministry.
[Face p. 3.

Since the commencement of the present century, and more Change in the Spirit of English
Caricature. especially during the last fifty years, a change has come over the spirit of English

caricature. The fact is due to a variety of causes, amongst which must be reckoned the
revolution in dress and manners; the extinction of the three-bottle men and topers; the
change of thought, manners, and habits consequent on the introduction of steam, railways,
and the electric telegraph. The casual observer meeting, as he sometimes will, with a
portfolio of etchings representing the men with red and bloated features, elephantine limbs,
and huge paunches, who figure in the caricatures of the last and the early part of the present
century, may well be excused if he doubt whether such figures of fun ever had an actual
existence. Our answer is that they not only existed, but were very far from uncommon. Our
great-grandfathers of 1800 were jolly good fellows; washing down their beef-steaks with
copious draughts of “York or Burton ale,” or the porter for which Trenton, of Whitechapel,
appears to have been famed,1 fortifying themselves afterwards with deeper draughts of
generous wines—rich port, Madeira, claret, dashed with hermitage—they set up before they
were old men paunches and diseases which rendered them a sight for gods and men. Reader,
be assured that the fat men who figure in the graphic satires of the early part of the century
were certainly not caricatured.

In connection with the subject of graphic satire, the names of the The three great Caricaturists
of the Last Century. three great caricaturists of the last century—Gillray, Rowlandson, and

Bunbury—are indispensable. The last, a gentleman of family, fortune, and position, and
equerry to the Duke of York, was, in truth, rather an amateur than an artist. Rowlandson was
an able draughtsman, and something more; but his style and his tastes are essentially coarse
and sensual, and his women are the overblown beauties of the Drury Lane and Covent
Garden of his day. George Moutard Woodward, whose productions he sometimes honoured
by etching, and whose distinguishing characteristics are carelessness and often bad drawing,
follows him at a respectful distance. The genius of James Gillray has won him the title of
the “Prince of Caricaturists,” a title he well earned and thoroughly deserved. The only one
of the nineteenth century caricaturists who touches him occasionally in caricature, but
distances him in everything else, is our George Cruikshank.

Commencing work when George the Third was still a young man, Gillray and
Rowlandson necessarily infused into it some of the coarseness and vulgarity of their
century. With Gillray, indeed, this coarseness and vulgarity may be said to be rather the
exception than the rule, whereas the exact contrary holds good of his able and too often
careless contemporary. As might have been expected, every one who excites their ridicule
or contempt is treated and (in their letterpress descriptions) spoken of in the broadest
manner. Bonaparte is mentioned by both artists (in allusion to his supposed sanguinary
propensities) as “Boney, the carcase butcher;” Josephine is represented by Gillray as a

coarse fat woman, with the sensual habits of a Drury Lane strumpet; Talleyrand, by right of
his club foot and limping gait, is invariably dubbed “Hopping Talley.” The influence of both
artists is felt by those who immediately succeeded them. The coarseness, for instance, of
Robert Cruikshank, when he displays any at all, which is seldom, is directly traceable to the
influence of Rowlandson, whom (until he followed the example of his greater brother) he at
first copied.

Gillray wrought much the same influence upon George Cruikshank. Influence of Gillray on
Cruikshank. I have seen it gravely asserted by some of those who have written upon him,2 that
this great artist never executed a drawing which could call a blush into the cheek of
modesty. But those who have written upon George Cruikshank—and their name is legion—
instead of beginning at the beginning, and thus tracing the gradual and almost insensible
formation of his style, appear to me to have plunged as it were into medias res, and
commenced at the point when he dropped caricature and became an illustrator of books.
Book illustration was scarcely an art until George Cruikshank made it so; and the most
interesting period of his artistic career appears to us to be the one in which he pursued the
path indicated by James Gillray, until his career of caricaturist merged into his later
employment of a designer and etcher of book illustration, by which no doubt he achieved
his reputation. In answer to those who tell us that he never produced a drawing which could
call a blush into the cheek of modesty, and never raised a laugh at the expense of decency,
we will only say that we can produce at least a score of instances to the contrary. To go no
further than “The Scourge,” we will refer them to three: his Dinner of the Four-in-Hand
Club at Salthill, in vol. i.; his Return to Office (1st July, 1811), in vol. ii.; and his
Coronation of the Empress of the Nares (1st September, 1812), in vol. iv.

As the century passed out of its infancy and attained the maturer Revolution effected by H. B.
age of thirty years, a gradual and almost imperceptible change came over the spirit of
English graphic satire. The coarseness and suggestiveness of the old caricaturists gradually
disappeared, until at length, in 1830, an artist arose who was destined to work a complete
revolution in the style and manner of English caricature. This artist was John Doyle,—the
celebrated H. B. He it was that discovered that pictures might be made mildly diverting
without actual coarseness or exaggeration; and when this fact was accepted, the art of
caricaturing underwent a complete transition, and assumed a new form. The “Sketches” of
H. B. owe their chief attraction to the excellence of their designer as a portrait painter; his
successors, with less power in this direction but with better general artistic abilities, rapidly
improved upon his idea, and thus was founded the modern school of graphic satirists
represented by Richard Doyle, John Leech, and John Tenniel. So completely was the style

of comic art changed under the auspices of these clever men, that the very name of
“caricature” disappeared, and the modern word “cartoon” assumed its place. With the
exception indeed of Carlo Pellegrini (the “Ape” of Vanity Fair), and his successors, we have
now no caricaturist in the old and true acceptation of the term, and original and clever as
their productions are, their compositions are timid compared with those of Bunbury, Gillray,
Rowlandson, and their successors, being limited to a weekly “exaggerated” portrait, instead
of composed of many figures.

James Gillray. [May 14th, 1799.
“THE GOUT.”

W. H. Bunbury, etched by Gillray.] [1811, pubd. May 15th, 1818.
“INTERIOR OF A BARBER’S SHOP IN ASSIZE TIME.”
[Face p. 5

But caricature was destined to receive its final blow at the hands of that useful craftsman
the wood-engraver. The application of wood-engraving to all kinds of illustration, whether
graphic or comic, and the mode in which time, labour, and expense are economised, by the
large wood blocks being cut up into squares, and each square entrusted to the hands of a
separate workman, has virtually superseded the old and far more effective process of
etching. Economy is now the order of the day in matters of graphic satire as in everything
else; people are no longer found willing to pay a shilling for a caricature when they may
obtain one for a penny. Hence it has come to pass, that whilst comic artists abound, the
prevailing spirit of economy has reduced their productions to a dead level, and the work of
an artist of inferior power and invention, may successfully compete for public favour with
the work of a man of talent and genius like John Tenniel, a result surely to be deplored,
seeing there never was a time which offered better opportunities for the pencil of a great and
original caricaturist than the present.3

It is a common practice, and I may add mistake, with writers Mistake of those who compare
on comic artists or caricaturists of our day, to compare them
modern Caricaturists with Hogarth.

with Hogarth. Both Hogarth and the men of our day are graphic satirists, but there is so
broad a distinction between the satire of each, and the circumstances of the times in which
they respectively laboured, that comparison is impossible. Those who know anything of this
great and original genius, must know that he entertained the greatest horror of being
mistaken for a caricaturist pure and simple; and although he executed caricatures for
special purposes, they may literally be counted on the fingers. “His pictures,” says Hazlitt,
“are not imitations of still life, or mere transcripts of incidental scenes and customs; but
powerful moral satires, exposing vice and folly in their most ludicrous points of view, and
with a profound insight into the weak sides of character and manners, in all their tendencies,
combinations, and contrasts. There is not a single picture of his containing a representation
of mere pictorial or domestic scenery.” His object is not so much “to hold the mirror up to
nature,” as “to show vice her own feature, scorn her own image.” “Folly is there seen at the
height—the moon is at the full—it is the very error of the time. There is a perpetual error of
eccentricities, a tilt and tournament of absurdities, pampered with all sorts of affectation,
airy, extravagant, and ostentatious! Yet he is as little a caricaturist as he is a painter of still
life. Criticism has not done him justice, though public opinion has.”4 “A set of severer
satires,” says Charles Lamb, “(for they are not so much comedies, which they have been
likened to, as they are strong and masculine satires), less mingled with anything of mere
fun, were never written upon paper or graven upon copper. They resemble Juvenal, or the
satiric touches in Timon of Athens.”

W. Hogarth.] [“Mariage à la Mode.”

Paul Sandby.] [Anti-Hogarthian Caricature.
“A Mountebank Painter demonstrating to his admirers and subscribers that crookedness is ye most beautifull.”

[Face p. 7.

Hogarth was a stern moralist and satirist, but his satires have Character of Hogarth’s Satires.
nothing in common with the satires of the nineteenth century; such men as the infamous
Charteris and the quack Misaubin figure in his compositions, and their portraits are true to
the life. Although his satire is relieved with flashes of humour, the reality and gravity of the
satire remain undisturbed. The March to Finchley is one of the severest satires on the times;
it shows us the utter depravity of the morals and manners of the day, the want of discipline
of the king’s officers and soldiers, which led to the routs of Preston and Falkirk, the
headlong flight of Hawley and his licentious and cowardly dragoons. Some modern writers
know so little of him that they have not only described his portrait of Wilkes as a caricature,
but have cited the inscription on his veritable contemporary caricature of Churchill in proof
of the assertion. Now what says this inscription? “The Bruiser (Churchill, once the
Reverend), in the character of a Russian Hercules, regaling himself after having killed the
monster Caricatura, that so severely galled his virtuous friend, the heaven-born Wilkes.”
Hogarth’s use of the word caricatura conveys a meaning which is not patent at first sight;
Wilkes’s leer was the leer of a satyr, “his face,” says Macaulay, “was so hideous that the
caricaturists were forced in their own despite to flatter him.”5 The real sting lies in the

accuracy of Hogarth’s portrait (a fact which Wilkes himself admitted), and it is in this
sarcastic sense that Hogarth makes use of the word “caricatura.”

Turning from Hogarth to a modern artist, in spite of his faults of Gustave Doré. most
marvellous genius and inventive faculty, I frequently find critics of approved knowledge
and sagacity describing the late Gustave Doré as a caricaturist. It may seem strange at first
sight to introduce the name of Doré into a work dealing exclusively with English caricature
art, and I do so, not by reason of the fact that his works are as familiar to us in England as in
France, not because he has pictorially interpreted some of the finest thoughts in English
literature, but because I find his name so constantly mentioned in comparison with English
caricaturists and comic artists, and more especially with our George Cruikshank. Now
Gustave Doré is, if possible, still less a caricaturist than our English Hogarth. I have seen
the ghastly illustrations to the licentious “Contes Drolatiques” of Balzac cited in proof of
his claims to be considered a caricaturist. I will not deny that Doré did try his hand once
upon a time at caricature, and if we are to judge him by these attempts, we should
pronounce him the worst French caricaturist the world ever saw, which would be saying a
great deal; for a worse school than that of the modern French caricaturists (and I do not
except even Gavarni, Cham, or Daumier), does not anywhere exist. That this man of
marvellous genius had humour I do not for one moment deny; but it was the grim humour
of an inquisitor or torturer of the middle ages—of one that revels in a perfect nightmare of
terror.6 Genius is said to be nearly allied to madness; and if one studies some of his weird
creations—such, for instance, as The Judgment Day in the legend of “The Wandering
Jew”—the thought involuntarily suggests itself that a brain teeming with such marvellous
and often morbid conceptions, might have been pushed off its balance at any moment.
Gustave Doré delights in lofty, mediæval-gabled buildings, with bartizans and antique
galleries; in steep streets, dominated by gloomy turrets; in narrow entries, terminating in
dark vistas; in gloomy forests, crowded with rocky pinnacles; in masses of struggling,
mutilated men and horses; in monstrous forms of creeping, crawling, slimy, ghastly horror.
By the side of the conceptions of Gustave Doré—teste for instance the weird pictures of
“The Wandering Jew” already mentioned—George Cruikshank sinks at times into
insignificance; and yet side by side with George Cruikshank, as a purely comic artist or
caricaturist, Doré is beneath mediocrity.

Gustave Doré.] [From “Contes Drolatiques.” Gustave Doré.] [From “Contes Drolatiques.”

“SERGEANT-OF-THE-JUSTICE TAUPIN.” “THE ABBOT OF MARMOUSTIERS.”
[Back to p. 8.

Gustave Doré.] [From “Contes Drolatiques.” Gustave Doré.] [From “Contes Drolatiques.”
“THE LANDLORD OF THE THREE BARBELS.” MONSEIGNEUR HUGON.
[Back to p. 9.

Artists and art critics not unnaturally regard caricature with some Mr. Hamerton’s observations
on Caricature.disfavour. “Art,” says Hamerton, “with a great social or political purpose, is
seldom pure fine art; artistic aims are usually lost sight of in the anxiety to hit the social or
political mark, and though the caricaturist may have great natural facility for art, it has not a
fair chance of cultivation.” Writing of Cruikshank’s “etchings” (and I presume he refers to
those which are marked with comic or satirical characteristics), he says: “They are full of
keen satire and happy invention, and their moral purpose is always good; but all these
qualities are compatible with a carelessness of art which is not to be tolerated in any one but

a professional caricaturist.”7 Now all this is true, and moreover it is fairly and generously
stated; on the other hand, Mr. Hamerton will probably admit that no artist is likely to
succeed in graphic satire, unless he be a man of marked artistic power and invention.

While treating incidentally of the etchings of artists who have distinguished themselves
as graphic satirists or designers, with etching itself as an art this work has no concern. For
those who would be initiated into the mysteries of etching and dry point, negative and
positive processes, soft grounds, mordants, or the like, the late Thomas Hood has left behind
him a whimsical sketch of the process, which, imperfect as it is, will not only suffice for our
purpose, but has the merit probably of being but little known:—

“Prepared by a hand that is skilful and nice,
The fine point glides along like a skate on the ice,
At the will of the gentle designer,
Who, impelling the needle, just presses so much,
That each line of her labour the copper may touch,
As if done by a penny-a-liner.
* * * * *
Certain objects however may come in your sketch,
Which, designed by a hand unaccustomed to etch,
With a luckless result may be branded;
Wherefore add this particular rule to your code,
Let all vehicles take the wrong side of the road,
And man, woman, and child be left-handed.

Yet regard not the awkward appearance with doubt,
But remember how often mere blessings fall out,
That at first seemed no better than curses:
So, till things take a turn, live in hope, and depend
That whatever is wrong will come right in the end,
And console you for all your reverses.
* * * * *
But the acid has duly been lower’d and bites
Only just where the visible metal invites,
Like a nature inclined to meet troubles;
And behold as each slender and glittering line
Effervesces, you trace the completed design

In an elegant bead-work of bubbles.
* * * * *
But before with the varnishing brush you proceed,
Let the plate with cold water be thoroughly freed
From the other less innocent liquor;
After which, on whatever you want to protect,
Put a coat that will act to that very effect,
Like the black one which hangs on the vicar.

Then the varnish well dried—urge the biting again,
But how long, at its meal, the eau forte may remain,
Time and practice alone can determine:
But of course not so long that the mountain, and mill,
The rude bridge, and the figures—whatever you will—
Are as black as the spots on your ermine.

It is true, none the less, that a dark looking scrap,
With a sort of Blackheath and Black Forest, mayhap,
Is considered as rather Rembrandty;
And that very black cattle and very black sheep,
A black dog, and a shepherd as black as a sweep,
Are the pets of some great dilettante.
* * * * *
But before your own picture arrives at that pitch,
While the lights are still light, and the shadows, though rich.
More transparent than ebony shutters,
Never minding what Black-Arted critics may say,
Stop the biting, and pour the green blind away,
As you please, into bottles or gutters.

Then removing the ground and the wax at a heat,
Cleanse the surface with oil, spermaceti or sweet—
For your hand a performance scarce proper—
So some careful professional person secure,
For the laundress will not be a safe amateur,
To assist you in cleaning the copper.
* * * * *

Thus your etching complete, it remains but to hint
That with certain assistance from paper and print,
Which the proper mechanic will settle,
You may charm all your friends—without any sad tale
Of such perils and ills as beset Lady Sale—
With a fine India Proof of your metal.”8

Woodward, engr. by W. H. Bunbury.] [“Strephon and Chloe,” July 1st, 1804.
Rowlandson.] [“Desire,” Jan. 20th, 1800. SENTIMENTAL COURTSHIP.
DESIRE.

W. H. Bunbury.] [“The Salutation Tavern,” July 21st, 1801. G. M. Woodward.] [“General Complaint,”
A FASHIONABLE SALUTATION. May 5th, 1796.
“Don’t tell me of generals raised from mere boys,
Though, believe me, I mean not their laurel to
taint;
But the general, I’m sure, that will make the most
noise,
If the war still goes on, will be General
Complaint.”
[Face p. 11.

1

“Nor London singly can his porter boast,
Alike ’tis famed on every foreign coast;

For this the Frenchman leaves his Bordeaux wine,
And pours libations at our Thames’s shrine;
Afric retails it ‘mongst her swarthy sons,
And haughty Spain procures it for her Dons.
Wherever Britain’s powerful flag has flown,
there London’s celebrated porter’s known.”

—The Art of Living in London (6th edition 1805).

2 One quotation shall suffice. Mr. William Bates tells us in his admirable “Maclise Portrait Gallery”:—“He
never transgressed the narrow line that separates wit from buffoonery, pandered to sensuality, glorified vice or
raised a laugh at the expense of decency. Satire never in his hands degenerated into savagery or scurrility. A
moral purpose ever underlaid his humour; he sought to instruct or improve when he amused.” Mr. Bates will, we
hope, pardon us if we say that this is not quite the fact. George Cruikshank in truth was no better or worse than
his satirical brothers, and his tone necessarily improved from the moment he took to illustrating books.

3 Since the above was written, strange to say, caricature appears to be showing symptoms of revival.

4 “The Fine Arts,” by William Hazlett, p. 29.

5 “Critical and Historical Essays,” vol. iii., p. 574.

6 We can scarcely call the wonderful series of historical cartoons which he executed at sixteen caricatures,
even in the modern sense of the word. Whatever humour they possess is neutralized by the grim irony which,
even at this early period, characterized his work.

7 “Etching and Etchers,” by Philip Gilbert Hamerton, third edition, p. 246.

8 Thomas Hood’s “Etching Moralized,” in New Monthly Magazine, 1843, vol. lxvii. p. 4, and seq.

CHAPTER II.

MISCELLANEOUS CARICATURES AND SUBJECTS OF CARICATURE, 1800-1811.

Although Gillray began his work in 1769,—thirty years before Proposed method Of Arrangement.
our century commenced, and Rowlandson five years later on, in 1774, their labours were
continued some years after 1799, and are so interwoven, so to speak, with the work of their

immediate successors, that it is almost impossible in a work dealing with nineteenth century
caricaturists to omit all mention of them. In collecting too materials for the present treatise,
we necessarily met with many anonymous satires, without signature, initials, or
distinguishing style, which may be, and some of which are probably due to artists whose
pencils were at work before the century began. Even if equal in all cases to the task of
assigning these satires to the particular hands which designed and executed them, we submit
that little real service would be rendered to the cause of graphic satire. It appears to us
therefore that the most convenient method will be to indicate in this and the following
chapters some of the leading topics of caricature during the first thirty years of the century,
and to cite in illustration of our subject such of the work of anonymous or other artists, for
which no better place can be assigned in other divisions of the work.

James Gillray. [June 20th, 1789.
SHAKSPEARE SACRIFICED, OR THE OFFERING TO AVARICE.
Alderman Boydell, as High Priest within the magic circle, preparing an oblation to Shakspeare; the demon of
Avarice, seated upon the List of Subscribers, hugging his money-bags; Puck on his shoulders blowing bubbles of
“immortality” to the promoter of the “Gallery” about to be published. Shakespeare himself, obscured by the
Aldermanic fumes. Figures of Shakspearean characters above.
[Face p. 12.

The attention of the public during the first fifteen years of the century was mainly
directed to the progress and fortunes of the great national enemy, Napoleon Bonaparte. The
hatred with which he was regarded in this country can scarcely be appreciated in these days;
and in order that the cause of this bitter antipathy may be understood, it will be necessary
for us to consider Bonaparte’s general policy in relation to ourselves.

The close of the century had been signalized in France by the 18th Brumaire. memorable
revolution of “the eighteenth Brumaire.” The Directory had ceased to exist, and a
provisional consular commission, consisting of “Citizens” Sieyes, Ducos, and Bonaparte,
was appointed. On the 13th of December, the legislative committees presented the new
constitution to the nation, the votes against it being 1,562 as against 3,012,659 in its favour.
Bonaparte was nominated first consul for ten, and Cambacères and Lebrun (nominal)
second and third consuls for five years.

Although Bonaparte, as soon as he was appointed First Consul, made direct overtures to
the king of England with a view to peace, he had himself to thank if his overtures met with
no corresponding return. To accomplish the revolution of the “eighteenth Brumaire,” he had
found it necessary to quit Egypt. The English knew the French occupation of Egypt was
intended as a direct menace to British interests in India. Lord Granville, therefore, in his
official reply, without assuming to prescribe a form of government to France, plainly but
somewhat illogically intimated that the “restoration of the ancient line of princes, under
whom France had enjoyed so many centuries of prosperity, would afford the best possible
guarantee for the maintenance of peace between the two countries.” This New Year’s
greeting on the part of Lord Granville put an end, as might have been expected, to all
further communications.

The French, however, had no business in Egypt, and England was resolved at any cost to
drive them out of that country. With this object in view, the armament under the command
of Sir Ralph Abercrombie effected its disembarkation at Aboukir on the 8th of March, 1801.
A severe though indecisive action followed five days afterwards. On the 20th was fought
the decisive battle of Alexandria. General Hutchinson, on the death of the English
commander, followed up the victory with so much vigour and celerity, that early in the
autumn the French army capitulated, on The French driven out of Egypt. condition of being
conveyed to France with all its arms, artillery, and baggage. The capitulation was signed
just in time to save French honour; for immediately after the conclusion of the treaty, a
second British force, under the command of Sir David Baird, arrived from India by way of
the Red Sea. Bonaparte’s favourite project of making Egypt an entrepôt for the conquest of
Hindostan was thus most effectually checkmated.9

On the 1st of October, 1801, preliminaries of peace between France and Great Britain
were signed in Downing Street; on the 10th, General Lauriston, aide-de-camp to the First
Consul, having arrived with the ratification of these preliminaries, the populace took the
horses from his carriage and drew it to Downing Street. That night and the following there
was a general illumination in London.

The “preliminaries” referred to were those of the very unsatisfactory “Peace of Amiens,”
as it was called. Its terms, by no means flattering to this country, were shortly these: France
was to retain all her conquests; while, on the other hand, the acquisitions made by England
during the war were to be given up. Malta and its dependencies were to be restored (under
certain restrictions) nominally to the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem; the French were to
evacuate Naples and the Roman States; and the British Porto Ferrago, and all the ports
possessed by them in the Mediterranean and the Adriatic.

James Gillray. [Sept., 1796.
A PEEP AT CHRISTIE’S, OR TALLY-HO AND HIS NIMENEY PIMENEY TAKING THE MORNING LOUNGE.
A study of Lord Derby and Miss Farren (the actress), a few months before their marriage, enjoying the Fine Arts, he
studying “The Death of Reynard,” she “Zenocrates and Phryne.”
[Face p. 14.

All this time a violent paper war had been maintained between the English press and the
Moniteur, the official organ of the Consular Government. In the month of August, 1802,

Bonaparte prohibited the circulation of the English newspapers, and immediately after the
issue of the order, the coffee houses and reading rooms were visited by his police, who
carried away every English journal upon which they could lay their hands. By way of
answer Bonaparte establishes an English Newspaper in Paris. to English abuse (to which Napoleon
was singularly sensitive), the First Consul now established an English newspaper in Paris,
which was thenceforth unceasingly occupied in vilifying the Government and people of
England. This paper was called The Argus, and an Englishman, one Goldsmith,—whilom
proprietor of the Albion newspaper in London,—was actually found mean enough to
undertake the peculiarly dirty office of its editor.

The denouement was not long delayed. On the 13th of March, 1803, occurred the
extraordinary and well-known scene between the First Consul and the English ambassador,
Lord Whitworth. Bonaparte, in the presence of a numerous and astonished Court,
vehemently accused England of breach of faith in not carrying out the provisions of the
treaty, by still remaining in possession of Malta. The episode appears to have been of an
extraordinary character, and the violence and ferocity of Bonaparte’s language and
behaviour, maintained till the very close of the interview, must have contrasted strangely
with the coolness of the English ambassador.

The restoration of Malta to the Knights of St. John was of course a mere nominal
restitution, for, except in name, the Knights of St. John had ceased to exist. The First Consul
really wanted the island for himself; and while he accused us of breach of faith, was himself
acting all the while contrary to the spirit of the treaty of Amiens. While requiring that we
should drive the royalist emigrants from our shores, he demanded that the English press
should be deprived of its liberty of speaking in such frank terms of himself and his policy.
His unfriendly conduct did not end here. At this very time he was actively employed in
fomenting rebellion in Ireland, and in planting (under the nominal character of consuls)
spies along our coast, whose treacherous objects were accidentally discovered by the
seizure of the secret instructions issued to one of these fellows at Dublin. “You are
required,” said this precious document, “to furnish a plan of the ports of your district, with a
specification of the soundings for mooring vessels. If no plan of the ports can be procured,
you are to point out with what wind vessels can come in and go out, and what is the greatest
draught of water with which vessels can enter the river deeply laden.”

Still there was no actual breach of the nominal peace between the two countries until the
12th of May, on which day Lord Whitworth left Paris. He landed at Dover on the 20th,
meeting there General Audreossi, Napoleon’s minister to the English Court, on the point of
embarking for France.

For two days before, that is to say on the 18th of May, 1803, England declares War. England
had issued her declaration of war against France. In this document, our government alleged
that the surrender of Malta to the knights of St. John of Jerusalem had been rendered
impossible by the action of France and Spain, who had destroyed the independence of the
Order itself. Reference was made to Bonaparte’s attempts to interfere with the liberty of the
English press, and the indignities he had offered to our ambassador; but the real ground of
quarrel was to be found in an official gasconade of Bonaparte’s, in which he declared that
“Britain could not contend single handed against France,” a vainglorious boast, which (in
those days at least) touched a chord which thrilled the patriotic feelings of every
Englishman that loved his country.

Napoleon’s next step—a simply detestable action—was quite in accordance with the
faithless policy which he pursued towards this country. The treaty of Amiens had induced
crowds of English to cross the Channel, and on the specious pretext that two French ships
had been captured prior to the actual declaration of war, he issued a decree on the 22nd of
May, 1803, for the arrest and imprisonment of all Englishmen in France, over eighteen and
under sixty years of age, all subjects of the king of England between those ages being
considered, for the purpose of this outrageous order, as forming part of the English militia.
This measure was carried out with the utmost rigour, and the eleven thousand English who
thus became prisoners of war were deprived of their liberty fifteen years, and regained it
only in 1814.

James Gillray. [January 11th, 1796.
TWOPENNY WHIST.
Mistress Humphrey and Betty, of St. James’ Street, their neighbour Mortimer (a well-known picture dealer) and a
German guest.
[A satire, by contrast, on the high stakes of “White’s” and “Boodle’s.”]
[Face p. 16.

The feeling of the nation at this time may be judged by the debates in the Houses of
Parliament. In the Commons, Mr. Grey English Enthusiasm. moved an amendment, which,
while it assured His Majesty of support in the war, expressed disapprobation of the conduct
of Ministers. This amendment was rejected by 398 to 67. The unanimity in the Lords was
still greater. The official statement that England was unable to contend single-handed with
France produced a violent outburst of indignation, and the amendment moved by Lord
King, to omit words which charged France with the actual guilt and responsibility of
breaking the treaty, was negatived by 142 to 10. This was on the 23rd of May. On the 20th
of June a great meeting was held at Lloyds, for the purpose of promoting a subscription for
carrying on the war. Six days later on, five thousand merchants, bankers, and other persons

of position met at the Royal Exchange, and unanimously agreed to a declaration which
expressed their determination to “stand or fall with their king and country.” This resolution
or declaration was seconded by the Secretary to the East India Company, and the meeting
did not separate until “God save the King” and “Rule Britannia” had been sung, and nine
cheers had been given for England and King George. On the 26th of August, His Majesty
reviewed the London volunteers in Hyde Park, in the presence of the French princes,
General Dumouriez, and two hundred thousand spectators; this military spectacle being
followed on the 28th by a review, in the same place, of the Westminster, Lambeth, and
Southwark corps. The number of volunteers actually enrolled in the metropolis and
outparishes at this time was forty-six thousand.

The following year saw the final end of the great French Revolution; the names of the
puppet “second” and “third” consuls had been long omitted from the public acts of the
French Government. The motives of this omission were soon abundantly apparent; and in
the month of May, 1804, Bonaparte was proclaimed Emperor of the French.

Some writers have doubted whether Napoleon entertained any serious intention of
invading this country; but to doubt such intention would be really to doubt whether Nelson
fell at Trafalgar, for that crushing defeat was simply the sequel and outcome of the collapse
of the emperor’s plans. The details of the invasion scheme were fully explained to General
Sir Neil Campbell by Napoleon himself at Elba, in 1814, and afterwards confirmed by him
in precisely similar terms to O’Meara at St. Helena. Those plans were defeated by the
suspicions and vigilance of Lord Nelson; by his habit of acting promptly upon his
suspicions; by the alacrity with which the Admiralty of the day obeyed his warnings; by the
prescience of Lord Collingwood; and by the consequent intercepting of the combined
French and Spanish fleets off Ferrol by Sir Robert Calder, in July, 1806. The moment this
happened, Napoleon saw that his game—so far at least as England was concerned—was at
an end; and fertile in resources, he immediately carried out the second part of his
programme. Then followed, as we know, the campaign of Austerlitz, the treaty of Presburg,
the war with Prussia, and finally the battle of Jena, in October, 1806.

Ever bent on humiliating and crippling the resources of Berlin Decree. England, Napoleon
on the 1st of November, 1806, issued his memorable “Berlin Decree,” containing eleven
clauses, of which this country formed the exclusive topic. By it, all trade and
correspondence with the British Isles was prohibited; all letters and packets at the post
office, addressed to England, or to an Englishman, or “written in English,” were to be
seized; every subject of England found in any of the countries occupied by French troops or
those of their allies, was to be made prisoner of war; all warehouses, merchandise, and

property belonging to a subject of England were declared lawful prize; all trading in English
merchandise forbidden; every article belonging to England, or coming from her colonies, or
of her manufacture, was declared good prize; and English vessels were excluded from every
European port.10 This outrageous “decree” Bonaparte imposed upon every country that fell
under the iron sway of his military despotism.

NAPOLEON FORTY-EIGHT HOURS AFTER LANDING.
“Ha, my little Boney! what dost think of Johnny Bull now? Plunder Old England, hay? Make French slaves of us all,
hay? Ravish all our wives and daughters, hay? O, Lord help that silly head! To think that Johnny Bull would ever
suffer those lanthorn jaws to become King of Old England’s Roast Beef and Plum Pudding!”

JOHN BULL OFFERING LITTLE BONEY FAIR PLAY.
Bonaparte—“I’m a-coming! I’m a-coming!”
John Bull—“You’re a-coming!
If you mean to invade us, why make such a route?
I say, Little Boney,—why don’t you come out?
Yes, d—— you, why don’t you come out?”
FIGURES FROM GILLRAY’S NAPOLEONIC CARICATURES.
[Face p. 18.

The policy, therefore, of the emperor towards England, which was contrary to all the
usages of civilized warfare, will explain Base Policy of Bonaparte. the bitter animosity with
which he was regarded in this country. The English were molested everywhere; they were
made prisoners at Verdun and in Holland; their property was confiscated in Portugal; Russia
was cajoled, Prussia forced into a league against them, and Sweden menaced, because she
persisted in maintaining her alliance with this country. The “Berlin Decree” was an
infamous document, worthy rather the policy of a bandit chief than of a fair and honourable
antagonist. It proclaimed war not against individuals, but against private property, and
specially appealed to the cupidity of those to whom it was addressed. This base policy
towards English subjects recoiled inevitably against its perpetrator; and its effects were soon
felt in the fields of the Peninsula, the banishment to Elba, and above all, in the final

consignment to the rock of St. Helena. We, on our part, ignored Bonaparte’s right to the title
of emperor. With us, he was invariably “General Bonaparte,” and nothing more; and in the
graphic lampoons of Gillray, Rowlandson, and Cruikshank, he was exhibited under the most
ludicrous circumstances in connection with the divorce, the defeats of Russia and the
Peninsula, and even the paternity of his son the young king of Rome. These caricatures
were brought to his notice by his spies and emissaries in England; they rendered him
furious; and one of them—Gillray’s admirable and, as it subsequently proved, prophetic
satire of The Handwriting on the Wall—is said to have given him not only offence, but even
serious uneasiness.

The tone of the English caricaturists may be gathered from one of the best of Woodward’s
satires, published in 1807. It is entitled A Political Fair, in which the various shows are
labelled Russian, Danish, Swedish, Westphalian, Austrian, Dutch, Spanish, and even
American. The best show in the fair is kept of course by John Bull & Co., whilst Bonaparte
is the proprietor of a humble stall, whereat gingerbread kings and queens are sold wholesale
and retail by his Imperial Majesty.11 The same artist, in another but distinctly inferior satire
(published in November, 1807), gives us The Gallick Storehouse for English Shipping: on
one side we see Napoleon accumulating vast stores of Spanish, Danish, Dutch, and Swedish
vessels, intended to annihilate the naval power of England—the shipbuilder, however,
shrugs his shoulders and suggests it is but time thrown away, for as fast as the ships are
built, John Bull “claps them into his storehouse over the way.” The satire was suggested of
course by the victory of Trafalgar in October, 1805; by Sir J. Duckworth’s capture of French
shipping in January, 1806; and by the surrender of the Danish fleet after the bombardment
of Copenhagen, in September, 1807.12

In a caricature published by Walker in 1808, we see Joseph Bonaparte (one of these
Imperial ginger-bread monarchs) driven from Madrid by Spanish flies; the satire is entitled
Spanish Flies, or Boney taking an Immoderate Dose, and has reference to the results of the
Battle of Baylen, in Andalusia, one of the very few victories Battle of Baylen. ever obtained by
the Spaniards against the French, where a division of 14,000 men surrendered to Castanos.
This was on the 20th of July, and nine days afterwards Joseph retreated to Burgos with the
crown jewels. The wretched Spaniards, however, were incapable of improving their victory;
and General Castanos instead of following up the retreating enemy, went to Seville to fulfil
a vow he had made of dedicating his unexpected victory to St. Ferdinand, on whose tomb
he deposited the crown of laurel presented to him by his grateful countrymen. Of the
Bonaparte caricatures of this year, no less than nineteen are due to the pencil of Thomas

Rowlandson, and will be found fully described in Mr. Joseph Grego’s exhaustive work13
upon that artist and his works.

THE KING OF BROBDINGNAG AND GULLIVER.

TALLEYRAND, KING-AT-ARMS, BEARING HIS NAPOLEON IN HIS CORONATION ROBES.
MASTER’S GENEALOGICAL TREE, SPRINGING FROM

BUONE, BUTCHER.

FIGURES FROM GILLRAY’S NAPOLEONIC CARICATURES.
[Face p. 20.

The year 1809 witnessed the divorce from Josephine, and the marriage of the emperor to
Marie Louise. The purposes for which this matrimonial alliance was effected were made no
secret of by the emperor, and were indicated of course in the plainest possible terms by the
English contemporary caricaturists, who were certainly not troubled with any unnecessary
scruples of prudery or delicacy. One of these satires, published by Tegg, on the 16th of
August, 1810, is entitled Boney and his New Wife, or a Quarrel about Nothing, and
indicates in the plainest possible terms that the purposes for which the divorce had been
effected were as distant as ever. The result of this union, however, was the birth of the
young king of Rome on the 20th of March, 1810, an event which set the pencils of our
pictorial satirists once more in motion, and the young heir and his father were
complimented by Rowlandson in a rough caricature, published by Tegg on the 9th of April,
1811, as Boney the Second, the little Babboon [sic] created to devour French Monkies.

In March, 1811, was fought the battle of Barossa; while the Battle of Barossa. same month
Massena, finding it difficult to maintain his army in a devastated country, instead of
fulfilling his vain-glorious boast of driving “the English into their native element,” began
his own retreat from Santarem, abandoning part of his baggage and heavy artillery.
Marching in a solid mass, his rear protected by one or two divisions, he retired towards the
Mondego, preserving his army from any great serious disaster, though watchfully and
vigorously pursued by Lord Wellington. The skilful generalship of the French marshal
elicited of course no encomiums from the English caricaturists. On the contrary, we see (in
“The Scourge” of 1st May, 1811) Wellington in the act of basting a French goose before a
huge fire, a British bayonet forming the spit. While basting the goose with one hand, the
English general holds over the fire in the other a frying-pan filled with French generals,
some of whom—to escape the overpowering heat—are leaping into the fire; another British
officer (probably intended for General Graham) blows the flames with a pair of bellows
labelled “British bravery.” Napoleon appears in a stew-pan over an adjoining boiler, while
we find Marshal Massena himself in a pickle-jar below. This satire is entitled, British
Cookery, or Out of the Frying-pan into the Fire.

The star of Napoleon was beginning to wane in 1812. The snow Napoleon’s Star begins to
wane. made its first appearance in Russia on the 13th of October of that year, and the French

emperor already commenced his preparations for retreat. This is referred to in a very clever
caricature published by Tegg on the 1st of December, 1812, wherein we find General Frost
shaving Boney with a razor marked “Russian steel.” Napoleon stands up to his knees in
snow, and out of the nostrils of the snow fiend [General Frost] issue blasts labelled “North,”
“East,” “Snow,” and “Sleet.” Seven days later on, we meet with a roughly-executed cartoon,
Polish Diet with French Dessert, wherein we see Napoleon basted by General Benningsen,
the spit being turned by a Russian bear. This caricature, no doubt, has reference to the
disastrous defeat by Benningsen of the French advanced guard, thirty thousand strong,
under Murat, on the 18th of October, 1812, when fifteen hundred prisoners, thirty-eight
cannon, and the whole of the baggage of the corps, besides other trophies, fell into the
victors’ hands.

The retreat from Moscow is referred to in a satire published by Thomas Tegg on the 7th
of March, 1813, labelled, The Corsican Bloodhound beset by the Bears of Russia; wherein
Napoleon is represented as a mongrel bloodhound with a tin kettle tied to his tail, closely
pursued by Russian bears. Various papers are flying out of the kettle, labelled “Oppression,”
“Famine,” “Frost,” “Destruction,” “Death,” “Horror,” “Mortality,” “Annihilation.” “Push
on, my lads,” says one of the pursuers. “No grumbling; keep scent of him; no sucking of
paws this winter, here is food for the bears in all the Russias.” The emperor, in truth, had the
narrowest escape from being made a prisoner by the Cossacks, a fact alluded to in another
caricature published by Tegg in June, 1813, entitled, Nap nearly Nab’d, or a Retreating
Jump just in time. Here, the emperor and one of his marshals are depicted leaping out of
window, at the very moment when a Cossack with his lance appears outside the palings.
“Vite,” says the marshal, in the peculiar patois adopted by the English caricaturists of the
early part of the century, “Courez, mon Empereur, ce Diable de Cossack, dey spoil our
dinner!!!”

Napoleon collected his marshals around him at Smorgoni, on the The Bulletin. 5th of
December, 1812, and dictated a bulletin which developed the horrors of the retreat, and
explained to them his reasons for returning to Paris. “I quit you,” he said, “but go to seek
three hundred thousand men.” He then proceeded to lay the blame on the King of
Westphalia, and his trusted and tried friend the Duc d’Abrantes; alleged that English torches
had turned Moscow into a heap of ashes; and added (with greater truthfulness) that the cold
had done the rest of the mischief. He entrusted the command to Murat, and bidding them
farewell set out, accompanied only by Generals Coulaincourt, Duroc, and Mouton, the

Mameluke Rustan, a captain of the Polish lancers, and an escort of Neapolitan horsemen.
This event is referred to in a caricature, published by S. W. Fores on the 1st of January,
1813, entitled, Boney returning from Russia covered with Glory, leaving his army in
comfortable winter quarters. Napoleon and Coulaincourt are seated in a sleigh driven by
another general in jack boots, with a tremendous cocked hat on his head, a huge sword by
his side, and a formidable whip in his hand. Coulaincourt inquires, “Will your Majesty write
the bulletin?” “No,” replies Napoleon; “you write it. Tell them we left the army all well,
quite gay; in excellent quarters; plenty of provisions; that we travelled in great style;
received everywhere with congratulations; and that I had almost completed the repose of
Europe” (a favourite expression of his). By way of contrast to these grandiloquent phrases,
the eye is attracted to the surroundings. The ground is thickly coated with snow; in the
foreground, two famished wretches cut and devour raw flesh from a dead horse. On all sides
lie dead and dying men and animals, while in the distance we behold the flying and
demoralized troops chased by a cloud of Cossacks. The English caricaturists follow the
emperor into the sanctity of his private life; they depict in their own homely but forcible
fashion the astonishment of the empress at his unexpected return, and the disgust of young
“Boney the Second,” who not only expresses surprise that his imperial sire had forgotten his
promise to “bring him some Russians to cut up,” but suggests that they seem to have “cut
him up” instead. These incidents are described in a satire entitled, Nap’s Glorious Return;
or, the Conclusion of the Russian campaign, published by Tegg, in June, 1813.

The crushing defeat of Vitoria, the crowning disaster of Leipzig—sustained the same
year, the subsequent abdication of Bonaparte, the return from Elba, the brief incident of the
“hundred days,” the catastrophe of Waterloo, and the subsequent consignment of the great
emperor to St. Helena, form of course the subjects of a host of graphic satires. Foremost
amongst them (for Gillray’s intellect was gone), must be mentioned the caricatures of
Thomas Rowlandson and of George Cruikshank. The first being fully described in Mr.
Grego’s work, we are not called on to mention them here, while the last will be fully set out
when we come to treat of the caricature work of George Cruikshank.

The French royalist satirists of course expressed their views on French Royalist Satires. the
situation. A French royalist caricature, published after Waterloo, represents Napoleon as a
dancing bear forced to caper by England, his keeper, who makes an unsparing use of the
lash, whilst Russia and Prussia play pipe and drum by way of music. A good answer,
however, to this is found in a French caricature (published in the Napoleon interest), like
most of the French satires of that period without date, entitled, L’après dinée des Anglais,
par un Français prisonnier-de-guerre, which satirizes the after-dinner drinking propensities
of the English of the period. The caricature, although neither flattering nor altogether

decent, is probably not an exaggerated picture of English after-dinner conviviality while the
century was young.

Gillray.] [“Royal Affability,” Feb. 10th.
“Well, friend, where a’ you going, hay? What’s your name, hay? Where do you live, hay?—hay?”

Gillray.] [Connoisseur examining a Cooper Gillray.] [“A Lesson in Apple Dumplings.”
June 18th, 1792. “Hay? hay? apple dumplings?—how get the apples in?—how?
A CONNOISSEUR IN ART. Are they made without seams?”

[Face p. 24.

By far the most biting, the most sarcastic, the most effective, and the most popular of the
anti-Bonaparte caricatures are those by James Gillray, which commence before the close of
the last century, and end in 1811, the year when the lurid genius of this greatest and most
original of satirists was quenched in the darkness of mental imbecility. James Gillray,
however, like his able friend and contemporary, Thomas Rowlandson, does not fall within
our definition of a “nineteenth century” satirist; and I am precluded from describing them. I
have before me the admirable anti-Bonaparte satires of both artists; and inseparably linked
as they are with the men who began work after 1800, the almost irresistible tendency is to
describe some of them in elucidation of the events to which I have occasion to refer. To do
so, however, although fascinating and easy, would be not only to wander from my purpose,
but to invade the province of the late Thomas Wright and of Mr. Grego, which I am not
called upon to do; to refer to them, however, for the purpose of this chapter, I have found
not only necessary, but unavoidable.

Caricature, like literary satire (as we all know from the days of Injustice of the Caricaturists.
the “Dunciad” downwards), has little concern with justice; but we who look back after the
lapse of the greater part of the century, and have moreover studied the history and the
surroundings of Napoleon Bonaparte, may afford at least to do him justice. Gillray is a fair
exponent of the intense hatred with which Bonaparte was regarded in this country, when not
only the little “Corsican,” but those about him, were held up to a ridicule which, oftentimes
vulgar, partook not unfrequently of absolute brutality. Who would imagine, for instance,
that the fat blousy female quaffing deep draughts of Maraschino from a goblet, in his
famous satire of the Handwriting on the Wall, was intended for the refined and delicate
Josephine? Occasionally, however, James Gillray descended to a lower depth, as in his Ci
Devant Occupations (of 20th February, 1805), in which we see this delicate woman, with
the frail but lovely Spaniard, Theresa de Cabarrus (Madame Tallien), figuring in a manner
to which the most infamous women of Drury Lane would have hesitated to descend.
Josephine de la Pagerie, as we all know, was anything but blameless; which indeed of les
Déesses de la Revolution could pass unscathed through the fiery furnace of the Terror?14
But this miscalled satire of James Gillray, which he dubs “a fact,” is nothing They mistake the
character of Bonaparte. less than a poisonous libel. As for le petit Caporal himself, everyone

now knows, that while he viewed the carnage of the battlefield with the indifference of a

conqueror, he shrank in horror from the murderers of the Swiss; from Danton and his
satellites, the Septembrist massacrists; from the mock trials and cold-blooded atrocities of
the Terrorists. Standing apart from these last by right of his unexampled genius, with
Danton, Marat, Robespíerre, Couthon, Carrier, Napoleon Bonaparte has nothing whatever in
common. Looking back upon the ruins of his empire, the mistakes he had made, the faults
he had committed, Napoleon, with reference at least to his own personal elevation, might
say with truth: “Nothing has been more simple than my elevation. It was not the result of
intrigue or crime. It was owing to the peculiar circumstance of the times, and because I
fought successfully against the enemies of my country. What is most extraordinary is, that I
rose from being a private person to the astonishing height of power I possessed, without
having committed a single crime to obtain it. If I were on my death-bed I could make the
same declaration.”15

To these facts, of course, James Gillray (if indeed he knew them) closed his eyes. In his
sketch of the 12th of May, 1800, he shows us the young lieutenant at the head of tattered
legions directing the destruction of the royal palaces. Blinded by the prejudice of his times,
he seems apparently ignorant of the fact that Napoleon although a spectator of the attack on
the Tuileries, had no power; that if he had, he would (as he himself expressed it at the time)
have swept the sanguinary canaille into the gutters with his grape shot. Again, in his satires,
he connects him repeatedly with the guillotine, to all appearance unconscious of the fact
that between Napoleon and the guillotine no possible sympathy existed.

James Gillray.] [June 28th, 1791.
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY PETRIFIED, AND THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY REVIVIFIED.

1. Barber—“De King is escape! de King is escape!”
2. Cook.—“Aha! be gar, de King is retaken!! Aha! Monsieur Lewis is retaken, aha!!”

[The French Revolution.]
[Face p. 26.

* * * * * *

A good idea of the appearance and costume of “the general” Robert Dighton’s Sketches. and
notables of the early part of the century, is given by the sketches of the last century artist,
Robert Dighton. His etchings are not caricatures, as may be supposed, but likenesses of the
oi polloi—the university dons—the prize-fighters—the butchers—the singers—actors—
actresses—the men about town (“Corinthians,” as they were termed in the slang of the
Regency)—the “upper ten”; and what amazingly queer folks were these last! The Duke of
Grafton, with his tremendous beak, wig, and cocked hat, his mahogany tops and spurs, his
long coat with the flapped pockets and his star; the Marquis of Buckingham, with his red fat
face and double chin, which told tales of nightly good cheer, his cocked hat, military coatee,
and terrific paunch, which resisted all attempts to confine it within reasonable military
compass; John Bellingham—the murderer of Spencer Perceval,—with his retreating
forehead, long pointed nose, drab cloth coat and exuberant shirt frill; “What? What?
What?”—Great George himself, as he appeared in 1810, in full military panoply—huge ill-
fitting boots, huge blue military coat, collar, lappets, and star, a white-powdered bob
surmounting a clean-shaved unintellectual face, the distinguishing characteristics of which
were a pair of protruding eyes surmounted by ponderous eyebrows.

A well-drawn caricature published by S. W. Fores on the 11th of May, 1801, gives us an
admirable idea of the male and female costume of the period. It contains sixteen figures,
and is entitled Tea just Over, or the Game of Consequences begun. “Consequences” would
appear to have been a fashionable game at this time; but the “consequences” here alluded to
are the immediate results of a pinch of snuff. The “consequences” of one gentleman
sneezing are the following: he jerks the arm of the lady next him, the result being that she
pours her cup of scalding hot tea over the knees of her neighbour, a testy old gentleman,
who in his fright and pain raises his arms, jerking off with his cane the wig of a person
standing at the back of his chair, who in the attempt to save his wig upsets his own cup and
saucer upon the pate of his antagonist Another guest, with his mouth full of tea, witnessing
this absurd contretemps is unable to restrain his laughter, the result of which is that he blows
a stream of tea into the left ear of the man who has lost his wig, at the same time setting his
own pigtail alight in the adjoining candle. All these disasters, passing in rapid succession
from left to right, are the direct “consequences” of one unfortunate pinch of snuff.

