T. Blacklock, 92 Royal Exchange.--Grenville, Fox, and their colleagues,
are out on a recruiting expedition, to enlist volunteers for their new
service. Lord Grenville, as the recruiting sergeant, is haranguing
the bystanders; his followers are rather of the tatterdemalion order:
they wear the red caps of Liberty, and the revolutionary cockades,
they are out-at-elbows and shoeless. Sheridan is waving the colours
inscribed 'God save the King! No Jacobins!' Fox is drummer, Lord
Derby is fifer; 'Now my brave fellows, now is the time to make your
fortunes and show your loyalty, all on a Broad-Bottom'd principle: we
don't value _candle-ends_ and _cheese-parings_, not we! All lives,
and fortune-soldiers to a man. We'll make our enemies tremble; we are
the boys to _wind_ 'em; now is your time, my lads; the bed of Honour
is a bed of Down.' A dog, the _Member for Barkshire_ according to his
collar, is bow-wowing the sergeant's address; one of the audience, with
a paper, _Bed of Roses_ (to which the ministerial condition had been
likened by Lord Castlereagh), in his pocket, is half decided to join
their standard: 'I don't like a bed of Down, I would rather it was a
_Bed of Roses_: however I have a great mind to enter notwithstanding,
there is nothing like having two strings to one's bow.'
George the Third is peeping through his spyglass; he is not very clear
as to the actual motives of the party: 'What, what! my sergeant and
drummer beating up for volunteers; that's right, that's right, get as
many as you can!'
_May 4, 1806._ _Daniel Lambert, the wonderful great Pumpkin of Little
Britain._ Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.--The famous Leicester
giant, or rather fat man, Daniel Lambert, was the object of fashionable
curiosity at this date. The worthy and good-natured-looking monster's
figure is set forth at full, and justice is done to his corpulence. A
tailor and his journeyman are between them vainly trying to stretch
their measuring tape round the colossal girth; a fairly conditioned
man-cook has just brought in a noble rib of beef for the regalement of
the giant. Three modishly dressed persons of quality, who have come to
admire the huge proportions of Daniel Lambert, are contrasting their
own meagre condition of genteel slimness with his excessive plumpness.
A notice sets forth, 'Agricultural society for the improvement of fat
cattle. Leicestershire Ram'; and a placard advertises, 'The powers of
Roast Beef, or the Leicestershire Apollo, now in full bloom; no blemish
whatever on any part of his body. Thirty-six years of age. Weighs
upwards of 50 stone, 14 lbs. to the stone, or 700 lbs. Measures 3 yds.
4 inches round the body, and 1 yard 1 inch round the leg; is five feet
eleven inches in height. Admission only one shilling. Laugh and grow
fat.'[5]
_May 31, 1806._ _A Diving Machine on a New Construction._ Published
by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.--The unpopular increase
of Taxation, levied under the Broad-bottom'd auspices, was severely
dealt with by the satirists. In the present version, the Ministers
are represented as the crew of a diving-barge, _The Experiment_. Fox
is the diver, and a noble wreck, the 'Constitution cutter, John Bull
commander,' has gone down to the bottom of the 'Ocean of Taxation.' Her
commander is done for; amidst the spoils of the shipwreck, the Diver
(Fox) is securing certain weighty additions to his treasury: pig-iron,
Beer Tax, and heavy chests, '10 per cent.' are among the spoils. A rope
is secured to the ponderous Property Tax; Fox is giving the word to
'Haul up;' Petty, Sheridan and others are hauling away at the ropes;
their lighter is nearly filled with the precious wreckage they have
been able to secure.
_June 20, 1806._ _The Acquittal, or upsetting the Porter Pot._
Published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.--Lord Melville and
his counsel are exulting over the results of his acquittal by his peers
of the charge of investing the public funds for his personal advantage,
as far as the interest was concerned, a perquisite previously allowed
to the Treasurer of the Navy. When Lord Melville, then Henry Dundas,
filled the post of Treasurer to the Navy, he brought in an act for
the better regulation of that office, making such employment of the
funds in hand a misdemeanour; Whitbread, (at the head of the advanced
Liberals, or 'Radical Reformers,' who began to make his party dreaded
as formidable opponents of the old-fashioned Whig section, from which
his supporters had receded), and Wilberforce, as the enemy of all
corruptions, were the principal movers of Melville's impeachment, for
the alleged breach of his own act.
The two Scots, Melville and Trotter, who are dressed in Highland
garb, are embracing fraternally; at the same time, Melville is giving
a sly backward kick to a huge pewter pot, bearing the face of the
disconcerted mover of the charges. _Whitbread's Entire Butt_ is knocked
over, its contents _Impeachments_, _High Crimes_, _Misdemeanours_,
and _Peculation_, are flowing away unheeded; 'What is life without a
friend?' cries the ex-Minister on his acquittal; his counsel, Trotter,
is assuring his relieved patron, 'I'll _trot_ for you! I'll gallop for
you all over the globe. O happy day for Scotland! and see how pleased
John Bull looks--ah Johnny, Johnny, this is indeed a glorious triumph.'
But Mr. Bull declines to be soft-sawdered: his face is wearing anything
but a satisfied expression; he significantly keeps his hands in his
pockets, and is grumbling, 'I say nothing,' as if he could say a great
deal if he were disposed to express his honest opinion of the entire
transaction.