The year 1804 witnessed the advent of a performer whose theatrical reputation,
notwithstanding the wonderful sensation it created for a couple of seasons, was not destined
to survive his childhood. The brief furore he excited, enabled his friends to lay by for him a
considerable fortune, which enabled him to regard the memory of his immature triumphs

and subsequent failures with resignation. Master Betty, “the Young Roscius,” was not quite
thirteen years Master Betty. of age when he made his first appearance at Covent Garden on
the 1st of December, 1804, as Achmet in Barbarossa. He played alternately at the two great
houses; twenty-eight nights at Drury Lane brought £17,210 into the treasury, whilst the
receipts at Covent Garden during the same period are supposed to have been equally large.
A rough caricature of 1804, bearing the signature “I. B.,” depicts the child standing with one
foot on Drury Lane and the other on Covent Garden, with a toy whip in one hand and a
rattle in the other, while two full-grown actors of real merit bemoan the decadence of public
taste on the pavement below. Some years later on the pair might have said with Byron,—

“Though now, thank Heaven! the Rosciomania’s o’er,
And full-grown actors are endured once more.”16

The leading home political incident of 1806 was the impeachment and acquittal of Lord
Melville, an event which is dealt with by Gillray, and also by Rowlandson in his graphic
satire of The Acquittal, or Upsetting the Porter Pot, both artists alluding to Whitbread, the
brewer, the head of the advanced Liberals, and one of the principal movers of Lord
Melville’s impeachment.

T. Rowlandson.] [October 25th, 1810.
“SPITFIRES.”
[Back to p. 28.

T. Rowlandson.] [1813.
“THE COBBLER’S CURE FOR A SCOLDING WIFE.”
[Back to p. 29.

Gas, which now promises to be superseded in its turn by Introduction of Gas. electricity, was
introduced into Boulton & Watts’ foundry, at Birmingham, as early as the year 1798, and the
Lyceum Theatre was lit with gas (by way of experiment) in 1803; it met however with much
opposition from persons interested in the conservation of the oil trade, and made no real
progress in London until 1807, when it was introduced into Golden Lane on the 16th of
August. Pall Mall, however, was not lighted with gas until 1809, and it was really not
finally and generally introduced into London until the year 1820. We meet with an excellent
satire published by S. W. Fores, in 1807, wherein a harlequin is depicted sitting on a rope
suspended between a couple of lamp posts. The lamps and the hat of the figure are
garnished with lighted burners; the neighbours in the windows of the adjoining houses, the
people on the pavement below, the fowls, the dogs, the cats on the roofs, are suffocated with
the noxious vapour. The figure holds in his hand a paper, whereon we read, “This is the
speculation to make money, £10,000 per cent. profit all in Air-light air. ’Tis there, ’tis here,
and ’tis gone for ever.” This caricature bears the title of The Good Effects of Carbonic Gas.
A caricature of Woodward, engraved by Rowlandson, and published by Ackermann on the
23rd of December, 1809, gives us A Peep at the Gas Lights in Pall Mall, the interest of
which chiefly centres in the eccentric form of the early street lamps. Among the groups
looking on are a wondering “country cousin” and a “serious” companion. “Ay, friend,” says
the latter, anxious of course, in season and out of season, to turn the occasion to profitable
account, “verily it is all vanity! What is this to the inward light?” Some more disreputable
members of the community are expressing their fears that the new light will interfere with
their own peculiar modes of livelihood.

A clever and somewhat remarkable woman succeeded in achieving an unenviable
notoriety in 1809. The daughter of a printer residing in Bowl and Pin Alley, near White’s
Alley, Chancery Lane, the remarkably intelligent girl had early attracted the notice of
friends, one of whom placed her at a boarding school, where she picked up an education
(such as it was) sufficient to sharpen her natural abilities. Her commencement in life was
scarcely a hopeful one. Mary Anne Thompson eloped at seventeen years of age with one
Joseph Clarke, the son of a builder on Snow Hill, and after living with him three years
married him. The marriage was not a happy one. The pair after some years separated, and
Mary Anne was thenceforth driven to trust for her support to her own resources and
attractions.

These proved fully equal to the occasion. Somewhat small in Mary Anne Clarke. stature,
nature had nevertheless endowed her with a remarkably well turned figure, well shaped
arms, comely features, a singularly clear complexion, and blue eyes full of light and
vivacity. Dressing with considerable taste and elegance—utterly shameless—without

principle or character, with nothing to lose—everything to gain, the woman was eminently
fitted to succeed in the peculiar path in life she had elected to follow. Throwing her line
with all the dexterity of an accomplished angler, she succeeded almost at her first cast in
hooking a very large fish indeed—his Royal Highness Frederick Duke of York,
Commander-in-chief, Prince-bishop of Osnaburgh, who had attained at this time the
respectable age of forty-six years.

Mary Anne proved, as might have been expected, an expensive plaything. In the short
space of two years, the duke seems to have handed his mistress upwards of £5,000, besides
expending on her in payments to tradesmen for wine, furniture, and other “paraphernalia,”
at least £16,000 or £17,000 more. In time, as is not unusual in matters of this kind, the duke
seems to have grown tired of his enslaver, and endeavoured to pension her off with an
annuity of £400 a year; but with the niggardliness which was so distinguishing a
characteristic of his family, payment was not only withheld, but when the woman applied
for payment, the duke was mean and foolish enough to threaten her with prison and the
pillory. Mrs. Clarke, a woman of genius and resource, instead of being frightened,
straightway betook herself to Messrs. Wilberforce and Whitbread, the supporters of the
impeachment of Lord Melville, and confessed to them certain irregularities of which she
had been guilty.

Into the unsavoury revelations of Mary Anne Clarke, her traffic in the sale of military
commissions, and still worse, in a system of ecclesiastical patronage in which she alleged
his Royal Highness connived, we need not enter. They are set out as far as is necessary in
Mr. Grego’s book, and also in Mr. Wright’s treatise on James Gillray and his works. Suffice
it to say, that all these miserable exposures would have been saved, had the duke, instead of
seeking to save his pocket, paid the annuity to which the woman was entitled. If by
resigning, he thought to silence his unscrupulous persecutor, he was quickly and
unpleasantly undeceived. The clever, unscrupulous woman had reserved her trump-card to
the last. All this time she had been engaged in preparing her “Memoirs,” comprising not
only the history of her transactions with his Royal Highness, but a series of his letters,
containing, it is said, anecdotes of illustrious personages of the most curious and recherché
description. The immediate publication of these “Memoirs” having been announced to his
Royal Highness, the duke was driven in spite of himself to effect an arrangement. For a
payment of £7,000 down, an annuity of £400 for her own life, and one of £200 for each of
her daughters, the printed “Memoirs” (eighteen thousand copies) were destroyed, the
publication suppressed, and above all the terrible private correspondence duly surrendered.

The mover of the committee of inquiry was one Wardle, colonel of a militia regiment,
who for a very brief space of time was permitted to figure as a patriot; that he was a mere
instrument in the hands of other persons seems now abundantly clear. No sooner had Mary
Anne Clarke landed his Royal Highness, than she fixed her hook in the jaws of the luckless
colonel, who, tool as he was, proved to be by no means a sharp one. It is obvious a woman
of Mrs. Clarke’s character would be the last person to open her lips, unless it was made
clear to her that it would be worth her while to do so. Her go-between in the transaction was
a certain “Major” Dodd. Wardle gave Mrs. Clarke £100 for present necessities, and by way
of earnest of more liberal promises which seem afterwards to have been repudiated by his
employers. Through Major Dodd, the clever, unprincipled woman secured a house in
Westbourne Place, which she furnished in a style of comfortable elegance, and succeeded
by her blandishments in swindling Wardle into becoming security for her furniture. The
inevitable result of course followed. On the 3rd July, 1809, Wright, the upholsterer, brought
his action against Wardle and recovered £1,400 damages,17 besides costs, “for furniture sold
to the defendant to the use of Mary Anne Clarke.” The colonel, like the commander-in-
chief, thus found himself not only out-manœuvred by his clever and unscrupulous ex-ally,
but reaped the obloquy attendant on exposure and ridicule, instead of the glorification
which had at first greeted his patriotic exertions.

Mary Anne Clarke and the Duke of York, afforded (as might have been expected) plenty
of employment to the caricaturists. The theme, however, is treated too grossly for
description, a subject to be regretted, as most of the satires, containing as they do admirable
portraits of the principal personages, are exceedingly clever. The subject suited an artist
who delighted in delineating the immodest and full-blown beauties of Drury Lane; and
accordingly, more than forty caricatures on the subject of “The Delicate Investigation,” as it
was called, are due to the pencil of Thomas Rowlandson.

In order to show the character of this infamous woman, we must The end of Mary Anne Clarke.
follow her progress a little farther than either Mr. Grego or Mr. Wright appear to have done.
In February, 1814, she once more made a public appearance: this time in the Court of
Queen’s Bench. She seems to have got the Right Hon. William Fitzgerald, Chancellor of the
Irish Exchequer, by some means or other into her clutches, in connection with the
proceedings of 1809. By this time, however, she had descended so low, that exposure was
threatened unless a sum of money was deposited under a stone. In her threats, she
announced her intention of “submitting to the public in a very short time two or three
volumes, which might be followed by others as opportunity should suit or circumstances
require.” This threat, instead of extorting money, consigned Mary Anne to the custody of
the marshal of the King’s Bench Prison for the space of nine calendar months, at the end of

which period she was ordered to find securities to keep the peace for a space of three years.
It might have gone harder with the brazen woman if the proceedings had taken any other
form than that of an indictment for libel, and if she had not admitted her fault, and in some
measure thrown herself upon the mercy of the court. The pages of history do not appear to
be sullied with the intrusion of Mary Anne Clarke’s name after this period.

The year 1811 is marked by an event which claims special record in a work treating of
English caricatures and caricaturists of the century. In that year, James Gillray executed the
last of his famous etchings; and although mere existence was prolonged for nearly four
years afterwards, till the 1st of June, 1815, he sank in 1811 into that hopeless and dreary
state of mingled imbecility and delirium from which the intellect of this truly great and
original genius was destined never to recover.

9 “If it had not been for you English, I should have been Emperor of the East; but wherever
there is water enough to float a ship, we are sure to find you in our way.”—Napoleon to Captain
Maitland. See Maitland’s “Narrative of the Surrender of Bonaparte,” p. 99.

10 London Chronicle, December 6th, 1806.

11 See also Gillray’s previous satire of the 23rd of January, 1806 (which probably suggested
this), Tiddy Doll, the Great French Gingerbread Baker, drawing out a new batch of kings.

12 See also Gillray’s cartoon of 1st October, 1807, British Tars towing the Danish Fleet into
Harbour.

13 See vol. ii., p. 92, et seq.

14 In a loose age, Madame Tallien, notwithstanding such virtues as she possessed, was a loose
character. Between 1798 and 1802 she had three children, who were registered in her family name
of Cabarrus. On the 8th of April, 1802, at her own request a divorce was pronounced from
Tallien, and with two husbands still alive she married (14th July, 1805,) Count Joseph de
Caraman, soon after heir of the Prince de Chimay. She died in the odour of sanctity, on the 15th of
January, 1835.

15 O’Meara, vol. i, p. 250.

16 “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.”

17 According to Mr. Grego, £2,000.

CHAPTER III.

MISCELLANEOUS CARICATURES AND SUBJECTS OF CARICATURE, 1812-1819.

Drury Lane Theatre, which was burnt down in 1811, was rebuilt 1812. the
following year, and the committee, anxious to celebrate the opening by an

address of merit corresponding to the occasion, Rebuilding of Drury Lane Theatre.
advertised in the papers for such a composition. Theatrical addresses, however,
as we all know by reference to a recent occasion,18 are not always up to the
mark; and whether the result of their appeal was unsatisfactory, or whether—as
appears not unlikely—they were appalled by the number of competitors, which
is said to have been upwards of one hundred, not one was accepted, the
advertisers preferring to seek the assistance of Lord Byron, who wrote the actual
address which was spoken at the opening on the 10th of October, 1812. Among
the competitors was a Dr. Busby, living in Queen Anne Street, who apparently
unable to realize the fact that competent men could have the effrontery to reject
his “monologue,” refused to accept the verdict of the committee. A few evenings
afterwards, the audience and the company were electrified by an unexpected
sensation. Busby and his son sat in one of the stage boxes; and the latter, to the
amazement of the audience, stepped at the end of the play from his box upon the
stage, and began to recite his father’s nonsense, as follows:—

“When energizing objects men pursue,
What are the prodigies they cannot do?”

The question remained unanswered; for Raymond, the stage Dr. Busby’s
“Monologue.” manager, walked at this moment upon the stage accompanied by a
constable, and gave the amateur performer into custody. It is said that his father,
not content with this failure, actually made an attempt to recite the “monologue”
from his box, until hissed and howled down by the half laughing, half indignant
audience. The circumstance is commemorated by an admirable pictorial satire
entitled, A Buz in a Box, or the Poet in a Pet, published by S. W. Fores on the
21st of October, in which we see the doctor gesticulating from his box, and
imploring the audience to listen to his “monologue.” Young Busby, seated on his
father’s Pegasus (an ass), quotes one of the verses of the absurd composition,
while the animal (after the manner of its kind) answers the hisses of the audience
by elevating its heels and uttering a characteristic “hee haw.” By the side of
Busby junior stands the manager (Raymond), apologetically addressing the

audience. Certain pamphlets lie scattered in front of the stage, on which are
inscribed (among others) the following doggerel:—

“A Lord and a Doctor once started for Fame,
Which for the best poet should pass;
The Lord was cried up on account of his name,
The Doctor cried down for an ass.”

“Doctor Buz, he assures us, on Drury’s new stage
No horses or elephants there should engage;
But pray, Doctor Buz, how comes it to pass,
That you your own self should produce there an ass?”

Dr. Busby was a person desirous of achieving literary notoriety at any amount
of personal inconvenience. He translated Lucretius, and is said to have given
public recitations, accompanied with bread and butter and tea; but in spite of
these attractions, the public did not come and the book would not sell, facts
which a wicked wag of the period ridiculed, by inserting the following
announcement in the column of births of one of the newspapers: “Yesterday, at
his house in Queen Anne Street, Dr. Busby of a stillborn Lucretius.”

The medical profession is ridiculed in a satire published in 1813. 1813: Doctors
Differ, or Dame Nature against the College.19 Four physicians have quarrelled in
consultation over the nature of their patient’s malady, and the proper mode of
administering to his relief. Unable to convince one another, they wax so warm in
argument that they speedily proceed from words to blows. “I say,” shouts one
(beneath the feet of the other three), “I say it is an exfoliation of the glands which
has fallen on the membranous coils of the intestines, and must be thrown off by
an emetic.” “I say,” says another, raising at the same time his cane to protect his
head, “I say it is a pleurisie in the thigh, and must be sweated away.” “You are a
blockhead!” cries a third, furiously striking at him with his professional cane. “I
say it is a nervous affection of the cutis, and the patient must immediately lose
eighteen ounces of blood, and then take a powerful drastic.” “What are you

quarrelling about?” asks a fourth, arresting the downfall of his professional
brother’s cane. “You are all wrong! I say it is an inflammation in the os sacrum,
and therefore fourteen blisters must be immediately applied to the part affected
and the adjacents.” The table is down, and the prescriptions of the learned
doctors covered with the ink which flows from the ruined inkstand. The amused
patient (whom nature has meanwhile relieved of the cause and effect) watches
the combat from the adjoining bedroom, and makes preparations to retreat and
save both his “pocket and his life.”

The year 1814 was marked by the bursting of one of the most 1814.
extraordinary religious bubbles with which England has ever been scandalized.
The person identified with and responsible for the craze to which we allude, was
Joanna Southcott, the daughter of Joanna Southcott. a farmer residing at the village
of Gettisham, in Devonshire, where she herself was born in the month of April,
1750. At the time, therefore, the imposture was made patent to such of her
deluded followers as retained any remnants of the small stock of common sense
with which nature had originally endowed them, Joanna was sixty-four years of
age.

The village girl appears to have been a constant reader of the Scriptures,
which she studied with so much enthusiasm, that a strong religious bias was
established, which took almost entire possession of her mind. Still, no marked
peculiarity was manifested until after she had attained forty years of age, at
which time we find her employed as a workwoman at an upholsterer’s shop at
Exeter. The proprietor being a Methodist, the shop was visited by ministers of
that persuasion, and Joanna, with her “serious turn of mind,” was not only
permitted to join in their discussions, but was regarded by these harmless folk
somewhat in the light of a prodigy. To a mind predisposed to religious mania (for
it would be unjust to stigmatize Joanna altogether as a wilful impostor) the result
was peculiarly unfortunate; she was visited with dreams, which she quickly
accepted as spiritual manifestations, instead of being, as they really were,
indications of a disordered digestion.

Two years afterwards Joanna retired from secular business, and set up as a
prophetess at Exeter. She declared herself to be the woman spoken of as “the
bride,” “the Lamb’s wife,” the “woman clothed with the sun.” The county lunatic
asylum might have done good at this point; but its wholesome discipline,
unfortunately, was not resorted to. She published in 1801 her first inspired book,
“The Strange Effects of Faith,” which absolutely brought five “wise men of
Gotham” to inquire into her pretensions from different parts of England. Three of
these learned pundits were Methodist parsons, and these three parsons declared
themselves satisfied that the mission of Joanna was a divine one. It is needless to
add that in England, no matter how absurd the nature of a so-called divine
mission, it is safe and certain to attract believers; and by the year 1803 the
doctrines of Joanna Southcott were eagerly swallowed by numerous simpletons
in various parts of the country.

Thus fortified, Joanna issued a manifesto, in which she stated her calling and
pretensions: we set it out in all the original baldness of its composition:—

“I, Joanna Southcott, am clearly convinced that my calling is of God, and my
writings are indited by His Spirit, as it is impossible for any spirit but an all-wise
God, that is wondrous in working, wondrous in wisdom, wondrous in power,
wondrous in truth, could have brought round such mysteries, so full of truth, as is
in my writings; so I am clear in whom I have believed, that all my writings came
from the spirit of the most high God.”

Joanna was clear in whom she believed, and her followers were equally
“clear” in their belief in Joanna. This incoherent nonsense was signed in the
presence of fifty-eight simpletons, all of whom expressed their confidence in the
inspired mission of their precious prophetess.

Her disciples rapidly increased, and she visited in her apostolic character,
Bristol, Leeds, Stockport, and other large centres, obtaining numerous converts
everywhere. Among them was the celebrated engraver, William Sharp; and to the
last this man, who out of his calling was the veriest simpleton living, and who

had swallowed successively the doctrines of Richard Brothers, Wright, Bryan,
and Joanna, believed in the divine mission of this unincarcerated lunatic.

Although Joanna did not (like Joseph Smith) discover a book, she discovered a
seal, which one of her disciples is said to have picked up in a dust-heap at
Clerkenwell. With this miraculously acquired talisman the spirit ordered her to
“seal up the people,” and as “the people” were limited to one hundred and forty-
four thousand, and each of the elect had to pay a sum varying at different times
from a guinea to twelve shillings, or even lower, for the privilege of being
“sealed up,” the scheme promised at first to turn out a comfortably profitable
one. Into the details of the “sealing” it is unnecessary for us to enter. Suffice it to
say that the numbers of the “sealed,” up to 1808, when for some unexplained
reason the process appears to have been discontinued, exceeded six thousand
simpletons; the numbers of her deluded followers in the metropolis and its
vicinity alone, are supposed at one time to have amounted to a hundred thousand.

Joanna was a coarse, common-place, and somewhat corpulent woman; she
dressed in a plain, quaker-like garb, in a gown of Calimancoe, with a shawl and
bonnet of drab colour. The three leading preachers in her chapel in Southwark
(her great stronghold), were a Mr. Carpenter, who, after learning his business, set
up as a prophet on his own account; a Mr. Foley, and a lath-render named Tozer.
She had chapels also in Spitalfields, Greenwich, Twickenham, and Gravesend.

The scribblings in prose and verse of this illiterate creature, instead of being
committed to the waste paper basket, were solemnly preserved and received as
prophecies. Attacked at last with dropsy, her delusions assumed the following
objectionable form: she prophesied, and Sharp and his fellow-disciples—some of
whom were men of fair education—actually believed, that Christ was to be born
again under the name of “Shiloh,” and that she, Joanna, at the age of sixty-five,
was to be the mother. The revelation which proclaimed the miraculous
accouchement was worded as follows: “This year [1814], in the sixty-fifth year
of thy age, thou shalt have a son by the power of the Most High; which if they
(the Hebrews) receive as their prophet, priest, and king, then I will restore them
to their own land, and cast out the heathen for their sakes, as I cast out them

when they cast out Me, by rejecting Me as their Saviour, Prince, and King, for
which I said I was born, but not at that time to establish My kingdom.”

One might have imagined that this gibberish would open the eyes of some at
least of her votaries: their insane enthusiasm, on the contrary, increased. Joanna
was absolutely inundated with the “freewill” offerings of the faithful—a costly
cradle, white robes, pinafores, shoes of satin and worsted, flannel shirts, napkins,
blankets, silver spoons, pap-boats, mugs, silver tea-pots, sugar-basins, tongs, and
corals,—absolutely without number. The absurdity of the simpletons who sent
these offerings was severely criticised, both in England and on the Continent;
and by way apparently of answering her traducers, Joanna inserted an apostolical
advertisement in the Morning Chronicle of Thursday, 22nd September, 1814, and
in the Courier of Friday, 23rd, in which she stated that, in consequence of the
false and malicious reports in circulation respecting herself, she was desirous of
treating for “a spacious and ready-furnished house to be hired for three months,
in which her accouchement may take place in the presence of such competent
witnesses as shall be appointed by proper authority to prove her character to the
world.” The appointed day—the 29th of October—however passed by, and the
prophecy remained of course unfulfilled, although, in the manufacturing towns
of the north, crowds of the faithful assembled to wait the arrival of the coaches,
in expectation of tidings of the great manifestation. The satire entitled,
Delivering a Prophetess (in vol. 8 of “The Scourge”), has reference to the actual
event which occurred on the 27th of December, 1814, when death relieved
Joanna of her delusions and her dropsy; the wretched creature declaring on her
deathbed that, “if she had been deceived, she had at all events been the sport of
some spirit, good or evil.” Joanna forms the subject of one of Rowlandson’s
caricatures of 1814, Joanna Southcott, the Prophetess, Excommunicating the
Bishops, published by Tegg on the 20th of September, 1814. We shall also have
to refer to her again when we treat of the caricatures of George Cruikshank.

This year (1814) the Princess Charlotte, heiress presumptive Flight of the Princess
Charlotte. actually ran away in a hackney coach, to avoid being affianced to the

Prince of Orange, to whom Her Royal Highness evinced an invincible

repugnance. The event is referred to in a caricature entitled, Plebeian Spirit, or
Coachee and the Heiress Presumptive (published by Fores on the 25th of July),
which shows us the princess emerging from Warwick House, followed by
Britannia (who raises her hands in a suppliant attitude), and the dejected British
lion. “Coachman, will you protect me?” she appeals to the driver. “Yes, yes, your
Highness,” replies the fellow, “to the last drop of my blood!” A servant in the
royal livery holds up his hands in amazement and horror, while another spurs off
in hot haste to apprise the Regent of the flight of his daughter. But a satire of far
superior merit, entitled, Miss endeavouring to excite a glow with her Dutch
Plaything,20 was issued by the same publisher a few days previously, in which
the rejected prince figures as a Dutch top, which the princess has kept spinning
for some time. “There,” she says to her father at last, “I have kept it up for a long
while; you may send it away now, I am tired of it; mother [i.e. the Princess
Caroline] has got some better plaything for me.” “What! are you tired already?”
exclaims the Regent. “Take another spell at it, or give me the whip.” “No, no,”
replies Her Royal Highness; “you may take the top, but I’ll keep the whip.”
Behind her is a picture representing an orange falling with Cupid headlong into
space. The Regent was so incensed at his daughter’s refractoriness, that he went
at once to Warwick House and dismissed all her attendants, and never forgave
the Duke of Sussex for his supposed share in breaking off the connection. It was
immediately after this event that her mother, the Princess Caroline, contrary to
the advice of her friends and well-wishers, applied for permission to make that
tour on the Continent which, owing to her own obstinate folly and contempt for
the duties of her high station, was destined—as we shall afterwards find—to end
in such disastrous consequences to herself.

In the course of the year 1812, England had become involved—scarcely 1812
1815. through any fault of her own—in a war with the United States of America.
The causes of difference were mainly due to the obnoxious Orders in Council,
which had been forced upon us in consequence of the Berlin and Milan Decrees
of Napoleon. As an evidence, however, of our own friendly intentions, it may be
mentioned that the Regent had issued a declaration on the 23rd of April, that if at
any time the obnoxious decrees should by an authentic act be absolutely

repealed, thenceforth the Orders in Council of 7th January, 1807, and 26th April,
1809, should be revoked; America and England. and the American representative,
having, on the 20th of May, transmitted to the English Court a copy of a French
decree of the 20th of April, by which the decrees of Milan and Berlin were
declared to be no longer in force, so far as American vessels were concerned, the
Regent declared that, although he could not accept the terms of the decree as
satisfying the conditions of his own declaration of the 23rd of April, yet, with the
view of re-establishing friendly relations, he revoked the Orders in Council of
7th January, 1807, and April 26th, 1809, so far as regarded American vessels and
American cargoes. Of this repeal, be it observed, the United States Government
took no notice, it might be in consequence of the very reasonable proviso
annexed to the Regent’s concession, that unless the Government of the United
States revoked their exclusion of British armed vessels from their harbours,
while those of France were admitted, and their interdiction of British commerce,
while that of France was allowed, the order was to be of no effect.

A very old English proverb tells us that “a stick is never wanting to beat a
dog;” and where one nation wishes to fasten a quarrel on another, and the
opportunity be favourable, there will be no difficulty in finding an excuse. There
were other causes of discontent; in particular our claim to search not only for
English goods, but for British seamen serving on board neutral vessels; and as
the sovereignty of the seas depended on upholding these assumptions, our
Government was as strenuous in enforcing them as the French emperor was bent
on the maintenance of his continental system.

The Americans, however, were anxious for a war with this country, and in
particular, the opportunity seemed eminently favourable for attempting the
conquest of Canada. A motion in the House of Representatives, for the indefinite
postponement of a bill for raising 25,000 additional troops, was rejected by a
majority of 98 to 29. An outrageous bill, specially intended as an insult to
England, was introduced into the same House about the end of April, “for the
protection, recovery, and indemnification of American seamen,” the first clause
of which declared that every person who, under pretence of a commission from a

foreign power, should impress upon Hostile Spirit of the Americans. the high seas a
native seaman of the United States, should be adjudged a pirate and a felon, and
should upon conviction suffer death. Another of its articles gave to every such
seaman impressed under the British flag, the right of attaching in the hands of
any British subject, or in the hands of any debtor of any British subject, a sum
equal to thirty dollars per month for the whole time of his detention. This
monstrous bill was actually allowed to pass a third reading. The temper of the
Americans may be judged by the result of the voting on Mr. Randolph’s motion
in the same House, on the 29th of May. That gentleman submitted “that, under
the present circumstances, it was inexpedient to resort to a war with Great
Britain.” The question being then put, that the House do proceed to the
consideration of the said resolution, it was negatived by 62 votes against 37.
Under the overpowering influence of these feelings, war was declared against
England on the 18th of June, 1812; our own declaration was not issued until the
13th of October following.

“Our American cousins,” did not wait for this joinder of issue; they had
invaded Canada early in July. On the 11th of that month, the American General
Hull, with a body of 2,500 men—regulars and militia—crossed the river above
Detroit with most disastrous consequences to himself. He was speedily forced to
retreat, and on the 16th of August to surrender the important fort of Detroit itself,
with his 2,500 men and thirty-three pieces of artillery. Although this disaster
seriously disconcerted the American plans of invasion, the design was by no
means abandoned. A considerable force was assembled in the neighbourhood of
Niagara, and on the 13th of October, the American General Wadsworth, with
some 1,400 men, made an attack on the British position of Queenstown, on the
Niagara river. Wadsworth, with 900 men and many officers, was speedily
compelled to surrender to British forces not exceeding the number of his own
following.

On the other hand, the losses of the Americans on land were to some extent
balanced by their naval successes. On the 19th of August, the English frigate
Guerriere, Captain Dacres, was forced American Naval Successes. after a gallant but

(as we shall see) unequal fight, to strike her colours to the American frigate
Constitution, Captain Hull. Under similar conditions, the English frigate
Macedonia, Captain Carden, was forced on the 25th of October, after an hour’s
hard fighting, in which the English lost 104 men killed and wounded, to yield to
the American frigate United States, Commodore Decatur. These successes were
due to the following causes: the rate of the American frigates corresponded to the
largest British; but in size, weight of metal, and number of men, were almost
equal to line-of-battle ships; the American navy too, at this time, was manned by
sailors many of whom were unfortunately British tars, while many more had
been trained in British service.

Although we do not profess to give a history of the Anglo-American war of
1812-14, some slight sketch of its more remarkable incidents seems necessary
for the purpose of enabling the reader to understand what has to follow. Having
named some of the American naval successes, we can scarcely pass over the
well-known fight of the 1st of June, 1813. Captain Broke, of the British frigate
Shannon, 330 men, burning with indignation at the naval defeats of his
countrymen, having diligently perfected his crew in discipline, offered battle to
the United States frigate Chesapeake, for which he had long been watching. The
Chesapeake was a fine ship, carrying forty-nine guns (18- and 32-pounders) and
a complement of 440 men. The American captain, nothing loth, bore down on his
antagonist off Boston light-house. The ships were soon in close contact; but the
gallant English captain, discerning his opportunity, gave orders for boarding,
himself setting the example; and after a sanguinary fight of only fifteen minutes,
hauled down his adversary’s flag and carried off the Chesapeake in triumph. The
invasion of Canada was still persevered in by the Americans, with varying
successes and defeats; but the results of the campaign of 1813 were in the end
disastrous to them; and by the 12th of December, both provinces of Canada were
freed from the invaders, who retired to winter quarters within their own territory.
Another determined attempt to penetrate into Canada was made by them The
English Assume the Offensive. in July, 1814, the British troops in the first instance

being obliged to fall back: this was on the 5th. Their triumph, however, was of
brief duration. Veteran troops, who had served under Wellington in Spain, had

meanwhile arrived at Quebec; General Drummond arrested the further retreat of
Riall’s division, and a decisive battle ensued, which terminated in the defeat of
the Americans, who were obliged to retire with precipitation beyond the
Chippewa. On the following day they abandoned their camp, threw the greater
part of their baggage and provisions into the rapids, and after destroying the
bridge over the Chippewa, continued their retreat in great disorder to Fort Erie.
Out of a force of 5,000 men, they had lost in killed, wounded, and prisoners at
least 1,500. This defeat, and the timely arrival of veteran troops from Europe,
appear to have decided the British commanders to change the defensive warfare
they had hitherto adopted, and the small operations they had conducted on the
coast of the southern States, for offensive movements of greater vigour.

A large naval force was despatched under the command of Vice-Admiral
Cockrane, having on board a powerful land force commanded by General Ross.
The latter landed on the 20th of August at Benedict; marched to Nottingham on
the 21st, and to Upper Marlborough on the 22nd, Admiral Cockrane in the
meanwhile, with the barges, armed launches, and other boats of the fleet, having
the marines on board, proceeding up the Patuxent on the flank of the army. The
American Commodore blew up his vessels, seventeen in number, with the
exception of one which fell into the hands of the British. The troops reached
Bladensburg (about five miles from Washington) on the 24th.

About 9,400 Americans (400 of whom were cavalry) drawn up to oppose
them, were speedily routed, with the loss of ten pieces of artillery and the capture
of their commanding officer, General Barney. It appears to have been General
Ross’s first intention to return to his ships after laying the capital under
contribution; but the Americans having fired upon the bearer of the flag of truce
who was sent forward with the conditions, all thoughts of an arrangement were
Burning of Washington. dissipated. The soldiers pressed into the city, and after

burning a frigate and sloop of war, the President’s residence, the capitol—
including the Senate House and House of Representatives, dockyard, arsenal,
war office, treasury, and the great bridge over the Potomac, re-embarked on the
30th of August.

A part of the operations against Washington consisted in despatching a force
against Fort Washington, situate on the Potomac below that city. Captain
Gordon, the commander of this expedition, proceeded with the Sea Horse and
several other vessels up the river on the 17th of August, but was unable to reach
the fort till the 27th. The place being rendered untenable by the explosion of a
powder magazine, the garrison spiked their guns and evacuated it next day. The
populous and commercial town of Alexandria, situated higher on the river, thus
lost its sole protection; and Captain Gordon, having no obstacle to oppose his
progress, buoyed the channel, and placed his ships in such a position as to
enforce compliance with his terms. The town (with the exception of public
works) was not to be destroyed nor the inhabitants molested on compliance with
the following articles:—All naval and ordnance stores, public and private, were
to be given up, together with all the shipping, the furniture of which was to be
sent on board by their owners; the sunk vessels to be delivered in their original
condition; the merchandise of every description to be immediately delivered up,
including all removed from the town since the 19th; and the British squadron to
be supplied with refreshments at the market price. This capitulation was signed
on the 29th; the whole of the captured vessels—twenty-one in number—were
fitted, loaded, and delivered, by the 31st; and Captain Gordon had got back with
all his ships and prizes, and anchored in safety in the Chesapeake by the 9th of
September.

These events are referred to in a pictorial satire (published by Fores on the 4th
of October, 1814), entitled, The Fall of Washington, or Maddy [i.e., President
Madison] in full flight:—

“Death of thy soul those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear.”

James Madison and one of his ministers, habited as Quakers Flight of President
Madison. (a then popular mode of ridiculing the Americans), are seen in full flight,

carrying under their arms bundles of compromising papers. By the “Bill of fare
of the Cabinet Supper at President Madison’s, August 24th, 1814,” which has

fallen at his feet, the flight would really seem to have been of the most hasty
character. “I say, Jack,” says an English tar, pointing at the same time to the
flying President, “what, is that the man of war that was to annihilate us, as
Master Boney used to say?” “Aye, messmate,” answers his companion; “he is a
famous fighter over a bottle of Shampain; why, he’d have played —— with us if
we had let him sit down to supper.” Five Americans (all Quakers) meanwhile
make their own observations on the situation: “Jonathan,” says one, “where
thinkest thou our President will run to now?” “Why, verily,” answers Jonathan,
“to Elba, to his bosom friend.” “The great Washington,” remarks a third, “fought
for liberty; but we are fighting for shadows, which, if obtained, could do us no
earthly good, but this is the blessed effects of it.” “I suppose,” observes a fourth,
“this is what Maddis calls benefitting his country.” “Why,” answers his friend, “it
will throw such a light on affairs, that we shall find it necessary to change both
men and measures.” The popular notion of the day that there had been some
understanding between “Boney” and the Yankees, was scarcely unnatural under
the circumstances we have narrated. The President himself is made to say to his
companion, “Who would have thought of this man, to oblige us to run from the
best cabinet supper I ever ordered? I hope you have taken care of Boney’s
promissory notes; the people won’t stand anything after this.” “D—n his notes,”
answers the other; “what are they good for now? We should get nothing but iron;
he hasn’t any of his stock of brass left, or some of that would have helped us
through this business.”

The caricaturist simply reflected the opinion of his countrymen in insinuating
that the Yankees had some understanding or sympathy with Bonaparte; but in
this they were mistaken. With Napoleon and his system the Americans had no
sympathy or feelings in common. Probably all that the satirist intended to convey
was the fact that they had brought the retaliatory measure (severe as it was) upon
themselves, and in this undoubtedly he was right. The Americans would never
have dreamed of invading Canada had they not supposed that we were so
hampered with our struggle with Bonaparte in 1812. It was perhaps well for
America that we were not actuated by the same embittered feelings as

themselves; that our generals were incompetent, and their plans both badly
conceived and most inefficiently carried out.

Notwithstanding these successes, the caricaturists proved a trifle The

Caricaturists too Jubilant. too jubilant. On the 11th of September, a British naval
force—consisting of a frigate, a brig, two sloops of war, and some gunboats—
attacked the American flotilla before Platsburg, on Lake Champlain, and after a
severe conflict were all captured, with the exception of the gun-boats, Captain
Downie, the English commander, being killed at the very beginning of the
engagement. Sir G. Prevost, in consequence of this disaster, began his retreat,
leaving his sick and wounded to the mercy of the enemy. The Americans having
now collected from all quarters, the British retired to their lines, and relinquished
all idea of penetrating into the State of New York. On the 12th, however, an
attempt was made to enter Baltimore, and although in the engagement which
followed the American troops were broken and dispersed in the course of fifteen
minutes, the victory was dearly purchased by the death of General Ross, while
the defensive arrangements of the harbour were so perfect and so formidable,
that the attempt was obliged to be given up.

Although peace was concluded in the following December, the intelligence
unfortunately did not reach the belligerents in time to prevent further mistakes
and bloodshed. A series of operations of the British army in the neighbourhood
of New Orleans occupied the last week of December and a part of January. An
army had been collected for an attack on that town under the command of
General Kean, which, with the assistance of Admiral Cochrane, was disembarked
without resistance on the 23rd December. On the 25th, General Sir Edward
Pakenham arrived and assumed the chief command. On the 27th, the enemy’s
picquets were driven in within six miles of the town, where their main body was
found most strongly posted, and supported by a ship of war moored in such a
position as to enfilade the assailants. The result was that the assault of the British
was delivered under so withering a fire from every part of the enemy’s line, that
General Pakenham was killed, Generals Keane and Gibbs wounded, while over
2,000 men and officers were killed, wounded, or made prisoners. Colonel

Thornton, indeed, had crossed the river during the previous night and captured a
flanking battery of the Americans on the other side; but the report made by him
to General Lambert was of so discouraging a character that he decided not to
persevere with the attempt, and in the end the whole army re-embarked, leaving
a few of the most dangerously wounded behind them, but carrying off all their
artillery, ammunition, and stores. The concluding operation of the war was the
capture of Fort Mobile, which surrendered to the British on the 11th of February.

A remarkable figure puts in an appearance in the caricatures of 1815.
Romeo Coates. the early part of the century. This was the renowned “Romeo”
Coates, a vain, weak-minded gentleman, who had an absolute passion for
figuring on the boards as Romeo, Lothario, Belcour, and other romantic
characters, for which his personal appearance and lack of brains altogether
unfitted him. His “readings,” like himself, being of the most original character,
his vagaries afforded endless amusement to the coarse public of his day. The
gods befooled him “to the top of his bent;” his overweening vanity failing to
show the poor creature that he was exciting ridicule instead of applause. The fun
(?) culminated in the tragic scene, Romeo, to their delight, responding to the
encores of his audience, by repeating the dying scene so long as it suited the
managers to prolong the sorry exhibition. Macready, whose dramatic genius and
refined sensibilities revolted at a spectacle so degrading, describes him as he
appeared at Bath, in 1815: “I was at the theatre,” says the tragedian, “on the
morning of his rehearsal, and introduced to him. At night the house was too
crowded to afford me a place in front, and seeing me behind the scenes, he asked
me, knowing I acted Belcour, to prompt him if he should be ‘out,’ which he very
much feared. The audience were in convulsions at his absurdities, and in the
scene with Miss Rusport, being really ‘out,’ I gave him a line which Belcour has
to speak, ‘I never looked so like a fool in all my life,’ which, as he delivered it,
was greeted with a roar of laughter. He was ‘out’ again, and I gave him again the
same line, which, again being repeated, was acquiesced in with a louder roar.
Being ‘out’ again, I administered him the third time the same truth for him to
utter, but he seemed alive to its application, rejoining in some dudgeon, ’I have
said that twice already.’ His exhibition was a complete burlesque of the comedy

and a reflection on the character of a management that could profit by such
discreditable expedients.” Poor “Romeo” Coates lived to get over his theatrical
weakness, and died (in 1848), in his seventy-sixth year, from the results of a
street accident.

[Published March, 1816, by S. W. Fores, 50, Piccad
LEAP YEAR, OR JOHN BULL’S PEACE ESTABLISHMENT.
“When two ride upon a horse, one must ride behind.”
[Face p.

The Princess Charlotte of Wales, having successfully thrown over 1816.
Marriage of the Princess Charlotte. her royal Dutch suitor, was married at Carlton

House to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, afterwards King of the Belgians, on
the 2nd of May, 1816. Prior to the marriage, Parliament had voted a provision for
an establishment for the pair of £60,000, while in the event of the princess’s
death, £50,000 was settled on the prince during his life. Leap Year, or John Bull’s
Establishment (S. W. Fores, March, 1816) shows us John Bull with a bit in his
mouth, driven by Her Royal Highness, who lashes him unmercifully with a
tremendous horse-whip. Miserable John is saddled with a pair of panniers, one of
which carries the prince and his money bags, the other being filled with heavy
packages labelled with different impositions or items of expenditure of which
John is the victim. “Plans for thatched cottages,” “Plan for pulling down and
rebuilding,” “Assessed taxes,” “Increase of salaries,” “Army for peace
establishment,” and so on. Says Leopold to the princess, “You drive so fast, I
shall be off!!!” “Never fear,” she replies; “I’ll teach you an English waltz.” The
gouty Regent hobbles after them on his crutches, the supports of which are
formed of dragons from his famous Brighton Pavilion. “Push on!” he shouts to
his daughter and future son-in-law, “Push on! Preach economy! and when you
have got your money, follow my example.” “Oh! my back,” groans poor John,
crawling with the greatest difficulty under the weight of his heavy burdens. “I
never can bear it! This will finish me.”

The two years which succeeded the fall of Bonaparte were remarkable for the
distress which prevailed amongst the industrial classes in England. The glory we
had reaped in our long struggle with France was forgotten in the consideration of
the almost insupportable burdens which it necessarily entailed. The sufferings
Popular Discontent. of the masses prompted them to seek relief by bringing their
grievances before Parliament; but the reception their petitions met with, served
only to show the little sympathy which existed between the national
representatives, as then elected, and the people of England. Petitions were next
presented to the Regent himself, while the popular discontent found expression
in large meetings convened in London, Leeds, Manchester, Birmingham, and
other industrial centres. These meetings, it was observed, were convened,

attended, and addressed almost exclusively by the working classes, the middle
and upper ranks taking no share in the proceedings. The speakers pointed out in
impressive and forcible language the various evils which they said had brought
about their altered condition; the waste of public money in perpetual wars, in
unearned pensions, sinecures, and other unjust expenditure. The high price of
provisions provoked riots at Brandon, Norwich, Newcastle, Ely, Glasgow,
Preston, Leicester, Merthyr, Tredegar, and other places; a large number of the
populace assembled in Spafields in December to receive the Regent’s answer to
their petition. While waiting the arrival of “orator” Hunt, one of the most popular
of the agitators of the day, a band of desperadoes appeared on the scene with a
tri-coloured flag, and headed by a man named Watson, who, after delivering a
violent harangue from a waggon, led them into the city. The rioters pillaged
several gunsmiths’ shops, but the prompt action of Lord Mayor Wood, the strong
party of constables at his back, who seized several of the rioters, and the
appearance on the scene of the military, soon induced the rioters to disperse. In
January, 1817, John Cashman, one of the Spafields rioters, was tried for
burglariously entering the shop of Mr. Beckworth, a gunsmith, and hanged
opposite the scene of his depredations.

The Regent opened Parliament on the 28th of January, 1817. 1817.
Regent opens Parliament. In his address, he said that “the distress consequent upon

the termination of a war of such universal extent and duration, had been felt with
greater or less severity throughout all the nations of Europe, and had been
considerably aggravated by the unfavourable state of the season.” Alluding to the
proceedings of the popular agitators, he added: “In considering our internal
situation, you will, I doubt not, feel a just indignation at the attempts which have
been made to take advantage of the distresses of the country, for the purpose of
exciting a spirit of sedition and violence.... I am determined to omit no
precautions for preserving the public peace, and for counteracting the designs of
the disaffected.” Whether this statement was the cause or not, the Regent had a
narrow escape on his return from the House; for, while passing at the back of the
gardens of Carlton House, the glass of his window was broken, either by a stone

or (as was supposed) by two balls from an air-gun, which appeared to have been
aimed at His Royal Highness.

On the 6th of February, Lord Cockrane presented to the House of Commons
the petition of the Spafields meeting, signed by 24,000 persons. It prayed for
annual parliaments, universal suffrage, and reduction in the public expenditure.
He presented at the same time a petition from Manchester, signed by 30,000
persons, praying for reform in Parliament and economy in the public
expenditure. Sir Francis Burdett also presented a Leeds petition for the same
objects, containing 7,000 signatures. These were of course only legitimate modes
of expressing the wants of the people; but, unhappily, quite independent of the
action of the popular leaders, the country in some parts was so disturbed, so
closely on the brink of insurrection, that ministers found themselves obliged
twice during the course of the year to resort to the almost unprecedented measure
of suspending the Habeas Corpus Act, on the first occasion at the end of
February, and on the second in June.

At a meeting held at Manchester in March, for the purpose of petitioning the
Regent against the suspension of the Act, it was proposed and agreed that
another meeting should be held on the following Monday (the 10th of March),
with the professed intention that ten out of every twenty persons who attended it
should proceed to London with a petition to His Royal Highness. The meeting
took place accordingly; many thousands actually attended in full marching order
(i.e. provided with a bundle and a blanket); and a considerable body appear to
have made some advance on their way before their further progress was arrested.
Expeditions of a similar character were simultaneously planned, attempted, and
frustrated in other parts of the country.

Meanwhile, there were trials for high treason at Westminster Government Spies.
Hall; trials of rioters at York and Derby; and at the latter town, on the 7th of
November, three miserable men were hung. Among the witnesses at these trials
appear to have been two men named Castle and Oliver: and it came out that these
fellows, with two other Government spies, named Edwards and Franklin, had
been among the chief fomenters by speeches and writings of the seditions in the

Metropolis and northern counties. The disclosures made by these scoundrels
produced of course a great sensation and numerous satires. One of these, entitled,
More Plots!!! More Plots!!! published by Fores in August, 1817, is “dedicated to
the inventors, Lord S [idmouth] and Lord C [astlereagh].” It is divided into four
compartments. In the first we see four foxes (typifying no doubt the four
informers) watching the movements of a flock of geese. “’Tis plain,” says one of
the former, “there is a plot on foot; let’s seize them, Brother Oliver.” “I have no
doubt of it: I can smell it plainly,” answers his companion. In the second, a
couple of fierce nondescript beasts are regarding a number of innocent lambs:
“These bloodthirsty wretches,” remarks one of the two, “mean to destroy man,
woman, and child, I know it to a certainty; for they carry sedition, privy
conspiracy, and rebellion in their looks.” “And I’ll swear it, Brother Castle,” says
his companion; “let’s dash at them.” In the third, a cat watches the movements of
some unsuspecting mice: “There’s a pretty collection of rogues gathered
together,” observes Grimalkin; “if there is not a plot among them, burn my tail
and whiskers.” In the last, we behold a Kite just about to pounce on some
chicken: “The world’s over-run with iniquity,” says the bird of prey; “and these
troublesome miscreants will not let honest hawks sleep in security.” We shall
return to the subject of these Government spies and the troubles of 1817 in the
graphic satires of George Cruikshank.

In 1817, the rivalry between the two national theatres ran so Edmund Kean and
Booth. high, that the Covent Garden management employed agents to scour the
provinces in search of a rival to Edmund Kean at Drury Lane. After a time one
was found in the person of Lucius Junius Booth, who in stature, rôle of
characters, and (as it was imagined) style of acting, closely resembled, if he did
not equal, the great original. He made his début at Covent Garden, in the
character of Richard the Third. Whether it was a success or not seems doubtful;
for the manager being out of town, those deputed to act as deputies did not care
to undertake the responsibility of engaging the new star. In this dilemma,
overtures were made to him by the rival house, which he accepted, and made his
appearance as “Iago” to Kean’s “Othello” to a densely-packed audience at Drury
Lane. So great was the likeness between the two actors, that strangers were

puzzled to know which was Kean and which was Booth, until the tragedy
reached the third act, when the genius of Kean made itself felt, and no doubt
remained in the minds of the audience which was master of his art.

Booth, in fact, discovered that he had made a mistake, and the day after his
trial at old Drury, signed articles to return to Covent Garden for three years. Here
he proved a great attraction; he must have been in truth an actor of no ordinary
merit; his rendering of the character of Lear, in particular, met with universal
approbation, and in this tragedy he was supported by actors of the ability of
Charles Kemble and William Macready, both of whom he threw into the shade.
At the end, however, of his engagement, feeling that he was incapable of meeting
Kean on anything like equal terms, he set sail for America.

The appearance of Edmund Kean and Lucius Junius Booth at Drury Lane is
referred to in a satire entitled, The Rival Richards, published by S. W. Fores in
1817. The sketch (evidently the work of an amateur) shows us Folly seated on an
ass, holding in one hand a pair of scales, in one of which stands Booth, and in the
other Edmund Kean. To the mind of the satirist there appears to be no difference
in the abilities of the two performers, as the scales exactly balance. On the right,
the portico of Covent Garden is overshadowed by the inelegant but massive
proportions of Drury Lane; the intervening space being occupied by various
figures and details, among which is a “patent clapping machine.” An
advertisement board carried by one of the figures clearly shows that the satire—
an elaborate idea badly worked out—has reference to the period when both
actors were engaged at “old Drury.”

Undoubtedly the most important event of the year 1818 was the 1818.
Evacuation of France. congress of the allied sovereigns at Aix-la-Chapelle, and the

evacuation of France which followed. By the second treaty of Paris, the stay of
the occupying armies had been fixed at a period of five years; but by an official
note, dated the 4th of November, 1818, the ministers of Austria, Great Britain,
Russia, and Prussia, referring to the engagements entered into by the French
Government with the subscribing powers to that treaty, stated that such
Government had fulfilled all the clauses of the treaty, and proposed, “with

respect to those clauses, the fulfilment of which was reserved for more remote
periods, arrangements which were satisfactory” to the contracting parties. Under
these circumstances the sovereigns resolved that the military occupation of
France should forthwith be discontinued.

On the 7th of November, the Duke of Wellington, commander-in-chief of the
army of occupation, issued an order of the day, taking leave of the troops under
his command, which concluded in the following terms:—

“It is with regret that the general has seen the moment arrive when the
dissolution of this army was to put an end to his public connections and his
private relations with the commanders and other officers of the corps of the
army. The field marshal deeply feels how agreeable these relations have been to
him. He begs the generals commanding in chief to receive and make known to
the troops under their orders, the assurance that he shall never cease to take the
most lively interest in everything that may concern them; and that the
remembrance of the three years during which he has had the honour to be at their
head, will be always dear to him.”

Wellington appears to have received particular marks of distinction from the
Emperor Alexander; but what may have been the particular tittle tattle which led
up to the caricature we shall next describe, we are now unable to fathom. That it
grew out of the event which we have attempted to describe will be sufficiently
obvious. It is entitled, A Russian Dandy at Home; a scene at Aix-la-Chapelle,
and was published by Fores in December, 1818. In it, the satirist shows us the
Duke arrayed in the regimentals of a Russian general, part of which comprise a
pair of jack-boots considerably too large for him, a fact which amuses the
Emperor and certain English and Cossack officers at his back. The following
doggerel appended to the satire affords an explanation of its meaning:—

“It is said that the head of the forces allied,
Not having a coat to his back,
A generous monarch the needful supplied;
And when thus equipped, they sat down side by side,

To drink their champagne and their sack.
Now, doubtless this hero of wonderful note,
Had the monarch allowed him to choose,
Would have bartered the honour to sit in his coat,
For the pleasure to stand in his shoes.”

Published February, 1818, by S. W. Fores, 50, Piccadilly]
A PEEP INTO THE PUMP-ROOM, OR THE ZOMERSETSHIRE FOLK IN A MAZE.
[Face p.

A well-drawn caricature, published by Fores in February, 1818, Queen Charlotte.
and entitled, A Peep at the Pump Room, or the Zomersetshire Folks in a Maze,
shows us a singularly ugly old woman habited in a wonderful bonnet, and
clothes of antiquated make and fashion, drinking the Bath waters in the midst of
a circle of deeply interested and curious gazers. This poor old woman, who looks
very like an old nurse, is no less a person than Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz,
Queen of George the Third, who, in failing health and rapidly drawing towards
the close of her earthly pilgrimage, had been recommended by her physicians to
try the effect of the Bath waters. The excitement which this event occasioned in
the then gay, but now decayed western city, is thus referred to by Mrs. Piozzi in
two of her contemporary letters to Sir James Fellowes: “The queen has driven us
all distracted; such a bustle Bath never witnessed before. She drinks at the Pump
Room, purposes going to say her prayers at the Abbey Church, and a box is
making up for her at the theatre.” And again: “Of the clusters in the Pump Room
who swarm round Queen Charlotte, as if she were actually the queen bee,
courtiers must give you an account.” At the back of Her Majesty’s chair stands
the portly figure of the Duke of Clarence, who recommends the old lady to
qualify the water (which is evidently very distasteful to her) with a little brandy.
“George and I,” he adds, “always recommend brandy.” A fat, well favoured
woman in a flower-pot bonnet, with a gin bottle in her hand, on the other hand
recommends the old queen to qualify the Bath water with a dash of “Old Tom,”
advice which is seconded by the old woman next her. Behind this last stands the
physician, watch in hand, watching, and moreover predicting in very plain terms,
the expected action of the medicated water. The folks behind make their
observations on the old lady’s appearance. “Well, I declare,” says one, “I see
nothing extraordinary to look at.” “Why, she doant look a bit better than oul

granny,” remarks a country joskin. “Who said she did, eh, dame?” replies her
companion. Poor old Queen Charlotte was never a beauty, and those who
remember her exaggerated likenesses in the satires of Gillray, will not fail to
recognise her in the present satire. One of her well-known habits is referred to by
the snuff-box which lies at her feet.

The poor old lady was beyond the help of the Bath waters or of any earthly
assistance. We find Mrs. Piozzi writing a few months later on: “Nothing kills the
queen, however. It is really a great misfortune to be kept panting for breath so,
and screaming with pain by medical skill: were she a subject, I suppose they
would have released her long ago; but diseases and distresses of the human
frame must lead to death at length,” which was the case with the poor old queen,
who died nine months after the date of the satire (in November, 1818).

The announcement of the marriages of four of her children this year, viz.: of
the Princess Elizabeth to Frederick, Landgrave of Hesse Homburg; of Edward
Augustus, Duke of Kent, to Victoria, daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg (and
mother of Queen Victoria), on the 29th of May; of Adolphus Frederick, Duke of
Cambridge, to Augusta, daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse, on the 1st of May;
and of William Henry, Duke of Clarence (afterwards William the Fourth), to
Adelaide, daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen, on the 11th of July, gave rise
to a coarse though admirably executed caricature entitled, The Homburg Waltz,
with Characteristic Sketches of Family Dancing, in which all these royal
personages, with the Regent at their head, are seen prominently figuring amongst
the dancers.

A forgotten but ingenious instrument, the kaleidoscope, was Invention of the
Kaleidoscope. invented by Sir David Brewster in 1818. The leading principles of
the toy appear to have been accidentally discovered in the course of a series of
experiments on the polarization of light by successive reflections between plates
of glass. The invention of this now despised toy made a tremendous sensation at
the time, and the inventor was induced to take out a patent for its protection; but
he had, it appears, divulged the secret of its construction before he had secured
the invention to himself, and the consequence was that, although “it made a

hundred shopmen rich,” it brought the inventor himself but little substantial
benefit. This is explained by the fact that it was so simple in construction, that
even when made without scientific accuracy, it served to delight as well as to
amuse. So largely was it pirated, that it was calculated that no fewer than two
hundred thousand were sold in three months in London and Paris alone. Judging
by a caricature of Williams’s, published by Fores in June, 1818, and its doggerel
explanation, the toys would appear even at this time to have been made and sold
by every street boy. The satire is called, Caleidoscopes, or Paying for Peeping.
In it, we see the pertinacious vendors pushing the sale of their wares upon the
passengers in the streets—many of them women. A bishop resolves to buy one
because the coloured glass reminds him of a painted window in his cathedral,
another person has paid dearly for “peeping,” and discovers that while gratifying
his curiosity, his “pocket-book has slipped off with two hundred pounds in it.”
Williams was a satirist of the old school, and the allusions made by some of the
vendors render this otherwise interesting satire wantonly coarse and indelicate.
Attached to this rare and curious production is the following doggerel:—

“’Tis the favourite plaything of school-boy and sage,
Of the baby in arms and the baby of age;
Of the grandam whose sight is at best problematical,
And of the soph who explains it by rule mathematical.
Such indeed is the rage for them, chapel or church in,
You see them about you, and each little urchin
Finding a sixpence, with transport beside his hope,
Runs to the tin-man and makes a caleidoscope!”

Another invention made its appearance in 1819: this was the 1819.
The Hobby. velocipede, or as it was then called “the hobby,” the grandfather of the
bicycle and tricycle of our day. A tall gawky perched on the summit of a lofty
bicycle, with an enormous wheel gyrating between a couple of spindle shanks
capped with enormous crab-shells, is a sufficiently familiar and ridiculous object
in our times; but the appearance presented by the people of 1819, who adopted

the spider looking thing called a “hobby,” was so intensely comical that it gave
rise to a perfect flood of caricatures. The best of these we have personally met
with is one entitled, The Spirit Moving the Quakers upon Worldly Vanities, a skit
upon the Society of Friends (published by J. T. Sidebotham). The scene is laid in
front of a “Society of Friends Meeting House,” and numerous “Friends” of both
sexes are busily engaged in exercising their hobbies. In the foreground, a broad-
brimmed young “Friend” gives ardent and amorous chase to a lovely Quakeress,
who, apparently disinclined to encourage his advances, urges her steed to its
utmost speed, and makes frantic endeavours to get out of his way.

The internal condition of the country this year (1819) gave cause Depression in
Trade. for much anxiety. Pecuniary distress, owing to the depression in trade, was

almost universal. This state of things, as might have been expected, was taken
advantage of by the popular agitators for their own purposes; and the people,
under their encouragement, as in the two previous years, continued to give
audible expression to their dissatisfaction at meetings, and through the medium
of publications more or less of a seditious character. The miserable outlook gave
rise (among others) to a pair of caricatures, published by Fores on the 9th of
January, John Bull in Clover, and (by way of contrast), John Bull Done Over. In
the first, fat John is enjoying himself with his pipe and his glass; the sleek
condition of his dog shows that it shares in the comforts of its master’s
prosperity. John, in fact, has what our Transatlantic cousins call “a good time;”
scattered over the floor lie invoices of goods despatched by him to customers in
Spain, in Russia, in America. Beneath a portrait of “Good Queen Bess,” John has
pinned several of his favourite ballads: “The Land we live in,” “Oh, the Roast
Beef of Old England!” “May we all live the days of our life.” In John Bull Done
Over, a very different picture is presented to our notice. The whole of John’s fat
is gone; he sits, a lean, starving, tattered, shoeless object in a bottomless chair,
the embodiment of human misery. In place of his invoices lie the Gazette, which
announces his bankruptcy, and a number of tradesmen’s bills; on the back of his
chair is coiled a rope, and on the table before him a razor lies on a treatise on
suicide,—John in fact is debating by what mode he shall put an end to his
existence. An onion and some water in a broken jug are the only articles of

sustenance he has to depend on. The tax gatherer, who has made a number of
fruitless calls, looks through the broken panes to ascertain if John is really “at
home.” On the wall, in place of the picture of “Good Queen Bess,” hangs a
portrait of John Bellingham, the assassin of Spencer Perceval; and in lieu of his
once joyous ballads, such doleful ditties as “Oh, dear, what can the matter be!”
“There’s nae luck about the house,” and so on. The poor dog, grown like his
master a lean and pitiable object, vainly appeals to him for food.

“England’s hope”21—the darling of the nation—the amiable and interesting
Princess Charlotte, whose loss is still lamented after the lapse of more than half a
century, died in childbirth on the 6th of November, 1817; but on the 24th of May,
1819, was born, at Kensington Palace, another amiable and august princess,
whose life has been most happily spared to us—her present Majesty Queen
Victoria. To show that the influence of the last century caricaturists had not yet
left us, this auspicious event immediately gave rise to a coarse caricature,22
published by Fores, and labelled, A Scene in the New Farce called the Rivals, or
a Visit to the Heir Presumptive, in which the scurrilous satirist depicts the
supposed mortification and jealousy of other members of the royal family. Her
Majesty’s father, the Duke of Kent, died nine months afterwards, on the 23rd of
January, 1820.

18 The new Alhambra.

19 A caricature entitled Doctors Differ, according to Mr. Grego (published in 1785) is due to
Rowlandson. It is possible, therefore, that the present one, although not in Rowlandson’s style,
may be a reproduction.

20 This admirable satire appears to me very like the handiwork of George Cruikshank; but not
being able positively to identify it, I have given it its place in this chapter.

21 See the caricatures of George Cruikshank, 1817.

22 Apparently by Williams.

CHAPTER IV.

MISCELLANEOUS CARICATURES AND SUBJECTS OF CARICATURE, 1820-1830.

As in 1809 a revengeful and unscrupulous woman had succeeded in Caroline of
Brunswick. exposing the reputation of a member of the Royal family to public

opprobrium, so, in like manner, in 1820, a woman, and no less a person in this
instance than a titular queen of England, was the means of dragging the crown
itself through the mire of a disreputable scandal. That Caroline of Brunswick was
an uncongenial and unfitting consort; that she was an utterly unfit and improper
person to occupy the exalted position of Queen of England, there can be no
manner of doubt. But to the question whether it was wise, politic, or dignified to
subject her conduct (however morally criminal) to the reproach of a public
investigation, there can be but one answer.

The marriage of Caroline, daughter of Charles, Duke of Brunswick-
Wolfenbüttel, with George, Prince of Wales, was solemnized on the 8th of April,
1795. Exactly one year afterwards, and three months after the birth of their child,
the Princess Charlotte, the pair separated. The separation was effected at the
instance of the prince, and the reasons for his wishing to live apart from her are
assigned in a letter which he sent her Royal Highness through Lord
Cholmondeley: “Our inclinations,” he told her, “are not in our own power; nor
should either be answerable to the other because nature has not made us suitable
to each other. Tranquil and comfortable society is, however, in our power; let our
intercourse therefore be restricted to that.”

Sixty years have elapsed since this miserable woman died, and we who are no
longer biassed by the political leanings which more or less influenced those who
regarded her with favour or prejudice, are enabled to consider the circumstances
from a fair and dispassionate point of view. In order that the reader may form his
own conclusions of her character and disposition, we prefer to quote authorities
whose political sympathies were distinctly favourable to her cause. Writing of
his grandmother, Lady de Clifford (governess of the Princess Charlotte), Lord

Albermarle tells us: “She [Lady de Clifford] used often to recount to me the
events of her court life. The behaviour of the Princess of Wales (this was before
she left England) naturally came under review. I fear that the judgment she
formed of the conduct of this much sinned against and sinning lady coincides but
too closely with the verdict that public opinion has since passed upon her. To
Lady de Clifford she was the source of constant anxiety and annoyance. Often,
when in obedience to the king’s [George III.] commands, my grandmother took
her young charge to the Charlton Villa, the Princess of Wales would behave with
a levity of manner and language that the presence of her child and her child’s
governess were insufficient to restrain. On more than one occasion, Lady de
Clifford was obliged to threaten her with making such a representation to the
king as would tend to deprive her altogether of the Princess Charlotte’s society.
These remonstrances were always taken in good part, and produced promises of
amendment.”23 The Hon. Amelia Murray tells us in her “Recollections from
1803 to 1837”: “There was about this period an extravagant furore in the cause
of the Princess of Wales. She was considered an ill-treated woman, and that was
enough to arouse popular feeling. My brother was among the young men who
helped to give her an ovation at the opera. A few days afterwards he went to
breakfast at a place near Woolwich. There he saw the princess, in a gorgeous
dress, which was looped up to show her petticoat covered with stars, with silver
wings on her shoulders, sitting under a tree, with a pot of porter on her knee; and
as a finale to the gaiety, she had the doors opened of every room in the house,
and selecting a partner, she galloped through them, desiring all the guests to
follow her example! It may be guessed whether the gentlemen were anxious to
clap her at the opera again.” Now this was the personage whom certain classes of
the community persisted in regarding, sixty years ago, as a royal martyr. Small as
is the respect or esteem which we owe to the memory of George the Fourth, we
may almost sympathise with him when he calls such a consort “uncongenial.”

A person so little fitted for the high position which she occupied was certain to
give trouble; and as far back as 1806, her indiscreet conduct had induced the
king [George III.] to grant a commission to Lords Spencer, Grenville, Erskine,
and Ellenborough, to examine into the truth of certain allegations which had

been made against her; and, although their report expressed the most unqualified
opinion that the graver charges were utterly destitute of foundation, such report,
nevertheless, concluded with some strictures made by the commissioners “on the
levity of manners displayed by the princess on certain occasions.”24 In
consequence of this official report, the intercourse between the Princess of Wales
and her daughter, the Princess Charlotte, was subjected to regulation and
restraint; they were allowed at first a single weekly interview, which, for some
doubtless sufficient reason, was afterwards reduced to a fortnightly meeting.25

While pitying the mother, we seem scarcely justified in assuming, with our
present knowledge of her obstinate nature and disposition, that these restrictions
were imposed without some just and sufficient reason. It would seem to have
come to the knowledge of the Princess Caroline in 1813, that the interdiction was
intended “to be still more rigidly enforced,”26 for on the 14th of January of that
year we find that she wrote a letter to the Prince Regent, in which she
complained that the separation of mother and daughter was equally injurious to
her own character and to the education of her child. Adverting to the restricted
intercourse between them, she observed that in the eyes of the world, “this
separation of a daughter from her mother would only admit ... of a construction
fatal to the mother’s reputation. Your Royal Highness,” she continued, “will
pardon me for adding that there is no less inconsistency than injustice in this
treatment. He who dares advise your Highness to overlook the evidence of my
innocence, and disregard the sentence of complete acquittal which it [i.e. the
inquiry of 1806] produced—or is wicked and false enough still to whisper
suspicions in your ear, betrays his duty to you, sir, to your daughter, and to your
people, if he counsels you to permit a day to pass without a further investigation
of my conduct.... Let me implore you to reflect on the situation in which I am
placed, without the shadow of a charge against me, without even an accuser after
an inquiry that led to my ample vindication, yet treated as if I were still more
culpable than the perjuries of my suborned traducers represented me, and held
up to the world as a mother who may not enjoy the society of her only child.”

No possible objection can be taken to this letter; indeed, by whomsoever it
was penned, taken altogether it was an admirable composition. If, however, we
are to credit the statement of Mr. Whitbread, made in the House on the 5th of
March, 1813, it was thrice returned to the writer unopened. But the princess, as
we shall find, was not a person to be intimidated by any amount of rebuffs. “At
length that letter [we quote Mr. Whitbread] was read to him [the Prince Regent],
and the cold answer returned was, that ministers had received no commands on
the subject.”27 The letter found its way into the public prints, and then, and not
till then, if we are to believe Mr. Whitbread, his Royal Highness directed that the
whole of the documents, together with her Royal Highness’s communications to
himself, should be referred to certain members of the Privy Council, who were to
report to him their opinion, “whether under all the circumstances ... it was fit and
proper that the intercourse between the Princess of Wales and her daughter ...
should continue to be, subject to regulations and restrictions.”28

In their report, which was presented on the 19th of February, the
commissioners stated that “they had taken into their most serious consideration,
together with the other papers referred to by His Royal Highness, all the
documents relative to the inquiry instituted in 1806 ... into the truth of certain
representations respecting ... the Princess of Wales; and, that after full
examination of all the documents before them, they were of opinion, that under
all the circumstances of the case, it was highly fit and proper, with a view to the
welfare of ... the Princess Charlotte ... and the most important interests of the
State, that the intercourse between ... the Princess of Wales and the ... Princess
Charlotte should continue to be subject to regulation and restraint.”

It was only natural, of course, that Caroline should rebel; and she accordingly
wrote on the 1st of March a letter to the Speaker, protesting against the mode in
which this second inquiry had been conducted. Motions on her behalf were
afterwards brought forward successively in the House by Mr. Cockrane Johnson
and Mr. Whitbread, both of which, however, fell to the ground. The remarks
made by Mr. Whitbread provoked a speech in the House of Lords from Lord
Ellenborough (who had been a member of both commissions), which is

singularly illustrative of the habits and manners of the time. After an introduction
of great solemnity, his lordship said, “that, in the case alluded to, the persons
intrusted with the commission [of 1806] were charged with having fabricated an
unauthorised document, purporting to relate what was not given in evidence, and
to suppress what was given. This accusation,” said his lordship, “is as false as h
—— in every particular.” He then proceeded to give an account of the mode in
which everything had been taken down from the mouth of the witness, and
afterwards read over to and subscribed by her.29 He concluded his peculiarly
energetic speech by again denying, in the most positive terms, the truth of the
imputation which had been cast upon the commissioners.

The inquiry of 1813 set the pencils of the caricaturists in motion, and among
the satires it occasioned, I find a series of eight pictures on one sheet,
representing the witnesses, the commissioners, Mr. Whitbread, and other persons
connected with that and the previous investigation of 1806. It is called A Key to
the Investigation, or Iago Distanced by Odds; and the most amusing of the series
is the seventh, which represents the furious Lord Ellenborough, attired in his
official robes of Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench. The following doggerel
clearly identifies it with the speech from which we have already quoted:—

“This is the Chief J—— who, as the Lords tell,
Swore that the reflections were false!—black as h——!
And though such bad words no man can use fewer,
In his rage it was fear’d he would pistol the Brewer30

For moving the senate, who all cried, oh fie!
That the Lady and B——31 had told a d——d lie,

And were unworthy credit the oaths they did try;
And lamented the witness, whose answer when penn’d,
Without questions which drew them, appear’d to portend
More reproach than she meant against her good friend.
While the hireling servants examined by law,
Who thought by a stretch to gain some éclat,
While before the commissioners named by the King,

To investigate matters and witnesses bring,” etc., etc.

The eighth of the series is “the spring that set all in motion,” the satirist’s
meaning being indicated by a throne, on which lies a cocked hat adorned with
the Prince of Wales’ feathers, and beneath it, as is usual in a large proportion of
the satires which allude to the prince-regent, a number of empty bottles.

The Regent seems never to have lost an opportunity of insulting his
uncongenial and unfortunate wife. In anticipation of the expected visit of the
allied sovereigns in June, 1814, the prince conveyed an intimation to his royal
mother that, as he considered his presence could not be dispensed with at her
ensuing drawing-rooms, he desired it to be distinctly understood, “for reasons of
which he alone could be the judge, to be his fixed and unalterable determination
not to meet the Princess of Wales upon any occasion, either in public or
private.”32 Queen Charlotte was bound of course to give an official intimation to
that effect to the Princess Caroline, which, on the 24th and 26th of May, 1814,
brought from her letters to the queen and the Regent. In the first of these
communications she intimated her intention of “making public the cause of her
absence from Court at a time when the duties of her station would otherwise
peculiarly demand her attendance”; while her letter to her husband contained the
following intimation: “Your Royal Highness may possibly refuse to read this
letter; but the world must know that I have written it, and they will see my real
motives for foregoing in this instance the rights of my rank. Occasions, however,
may arise (one, I trust, is far distant) when I must appear in public, and your
Royal Highness must be present also. Can your Royal Highness have
contemplated the full extent of your declaration? Has your Royal Highness
forgotten the approaching marriage of our daughter [to the Prince of Orange] and
the possibility of our coronation?” These words show that from the first Caroline
had decided, coûte que coûte, when the time came to assert her position, in spite
of the opposition of her husband and any obstacles which might be raised by his
friends and advisers.

We have entered rather fully into this matter, because it seemed to us
necessary, in order that the reader might understand the temper of Caroline, and
the motives which influenced her in the extraordinary course of conduct which
she afterwards thought fit to pursue. She was treated, we have seen, with the
most cruel and studied insult; excluded from ceremonials at which her rank and
position entitled her to be present. “Sir,” said the unfortunate woman in the letter
to her husband to which we have alluded, “the time you have selected for this
proceeding is calculated to make it peculiarly galling. Many illustrious strangers
are already arrived in England; among others, as I am informed, the illustrious
heir of the house of Orange, who has announced himself to me as my future son-
in-law. From their society I am unjustly excluded. Others are expected, of rank
equal to your own, to rejoice with your Royal Highness in the peace of Europe.
My daughter will for the first time appear in the splendour and publicity
becoming the approaching nuptials of the presumptive heiress of this empire.
This season your Royal Highness has chosen for treating me with great and
unprovoked indignity; and of all his Majesty’s subjects, I alone am prevented by
your Royal Highness from appearing in my place, to partake of the general joy,
and am deprived of the indulgence of those feelings of pride and affection
permitted to every mother but me.” Poor mother! who may help pitying her! Her
most prejudiced enemy will admit that this was an eloquent and noble protest.
Had she only maintained this language and attitude, we should justly assign to
her a place amongst the royal martyrs of history. Naturally this barbarous,
impolitic treatment soured her, as it would sour even the sweetest disposition. In
an evil hour for her, and we may add for this country, she solicited and obtained
permission to travel abroad.

No sooner was she freed from the restraints which had surrounded her at
home, than her conduct not only makes us doubt whether she had any hand in the
composition of this maternal appeal, but appears to justify the conclusions at
which the commissioners of 1806 and 1813 seem to have arrived. Her temper
was obstinate and wilful. She knew that she was watched; and from a spirit
apparently of wanton mischief, designed with the view doubtless of annoying her
enemies, she indulged in a series of the most extraordinary and undignified

vagaries. She took into her service and received into her closest confidence and
favour persons of the lowest position. It was impossible for rumours of her
extraordinary eccentricities not to reach, not only the ears of those who detested
her, but in an imperfect and incorrect degree those of the general public. That
this was the case is shown by a caricature entitled, Paving the way for a Royal
Divorce, published by Johnston on the 1st of October, 1816, in which we see the
corpulent Regent at table with Lord Liverpool, “Old Bags”33 (Chancellor Eldon),
Lord Chief Justice Ellenborough, Vansittart, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and
another, probably intended for Viscount Sidmouth. His Royal Highness is made
by the caricaturist to say that he and his sympathizers think “we shall now
succeed, having secured some evidence from the coast of Barbary.... I have got
everything as clear as the sun at noon-day.... Now for a divorce as soon as
possible.” Lord Chancellor Eldon says, “I’ll stick to your Highness through thick
and thin, or never call me ‘Old Bags’ again as long as I live.” Lord Liverpool
supports him by the assurance, “I’m an unmatched negotiator, and I’ll enter into
a treaty with the House of Commons to secure your suit.” The temper of the
Commons is shown by the doubts expressed by the individual we take to be
intended for Viscount Sidmouth. “I have my doubts,” says this person, at the
same time laying his hands on the port wine decanter, “I have my doubts and
qualms of conscience, your Highness; what say you, Van?” “Oh, my lord,”
replies Vansittart, who is seated on the “Budget,” “I have some strange touches
of feeling on the subject.” Up rises the hot-tempered Lord Chief Justice,
upsetting a decanter of port wine, and at the same time the chair on which he has
been sitting, “Don’t put me in a passion with your ’qualms’ and your ‘touches’;
they are all false, false as h——! I’ll blow you all to the d——l if you don’t stick
to your master manfully!!” By the side of the prince we see, as usual, a pailful of
wine bottles, and at his feet, in allusion to his notorious infidelities, an open
volume entitled, “The Secret Memoirs of a Prince, by Humphrey Hedghog, Esq.,
1815.” By the side of the Lord Chief Justice lie three portly volumes labelled,
“The Law of Divorce.” It will be evident from the foregoing, that from an early
period, the satirists on the popular side gave credit to the prince and his advisers

for being members of a secret conspiracy for compassing the ruin of the erring
and unfortunate woman.

Now what was the “evidence” to which the corpulent Regent is made to refer
in the sketch before us? It was not of course evidence, but rumour; and rumour
said the strangest things of the Princess Caroline. It associated her name with
that of a courier,—a low Italian, named Bartolomeo Bergami; it said that she had
enriched and ennobled this man and other members of his family; procured for
him a barony in Sicily; decorated him with several orders of knighthood; and
asserted in the plainest terms that she was living with him in a state of open and
notorious adultery. These reports rendered it necessary to ascertain on what
foundation they rested, and the result was that in 1818, Mr. Cooke, of the
Chancery Bar, and Mr. Powell, a solicitor, were despatched into Germany and
Italy to collect evidence with respect to her conduct. This inquiry, which is
generally known as the “Milan Commission,” seemed certainly preferable to an
investigation of a more public and notorious character; and upon the evidence
these gentlemen obtained was founded the “Bill of Pains and Penalties,” which
we shall presently have to consider.

It is quite clear that the ministers of 1820 were strongly averse 1820. to the
introduction of the “Bill of Pains and Penalties,” which is now known to us as
the “Trial of Queen Caroline.” The whole odium indeed of the proceedings
rested upon them at the time; but we have no reason to doubt the statement of
Mr. Charles Greville, under date of 20th February, 1820, that they had offered to
resign, “because the king would not hear reason.” It seems at any rate tolerably
certain that, although they brought forward the “Bill of Pains and Penalties”
under pressure of the Crown, they did not do so until they had well-nigh
exhausted every effort short of actual resignation (this dignified position they did
not take) to avoid it. Mr. Wade tells us that “their first indiscretion consisted in
commencing hostilities against the queen by the omission of her name in the
liturgy, thereby provoking her claim to legal rights;”34 but this omission, which
appears to us justifiable under the circumstances, Mr. Greville shows us was due
to the action of the king himself.35 In the month of June, 1819, a communication

appears to have been received from Mr. Brougham, the professional adviser of
the princess, and understood to be charged with the confidential management of
her affairs. The proposal contained in this communication was in substance, that
her then income of £35,000 a year should be secured to her for life, instead of
terminating with the demise of the crown: and that she should undertake upon
that arrangement being made to reside permanently abroad, and not to assume at
any time the rank or title of Queen of England. This proposal, however, being
stated to be made without any authority from the princess, or knowledge of it on
her part, the Government at that time replied that there would be no indisposition
at the proper time to entertain the principle on which the proposal was grounded,
if it met with the approbation of her Royal Highness on the king’s accession. The
ministers, reverting to Mr. Brougham’s proposal, offered to raise the already
handsome allowance to £50,000 a year, subject to the conditions before
mentioned. Caroline, however, peremptorily declined the proposal, alleging that
it had been made without her knowledge or sanction. Unfortunately, too, this
offer when made to Caroline herself, was coupled with the intimation that if the
queen should “be so ill-advised as to come over to this country, there must be an
end to all negotiations and compromise.”36 Considering the temper and
disposition of the woman, the fact that she had demanded the insertion of her
name in the liturgy, the haughty assertion of her claim “to be received and
acknowledged as the Queen of England,” and the communication made at the
same time of her desire that a royal yacht should be in readiness to receive her at
Calais,37 it appears to us a greater mistake on the part of the ministry could
scarcely have been made. It aroused her woman’s nature, and flaming with the
anger and resentment which she had nourished for so long a course of years, she
boldly took up the gauntlet her enemies had flung at her feet, and crossed the
Channel almost as soon as the astonished Government messenger himself.

The queen (for she was titular Queen of England now) arrived in London on
the 7th of June: “the road was thronged with an immense multitude the whole
way from Westminster Bridge to Greenwich. Carriages, carts, and horsemen
followed, preceded, and surrounded her coach the whole way. She was
everywhere received with the greatest enthusiasm. Women waved pocket-

handkerchiefs, and men shouted wherever she passed. She travelled in an open
landau, Alderman Wood sitting by her side, and Lady Ann Hamilton [the Duke
of Hamilton’s sister] and another woman opposite.... The queen looked exactly
as she did before she left England, and seemed neither dispirited nor
dismayed.”38 In one of the popular satires of the day we see her standing on the
balcony of Alderman Wood’s house in South Audley Street, receiving and
acknowledging the enthusiastic plaudits of her admirers. The very day she
arrived at Dover, a royal message was sent down to Parliament, by which the
king commended to the Lords an inquiry into the conduct of the queen; while on
the following day, Mr. Brougham read in the House of Commons a message or
manifesto from his client, declaring that her return was occasioned by the
necessity her enemies had laid upon her of defending her character and conduct.

Both parties now stood irrevocably committed to the fatal The Bill of Pains and
Penalties. measure. A secret committee of the House of Lords proceeded to open
the celebrated green bag, which contained the reports of the Milan Commission;
and on the 4th of July they made their report, recommending a solemn inquiry
into the conduct of the queen. Next day the Earl of Liverpool presented a “bill of
pains and penalties” entitled, “An Act to deprive Her Majesty Queen Caroline
Amelia Elizabeth of the title, prerogative, rights, privileges, and exemptions of
Queen Consort of this realm, and to dissolve the marriage between His Majesty
and the said Caroline Amelia Elizabeth” on the ground of the grossly immoral
conduct therein alleged against her.

The ill-advised proceedings once commenced, no time was lost in carrying
them through. On the 7th of July the Italian witnesses in support of the bill
(twelve in number) landed at Dover. The object of their visit soon became
known, and on emerging from the custom house they were set upon and badly
beaten by a furious crowd, composed principally of women. They were lodged in
a building then separating the old houses of Parliament, which, with its
enclosure, was called Cotton Garden; the front faced the abbey, the rear the
Thames. “The land entrance was strongly barricaded. The side facing
Westminster Bridge was shut out from the public by a wall run up for the express

purpose at a right angle to the Parliament stairs. Thus the only access was by the
river. Here was erected a causeway to low-water mark; a flight of steps led to the
interior of the inclosure. The street was guarded by a strong military force, the
water side by gunboats. An ample supply of provisions was stealthily (for fear of
the mob) introduced into the building; a bevy of royal cooks was sent to see that
the food was of good quality, and to render it as palatable as their art could make
it. About this building, in which the witnesses were immured from August till
November, the London mob would hover like a cat round the cage of a canary.
Such confinement would have been intolerable to the natives of any other
country, but it was quite in unison with the feelings of Italians. To them it
realized their favourite ‘dolce far niente.’ Their only physical exertion appears to
have been the indulgence in that description of dance that the Pifferari have
made familiar to the Londoner.”39 Such was the residence of the Italian
witnesses against the queen, and it is certain that if they had ventured beyond its
precincts they would have been torn in pieces.

The appearance which Caroline of Brunswick presented at her trial was an
outrageous caricature, and is thus described by one then distinctly friendly to her
cause—the Earl of Albemarle: “The peers rose as the queen entered, and
remained standing until she took her seat in a crimson and gilt chair immediately
in front of her counsel. Her appearance was anything but prepossessing. She
wore a black dress with a high ruff, an unbecoming gipsy hat with a huge bow in
front, the whole surmounted by a plume of ostrich feathers. Nature had given her
light hair, blue eyes, a fair complexion, and a good-humoured expression of
countenance; but these characteristics were marred by painted eyebrows, and by
a black wig with a profusion of curls, which overshadowed her cheeks and gave
a bold, defiant air to her features.” The names of the witnesses, and possibly the
precise nature of the testimony against her, would seem to have been unknown to
the queen, for we have it on record that when the first witness (Teodoro
Majoochi, the celebrated “Non Mi Ricordo”) was placed at the bar, on the 21st of
August, Her Majesty, “uttering a loud exclamation, retired hastily from the
House, followed by Lady Ann Hamilton.”40 She evidently laboured under some

strong emotion, whether of surprise or displeasure, or both, seems never to have
been ascertained.

Among the general public, and even in the House of Commons itself, the
falsehood of all that had been alleged on oath against the queen was assumed as
an undeniable axiom; the witnesses were loaded with the most opprobrious
epithets, while those who had been concerned in collecting or sifting evidence
were represented as conspirators or suborners. We shall see, when we come to
speak of the caricatures of Robert Cruikshank, the light in which these unhappy
witnesses were regarded by the graphic satirists on the popular side.41
Nevertheless, if their testimony is carefully read over by any unprejudiced
person having any knowledge of the law of evidence, in spite of the badgering of
Mr. Brougham, the admirable speech of that gentleman, and the testimony of the
witnesses on the other side, I think he cannot fail to come to any other
conclusion than that expressed by the then Lord Ellenborough, that Her Royal
Highness was “the last woman a man of honour would wish his wife to resemble,
or the father of a family would recommend as an example to his daughters. No
man,” said his lordship, “could put his hand on his heart and say that the queen
was not wholly unfit to hold the situation which she holds.”42 He will see too, by
reference to the report of the proceedings in the “Annual Register,” that of the
peers who decided to vote against the second reading of the bill on the ground of
inexpediency, a large majority gave it as their deliberate opinion that the case had
been proved against the queen.43 In a very clever pictorial satire, published by S.
Humphrey in 1821, the queen, Bergami, and a third figure (possibly intended for
Alderman Wood) are represented as standing on a pedestal forming the apex of a
slender stem labelled “Mobility,” which rests on a base marked “Adultery.” The
whole structure depends for support on a broom (in allusion of course to Mr.
Brougham) and two frail pieces of wood, labelled respectively, “Sham
addresses,” and “Sham processions,” which in turn rest on a slender railing,
while a ladder on either side, marked “Brass” and “Wood,” lend a further slight
support to the very insecure fabric. The superincumbent weight of the queen and
Bergami breaks the frail stem in pieces, and the three figures tumble to the
ground together. The back of the design is occupied with scenes and incidents

detailed in the evidence. A very clever caricature, without date (published by T.
Sidebotham), I am inclined to assign to this period; and if so, it is one of the most
plain spoken and telling satires ever published. It is entitled, City Scavengers
Cleansing the London Streets of Impurities; a placard which has fallen in the
street sufficiently explains its meaning: “By particular desire of the Society for
the Suppression of Vice, D— of K—t in the chair, ordered that the city officers
do keep the streets clear of common prostitutes.—Signed, Wood, Mayor.”44

A more foolish and undignified proceeding, however, than this “Bill of Pains
and Penalties” can scarcely be conceived. Its fate might almost have been
predicted from the first. The second reading was carried on the 6th of November,
by a majority of twenty-eight, but the third (for the reasons already given) by a
majority of nine only; whereupon, the Earl of Liverpool said that, “had the third
reading been carried by as considerable a number of peers as the second had
been, he and his colleagues would have felt it their duty to persevere with the bill
and to send it down to the other branch of the legislature. In the present state of
the country, however, ... they had come to the determination not to proceed
further with it.”45 The victory will be acknowledged by us now-a-days as
damaging as a defeat; but the result, curious to relate, was hailed by the queen
and her party as if her innocence had been triumphantly vindicated. In signing a
document prepared by her counsel on the 8th of November, she wrote, “Carolina
Regina,” adding the words, “there, Regina still, in spite of them.” The
abandonment of the bill was followed by three nights of illumination; but it was
observed that they were of a very partial character, wholly unlike those which
had greeted the great victories by sea and land, in which the public sympathy
was spontaneous and universal. The mob in some cases testified its disapproval
when these signs of satisfaction were wanting; and one gentleman in Bond
Street, on being repeatedly requested to “light up,” placed a single rushlight in
his two-pair-of-stairs window. Some of the transparencies were, as might have
been expected, of a singular character. A trunk maker in the same street displayed
the following new reading from Genesis: “And God said, It is not good the King
should reign alone.” A publican at the corner of Half Moon Street exhibited a

flag whereon, in reference to the unpopular witness Teodoro Majoochi, was
depicted a gallows with the following inscription:—

“Q. What’s that for?
A. Non Mi Ricordo.”

An enthusiastic cheesemonger at the top of Great Queen Street displayed a
transparency on which he had inscribed the following verses:—

“Some friends of the devil
With mischief and evil
Filled a green bag of no worth;
But in spite of the host,
It gave up the ghost
And died 53 days after birth.”

The caricaturists of course were not idle, and the trial of Queen Caroline
provoked a perfect legion of pictorial satires. The queen’s victory is celebrated in
one of the contemporary caricatures (published by John Marshall, junior) under
the title of The Queen Caroline Running down the Royal George; while on the
ministerial side it is recorded (among others) by a far more elaborate and
valuable performance (published by G. Humphrey), called, The Steward’s Court
of the Manor of Torre Devon, which contains an immense number of figures, and
wherein the queen is seated on a black ram46 in the midst of one of the popular
processions, the members of which carry poles bearing pictorial records of the
various events brought out in evidence against her.

It is one of the peculiarities of our “Glorious Constitution,” that while the
ministers who acted under his direction incurred all the blame, the prime
instigator of all these exposures was enabled to shelter himself behind the backs
of his “advisers.” The ministers were unpopular,—they deserved to be so, for,
whatever might have been the consequences to themselves so far as loss of office
was concerned, they should have refused from the first to lend themselves to the

publication of a scandal so utterly grievous. The king himself at this time was far
from unpopular; the odium he had incurred the previous year by the thanks he
had caused to be conveyed to Major Trafford, “and the officers, non-
commissioned officers, and privates” of the yeomanry who had signalized
themselves in the massacre at Manchester (an outrage which, by the way, led to a
number of pictorial satires), seemed to have wholly passed away. He was at
Ascot only two days before the queen’s arrival, and “was always cheered by the
mob as he went away. One day only a man in the crowd called out “Where’s the
Queen?”47 Again, we find on the same authority, that on the night of the 6th of
February, 1821: “The king went to the play (Drury Lane) for the first time, the
Dukes of York and Clarence and a great suite with him. He was received with
immense acclamations, the whole pit standing up, hurrahing and waving their
hats. The boxes were very empty at first, for the mob occupied the avenues to the
theatre, and those who had engaged boxes could not get to them. The crowd on
the outside was very great.... A few people called ‘The Queen!’ but very few. A
man in the gallery called out, ‘Where’s your wife, Georgy?’48 His reception at
Covent Garden the following night appears to have been equally loyal and
gratifying.

The truth was, that the numerous and truly honest people who sympathized
with Queen Caroline, did so from little admiration for herself, but because she
had been the victim of twenty-five years’ persecution; because, however great
her follies, they had been grievously provoked; and above all, because they felt
that the man who was her most powerful and relentless persecutor, was the very
last who was justified in casting a stone against her. The ministerialists and their
supporters, however, attributed the sympathy which was shown by her professed
admirers exclusively to a political origin, and thus stigmatized the motives of
their opponents (with more justice than poetry) in one of the jingling rhymes of
the day:—

“What’s the Queen to Reformists? as Queen was to France,
Round her head and her consort’s they’d equally dance.
They care not for Caroline, nor king, nor for queen,

A pretext they want their intentions to screen,
’The Queen!’ is the Radicals’ rallying cry;
A queen bears the standard the king to defy.”

How entirely unfitted this mistaken woman was to figure in the august
position of a queen of England may be judged from her subsequent conduct.
Instead of contenting herself with her victory, such as it was, she had the ill taste,
in spite of the remonstrances of her friends and advisers, to communicate to the
Lord Mayor, through the medium of her “vice chamberlain,” her intention to
proceed to St. Paul’s in a public manner on Wednesday, the 29th of November,
there and then to offer up her thanksgivings for the result: and this resolution she
actually carried out. The details of her procession, which really reminds us of the
entry of a company of equestrians into some provincial town, need not be
entered into here; suffice it to say that it comprised trumpeters without number,
stewards’ carriages, gentlemen on horseback, the corpulent queen herself, with
her attendant, Lady Ann Hamilton, and the indispensable Alderman Wood, the
whole closing with “the various trades with flags and banners.” It would appear
to us that one of the rarest of the caricatures on the ministerial side has reference
to this triumphal entry. It is labelled, Grand Entrance to Bamboozlem, and was
published by Humphrey shortly afterwards. The queen is represented at the head
of a procession, all the members of which (herself included) are mounted on
braying “jackasses.” A figure, intended no doubt for Alderman Wood, habited in
a fool’s cap and jester’s dress, holds her by the hand; the lady who follows him,
playing on the fiddle and wearing a Scotch bonnet, is meant for Lady Ann
Hamilton (she is named “Lady Ann Bagpipe” in the sketch); Bergami
(immediately behind) carries a banner inscribed “Innocence”; and next him, his
fat sister, whom the queen had dignified with the title of a countess; Venus and
Bacchus appear amongst the crowd, and are labelled “Protégés and bosom
friends of Her M——y.” She is welcomed by an enthusiastic body of butchers
with marrow-bones and cleavers; while among the crowd waiting to receive her
we notice Orator Hunt and the other popular leaders of the day.

[Face p.

And here we drop for the present the subject of Queen Caroline, a subject we
have approached with caution, although conscious that it can be by no means
omitted from a work treating of graphic satires of the nineteenth century. That
she should now accept the £50,000 per annum which she had previously refused,
will probably not surprise the reader. The end of a career so strangely undignified
will be seen when we come to treat of the caricatures of George Cruikshank.

The duel between the Dukes of Buckingham and Bedford; the erection of the
statue of Achilles in Hyde Park; the new Marriage Act; the second French
invasion of Spain under the Duc d’Angoulème; the Tenth Hussars; Miss Foote,
the celebrated actress; Edmund Kean; and the commercial distress of 1825-6,
afford subjects for the pencils of the caricaturists, and will be mentioned in the
chapters which relate to the graphic satires of the brothers Cruikshank.

The pictorial satirists were kept fully employed by the political Greek War of
Independence. events of 1827 and 1828. The former year beheld the sanguinary

Greek war of independence. Things turned out badly for the over-matched
Greeks, until at last Great Britain, France, and Russia interposed with Turkey on
their behalf. The proposals offered were such as the Turks refused to entertain.
The Porte, in refusing them, maintained that, though mediation might be
allowable in matters of difference between independent states, it was utterly
inadmissible as between a power and its revolted subjects. The allied powers
then proposed an armistice, demanding a reply within fifteen days, plainly
intimating that in the event of refusal or silence (which would be construed into a
refusal), they should resort to measures for enforcing a suspension of hostilities.

In the meantime arrived at Navarino the Egyptian fleet, consisting Battle of
Navarino. of ninety-two sail, including fifty-one transports, having on board 5,000

fresh troops. Ibraham Pacha’s attempt to hoodwink the British, and to land these
troops at Patras, was foiled by the vigilance and determination of the English
admiral. Disappointed in these attempts, he proceeded, in the teeth of the
warnings which had been given him, to execute his orders to put down the
insurrection on land, and carried them out with merciless atrocity,—ravaging the
Morea with fire and sword. Resolved now to bring matters to an issue, the

combined fleets in October, 1827, entered the harbour. As was expected would
happen, the Turks fired upon them, and then ensued the famous battle of
Navarino, in which, after a four hours’ engagement, the Turkish and Egyptian
fleets were annihilated, and the bay strewed with the remains of their ruined
vessels.

Russia declared war against Turkey the following year, and we meet with
many miscellaneous caricatures having reference to the conflict which followed.
In one, published by Maclean (without date) entitled, Russian Bears’ Grease, or
a Peep into Futurity, we see the Russian bear running off with Greece in spite of
England, France, and Austria. Another (also without date), is labelled The
Descent of the Great Bear, or the Mussulmans in a Quandary. In a third (also
without date), called The Nest in Danger, we see Turkey sitting on a nest marked
“Greece” disturbed by Russia, whilst the British lion stands looking on at no
great distance, discontentedly gnawing a bone labelled “Navarino.” By the time
peace was concluded between the belligerents in 1829, England would seem to
have realized the fact that she had been made the tool of Russia, and this is the
obvious idea intended to be conveyed by the satirist in another caricature (also
without date, but bearing obvious reference to the same subject). The Porte is
represented in the act of presenting a bill of indemnification to George the
Fourth.

The principal political topic remaining to be noticed is the Catholic Relief Bill.
Catholic Relief Bill of 1829, a measure forced upon the king, the ministry, the
church, and the aristocracy by the imperative force of circumstances, directed by
the prescience of a minister who, sharing at first all the objections of his
colleagues, felt nevertheless that a large portion of his Majesty’s subjects were
labouring under disabilities and fettered by restrictions inconsistent with the
boasted liberties of a free people; and that such a measure, in the face of the
political changes which had been loudly demanded for a long time past, could no
longer be delayed. It is not surprising, however, that Wellington and his
colleagues, following out the maxims of a Whig policy, should be viewed by
their own party somewhat in the light of traitors. Accordingly we see them

figuring in this character in some of the caricatures of the day, one of which (one
of the “Paul Pry” series), published by Geans in 1829, may be cited as an
example of the rest, and shows them to us in the act of Burking Old Mrs.
Constitution, aged 141.

In this and the two preceding chapters we have attempted to give an account
of some of the leading events of the first thirty years of the century, illustrating
them by reference to a few of the miscellaneous caricatures of the period. We
have adopted this method of arrangement because, if our theory be correct, it was
during this period that the art of caricature continued to flourish, and it is from
this period that we date its speedy decline and downfall. We think that the prime
cause of this decline may be traced to the fact that George Cruikshank, the best
of nineteenth century satirists, had by this time resigned the art to follow his new
employment of an illustrator of books; we think, too, that caricature received an
additional impetus in its downward progress by the secession from the ranks of
its professors of the veteran Thomas Rowlandson, who, although he did not die
until 1827, had virtually given up caricature in favour of book illustration49
many years before. Further illustration of some of the events already related, and
of others to which we have no occasion at present to refer, will be found in the
chapters devoted to the work of Isaac Robert Cruikshank and his brother George.

A considerable number of the caricatures which belong to the first quarter of
the century have an anonymous origin; whilst a large proportion are due to
William Heath, who, either in his own name, or often under the distinguishing
hieroglyphic of “Paul Pry,” contributed largely to the political and social satires
of his day. Other caricaturists of the period were H. Heath (hundreds of whose
comic sketches were collected and published by Charles Tilt), Theodore Lane,
and his friends Isaac Robert and George Cruikshank. To these names we must
add those of the last century men who continued their work into the present,
James Gillray, Thomas Rowlandson, George Moutard Woodward, C. Williams,
Henry William Bunbury, Robert Dighton, and others. Some idea of the industry
of the nineteenth century satirists may be gathered from the fact that the “Paul

Pry” series of political satires of 1829-30, alone number some fifty plates, which
in our day can rarely be purchased at three times their original cost.

Theodore Lane.] [From “Life of an Actor,” 1824.
“THE GALLERY.—POWERFUL ATTRACTION OF TALENTS!”

Theodore Lane.] [From “Life of an Actor,” 1824.
“THE NON-PAYING AUDIENCE.”
[Face p. 85.

* * * * * *
*

On the walls of some old-fashioned dining-rooms, and the parlours Theodore
Lane. of provincial inns, may still be seen an engraving, called The Enthusiast,

which some of my readers may remember to have seen in the print shops of
some twenty or five-and-twenty years ago. It represents an old disciple of Izaac
Walton, whom the gout has incapacitated from following his favourite pursuit, so
devoted to the sport, that we see him fishing for minnows in a water-tub, instead
of the rippling stream out of which he has been accustomed to whip his favourite
speckle-backed beauties. The painting from which this engraving was taken was
the work of Theodore Lane, who, although his work is limited to the short space

of five or six years, seems to call for special mention by virtue of his tragic
ending, the short span allotted to his life and labours, and the superiority of his
talent and genius to those of many of his contemporaries. Lane was literally a
comic artist of the nineteenth century, having been born at Isleworth in 1800. He
was apprenticed to a colourer of prints at Battle Bridge, named Barrow; and,
shortly after completing his time, produced (in 1822) six designs illustrative of
“The Life of an Actor,” and with these in a small portfolio under his arm, went
out into the world to seek his fortune as other comic artists have done before him
and since. Pierce Egan, at this time, was the most popular man in town; his name
(on very insufficient literary merits) was identified with the success of the most
famous book of the century—we allude to the “Life in London.” To his residence
in Spann’s Buildings, St. Pancras, Lane betook himself; showed him his
sketches, and said if Egan would only undertake the letterpress, he should find
no difficulty in getting Ackermann, Sherwood, or any of the art publishers of the
day, to undertake its publication. But Egan’s hands were full, and he declined the
offer. Two years later on, author and artist again met, and the result was that
“The Life of an Actor, Peregrine Proteus,” made its appearance, “illustrated by
twenty-seven coloured scenes and nine woodcuts, representing the vicissitudes
of the stage.” The publisher was Arnold, of Tavistock Street, Covent Garden,
who paid the young artist one hundred and fifty pounds fifteen shillings for his
share of the work. “The Life of an Actor” was published at a guinea, and
dedicated to Edmund Kean; and a contemporary critic describes it as “one of the
best exemplifications of Mr. Egan’s peculiar talent. It is impossible for us,” he
continues, “to do justice to the spirit of the designs, many of which would [of
course] not discredit the pencil of Hogarth.” Lane’s association with one of the
most noted sporting characters of the day opened the way to him for further
engagements, and for another work, entitled, “A Complete Panorama of the
Sporting World,” he executed thirteen original etchings, and an equal number of
designs on wood.

Among the number of Theodore Lane’s social satires may be mentioned
Scientific Pursuits, or Hobbyhorse Races to the Temple of Fame, four folio
plates; The Parson’s Clerk (a comic song), four illustrations in ridicule of cant

and hypocrisy; Legal Illustrations (seventy humorous applications of law terms);
The Masquerade at the Argyll Rooms (a large plate full of vigour, life, and
character); New Year’s Morning: the Old One out, and the New One coming in, a
party of topers, one of whom—the chairman, with the empty punch-bowl on his
head (representing “the old one out”)—merrily points at the waiter bringing a
full bowl (“the new one”) in; Sunday Morning—the Barber’s Shop; Shilling Fare
to a Christmas Dinner, or Just in Pudding Time; The Rival Whiskers; and
Amorous, Clamorous, Uproarious, and Glorious (a pair of admirable and
amusing satires of the prevailing features, vices, and follies of the day);
Crowding to the Pit and Contending for a Seat (two capital theatrical subjects).
Lane also made a sketch entitled, Paul Pry’s First Night in a Boarding House,
intended to be succeeded by eleven others, the publication of which was however
prevented by the death of Liston. McLean published a large and clever design,
bearing the somewhat lengthy title of Law Gorging on the Spoils of Fools and
Rogues, and Honest Men among Knavery, producing Repentance and Ruin; or,
the Fatal Effects of Legal Rapacity,—wherein the highway of Law conducts to
Ruin through a series of toll-gates labelled respectively, “Opinion of Counsel,”
“Injunction,” “Filing the Bill,” “Consultation,” “Procrastination,” etc.

Like his contemporaries the Cruikshanks, with whom he was familiar,
Theodore Lane mixed freely with the young bloods of his day, termed in the
slang of his time “Corinthians,” and the results are shown in his designs. He
might often be seen at the “Craven’s Head,” in Drury Lane, kept by a host known
to his patrons by the familiar title of “Billy Oxberry”; at the Saturday night
harmonic meetings held at the “Kean’s Head,” in Russell Court, Drury Lane; at
“The Wrekin,” in Broad Court, Long Acre, at that time frequented by gentlemen
of the Press; at “The Harp,” in Russell Street, Drury Lane, a well known house
of call for actors, and appropriately immortalised in one of his illustrations to
“The Life of an Actor”; at the “Cider Cellar”; at the “Fives Court”; at the
numerous “Masquerades” of the day; at any place of resort, in fact, which
offered studies of life and character or subjects of social satire. He figures in his
own sketch of The Masquerade at the Argyll Rooms, where we recognise him (in
one of the right hand boxes) in a white sheet, a tall paper cap on his head, and a

staff in his hand. His impersonations were sometimes singularly original. At one
of these “masquerades,” for instance, he represented a “frozen-out gardener”
soliciting charity, and holding in his hand a cabbage covered with icicles; at
another, he appeared as a hospital “out-patient,” wearing a hideous mask
(designed by himself) representing some dreadful disease, from which the
bystanders recoiled in horror and amazement. With all this drollery Lane kept
himself well out of mischief, and was moreover, in days when young and old
were more or less inclined to be topers, a strictly temperate man.

But Lane’s talents were not confined to comic etching or designs on wood. He
was also an artist in oil and water colour. He painted in oils The Drunken
Gardener; The Organ of Murder, a clumsy, nervous craniologist feeling his own
head in doubt and perplexity to ascertain whether the dreadful “organ” is
developed in himself; An Hour before the Duel (exhibited at the Institution in
Pall Mall). Other subjects of his pictures were: The Poet reading his Manuscript
Play of Five Acts to a Friend; Too many Cooks Spoil the Broth; The Nightmare;
The Mathematician’s Abstraction (the latter purchased by Lord Northwick). His
most ambitious work in oils (upwards of seventeen feet in length) was called A
Trip to Ascot Races. His last work, The Enthusiast (the first we have mentioned),
was exhibited at Somerset House at the time of his death.

The fate of this clever young artist and satirist was both singular and tragical.
It appears that on the 21st of February, 1828, Theodore Lane, who then resided
in Judd Street, Brunswick Square, called upon his brother-in-law, Mr. Wakefield,
a surgeon of Battle Bridge, intending to proceed in the latter’s gig to Hampstead,
to join a party of friends who had gone there to spend the day. Mr. Wakefield
having to visit a patient in Manchester Street, Gray’s Inn Lane, drove there with
his brother-in-law, and this was the last time he was seen alive. Close to the place
was a horse bazaar, which the artist appears to have entered by way of passing
the time. The horse and trap were there, but no trace of poor Lane; and on search
being made, his body was found lying lifeless at the foot of the auctioneer’s
stand. He appears to have wandered into the betting-room, and by some
unexplained means or other fallen backwards through an insufficiently protected

skylight. The clever head was battered so completely out of recognition that he
was only identified by his card-case. That Lane was a man of unusual promise is
shown by the fact that amongst the subscribers for the benefit of the widow and
children of the deceased, we find the names of Sir Thomas Lawrence, president
of the Royal Academy; F. Chantrey, R.A.; George Westmacott; Cooper, the
celebrated animal painter; and Leahy, the painter of the celebrated picture of
“Mary Stuart’s Farewell to France.” The remains of this ill-fated, talented young
fellow lie in the burial ground of old St. Pancras.

23 “Fifty Years of my Life,” by George Thomas, Earl of Albemarle, vol. i. p. 270.

24 “Annual Register,” 1813.

25 Ibid. (Chronicle), 342.

26 See the letter of the Princess of Wales, “Annual Register,” 1813 (Chronicle), 342.

27 See speech of Mr. Whitbread, “Annual Register,” 1813 (20).

28 “Annual Register,” 1813 (Chronicle), 345.

29 “Annual Register,” 1813, p. 24.

30 Whitbread.

31 Sir John and Lady Douglas.

32 Letter from the queen to the Princess of Wales of 23rd May, 1814.—“Annual Register,”
1814, p. 349.

33 So called because he carried home with him, in sundry bags, the cases pending his
judgments.

34 Wade’s, “British History,” p. 765.

35 See “Greville Memoirs,” vol. i. p. 24 (February 24th).

36 “Annual Register,” 1820, p. 135.

37 Ibid., pp. 131, 132.

38 “Greville Memoirs,” vol. i. p. 28.

39 “Fifty Years of my Life,” by George Thomas, Earl of Albemarle, vol. ii. p. 123.

40 “Annual Register,” 1820, p. 986.

41 See caricatures of Robert Cruikshank, 1820.

42 “Annual Register,” 1820, p. 1149; see also the impartial opinion of the Duke of Portland,
“Greville Memoirs,” vol. i. p. 56.

43 See “Annual Register,” 1820, p. 1139 et seq.

44 This of course may not be the case. The Duke of Kent, we know, was dead at the time, and
Wood, we believe, was not Lord Mayor. He had been Lord Mayor some time before, and the satire
may possibly allude to some order made at that time. At the same time, I find the caricature
amongst those assigned (in the large but badly arranged collection to which I have present access)
to this particular period.

45 “Annual Register,” 1820 [190].

46 There is a custom in the Manor of Torre Devon, that when a copyhold tenant dies, his
widow has her free-bench in his land, but forfeits her estate on committing the offence with which
the queen was charged; on her coming however into court riding backward on a black ram, and
repeating the formula mentioned in the design, the steward is bound to reinstate her. Without this
explanation the meaning of this telling satire would not be understood. For the formula (which
cannot be repeated here) I must refer the reader to Jacob’s Law Dictionary, ed. 1756, title, “Free
Bench.”

47 “Greville Memoirs,” vol. i. p. 27.

48 Ibid., p. 43.

49 Unlike George Cruikshank, Rowlandson seldom dropped caricature in his book illustration.
When he does so, as in his designs to “Naples and the Compagna Felice,” he shows (as in his
water colour drawings) his wonderful graphic powers. His illustrated books are rare, and
command good prices. William Coombe’s English “Dance of Death” and “Dance of Life” (I refer
of course to first editions) can only now be purchased at £14.

CHAPTER V.

THE CARICATURES OF ISAAC ROBERT CRUIKSHANK.

It was the misfortune of the brothers Cruikshank that they outlived The Brothers
Cruikshank. their popularity: in the case of the younger brother, this result (as we

shall presently see) must be attributed in a certain measure to his own fault; but
as regards Robert, his efforts as a caricaturist were destined to be eclipsed by the
greater novelty and attractions of HB, whilst a tendency to carelessness, and the
absence of actual genius, prevented him from attaining lasting celebrity in the
line of book illustration which George made so peculiarly his own. The final
result, however, was the same in both cases; and the brothers might have said
with truth, that, in suffering both to die poor and neglected, the British public
treated both with the strictest impartiality. Here, however, the impartiality ended;
for whilst over two hundred articles have been penned in praise of the brilliant
man of genius, poor Robert Transit50 (a name strictly appropriate to his memory)
reposes in his nameless grave still unregarded and still forgotten. Few writers
indeed have wasted pen and ink about Robert Cruikshank or his work: Robert
William Buss, in his book on “English Graphic Satire” (a work published for
private circulation only), devotes exactly a line and a half to his memory; his
friend, George Daniel, gives him a few kindly words in memoriam; Professor
Bates’s essay on his brother George contains several pages of valuable
information in relation to some of his book illustrations; whilst Mr. Hamilton
presents us with a dozen specimens of work of this kind which are nothing less
than libels on his graphic powers. To the general public of to-day the name of
Robert Cruikshank is so little known, that comparatively few are cognizant of the
fact that he was one of the most popular and successful graphic satirists of his
time. It is the misfortune of the caricaturist that his wares attain only a transitory
popularity, whilst it is their peculiarity that after he is dead their value is

increased fourfold. It is by no means uncommon for five and even seven
shillings to be demanded and obtained for one of the impressions of Robert’s
plates, which in his lifetime could have been purchased at the cost of a shilling. It
is the design of this chapter to rescue the memory of a clever artist from
undeserved oblivion, and restore him to that place in comic art which he once
occupied, and which it seems to us he deserved to fill not only on account of his
own merits, but by reason of being associated in illustrations of a different
character with such men as his brother George, Robert Seymour, Thomas
Rowlandson, John Leech, and other artists of genius and reputation.

Isaac Robert, or rather Robert Cruikshank (as he usually styled himself), was
born in 1790. He had as a boy acquired the groundwork of his technical
education as an artist and etcher under the direction of old Isaac his father; but
we personally have met with little of his work prior to 1816, which is accounted
for by the fact that he followed for a short time a sea life in the service of the
East India Company, and after having thrown this up in favour of a calling more
congenial to his tastes, he devoted himself for some years almost exclusively to
miniature and portrait painting, by which he earned not only a fair livelihood, but
a certain amount of fashionable patronage. Gradually, however (George tells us),
he abandoned this occupation, and took almost exclusively to designing and
etching. He occasionally alternated his work with water-colour drawing, in
which he is said to have greatly excelled. His works in this line are extremely
rare, for Robert had neither the means nor the patience to wait for the tardy
patronage to be commanded by a higher walk in art; there was a demand for
caricatures and comic etching in his day, which afforded a present means of
livelihood, and Robert’s water colours were executed more by way of relaxation
than in the way of actual artistic pursuit. Among his early caricatures we may
mention a rough and coarsely coloured affair engraved by him after the design of
an amateur, published by Fores on the 28th of April, 1816, entitled, The Mother’s
Girl Plucking a Crow, or German Flesh and English Spirit. The Princess
Charlotte, as we have seen, had an undoubted will of her own, and could, as we
have also seen, assert it when occasion demanded. Here she is presented to us at
the moment when a hideous German duenna, catching her in the act of writing to

her mother abroad, orders her at once to desist. The princess, however, in plain
terms, enforced with a clenched fist, gives her clearly to understand that she fully
intends to have her own way. Another caricature, published by T. Sidebotham, in
1817, bearing the title of The Horse Marine and his Trumpeter in a Squall, is
dedicated to the United Service Club.

Subjects for the pencil of a clever graphic satirist were not Strange French
Fashions. wanting sixty years ago. France in those days set the fashion both in

male and female attire, and the strangest eccentricities had marked the
emancipation of that country from the thraldom of the Terror. There were the
incroyables, a set of young dandies who affected royalist sympathies, and
paraded the streets of Paris when young Napoleon was yet a general in the
service of the Directory. They wore short-waisted coats with tails of preposterous
length, cocked hats of ponderous dimensions, green cravats, powdered hair
plaited and turned up with a comb, while on each side of the face hung down two
long curls called dogs’ ears (oreilles de chien). These charming fellows carried
twisted sticks of enormous size, as weapons of offence and defence, and spoke in
a peculiarly affected manner.51 Some fourteen or fifteen years later on, when we
had driven Joseph Bonaparte and his brother’s legions out of Spain, the fashions
had not improved. The biographer of Victor Hugo gives us the picture of one
Gilé, a Parisian dandy of that period, whose coat of olive brown was cut in the
shape of a fish’s tail, and dotted all over with metal buttons even to the
shoulders. Young men who went to moderate lengths in fashion were content to
wear the waists of their coats in the middle of their backs, but the waist of this
Gilé intruded on the nape of his neck. His hat was stuck on the right side of his
head, bringing into prominent notice on the left a thick tuft of hair frizzed out
with curling irons. His trousers were ornamented with stripes which looked like
bars of gold lace; they were pinched in at the knees and wide at the bottom,
giving his feet the appearance of elephant’s hoofs. Our own costume had been
strange enough, in all conscience; but when Napoleon’s continental system had
been broken up after Leipzig, and a free market had been once more opened out
between this country and foreign nations, fashions more strange and eccentric, if
possible, found their way into England. Thackeray, when writing his “Vanity

Fair,” the scenes of which are laid prior and subsequent to the battle of Waterloo,
was fain to confess that he had intended to depict his characters in their proper
costumes; “but when he remembered the appearance of people in those days, he
had not the heart to disfigure his heroes and heroines by costumes so hideous,”
and thenceforth he habited these men and women of 1815 in the costume of the
men and women of 1848. George Cruikshank’s “Monstrosities” are familiar to
all acquainted with his works; and his brother Robert and his contemporaries
were equally fond of ridiculing the preposterous fashions of their time. We find
in the year 1818 a pictorial satire by Robert, which shows us a pair of Dandies at
Tea, habited in the short-waisted, long-tailed coats, tight breeches, terrific stocks,
shirt collars, and top boots of the period. “My dear fellow, Mr. Sim,” one of
them, asks, “is your tea agreeable?” to which the other answers, “Charming, my
dear Lollena; where do you buy it?” They are seated in an attic, which, like that
of the cobbler, serves “for parlour and bedroom and all,” and the washing of the
tenant hangs suspended on a line above the heads of the interesting pair. We find
another the same year, entitled, Dandies having a Treat, wherein we are shown a
couple of eccentricities in a confectioner’s shop; one of them, who eyes himself
with much complacency in the glass, has his back to us, and is habited, à la Gilé,
in a very tight coat, whose tail commences just below its collar and narrows to a
very fine point when it reaches its extremity; short wide trousers terminate at the
knees, at which points they are met by a pair of Wellington boots. He entreats his
equally strangely dressed companion to pay no attention to the uncomplimentary
remarks of certain rude people who stand at the door and seem strongly inclined
to subject them to the discipline of the pump. The pretty girl in attendance
expresses to herself a hope that “the creatures will leave the shop,” as she fears
the exasperated people will do some mischief. Another caricature of the same
year shows us A Dandy Shoemaker in a Fright, or the Effects of Tight-lacing. In
stooping to measure a lady’s foot, the fellow’s stays have given way, and he
evidently fears he shall tumble to pieces. In another subject, Robert shows us a
couple of dandies diving into a countryman’s pockets, in the neighbourhood of
St. James’s Palace; others are entitled respectively, A Dandy put to his Last
Chemisette, or Preparing for a Bond Street Lounge; A Dandy Cock in Stays; and

The Hen-pecked Dandy. Besides those already mentioned, I find four or five
other coarse caricatures of Robert’s, published by Fores in 1818.

Robert Cruikshank was “a man about town” in those days, and the “dandies”
whom he and his fellow caricaturists satirized and ridiculed were the sham
“Corinthians” of his time. Apart from the idea of caricature they must have been
queer fellows—these men with the large eye-glasses, squat broad-brimmed hats,
huge cravats and collars, cauliflower frills, tight coats, short bell-shaped trousers,
and well-spurred Wellington boots! In one of the satires of the time (which I take
to be Robert’s) we see five of them preparing for conquest in a hairdresser’s
shop; and the “make up” comprises, in addition to the tremendous neckties,
cauliflower frills, and top-boots of the period, false calves and stays, a pair of
which the Frenchman hairdresser is lacing for one of his customers. Another of
the party, who has completed the upper part of his toilet, is so hampered with the
voluminous folds and stiffening of his cravat that he cannot wriggle into his
unmentionables. The caricaturists take us into the garrets of these fellows,
abodes of squalor and wretchedness, and show us that beneath their exterior
magnificence there is nothing, or next to nothing. In a pair of rough anonymous
satires—The Dandy Dressing at Home and The Dandy Dressed Abroad—the
former shows us how the completed figure is built up. The absence of a shirt is
concealed by an amply frilled “dickey,” the dirty feet protrude from the well-
nigh footless stockings, the bare arms are clothed at the extremities only by the
cuffs, while a pair of huge seals dangling from a ribbon guard form pendants to a
latch-key instead of a gold watch. The fellow’s washing bill, which lies on the
dressing-table before him, comprises four items—all of them collars. On the
ground, side by side with the Wellington boots, which he himself has just been
cleaning, lie the open pages of “The Beau’s Stratagem.” In a sketch by the
always coarse satirist Williams, two of these fellows have been decoyed into an
infamous house and drugged, and the indignation of the bully and his female
assistants is intense when they find that their watches are not even pinchbeck,
but only pincushions.

The “Corinthian Kates” who figure in the satirical sketches of this period are
members of the demi monde. An excellent undated sketch, signed “J. L. M.
fect.,” entitled, A Dandyess, is divided into two compartments. The first scene
shows us the completed figure (a most absurd one), and the second (which is laid
in the lady’s garret) how the magnificent result has been attained. We find her
engaged in ironing her chemisette; over the fire are suspended her stockings; on
a stool near her stand her bottles of cosmetic and a pot of rouge; on the floor her
“artificial hump”; while her preposterous bonnet and other articles of costume
hang from different articles of the scanty furniture.

Robert Cruikshank continues his attacks upon the fops in 1819. 1819. In that
year we meet with A Dandy Sick; Dandies on their Hobbies, and Female
Lancers, or a Scene in St. James’s Street, chiefly remarkable on account of the
costume of the two men who figure therein. Besides these we meet with a sort of
pictorial allegory, entitled, The Mysterious Fair One, or the Royal Introduction
to the Circassian Beauty, in which a foreign fair one is supposed to be
introduced to the Regent’s harem. The veil being removed discovers to him the
well-known features of his neglected wife, from whom he recoils in abhorrence.
The bulky figure of the Regent who, under the influence of copious port wine
libations and general good living, had grown preposterously fat, is admirably
preserved by both the Cruikshanks. The head and wig, tapering to an apex,
remind one somewhat of the French poire caricatures which disturbed the
serenity of Louis Philippe, and preceded the revolutionary period of 1848.

Other caricatures by Robert of this year (1819) are labelled respectively, The
Political Champion turned Resurrection Man, having reference to Cobbett and
“Orator Hunt”; The Master of the Ordnance Exercising his Hobby; A Steward at
Sea in a Vain Tempest, or Gaining the Point of Matrimony in Spite of Squalls; A
New Chancery Suit Removed to the Scotch Bar; The Ladies’ Accelerator (two
women on hobbies); Collegians at their Exercises, or Brazen Nose Hobbies; A
New Irish Jaunting Car; and a satire entitled Landing at Dover and Overhauling
the Baggage, which would appear to refer to some incivilities on the part of the
custom house authorities to the Persian ambassador and his suite. The subject

was probably only etched by the artist from the design of another, and is so
grossly treated that in spite of the admirable workmanship we cannot further
describe it. Besides these we have the now well-known Going to Hobby Fair
(the only caricature of Robert which would seem to be known to those who have
troubled themselves about him), and a far better one of contemporary date,
entitled, Cruising on Land, or Going to Hobby Horse Fair.

Among the caricatures on the popular side in connection with the The Queen’s
Trial. queen’s trial in 1820, we find one by Robert, entitled, The Secret Insult, or

Bribery and Corruption Rejected, which has reference to the overtures which, as
we have seen in the previous chapter, were made to her by the ministers in the
hope of avoiding, if possible, a public exposure; and here Lord Liverpool is
represented in the act of offering to Her Majesty a purse. “Abandon,” he says,
“your claim to the throne, change your name and the livery, and retire to some
distant part of the earth, where you may never be seen or heard of any more; and
if £50,000 per annum will not satisfy you—what will?” To which the queen (who
assumes an appearance of virtuous indignation) replies, “Nothing but a crown.”
Brougham turns his back, saying, “I turn my back on such dirty work as this,”
the fact being, as we have seen, that he had really entered into negotiations with
the ministers on the queen’s behalf, which she afterwards angrily repudiated. The
devil pats him on the back. “Well done, Broom,” he says; “you have done your
business well.” By the side of the queen stands a figure, possibly meant for
Alderman Wood, carrying “a shield for the innocent,” and “a sword for the
guilty”; behind her in the distance is a ship, bearing the title of “The Wooden
Walls of Old England.”

In our last chapter we mentioned the estimation in which the witnesses against
Caroline of Brunswick were held by her sympathizers and the general public,
and Robert’s political views naturally inclined him to take the popular side.
Those who saw them before they were housed in Cotton Garden, describe them
as swarthy, dirty looking fellows, in scanty ragged jackets and greasy leathern
caps; at the bar of the House, however, they looked as respectable as fine clothes
and soap and water could make them. To this a caricature of Robert’s, entitled,

Preparing the Witnesses—a View in Cotton Garden, refers. Three dirty foreigners
are being washed, with no satisfactory result, in a bath labelled, “Waters of
Oblivion,” “Non Mi Ricordo,” and “Ministerial Washing Tub.” One of the
operators (probably the Attorney-General, Sir Robert Gifford) remarks that “he
never had such a dirty job in his life”; seated around are a number of equally
dirty foreigners awaiting their turn. On the same theme and in the same year we
find The Milan Commission (a very rough affair); The Master Cook and his
Black Scullion composing a Royal Hash; and a satire on the alderman, who, in
spite of his Carolinian and popular sympathies, figures therein under the familiar
title of “Mother Wood.”

The following year gives us All My Eye (a skit upon Hone’s 1821. “Eulogium
on the Radical Press”), representing a large eye, within the pupil of which we see
a printing press, whereon rests a portrait of Queen Caroline; and also an
admirable work, divided into two compartments, bearing respectively the titles
of The Morning after Marriage, and Coke upon Albemarle—not Coke upon
Littleton.

A somewhat ludicrous affair of honour took place in 1822. In 1822.
Duel between the Dukes of Buckingham and Bedford. consequence of some words used by
the Duke of Bedford in reference to the Duke of Buckingham at the Bedfordshire
county meeting, a hostile meeting took place in Kensington Gardens between the
two noblemen on the 2nd of May. The seconds were Lord Lynedock and Sir
Watkin Williams Wynn. Both parties fired together at a distance of twelve paces,
but without effect; when the Duke of Buckingham, observing that the Duke of
Bedford fired into the air, advanced to his grace, and remarking that for that
reason the affair could go no farther, said: “My Lord Duke, you are the last man I
wish to quarrel with; but you must be aware that a public man’s life is not worth
preserving unless with honour.” The Duke of Bedford replied, that “upon his
honour he meant no personal offence to the Duke of Buckingham, nor to impute
to him any bad or corrupt motive whatever”; and here this somewhat absurd
event terminated. Robert commemorates it in a caricature, entitled, A Shot from
Buckingham to Bedford, which cannot be said to be complimentary to either of

the principals, one of the walls bearing the inscription in very large letters of
“Rubbish may be shot here.” Another admirable caricature of the year is entitled,
The Treadmill, or Stage-struck Heroes, Blacklegs, and Cadgers stepping it to the
tune of Mill, Mill O! a sort of general satire; card-sharpers, decayed
“Corinthians,” and other vagabonds, are undergoing a course of hard labour upon
the wheel, which was then a comparatively new invention,52 their movements
being accelerated by a gaoler armed with a heavy whip, who bears some
resemblance to, and is probably intended for, the artist himself. A third excellent
pictorial satire of the same year bears the title of Pope Mistaken.

The year 1823 is remarkable for the interposition of the French 1823.
French Interposition in Spain. Bourbon king into Spanish politics. The Spanish
military, under the influence of Riego and other officers, and encouraged by the
discontent of the middle classes, had revolted in 1820 against the despotism of
Ferdinand, and succeeded in establishing a constitution, which, in spite of its
imperfections, was preferable to the absolute and irresponsible government of
the Spanish monarchy. This state of things was peculiarly distasteful to Louis
XVIII., on account of the evil example it afforded to his subjects; and, fortified
by the sympathy of the “Holy Alliance” (which may be shortly described as a
sort of trades union of sovereigns to resist all political changes not originating
with themselves), he determined to put it down. In his speech to the chambers on
the 28th of January, he announced that, “the infatuation with which the
representations made at Madrid had been rejected, left little hope of preserving
peace. I have ordered,” he said, “the recall of my minister; one hundred thousand
Frenchmen, commanded by a prince of my family [the Duc d’Angoulème]—by
him whom my heart delights to call my son—are ready to march, invoking the
God of St. Louis, for the sake of preserving the throne of Spain to a descendant
of Henry the Fourth, of saving that fine kingdom from its ruin, and of reconciling
it with Europe.” The real cause of interposition, however, is indicated a few
sentences afterwards: “Let Ferdinand the Seventh be free to give to his people
institutions which they cannot hold but from him, and which, by securing their
tranquillity, would dissipate the just inquietudes of France, [and] hostilities shall
cease from that moment.”

We have neither time, space, nor inclination to relate the events of this
invasion; suffice it to say that, owing to the cowardice of the Spaniards, it was a
complete “walk over” for the French, who, in five months after they had crossed
the Bidassoa, had penetrated to Cadiz, dispersed the Cortes, and restored the
despotism of Ferdinand.

R. Cruikshank fecit.] [A. G.—Published May, 18
“JOHN BULL FLOURISHING IN A DIGNIFIED ATTITUDE OF STRICT NEUTRALITY!!!!”
[Face p.

The contemplated crusade had aroused a certain amount of sympathy in favour
of Spain in England, but it did not go farther than the giving of a splendid
entertainment to the Spanish and Portuguese ambassadors at the London Tavern
on the 7th of March, under the presidentship of Lord William Bentinck. The truth

was that John Bull had not forgotten the ungrateful and cowardly conduct of the
Spaniards when we drove the French out of their country in Napoleon’s time;
added to which England was saddled with a heavy national debt, which made us
still less inclined to intermeddle with the affairs of our neighbours. Robert
Cruikshank produced a caricature in reference to our position, called, John Bull
Flourishing in an Attitude of Strict Neutrality, wherein he shows us Spain in the
act of imploring his assistance, which, however, poor John is in no position to
render, seeing that he wants help himself, being placed in the stocks and heavily
burdened with the weight of “last war’s taxes.” In the distance appears fat Louis,
mounted on a cannon, driven by the Pope, Russia, Austria, and Prussia, in
allusion, of course, to the “Holy Alliance” (the three latter powers had recalled
their ambassadors from Madrid on the 5th of January), while the devil
condescends to lend his assistance by pushing on behind. This caricature is
probably the best that Robert ever designed. Another satire on the same subject
bears the title of King Gourmand XVIII. and Prince Posterior in a Fright.

One of Robert’s satires of this year, entitled The Golden Football, Hughes Ball.
has obvious reference to Hughes Ball, known at Eton by his surname of Hughes
only, but who took the further name of Ball on coming into a fortune of forty
thousand a year left him by his uncle, Admiral Sir Alexander Ball, and
thenceforth received his appropriate nickname of the “Golden Ball.” He was
considered a great catch by all the mothers in London; but, notwithstanding his
money, was unfortunate in love, being jilted by Lady Jane Paget, rejected by
Miss Floyd (afterwards the wife of Sir Robert Peel), and then by Lady Caroline
Churchill. The young ladies hearing of his numerous disappointments, were
disinclined to encourage a man so proverbially unfortunate. By way, perhaps, of
revenge, Hughes Ball this year ran off with and married Mademoiselle
Mercandotti, première danseuse at His Majesty’s Theatre, a beautiful girl of
sixteen, reported in the scandal of the day to be a natural daughter of the Earl of
Fife. The incident of Lady Jane Paget we have mentioned is thus referred to by
Charles Molloy Westmacott, the Ishmael of the press of his day, in the English
Spy, a work which, as we shall presently see, was also illustrated by the artist:—

“Now, by my faith, it gives me pain
To see thee, cruel Lady J——,
Regret the Golden Ball.
’Tis useless now: ‘The Fox and Grapes’
Remember, and avoid the apes
Which wait an old maids’ fall.”

Other of Robert’s satires of the same year bear the title of The Commons
versus the Crown of Martyrdom, or King Abraham’s Coronation Deferred; and A
View in Cumberland, that is the royal duke of that name—a most unpopular
personage, and of course proportionately fertile subject of satire in his time.

Among Robert’s pictorial satires of 1824, I find one entitled 1824.
The Tenth Hussars. Arrogance or Nonchalance of the Tenth Reported,—the “tenth”

here referred to being the Tenth Hussars. This distinguished regiment set the
pencils of the Brothers Cruikshank and their fellow caricaturists in motion at this
period, and I find an amazing number of caricatures of the date of 1824, of which
they form the subject. The officers would seem to have acquired considerable
unpopularity by the exclusive airs they gave themselves in society, refusing to
dance, declining introductions at public and private balls, and otherwise
assuming an arrogant and exclusive tone which made them supremely ridiculous.
So far did they carry these absurdities, that they even declined to associate with
an officer of their own regiment unless he previously submitted to them the
particulars of his birth, parentage, and education, and general claim to be
admitted to the privilege of their august society. A certain Mr. Battier, who seems
to have been ignorant of the peculiar arrangement they had established in
opposition to the rules and policy of the service, had obtained from the Duke of
York a cornetcy in the regiment, but not having submitted himself to the
examination referred to, or possibly not answering to the exclusive requirements
of the regiment, was forthwith sent to Coventry by his courteous brother officers.
The result, of course, was that the unlucky gentleman, finding no one to speak to
him, was forced to retire on half pay, which he was unfortunate enough

afterwards to forfeit by not unnaturally sending a challenge to the colonel of the
regiment.53

Maria Foote at this time was one of the most popular actresses Miss Foote. in
London. Some years before she had come on a starring tour to Cheltenham, a
town much affected by the notorious Colonel Berkeley, who being passionately
devoted to the stage, and possessed moreover of some histrionic ability, gallantly
offered to perform for her benefit. The colonel was notorious for his gallantries;
under a promise of marriage—which could not then, he said, be carried into
effect, inasmuch as he was then petitioning the Crown to grant him the dormant
peerage, which a marriage with an actress could not fail to prejudice—he
succeeded in accomplishing her seduction, and she continued to live under his
“protection” till, on the birth of her second child, she arrived at the true
conviction that he never had any intention of fulfilling his promise. There was at
this time a silly fellow about town, Mr. Joseph Hayne, of Burderop Park,
Wiltshire, familiarly known (in reference to the colour of his coat) as “Pea Green
Hayne,” who fell in love with and proposed to the fascinating actress. There was
no attempt at concealment on her part: it was stated at the trial which followed
that she herself wished to communicate to him the circumstance of her
connexion with Colonel Berkeley, when this gallant gentleman saved her the
trouble of doing so, and one night when they were in the pit of the opera
together, took the characteristic course of making Hayne acquainted with the
liaison, and the fact that it still existed. Hayne immediately broke off the
engagement; but soon afterwards not only renewed it, but fixed the day of
marriage. Again he broke it off, again yielded to the fascinations of his enslaver,
and this time not only was the wedding-day fixed and the license obtained, but
“Pea Green Hayne” took a solemn vow that nothing should separate him from
the object of his affections. Believing that all was safe, Miss Foote now threw up
her engagement and disposed of her theatrical wardrobe, but the weak-minded,
vacillating creature, who could not summon up resolution either to have or to
leave her, let matters go on to the very day, and again failed to put in an
appearance. Some preliminary letters having passed between the parties, Maria
then issued a writ, and recovered £3,000 damages in the action which followed.

The plaintiff, who seven years afterwards became Countess of Harrington, died
in 1867.

“Pea Green” Hayne was also known as the “Silver Ball,” in allusion to his
large income, which was smaller however than that enjoyed by his friend and
contemporary, Hughes Ball. After his exposure in the action Foote v. Hayne, he
received the far more appropriate nickname of “Foote-Ball.”

The opportunity of course was improved by the caricaturists, and Robert’s
contributions on the subject (1824 and 1825) are labelled respectively, Miss
Foote in the King’s Bench Battery; Miss Foote putting her Foot in it; and A Foot
on the Stage and Asses in the Pit, or a New Year’s Piece for 1825. Other pictorial
satires of Robert’s bearing the date of 1824, are: A Civic Louse in the State Bed;
A Cut at the City Cauliflower; The Corinthian Auctioneer; two very coarse but
well drawn subjects—Moments of Prattle and Pleasure and Moments of Parting
with Treasure; and an exquisitely drawn sketch bearing the title of Madame
Catalani and the Bishop of Limbrig, having reference to some musical festival at
Cambridge, the point of which has been lost, but which is remarkable for the
admirable likeness of the popular singer.

The conduct of Colonel Berkeley in reference to the case Foote 1825. v. Hayne,
called forth, as might have been expected, some severe strictures from the press,
and in particular Mr. Judge, editor of the Cheltenham Journal, which place the
colonel honoured with his patronage and society, had occasionally indulged in
animadversions on his conduct. In one of the numbers of his paper an article
appeared, in which some satirical observations were made with reference to the
annual “Berkeley Hunt” ball. On the afternoon of that day Colonel Berkeley
accompanied, by two of his friends, called at Mr. Judge’s residence, and being
invited to walk in, the colonel asked Mr. Judge if he would name the author of
the papers which had appeared in the Journal. Mr. Judge said he did not know
whom he had the honour of addressing, and on learning who he was, proposed
that he should call at the office of the paper, “where he would give him every
satisfaction.” Colonel Berkeley replied, “No, sir! Now, sir! Now, sir!” and
without further notice commenced a cowardly attack on the unarmed man by

beating him over the head and face with the butt-end of a heavy hunting whip.
To make the dastardly affair more dastardly if possible, one of the two fellows
with him stood at the door, and the other near the fire place, so as to prevent
Judge from seizing any weapon or calling any one to his assistance. For this
ruffianly assault, which placed poor Judge for some time in considerable danger
of his life, he subsequently recovered substantial damages against his cowardly
antagonist. The Colonel got a far worse dressing from Robert Cruikshank who,
in a severe contemporary skit, named (in allusion to the colonel’s notorious
illegitimacy) Colonel Fitz Bastard, depicted him and his friends in the act of
assaulting the editor of the Cheltenham Journal.

The artist’s tastes and sympathies threw him much in the society Edmund Kean.
of actors. The following year his thoroughly Bohemian friend, Edmund Kean,
was mulcted in £800 damages, in consequence of a disgraceful liaison with the
wife of Alderman Cox; and while audiences thronged the one theatre to testify
their sympathy for a favourite and popular actress, they crowded the other to
howl and hiss at the thoroughly disreputable and disgraced tragedian. The
episode is referred to by the artist in three of his contemporary caricatures,
labelled respectively, Wolves Triumphant, or a Fig for Public Opinion; A Scene
from the Pantomime of Cock-a-Doodle-Doo, lately performed at Drury Lane
with unbounded applause; and the Hostile Press, or Shakespeare in Danger, all
of which contain perhaps the best theatrical portraits of the popular tragedian
which are extant.

Sir Walter Scott also figures in one of Robert’s satires of this year entitled, The
Great Unknown lately discovered in Ireland, wherein he is represented in
Highland costume, with the Waverley novels on his head, holding by the hand a
small figure in hussar uniform, intended for his son, Captain Scott of the 18th
hussars, who this year had married Miss Jobson, of Lochore. The pair after their
marriage returned to Ireland, where the captain was quartered, and where he and
his wife were visited by Sir Walter in August of this year. Although the fact was
pretty well known, the authorship of the novels was not avowed until February

of the following year, when with Sir Walter’s consent it was proclaimed by Lord
Meadowbank at a theatrical dinner on the 27th of February.

A very curious personage makes his appearance in Robert’s The Living Skeleton.
sketches of this year, who would seem at first sight to be the most outrageously
caricatured of any of his subjects, and yet this in truth is not the case. This person
was the celebrated Claude Ambroise Seurat, “the living skeleton,” who was
exhibited at the Chinese saloon in Pall Mall, and whose portrait from three
different points of view was taken by Robert Cruikshank, and afterwards
appeared in the first volume of Hone’s “Every-day Book,” where a full account
of this very singular personage will be found. The repulsive object, who (with
the exception of his face) presented all the appearance of an attenuated skeleton,
was exhibited in a state of complete nudity with the exception of a fringe of silk
about his middle, from which (out of two holes cut for the purpose) protruded his
dreadful hip bones. Seurat, as might have been expected, forms the subject of
numerous contemporary caricatures; and in one of these, by way of comical
contrast, the worthy but corpulent alderman, Sir William Curtis, distinguished by
a similar scantiness of attire, figures with the living skeleton in a lively pas de
deux. William Heath, in another of contemporary date, represents the fat
alderman standing on a map of England, and Seurat on a map of France. Says Sir
William: “I say, friend, did you ever eat turtle soup?” to which Claude Ambroise
replies, “No, sare; but I did eat de soupe maigre.” In another (also I think by the
same artist), labelled, Foreign Rivals for British Patronage, the living skeleton
and a favourite male Italian singer of the time are represented in the act of
preparing for mortal combat.54

A number of the caricatures of 1825 (and among them many by Robert) are
singularly illustrative of the morals of the time. About this year had been
published a work professing to contain the memoirs of an apt disciple of Mrs.
Mary Anne Clarke, which was made the vehicle of extorting money. The modus
operandi appears to have been as follows. In the month of March, 1825, a well-
known M.P. of that day received a letter from this creature in the following
terms:—

“No. 111, Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré,

à Paris.

Sir,—People are buying themselves so fast out of my book, ...55 that I have no
time to attend to them; should be sorry not to give each a chance, if they chuse to
be out. You are quizzed most unmercifully. Two noble dukes have lately taken
my word, and I have never named them. I am sure —— would say you might
trust me never to publish, or cause to be published, aught about you, if you like
to forward £200 directly to me, else it will be too late, as the last volume, in
which you shine, will be the property of the editor, and in his hands. Lord ——
says he will answer for aught I agree to; so will my husband. Do just as you like
—consult only yourself. I get as much by a small book as you will give me for
taking you out, or more. I attack no poor men, because they cannot help
themselves.

“Adieu. Mind, I have no time to write again, as what with writing books, and
then altering them for those who buy out, I am done up—frappé en mort.

“Don’t trust to bag56 with your answer.”

That this extraordinary communication was no idle threat was proved by the
fact that a respectable statuary, carrying on business in Piccadilly, who had
refused to pay black-mail, brought an action for libel in the King’s Bench on the
1st of July against a man named Stockdale, publisher of the infamous production
referred to, and recovered £300 damages. The same year Popple, the printer,
brought his action against this fellow; but Mr. Justice Best directed him to be
nonsuited, on the ground that he was not entitled to remuneration for printing a
work of such a character.

The Catholic Relief Bill, which was thrown out this year, is the subject of
several of Robert’s satires, bearing the titles of John Bull versus Pope Bull;

Defenders of the Faith; The Hare Presumptuous, or a Catholic Game Trap; A
Political Shaver, or the Crown in Danger. The Catholic Association, or Paddy
Coming it too Strong, has reference to Mr. Goulburn’s motion to suppress the
Catholic Association of Ireland, which was carried by 278 to 123, and the third
reading by a majority of 130. The language used by Mr. O’Connell on the
occasion was so strong that an indictment was subsequently preferred against
him, which, however, was thrown out by the grand jury. Matheworama for 1825
depicts that celebrated impersonator in thirteen of his characters. Duelling
deserves particular mention by reason of the admirably designed landscape and
figures. It represents one of the principals (who looks very far from comfortable)
waiting, with his second and a doctor, the advent of the other parties. The Bubble
Burst, or the Ghost of an old Act of Parliament, has reference to the speculation
mania of 1825. Others of his satires for the year are labelled respectively, Frank
and Free, or Clerical Characters in 1825; A Beau Clerk for a Banking Concern;
The Flat Catcher and the Rat Catcher; and A Pair of Spectacles, or the London
Stage in 1824-5, which, although unsigned and bearing no initials, I have no
hesitation in assigning to Robert Cruikshank.

I am unable to indicate the dates of the following: Football, very clever, and
probably earlier than any of those already mentioned; Waltzing, “dedicated with
propriety to the lord chamberlain,” a very coarse and severe satire upon the
immoralities of the Prince Regent. Besides those we have already mentioned, we
have others with which the volume miscalled “Cruikshankiana” (so often
republished) has made the general public probably more familiar, such as the
Monstrosities of 1827; A Dandy Fainting, or an Exquisite in Fits; The Broom
Sold (Lord Brougham); Household Troops (a skit on domestic servants); and A
Tea-party, or English Manners and French Politeness, all of which may be
dismissed with the remark that they are the worst specimens of Robert’s work
which could probably have been selected.

With the year 1825, our record of Isaac Robert Cruikshank’s Scarcity of Robert’s
Satires. caricature work somewhat abruptly terminates. We cannot assert that after

that date it wholly ceased, but, inasmuch as we have selected those we have

named from a mass of some of the rarest pictorial satires published between the
years 1800 and 1830, I think we are fairly justified in assuming that after this
period his contributions to this branch of comic art became fewer. If this be the
fact, it confirms the conclusion at which we have arrived, that at this time
caricature had begun its somewhat hasty decline. Those I have named comprise
over seventy examples; and their value, which is great on account of their
scarcity, will be increased by the possibility that in the conception and execution
of some of them the mind and hand of Robert might have been assisted by those
of the more celebrated brother. “When my dear brother Robert,” says George in
writing to the compiler of the famous catalogue of his own works, “when my
dear brother Robert (who in his latter days omitted the Isaac) left off portrait
painting, and took almost entirely to designing and etching, I assisted him at first
to a great extent in some of his drawings on wood and his etchings.” If this be
the case, it is at least possible that he lent the assistance of his cunning hand and
original fancy to the preparation of some of these contributions to pictorial satire.
It appears to us, therefore, that a just idea of George’s own work as an artist can
scarcely be arrived at (especially his share of the famous “Life in London”) until
we have first considered the early work of himself and his brother Robert as
graphic satirists and caricaturists. They were closely associated in artistic work
during their early career; and it was not until both had given up social and
political satire, and devoted themselves to the then comparatively new field of
book illustration and etching on copper, that the superiority, originality, and
genius of the younger brother became so manifest and incontrovertible.

50 The name given him by Bernard Blackmantle.

51 Further particulars of them will be found in the “Memoirs of the Duchess d’Abrantes”
(Madame Junot). The fashions of the years which immediately preceded the Revolution appear to
have been almost as funny. I have somewhere seen a French semi-caricature depicting
fashionables of the Palais Royal in 1786, and the people who had their heads cut off in ’93 were
almost as queer as the dandies of the Directory and the Consulate.

52 The treadmill was the invention of Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Cubitt, of Ipswich. It was
erected at Brixton gaol in 1817, and was afterwards gradually introduced into other prisons.

53 The Marquis of Londonderry.

54 What became of Seurat we do not know, but we lately came across the following: “the
Siamese twins married; the living skeleton was crossed in love, but afterwards consoled himself
with a corpulent widow.” The authority is George Augustus Sala in “Twice Round the Clock.” We
strongly suspect that the wit extracted the information out of his own “inner consciousness.”

55 We purposely omit the title.

56 Presumably post “bag.”

CHAPTER VI.

ROBERT CRUIKSHANK (Continued).

“LIFE IN LONDON” AND OTHER BOOK WORK.

In perusing various articles on George Cruikshank in which reference is made to
the “Life in London,” we have been struck with the almost utter absence of
Robert Cruikshank’s name; further than this, it seems to have been the almost
universal impression that it was his association with George on this memorable
book which secured such reputation as Robert himself enjoyed. So far, however,
was this from being the case, that not only was Robert, in 1821, a caricaturist and
satirist of acknowledged reputation, but he was believed at this very time by the
general public to be the cleverer artist of the two. Robert, indeed, has been
treated with curious injustice in relation to this famous book, which owes its very
existence (as we shall presently see) to him alone. While according to George (as
in effect they do) the whole merit of the performance, many of the writers of the

articles referred to acknowledge that they find it impossible to assign to him his
share of the illustrations; and that difficulty will be largely increased to any one
who has studied Robert Cruikshank’s caricature work. The fact is that few of
these famous plates will bear comparison with the best of Robert’s pictorial
satires; while the kindred book of the “English Spy,” which was illustrated (with
the exception of one plate) by Robert alone, contains designs quite equal to those
which adorn the “Life in London.” When it is admitted that Robert executed
three parts of these illustrations, while those who have written upon him say that
they are unable to identify George’s share of the work,57 it seems unjust (to say
the least of it) that the credit of the whole performance should be assigned to him
alone. Let us be just to Robert, even though his merit as a draughtsman has been
lost sight of in the fame which the younger brother achieved by virtue of his
greater genius.

The reader need not be told—and we are not going to tell him Popularity of “Life
in London.” what he knows already—that the “Life” was dramatized by four

writers for different theatrical houses. The most successful version was the one
produced at the Adelphi, previously known as the Sans Pareil theatre. The first
season of this house, which Messrs Jones and Rodwell had recently purchased
for £25,000, was only moderately successful; but the fortune of the second was
made by “Tom and Jerry.” Night after night immediately after the opening of the
doors, the theatre was crowded to the very ceiling; the rush was tremendous. By
three o’clock in the afternoon of every day the pavement of the Strand had
become impassable, and the dense mass which occupied it had extended by six
o’clock far across the roadway. Peers and provincials, dukes and dustmen, all
grades and classes of people swelled the tide which night after night rolled its
wave up the passage of the Adelphi. It was a compact wedge; on it moved,
slowly, laboriously, amid the shouts and shrieks, the justling and jostling of the
crowd which composed it, leavened by the intermixture of numbers of the swell
mob, who plied their vocation with indefatigable industry and impunity.
Nevertheless, the reader will be surprised to learn (and it is probably little
known) that in spite of this amazing popularity, the first night of “Tom and Jerry”
met with such unexpected opposition that Mr. Rodwell declared it should never

be played again. Luckily for himself and his partner he was induced to
reconsider this decision. The tide was taken at the flood, and it led—as the poet
assures us that it will lead when so taken—to an assured fortune.

Robert Cruikshank.] [From “The Universal Songster.”
“By this take a warning, for noon, night, or morning,
The devil’s in search of attorneys.”

Robert Cruikshank.] [From “The Universal Songster.”
“With her flames and darts, and apple tarts, her ices, trifles, cherry-brandy,
O, she knew not which to choose, for she thought them both the Dandy.”
[Face p. 110.

One night a stranger entered the private box of the Duke of York at the
Adelphi, and seated himself immediately behind his Royal Highness, who took
but little notice of the intruder. The mysterious stranger had been brought in and
was fetched by a plain green chariot; and the few that saw him said that he was a
portly gentleman, wrapped in a long great coat and muffled up to the eyes.
Keeping himself well behind his Royal Highness, the portly stranger took a deep
but unostentatious interest in the performance. In his Haroun al-Raschid
character he had been present, with his friend Lord Coleraine (then Major
George Hanger), at some of the actual scenes represented; and in particular, by

virtue of the fact of his wearing “a clean shirt,” had been called upon by the
ragged chairman at a convivial meeting of the “Cadgers” to favour them with a
song, which had been sung for him by his friend and proxy the Major. The
mysterious stranger in fact, as the reader has already guessed, was his gracious
Majesty King George the Fourth, and his visit incognito having been made by
previous notice and arrangement, the passages were kept as clear of the general
public as possible.

The scenery of the Adelphi version was superintended by Robert Cruikshank
himself. “Tom and Jerry” brought a strange mixture of visitors to attend the
rehearsals. Corinthians (men of fashion)—members of the turf and the prize ring,
who found a common medium of conversation in the sporting slang which Mr.
Egan has made so familiar to us. Naturally there was a mixture. Tom Cribb,
whom the Cruikshanks had temporarily elevated into the position of a hero, was
indispensable; and the silver cup which figures in Robert’s sketch was every
night made use of in the scene depicting the champion’s pot-house sanctum.
Among the frequenters at these rehearsals was a quiet man of unusually
unobtrusive deportment and conversation,—this man was Thurtell, the cold-
blooded murderer of Mr. Weare.

Since the days of the “Beggars’ Opera,” a success equal to that which attended
the “Life in London,” and its several dramatized versions by Barrymore, Charles
Dibdin, Moncrieff, and Pierce Egan, had been unknown. The exhausted
exchequers of four or five theatres were replenished; and as in the days of the
“Beggars’ Opera” the favourite songs of that piece were transferred to the ladies’
fans, and highwaymen and abandoned women became the heroes and heroines of
the hour, so, in like manner, the Cruikshanks’ designs were now transferred to
tea-trays, snuff-boxes, pocket-handkerchiefs, screens, and ladies’ fans, and the
popular favourites of 1821 and 1822 were “Corinthian Tom,” “Jerry Hawthorn,”
“Bob Logic,” “Bob the dustman,” and “Corinthian Kate.”

The success of “Life in London” was not regarded with equal satisfaction by
all classes of the community; the serious world was horribly scandalized.
Zealous, honest, fervid, and terribly in earnest, these good folks, in their

ignorance of the world and of human nature, only added to the mischief which it
was their honest wish to abate. They proclaimed the immorality of the drama;
denounced “Tom and Jerry” from the pulpit; and besieged the doors of the play
houses with a perfect army of tract droppers. Anything more injudicious,
anything less calculated to achieve the end which these good people had in view,
I can scarcely imagine; for it is a well-known fact that the best method of making
a book or a play a “commercial success,” in England, is to throw doubts on its
moral tendency.58 The more respectable portion of the press did better service to
their cause by showing that, in spite of their popularity, “Tom and Jerry” were
doing mischief, and that the theatres lent their aid to disseminate the evil, by
nightly regaling the female part of society “with vivid representations of the
blackest sinks of iniquity to be found in the metropolis.” Called on to defend his
drama, Moncrieff, strange to say, proved himself no wiser than his assailants. All
he could allege in its behalf was that “the obnoxious scenes of life were only
shown that they might be avoided; the danger of mixing in them was strikingly
exemplified; and every incident tended to prove”—what? why,—“that happiness
was only to be found in the domestic circle”! This was special pleading with a
vengeance! Of course all that the theatres really cared to do was to fill their
exhausted exchequers; while as for Bohemian Robert and his friend Egan, the
idea of making the “Life in London” a moral lesson never once entered their
heads. The artist however was shrewd enough to take note of the observation for
future use; and seven years later on, when he and Egan produced their “Finish to
the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic in their Pursuits through Life in and out
of London,” endeavoured to profit by the storm which had been raised by the
good people of 1821, by tagging a clumsy moral to the sequel.

By this time, however, the excitement which had attended the original work
had evaporated; by this time, too, the public had learnt to discriminate between
the pencils of the brothers Cruikshank; and the “Finish,” as compared with the
original “Life,” fell comparatively flat. It made however some sort of sensation
in its day, but has become not only a scarce book, but one that is little sought
after. The genius and reputation of George and the pen of Thackeray have kept

alive the popularity of the “Life,”59 while the “Finish”—left to the unaided but
clever hand of Robert—has like himself been almost forgotten.

And yet it scarcely merits this fate. It contains thirty-six etchings by Robert
Cruikshank, some of them of singular merit. Among them may be mentioned,
The Duchess of Dogood; Splendid Jim; Logic Visiting his Old Acquaintance on
Board the Fleet; Corinthian Kate in the Last Stage of Consumption, Disease, and
Inebriety; and if not the production of a genius, the hand of an artist of singular
merit, ability, and power is manifest in the etchings entitled, The Hounds at a
Standstill; Logic’s Upper Storey; and The End of Corinthian Kate.

Although modestly claiming for himself the merits of this book, Pierce Egan.
Pierce Egan stands in relation to it in the position of a showman, and nothing
more. He is not even entitled to the credit of being the originator,—for the
originator and suggestor was Robert Cruikshank, who informs us of the fact
(after his own characteristic fashion) by way of footnote to his frontispiece to the
“Finish.”60 But Egan is undoubtedly a clever showman; if he displays rather
more vulgarity than we altogether like, we must not forget the audience to whom
he addresses himself, and for whom indeed his show is specially intended. We
cannot admit that the popularity of this book was entirely due to the merit of the
artists whose canvas he elucidates and (after his own fashion) explains. In
common fairness some credit should be conceded to Egan himself. Of literary
talents he had not a particle; and if he lacked taste and refinement, it may at least
be urged in his behalf that the age was not one of refinement, and that sixty years
ago we had scarcely emancipated ourselves from the barbarism and vulgarity
some remnants of which had descended to us from the time of George the
Second. The bent of his taste and the scope of his abilities may be guessed from
the fact that his “account of the trial of John Thurtell, the murderer,” passed into
at least thirteen editions. A man of this stamp could scarcely be expected to
recognise the true value of the work with which he had the honour to be
associated; he never looked beyond his patrons of the day, and as a natural
consequence posterity has troubled itself little about him. You will search the
biographical dictionaries in vain for any account of him;61 and this oblivion he

scarcely deserves, for not only was he one of the most popular men of sixty years
ago, but he would scarcely have attained that position without a fair share of
merit. He was not deficient in energy, and his talent is shown by the fact that he
understood and (in a measure) led the taste of his day, taking advantage of his
knowledge to raise himself to a position unattainable had such taste been of a
more elevated and refined character. His descriptive powers (such as they were)
were sufficient to procure him the post of recorder of the “Doings of the Ring”
on the staff of the Weekly Dispatch, which post he occupied at the time he
officiated as literary showman to “Tom and Jerry.” He had however tried many
trades,—had been in turn a compositor, bookseller, sporting writer, newspaper
reporter, and even secretary to an Irish theatrical manager. The success of “Life
in London,” which he arrogated to himself, raised up a crop of enemies as well
as friends, and he soon afterwards received his congé from the proprietors of the
Dispatch. Pierce Egan, however, was not a man to be daunted by any such
discouragement; he was found equal to the occasion, meeting his employers’
coup d’état by starting a sporting paper of his own, to which he gave the name of
his successful book,—Pierce Egan’s Life in London, and Sporting Guide. This
counter movement proved the germ of a great enterprise. Probably his venture
was no very great success; it ran only for three years from its commencement on
the 1st of February, 1824. On the 28th of October, 1827, Egan’s Life in London
was sold by auction to a Mr. Bell, and thenceforth assumed its well known and
now time honoured title of Bell’s Life in London.

Another friend of the artist was Charles Molloy Westmacott, as he Charles
Molloy Westmacott. called himself, but who is supposed to have been—filius
nullius or filius populi—the child of Mrs. Molloy, a pretty widow who kept a
tavern at Kensington. Westmacott was one of a class of writers who not only
existed but thrived in the early part of our century by the levying of literary
black-mail. The modus operandi (as given by Mr. William Bates, from whom we
derive our information respecting this man) appears to have been as follows:
“Sometimes a vague rumour or hint of scandal, accompanied perchance by a
suggestive newspaper paragraph, was conveyed to one or more of the parties
implicated, with a threat of further inquiry into its truth, and a full exposure of

the circumstances which excited the sender’s virtuous indignation. This, if the
selected victim was a man of nervous, timid temperament, often produced the
desired effect; and although possibly entirely innocent of the allegation, he
preferred to purchase silence, and escape the suspicion which publicity does not
fail to attach to a name. If, on the other hand, no notice was taken of the
communication, the screw received some further turns. A narrative was drawn
up, and printed off, in the form of a newspaper paragraph, and was transmitted to
the parties concerned, with a letter, intimating that it had been ‘received from a
correspondent,’ and that the publisher thought fit, prior to publication, to
ascertain whether those whose names were mentioned desired to correct, modify,
or cancel any part of the statement. There is no doubt that very large sums have
been extorted by these scoundrelly means, and a vast amount of anxiety and
misery occasioned.”62 This was “the sort of man” that Charles Molloy
Westmacott appears to have been; and I learn on the same authority that by these
means he was enabled in one instance alone to net not much less than a sum of
£5,000. “Pulls” of this kind enabled this fellow to live at his ease in a suburban
retreat situated somewhere between Barnes and Richmond, which he fitted up
(for he considered himself, as some others of his more modern class appear to
do, a “man of letters”) with books and pictures.

In 1825 this man brought out, under his pseudonym of “Bernard “The English
Spy.” Blackmantle,” a veritable chronique scandaleuse of the time, entitled, “The
English Spy,” the title page of which describes it as “an original work,
characteristic, satirical, and humorous, containing scenes and sketches in every
rank of society; being portraits of the Illustrious Eminent, Eccentric and
Notorious, drawn from the Life by Bernard Blackmantle.” This extraordinary
work presents us with pictures of “life” at Eton, at Oxford, and in fashionable
society in London, Brighton, Cheltenham, Bath, and elsewhere; and the seventy-
two admirable copperplate aqua-tinted etchings, with one exception (which is by
the veteran Rowlandson), are the work of Isaac Robert Cruikshank. This is a far
rarer and more valuable book than the “Life in London.” In place of
“Corinthian” hook-nosed Tom, rosy-cheeked Jerry, and the vulgar gobemouche
Logic, we find figuring amongst the interesting groups, scenes, and characters all

the notabilities of the day: celebrities such as George the Fourth and his favourite
sultana the Marchioness of Conyngham, the Princess Augusta, Charles Kemble,
Matthews, Fawcett, Farren, Grimaldi, Macready, Young, T. P. Cooke, Elliston,
Dowton, Harley, Munden, Liston, Wallack, Madame Vestris, Townsend (the Bow
Street “runner”), “Pea Green” Hayne, Lord William Lennox, Colonel Berkeley,
Hughes Ball, and others. The etchings are singularly clear and distinct, and the
colouring bright and pleasing. Among the illustrations which specially deserve
notice are: The Oppidans’ Museum; The Eton Montem (an admirable design);
The First Bow to Alma Mater; College Comforts (a freshman taking possession
of his rooms); Kensington Gardens Sunday Evenings, Singularities of 1824
(woodcut); The Opera Green-room, or Noble Amateurs viewing Foreign
Curiosities; Oxford Transports, or Albanians doing Penance for Past Offences;
The King at Home, or Mathews at Carlton House; A Visit to Billingsgate;
Characters on the Steyne, Brighton; The Cogged Dice, Interior of a Modern
Hell; City Ball at the Mansion House; The Wake; The Cyprians’ Ball at the
Argyle Rooms; The Post Office Bristol, Arrival of the London Mail; The Fancy
Ball at the Upper Rooms, Bath; and Milsom Street and Bond Street, containing
portraits of Bath fashionables.

The so-called Oppidans’63 Museum is composed of the signs stolen by Eton
scapegraces from the local tradesmen; a mock court is in progress, at which the
injured parties attend and either claim or receive compensation for their stolen
property. The tradesmen in the plate before us look anything but injured persons,
and as a matter of fact the award is sufficiently ample to make amends for all
damage. The two persons officiating as assessors and apportioning compensation
to the various claimants, are Westmacott and “Robert Transit” (the artist
himself). The illustration is full of life and character. Among the groups may be
noticed a young fellow holding a bull-terrier suspended by its teeth from a
handkerchief; a bet depends on the dog’s patience and strength of jaw, and an
interested companion watches the result, chronometer in hand. The King at
Home, represents a scene which is said to have actually taken place when
Mathews was giving his entertainment at Carlton House. The performer was
imitating Kemble, when the king started up, and to the surprise of every one,

particularly of Mathews, interrupted the performance by a personal and very
clever imitation of the actor, who, by the way, had taught him elocution. This,
indeed, was one of George’s strong points, who, if not a good king, was at least
an admirable mimic. Says old Dr. Burney (writing to his daughter on the 12th of
July, 1805), “He is a most excellent mimic of well-known characters; had we
been in the dark, any one would have sworn that Dr. Parr and Kemble were in the
room.”64 In this plate we find likenesses not only of the king and of Mathews,
but also of the Princess Augusta and the too celebrated Marchioness of
Conyngham.

Thomas Rowlandson’s single pictorial contribution to the “English Spy,” R
—— A——ys of Genius Reflecting on the True Line of Beauty at the Life
Academy, is described by Mr. Grego under date of 1825. This is not the only
time in which the artist was associated in work with Rowlandson. There is a rare
work (one of an annual series)—“The Spirit of the Public Journals,” for the year
1824, with explanatory notes by C. M. Westmacott, a collection of whimsical
extracts from the press, which appeared in print in the previous season, which
has illustrations on wood by four distinguished coadjutors: Thomas Rowlandson,
George Cruikshank, Isaac Robert Cruikshank, and Theodore Lane.

The Foote v. Hayne affair mentioned in our last chapter afforded “FitzAlleyne of
Berkeley.” grist for the kind of mill driven by literary blacklegs of the class of

“Bernard Blackmantle.” The black-mail system was tried at first, and when that
failed he produced the now rare FitzAlleyne of Berkeley: a Romance of the
Present Times, a pair of libellous volumes, the dramatis personæ of which
comprise the persons whose names were mentioned in connection with the case.
“Maria Pous” was of course Maria Foote; Samuel Pous, her father; Lord A——y,
Alvanley; Major H——r, Major George Hanger, afterwards Lord Coleraine;
Optimus, Mr. Tom Best (who shot Lord Camelford in a duel); the Pea-green
Count and FitzAlleyne of Berkeley speak for themselves; while “Mary Carbon”
is the butcher’s daughter of Gloucester, mother of the Colonel, and afterwards
Countess of Berkeley. Such a character as Molloy, otherwise Westmacott, was
bound to get sometimes into trouble (in these days he would probably receive his

reward for “endeavouring to extort money by threats”); and if he did not get
exactly what he deserved, he did get, on the tenth of October, 1830, a
tremendous thrashing from Charles Kemble. References to the memorandum
books of this Ishmaelite of the press, in which he entered (for future use) some of
the scandalous chronicles of his time, and which were offered for sale at his
death in 1868, will be found in Mr. Bates’s interesting book, from which we have
already quoted.

Returning to his friend and coadjutor, Robert Cruikshank, the “Points of Humour.”
best of the artist’s coloured illustrations to the “English Spy” are contained in the
first volume; in the second he falls into those habits of carelessness which, with
all his ability and artistic talent, were a besetting weakness. Robert lacked the
genius, the fine fancy, the careful, delicate handling of George. Up to the
publication of the “Life,” the brothers as we have seen had worked together
frequently, but after this period they separated. George had already achieved one
of his earliest triumphs in book illustration—“The Points of Humour,” which
provoked the universal admiration of the critics, and proclaimed him one of the
most original geniuses of the time. The “Life,” however, had made both brothers
famous, and the general public had scarcely yet learnt to distinguish between the
pencils of George and Robert. This confusion was taken advantage of by
unscrupulous publishers (a practice at which Robert himself seems to have
connived) to trade upon the popularity of the Cruikshank name. We frequently
find, for instance, in literary advertisements of the time, that a forthcoming book
is illustrated by “Cruikshank,” and the work we have just named is a case in
point. No sooner had the “Points of Humour” appeared and made their mark,
than they were followed by an announcement by Sherwood, Jones & Co., of the
“Points of Misery,” the letterpress by Charles Molloy Westmacott, and the
designs by “Cruikshank,” that is to say—Robert. Although this publication is
marred by the slovenliness of execution which characterised the artist in his
careless moods, a few of the designs are excellent, and the tailpieces—A Six
Inside, at page 36; Cleaned Out, at page 88; and the Pawn Shop, at page 87—
suffice to show of how much better work Robert Cruikshank was capable.
George, as was usual with him on these occasions, was horribly annoyed, and

loudly and (as it seems to us) unnecessarily proclaimed to the world that he had
no connection with the work. Probably this manifesto did no good to a book little
calculated either by its literary or pictorial merits to command success; and as the
copy before us remained uncut from the date of the publication until the present,
the inference is that the speculation of Messrs. Sherwood, Jones & Co., proved
scarcely a remunerative one.

Among the forgotten books of half a century ago, we meet with one whose
title reminds us of the “Life in London.” It is called, “Doings in London; or, Day
and Night Scenes of the Frauds, Frolics, Manners, and Depravities of the
Metropolis.” It came out in threepenny numbers, in 1828, and its professed
object (in the queer language of George Smeeton, its compiler and publisher)
was to “show vice and deception in all their real deformity, and not by painting
in glowing colours the fascinating allurements, the mischievous frolics and
vicious habits of the profligate, the heedless, and the debauchee, tempt youth to
commit those irregularities which often lead to dangerous consequences, not
only to themselves but also to the public.” This shot of course was aimed at
Pierce Egan, who, engaged at that time in bringing out the “Finish,” not
unnaturally considered these “Doings” an attempt to derive profit by an indirect
infringement of his own title. The title in fact was a misleading one, and the book
a specimen of a class of useless literature of the time, by which paste-and-
scissors information compiled from books, newspapers, and statistics by some
one at best imperfectly acquainted with his subject, was attempted to be
conveyed by means of questions and answers, supplemented by dreary and
unnecessary remarks of a moralizing tendency. The persons in whose company
Smeeton would send us round, in order that we may form a just conception of
the “vice and deception in all their real deformity,” of which he speaks, are a
couple of idiots, one Peregrine Wilson, and an attendant mentor, whom we drop
at the earliest convenient opportunity. Information combined with morality is all
very well. The “History of Sandford and Merton” may have been, as Lord
Houghton assures us it was, “the delight of the youth of the first generation of
the present century.” As one of the youth of the generation referred to, we refuse
to admit it, and we are perfectly certain that the youth of the present generation

would have nothing whatever to do with it. We resign ourselves preferentially to
the guidance of Isaac Robert and George Cruikshank, sensible that they at least,
while conversant with the scenes they so graphically describe, will not bore us
with unnecessary moral reflections. We prefer, if the truth must be told, to “sport
a toe among the Corinthians at Almack’s” with hooked-nosed Tom and rosy-
cheeked Jerry; to visit with these merry and by no means strait-laced persons,
Mr. O’Shaunessy’s rooms in the Haymarket; the back parlour of the respected
Thomas Cribb, ex-champion of England; to take wine with them “in the wood”
at the London Docks; to enjoy with them, if they will, “the humours of a
masquerade supper at the opera house.” The work which Smeeton designed with
such indifferent success was subsequently carried out in a far more efficient
manner by Mr. James Grant, in his “Sketches in London,”65 and at a later date by
Mr. Mayhew, in his well-known “London Labour and the London Poor.”

The “Doings in London” owe whatever value they possess to the thirty-nine
curious designs on wood of Isaac Robert Cruikshank, engraved by W. C. Bonner,
which, on the whole fair examples of his workmanship in this style, strongly
remind us of the smaller woodcuts in Hone’s “Every-Day Book.”

The best specimens, however, of Robert’s designs on wood are those which
will be found in two small volumes, known indifferently as “Facetiæ” and
“Cruikshank’s Comic Album,” which contain a series of jeux d’esprits, published
between the years 1830 and 1832, and comprising Old Bootey’s Ghost and The
Man of Intellect, by W. F. Moncrieff; The High-mettled Racer and Monsieur
Nongtongpaw, by Charles Dibdin; Margate and Brighton; The Devil’s Visit;
Steamers and Stages; Monsieur Touson; Monsieur Mallet, by H. W. Montague;
Mathew’s Comic Annual (a miserable mélange by our friend Pierce Egan); the
famous Devil’s Walk, by Coleridge and Southey, etc., etc. These little volumes,
which are now rare, contain nearly one hundred excellent examples of Robert
Cruikshank’s workmanship, the woodcuts being executed after the artist’s
designs by W. C. Bonner and other wood engravers of eminence. We can stay
only to describe one, which illustrates one of the many experiences of John Bull

in his memorable visit to France. Struck with the appearance of a French lady,
“young and gay,” the stanza tells us—

“Struck by her charms he ask’d her name
Of the first man he saw;
From whom, with shrugs, no answer came
But, ‘Je vous n’entends pas.’”

Three other books (two of them exceedingly rare) must suffice to complete our
survey of Robert’s merits as a designer and book illustrator. These are “Colburn’s
Kalendar of Amusements” (1840), “Job Crithannah’s Original Fables” (1834),
and Eugene Sue’s “Orphan.” There is an Irishman sitting on a barrel in one of the
woodcuts to the “Kalendar,” who quite equals any of the Hibernians of George.
The eighty-four designs to the “Fables” are admirable specimens of the artist’s
best manner, and George himself rarely executed better illustrations than those of
the Farmer and the Pointer, at page 110, The Cow and the Farmer, at page 163,
and The Old Woman and her Cat, at page 219. This rare and choice book
abounds with admirable tailpieces; one of which exhibits a sufferer down in the
agonies of gout, the treatment of which subject may even be compared with the
more elaborate and admirable design by the brother described by Thackeray.
Sue’s “Orphan” has numerous carefully executed etchings by the artist, after the
style and manner of his brother; in the very signature, “Robert Cruikshank,” we
trace a distinct copy of George’s peculiar trademark or sign-manual. Mr. Walter
Hamilton, in his essay on the brother, presents us with a dozen copies of Robert’s
designs, eight of which, although unacknowledged, are taken from Crithannah’s
“Fables,” and will bear as much comparison with the original and beautiful
woodcuts as the work of a common sign-painter with a finished painting by
Landseer. A detailed but probably imperfect list of the artist’s book work will be
found in the appendix.

The name of Robert Cruikshank has slipped out of the place it once occupied
in public estimation; and his good work and his poor work being equally scarce,
his name and his claims to rank high among the number of English caricaturists

and comic artists have been forgotten even by the survivors of the generation to
which he himself belonged. In bringing to the remembrance of those who do
know, and to the knowledge of those who do not know, some of the work which
entitled him in our judgment to occupy a leading place amongst the number of
those of whom we write, we have endeavoured to brush away the dust of
oblivion which for so many years has obscured the name and reputation of an
artist, who, in spite of much slovenliness and carelessness of execution, was both
an able caricaturist and a skilful draughtsman. George writes of his dead brother
in terms of affection, and describes him as “a very clever miniature and portrait
painter, and also a designer and etcher;” his friend and coadjutor, the late George
Daniel, gives him credit for genius, of which however (in the sense in which we
use and understand the word) he did not possess a particle. He tells us that “he
was apt to conceive and prompt to execute; he had a quick eye and a ready hand;
with all his extravagant drollery, his drawing is anatomically correct; his details
are minute, expressive, and of careful finish, and his colouring is bright and
delicate.” In the early part of his career, as we have seen, the two brothers had
been so closely associated in life and in art, that the history of Robert is, to some
extent, the history of George; but when they separated, when each was left to his
own individual resources, George then struck into a path which neither Robert
nor any of his contemporaries might hope to follow. By the time Robert had
realized this fact, HB had appeared, and the art of caricaturing, as theretofore
practised, received a blow from which it will never rally. Besides being an able
water colour artist, he had at one time achieved some reputation as a portrait
painter; but the latter pursuit he had long practically abandoned, while success in
the former required a closer application and the exercise of a greater amount of
patience than a man of his age and temperament could afford to bestow. He was,
in fact, too old to commence life afresh; and so it came inevitably to pass that, as
his brother did in after life (but from causes, as we shall see, widely different),
Robert gradually dropped behind and was forgotten. He had not the genius or
pride in his art of his brother, and looked rather to that art as a means of present
livelihood than of acquiring a permanent and enduring reputation. If George—
with all his pride in his art, with all his genius, with all his rare gifts of

imagination and fancy—was destined to be left behind in the race of life, what
could poor Robert hope for? It is sad to think that in later life, poor easy-going,
thriftless, careless, Bohemian Robert sank into neglect and consequent poverty.
He died (of bronchitis) on the 13th of March, 1856, in his sixty-sixth year.

57 In this I cannot agree. George designed about a third of the plates, and those who know his
workmanship thoroughly will not fail to identify it.

58 A fact which testifies to the curiosity and not the immorality of our people.

59 I have known as much as £10 asked for a copy; but a first edition (a rarity) may be
purchased sometimes of a respectable bookseller for £8.

60 “Fair Play! Robt. Cruikshank, invt. et fect., original suggestor and artist of the 2 vols.
Adieu!”

61 A list of his works will be found in Dr. Brewer’s “Handbook.”

62 “The Maclise Portrait Gallery,” by William Bates (ed. 1883), p. 236.

63 The name given to the students of Eton School who board in the town.

64 Diary of Madam d’Arblay.

65 W. S. Orr & Co., 1838.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CARICATURES OF GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

Just sixty years ago, a writer in Blackwood spoke of the subject of Sixty Years ago.
the present chapter (then a young man who had already acquired an artistic

reputation) in the following terms:—

“It is high time that the public should think more than they have hitherto done
of George Cruikshank; and it is also high time that George Cruikshank should
begin to think more than he seems to have done hitherto of himself. Generally
speaking, people consider him as a clever, sharp caricaturist, and nothing more;
a free-handed, comical young fellow, who will do anything he is paid for, and
who is quite contented to dine off the proceeds of a ’George IV.’ to-day, and
those of a ‘Hone,’ or a ‘Cobbett’ to-morrow. He himself, indeed, appears to be
the most careless creature alive, as touching his reputation. He seems to have no
plan—almost no ambition—and, I apprehend, not much industry. He does just
what is suggested or thrown in his way, pockets the cash, orders his beef-steak
and bowl, and chaunts, like one of his own heroes,—

’Life is all a variorium,
We regard not how it goes.’

Now, for a year or two to begin with, this is just what it should be. Cruikshank
was resolved to see Life,66 and his sketches show that he has seen it, in some of
its walks, to purpose. But life is short, and art is long; and our gay friend must
pull up.

“Perhaps he is not aware of the fact himself—but a fact it undoubtedly is—
that he possesses genius—genius in its truest sense—strong, original, English
genius. Look round the world of art, and ask, How many are there of whom
anything like this can be said? Why, there are not half a dozen names that could
bear being mentioned at all; and certainly there is not one, the pretensions of
which will endure sifting, more securely and more triumphantly than that of
George Cruikshank. In the first place, he is—what no living caricaturist but
himself has the least pretensions to be, and what, indeed, scarcely one of their
predecessors was—he is a thoroughbred artist.67 He draws with the ease and
freedom and fearlessness of a master; he understands the figure completely; and
appears, so far as one can guess from the trifling sort of things he has done, to

have a capital notion of the principles of grouping. Now these things are valuable
in themselves, but they are doubly, trebly valuable as possessed by a person of
real comic humour; and a total despiser of that Venerable Humbug which almost
all the artists of our day seem, in one shape or other, to revere as the prime god
of their idolatry. Nobody, that has the least of an eye for art, can doubt that
Cruikshank, if he chose, might design as many annunciations, beatifications,
apotheoses, metamorphoses, and so forth, as would cover York cathedral from
end to end. It is still more impossible to doubt that he might be a famous portrait
painter. Now, these are fine lines both of them, and yet it is precisely the chief
merit of Cruikshank that he cuts them both; that he will have nothing to do with
them; that he has chosen a walk of his own, and that he has made his own walk
popular. Here lies genius; but let him do himself justice; let him persevere and
rise in his own path, and then, ladies and gentlemen, then the day will come
when his name will be a name indeed, not a name puffed and paraded in the
newspapers, but a living, a substantial, perhaps even an illustrious, English
name. Let him, in one word, proceed, and, as he proceeds, let him think of
Hogarth.”68

Now, although amused (and surely he cannot fail to be amused) at the curious
incapacity of an art critic so strangely ignorant of his subject as to conceive
George Cruikshank an artist capable of designing annunciations, beatifications,
apotheoses, and subjects so completely out of the range of his sympathies and
abilities, the reader will, at the same time, be struck with the prescience of the
intelligent writer who discerned in him the possession of true genius, and
predicted for him, even at this early period of his career, the reputation—“living,
substantial,” and “illustrious”—which he afterwards so justly achieved for
himself.

In everything save the power to realize an annunciation, a beatification, or an
apotheosis, George Cruikshank was, at the time this article was penned, exactly
what Mr. Lockhart describes him. The most able and accomplished of the
caricaturists of his time, he was nevertheless willing to etch the works of an
amateur or of an artist inferior to himself, to whose work he has frequently

imparted a vitality of which it would have been destitute but for the interposition
of his hand. He was ready, moreover, to execute woodcuts for a song-book or the
political skits of any scribbler of his time, whether on the ministerial or the
popular side mattered little to him. It was therefore not unnatural that doing “just
what was suggested or thrown in his way,” Lockhart should come to the
erroneous conclusion that the artist had “no plan,” “no ambition,” and “not much
industry.” The assertion that he had “no ambition” has been amply disproved by
his subsequent life, whilst so far from having “no plan,” the sequel shows that all
this time, unsuspected by the critic, he had been gradually developing the style of
illustration by which he made his mark and reputation,—a style first displayed in
the celebrated “Points of Humour,” the publication of which served as the
occasion for Lockhart’s criticism.

On this account, if for no other reason, the caricatures of George Cruikshank
possess so remarkable an interest, that it is singular that this field of artistic
labour has been left almost unexplored by the essayists, many of whom, with a
somewhat imperfect knowledge of their subject, have essayed to give us
information on the subject of this artist and his works. It is just this early period
of his life, in which he first followed and then gradually emancipated himself
from the artistic control and influence of Gillray, which seems to us to afford the
most interesting study of the man’s career. Nevertheless, nearly all the articles
we have read on George Cruikshank would give us the idea that, with the
exception of certain designs for woodcuts for Hone—such as the celebrated Non
Mi Ricordo and others—certain rough coloured engravings for “The Meteor,”
“The Scourge,” and other periodicals of a kindred stamp, the artist executed but
few caricatures properly so called. This at least is the impression which these
articles have left on our own minds; and we can only account for the little notice
taken of him as a caricaturist by the fact that, unlike the etchings which he
produced when in the prime of his career, his caricatures are not only
exceedingly scarce, but being in many cases unsigned, are capable only of being
recognised by those intimately acquainted with his early handiwork.

The caricatures of George Cruikshank may be divided into three classes: first,
those which are wholly designed and etched by himself; secondly, those which
he designed after the sketches or suggestions of his friends; and thirdly, those
merely etched from the designs of other artists. We find the first, although
frequently unsigned, more usually signed (on the left hand), “Geo. Cruikk. fect.”
or “invt. & fect.”; the second—“invt. G. Cruikk. fect.;” while the third are
indicated as merely etched by him. Of the second class it may be remarked that
with the exception of the mere sketch or suggestion, the drawing and the
workmanship are oftentimes unmistakably George’s own. In the description of
his caricatures which follow, we shall indicate the designs which belong to this
class with an asterisk.

Publications such as “The Scourge,” although containing many caricature
designs by George Cruikshank, are scarcely among those to which the present
chapter was intended to be devoted. There are, however, two satirical
compositions of his in this scurrilous publication,69 which appear to us so
exceptionally good, that we feel justified in drawing special attention to them. As
the publication itself affords little or no clue to the subject of the illustrations, it
seems necessary in order that the first may be understood, to explain the
circumstances which appear to us to have led up to it.

For several years prior to 1811, the established clergy had 1811. manifested
considerable uneasiness on account of the rapid spread of Methodism. The
readiness with which licenses for preaching could be obtained according to the
usual interpretation of the Toleration Act, had tended to the multiplication of a
class of preachers whose manners and language peculiarly fitted them for
acquiring influence over the inferior ranks of the people; and by this means a
great diminution had taken place in the congregations of parish churches. It is
affirmed—with what truth we know not—that Lord Sidmouth in the measure
(presently to be noticed) was encouraged to proceed in his design by letters from
persons of high position in the Church.

On the 9th of May, 1811, Lord Sidmouth moved in the House Lord Sidmouth’s
Motion. of Lords for leave to bring in a bill for amending and explaining the Acts
of William and Mary and 17th George III., so far as applied to dissenting
ministers. According to the statement of his lordship, at most of the quarter
sessions, when the oaths were taken and the declarations made requisite for
enabling a person to officiate in a chapel or meeting-house, any person, however
ignorant or profligate, was able to obtain a certificate which authorized him to
preach. His lordship proposed that, in order to entitle any person to a
qualification as a preacher, he should have the recommendation of at least six
respectable householders of the congregation to which he belonged. Lord
Holland, in opposing the bill, observed that he held it to be the inalienable right
of every man who thought himself able to instruct others to do so, provided his
doctrines were not incompatible with the peace of society.

When the nature and provisions of the proposed measure were made known to
the public, an alarm was excited among all those whom it was likely to affect.
The Nonconformists generally regarded it as intended, not so much to add to the
respectability of the dissenting ministers, as to contract the limits of toleration,
and subject the licensing of preachers to the control of the magistracy. When
therefore, on the 21st of May, the bill was to be read a second time, such a
deluge of petitions was poured in against it, that the mover was left totally
unsupported. The Archbishop of Canterbury said with truth, that the Dissenters
were the best judges of their own concerns; and as it appeared from the great
number of petitions against it, that they were hostile to the bill, he thought it
unwise to press the measure against their manifest wishes. Under these
circumstances the bill was, we need not say, thrown out.

This would appear to be the subject which produced George Cruikshank’s
graphic satire of the Interior View of the House of God, in the first volume of
“The Scourge.” The pulpit is occupied by two fanatics, one of whom rants, while
the other snuffs the candles; the devil, in the gallery above, ridicules the
proceedings by rasping, à la fiddle, the bars of a gridiron with a poker; among
the numerous congregation present we notice some attentive and interested

listeners, whilst others evidently attend from mere motives of curiosity. Above
the composition appears the quotation, “Believe not every spirit, but try the
spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into
the world.” The satire, The Examination of a Young Surgeon, which appears in
the same volume, is aimed at the medical profession. One of the examiners is
deaf, another has the gout, a third is asleep, while two others (unmistakable
Scotchmen) discuss the merits of their respective snuff-mulls. The deaf man calls
upon the frightened candidate to “describe the organs of hearing.” The table is
garnished with “The Cow Pox Chronicle,” and a skull and bones, while the walls
are decorated with pictures depicting a fight between death and a pugilist, the
Hottentot Venus, a group of various nations worshipping the golden calf, and the
lady without arms or legs. The hand of the clock points to the hour of eleven.
Judging by the pile of money-bags lying at the foot of the president’s chair, and
the two members of the court who are busily engaged in counting coin, George
would seem to insinuate that the fellows of the college of his time were a
decidedly mercenary set.

Of character akin to “The Scourge” (the ten volumes of which “The Satirist.”
were published between 1811 and 1815 inclusive); is “The Satirist, or Monthly
Meteor,” the thirteen volumes of which made their appearance between the years
1808 and 1813. Both publications, which now command prices very far beyond
what they are intrinsically worth, contain a number of satires, of more or less
merit (generally less), by various satirists, including George Cruikshank; so far
as “The Satirist” is concerned, the designs of the latter are confined to the
thirteenth and last volume, and his caricature contributions are of a vastly
superior order of merit to any of those by which they are preceded. Besides those
in “The Scourge” and “The Satirist,” may be mentioned George Cruikshank’s
comic designs in “Fashion,” printed for J. J. Stockdale, of Pall Mall, in 1818; and
his very admirable series of untinted etchings in “The Loyalist Magazine; or,
Anti-Radical,” a publication exclusively devoted to the ministerial side of the
Carolinian scandal, and published by James Wright, of Fleet Street, in 1820.

One of the earliest caricatures I have met with by George is entitled, Apollyon
[i.e., Napoleon], the Devil’s Generalissimo, Addressing his Legions; it is signed
(contrary to his usual custom), “Cruikshank del.,” and was executed (if I am
right in assigning it to him) when he was sixteen years of age.

The attention of the public in 1813 was, as we have seen, 1813.
Discovery of the remains of Charles I. attracted by the Regent’s treatment of his
miserable wife; and in April the sympathy of the Livery and Corporation of
London, and other public bodies, found expression in an address which was
presented to Her Royal Highness. On the 28th of March of that year, the remains
of Charles the First had been discovered in the vault of Henry the Eighth, at
Windsor, a circumstance which suggested to George Cruikshank his admirable
satire entitled, Meditations amongst the Tombs. It shows us His Royal Highness
gazing at the recovered bodies, and regretting that while Henry had managed to
dispose of many wives, he found it impossible to get rid of one. A figure behind
him points to the headless corpse, and significantly remarks, “How rum King
Charley looks without his head!” The Battle of Vitoria (fought this year) forms
the subject of a pair of roughly executed caricatures, entitled respectively, The
Battle of Vitoria, and A Scene after the Battle, or More Trophies for Whitehall.
Other satires of the year, are Double Bass, and A Venomous Viper Poisoning the
R—l Mind, the latter as coarsely and indelicately handled a subject as any
caricaturist of the old school might possibly desire.

Little Boney gone to Pot (Thomas Tegg, May 12th, 1814), is one of 1814. the
artist’s contributions to the series of caricatures which followed the fall of
Napoleon Bonaparte. Here the satirist has seated the emperor (a lean, ragged,
forlorn, miserable, diseased object) on a huge article of bedroom furniture,
labelled, “Imperial Throne.” He is in a forlorn condition, suffering from itch,
with large excrescences growing on his toes. He is all alone in his island prison
(Elba), and tempted by a fiend, who tenders him a pistol—“If you have one
spark of courage left,” it says, “take this.” “Perhaps I may,” replies Napoleon, “if
you’ll take the flint out.” By his side we find a pot of brimstone, numerous
medicine bottles, and “a treatise on the itch, by Dr. Scratch.”70 One of the

imperial boots, mounted on a tiny carriage, forms a dummy cannon. His back
leans against a tree, to which is nailed the “Imperial Crow,” while from the
branches depends a ragged pair of breeches and stockings. It was a sorry libel on
the unfortunate emperor, whose courage was undoubted, and who, at this time,
instead of being the scarecrow the artist has represented him, had grown
extremely corpulent. Snuffing out Boney follows up the same subject, and
represents a cossack snuffing out Napoleon, who figures as a candle; another
caricature on the great subject of the year bears the title of Broken Gingerbread
(Napoleon selling images).

George Cruikshank.] [Published July 11th, 1814, by S. W. Fores, Piccadilly.
RUSSIAN CONDESCENSION, OR THE BLESSINGS OF UNIVERSAL PEACE.
[Face page 133.

On the 8th of June, 1814, the Emperor of Russia, with his sister Visit of the
Allied Sovereigns. the Duchess Oldenburg, the King of Prussia, and his two sons,

with Prince Metternich, Marshal Blucher, General Barclay de Tolly, the Hetman
Platoff, and other persons of distinction, arrived in London. The strangers were
splendidly entertained by the merchants and bankers of London at Merchant
Taylors’ Hall, and by the Corporation of London at Guildhall. On the 20th there
was a grand review of regulars and metropolitan volunteers in Hyde Park; the
ceremony of announcing to the inhabitants of the metropolis the conclusion of
the definitive treaty of peace with France took place with all its ancient and
accustomed solemnities. On the 25th of July a grand naval review was held at
Portsmouth, and on the 27th the illustrious visitors embarked at Dover for the
Continent. The handsome Russian emperor and his handsome sister acquired
great popularity by the condescension and affability they displayed during their
short visit. This is commemorated by George Cruikshank in a satire published by
Fores on the 11th of July, entitled, Russian Condescension, or the Blessings of
Peace, in which a coarse woman is represented as kissing the emperor, who is
habited in English military uniform. “There, Sal,” says she to her companion, “I
can boast of what none of the ——s at Billingsgate can, having kissed the king’s
emperor of all the Russian bears, and he is the sweetest, modestest, mildest
gentleman I ever kissed in all my life.” On the other side a huge country gawky
shakes hands with the duchess, whose vast bonnet is a study. “Dang it,” he says,
“when I goes back and tells the folks in our village of this, law! how they will
envy I!” In the distance we see another female in pursuit of the frightened
Hetman Platoff.

The reader will remember, that from the state ceremonies and festivities which
took place on this memorable occasion the miserable Caroline had been
excluded, nor did she of course receive recognition or visits from any of her
husband’s illustrious visitors. The state of social isolation to which she was thus
consigned is referred to by George Cruikshank in a very roughly executed
caricature entitled, The British Spread Eagle, “Presented to the northern
monarchs as a model for their national banner in consequence of the general
peace.” The Regent, holding in his hand a bottle of port wine, turns away from
his neglected wife: “I’ll go,” he says, “to my bottle, my marchioness [of
Conyngham], my countess” [of Jersey], who may be seen close at hand in an
adjoining thicket; “and I,” answers Caroline, “to my child, my only comfort.”
The “only comfort” is seen coming to her mother’s assistance in the distance,
uttering the trite quotation, “The child that feels not for a mother’s woes, can
ne’er be called a Briton.”

The Impostor, or Obstetric Dispute, a still more roughly executed satire
(published by Tegg in September, 1814), refers to the wretched impostor
Southcott. Doctors called in to report on her condition “differed” according to
their proverbial custom. Three of these learned pundits may be seen in
consultation in the right-hand corner. A blatant and irascible cobbler, standing on
a stool, loudly proclaims the woman to be “a cheat!” “a faggot!” “a bag of
deceit!” “a blasphemous old hag!” The indignant Joanna, far advanced in her
dropsical condition, rushes at him, brandishing a broom in one hand and her
book of prophecies in the other, to the delight of certain members of the “great
unwashed.” The buildings at the back appropriately include “New Bethlehem,”
and the house which the reader may remember was engaged for the purposes of
her miraculous accouchement. A rougher and coarser piece of workmanship, if
possible, will be found in Gambols on the River Thames, February, 1814
(published also by Tegg), which commemorates the memorable frost of that year.

On the 17th of February, 1815, Mr. Frederick Robinson, vice-president 1815.
The Corn Laws. of the board of trade, moved for the House of Commons to resolve

itself into a committee of the whole house, for the purpose of considering the

state of the corn laws. This having been done, he proceeded to lay before the
House certain resolutions, three of which related to the free importation of grain
to be warehoused and afterwards exported, or to be taken for home consumption
when importation for that purpose was allowable. The fourth and most important
stated the average price of British corn at which free importation was to be
allowed, and below which it was to be prohibited, and this for wheat was fixed at
eighty shillings per quarter. An exception was made in favour of grain produced
in the British colonies, which might be imported when British grown wheat was
at sixty-seven shillings. All the resolutions were read and agreed to, with the
exception of the fourth, and this in the end also passed in the face of every
amendment.

On the 1st of March, Mr. Robinson brought in his bill “to amend the laws now
in force for regulating the importation of corn.” By this time very numerous
petitions against the bill were coming in from the commercial and manufacturing
districts; riotous proceedings also took place on the 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th of
March, in the course of which the mob cut to pieces many valuable pictures
belonging to Mr. Robinson, destroyed and pitched his furniture into the street,
and did a variety of mischief to the property of other well-known supporters of
the measure. The riots (which were of a most formidable character) were only
quelled by the number and determined attitude of the military and constables. In
spite, however, of the unmistakable unpopularity of the measure, and of the
strenuous opposition to it both in and out of Parliament, the bill passed the House
on the 10th of March, and the Upper House on the 20th.

The consequences of this measure were not such as were expected either by its
promoters or opposers. Former importations, or more probably the effect of two
abundant harvests, combined with the greatly extended cultivation of grain,
produced a gradual and steady reduction in prices; so that instead of approaching
the limits at which alone importation was allowable by the Act, it sunk to a level
below that of several years past. The farmers, who were labouring under
exorbitant rents in addition to other increased expenses, were general sufferers,
and the landlords found it necessary in many instances to make great abatements

in their dues. In the result many leases were voided and farms left without
tenants.

To this most unpopular measure a satire, published by Fores on the 3rd of
March, 1815, has reference. It is entitled, The Blessings of Peace, or the Curse of
the Corn Bill, a very rough affair, etched by George (as it appears to me) from
the design of an amateur whose hand may be recognised in more than one of his
caricatures. A foreign vessel is approaching our shores laden with best wheat at
50s. a quarter. A figure with a star on his breast, emblematical of course of the
aristocratic influence which was supposed to have dictated the unpopular corn
law, forbids the sailors to land it: “We won’t have it,” he says, “at any price. We
are determined to keep up our own to 80s., and if the poor can’t buy at that price,
why, they must starve. We love money too well to lower our rents again, tho’ the
income tax is taken off.” His sentiments are re-echoed by companions belonging
to the same class as himself. A farmer and his starving family, however, come
forward. “No, no, masters,” he remonstrates; “I’ll not starve, but quit my native
country, where the poor are crushed by those they labour to support, and retire to
one more hospitable, and where threats of the rich do not interpose to defeat the
providence of God!” Behind the starving family is a warehouse absolutely
bursting with sacks of grain at 80s. “By gar!” says the foreign captain, “if they
won’t have [the wheat] at all, we must throw it overboard,” which they
accordingly are depicted as doing. The subject is followed up by a still more
slovenly affair by the artist himself, bearing the title of The Scale of Justice
Reversed, published by Fores on the 29th of March. An eighteenpenny loaf in
one scale is overmatched by the accumulated weight of taxes in the other. The
overbalanced scale in its descent knocks down and crushes John Bull under its
weight. “The bread,” he cries, “is out of my reach, and those cursed taxes will
break my back. That large one [’duty on manufactories,’ which the chancellor is
just putting into the scale] will do for me.” Beyond, a usurer and four large
landowners are seen rejoicing at the flight of the “Property Tax,” an alleviation
which is calculated to do no good to any one but themselves.

John Bull’s trials, however, were in reality just commencing. Napoleon returns
from Elba. Only seven months before he had held a grand “jubilee” in the parks, to
celebrate the return of peace, treating his little difficulty with the Americans as a
bagatelle not worth serious consideration. Four months before that celebration,
“his majesty the Emperor Napoleon” had formally “renounced for himself, his
successors, etc., all right of sovereignty and dominion, as well to the French
empire and the kingdom of Italy, as over every other country.” In return for this
concession, as if in absolute mockery, “the isle of Elba, adopted by his majesty
the Emperor ... as the place of his residence,” was formed during his life into a
separate principality, to “be possessed by him in full sovereignty and property,”
besides a certain annual revenue mentioned in the articles of treaty of the 18th of
April, 1814. Here the Regent and his very good friends the allied sovereigns had
been content to leave him, dreaming apparently, that the man whose military
genius had held Europe at defiance, was disposed of “for ever and a day;”
disregarding the feeble capacity of the Bourbon who succeeded him; the magic
influence wielded by the man who thought the world too small for his ambition
over a soldiery he had created and trained into perfection, and who regarded him
in the light of a demi-god.

On the 26th of February, 1815, Bonaparte embarked at Porto Ferrago on board
a brig, followed by four small vessels conveying about 1,000 men—French,
Poles, Corsicans, Neapolitans, and natives of Elba. On the 1st of March the
expedition anchored off the town of Cannes, in Provence, where these
heterogeneous forces were landed. The small and motley force of filibusters was
forthwith marched on Grenoble, which was reached on the 8th. The seventh
regiment of the line, under Colonel Labedoyère, had meanwhile joined the
adventurer; the rest of the garrison opened their gates, delivered their arsenal and
magazine, and thus placed him at the head of a body of regular troops with a
train of artillery. Only five short months afterwards, while the unfortunate
emperor was on his way to St. Helena, poor Labedoyère was shot on the plain of
Grenelle, for the “treason” of re-swearing fealty to the original master he had
loved so well.

On the 9th of March, Bonaparte appeared before Lyons, which he entered
without resistance. Once in possession of this important city, and hailed Emperor
by his beloved soldiery, Bonaparte assumed the “sovereignty and dominion”
which he had “renounced” for ever. “Frenchmen!” he said, after his sententious
but stirring manner, “there is no nation, however small it may be, which has not
had the right, and which may not withdraw itself from the disgrace of obeying a
prince imposed on it by an enemy momentarily victorious. When Charles VII. re-
entered Paris, and overthrew the ephemeral throne of Henry V., he acknowledged
that he held his throne from the valour of his heroes, and not from a Prince
Regent of England.”

Although the troops assembled around him were comparatively a handful,
Bonaparte had unquestionably obtained sufficient assurance of the general
disposition of the army in his favour. Preparations indeed had been made for
collecting a large body of troops at Melun for the immediate protection of Paris,
while another was posted at Fontainebleau, so as to place the adventurer as it
were between two fires. The greatest hopes were derived from the professed
loyalty to the Bourbon cause of Marshal Ney, who had spontaneously presented
himself at the Tuileries and proffered his services to the king. With the marshal,
12,000 or 15,000 men were posted at Lons-le-Saulnier, whence it was
understood that he would fall on the rear of Bonaparte. Instead of doing so, he
joined him at Auxerre with his whole division, which had already hoisted (under
his orders) the tri-coloured flag. This defection practically decided the contest;
and Bonaparte entered Paris on the evening of the 20th as a conqueror, received
everywhere by the military in triumph.

Meanwhile, on the 13th of March, the powers who had signed the Treaty of
Paris assembled in congress at Vienna, “being informed of the escape of
Napoleon Bonaparte, and of his entrance into France with an armed force,”
issued a formal declaration, in which they stated that, “by thus breaking the
convention which established him on the island of Elba, Bonaparte had
destroyed the only legal title on which his existence depended; ... deprived
himself of the protection of the law; and manifested to the universe that there

could be neither peace nor truce with him. The powers consequently declared
that he had placed himself without the pale of civil and social relations, and as an
enemy and disturber of the tranquility of the world, rendered himself liable to
public vengeance;” and, by a treaty concluded at Vienna on the 25th of March,
Great Britain, Austria, Russia, and Prussia bound themselves to maintain the
Treaty of Paris of 30th May, 1814, and for that purpose each was to keep
constantly in the field a force of 150,000 men, and not lay down their arms until
Bonaparte should have been rendered absolutely unable to create disturbance,
and “renew his attempts for possessing himself of the supreme power in France.”

The excitement which this portentous event occasioned amongst Reappearance of
Bonaparte. the nations of Europe is admirably realized by a caricature of George

Cruikshank’s, published by Fores on the 6th of April, and entitled, The Congress
Dissolved before the Cake was Cut up. Alexander, engaged in cutting up the cake
(i.e. Europe), and apportioning to each nationality a share of the whole, drops the
knife as Napoleon rushes in among them, with the tremendous cocked hat, huge
sword, and boots assigned to him on the authority of James Gillray. Crushing
under his feet the “Decrees of the Congress,” “An Account of the Deliverance of
Europe,” “A Plan for the Security of Europe,” and other documents of a similar
character, he shouts to the affrighted company, “Avast! ye bunglers; the cake you
have been these six months disputing about the cutting up, I will do in as many
hours.” Holland in his fright has dropped off his stool to the ground. “O Donner
and Blixen!” he exclaims, “my Hollands is all gone!” “I thought England had
promised to guard him,” says Saxony, alluding to the kind of naval supervision
of Elba by English armed cruisers, which appears to have been exercised, so far
as we can see, without any direct claim on our part to control the movements of
Bonaparte. “Hold him! seize him!” cries Austria. “Seize him! kill him!” re-
echoes Prussia.71 “Who’ll begin?—There’s the rub!” is the sensible observation
of Sweden. “Oh dear! oh dear!” groans his holiness the Pope, crowned with a
composite hat, the crown of which is composed of his mitre; “what will become
of me?” The only one who says nothing, but seems prepared to act with
determination and promptitude, is the representative of England, who is shown in
the act of drawing his sword.

Napoleon (we need not say) did not exactly act as the caricaturist describes: he
endeavoured to re-establish relations with the foreign powers. On the 14th of
April, however, Coulaincourt, the minister of foreign affairs, published his report
to the emperor, giving an account of the result of the applications which had
been made to foreign courts. From this it appeared that while no communication
was permitted with the actual government of France, all the allied powers were
diligently making preparation for war. “In all parts of Europe at once,” said the
minister, “they are arming, or marching, or ready to march.” The powers, of
course, were acting strictly within the terms of their expressed declaration to
make “neither peace nor truce with Bonaparte.” The emperor’s practical reply to
this declaration was made in the Champ de Mars on the 1st of June. Descending
from his throne, he distributed the imperial eagles to the troops of the line and
the national guards as they marched past, and swore to defend them at the hazard
of their lives, and to suffer no foreigners to dictate laws to their country. All this
time reinforcements were being despatched from England without intermission,
and the Duke of Wellington had arrived to take command of the troops, native
and foreign, in Belgium. There was nothing left for Napoleon except to fight. In
the latter end of May, the headquarters of the French army of the north was
established at Avesnes, in French Flanders; while, in the apprehension of an
invasion by the allied armies on that part, Laon and the Castle of Guise were put
in a defensive condition. On the 12th of June Bonaparte left Paris, accompanied
by Marshal Bertrand and General Drouet, and proceeded to Laon.

At this point we meet with a piece of George Cruikshank’s handiwork which
is curious as indicative of the spirit which pervaded England at this momentous
period. I am not at present in a position to refer to a newspaper of the period; but
it would appear from the sketch referred to that, on or about the very day that
Napoleon left Paris to join the splendid army which six days afterwards was so
disastrously routed at Waterloo, a city fête was held at the Mansion House, at
which that eccentric and sturdy nationalist, Sir William Curtis, whose face and
figure were a fortune to the caricaturists of the period, covered the floor of the
Mansion House Tri-coloured “Eagles.” with the tri-coloured eagles captured from
the French in Peninsular battle-fields, while the banners of England domineered

from the walls above. The exceedingly rare sketch which illustrates this incident
is labelled appropriately by the artist, Opening of Sir William Curtis’s Campaign
against the French Colours.

Six days afterwards, the star of Napoleon Bonaparte had set for ever in the
lurid and ensanguined battle clouds of Waterloo. Scarcely one month later on—
that is to say, on the 15th of July, 1815—he had surrendered to Captain Maitland,
of his majesty’s ship Bellerophon, under circumstances which, while they reflect
no discredit on the honour of that gallant officer, seem to us, so far as England
was herself concerned, scarcely to have justified her subsequent treatment of the
great but unfortunate emperor. With this, however, we have nothing to do. The
Bellerophon on the evening of the 23rd, brought the distinguished exile within
sight of the coast of England, a circumstance to which a subsequent caricature
(etched by the artist) has reference. On the 6th of September was published by
Fores, Boney’s Threatened Invasion brought to bear, or Taking a View of the
English Coast from ye Poop of the Bellerophon. The little emperor, confined to
the mast by a chain fastened to his leg, leaps on the breech of one of the
Bellerophon’s guns, spy-glass in hand. “By gar, mon Empereur,” says Count
Bertrand, “dey have erect von prospect for you.” The “prospect” is far from
encouraging—a fort with the English flag flying from the central tower, and a
gibbet erected in front of it. No wonder that the emperor expresses himself
dissatisfied with a “prospect” of so lugubrious a character. An English sailor
seated on a neighbouring gun, delivers the sentiments of the day after the plain-
spoken fashion of his countrymen. This design, which is by no means in the
artist’s usual style, was etched by him from the design of some one whose name
or initials are not recorded.

The actual circumstance to which the foregoing sketch refers is related to us
by the commander of the Bellerophon:—

“At daybreak on the 24th of July, we were close off Dartmouth. Count
Bertrand went into the cabin and informed Bonaparte of it, who came upon deck
about half-past four, and remained on the poop until the ship anchored in Torbay.
He talked with admiration of the coast, saying, ‘You have in that respect a great

advantage over France, which is surrounded by rocks and dangers.’ On opening
Torbay, he was much struck with the beauty of the scenery, and exclaimed,
‘What a beautiful country! It very, very much resembles the bay of Porto
Ferrago, in Elba.’”72

The same year, and on the same subject, the artist gives us Boney’s
Meditations on the Island of St. Helena, or the Devil addressing the Sun, in
which the idea is manifestly borrowed from a design by James Gillray; The
Corsican’s Last Trip under the Guidance of his Good Angel [the devil]; The
Genius of France Expounding her Laws to the Sublime People; and a very
admirable and original design, The Pedigree of Corporal Violet; all of which are
etched from the designs of other artists.

Hardly was Napoleon despatched to the island prison which was so shortly to
prove his grave, and replaced by the unwieldly Louis, than the latter came in for
his full share of satire. In another of George Cruikshank’s caricatures of the same
year, he shows us The Royal Laundress [Louis the Eighteenth] Washing Boney’s
Court Dresses, Napoleon watching the process the while from St. Helena. “Ha,
ha!” he laughs, “such an old woman as you might rub a long while before they’ll
be all white, for they are tri-coloured in grain.” Another shows us fat Louis
climbing the mât de cocagne (soaped pole) and clutching the crown of France;
he clambers up on the shoulders of Austria, Russia, and Prussia, his immediate
supporter being England. Napoleon watches his progress from across the sea; “I
climbed up,” he says, “twice, without any help.” Other subjects of the year are:
Friends in Need, and John’s Dream, or the Prince and Old England for Ever!

The repugnance of the Regent to the economical measures which 1816.
Aversion of the Regent to retrenchment. were forced upon the ministry in 1816 is well-

known. The people complained with every just reason of the pressure of taxes,
which were levied, as they said, upon the industrious, to be squandered in
extravagant salaries, sinecures, and unmerited pensions. They complained of the
large standing army, which the Regent insisted to be necessary for the
maintenance of “our position and high character among the European powers.”
The prince’s aversion to the popular cry for retrenchment and reform is shown by

one of George’s caricatures entitled, Sick of the Property Tax, or Ministerial
Influenza, published by Fores on the 8th of March, 1816, where we see the
ministers vomiting into a huge receptacle labelled “Budget,” the matter voided
consisting of “Standing armies,” “Property tax,” “Increase of salaries,” and so
on. The gouty, self-indulgent prince hobbles up to his ministers on a pair of
crutches marked respectively, “More economy” and “Increase of income.” Under
his arms he carries bundles of accounts, most of which relate to his own private
expenditure, and are labelled, “Expenses of [Brighton] Pavilion,” of “Furniture,”
“Drinking expenses.” “Aye, this comes,” he exclaims, “of your cursed pill
economy, which you forced me to take a month back; no one knows what I have
suffered from this economical spasm. I am afraid we shall all be laid up
together.” On the table behind him lie the medicines which have been prescribed
for him, certain pills labelled “Petitions against the property tax,” and a huge
bolus ticketed “economy,” “to be taken immediately.” On the same subject a
month later on is a sketch by an amateur, etched by the artist, bearing the title of
Economical Humbug of 1816, or Saving at the Spiggot and Letting Out at the
Bunghole. From a series of small vats, “Assessed taxes,” “Property tax,”
“Customs,” “Excise,” and other streams of “supply,” are pouring into a huge vat
labelled “The Treasury of J. Bull’s Vital Spirits.” Vansittart, Chancellor of the
Exchequer, is carefully drawing off what he requires into a small bucket for the
“Public Service.” “You see,” he says to Mr. Bull, who looks admiringly on, “I
am not a quibbling pettifogger, I am a man of my word; for you see I have
thrown away the great war spiggot, and have substituted a small peace one in its
stead, which will cause an unknown saving to you.” This is all very well; but the
gouty Regent has also tapped the vat on the other side, and draws off the supplies
in a copious stream into a receptacle labelled, “Deficiencies of the Civil List.”
His friends and boon companions are bringing up a fresh supply of empty vessels
to be filled in their turn; one carries a barrel marked, “For household troops and
standing army”; another is labelled, “Sinecures, places, and pensions”; a third,
“For cottages and pavilions”; and a fourth, “£60,000 for fun.” “Come, my
friends,” says the prince, “make haste and fill your buckets, whilst Van is
keeping noisy Johnny quiet with fine speeches and promises of economy, which

I am determined not to practise as long as I can get anything to expend; and
while he is saving at the spiggot, we will have it out of the bunghole.”73

Preparing for the Match, or the 2nd of May, 1816, has reference to the
marriage of the Princess Charlotte of Wales, who, as we have already seen, was
on that day united to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg. It had been preceded by a
well-designed but most indelicate satire, labelled Royal Nuptials, published by J.
Johnstone on the 1st of April, in which the prince is seen landing on our shores in
a state of destitution, with a pitiable lack of certain necessary articles of clothing,
which are being handed to him by John Bull in the guise of a countryman. The
dramatis personæ are seven in number: Prince Leopold, John Bull, the
Chancellor of the Exchequer, the gouty Regent, the Princess Charlotte, old
Queen Charlotte, with her snuff-box, and, behind her, an old woman intended, I
believe, for the poor old king himself. The same year we find two other
indelicate subjects: A Bazaar, a skit upon the immorality and costume of the
period, comprising thirty figures; and another, in allusion to the marriage of the
Princess Mary with her cousin, the Duke of Gloucester, on the 22nd of July,
1816. To those who have asserted that George Cruikshank “never pandered to
sensuality ... or raised a laugh at the expense of decency,” that “satire in his
hands never degenerated into savagery or scurrility,” I would commend the
serious consideration of the three satires I have last named.

At the time Egypt was in the power of the French, during the The Elgin Marbles.
early part of the century, Lord Elgin had quitted England upon a mission to the
Ottoman Porte. A great change has taken place in the attitude and bearing of the
Turks towards other European nations during the last half century; but even at
this time the contempt and dislike which had characterized them in their
behaviour towards every denomination of Christians still prevailed in full force.
The success, however, of the British arms in Egypt, and the expected restitution
of that province to the Porte, seem to have wrought a wonderful and
instantaneous change in the disposition of that power and its people towards
ourselves;74 and Lord Elgin, availing himself of these favourable circumstances,
obtained in the summer of 1801, access to the Acropolis of Athens for general

purposes, with a concession to “make excavations and to take away any stones
that might appear interesting to himself.” The result (shortly stated) was the
excavation of the once celebrated “Elgin marbles,” about which, if we are to
credit the report from which we glean this information, his lordship would seem
to have expended (including the interest of capital) some £74,000. The
committee recommend the House, under these circumstances, coupled with the
valuations which they had obtained from competent authorities, that £35,000 was
“a reasonable and sufficient price to be paid for the collection,” and their
purchase appears to have been completed on the basis of these figures, a fact
which forms the subject of the artist’s undated and admirable satire of John Bull
Buying Stones at the Time his Numerous Family Want Bread.

Unsigned, and under date of 25th of November, 1816, I find a caricature
published by Fores, which seems to me due to the hand of George Cruikshank. It
is entitled, The Nightmayor, “painted by Fuzeley,” and represents a debased
woman in the stertorous sleep of drunkenness, whose muddled dream-thoughts
revert to the experiences with which her evil habits have made her so frequently
familiar. The gin drinker has been brought before the Lord Mayor any number of
times for being “drunk and disorderly,” and accordingly her nightmare assumes
the form of the city official, who sits upon the body clothed in his robes and
invested with the insignia of his office. Appended to the satire are the following
lines:—

“The night mayor flitting through the evening fogs,
Traverses alleys, streets, courts, lanes, and bogs,
Seeking some love-bewilder’d maid by gin oppress’d,
Alights—and sits upon her downy breast.”

The only other caricature of George I have to notice under date of 1816 is
entitled, State Physicians Bleeding John Bull to Death. (*)

In our third chapter we referred to the distress which prevailed 1817. amongst
the industrial classes during the two years which followed the fall of

Bonaparte.75 We meet with an exceedingly rare pictorial satire by George
Cruikshank, which relates to this state of things; it bears the title of, John Bull
Brought up for a Discharge, but Remanded on Account of Extravagance and
False Schedule, and was published by Fores on the 29th of March, 1817. John
Bull, a bankrupt, is being publicly examined as to the causes of his failure:
“Being desired by the court to give some explanation [on the subject of the
prodigious difference between his debts and his assets], he said that he had been
persuaded originally to join with some of the parishioners in indicting his
neighbour, Mr. Frog, for keeping a disorderly house; that they had engaged to
bear their part of the expenses, but had all sneaked off one by one, and left him
to pay the whole, and carry on the proceedings. It had at last, after being moved
from one court to another, become a suit in Chancery; and he had been advised
by the gentleman whom he had always consulted on these matters, and who was
now dead, to go on and persevere, for that he would be sure to get a final decree
in his favour, and all the costs. He had at last, in fact, got a decree in his favour,
about two years since, before Lord Chancellor Wellington, and for the costs; but
not a farthing had ever been paid, nor was it likely to be; on the contrary, Mr.
Frog had surrendered himself, and gone to prison, where he was now living at
this moment, at his [Mr. Bull’s] expense. Besides, the house in question was now
opened again under a new license, granted by the magistrates of the district ... or
rather, a renewal of the old one, in favour of the brother of the person who had
kept it formerly, ... and the new landlord had taken down the late sign of the Bee
Hive, and put up the old one of the Fleur-de-lis; but it was nearly as disorderly as
ever, and the magistrates were obliged to keep up a great number of special
constables to preserve the peace of the neighbourhood.”76

John Bull, in his best blue coat and white waistcoat, and suffering under an
attack of gout is going through the ordeal of his public examination before the
judge. In front of this functionary is the bankrupt’s schedule, on which we read
the following items:—

“Amount of Income £24,000,000
Expenditure 80,000,000

Dr. Nick Frog 10,000,000
Paul Bruin 1,000,000
Frank Force-child 8,000,000
Will Eagle Eye 6,000,000
Ferd. Faithless 30,000,000.”

In the body of the court, and separated from the commissioner by a wooden
enclosure, the upper edge of which is lined with bayonets pointing inwards, are a
number of the bankrupt’s wretched creditors, whom Death, clothed in a red coat
and armed with a mace, vainly strives to keep quiet. “Ck. fect.” in such faint
letters that they might easily escape detection, is appended to this remarkable
composition.

In our third chapter we also referred to the serious disturbances which
followed and were the consequences of the public discontents of 1817, and the
fact that the names of four informers, Castle, Oliver, Edwards, and Franklin were
identified with those of the chief fomenters of sedition in the metropolis and the
northern counties.77 In further illustration of the satires in which these fellows
put in an appearance, we have one by George Cruikshank (published by Fores on
the 1st of July), and labelled, Conspirators, or Delegates in Council. We may
here mention that on the 9th of June, one Watson, a surgeon, was tried for high
treason at Westminster Hall, and acquitted on the 16th, whereupon the Attorney
General abandoned the prosecution against Thistlewood, Preston, and Hooper,
who were also indicted under a like charge. All the accused were in indigent or
humble circumstances, and the chief witness against them appears to have been
Castle. Among the five persons sitting round the table, we recognise Castle
(whose villainous face is turned towards us) and Oliver. The others we cannot
identify. The aristocratic looking gentleman receiving them so blandly is my
Lord Castlereagh. “Don’t you think, my lord,” says the person next him, “Don’t
you think that our friends Castle and Oliver should be sent to Lisbon or
somewhere, as consul-generals or envoys?” “Can’t you,” says his lordship to the
beetle-browed ruffians by way of rejoinder, “Can’t you negotiate for some
boroughs?” John Bull, looking through the window at these negotiations, with

much indignation, and recognising in these fellows the rascals by whom he has
been “ensnared into [committing] criminal acts,” hints in very plain terms that
the conduct pursued by such men was the high road to political favour in 1817.
Among the papers on the table we notice a “Plan for the attack on the Regent’s
carriage;”78 a bundle of “treasonable papers to be slipped into the pockets of
some duped artisans;” another, indicating the “means to be taken to implicate Sir
Francis Burdett, Lord Cochrane,” and other popular agitators of that day; “A list
of victims in Ireland,” and so on. On the floor at his lordship’s feet lie some of
the tri-coloured flags unfurled at the Spafields meeting; the obvious inference
intended to be conveyed being of course that the Government were really at the
bottom of the popular disturbances.

R-y-l Condescension, or a Foreign Minister Astonished, published by Fores on
the 15th of September, 1817, is one of George Cruikshank’s most finished but at
the same time indelicate compositions. It refers to the rumours affecting the
Princess Caroline’s reputation which preceded the “bill of pains and penalties,”
to which we have already alluded. It appears to us to have originated out of the
following circumstance. It was asserted that at a masked ball which the princess
had given shortly after she left England to the then King of Naples, Joachim
Murat, she appeared in three different disguises; that in one of these, “The
Genius of History,” she had appeared in so unclothed a state as to call for
particular observation; her third disguise was a Turkish costume. It was further
asserted that in her changes of dress she had been assisted, not by her female
attendants, but by the person with whom her name was so familiarly associated.
In the sketch before us, Her Royal Highness’s corpulent and redundant figure is
clothed in a tight-fitting Turkish dress and trousers, her head being covered by a
ponderous turban. The five figures composing her “suite” are the Courier
Bartolomeo Bergami, his brothers Louis and Vollotti Bergami, his sister, and
William Austin, the youth she had adopted,79 and who, it was proved, slept in her
bed-chamber. The whole are decorated with the crosses and ribbons of the absurd
order which she was said to have instituted. The courtly, well dressed foreign
gentleman to whom she is introducing these vulgar persons appears to be
intended for Metternich, who, while thanking Her Royal Highness for her

“condescension,” looks the very picture of unfeigned but well-bred
astonishment.

In the evening of the 18th of November, 1817, a mournful procession, Death of
Princess Charlotte. at which all the great officers of state attended, quitted
Claremont House en route for Windsor. At the impressive ceremony which
followed, Garter King at Arms proclaimed its melancholy purport in the
following words: “Thus it has pleased Almighty God to take out of this transitory
life, unto His Divine mercy, the late most illustrious Princess Charlotte Augusta,
daughter of His Royal Highness, George, Prince of Wales, Regent of the United
Kingdom.” It was even so. The pride and hope of the nation, the heiress of the
crown, was on the 6th of November delivered of a still-born child, and within a
very few hours afterwards had succumbed to the unlooked-for and fatal
exhaustion which followed. The grief which this occasioned was so universal
that every one seemed to realize the fact that he or she had sustained an
individual loss; scarcely perhaps in English history had the death of a member of
a royal family been more sincerely and truly regretted. The mournful event is
referred to by the artist in a more than usually touching sketch, entitled,
England’s Hope Departing. Among the medical attendants of Her Royal
Highness who followed her to the grave, was the accoucheur, Sir Richard Croft,
Bart. This distinguished gentleman was so deeply affected with the unlooked-for
result, that his mind refused to recover its tone, and within a month afterwards he
committed self-destruction.

Other pictorial satires of George Cruikshank, bearing the date of 1817, are:
Fashionables of 1817, two figures—a male and female—outrageously
caricatured, a rough affair, altogether differing from his usual style; the well-
known double entendre, A View of the Regent’s Bomb, which, with our
knowledge of his sensitiveness on the subject of his personal appearance, must
have given the exalted personage thus outrageously satirized the greatest
possible mortification; The Spa Fields Orator Hunting for Popularity to do
Good, (*) a punning satire on “Orator” Hunt; A Patriot Luminary Extinguishing
Noxious Gas (etched from the design of another artist); and two admirable

designs bearing the titles of Vis-à-Vis and Les Graces. The same year we meet
with one of the earliest of his alliterative satires, afterwards so frequently to be
seen among the famous illustrations to the “Comic Almanack”: La Belle
Assemblée, or Sketches of Characteristic Dancing, miscellaneous groups,
comprising in all thirty figures (exclusive of the orchestra), engaged in a country
dance, a Scotch reel, an Irish jig, a minuet, the German waltz, a French quadrille,
the Spanish bolero, and a ballet “Italienne.” The walls are hung with pictures of
dancing dogs, a dancing bear, a dancing horse, rope dancing, the dance of St.
Vitus, and “Dancing Mad.” Besides this, we find the same year two large sheets
showing the Striking Effects produced by Lines and Dots, for the Assistance of
every Draughtsman, suggested by, but a very vast improvement on, G. M.
Woodward’s Multum in Parvo, or Liliputian Sketches, showing what may be
done by Lines and Dots.

A report of the House of Commons, showing how four million 1818.
Adulteration of Tea. pounds weight of sloe, liquorice, and ash-tree leaves were

annually mixed with Chinese teas in England, was supplemented by a trial in the
Court of Exchequer, in which a grocer named Palmer was fined in £840
penalties, for the fabrication of spurious tea. It appeared that there was a regular
manufactory of imitation tea in Goldstone Street, which was composed of thorn
leaves, which, after passing through a peculiar process, were coloured with
logwood; the same leaves, after being pressed and dried, were laid upon sheets of
copper, coloured with verdigris and Dutch pink, and sold as green tea. These
revelations led, in 1818, to the artist’s admirable caricature of The T Trade in
Hot-water, or a Pretty Kettle of Fish: dedicated to J. Canister and T. Spoon,
Esquires. Besides these, we have the same year: An Interesting Scene on Board
an East Indian, a very coarse but admirable performance; Introduction to the
Gout (a fiend dropping a hot coal on the toe of a bon vivant); A Fine Lady, or the
Incomparable, in which it appears to us that Robert had a hand; Les Savoyards
and Le Palais Royal de Paris; Comparative Anatomy, or the Dandy Trio; and
The Art of Walking the Streets of London, eight subjects, etched by the artist after
the design of George Moutard Woodward.

Designed, Etched and Published by George Cruikshank.] [November 1st, 1829.
“A SCENE IN KENSINGTON GARDENS, OR FASHIONS AND FRIGHTS OF 1829.”
[Face p. 152.

On the 4th of December, 1818, the number of convicts lying under sentence of
death in his Majesty’s gaol of Newgate, amounted to no less than sixty, of whom
ten were females; probably not three of these unfortunate beings would have
been hung now-a-days. Under the Draconian laws, however, then in force,
people were hung in scores for passing forged one-pound Bank of England notes;
and this barbarous state of things, disgraceful to a Christian country, led to the
famous and telling satire of the Bank Restriction Note, one of the very few which
seem to have escaped oblivion, and which, having been repeated and reproduced

in all the latest essays which have been written on him, calls for no extra
description from ourselves. It is said to have had the effect desired, and that “no
man or woman was ever hanged after this for passing forged one-pound Bank of
England notes.”

In 1819 we have one of George Cruikshank’s severe and telling 1819. attacks
upon the Prince Regent, in Sales by Auction, or Provident Children disposing of
their Deceased Mother’s Effects for the Benefit of the Creditors (*), in which he
shows us the prince knocking down (in his character of auctioneer) his dead
mother’s old hats, gowns, and clothing, and begging the bystanders to bid
liberally. At the foot of the rostrum lie sundry snuff-boxes and pots, labelled
“Queen’s Mixture” and “Prince’s Mixture” (in allusion to the old queen’s habits),
“Strasburg” (in reference to her German tastes and nationality), together with her
old china tea-set.

This year is remarkable for producing perhaps the most ambitious and
admirable allegory which the artist ever designed; it bears the title of Old Thirty-
nine Shaking Hands with his Good Brother the Pope of Italy, or Covering Up
versus Sealing the Bible. Old Thirty-nine (an English bishop) stands on a pile of
volumes labelled, “Never-out-ism,” “Ante-biblism,” “Never-the-same-ism,” etc.,
whilst the pope, standing on the opposite side on a mass of books bearing similar
suggestive titles, shakes hands with his “good brother.” By the pope’s side we
find the devil busily engaged in sealing up the Bible. Behind him stands the
Temple of Mammon, surrounded by a crowd of reverend worshippers. Two
fiends standing by the side of “Old Thirty-nine” make preparations for a bonfire,
to which sundry bundles labelled, “Articles of Faith,” “Athanasian Creed,”
“Catechism,” “Liturgies,” “Nicene Creed,” and so on, will contribute materials.
Out of a building in the rear, inscribed, “National School for Thirty-niners only,”
issues a procession of ecclesiastics and beadles carrying banners. In the
foreground stands the figure of “Divine Truth,” surrounded by little children, and
perusing the pages of the “Holy Bible,” held for that purpose by an angel. A
roughly executed affair in two compartments, Preachee and Floggee Too,
satirizes certain clerical magistrates who, while preaching mercy and forgiveness

in the pulpit, distinguish themselves by the severity of their sentences for minor
offences on the magisterial bench. The titles of other subjects of the year are: The
Hobby Horse Dealer; Johnny Bull and his Forged Notes, or Rags and Ruin in
the Paper Currency; Smoke Jack, the Alarmist, Extinguishing the Second Great
Fire of London; Love, Law, and Physic (*); The Sailor’s Progress (six subjects);
Dandies in France, or Le Restorateur (*); A Match for the King’s Plate; The
Belle Alliance, or the Female Reformers of Blackburn (*); Voila t’on mort; and
Royal Red Bengal Tiger (etched from the designs of other artists); Irish Decency
(two caricatures); Giant Grumbo and the Black Dwarf, or Lord G—— and the
Printers Devil; and Our Tough old Ship Steered Safely into Harbour maugre
Sharks of the Day (*).

An unsigned caricature, published by Fores on the 15th of May, 1819, appears
to me to be due to the hand of George Cruikshank. It bears the title of The Dandy
Tailor Planning a New Hungry Dress, and would appear to have reference to
some contemplated introduction of foreign mercenaries into the English service.
The tailor, while stitching a military jacket, sings a song of which the following
is a verse,—

“A tailor there was, and he lived in a stall,
Which served him for palace, for kitchen, and hall.
No coin in his pocket, no nous in his pate,
No ambition has he, nor no wish to be great.
Derry down, down, down, derry down!”

A foreigner enters in military costume, introducing two foreign mercenaries.
“Dese men,” he says, “will teach you de proper vay to make de Hungarian
soldats. I did bring dem expres’. Observe des grands mustaches. No more
English soldats.” A military figure in jack boots, standing by the side of the
tailor, holds the “goose” in readiness for his master’s use. The Prince Regent,
especially as George the Fourth, was fond of inventing new military costumes,
and Mr. Greville describes him in 1829 (the year before his death) as “employed
in devising a new dress for the guards;” but by the mitre at his back, and the

reference to his impecunious position, I should take this “tailor” to be intended
for the Duke of York.

Ah! sure such a pair was never seen, so justly formed to meet by nature!1820.
(*) represents a couple of pears, in which we recognise likenesses of George the
Fourth and Queen Caroline, the features of the king being expressive of strong
disgust. After Lord Liverpool had decided not to send the “Bill of Pains and
Penalties” to the Commons, for the reason stated in a previous chapter, the Lord
Mayor, Aldermen, and Common Council of the City of London distinguished
themselves by presenting, on the 10th of December, an address to their “most
gracious sovereign,” complaining of things in general, and of public expenditure
in particular, the real cause of complaint, however, being “the alleged
criminality” which, as the petitioners stated, had been “falsely ascribed” to the
queen. This address, which was conceived in the worst possible taste, concluded
with the following outrageous prayer: “We therefore humbly pray your Majesty
to dismiss from your presence and councils for ever those ministers whose
pernicious measures have so long endangered the throne, undermined the
constitution, and blighted the prosperity of the nation.” Now, only fancy any
Corporation of London in our time signalizing itself by presenting a petition to
“Her Most Gracious Majesty,” complaining of the measures of Lord
Beaconsfield or Mr. Gladstone, and praying her to dismiss them from her
councils! The king returned the following answer: “It has been with the most
painful feelings that I have heard the sentiments contained in the address and
petition now presented to me by the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Common
Council of the City of London. Whatever may be the motives of those by whom
it is brought forward, its evident tendency is to inflame the passions and mislead
the judgment of the unwary and less enlightened part of my subjects, and thus to
aggravate all the difficulties with which we have to contend.” This episode
suggested to George one of the most admirable of his caricatures: A Scene in the
New Farce as performed at the Royalty Theatre. The corpulent monarch, in the
character and costume of Henry the Eighth, is receiving a number of deputations
from all parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland, bearing petitions praying him to
dismiss his ministry, the members of which stand on each side of the throne, one

of the number being habited as a jester. This exceedingly rare plate carries on it
the following explanation: “King Henry VIII. being petitioned to dismiss his
ministers and council by the citizens of London and many boroughs, to relieve
his oppressed subjects, made the citizens this sagacious reply: ‘We, with all our
cabinet, think it strange that ye who be but brutes and inexpert folk, should tell
us who be and who be not fit for our council.’”

Another of George Cruikshank’s rare and valuable contributions 1821. to the
Queen Caroline series of pictorial satires is labelled The Royal Rushlight, which
many people (among them the Chancellor and corpulent George) are vainly
endeavouring to blow out. By way (it may be) of contrast, this excellent satire
has appended to it the following miserable doggerel,—

“Cook, coachee, men and maids, very nearly all in buff,
Came and swore in their lives they never met with such a light;
And each of the family by turns had a puff
At the little farthing rushlight.
But none of the family could blow out the rushlight.”

With the year 1821 came the closing scene in the drama of Death of Queen
Caroline. Caroline’s unhappy but singularly undignified career. On the occasion of

the king’s coronation she had applied to Lord Liverpool, desiring to be informed
what arrangements had been made for her convenience, and who were appointed
her attendants at the approaching ceremony. An answer was returned that, “it was
a right of the Crown to give or withhold the order for her Majesty’s coronation,
and that his Majesty would be advised not to give any directions for her
participation in the arrangements;” but with the obstinacy of purpose which was
so fatal a blemish in her character, and which seems to have been the primary
cause of all her misfortunes, she insisted on her right, and declared moreover her
firm intention of attending the ceremony. A respectful but peremptory reply was
returned, reasserting the legal prerogative of the Crown, and announcing that the
former intimation must be understood as amounting to a prohibition of her
attendance. She was however so ill-advised as to present herself early on the

morning of the day (the 19th of July) at the doors of the Abbey of Westminster.
The door-keepers refused to allow her to enter as queen; and she was forced to
submit to the mortification of having to retire without having succeeded (as it
was her evident intention to have done) in marring the arrangements for the
splendid ceremony. By this time the enthusiasm in her favour had greatly
evaporated, and she was received even coldly by her friends the assembled mob.
The mortification proved fatal to her; very shortly afterwards she was taken ill,
and died in less than three weeks after the unnecessary mortification to which
she had thus insisted on exposing herself.

It is probable that if the wishes of her executors had been allowed to be carried
out, the unfortunate woman would have been carried to her grave in peace. She
had directed that her remains should, three days after her death, be carried to
Brunswick for interment; and had Lord Liverpool been wise, he would have left
the executors to carry out the arrangements after their own fashion.
Unfortunately, the Government decided to take the arrangements into their own
hands, and to lay down the route (the shortest) by which the mournful procession
should proceed to Harwich. No fault can be found with the arrangements
themselves, which were intended to pay the greatest respect to the memory of the
deceased; but the cautions they took brought about the very result they were
anxious to avoid, and at once revived all the slumbering sympathies of the mob
in favour of the unhappy queen. A squabble took place at the outset, Dr.
Lushington, as one of the executors, protesting against the removal of the corpse;
but, escorted by squadrons of Horse-guards Blue, the procession left
Brandenburg House at eight o’clock in the morning of the 15th of August, in a
drizzling rain. The cavalcade reached Kensington in solemn order; but on
arriving at the Gravel Pits, and attempting to turn off to the left, its progress was
instantly blocked by wagons and carts placed across the road, while a body of
men formed across the streets twenty deep and evinced every disposition to
dispute the passage. A severe conflict took place between them and the
constables, several on both sides being hurt. For an hour and a half the
procession waited for orders, and at length it moved towards London. On
reaching Kensington Gore a squadron of the Life Guards, with a magistrate at

their head, tried in vain to open the park gates, the crowd vociferating in the
meantime, “To the city! the city!” On reaching Hyde Park Corner, the gate there
was found barricaded with carts, and the procession then moved on to Park Lane,
which being also blocked up, it turned back hastily and entered Hyde Park,
through which it proceeded at a trot, the soldiers having cleared away the
obstacles at the gate. On reaching Cumberland Gate, it was found closed by the
populace, and in the conflict which ensued the park wall was thrown down by
the pressure of the crowd, who hurled the stones at the soldiers, in return for the
use the latter had made of their sabres in clearing the passage. Many of the
military and their horses were hurt; and some of the soldiers, irritated by their
rough usage, resorted to their pistols and carbines, and two persons (Richard
Honey, a carpenter, and George Francis, a bricklayer) were unfortunately killed,
and others wounded. The Edgeware Road was blockaded, but quickly cleared,
and the procession moved on till it arrived at the turnpike gate near the top of
Tottenham Court Road. There the mob made so determined a stand that further
opposition was deemed unadvisable, and the popular will being at length
acceded to, the cavalcade forthwith took its way into the city. Every street
through which a turn could have been made in order to enter the New Road or
the City Road was found barricaded. As the funeral passed through the city, the
Oxford Blues doing duty there, who had not participated in the outrage, were
cordially greeted by the populace on either side of the street. The inquests on the
bodies of the dead men lasted for a considerable period. In the case of Francis, a
verdict of “wilful murder against a life guardsman unknown” was returned;
whilst in that of Honey, the verdict was manslaughter against the officers and
men of the first regiment of Life Guards on duty at the time. This event is
recorded by George in a caricature entitled, The Manslaughter Men, or a Horse
Laugh at the Law of the Land,—two ghostly gory figures rising from their
graves, which are respectively inscribed, “Verdict, wilful murder,” and “Verdict,
manslaughter”; a group of life guardsmen grin and point at the body, and one of
them jeeringly remarks, “Shake not thy bloody locks at me; ye cannot say who
did it.” Another satire on the same subject bears the title of The Horse
Chancellor obtaining a Verdict, or Killing no Murder.

Other subjects of this year are the following: And when Ahitophel saw that his
Counsel was not followed, he Saddled his Ass, and arose and went and Hanged
himself; O! O! there’s a Minister of the Gospel; The Royal Extinguisher, or the
King of Brobdingnag and the Liliputians (etched after the design of Isaac
Robert). Six subjects, La Diligence and La Doriane, Venus de Medici and Mer de
Glace, Visit to Vesuvius and Forum Boarium, and Nosing the Nob at Ramsgate, a
coarsely executed satire aimed at his Majesty and his eccentric subject,
Alderman Sir William Curtis.

Sir William Curtis, alderman, trader, and formerly member for the 1822.
Sir William Curtis. city, is one of the most prominent figures in the satires of his

time. Making every allowance for caricature drawing, the likeness must have
been on the whole a faithful though an exaggerated one; for in all the numerous
comical sketches in which he makes an appearance, we never fail to recognise
his ruby nose and ponderous figure. We have already seen him figuring by way
of ludicrous contrast with Claude Ambroise Seurat, the “living skeleton,” and we
shall now find him associated by the caricaturists with no less a person than the
king himself. When his majesty, in 1822, paid his visit to Scotland, and by way
of compliment to the country and her traditions assumed the “garb of old Gael,”
Alderman Sir William Curtis, who followed his sovereign at a respectful
distance, out of compliment to the country, her traditions, “his most gracious
majesty,” and himself, put his own corpulent form into fancy costume, and
likewise donned the Highland garb. The absurdly ludicrous result is told us by
Lockhart. “The king at his first levee diverted many, and delighted Scott by
appearing in the full Highland garb—the same brilliant Stewart tartans, so-
called, in which certainly no Stewart, except Prince Charles, had ever before
presented himself in the saloons of Holyrood. His majesty’s Celtic toilette had
been carefully watched and assisted by the gallant Laird of Garth, who was not a
little proud of the result of his dexterous manipulations of the rough plaid, and
pronounced the king ‘a vara pretty man.’ And he did look a most stately and
imposing person in that beautiful dress; but his satisfaction therein was cruelly
disturbed when he discovered, towering and blazing among and above the
genuine Glengarries and Macleods and MacGregors, a figure even more portly

than his own, equipped from a sudden impulse of loyal ardour in an equally
complete set of the self-same conspicuous Stewart tartans:—

’He caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt—
While throng’d the chiefs of every Highland clan
To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman.’80

In truth this portentous apparition cast an air of ridicule and caricature over the
whole of Sir Walter’s celtified pageantry. A sharp little bailie from Aberdeen,
who had previously made acquaintance with the worthy Guildhall baronet, and
tasted the turtle soup of his voluptuous yacht, tortured him as he sailed down the
long gallery of Holyrood, by suggesting that after all his costume was not quite
perfect. Sir William, who had been rigged out, as the auctioneer’s advertisements
say, ‘regardless of expense,’ exclaimed that he must be mistaken, begged he
would explain his criticism, and, as he spoke, threw a glance of admiration on his
skene dhu (black knife), which, like a true ‘warrior and hunter of deer,’ he wore
stuck into one of his garters. ‘Oo ay! Oo ay!’ quoth the Aberdonian; ‘the knife’s
a’ right, mon—but faar’s your speen?’ (where’s your spoon?) Such was Scott’s
story; but whether he ‘gave it a cocked hat and walking cane,’ in the hope of
restoring the king’s good humour, so grievously shaken by this heroical doppel
ganger, it is not very necessary to inquire.”81

Which indeed of the absurd pair looked the most ridiculous it would be hard to
say: a great-grandson of George the Second in the Highland garb of “Bonnie
Prince Charlie,” was perhaps as absurd an anachronism as a fat cockney
alderman in the same fancy costume. Our friends the caricaturists were fully
alive to these puerilities. An anonymous caricature of the day celebrates the
ludicrous event in a satire entitled, Equipt for a Northern Visit, which represents
the fat king and the fat alderman in kilts, the point of the pictorial epigram lying
in the fact that the corpulent king recommends his corpulent subject to lay aside
the costume as unbecoming to a man of his proportions. George has several
pictorial satires on the same fertile theme; one of these, Bonnie Willie, depicts the
huge man in Highland garb. A rare and most amusing caricature shows us the

supposed unfortunate Results of this Northern Excursion. The fat king and his fat
subject have caught the northern complaint vulgarly termed the “Scottish fiddle,”
and are vigorously going through the traditionary process of rubbing themselves
against the post, blessing the while his grace the Duke of Argyle. An English
acquaintance, not unnaturally afraid of infection, refuses the alderman’s
proffered hand.

A caricature of altogether another kind commemorates a raid made by the
Bow Street officers on the numerous gaming establishments of 1822. It is called,
Cribbage, Shuffling, Whist, and a Round Game, is divided into six
compartments, and is most humorously and admirably treated. The principal
performers are the knaves of cards. One of the compartments shows us the
knaves on the treadmill, which is marked “Fortune’s Wheel;” while in another a
knave is undergoing the discipline of the “cat,” and calling out at every stroke
“E. O.! E. O.! E. O.!”82

Sir Richard Westmacott’s statue of Achilles was executed in 1822. Statue of
Achilles. The nude, undraped colossal figure, which was subscribed for by the

ladies of England in honour of the Duke of Wellington and his soldiers, was the
occasion of numerous contemporary satires—most of them (in those plain-
spoken days) of the broadest possible character. One of the most indelicate (*)
(drawn by the artist from the sketch or suggestion of another) gives a burlesque
front and back view of the figure, which is surrounded by a number of people
(principally ladies), among whom we recognise a caricature likeness of the
“Dook.” The inscription runs as follows: “To Arthur à Bradley, and his jolly
companions every one, this brazen image of Patrick O’Killus, Esq., is inscribed
by their countrywomen.”83 Besides the foregoing, we meet this year with A
Lollipop-Ally Campagne and Brandy Ball (*); Premium, Par, and Discount;
Showing-off—Bang up—Prime (*); and A Sailor’s description of a Chase and
Capture (*).

A large proportion of his satires for 1823 are aimed at Louis the 1823.
Eighteenth’s Spanish expedition, the object of which we have already related.

One of these shows us France the great Nation driven by the North into the
South; in another, Ferdinand the Seventh and the Duc d’Angoulème figure
respectively as a Spanish Mule and a French Jackass; A French Hilt on a
Spanish Rapier, is likewise dedicated to the Duc d’Angoulème; another shows us
Old Bumblehead the 18th trying on Napoleon’s Boots; a fifth is entitled, A Hint
to the Blind and Foolish, or the Bourbon Dynasty in Danger; while a sixth shows
us Louis the Fat troubled with Nightmare and Dreams of Terror. In all these
caricatures, the figure of Napoleon, already sleeping his last sleep at St. Helena
—the place of his exile and of his grave—is represented by way of contrast to
the unwieldly and incompetent Bourbon. Another caricature, the point of which I
fail to see, bears the title of The Tables Turn’d, or the Devil Outwitted and
Cruelly Punished,—a Scene on the Portsmouth Treadmill; this last, though said
to be “designed by an amateur,” and “etched by G. Ck.,” is unquestionably all his
own.

Drilling One-tenth of the Military in the Manual Exercise, and 1824. Saint
Shela (two subjects), have reference to the Tenth Hussars and Battier scandal,
mentioned in a previous chapter;84 other subjects of 1824 are: Parisian Luxury (a
man being shaved in a bath); Preparing for a Duel; and The Ostend Packet in a
Squall; all etched by George from the designs of other artists. The mania for
joint-stock companies in 1825, was scarcely equalled by the speculation mania
which inaugurated the passing in our own time of the “Limited Liability Act.” In
1824 and the beginning of 1825, two hundred and seventy-six companies had
been projected, of which the aggregate capital (on paper only) represented
£174,114,050. Thirty-three of these were established for the construction of
canals and docks, forty-eight of railroads, forty-two for the supply of gas, six of
milk, and eight of water, four for the working of coal, and thirty-four of metal
mines; twenty new insurance companies were started, twenty-three banks, twelve
navigation and packet companies, three fisheries, two for boring tunnels under
the Thames, three for the embellishment and improvement of the metropolis, two
for sea-water baths, and the rest for miscellaneous purposes; it is a somewhat
significant fact that two only had for their object the establishment of
newspapers. Notwithstanding the manifest absurdity of many of these projects,

the shares of several—especially of the mining adventurers in South America—
rose to enormous premiums. Among the last may be mentioned those of the Real
del Monte, the price of which, between the 10th of December and the 11th of
January, rose from £550 to £1350, and the United Mexican during the same
period from £35 to £1550. On these last shares only £10 had been paid, and on
the former only £70. Speaking of this mania, the Rev. T. F. Dibdin (in his
“Reminiscences”) says, “If it did not partake of the name, it had certainly all the
wild characteristics of the South Sea Bubble. To-day you had only to put your
name down to a share or shares in the Rio de la Plata or other South American
mines, and to-morrow a supplicant purchaser would give you fifty per cent. for
every share taken. The old were bewitched ... the young were in ecstasies.
Everybody made a rush for the city. A new world of wealth had been discovered.
It was only to ask and have.” George Cruikshank refers to this state of things in a
caricature called, A Scene in the Farce of Lofty Projects, as Performed with great
success for the benefit and amusement of John Bull. Besides these, he gives us
The Four Mr. Prices (High Price, Low Price, Full Price, and Half Price).

I can assign no date to Waiting on the Ladies; The Death of the Property Tax,
or Thirty-seven Mortal Wounds for Ministers and the Inquisitorial
Commissioners; or to The Court at Brighton, à la Chinese, one of the most
admirable of the whole series. In this last, the fat prince habited as a mandarin, is
seated on a sofa between the Princess Charlotte and an enormously fat woman,
probably intended for the Marchioness of Conyngham. He is handing to a
Chinese official a paper inscribed “Instructions for Lord Amhurst, to get fresh
patterns of Chinese deformities to finish the decorations of Pavilion G. P. R.” A
specimen of regency taste and sympathies stands on a pedestal in the form of the
Hottentot Venus, while a statuette of the fat prince himself, habited in a red coat,
white waistcoat, yellow inexpressibles, and silk stockings, is labelled the “British
Adonis.” The princess recommends her papa to order the officer to bring her
over “a Chinaman, instead of getting her a husband among our German cousins.”
A variety of miscellaneous articles are strewn about the floor, among them a box
containing the Regent’s wigs and whiskers, a treatise on “The Art of making
Punch,” the indispensable hamper of champagne, and a pair of curling irons;

while no one will fail to recognise the interior of the Brighton Pavilion as the
scene where this admirable satire is laid. Another undated satire remains to be
noticed: it represents a young man in a boat with three young women, one of
them of considerable personal attractions, that is to say from a Cruikshankian
point of view, and evidently a likeness. On the shore stands another young
woman and her child, whom the young spark has evidently left behind him. In
the stern of the boat is a hamper of wine and a goblet fashioned out of a skull; a
noseless man rows the boat, while three sailors in an adjoining vessel make
ribald observations in reference to the young man’s female companions. By the
star on his coat, the turned-down collar, profile, and the arrangement of the hair,
we take it that the person thus satirized is Lord Byron. Any doubts we may have
on the subject seem removed by the words of the song he is supposed to be
singing while waving his hat to the disconsolate woman on the shore:—

“All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know.”

And the concluding stanza:—

“Fare thee well! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die”!!

The foregoing contains a list and description of some of George Cruikshank’s
graphic satires, many of which we have reason to believe will be entirely new to
the great majority of our readers. They support the description given of him by
Lockhart at the opening of our chapter: “People consider him as a clever, sharp
caricaturist, and nothing more—a free-handed, comical young fellow, who will
do anything he is paid for, and who is quite content to dine off the proceeds of a
‘George IV.’ to-day, and those of a ‘Hone,’ or a ‘Cobbett,’ to-morrow.” It must be
remembered that these represent but a branch of his work; and that while content

to design a satire as elaborate and as admirable as any which owe their origin to
the hand of Gillray, or to dash off a rough and carelessly executed caricature, he
was equally ready to etch the work of an inferior artist, or even of an amateur; to
execute a drawing on wood for a ballad, or for one of the numerous political hits
of the day, whether on the loyal or the popular side mattered but little to him; to
do anything, in fact (to use the words of Lockhart), that “was suggested or
thrown in his way.” It is barely possible that the very imperfect series we have
given may astonish those who have hitherto regarded George Cruikshank only as
an illustrator of books, and supposed that, with the exception of the woodcuts for
Hone’s various jeux d’esprits, and the rough work which appears in “The
Satirist,” “The Scourge,” and publications of a similar character, he executed but
few pictorial satires. A perfect set of impressions from his caricatures probably
does not exist; if it did it would command a high price indeed. We have seen a
set of about seventy plates advertised by one enterprising bookseller at the price
of seventy pounds. The specimens we have cited (exclusive of two from “The
Scourge”) 128 in number, were published between the years 1808 and 1825, by
G. and H. Humphrey, S. Fairburn, Thomas Tegg, Ackermann, M. Jones, J.
Fairburn, J. Dolby, W. Hone, S. W. Fores, A. Bengo, J. Sidebotham, S. Knight,
and J. Johnstone. If to the foregoing we add the plates in “Cruikshankiana”—
twenty-six in number, thirty in “The Scourge,” six in “Fashion,” nine in “The
Satirist,” and eight in the “Loyalists’ Magazine,” we get seventy-nine more,
making a sum total of over two hundred in all. How many more have escaped
notice—how many have disappeared for ever from public notice without a
chance of recovery or revival—it would be, perhaps, impossible to say; for even
George himself was sometimes at fault, when the long-forgotten work of his
early years was presented to him for recognition or acknowledgment.

66 Alluding to the “Life in London.”

67 This certainly was not true; both Gillray and Rowlandson were draughtsmen and artists of
exceptionable ability.

68 The article from which this is quoted is variously assigned to Professor Wilson and Lockhart; it
matters little which. Meanwhile, we must have a name, let it be Lockhart’s.

69 The editor of “The Scourge” was one Jack Mitford. He received a classical education, was originally
in the navy, and fought under Hood and Nelson. Besides “The Scourge,” he edited “The Bon Ton”
magazine, and “Quizzical Gazette,” and was author of a sea song once popular, “The King is a true British
Sailor.” He was an irreclaimable drunkard, thought only of the necessities of the hour, and slept in the
fields when his finances would not admit of payment of a twopenny lodging in St. Giles’s. His largest work
was “Johnny Newcome in the Navy,” for which the publisher gave him the generous remuneration of a
shilling a day till he finished it. He died in St. Giles’s workhouse in 1831.

70 The reader may remember that Napoleon once contracted a skin disease from taking up a weapon
which had been wielded by a dead artilleryman, which gave him trouble at various periods of his life. It
may be that this suggested the subject.

71 See the “Declaration of the Powers,” from which we have already quoted.

72 “Narrative of Captain Maitland,” p. 109.

73 The Regent’s selfish nature and expensive habits may be judged by the following extract from the
Greville Memoirs. Under date of 1830, Mr. Greville writes: “Sefton gave me an account of the dinner in
St. George’s Hall on the King’s [William IV.] birthday, which was magnificent, excellent, and well served.
Bridge came down with the plate, and was hid during the dinner behind the great wine-cooler, which
weighs 7,000 ounces, and he told Sefton afterwards that the plate in the room was worth £200,000. There
is another service of plate which was not used at all. The king has made it all over to the crown. All this
plate was ordered by the late king, and never used; his delight was ordering what the public had to pay
for.”—Greville Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 42.

74 See Report of the Select Committee of the House of Commons on the Earl of Elgin’s Collection ...
of Marbles (“Annual Reg.,” 1816, p. 447).

75 See Chapter III. (1817).

76 The idea of the letterpress description (a very long one), from which the above is an extract, is
borrowed of course from Dr. Arbuthnot.

77 See Chapter III. (1817).

78 See Chapter III. (1817).

79 She was fond of adopting children, and it was proved that she had adopted a daughter of the man
Bergami.

80 Byron’s “Age of Bronze.”

81 Lockhart’s “Life of Scott,” vol. v. p. 203.

82 “E. O.” was another name for roulette, and forms the subject of one of Rowlandson’s early and best
caricatures.

83 The following are the words of the original inscription: “To Arthur, Duke of Wellington, and his
brave companions in arms, this statue of Achilles, cast from cannon taken in the battles of Salamanca,
Vitoria, Toulouse, and Waterloo, is inscribed by their countrywomen.”

84 See Chapter IV.

CHAPTER VIII.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK AT HIS PRIME.

Those who have studied the work of George Cruikshank from its Alterations in
Cruikshank’s Style. commencement to its close (and those only can be said to have done so
who are familiar with the satires described in the previous chapter), cannot fail to be
struck with the alterations which took place in his style at different periods of the career
we have already been considering. George Cruikshank’s peculiar style and manner,
which enable us to recognise his work at a glance, was the outcome of a very slow and
gradual process of development. In the first instance he closely copied Gillray, but soon
acquired a manner of his own, blending the two styles after a fashion which is both
interesting and amusing to follow. Soon, however, the style of the master was
discontinued, and gradually the artist began to discover that the bent of his genius lay in
altogether another direction. Unlike Thomas Rowlandson, the moment Cruikshank

became an illustrator of books, he realized the fact that the style adapted to graphic
satire was unsuitable for the purposes of this branch of art, and thenceforth he adopted a
style differing from anything which had gone before. The revolution thus accomplished
(a singular proof of the genius of the man) was effected without effort, and is strikingly
manifest in an early book illustration representing the execution of Madame Tiquet and
her accomplice, in 1699. The design to which we refer, which we believe is rare and
little known, was engraved by H. R. Cook, from a design by the artist for the
frontispiece to a collection of narratives by Cecil, “printed for Hone,” in 1819, and
stands by virtue of its force and character apart from most of the book illustrations of
the period. From the moment that the new style was adopted, the artist’s services were
brought into requisition for the purposes of book illustration; and from the time work of
this kind began to come in, he relaxed and afterwards discontinued the practice of
caricature. It is as an etcher and designer of book illustrations we shall henceforth have
to consider him, and in this character one of his famous illustrations to “Greenwich
Hospital” will be found superior to the whole series of Rowlandson’s careless
overdrawn designs to the three “Tours” of Syntax put together.

This alteration in the man’s style after he took to book illustration is known only to
those familiar with his early caricatures. If you take, for instance, the etching of St.
Swithin’s Chapel, of the “Sketch Book,” or The Gin Shop in the “Scraps and
Sketches”85 (we are speaking of course of the early coloured impressions), and show
them together with any two of the caricatures we have named to a person who had
never before seen either, we will venture to say that he would pronounce them without
hesitation to be executed by entirely different hands.

After Lockhart’s statement that George Cruikshank was capable George’s ideas of Female
Beauty. of designing an Annunciation, a Beatification, or an Apotheosis, we must accept

his assertion that he “understood the [human] figure completely” with a certain amount
of reservation. Perhaps he did; and if he did, he certainly played some extraordinary
tricks with the “figure” aforesaid. The truth is, that we forget the artist’s weaknesses,
many and glaring as they are, in the lustre of his unexampled genius. The Times, in an
otherwise laudatory article which it published after his death, remarked that “there was
not a single beautiful face or figure probably in the whole range of Cruikshank’s work.”
Now, although this is not entirely true, there is at least so much of truth in it that we
may admit that the cases in which he has produced a pretty face or figure are very few
and far between, and even those cases seem rather to have been the result of accident

than of design. There is no getting over the fact that George’s ideas of female beauty
were, to say the least of them, peculiar: his women are fearfully and wonderfully made;
they are horse-faced; their eyebrows are black and strongly marked; their hair is
plastered to the sides of their faces, and meet bobs of hair at the back of their heads;
their waists are as thin as their necks; and they all bear a strong family likeness to one
another. The Times assertion is happily, however, so broad that it is easy to traverse and
contradict it. George’s handsome women are so few, that it is difficult at the moment to
say where any of them may be found. I know at least of one amazingly handsome one
—the London Barrow Woman in Hone’s “Every-Day Book.” Some pretty servant girls
will be found in the etching of The Sergeant Introducing his Dutch Wife to his Friends
in “St. James’s, or the Court of Queen Anne,” and I will undertake to point out at least
half a dozen pretty faces in the course of illustrations to “The Miser’s Daughter”; but
after all, these are only exceptions to the general rule; and it may be safely conceded
that as a delineator of female beauty, George could not hold a candle to John Leech, to
John Tenniel, or even to his own brother, Isaac Robert.

As for the celebrated Cruikshankian steed, I give him up The Cruikshankian Steed. at
once as an utterly irreclaimable and unmanageable brute. Thackeray, writing in 1840,
said, that “though our artist does not draw horses very scientifically, to use the phrase of
the atelier; he feels them very keenly, and his queer animals, after one is used to them,
answer quite as well as better.” Even on this subject, however, the ablest critics have
contradicted each other. George Augustus Sala tells us that the artist “could draw the
ordinary nag of real life well enough,” and cites by way of example the very horses of
the celebrated Deaf Postilion, in “Three Courses and a Dessert,” which Thackeray had
previously held up to well-merited execration. He goes on to tell us that when George
“essayed to portray a charger or a hunter, or a lady’s hack, or even a pair of carriage
horses, the result was the most grotesque of failures. The noble animal has, I
apprehend, forty-four ‘points,’ technically speaking, and from the muzzle to the spavin-
place, from the crest to the withers, from the root of the dock to the fetlock, George was
wrong in them all. His fiery steed bore an equal resemblance to a Suffolk punch with
the head of a griffin and the legs of an antelope, and that traditionary cockhorse on
which the lady was supposed to ride to Banbury Cross with rings on her fingers and
bells on her toes.”86 His peculiarities notwithstanding, George himself was in no wise
conscious of them, and never hesitated to introduce “the fiery untamed” into any scene
—battle or otherwise—in which the services of the eccentric animal might be turned to

account. We find him assisting Washington in his triumphal journey to the capitol;
astonishing the French squares in the character of a Mameluke charger at the Battle of
the Pyramids; and leaping into the lake along with “Herne the Hunter,” that peculiar
creation of the late Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, on which supernatural occasion he comes
out, as might have been expected, with peculiar force and vigour.

Thackeray, moreover, says of his trees, that they were decidedly original, “being
decidedly of his own make and composition, not imitated from any master;” another
and a minor difficulty with the artist was a boot, which he invariably drew half a foot
too long. George lived in the days of straps, and being strictly conservative in principle,
when he met with a pair of trousers, his idea of the “fitness of things” was not satisfied
until he pinned them to the wearer’s feet with a pair of these most uncomfortable
appendages.

Against these shortcomings, which are a sufficient answer to those who would give
him credit for possessing the faculty of designing “Annunciations, Beatifications,
Apotheoses,” and the like, we must set his excellencies, the power and brilliancy of his
imaginative faculties, his extraordinary talents of conception and realization, the
delicacy of his manipulation and execution: in a word, the strong original “genius” with
which Lockhart credited him from the moment he had seen his “Points of Humour.”
Examples of this “genius” might be cited by the thousand. Look only at the famous
“Sketch Book;” its recent republication has placed it within the reach of every one of
our readers. Look at the Sprig of Shelalegh, the rollicking, whiskey drinking, fighting,
devil-may-care expression he has thrown into that piece of wood; turn to the sheet
wherein he has recorded his Recollections of the Court of Common Pleas, and study the
group of lawyers’ and witnesses’ faces therein contained. There is “genius” for you, if
you will. If you are overworked, turn to them; they will do you good, for they will not
only make you merry, but force upon you the conviction that the conception which
created them was essentially original. It is this delightful originality of George
Cruikshank which constitutes his genius.

George Cruikshank.] George Cruikshank.]
[“Three Courses and a Dessert.” [“Three Courses and a Dessert.”
THE DEAF POSTILION. (See p. 169.) THE BRAINTREES.
“I doan’t want to hurt thee, zo I leaves thee wi’ un, but,
mind—he’ll hold thy droat a little tighter than I did, if
thee wags a hair.”
[Face p. 171.

“No plan!” “no ambition!” “not much industry!” so at least said Lockhart. We may
doubt whether even at the time it was spoken this charge had any foundation of truth to
rest upon; an answer to it at least will be found in the fact that, before the mysterious
spell had fallen upon him we shall presently have to describe, this sterling and
indefatigable genius had already produced thousands upon thousands of miraculous
little drawings. From the mass of these wonderful creations we propose now to select a

few examples, choosing them in the first instance from a graver type than some we
shall presently have to consider.

“Greenwich Hospital” gives us one of the very best drawings which Cruikshank ever
designed. The scene of the Point of Honour is laid on board the Triumph, at Spithead, at
the time of the famous mutiny. A detachment of marines with shouldered arms are
drawn up on the quarter deck, their drummer is beating to quarters, while all hands are
assembled to witness a degrading and demoralizing spectacle,—a sailor, with his
shoulders bare and his hands tied to the triangles, about to receive punishment for
disobedience to orders. Conspicuous amongst the figures are two little middies, habited
in the strange naval uniform of sixty years ago. The illustration to The Braintrees, at
page 90 of the “Three Courses and a Dessert” is a marvellous specimen, not only of the
graphic power of the artist, but a triumph of the wood-engraver’s craft. In The Gin Shop
(“Sketches by Boz”), the artist selected a subject which invariably enlisted his
sympathy and called into action the full power of his graphic satire. Mark the flaming
gas, the huge spirit vats, the gaudily painted pillars and mouldings; above all, the
strange people: the young man with his hat on one side who chaffs the young ladies
behind the bar, the gin-drinking female by his side, the gin-loving cripple, the small boy
who brings the family bottle to be filled with gin, whose head barely reaches the
counter, the gin-drinking charwoman to the left, and the quarrelsome gin-drinking Irish
customers at the back. Everything in this picture reeks of gin; the only persons not
imbibing it are the proprietor and his dowdy barmaids, whom I have no manner of
doubt the artist intended to look captivating.

“What a fine touching picture of melancholy desolation,” remarks Thackeray, “is that
of ‘Sikes and the dog.’ The poor cur is not too well drawn, the landscape is stiff and
formal; but in this case the faults, if faults they be, of execution rather add to than
diminish the effect of the picture: it has a strange, wild, dreary, broken-hearted look; we
fancy we see the landscape as it must have appeared to Sikes, when ghastly and with
bloodshot eyes he looked at it.” The etching of Jonathan Wild Discovering Darrell in
the Loft [“Jack Sheppard”] reminds one, in its treatment, of Rembrandt, for the work of
Cruikshank, be it observed, distinctly shows in its results that he studied both Hogarth
and Rembrandt. The effect the artist has produced is wonderful; the ray of light thrown
through the gloom upon the figure of Darrell as he stands against the wall, sword in
hand, is capitally managed, “while the intricacies of the tile-work, and the mysterious
twinkling of light among the beams are excellently felt and rendered.”87 Simon Renard

and Winwike on the Roof of the White Tower [“Tower of London”] is another admirable
drawing. The scene is laid on the platform of one of the antique guns which frown from
the embrasures of the river face of the fortress. The head of Renard is not well drawn.
The character of the ambassador gives one the idea of a Spanish Iago, a clever,
calculating knave, whom we should credit with the possession of a broad and lofty
forehead, indicative of deep and concentrated thought; in the etching, however, before
us, he has none at all, a deficiency compensated by puffy cheeks and a preposterous
beak. These imperfections, which in another artist would mar the drawing, serve only to
throw its excellencies into prominent notice. The lights and shadows are most
effectively rendered, and the setting sun throws a broad light upon the features of the
warder, who has laid aside his arquebus while conversing with the wily Spaniard. Of
the many who have noticed the well-known etching of Born a Genius and Born a
Dwarf [“Comic Almanack, 1847”], not one (so far at least as we know) has ever
mentioned its origin. The subject was prompted by one of the last entries in the diary of
poor Benjamin Robert Haydon, who died by his own hand on the 22nd of June, 1846,
his corpse being found at the foot of his colossal picture of Alfred the Great and the
First British Jury. The entry runs as follows:—“Tom Thumb had 12,000 people last
week, B. R. Haydon 133-1/2 (the 1/2 a little girl). Exquisite taste of the English
people!” In the etching which shows us Randulph and Hilda Dancing in the Rotunda at
Ranelagh [“Miser’s Daughter”], he brings us face to face with our great-grandfathers
and great-grandmothers; wherever he got his authority from, the huge circular hall with
galleries and arches running round it, illuminated by a thousand lamps, and the curious
orchestra with the old-fashioned sounding-board above, are no freak of the artist’s
imagination. The etching possesses a wondrous charm of reality. We find ourselves
assisting, as it were, at one of the masquerades described in “Sir Charles Grandison”;
many of the company are in fancy dresses, and we find it difficult to realize, in these
broad-cloth days, that the gentlemen in the velvet coats, with gold-bound embroidered
waistcoats, silk stockings, silver gilt rapiers, and laced hats, dancing minuets with
Chinamen, harlequins, scaramouches, templars, and other fancifully-dressed persons,
are simply wearing the every-day costume of men of fashion of the day.

Perhaps more than any other comic artist of past or present time, Mannerism. George is
distinguished by his mannerisms. His horses, his women, the costumes of his male and
female characters, the cut of their garments and of their boots, the arrangement of their
hair, will proclaim his individuality anywhere; and yet, if you look at any of the designs

which he executed in his best and brightest days, before he took up with the mania
which contributed, as we shall presently see, so largely to the ruin of his artistic genius,
fame, and fortunes, we cannot fail to be impressed with the quaintness of his
imagination. In this quaintness and originality lie the charm and freshness which is the
peculiar characteristic of his designs. Unlike those of other artists, you may turn over
volume after volume of his sketches, and be conscious of no sense of weariness. Much
of this no doubt is due to their constant variety. Unlike the generality of modern
illustrators, he is not limited to the costumes and incidents of the every-day
commonplace life of the nineteenth century; he does not confine himself to humour; his
fancy takes a wider range, and revels in subjects of wonder, diablery, and romance.
Gnomes and fairies, devils and goblins, knights, giants, jesters, and morris dancers are
continually passing before us; there is an endless succession of novelties, treated with a
quaintness of fancy which distinguishes it above all others; there is a ceaseless variety
in his dramatis personæ, while the characters are as various as the subjects. In these
characteristics seem to lie the secret of the pleasure which his illustrations, whether
they be drawn on wood or etched on the copper, never fail to inspire.

The sale and purchase of Peter Schlemihl’s Shadow has been noticed by Thackeray.
We see the Old Gentleman neatly packing up his purchase after the manner of an “old
clo’” dealer; he has just “lifted the shadow of one leg; he is going to fold it back neatly,
as one does the tails of a coat, and will stow it, without any creases or crumples, along
with the other black garments that lie in that immense pocket of his.”88 Another
illustration in the same book shows us Peter, after he has repented of his bargain (as
vendors invariably do who indulge in mercantile transactions of this character) in
ardent pursuit of his shadow, which the tantilizing purchaser has let out for the
occasion. Can anything more ludicrous be imagined than this scampering piece of
intangibility? The etching of Sailors Carousing [“Greenwich Hospital”], executed in
1826, before the artist had altogether discontinued the style and manner of Gillray,
would have delighted the heart of that accomplished caricaturist. An old one-eyed salt
presides over a vast bowl of punch, the contents of which he is engaged in distributing
to the company. One enthusiastic tar foots it with such vigour that he cannons against a
potman, upsetting him and the measure of scalding liquor he carries over another angry,
blaspheming sailor man; another sea worthy, snoring drunk, has converted his quart pot
into an impromptu pillow, his own recumbent form serving the purposes of a footstool
to a companion. The females are a combination of the styles of Gillray and Cruikshank,

and, with one exception, are old, ugly, and preposterously fat. A comical illustration in
the same book is called, Paying off a Jew Pedlar. The unhappy man (who had cheated
the sailors), innocent of danger, is seated on a grating with his combs, spy-glasses,
necklaces, ribbons, and all the rest of his “Brummagem” trumpery, spread out before
him. The men, who have slily hitched a rope to the grating, suddenly give it a hoist, and
away slides Moses, with all his wares and trumpery, into the hold together! How poor
Seymour would have revelled in that admirable tailpiece in “Three Courses and a
Dessert,” where an unhappy wight, pursued by a bull, manages to scramble atop of a
gate-post (the only part free from spikes), to find his escape cut off on one side by a
couple of bull-dogs, and on the other by a chevaux-de-frise terminating in a horse pond!
We meet with a solemn piece of fun in Simpkin Dancing to the Musicians, one of the
illustrations to the celebrated “New Bath Guide” of Christopher Anstey—

“And I thought it was right, as the music was come,
To foot it a little in Tabitha’s room.”

“THE WITCH’S SWITCH.” “ABSENT-MINDEDNESS.”

“THE TÊTE-À-TÊTE.”

“THE DENTIST.” “BAT BOROO.”

SKETCHES FROM GEORGE CRUIKSHANK’S “THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT.”
[Face p. 175.

The Last Cab Driver [“Sketches by Boz”] deserves a passing notice, because it has
preserved from oblivion a class of vehicles which has long since disappeared from the
London streets. It looked for all the world like the section of a coffin set on end, the
seat (which was intended to accommodate only one person besides the driver)
occupying the centre. The cabman being a very mauvais sujet, we find the surroundings
(after the artist’s practice) in strict keeping with his character. The building past which

he drives is marked “Old Bailey”; whilst a snuff manufacturer in the street at the back
advertises himself as the vendor of “Real Irish Blackguard.”

The dry, quaint humour of the author of “Waverley” exactly Waverley Novels. suited the
quaint imaginings of our artist. Both Scott and Cruikshank delighted in the supernatural
and the marvellous, and this is why some of the most characteristic of the artist’s
designs are to be found in his illustrations to the “Waverley Novels.” In one of these he
shows us the illustrious Dominie at the moment, when reaching over to gather a water-
lily, he falls souse into the Slough of Lochend, in which he forthwith became bogged up
to the middle, his plight drawing from him of course his favourite ejaculation of
amazement. By the assistance of some women the luckless Dominie was extracted from
his position, justifying the remark of one of his assistants, that “the laird might as weel
trust the care of his bairn to a potato-bogle.” Which was the most helpless of the two
men—the Laird of Dumbiedikes, or the illustrious Dominie—it would be difficult to
say; both these most original characters took a powerful hold on the artist’s
imagination, and as a natural consequence the ideas of Scott were completely realized.
A very comical design is that in which he shows us the worthy but witless laird with his
laced cocked hat and empty tobacco pipe,89 and his hand extended “like the claw of a
heraldic griffin,” when he managed to utter something beyond his usual morning
greeting, and frightened Jeannie into the belief that he had so far “screwed his courage
to the sticking place” as to venture on a matrimonial proposal, to which unwonted effort
of imagination his intelligence, however, proved altogether unequal.

In the “Comic Almanack” will be found many examples of Alliterative Designs.
George’s tendency to graphic alliteration. The Fall of the Leaf affords a capital
specimen of the kind of design to which we allude. The leaf of the dinner-table has
been so insecurely fastened that it falls, burying with it the mistress of the house, the
fish, the champagne, a sherry decanter, a vase of flowers,—everything, in fact, to which
it formed a treacherous and unreliable support; Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall” lies in a
corner of the room, and the walls are hung with appropriate subjects, such as the Fall of
Foyers, the Falls of Niagara, Falls of the Clyde, and so on. An illustration of a similar
kind will be found in Taurus—a Literary Bull. The animal has rushed into a printing
office and scattered the compositors right and left; some seek shelter beneath their
frames, one clambers wildly up the shelves of a paper case, while others scuttle over
the frames, and one man, too wholly dismayed and bewildered to run, brandishes a
stool in helpless imbecility. The bull is perhaps the most astonished of the dramatis

personæ, and evidently wonders into what manner of place fate has brought him. The
walls are pasted with appropriate advertisements: “Some Account of the Pope’s Bull,”
“A Cock and Bull Story,” “Theatre Royal, Haymarket—John Bull” “To be Sold by
Auction, the Bull Inn,” “Abstract of the Act against Bull-baiting,” and so on. In Libra
Striking the Balance (same year), a dishonest tradesman has been detected in using
false weights and measures. The beadle holds up a pair of scales, one of which weighs
very much heavier than the other. The wretched culprit, conscious, all too late, that
honesty would have proved “the best policy” for himself, leans against his shelves the
picture of sullen and detected guilt. The window of the shop bears on it the painted
legend of “The cheapest shop in London.” Leaning against the counter we find a
programme of the “City Theatre,” announcing the performance of “Measure for
Measure”: to conclude with “Honest Thieves”; an officer outside (surrounded by a
deeply interested crowd) is engaged in breaking up a second pair of dishonest scales.
Chronology, difference in politics, character, tastes, and disposition, are most amusingly
set at defiance in the etching entitled The Revolution at Madame Tussaud’s [1847]:
Mary Queen of Scots “treads a measure” with William Penn the Quaker; Fox and Pitt
make long noses at each other from opposite sides of the room; O’Connell shakes
hands with Freschi, to whom our old friend the elderly country gentleman offers a
friendly pinch of snuff; William Shakespeare flirts with an almond-eyed Chinese
woman; Henry the Eighth smokes a long churchwarden with Judge Jefferys; Lord
Byron (with greater propriety) exchanges friendly greetings with Jean Jacques
Rousseau; whilst the great Napoleon unbends, as chroniclers assert that he was wont to
do, and waltzes round the room with Madame Tussaud, and Britannia (to the uproarious
delight of Sir William Wallace) rasps her trident across her shield, by way of
accompaniment to the fiddle of the Saturnine Paganini.

The fun of these side splitting designs is only equalled by their variety. The
“Almanack” of 1838 introduces us to the inevitable row which forms the wind-up of a
Hibernian festa; chairs, sticks, shovels,—anything that comes to hand is used without
fear or favour; men, women, children struggle together in inextricable confusion amidst
the débris of wrecked furniture, broken glass, and battered pewter; high above the din
drone the nasal tones of the piper; while amidst the infernal clatter “the praist” vainly
endeavours to re-establish order and make himself heard. Theatrical Fun Dinner (1841)
represents the close of the banquet. Hamlet is already too far gone to know what he is
doing; Othello belabours Iago with a bottle; Shylock and Antonio fraternize; whilst a

reconciliation is established between Macbeth and Macduff, who chink glasses by way
of cementing their friendship; Sir John Falstaff lights his pipe at Bardolph’s nose;
whilst Romeo hands up a glass of something short and strong to his Juliet in the
balcony. 1842 gives us the celebrated etching of “Gone!” an auctioneer “knocking
down” a bust of Socrates; at the word “gone” the flooring gives way, and auctioneer,
buyers, and Socrates, with all their surroundings, descend with a simultaneous crash
into the cellars below. Drowning men catch at straws, and the spectacled visage of the
auctioneer, as he clings wildly to his rostrum, is a perfect study of terrified imbecility.

In looking at these quaint designs, the mind of any one possessed of any imagination
at all cannot fail to be impressed with a sense of the original train of thought which
must have characterized the man who could conceive and realize them. How
appropriately and admirably, even in trivial matters, the details of the design are worked
out! If the reader will refer to the etching in “St. James’,” where the sergeant places the
boot of his master, the Duke of Marlborough, on a map of Flanders, he will at once see
what we mean. The action is accidental; and yet where could the boot have been placed
with greater propriety? for surely if any country was under the heel of the great English
captain, it was Flanders. Nothing to equal these designs are ever seen in these days,
perhaps nothing like them will ever be seen again. There are many excellent comic
designs produced by our artists of to-day; but with the exception, perhaps, of Mr.
Caldicott and Colonel Seccombe, they lack character. You pass them by, and
straightway forget them. Not so with these admirable little designs; you turn to them
again and again, and each time with a refreshing sense of pleasure. Herein seems to lie
the power of true genius—that its productions give not only a sense of freshness and
delight, but that the sensation so conveyed will not die. There are people, I believe, on
whom they produce no such impression; such people, as regards comic art, are for all
practical purposes “dry bones,” and to dry bones such as these the pencil of “honest
George” will appeal in vain.

Some writers on the subject of Cruikshank and his work would have us believe that
he developed his highest powers of imagination and fancy, and achieved his highest
reputation, when depicting subjects of a fairy or supernatural order. Whether these
scribes be right or whether they be wrong, there is no doubt that he discovered for
himself an enchanted land of mountain and streamlet, of meadow and waterfall, of
gnomes and fairies, of demons, witches, and of giants. The process by which he
attained his excellence as an illustrator of fairy lore and legend has been related by

himself in his own simple, unpolished words in the (so-called) “Fairy Library.”
Unquestionably the opportunity which these subjects afforded of exercising
untrammelled his marvellous gifts of imagination and fancy, and of realizing objects
which owe their being to the creative faculties of his mind, were eagerly embraced by
the artist; but, although the results were singularly weird and often very beautiful, I find
myself obliged to differ from those who would have us believe that in realizing subjects
of this kind he attained his highest excellence. The charm of George Cruikshank’s talent
lies in the fact that notwithstanding his defects in drawing, everything he took in hand is
impressed with the stamp of a strong and original genius; it is like nothing we have
seen before; every one of his designs is marked with distinctive features of beauty,
quaintness, or originality peculiar to himself.

THE ELVES AND THE COBBLER.” THE WAITS OF BREMEN AND THE ROBBERS.”

FROM GEORGE CRUIKSHANK’S EDITION OF “GERMAN POPULAR STORIES.”

Face p. 180.

The “German Popular Stories” probably contain the most striking specimens of
Cruikshank’s power as a designer of fairy subjects. In reference to these illustrations,
our great critic, Mr. Ruskin, says: “They are of quite sterling and admirable art, in a
class precisely parallel in elevation to the character of the tales which they illustrate;
and the original etchings, as I have before said in the Appendix to my ‘Elements of
Drawing,’ were unrivalled in masterfulness of touch since Rembrandt, in some qualities
of delineation unrivalled even by him.” “The Two Elves,” says Hamerton, “especially
the nearer one, who is putting on his breeches, are drawn with a point at once so precise
and vivacious, so full of keen fun and inimitably happy invention, that I have not found
their equal in comic etching anywhere ... the picturesque details of the room are etched
with the same felicitous intelligence; but the marvel of the work is in the expression of
the strange little faces, and the energy of the comical wee limbs.”90 In The Witches’
Frolic [“Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft”], we find a happy blending of the
terrible and the grotesque. Look at the old hags floating out to sea in their tubs; and the
strange, uncanny thing with dreadful eyes bobbing up and down midway between the
foremost old woman and the distant vessel. The thing may be a ship, it may be a fish, or
it may be a fiend,—in the dim half light we cannot tell what,—but it is horribly
suggestive of nightmare, and makes one laugh as well as shudder. Some ghostly
goblins, the creations of George’s weird fancy, will be found in “The Omnibus”; we see
them following a ghostly ship manned by ghostly mariners, and we find in the same
book ghostly Dutchmen playing a game of diabolical leap-frog with Australian
kangaroos. In one illustration he introduces us to a cheerful assembly of ancestral
ghosts: there is the ghostly saucer-eyed head of the family, with a ghostly hound
peeping beneath his chair, a ghostly grandmother, half a dozen ghostly spinster aunts, a
ghostly butler, a ghostly cook, a ghostly small boy, two ghostly candles; and lastly, a
ghostly cat. Small wonder that under the influence of such ghostly surroundings the
hair of the affrighted ghost-seer stands erect in the extremity of his terror.

This same book contains, too, the celebrated etching of Jack o’Lantern, probably the
best illustration of the supernatural which we owe to the pencil and weird imagination
of the artist. “Talk of Fuseli and his wind-bag, there is real vivid imagination enough in

this to make a whole academy of Fuselis. It is just an Egyptian darkness, with breaking
through it, above a bog-hole, some black bulrushes, and above them a bending, leathery
goblin exulting over some drowned traveller, the meteor lamp he carries casting a
downward flicker on the dark water. Such darkness, such wicked speed, such bad,
Puck-like malice, such devilry, Hoffman and Poe together could not have better
devised. Many a May exhibition has not half the genius in all its pictures that focuses in
that gem of jet.” The description is admirable; but Walter Thornbury has altogether
misconceived the artist’s idea. Jack o’Lantern is simply misguiding a belated traveller
into a bog, and the elfin grin which pervades his countenance testifies to the delight he
takes in his mischievous employment. The words of the song in Dryden’s King Arthur
convey the best possible description of this wondrous conception:—

“Hither this way, this way bend,
Trust not that malicious fiend;
Those are false, deluding lights,
Wafted far and near by sprights;
Trust ’em not, for they’ll deceive ye,
And in bog and marshes leave ye,
If you step no danger thinking,
Down you fall, a furlong sinking;
’Tis a fiend who has annoyed ye,
Name but Heav’n, and he’ll avoid ye.”

By way of contrast to all these, I would turn to the celebrated and much-too-often-
described Triumph of Cupid, of the “Table Book”; but as the praises of this remarkable
composition may already be counted by the ream, I have no intention whatever of
contributing a further addition.

George Cruikshank.] [From “The Universal Songster.”
“THE OLD COMMODORE.”

George Cruikshank.] [From “The Universal Songster.”
“A tall figure her sight engross’d,
And it cried, ‘I beez Giles Scroggin’s Ghost.’”

[Face p. 182.

A notice, however, of George Cruikshank’s supernatural work would be incomplete
without some reference to his devils. From time immemorial our idea of His Satanic
Majesty has been associated with the distinguishing appendages of horns, hoofs, and a
cow’s tail. “A conceit there is,” says old Sir Thomas Browne, “that the devil commonly
appeareth with a cloven hoof, wherein, although it seems excessively ridiculous, there
may be somewhat of truth, and the ground thereof at first might be his frequent
appearing in the shape of a goat, which answers the description.” George Cruikshank
too well apprehended the cunning nature of His Satanic Majesty to suppose him idiotic
enough to introduce his hoofs, his horns, or his tail into the company of all sorts and
conditions of men. It will be remembered that Fitz Dottrel takes leave to doubt the
identity of the devil who waits upon him in the character of a body servant. “You
cannot,” he says, “cozen me. Your shoe’s not cloven, sir; you are whole hoofed.” But
“Pug” simply and unaffectedly assures him, “Sir, that’s a popular error,—deceives
many.”91 Like “Pug,” George Cruikshank’s devils accommodate themselves, their
appearance, and their costume to the prejudices of the persons they design to serve.
With saints and perverse sinners it is obvious that any attempt at disguise would be
futile; but with so respectable a person as a Dutch burgher, or so suspicious an
individual as an English lawyer, the case is altogether different. We have specimens of
the respectable devil in the “long-legged bondholder” who appears to his unfortunate
Dutch debtor; the portly, well-dressed little man in the “Gentleman in black”; and the
seedy looking old clothes dealer of “Peter Schlemihl.” Quite a different devil to any of
these is the devil that interviews St. Nicholas, the devil whom St. Medard
circumvented, or the simple-minded and unfortunate devil that fell into the clutches of
St. Dunstan. This last is probably the most comical diabolique that Cruikshank ever
designed. In an evil hour this miserable fiend had irritated the saint by mimicking his
musical powers; and growing bolder with impunity, even ventured to challenge his skill
as a mechanic, by doubting his ability to fit a shoe to his own diabolical hoof. The saint
promptly whipped up the leg, and it was not until this simple devil found himself in the
clutches of the saint, that he fully comprehended the prodigious powers of the holy
personage he had ventured to chaff. In spite of his howls and frantic efforts to escape,

the iron shoe is remorselessly fitted, and nail after nail driven into the quick. Imagine
the sufferings of that poor devil; observe his comically distorted countenance as he
bellows with agony and impotent rage; how his tail curls round his leg in the extremity
of his anguish! The worst perhaps has to follow, for in spite of the agony of his crippled
hoof, a deed will have to be “signed, sealed, and delivered,” by which his claim to a
legion of sinful souls has to be for ever released and extinguished. It is worthy of
remark that George Cruikshank’s devils—simple-minded, weak creatures, more
mischievous than really wicked, in all their contests with the saints (Saint Anthony
excepted) invariably come off second best.

In estimating his merits, the genius of George Cruikshank may not inaptly be
compared to a diamond. One facet often emits more brilliant coruscations than any
other; and if we may be permitted to compare his powers of realizing the grave, the
comical, the supernatural, and the terrible to the facets of a diamond, we think the one
which would be found to emit the most brilliant flashes of light would be the last.
Thackeray, one of the most friendly and most competent of his critics, would seem to
have considered that much of his power was shown in depicting subjects of this kind.
“What a fine eye,” he tells us, in his famous article which has supplied the backbone—
the muscles—the very integuments of so many others,—“what a fine eye the artist has,
what a skilful hand, and what a sympathy for the wild and dreadful!”

Designed, Etched and Published by George Cruikshank.] [November 1st, 1829.
THE GIN SHOP.

“—now, Oh dear, how shocking the thought is, They do it on purpose folks’ lives to shorten,
They makes the gin from aquafortis: And tickets it up at two-pence a quartern.”—New Ballad.

[Face p. 184.

From an early period of his career as an etcher and designer, George had waged a
deadly war with gin,—that potent, insidious, and evil spirit of London; the most
priceless services he rendered to the cause of temperance being unquestionably given
long before he had any notion of joining the ranks of the total abstainers. Like the
Triumph of Cupid, the well-known Gin Juggernaut of the “Sketch Book” requires
nothing more than a passing allusion. An example less known but quite as admirable
will be found in the “Scraps and Sketches.” It is called The Gin Shop,92 and shows us

the interior of a London gin palace. In place of the usual barrels, around the walls are
ranged coffins, labelled respectively: “Deady’s Cordial;” “Blue Ruin;” “Gin and
Bitters;” the largest (a huge one) being marked “Old Tom.” Death, habited as a
watchman, has baited a huge gin trap, wherein stand five persons (two of them
children, besides a baby in arms), all imbibing the deadly liquid. The wretched woman
with the infant has actually placed her foot on the spring, and so great is the artist’s
power of realization, that we momentarily expect to see the horrible thing close with a
snap! A skeleton, whose fleshless skull is masked with a pleasant female countenance,
officiates as barmaid, and behind her yawns a pit, on the further side of which a circle
of evil spirits curvet around a huge still. Just such a weird scene as would strike a
sympathetic chord in the artist’s fancy was found for him in Scott’s novel of “Red
Gauntlet.” The episode selected for illustration is the frightful adventure of Hutcheon
and Dougal MacCallum. “When midnight came, and the house was quiet as the grave,
the silver whistle sounded as sharp and shrill as if Sir Robert was blowing it, and up got
the two old serving-men and tottered into the room where the dead man lay. Hutcheon
saw enough at the first glance; for there were torches in the room, which showed him
the foul fiend in his ain shape, sitting on the laird’s coffin! Ower he couped, as if he had
been dead. He could not tell how long he lay in a trance at the door; but when he
gathered himself, he cried on his neighbour, and getting nae answer, raised the house,
when Dougal was found lying dead within twa steps of the bed where his master’s
coffin was placed. As for the whistle, it was lost ance and aye, but mony a time it was
heard at the top of the house on the bartizan and among the auld chimneys and turrets,
where the howlets have their nests.” The coffin of the dead laird lies in state on a table
covered with black cloth, richly ornamented with his armorial bearings; at the foot of
the bier stands his black plumed helmet; while atop of the coffin crouches the grinning
ape with the laird’s whistle in his paw; on the ground, as they have been tossed about
by the mischievous beast, lie his rapier, gauntlet, and other military trappings. The
furniture, the fittings, the sombre hangings, the gloomy ancestral portraits, all are in
keeping with the weird scene and its surroundings. The Death of Sikes, and Fagin in the
Condemned Cell (especially the latter) have been described any number of times, and
the circumstances, moreover, under which the latter design was conceived, told
invariably wrong. In the Murder of Sir Rowland Trenchard [“Jack Sheppard”], we have
a Rembrandtish etching, quite equalling in power and intensity that of Fagin in the
Condemned Cell. The gloomy depths of the well hole are illumined only by the pine
torch of the frightened Jew, as Wild hammers with his bludgeon on the fingers of the

doomed wretch who, maimed and faint from loss of blood, clings with desperate
tenacity to the bannister, from which his relaxing grip will presently plunge him into
the black abyss below.

The “Tower of London” introduces us to two scenes of a dismal and terrible
character in the etching entitled Xit Wedded to the Scavenger’s Daughter, the artist
carries us to a gloomy torture chamber, dimly lighted by a solitary lantern. On the
framework of the rack sits the dwarf Xit, his limbs compressed in the grip of the
frightful instrument called the “Scavenger’s daughter,” while Simon Renard, scarcely
able to repress a smile, interrogates the comical little figure at his leisure. Behind him
stands Sorrocold, the surgeon; and in the farther corner Mauger (the headsman),
Nightgall, and an assistant torturer, recline against the wall. The feeble rays of the
lantern throw an obscure light upon the gloomy walls decorated with the stock in trade
of the torturers, thumb-screws, gauntlets, collars, pinchers, saws, chains, and other
horrible and suggestive implements. Affixed to the ceiling is a steel pulley, the rope
which traverses it terminating with an iron hook and two leathern shoulder straps.
Facing the gloomy door stands a brazier filled with blazing coals, in which a huge pair
of pinchers are suggestively heating. Reared against the side of a deep dark recess is a
ponderous wheel—broad as that of a wagon, and twice the circumference; and next it
the iron bar with which the bones of those condemned to die by this most horrible
torture were broken while alive. The etching of Mauger Sharpening his Axe is nearly as
celebrated as that of Fagin in the Condemned Cell. “A wonderful weird dusk, with no
light but that which glimmers on the bald scalp of the hideous headsman, who, feeling
the edge of his axe with his thumb, grins with a devilish foretaste of his pleasure on the
morrow. I need scarcely say that all the poetry, dramatic force, mystery, and terror of
the design is attributable to Cruikshank, and not to Ainsworth.”93 Scenes still more
realistically terrible even than these, such as the Massacre at Tullabogue, The Rebel
Camp on Vinegar Hill, and the Executions at Wexford Bridge, will be found in
Maxwell’s “History of the Irish Rebellion.”

Mr. Lockhart, we may remember, advised the artist in the early part of his career to
“think of Hogarth,” and throughout the whole of George Cruikshank’s designs of the
graver caste the influence of the study of Rembrandt and of Hogarth will be apparent to
those acquainted with the characteristics of these great artists. In the case of Rembrandt
it is manifest in the deep shadows, penetrated by broad but skilfully treated rays of
light, throwing the salient parts of the design into prominent but pleasing relief; in the

case of Hogarth it is shown in minute attention to details of a character singularly
appropriate to the designs. Delineators of subjects of greater pretension are frequently
content to throw all their sympathies, their energies, into the elaboration of their leading
figure or figures: the attitude, the face, the features, the hands, the costume, leave
nothing to be desired, while the rest of the composition is slurred or neglected. This is
not the case with Cruikshank, every part of his work bears witness to his careful
attention to detail; no part of it is elaborated at the expense of the rest; from the tenants
of the room down to the smallest and most insignificant ornament on the chimney-
piece, everything appears as distinct as it would appear in actual every-day life.

But this study of Rembrandt and of Hogarth, this minute attention to detail, this
careful and conscientious elaboration, would have done little for George Cruikshank if
he had not possessed in an eminent degree that faculty of creation, otherwise of
originality, which men call genius. Various descriptions of this gift have been attempted
by eminent men, but the most felicitous seems to us to be that given by Robert William
Elliston: “A true actor,” says this distinguished comedian, “must possess the power of
creation, which is genius, as well as the faculty of imitation, which is only talent.”
Substitute the word “artist” for the word “actor,” and the remark will apply with equal
felicity to the subject of our present chapter. It was this same gift of genius which,
whilst it enabled the artist to lend a sentient expression to such unpromising subjects as
a barrel, a wig-block, a jug of beer, a pair of bellows, or an oyster, imparted to his
drawings a piquancy which has elevated these apparently insignificant designs into
perfectly sterling works of art. The reader who is fortunate enough to number amongst
his books the first half-dozen volumes of “Bentley’s Miscellany” and “Ainsworth’s
Magazine,” “The Omnibus,” “The Table Book,” “The Comic Almanack,” possesses a
series of designs, drawn and etched by the hand of the master himself, the value of
which is yearly increasing, not only because they are becoming scarcer and scarcer
every day, but because nothing like them—under the conditions in which book
illustration is now produced—will ever be seen again.

85 The “Sketch Book” and “Scraps and Sketches” have recently been republished; but the impressions
from the sadly worn plates give but little idea of the exquisite originals.

86 Sala, in Gentleman’s Magazine, May, 1878.

87 Thackeray, Westminster Review.

88 Thackeray, in the Westminster Review, June, 1840.

89 This idea of the empty pipe is splendid, there never is any tobacco in it; a better notion of absolute
forgetfulness—of inability to exercise the most trifling effort of memory—could not be conveyed.

90 “Etching and Etchers.”

91 Ben Jonson’s “The Devil is an Ass.”

92 This was written, of course, before the recent republication, which lacks the colour and crispness of
the early issue.

93 “British Artists from Hogarth to Turner.”

CHAPTER IX.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK (Continued).

THE SLEEP OF THIRTY YEARS.

The artistic career of George Cruikshank presents probably one of the most singular
problems to be met with in the history of satirical art. It may be divided into three
portions, two of which we have already considered: the first represents that section
wherein we have seen him described by Lockhart as “one of the most careless creatures
alive,” having “no plan, almost no ambition,” doing “just what was suggested or thrown
in his way,” “quite contented to dine off the proceeds of a ‘George the Fourth’ to day,
and those of a ’Hone’ or a ‘Cobbett’ to morrow!” the second may be said to be
embraced between the years 1822 and 1848, during which period we find this man
without plan, ambition, or industry (to complete the charge of Lockhart), busily
engaged in building up the reputation which the critic had so confidently and so truly
predicted of him; the third and last section, the strangest surely of all, shows us this
man of genius—in the full enjoyment of an assured and well-merited reputation, in the
midst of his artistic vigour, at the height of a success altogether unexampled—
deliberately throwing away his opportunities, and consigning himself to a slumber of

thirty years, which might almost justify us in terming him the “Rip Van Winkle” of
British art. The causes of this strange decadence, this singular mental inactivity, which
seem to us to have been hitherto very little or at best very imperfectly understood, we
now propose to consider.

Professor Bates, one of the ablest of the essayists who have written Professor Bates’
Theory. on George Cruikshank since the time when Thackeray penned his famous article,
would have us believe that the causes which led up to his retirement from active life
whilst yet in the enjoyment of his vigorous intellect, are due partly to the change which
has befallen “the literature of fiction during the last thirty years,” but principally to the
fact of his embracing the temperance movement with more zeal than discretion. As a
matter of fact, however, long before this step had been taken, there had been causes
equally potent at work which seem to have escaped Mr. Bates’ attention, and these
causes, which appear to us the leading factors in the unfortunate final result, lay, as we
shall endeavour to explain, in an entirely different direction.

People who knew and judged of George Cruikshank (as the majority of his
contemporaries necessarily did) by his work alone, formed altogether an erroneous
judgment of the character and disposition of the man. Because his later designs showed
or seemed to show a love of little children, a liking for home and homely subjects, a
delight in fairy lore and legend, it seems therefore to have been assumed that the artist
was almost child-like in simplicity, innocence, and guilelessness of heart. Some even of
those who have written upon him, acting apparently upon this impression, have given
us to understand that “he never raised a laugh at the expense of decency”; that “satire
never, in his hands, descended into scurrility”; that “a moral purpose ever underlaid his
humour”; that “he sought to instruct and improve whenever he amused.” The absurdity
of this statement we have already exposed. In reference to a supposed singleness of
heart and honesty of purpose, some writers have termed him “honest George.” All this
was very well. We all know, of course, that he “never pandered to sensuality” or
“glorified vice”; but in spite of these facts, “honest George” himself, so far at least as
we personally know, never assumed or set up, or even aimed at assuming, that he was
one whit better than his neighbours.

In order that the reader may grasp the causes of his sudden decadence, it is important
that he should understand the position and the peculiarities of the artist. As an illustrator
of books he was dependent on a clientèle composed exclusively of authors and

publishers. “Honest George,” however, laboured under a disadvantage common perhaps
more or less to all men possessed of true genius. Hasty and hot-tempered, particularly
in matters connected with his artistic labours, he was more than usually prone and
ready to take offence. Almost invariably at war with some one or another of his
employers, the story of George Cruikshank’s skirmishes and quarrels with the authors
and publishers with whom he was thrown in contact forms a most curious and
interesting chapter in the history of artistic and literary squabbles.

At the time when Charles Dickens began to write, George Cruikshank had already
achieved his reputation; and so well assured was this reputation, that the young novelist
in his preface to his “Sketches by Boz,” speaks of the nervousness he should have
experienced in venturing alone before the public, and of his delight in securing the co-
operation of an artist so distinguished as George Cruikshank. In 1838, however, the
author like the artist had made his mark: “Pickwick” and “Nicholas Nickleby,” and
“Oliver Twist” had been written; and every vestige of the nervousness of which he
speaks in the preface to his “Sketches” had disappeared for ever.

Mr. Sala has somewhere happily remarked that Charles Dickens wanted rather a
scene painter for his novels than a mere illustrator of books, and the very last person to
answer his requirements was George Cruikshank; for, while ready and willing to
execute designs illustrative of Mr. Dickens’s writings, he made it an implied condition
of his retainer, that he should be free to design them in his own way and after his own
fashion. It was an essential condition of George Cruikshank’s success as a
draughtsman, not only that he should feel a sympathy for any subject he was called
upon to design, but also that his genius should be left unfettered and untrammelled in
his method of treatment. Hence it was that he found it impossible to co-operate with so
exacting an employer of artistic labour as Charles Dickens. The latter argued, with
some show of reason, that knowing what he intended to describe, he was the fittest and
most competent person to explain how his meaning should be pictorially carried out.
This sort of arrangement, however, did not suit the independent and somewhat
impracticable spirit of the artist, and the result was almost a foregone conclusion. These
two men of genius inevitably clashed; and the connection between Charles Dickens and
Cruikshank was abruptly severed.

A singular memorial of the quarrel between Dickens and Cruikshank will be found in
the last illustration to the author’s novel of “Oliver Twist,” one of the worst that the

artist ever executed. Although Mr. Forster does not say so—and possibly would not
admit it,—Charles Dickens is directly responsible for this result, as the reader will
agree when he learns the whole of the facts, which are only partly given in Forster’s
“Life,” and in every other work which professes to tell the story.

The reader will not require to be told that “Oliver Twist” made its appearance in the
pages of “Bentley’s Miscellany.” The story of course had been written in anticipation of
the magazine; and according to Mr. Forster, Cruikshank’s designs for the portion which
forms the third volume “having to be executed ‘in a lump,’ were necessarily done
somewhat hastily.” How far this statement is correct, the reader will be enabled to judge
when we tell him that these so-called “hastily” prepared illustrations include the famous
designs of Sikes and his Dog and Fagin in the Condemned Cell. “None of these
illustrations,” Mr. Forster goes on to tell us, “Dickens had seen until he saw them in the
book on the eve of its publication [we assume in the three-volume form], when he so
strongly objected to one of them that it had to be cancelled.” “My dear Cruikshank,” he
at once wrote off to the artist, “I returned suddenly to town yesterday afternoon
[October, 1838] to look at the latter pages of ‘Oliver Twist’ before it was delivered to
the booksellers, when I saw the majority of the plates for the first time. With reference
to the last one, Rose Maylie and Oliver, without entering into the question of great
haste or any other cause which may have led to its being what it is, I am quite sure there
can be little difference of opinion between us with respect to the result. May I ask you
whether you will object to designing this plate afresh, and doing so at once, in order
that as few impressions as possible of the present one may go forth. I feel confident you
know me too well to feel hurt by this inquiry, and with equal confidence in you, I have
lost no time in preferring it.” At this point Mr. Forster leaves the story.

Probably very few of our readers have seen this despised and The Quarrel with Dickens.
rejected plate of Rose Maylie and Oliver, for it is not the one which bears that title
among the ordinary illustrations to the novel of “Oliver Twist.” It is very rare, and we
wish we could reproduce it here. If not one of the very best of the series, it is entirely in
keeping with the rest; and so far from displaying “great haste,” is in every respect a
carefully finished book etching. Four figures are represented in it as sitting round the
fire, among them the well known form of Oliver, with his turn-down collar and
elaborately brushed hair. On the mantle-shelf, with other ornaments, are two hyacinths
in glasses, thus fixing January as the date of the scene depicted. It would have been
better for the book if Charles Dickens had left it alone. The artist did as he was

requested, with anger at his heart; and as a consequence, Rose Maylie will go down to
posterity as the ugliest of George Cruikshank’s very ugly women, in an outrageous
bonnet, with her hand resting on the shoulder of a youth wearing the singular coatee or
boy’s jacket of forty years ago. Differing altogether from the admirable designs which
preceded it, there is an incongruity about the etching which cannot fail to impress the
observer. The unfortunate letter and still more unfortunate result occasioned a coolness
between the men which was never wholly removed. From that time forth George
Cruikshank executed no more designs for Charles Dickens, and the illustrations to the
long series of novels which afterwards followed from the pen of the talented but
distinctly autocratic author were entrusted to other hands. However much this result
must be deplored so far as the artist himself is concerned, the coolness between Charles
Dickens and George Cruikshank is scarcely to be viewed in the light of a misfortune for
English illustrative art. Only consider for one moment what might have followed had
the artist executed the designs to the rest of Dickens’s novels! Dick Swiveller would
have suited him, and so would Quilp, or Sampson Brass, the Yorkshire schoolmaster,
Newman Noggs, Lord Frederick Verisopht, Captain Bunsby, or even Mr. Pecksniff
himself; but only fancy, on the other hand, the horrors which would have been made of
Dolly Varden, of Edith Dombey, of “Little Em’ly,” of dear, gentle, loving little Nell!
Happily for the fame of George Cruikshank, his imagination was not called into
requisition for any one of these creations, and like the “annunciations,” the
“beatifications,” and the “apotheoses” of Lockhart, they remain (we are thankful to say
it) still unrealized!

The quarrel with Dickens was followed by a very bitter and very The Feud with Bentley.
singular feud between the artist and Bentley. Into the causes of that quarrel we need not
enter; suffice it to say that to the misunderstanding we owe some of the very worst
etchings which Cruikshank ever designed, the series of illustrations to Harrison
Ainsworth’s novel of “Guy Fawkes.” The worst of all is the Vision of Guy Fawkes at
Saint Winifred’s Well, and a very singular “vision” it is. The saint has all the appearance,
with all the grace, expression, and symmetry of a Dutch doll arrayed in a pocket
handkerchief; the sky is “machine ruled;” the pillars and tracery of the ruined chapel
are architectural impossibilities; while at the very first snort, the slumbering figure of
Guy Fawkes must roll inevitably into the well towards the brink of which he lies in
dangerous propinquity. These illustrations provoked the ire of the publisher and the
remonstrances of the author, both of which were disregarded with strict impartiality. In

1842, Harrison Ainsworth retired from the conduct of the “Miscellany,” and set up a
rival magazine of somewhat similar plan and conception, which he christened after his
own surname. This opposition venture appears to have been the result of a
misunderstanding between the editor and publisher, the most serious outcome of which
was, that when Ainsworth left he carried with him George Cruikshank.

The secession of George caused Mr. Bentley the greatest possible inconvenience.
The straits to which he was reduced may be imagined by the fact that A. Hervieu (an
artist of considerable ability), and the clever, well-known amateur, Alfred Crowquill
(Alfred Henry Forrester), had to be pressed into the service, and contributed leading
etchings. Meanwhile, the cover of the “Miscellany” showed that George Cruikshank
was nominally retained on the pictorial staff; and before the quality of his illustrations
became so villainously bad that the object he had in view—that of forcing Bentley to
cancel his engagement—had been attained, a draughtsman of unusual graphic power
and versatility had come to the assistance of the magazine. This was a young man who
had already executed many comic designs of a somewhat novel and original character,
and was already forcing his way to the front: his name—familiar afterwards “in our
mouths as household words“—was John Leech.

The “Guy Fawkes” illustrations were the outcome of the first campaign between
Bentley and Cruikshank; and as the history of the quarrel between the publisher and his
unmanageable artist is a somewhat amusing one, we may be pardoned for describing it
at length. The engagement from which he sought to free himself, and which he
stigmatized as “a one-sided one,” obliged Cruikshank to supply Mr. Bentley with at
least one etching every month; and as Bentley continued to advertise him as the
illustrator of the “Miscellany,” George commenced the second campaign by issuing in
the opening pages of the opposition venture the following characteristic manifesto:
—“Mr. Bentley, the publisher,” says the indignant George, “evidently wishes to create
the supposition that I illustrate his ‘Miscellany.’ On the contrary, I wish the public to
understand that I do no such thing. It is true that, according to a one-sided agreement
(of which more may be heard hereafter), I supply a single etching per month. But I
supply only that single etching. And even that can hardly be called my design, since the
subject of it is regularly furnished to me by Mr. Bentley, and I have never even read a
page of any of the stories thus ‘illustrated.’

“Yet Mr. Bentley not only advertises me as the illustrator of his ’Miscellany,’ but he
has lately shaped his advertisement thus, in the papers as well as on the wrapper of his
magazine: ‘Illustrated by Geo. Cruikshank, etc.’ Are his other artists worthy only of
being merged in an etc.? This is, indeed, paying them but a poor compliment; and one
which I should hardly think they would submit to. In certain other announcements I
observe mentioned, in addition to my own name, a ‘Cruikshank the Younger.’ Who is
he? The only Cruikshank the Younger I ever heard of as a designer, is myself. Would it
not be supposed that there must be a third Cruikshank, etching, drawing, and
‘illustrating,’ as his two predecessors have done? Yet there is no such person! There is
indeed a nephew of mine, who, as a wood-engraver, and a wood-engraver only, has
been employed by Mr. Bentley to engrave ’Crowquill’s designs;’ just as in my
‘Omnibus’ he engraved my own drawings upon wood, and still does engrave them in
’Ainsworth’s Magazine.’ Now, can any one imagine it possible for any respectable
publisher, especially ‘Her Majesty’s Publisher in Ordinary,’ to be guilty of so miserable
a trick, so wretched an expedient, as that of putting off the engraver of a few of the
drawings as the designer himself—as one of the ‘illustrators’ of the ‘Miscellany’? Let
Mr. Bentley but produce a single design for the ’Miscellany,’ by ‘Cruikshank the
Younger’ (by him so-called), and I will retract this indignant disclaimer and apologise.
If Mr. Bentley cannot do this, he stands self-convicted of an attempt to impose upon the
public by a mystification, for purposes as apparent as the trick itself.”

What this strange declaration of war proposed to effect is not altogether manifest; if
its author imagined it would produce the result of releasing him from his engagement,
he was signally mistaken, for Mr. Bentley, as might have been expected, held him all
the tighter to the letter of his bond. What the artist thought and what he did are told us
in the plainest language by the etchings which followed this singular manifesto. They
tell us as plainly as could be expressed in words, that George reasoned after the
following fashion:—“It is clear that under the terms of my engagement I am bound to
supply ‘Bentley’s Miscellany’ with one etching a month; but our agreement says
nothing as to the quality of the etchings, nor am I bound to see that they shall be strictly
relevant to the subjects which I am called upon to illustrate.” From that time, so long as
he continued to design for the “Miscellany,” George tried to do his worst, and it must
be admitted that he succeeded to admiration. Anything more outrageous than these
wretched drawings—taking into account the talent, power, and skill of the artist, and
the quality of the work which he was at this very time executing for Harrison

Ainsworth—can scarcely be conceived. They are so ashamed of themselves, that his
signature—usually so distinct, so characteristic, and so clear on other occasions—is
illegible, in many cases wholly wanting. At length, in vol. xiii. (1843) appeared a story
called “The Exile of Louisiana,” “with an illustration by George Cruikshank” (for
Bentley, probably by way of retaliation, was determined the public should know that
these performances were due to the hand which had produced the famous etchings to
“Oliver Twist,” “Jack Sheppard,” and the contemporaneous story of the “Miser’s
Daughter”). We should like to have seen the face of the author when this extraordinary
conception dawned upon him. The tale (a serious and pathetic one) was burlesqued
with one of the most grotesque caricatures the mind of comic artist ever conceived. It
represents Marshal Saxe recognising the widow of a late Czaaravitch in the gardens of
the Tuileries. The marshal, a most extraordinary personage, would make in actual life
the fortune of any enterprising showman. He possesses a nose of Slawkenbergian
proportions; his pig-tail reaches below his waist; and his sword, sticking out at right
angles, gives him the appearance of a fly with a pin through its middle. Near him stands
a courtier, with ankles of such fearful and wonderful construction that his legs will snap
the moment he attempts to use them. As for the distinguished relict of the Czaaravitch,
she is one of the most wonderful of the many wonderful people who figure in the
sketch. Her figure is an anatomical impossibility; while her mouth reaches from ear to
ear (the letterpress, by the way, informs us that her deceased husband had married her
for her beauty!). The statue of Mercury, posed like a scaramouch at a masquerade, is
matched by that of Neptune, who whirls his trident round his head in a state of the
wildest hilarity, cutting at the same time a caper over the body of an attendant dolphin,
who is so overcome with the whimsicality of the proceeding that he is making the most
violent efforts to restrain his laughter. This last shot probably hit the mark, for only
three etchings appear in vol. xiv., and not one afterwards. George was victorious; but
there are victories and victories, and a triumph won at the cost of an artistic reputation
is as disastrous as a defeat.

Harrison Ainsworth’s long connection with the artist had taught The Misunderstanding
him that he was one who would be neither driven nor led, and he was
with Ainsworth.

wise enough to accommodate himself to circumstances. The admirable woodcut design
at the head of that division of the magazine which was known as “Our Library Table,”
shows us the artist and the handsome editor in consultation, and the attitude of the two
men is indicative of the fact that Ainsworth is attentively listening to the advice or

suggestions of his coadjutor, a fact to which Cruikshank himself has been particular to
draw our attention. To the free and unfettered conditions under which Cruikshank co-
operated with Ainsworth we owe a series of the most justly celebrated and valuable of
his designs. In matters, however, connected with art, Cruikshank was, as we have seen,
a difficult man to get on with, and it was fairly safe to predict that a quarrel between the
author and artist was a mere question of time. The artist remained on the staff of
“Ainsworth’s Magazine” for three years, enriching its pages with some of the choicest
efforts of his pencil. At the end of that period came the unfortunate but almost
unavoidable misunderstanding; and George Cruikshank, as he had done with Bentley,
withdrew from the concern. Unlike Bentley, however, Ainsworth appears not only to
have foreseen, but to have made preparations for the inevitable; and accordingly, when
George Cruikshank retired, his place was immediately taken by an artist of talent,
destined to win for himself a considerable position among the ranks of designers and
etchers: this was Hablot Knight Browne, then and now known to us under his
monosyllabic nom-de-guerre of Phiz.

It seems to us fitting in this place to say a few words on the subject of George’s
pretension to be the originator of two of Ainsworth’s stories, because the truth of his
assertion has been questioned by a late commentator.94 George’s statements simply
amount to this: that so far as the illustrations to the “Miser’s Daughter” and “The Tower
of London” are concerned, the author wrote up to his designs. We have considered
Ainsworth’s answers to this statement, and find that although he fences with, he does
not deny it. It was one essential condition of Cruikshank’s success that his fancy should
be free and untrammelled, and the truth of his statement appears to us to be proved by
the illustrations to these works, which are certainly the finest which he ever designed;
that he was therefore (as he stated) the originator of these tales in the sense in which he
used the word, we can entertain no manner of doubt.

Most of the Cruikshank commentators, whilst writing on the subject of the Harrison
Ainsworth etchings, have thought fit to decry the author’s share of the performance; but
the fact that the pictures are so much better than the letterpress should not prevent us
from dealing fairly with the veteran author, who, like the distinguished artist with
whom he so long co-operated, has now gone to his rest. Even Mr. Ainsworth’s
detractors will, we think, admit that without him we should have lost the admirable
illustrations to “Windsor Castle,” “Jack Sheppard,” and “St. James’s”; it may even be
doubted whether without him we should have had the still better series of etchings

which adorn the “Tower of London” and the “Miser’s Daughter.” If this be the fact, it
seems to us we owe a lasting debt of gratitude to this venerable writer, who experienced
the vicissitudes which inevitably befall mere talent when allied with genius. He was a
writer of the George Payne Ransford James school, dispensing, however, with the
inevitable setting sun and two travellers, and received a price for his productions which
many a better author might well envy. For his novel of “Old St. Paul’s” (1841) he was
paid by the proprietors of the Sunday Times one thousand pounds; “The Miser’s
Daughter” attained an extraordinary success; and the same remark applies to “Windsor
Castle.” For “The Lancashire Witches” he received from the proprietors of the Sunday
Times one thousand pounds. Several of the works named had not the benefit of
Cruikshank’s illustrations; but in 1850-1, cheap editions of all such of Mr. Ainsworth’s
romances and tales as had appeared up to that period, were published by Messrs.
Chapman and Hall without any illustrations at all. “Windsor Castle” was the first of the
series, and upwards of thirty thousand copies were disposed of in a short time; while all
the other works enjoyed a very large sale, and popular favour was so far from being
exhausted, that another edition of his novels was called for in 1864-1868. He was a
veritable literary rolling stone. In 1845 he disposed of his magazine to the publishers,
and purchased the “New Monthly,” previously edited by Theodore Hook and (after his
death) by Thomas Hood; in 1854 he bought the far-famed “Miscellany” itself,
becoming its proprietor and editor; in that year he seems also to have re-purchased
“Ainsworth’s Magazine,” which as a separate and rival publication thenceforth ceased
to exist.

The only work which Cruikshank illustrated for Charles Lever was “Arthur
O’Leary,” and the reason of this has been explained by himself in a letter which he
wrote to Mr. Fitzpatrick, the author of Charles Lever’s life: “I had the honour and the
pleasure,” he says, “of being personally acquainted with the late Charles Lever, and I
regret that I was only able to illustrate one of his works, ‘Arthur O’Leary,’ my
engagements on ‘Jack Sheppard,’ etc., at that time prevented me from illustrating his
other works, which he wished me to have done, but I do not remember ever having any
written correspondence with him, as the MS. or printed matter was placed in my hands
for illustration; and then I had entirely to deal with the publisher. Mr. Charles Lever
was an author whom I held in high estimation.” Lever himself was highly gratified with
these illustrations.

By 1845, that is to say, at least two years before he had taken The Final Leap in the Dark.
his final leap in the dark, Cruikshank had contrived to pick quarrels with the very class
of men whom it was his special interest to conciliate, and had been driven to set up an
opposition serial of his own—the celebrated “Table Book“—which, notwithstanding
the superlative excellence of his own illustrations and the talent of his literary
contributors, comprising such names as John Oxenford, Horace Mayhew, Shirley
Brooks, Mark Lemon, W. M. Thackeray, and others, could not manage to prolong its
existence beyond its first volume. In matters connected with his own interests he was
not only impracticable, but seems to have been remarkably destitute of tact and even of
discernment. It cannot be doubted that the estrangement from Bentley was unwise and
impolitic, for as one of the greatest publishers of fiction of the day, his influence was
both far-reaching and comprehensive. In quarrelling with Dickens, Ainsworth, and
Bentley, three of the great artistic employers of labour of his time, and in face of the
growing popularity of John Leech and Hablot Knight Browne, he was literally
quarrelling with his bread and butter, and few men, even of genius, may afford to do
that. He was essentially impulsive, and frequently acted under the influence of first
impressions. Although fond of his pipe and his glass, as his famous Reverie,—The
Triumph of Cupid, in the “Table Book,” will show, he had always evinced a horror of
drink, and had, as we have seen, done his best at various times to expose its insidious
and baneful influences. At last, in 1847, came a sudden and extraordinary impulse of
enthusiasm, under the influence of which he not only produced his Bottle, but laid aside
for ever his pipe and his bowl. To do any real good, he said he must practise what he
preached: he joined the “teetotallers,” and not being one of those who did things by
halves, entered heart and soul into the crusade against drink by becoming a temperance
advocate. This last was the one step needed to fill up the measure of the artist’s folly,
and to secure for him the reputation of being an incurably eccentric, self-willed man.

Those who would charge the author with blaming George Cruikshank for joining the
ranks of the teetotallers will do him grave injustice. Although very much of the opinion
of Robert Burton, author of the “Anatomy of Melancholy,” that, “No verses can please
men or live long that are written by water-drinkers,” and disposed to undervalue the tact
and discretion of some of the advocates of total abstinence, for its abstract principles he
can say and think nothing but what is good. But he is writing, be it remembered, of a
great artist—one whose mission was that of an artist, not that of a temperance orator,—
of one who had served the righteous and good cause of temperance best when he

remembered that genius had made him an artist and not a temperance orator,—of one
who had rendered that cause yeoman’s service long before he joined the total
abstainers, in designing The Gin Juggernaut, The Gin Trap, and work of a kindred
nature. The cause, too, so far as mere verbal advocacy was concerned, was better
served by men of vastly inferior mark and ability. Before this fatal plunge was taken his
genius had roamed in an absolutely uncontrolled range of freedom. He had travelled
into the land of chivalry and romance, into the realms of fairy fancy, magic, and
diablery; he had brought back with him pictures of the wondrous people, lands, and
scenes which his fancy had visited. All this was at an end; this wonderful genius was
now forced into a narrow groove, where it could no longer have the freedom of action
which was essential to its very existence. From the moment that George Cruikshank
turned temperance orator, the world of English art lost one of its brightest ornaments,
and he himself both fame and fortune; for, as Mr. Bates observes, “some of his earliest
friends were alienated, and remunerative work that might have been his was diverted,
from sheer prejudice, into other hands.” His style, too, as Mr. Bates further remarks,
“suffered by the contraction of his ideas and sympathies, and his art became associated
with that vulgarity and want of æstheticism which perhaps necessarily characterizes the
movement.” The Bottle and The Drunkard’s Children, although successful in a
pecuniary point of view—compared with what had gone before,—can scarcely be
called art at all; in these too he unconsciously put himself in competition with Hogarth,
and as a matter of necessity failed.

He had been a king among designers and etchers; he had been and was still an
admirable water-colour artist, but knew comparatively little of the manipulation or
management of oils. A new crusade had however to be preached, to be preached by
means of an oil painting; and for this purpose George was to be inspired off hand (so to
speak) with a new art, and to paint a picture in oils. We know the result—the
lamentable result—in that most preposterous Worship of Bacchus. His motive was
good, his ideas were vast, but the genius which in his unregenerate days had enabled
him to design The Gin Trap and the The Gin Juggernaut, was no longer there. Unhappy
Rip! There is more poetry—more fancy—more romance—more art—fire—genius in
one of the little “bits,” nine inches by six, executed in the days of his pipe and his glass,
than in any one part or portion of this most gigantic failure.

The mere fact of his joining the ranks of the total abstainers would have done him
perhaps little professional mischief, had he been content simply to join them, and aid

their cause, as he had once so graphically done by depicting the evils of gin drinking
and intemperance; but it was one of the failings as well as one of the virtues of this
impulsive, earnest man’s character, that whatever his hand found to do, “he did it with
his might.” Desiring to aid them to the best of his power, he mistook the means by
which that aid might best be applied, and forgot that his talents lay not in the tongue but
in his hand and his head. We look upon George Cruikshank after 1849, no longer as an
artist, but as a very indifferent temperance lecturer. The reign of Fancy was over.
Thenceforth no “Reveries,” no “Jack o’ Lanterns,” no “Gin Juggernauts,” would come
from that indefatigable hand, that fertile brain, that wondrous and facile pencil. George
Cruikshank took his Worship of Bacchus, and went out into the world (heaven save the
mark!) as a temperance lecturer. His literary abilities were, however, small; he lacked
even that “gentle dulness”95 which characterizes the leading advocates of the
movement, and kindles a certain amount of sympathetic enthusiasm in kindred breasts.
The dull people who went to hear him, knew little about and cared less for art and
genius than they did for the abstract doctrines of total abstinence. The result, so far as
he personally was concerned, was curious, lamentable, and almost instantaneous. The
work which had hitherto crowded upon him fell away like water from a leaking vessel;
nay, on the authority of Mr. William Bates, when work was offered him he refused to
take it. “When pressed by the late Mark Lemon to draw on his own terms for Punch,”
this man who had designed some of the broadest, coarsest, most personal of the satires
of the nineteenth century, had grown so extremely particular that “he definitely refused
to have anything to do with it on account of what he termed its personalities.”96 What
could be done for such a man as this? Authors and publishers wholly ceased to employ
him; and he was left without work in the very pride of his artistic career. He turned to
oil painting; was taken by the hand by the influential few who appreciated, pitied, and
loved him; but from the moment that he became a temperance advocate, to the literary
world and to the general public this most singular and original genius was to all
practical intents and purposes—dead.

These observations, I repeat, are made in no spirit of hostility to the sincere and
earnest men who would seek to reduce the crime and misery which owe their origin to
the immoderate use of ardent spirits. So far from this being the case, I hold their cause
to be so righteous, so sensible, that it seems to me as effectually advocated by a plain,
simple, earnest man as by a great artist and man of genius. I say advisedly, that the
cause of temperance had been better served had Cruikshank stuck to his pencil and his

etching needle, instead of seeking the position of a temperance advocate, and stumping
the provinces with his absurd panorama of The Worship of Bacchus.

Thirty years of quite sterling and admirable work were now to be followed by thirty
years of artistic sterility, for from this Rip Van Winkle slumber of thirty years’ duration
his reputation never once awoke. Out of the dreary desert of mental and artistic
inactivity came forth at long distant intervals specimens of his handiwork, which
served, it is true, to remind us of what he once was capable, but failed to restore him to
the place he had for ever lost in public estimation; such were the illustrations to Angus
Bethune Reach’s “Clement Lorymer,” to Robert Brough’s “Life of Sir John Falstaff,” to
Smedley’s “Frank Fairleigh,” to George Raymond’s “Life and Enterprises of Elliston,”
to his own so-called “Fairy Library.” Good and excellent as this work was, it utterly
failed to lend even a passing vitality to his departed reputation, a fact sufficiently and
vexatiously proved when he essayed once more to start a magazine of his own, which
met with such little encouragement that only two parts were issued.

Nevertheless, the designs of the “Life of Falstaff” and his own “Fairy Library”
showed that, when the subject took hold of his fancy, the hand of Cruikshank had not
altogether lost the cunning which characterized it in days of yore. To illustrate the so-
called fairy stories, he had to read them,—no longer, alas! with his former love of fairy
lore and legend,—no longer with the mind of a man free, vigorous, elastic, but with a
mind warped and prejudiced with the study of a theme which was intellectually
depressing and uninspiring. No one knows the origin of these fairy stories, they come to
us from our Danish and Saxon ancestors, but are interwoven with the literature of every
civilized nation under the sun, and are altogether beyond the sphere of modern
criticism. Their primitive style is singularly adapted to enlist the sympathies of the little
folk to whom they specially address themselves: their highest aim and object is not to
instruct, but to amuse. All this the artist, in the ardour of his new crusade, lost sight of,
and so dead had he become to the fairy fancies and reveries of his youth, that he placed
sacrilegious hands on these time-honoured and favourite legends of our childhood, and
converted them (with most indifferent literary ability) into something little better than
temperance tracts!

But happily not without protest. Charles Dickens, the champion of the injured fairies,
set his lance in rest, and speedily rolled hapless Van Winkle in the dust. Into the details
of this very absurd and very unequal contest there is no necessity for us to enter. George

was at home with his pencil, his etching needle, or his tubes of water colour; but put a
pen in his hand, and he forthwith would cut the funniest of capers. He argued (with
every appearance of comical gravity and earnestness), that because Shakespeare might
alter an Italian story, or Sir Walter Scott use history for the purposes of the drama,
poetry, or romance, therefore, “any one might take the liberty of altering a common
fairy story to suit his purpose and convey his opinions.” Aye, and so he might, honest
Rip; but he would set about his task in a very different fashion to Shakespeare or Sir
Walter Scott, and I fear too that the literary results and value would be vastly different.
It never seemed to occur to the mind of the honest but simple casuist that in putting
“any one” on a par with William Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott, he was writing
simple nonsense.

It is clear, therefore, that the change which had come over the literature of fiction
during the past quarter of a century, and which Professor Bates would assign as one of
the principal causes of the sterility which befell the genius of Cruikshank, had really
very little to do with it. This calamity—for a national calamity it undoubtedly was—did
not fall upon him, be it remembered, when he was old, but in the very acme and pride
of artistic success. His fall was distinctly due to causes which were within his own
control, and might have been avoided by the exercise of qualities which (it seems to
me) he did not possess,—forethought, tact, and judgment. During the rest of his long
life, the place which George Cruikshank deliberately ceded to others he never once
regained; when he dropped behind, he became as completely forgotten as if he had
ceased any longer to exist; men whose childhood he had delighted with his quaint
imaginings, his own friends and contemporaries, died off; and so it came to pass, that
before he knew it, for time moves quickly after youth is over, the old man was left
standing alone amongst the ranks of a generation that did not know him. So little was
he known or regarded, that when his works were first exhibited, no one took the trouble
to see them; and when a small circle of admirers, with the great English critic, John
Ruskin, at their head, started a subscription for the forgotten artist, “the attempt was a
failure—hundreds being received when thousands were expected.” It will be
remembered that in his best days the artist had executed a memorable etching, Born a
Genius and Born a Dwarf: I wonder whether, in the bitterness of his spirit and the
righteousness of his anger, George Cruikshank ever thought of that etching?

94 Mr. Blanchard Jerrold.

95 “And gentle dulness ever loves a joke.”—Dunciad.

96 “The Maclise Portrait Gallery,” 1883, p. 195.

CHAPTER X.

ROBERT SEYMOUR.

Decidedly next in order of merit to George Cruikshank, amongst his own
contemporaries, if we except only Theodore Lane, comes Robert Seymour. With a style
and manner peculiar to himself, and a power of invention and realization which
amounted almost to genius, Seymour was superior in every respect to Robert
Cruikshank, with whom we find him not unfrequently associated in comic design. This
style and manner were clearly founded on those of George Cruikshank; and when he
selected (as he not unfrequently did) subjects which had been treated by the latter, the
work of this most able draughtsman will bear even favourable comparison with that of
the great original whom he chose as his master. That he drew his inspiration from and
sought even to emulate Cruikshank, is shown by the fact that to some of his earlier
caricatures he affixed the name of “Shortshanks,” a practice which he discontinued on
receiving a remonstrance from the irritable George.

Robert Seymour was born in 1798. Henry Seymour, his father, a gentleman of good
family in Somersetshire, meeting with misfortune, removed to London, and apprenticed
him to Mr. Vaughan, a pattern designer of Duke Street, Smithfield. This Vaughan seems
to deserve a passing notice here by reason of the fact that his father is said to have
received proposals for partnership from the father of the late Sir Robert Peel, which
were rejected, on the ground that the fortunes of the Peel family were not then
considered particularly flourishing. How far this statement may be correct we know
not. Assuming it to be true, the fortunes of the Peel family afterwards took a turn which
probably frequently gave Vaughan père (if he lived to ruminate thereon) some serious
cause for reflection as well as of repentance.

Like Hogarth, with whom this artist, like all other comic designers, has been
frequently and improperly compared, young Robert Seymour declined to waste his
abilities as a mere mechanical draughtsman, and used his technical education as a
means of cultivating the artistic gifts with which nature and inclination had endowed
him. He seems at first to have selected a walk in art which required for its ultimate
success a larger amount of application and patience than he could well spare for the
purpose. Shortly after the expiration of his indentures, he started as a painter in oils, and
executed several pictures, one of which (a Biblical subject) included, it is said, no less
than one hundred figures, whilst a no less ambitious subject than Tasso’s “Jerusalem
Delivered” was deemed of sufficient merit to be exhibited on the walls of the Royal
Academy. Other pictorial subjects were taken from “Don Quixote,” “Waverley,” “The
Tempest,” etc., besides which he executed numerous portraits and miniatures. These
efforts, however, do not appear to have been sufficiently remunerative to encourage
him to continue them, and after a time he resigned them to follow a branch of art more
congenial, perhaps, to his abilities, and thenceforth very rapidly acquired fame as a
social satirist and caricaturist.

The coloured caricatures of Robert Seymour, besides being comparatively scarce and
little known, seem hardly to call for any particular description; the titles of some of
them will be found mentioned in our Appendix. One which has survived, and with
which the public are probably most familiar, is one of the worst of the series. It is
entitled, Going it by Steam, is signed “Short Shanks,” and was published by King.
Among rarer and better ones may be named two very excellent specimens, without
date, published by Creed, of Chancery Lane, labelled respectively, A Musical Genius (a
butcher boy playing on the Pandean pipes and accompanying himself with marrow
bone and cleaver), and A Man of Taste and Feeling (a tramp caught in a trap while
helping himself in a butler’s pantry). Among the best of his coloured political
caricatures, we may mention, Greece and her Rough Lovers (i.e. Russia and Turkey),
published by Maclean, in 1828. Lithography afforded greater facilities of execution
than the old process, and much of Seymour’s work in political as well as social satire
was executed by himself on stone.

The year 1830 brought the life and reign of George the Fourth to Death of George IV. a
close. He had been breaking up for a long time past. The first entry of any moment
occurs in Mr. Greville’s diary, of 25th August, 1828: “The king has not been well; he
goes fishing and dining at Virginia Water, stays out late, and catches cold.” A year later,

the diarist relates that the king had nearly lost his eyesight, and would be “couched” as
soon as his eyes were in a proper state for the operation. On the 7th of December he
attended a chapter of the Bath, “looked well,” but was so blind that “he could not see to
read the list, and begged [Mr. Greville] to read it for him.” The Sangrado treatment was
then in full force; and we find that in January, 1830, the king, being very ill, “lost forty
ounces of blood.” He grew at last so much worse that the preparations for the festivities
with which the royal birthday was to have been celebrated were obliged to be
postponed sine die. A victim to dropsy, the operation of puncturing the legs was
resorted to, with the result of giving him temporary relief. The patient, however,
became liable to violent fits of coughing, in one of which he ruptured a blood vessel,
and expired early on the morning of Saturday the 26th of June, 1830.

A more contemptible, selfish, unfeeling being as a man than this king could scarcely
have been found, “a mixture of narrow-mindedness, selfishness, truckling, blustering,
and duplicity, with no object but self, his own ease, and the gratification of his own
fancies and prejudices.”97 “A more despicable scene,” continues Mr. Greville, “cannot
be exhibited than that which the interior of our Court presents—every base, low, and
unmanly propensity, with selfishness, avarice, and a life of petty intrigue and
mystery.”98 George the Fourth as king and regent was recklessly extravagant, but his
expenditure was always upon self or the gratification of self. A hundred examples of his
selfish nature might be given, but cui bono? Everything he could get hold of, which
could minister to his own personal gratification, he grasped with avidity. In this spirit
he appropriated the jewels and spent on himself the whole of the money belonging to
his late father’s estate, amounting to £120,000. His ministers did not dare to oppose his
greed, or tell him that this money belonged to the Crown, and not to himself as an
individual. He acted precisely in the same manner with regard to his mother’s jewels, of
which she possessed a large quantity. Those she received from George III. she left by
will to the king; the rest she gave to her daughters; in spite of which bequest, her selfish
son appropriated the whole to himself as his own personal private property.

An admirable likeness of this most selfish of royal or private personages Portrait of the
King. has been drawn by a master hand. “To make a portrait of him,” says Thackeray, “at

first seemed a matter of small difficulty. There is his coat, his star, his wig, his
countenance simpering under it: with a slate and a piece of chalk, I could at this very
desk perform a recognisable likeness of him. And yet after reading of him in scores of
volumes, hunting him through old magazines and newspapers, having him here at a

ball, there at a public dinner, there at races, and so forth, you find you have nothing—
nothing but a coat and wig, and a mask smiling below it—nothing but a great
simulacrum. His sire and grandsires were men. One knew what they were like: what
they would do in given circumstances: that on occasion they fought and demeaned
themselves like tough, good soldiers. They had friends whom they liked according to
their natures; enemies whom they hated firmly; passions and actions and individualities
of their own. The sailor king who came after George was a man; the Duke of York was
a man, big, burly, loud, jolly, cursing, courageous. But this George, what was he? I look
through all his life, and recognise but a bow and a grin. I try and take him to pieces, and
find silk stockings, padding, stays, a coat with frogs and a fur collar, a star and blue
ribbon, a pocket-handkerchief prodigiously scented, one of Truefitt’s best nutty brown
wigs reeking with oil, a set of teeth, and a huge black stock, under-waistcoats, more
under-waistcoats, and then nothing.” “Under-waistcoats, more under-waistcoats—and
then nothing!” Yes, there was something besides the silk stockings—the padding—the
stays—the coat with frogs and a fur collar, the star and the blue ribbon, although there
might be nothing underneath which resembled a heart or which was capable of being
inspired by a feeling which had not its origin in self. The wardrobe of this royal
professor of deportment, who ten years before had been described to his own great
personal annoyance as—

“The dandy of sixty, who bows with a grace,
And has taste in wigs, collars, cuirasses, and lace,”

was sold on the 2nd of August, 1830, and is said to have been sufficiently numerous to
fill Monmouth Street, and sufficiently various and splendid for the wardrobe of Drury
Lane Theatre. The meanness of his disposition was exhibited even in the matter of his
clothes, scarcely any of which he gave away except his linen, which was distributed
every year. Here were all the coats which this monarch had had for fifty years before,
three hundred whips, canes without number, every sort of uniform, the costumes of all
the order of Europe, splendid fur pelisses, hunting coats and breeches; among other
etcetera, a dozen pair of corduroy breeches made to hunt in when Don Miguel was in
London. His profusion in these articles was explained by the fact that he never paid for
them; but his memory in relation to them was nevertheless so accurate that he
recollected every article of dress, no matter how old, and his pages were liable to be

called on at any moment to produce some particular coat or other article of apparel of
years gone by.

The demise of this treasurer of royal antique raiment was followed by an order for
general mourning, to which a caricature drawing by Seymour has reference, the
satirical meaning of which will be apparent after the explanation previously given. A
colossal military figure armed with a baton, on which is inscribed the word “fashion,”
encounters at dusk, in Hyde Park, a solitary pedestrian habited in a suit of grey
clothing. “How dare you appear,” says the apparition, “without a black coat?” to which
the frightened pedestrian replies, “The tailor would not trust me, sir.” In August, 1830,
he gives likenesses of the new king and queen, William the Fourth and Adelaide,
surrounded by a halo of glory. The new king, in reference to his profession, and by way
of obvious contrast to his predecessor, is subsequently depicted as an anchor labelled,
“England’s best bower not a maker of bows.” From other contemporary pictorial skits
by Seymour we learn that various changes were made in the royal establishment, and
the new queen seems to have addressed herself specially to a reform in the dresses of
the court domestics. On the 1st of October, 1830, Seymour represents her grinding an
enormous machine, called the “Adelaide Mill,” into which the women servants, dressed
in the outrageous head-gear and leg-of-mutton sleeves of the period, are perforce
ascending, and issuing from the other side attired in plain and more suitable apparel.
“No silk gowns,” says Her Majesty as she turns the handle. “No French curls; and I’ll
have you all wear aprons.” The new queen seems also to have shown a disposition to
encourage native manufactures and produce at the expense of French and continental
importations. These changes were not particularly pleasing to the Conservative lady
patronesses of Almack’s, who were celebrated at this time for their capricious
exclusiveness. One of Robert Seymour’s satires, bearing date the 1st of November,
1830, shows us a conference of these haughty dames, who seriously discuss the
propriety of admitting some lady (probably the queen) who proposed appearing at one
of the balls “in some vulgar stuff made by the canaille at a place called Kittlefields”
[Spitalfields].

Robert Seymour.] [October 1st, 1830.
“THE ADELAIDE MILL.”
[Face p. 213.

Whilst England was thus peacefully passing through the excitement French Revolution
of 1830.of a succession to a vacant throne, France was convulsed with one of her ever-
recurring revolutions. Charles the Tenth, driven from his throne, had been replaced by
one who in his turn, some three and twenty years afterwards, was doomed to give place
to the Bonaparte whose sun we ourselves have seen set in the defeat and disaster of
Sedan. We find portraits in September, 1830, of Louis Philippe, king of the French, of
the queen, General Lafayette, the ex-king Charles the Tenth, and the Duc d’Angoulème.
Besides these, we meet with several clever illustrations by the artist, on stone, of the
stirring events of the time, which are interesting and valuable specimens of his versatile
powers.

Some of our readers may remember a passage in Peter Pindar, where the merciless
satirist ridicules George the Third’s German band, telling us (in allusion to his

Majesty’s well-known penurious habits) that, although they displaced native talent and
expected “to feast upon the Coldstream regiments fat,” their experience was altogether
of another character:—

“But ah, their knives no veal nor mutton carved!
To feasts they went indeed, but went and starved!”

The services of these foreign musical mercenaries had been retained by George the
Fourth, but one of the very earliest acts of his successor was to dismiss them in favour
of the guards’ bands, “who,” however, if we are to believe Mr. Greville, had no great
reason to be thankful, but were on the contrary “ready to die of it,” as they had to play
every night without pay, and were moreover “prevented” from earning money
elsewhere. This act of the new king is referred to in a sketch by Seymour, which shows
us his Majesty in the act of “discharging the German band,” who may be seen marching
off headed by their ancient and crestfallen drum-major.

The month of October, 1830, witnessed the trial of the notorious St. John Long.
impostor, John St. John Long (whose real name was O’Driscoll) for the manslaughter
of Miss Cushin. The success of this ignorant and notorious quack, who managed for a
series of years to extract a magnificent income of some £10,000 or £12,000 per annum
by trading on the credulity of his fellow-creatures, forms a curious commentary on the
weakness of contemporary “society.” It is said that he commenced life as a house-
painter, and afterwards acquired some slight knowledge of art in the humble capacity of
colour grinder to Sir Thomas Lawrence, and while colouring (on his own account)
some anatomical drawings for a medical London school, picked up a slight and
imperfect knowledge of anatomy. This stimulated him to further superficial research;
and after a few months’ probation, his confidence enabled him to pretend that he
possessed a cure for every disease under the sun—more especially consumption.99

The origin and pretensions of this learned practitioner are thus referred to in one of
the rhymes of the day:—

“You may talk of your Celsus, Machaons, and Galens,
Physicians who cured all incurable ailings,
But ne’er yet was doctor applauded in song
Like that erudite Phœnix, the great Doctor Long.

Such astonishing cures he performs, I assure ye,
Some think him a god—all a lusus naturæ:
The whole animal system, no matter how wrong,
Is set right in a moment by great Doctor Long.

Through all regions his vast reputation has flown,
Through the torrid, the frigid, and temperate zone;
The wretch, just expiring, springs healthy and strong
From his bed at one touch of the great Doctor Long.

His skill to experience, what potentates ran—
The Pope, the Grand Llama, the King of Japan!
The great Chinese autocrat, mighty Fon Whong,
Was cured of the ‘doldrums’ by famed Doctor Long!

In each serious case he considers as well as
Doctor Horace, ‘naturam cum furcâ expellas’;
’Dame Nature’ (i.e.) ‘you must poke with a prong.’
Pretty poking she gets from the great Doctor Long.

He cures folks à merveille, the French people cry;
The Greeks all pronounce him θειζταγον
Dutch and Germans adore him; the Irish among,
’To be sure he’s the dandy!’ Go bragh, Doctor Long!

King Chabert has proved, since restored from his panic,
There’s small harm in quaffing pure hydrocyanic;
But he never found out it was good for the throng,
When scrubbed on their stomachs by great Doctor Long.

A machine he’s invented, stupendous as new,
To sweep one’s inside as you’d sweep out a flue;
No climbing boy, urged by the sound of the thong,
Can brush out your vitals like great Doctor Long.100

* * * * * *

Garter King has assigned, like a sad ‘fleering Jack,’
A duck for a crest, with the motto, ‘Quack, Quack’
To the proud name of St. John (it should be St. Johng,
Which would rhyme with the surname of great Doctor Long).

Great house-painting, sign-painting, face-painting sage!
Thou Raffaelle of physic!—thou pride of our age!
Alas! when thou diest, and the bell goes ding-dong,
Sure Hygeia herself will expire with her Long!

Then fill every glass, drink in grand coalition,
Long life, long await this long-headed physician;
Long, long may Fame sound, with her trumpet and song,
Through each nation the name of the great Doctor Long!”101

“Dr. Long’s” remedy (“the prong” referred to in the foregoing ballad) was of the
simplest possible character, and—his dupes in nine cases out of ten being women—his
success complete. He invented a wonderful liniment or lotion, by means of which he
professed to diagnose and eradicate the virus of consumption. With many patients an
inflammation followed its application, which (according to the quack) discovered the
presence of disease, and which, after a plentiful crop of guineas had been extracted,
nature was allowed to heal: the patient was then pronounced out of danger. With some
persons the liniment was perfectly innocuous, and when this was the case the patient
was informed that no disease need be feared. The secret of course lay in the fact that the
quack used two liniments, apparently identical, one of which only contained the
irritating medium. Many actually consumptive persons of course consulted him; but
when this was the case he refused his assistance, on the ground that it had been invoked
too late.

He carried the imposition, as might have been anticipated, once too far, and, in the
case of the beautiful and unfortunate Miss Cushin (a lady of highly nervous
temperament), maintained the inflammation for so long a time that nature for once
refused to assist him, and when Sir Benjamin Brodie was summoned, mortification had
already set in. The trial resulted in a verdict of guilty, but the judge (Baron Parke), who
summed up scandalously in his favour, instead of sending the fellow to hard labour,
imposed a fine of £250, which was immediately paid.

Seymour alludes to this event in a pictorial satire, in which he shows us St. John
Long, with a vulture’s head and beak, kneeling on the floor of a dungeon with a bottle
by his side labelled “lotion,” and (beneath) the words,—“Lost, £12,000 per annum,
medical practice. Whoever will restore the same to Mr. St. J. L—g, shall receive the
benefit of his advice.”

Miss Cushin’s death was quickly followed by another fatal case, that of Mrs. Colin
Campbell Lloyd, who also died from the effects of the corrosive lotion, and St. John
Long the following year was again put on his trial for manslaughter; in this case the
fellow was acquitted. Seymour’s prediction was not destined to be verified. The soi-
disant St. John Long, alias O’Driscoll, in spite of these “mistakes,” which in our day
would receive a harsher term, retained his large “practice” to the last, and died—still a
young man—of the very disease to which he professed to be superior, thus conclusively
proving better than anything else could have done the utter impotency of his
preparation.

Anstey (son of the once celebrated author of the “New Bath Guide”) amusingly
describes the administration of an oath to a witness in a court of law:—

“Here, Simon, you shall (silence there!)
The truth and all the truth declare,
And nothing but the truth be willing
To speak, so help you G—d (a shilling).”102

The artist possibly had this quotation in his mind when he designed the following:—
The deponent is a country bumpkin, to whom an official tenders the Testament, at the
same time extending his disengaged palm. “Pleas zur,” says Hodge, “wot be I to zay?”
(To him the officer), “Say, This is the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God
one and sixpence.”

The open and notorious bribery, corruption, and intimidation which prevailed in
those days at parliamentary elections; Sir Robert Peel’s “New Police Act” (which was
received with extraordinary suspicion and dislike); the Reform Bill; the universal
distress and consequent bread riots of 1830-31, form the subjects of other pictorial
satires by Robert Seymour, which seem, however, to call for little notice.

The artist’s talent and services were constantly in demand as a designer on wood; but
finding that the productions of his pencil suffered at the hands of the wood-engravers to
whom they were entrusted, and the very inferior paper upon which the impressions
were taken, he, in or about the year 1827, began to learn the art of etching on copper.
We believe his earliest attempts in this direction will be found in a work now
exceedingly rare, bearing the title of “Assisting, Resisting, and Desisting.” A volume
called “Vagaries, in Quest of the Wild and Wonderful,” which appeared in 1827, was
embellished with six clever plates after the manner of George Cruikshank, and ran
through no less than three editions.

The “Humorous Sketches,” several times republished, perhaps the only work by
which Seymour is now known to the general public, appeared between the years 1834
and 1836. They were first published at threepence each by Richard Carlisle, of Fleet
Street, who is said to have paid the artist fifteen shillings for each drawing on the stone.
Carlisle falling into difficulties shortly before Seymour’s death, sold the copyright and
lithographic stones to Henry Wallis, who in turn parted with the latter to Mr. Tregear, of
Cheapside, but retaining his property in the copyright, transferred the drawings to steel,
and published them in 1838, with letterpress by Alfred Crowquill. Mr. Henry G. Bohn
issued an edition in 1842, and another some twenty-three years later, with plates so
sadly worn and blurred by over use that the best part of this last edition (issued by the
Routledges in 1878) is the binding.

The “Humorous Sketches” (we refer, of course, only to the early impressions),
although affording fair examples of the artist’s comic style and manner, are in truth of
very unequal merit. They comprise some eighty subjects, which, owing to the frequent
republications, are so well known that it would be superfluous to attempt a detailed
description of them here. The best is unquestionably the one numbered XXV., “This is a
werry lonely spot, Sir; I wonder you arn’t afeard of being rob’d.” The inevitable sequel
is amusingly related by Crowquill:—

“Poor Timmins trembled as he gazed
Upon the stranger’s face;
For cut-purse! robber! all too plain,
His eye could therein trace.

’Them’s werry handsome boots o’ yourn,’

The ruffian smiling cried;
’Jist draw your trotters out, my pal,
And we’ll swop tiles beside.

That coat, too, is a pretty fit,—
Don’t tremble so—for I
Vont rob you of a single fish,
I’ve other fish to fry.’”

The “Sketches,” with other detached works by the artist, reappeared in an edition
published by the late John Camden Hotten, entitled “Sketches by Seymour,”
comprising in all 186 subjects, for the most part sadly worn impressions. Although
there is nothing whatever “Hogarthian” about the originals, as the amiable publisher
would have us (as usual) believe, we may admit that the faces in No. 24, At a Concert,
are a perfect study, and that this sketch, with Nos. 45 and 46 (Snuffing and Smoking),
afford excellent examples of the artist’s ability as a draughtsman.

But the work which contains probably some of the best specimens “The Book of
Christmas.” of the artist’s style is one now exceedingly scarce. Christmas books, like

Christmas cards, are practically unsaleable after the great Christian festival has come
and gone; and this was the experience of Mr. T. K. Hervey’s “Book of Christmas,”
which, owing to the author’s dilatoriness, came out “a day after the fair,” and despite its
attractions proved unmarketable. This circumstance, we need not say, by no means
detracts from its value, and as a matter of fact, the collector will now deem himself
fortunate if he succeeds in securing a copy at a price exceeding by one half the original
cost. Those who have formed their ideas of Seymour’s powers from the oft republished
and irretrievably damaged impressions of the “Humorous Sketches,” will be astonished
at the unaccustomed style, vigour, and beauty of these illustrations. A few of the earlier
etchings are somewhat faint and indistinct, as if the artist, even at that time, was
scarcely accustomed to work on copper. They, however, improve as he proceeds with
his work; the larger number are really beautiful, and are characterised by a vigour of
conception and execution, of which no possible idea can be formed by those who have
seen only the “Humorous Sketches.” Noteworthy among the illustrations may be
mentioned the finely executed head of Old Christmas, facing page 23; the Baronial
Hall (a picture highly realistic of the Christmas comfort and good cheer which is little

better than a myth to many of us); The Mummers; Christmas Pantomime; Market,
Christmas Eve; Boxing Day; and Twelfth Night in the London Streets. The cheery
seasonable book shows us the Norfolk Coach with its spanking team rattling into
London on a foggy Christmas Eve, heaped with fat turkeys, poultry, Christmas hampers
and parcels. William Congreve tells us—

“Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”

The irritable personage awoke from his slumbers by the music of the waits, certainly
does not belong to any of the order of animate or inanimate subjects so softened,
soothed, or bent, as aforesaid, for he opens his window and prepares to discharge the
contents of his jug on the heads of the devoted minstrels. If the ancient ophicleide
player, with the brandy bottle protruding from his great coat pocket, might but know of
the impending cataract which more immediately threatens himself, he would convey
himself from the dangerous neighbourhood with all the alacrity of which his spindle
shanks are capable. A younger neighbour on the opposite side of the street awaits the
catastrophe with amused interest, whilst a drunken “unfortunate” executes—under the
elevating influences of music and drink—a pas seul on the pavement below. In the
etching of Story Telling, the deep shadows of an old baronial hall are illuminated solely
by the moonbeams and the flickering flame of the firelight; a door opens into a gallery
beyond, and one of the listeners, fascinated by the ghost story to which she is listening,
glances fearfully over her shoulder as if apprehensive that something uncanny will
presently issue out of the black recesses. The ghostly surroundings have their influences
on the very cat, who looks uneasily about her as if afraid of her shadow. Besides the
thirty-six etchings on copper, the book contains several charming woodcuts, impressed
on paper of a very different quality to that on which the artist was accustomed to behold
impressions from his wood blocks.

Of a class entirely different to the foregoing may be mentioned the still rarer series of
comicalities executed by the artist under the title of “New Readings of old Authors,” of
which we may notice the following: Moved in Good Time (Taming of the Shrew, Act 2,
Sc. 1), a tax-gatherer and other creditors bemoaning themselves outside the premises of
a levanted debtor; I am to get a man, whate’er he be (Act 3, Sc. 2), disciples of Burke
and Hare providing themselves with a living subject; I do remember when the fight was

done, when I was dry (King Henry IV., Part 1, Act 1, Sc. 3), a victorious prize-fighter
recruiting his exhausted frame by imbibing many quarts of strong ale; He was much
Feared by his Physicians (Act 4, Sc. 1), an irascible gouty patient flinging medicine
bottles and nostrums at one of his doctors, and stamping a prostrate one under foot; You
are too great to be by me gainsaid (King Henry IV., Part 2, Act 1, Sc. 1), a huge woman
administering chastisement to a small and probably (in more senses than one) frail
husband; My Lord, I over rode him on the way (Act 1, Sc. 1), a miserable huntsman
who has ridden over and killed one of the master’s fox-hounds; He came, saw, and
overcame (Act 4, Sc. 2), a wretched Frenchman, who, overbalancing himself, falls over
the rails of a bear-pit amongst the hungry animals below; Never was such a sudden
scholar made, (King Henry V., Act 1, Sc. 1), in allusion to the installation of the Duke
of Wellington as Chancellor of Oxford University; A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a fat
sleeper suffering under the agonies of nightmare, under the influence of whose delusion
he fancies himself roasting before a vast fire, with a huge hook stuck through his
stomach; and, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens: as she is mine, I may dispose of her
(Act 1, Sc. 1), an Englishman attempting to dispose of his ugly, wooden-legged old
harridan of a wife by auction. The lithographic stones on which the drawings to these
“New Readings” were made, and which comprised no less than three hundred
drawings, were effaced before the artist’s death, and impressions from them are now, of
course, more than difficult to procure. The Shakespeare series were collected and
republished in four volumes, in 1841-2, by Tilt & Bogue, of Fleet Street, and even these
last are very seldom met with.

On the 10th of December, 1831, there started into life a periodical of decidedly
pronounced political bias and opinions, entitled “Figaro in London.” Politics ran high in
those days; it was the time of the great agitation for “reform,” which in those days, as
we shall presently see, was both loudly called for and imperatively necessary. A mob of
boys and degraded women had taken complete possession of Bristol,—had driven its
deformed little mayor over a stone wall in ignominious flight,—had burnt down the
gaol and the mansion-house, and laid Queen Square in ashes, whilst the military and its
very strangely incompetent officer looked on while the city was burning.103 Every one
in those days was either a rabid Tory or an ultra Radical. It was just the period for an
enthusiastic youth to plunge into the excitement of political life; but the crude,
unformed opinions of a young man scarcely of age are of little value, and the political
creed of the proprietor and originator of this literary (?) venture does not appear to have