_July 21, 1806._ _Experiments at Dover, or Master Charleys Magic
Lantern._ Published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.--The
repeated delays to the preliminaries for peace, and the various
manoeuvres of Buonaparte's government, which protracted the issue of
Fox's policy, led to a feeling out-of-doors that the Minister was not
dealing straightforwardly with the public; that dissimulation was
thrown into their eyes like dust; and that the Whig chief was deluding
his followers for some reasons of his own; meanwhile the Corsican
Emperor was carrying forward plans for fresh aggressions unchecked.
Fox, in the print, has settled himself comfortably at Dover; with a
magic lantern to work his delusions, he is throwing painted images
across the Channel, which are reflected on the cliffs of Calais.
The figure of Napoleon is seen sounding a news-horn, announcing
'Preliminaries of Peace'; Fox's slide contains other views, which have
to follow, for the further perplexity of the honest spectator: 'More
despatches,' 'Messenger to Paris,' 'Messenger from Boulogne,' &c. The
Showman is trying to reassure his friend, 'There, Master Bull, what
do you think of that? I told you I would surprise you--"Preliminaries
of Peace," 'Huzza!' John Bull, who is standing unconvinced behind
Fox's chair, replies: 'Yes, yes, it be all very foine, if it be true.
But I can't forget that d----d Omnium last week; they be always one
way or other in contradictions! I will tell thee what, Charley, since
thee hast become a great man, I think in my heart thee beest always
conjuring.'
_June, 1806._ _Butterfly Hunting._ Published by Wm. Holland, 11
Cockspur Street.--A collision between the pursuits of rival enthusiasts
is pictured under the title of 'Butterfly Hunting.' Nothing can
stop the fervour of the butterfly collectors in their chase of the
sportive prey, wantonly flitting all over the flower-beds, and leading
the excited entomologists a pretty dance, carrying destruction to
the parterres, and ruination to the tulips, of which the proprietor
of the house and grounds is, it appears, a passionate fancier. The
havoc, which is spreading over the beds of his favourites, is reducing
him to frenzy; as he is awakened from his rest, and surveys from his
bedroom-window the field of action, the only wonder is, if he has a
loaded gun ready at hand, that he is not tempted to salute the reckless
spoilers with a volley.
[Illustration: BUTTERFLY-HUNTING.]
1806. _A Prize Fight._
1806 (?). _Anything will do for an Officer._--The caricature of a
pigmy and misshapen sample of humanity, dressed as an officer, with an
enormous cocked hat, worn on one side of his battered and lined old
face; a long pigtail projects over his high shoulders; he swaggers with
one hand on his hip, and the other on the head of a tasseled cane,
which is nearly as tall as the hero himself; his shrunken spindle
legs are thrust into huge boots, and his tremendous sword, which is
longer than the wearer, is trailing on the ground. The argument is not
complimentary to commanders in general: 'Some school-boys, who were
playing at soldiers, found one of their number so ill-made and so
undersized that he would have disfigured the whole body if put into
the ranks. "What shall we do with him?" asked one, "Do with him?" says
another, "why make an officer of him!"'
[Illustration: A PRIZE FIGHT.]
1806. _View of the Interior of Simon Ward, alias St. Brewer's Church,
Cornwall._--A quaint delineation of a church-interior during service;
the pastor, who is somewhat of the Dr. Syntax type, is holding forth.
There is a squire's pew, a rosy, sleepy clerk, a large leavening
of fat slumberers (among the rest the sexton and pew-opener), a
crowded gallery, worshippers both devout and careless, gazers through
curiosity, and the usual elements which made up a grotesque-looking
country congregation at the end of the last century.
1806. _A Monkey Merchant._
FOOTNOTE:
[5] The advice offered in the concluding line of Daniel Lambert's
advertisement must, however, be followed with certain reserve. The
Leicester giant's premature end is hardly an encouragement to would-be
imitators. After his first visit to London, in 1806, Daniel Lambert
returned to his native place; the year following he repeated his visit,
but feeling oppressed by the atmosphere of the metropolis, he made
a tour through the principal provincial cities and towns, where he
proved a great source of attraction. We are told 'his diet was plain,
and the quantity moderate, and for many years he never drank anything
stronger than water. His countenance was manly and intelligent; he
possessed great information, much ready politeness, and conversed with
ease and facility. He had a powerful and melodious tenor voice, and his
articulation was perfectly clear and unembarrassed.... Lambert had,
however, for some time shown dropsical symptoms. In June, 1809, he was
weighed at Huntingdon, and, by the Caledonian balance, was found to
be 52 stone 11 lb.; 10 stone 4 lb. heavier than Bright, the miller of
Maiden, who only lived to the age of thirty.'
A few days after this last weight was taken, on June 20, Lambert
arrived from Huntingdon at the Wagon and Horses Inn, St. Martin's,
Stamford, where preparations were made to receive company the next day
and during the Stamford races. He was announced for exhibition; he
gave his orders cheerfully, without any presentiment that they were
to be his last. He was then in bed, only fatigued from his journey,
but anxious to see company early in the morning. Before nine o'clock,
however, the day following, he was a corpse! He died in his apartment
on the ground-floor of the inn, for he had long been incapable of
walking up stairs. As may be supposed from his immense bulk and weight,
his interment was an arduous labour. His age was thirty-nine. At the
Wagon and Horses Inn were preserved two suits of Lambert's clothes;
seven ordinary-sized men were repeatedly enclosed within his waistcoat,
without breaking a stitch or straining a button.
1807.
_February 1, 1807._ _Miseries of London. Going out to dinner (already
too late) your carriage delayed by a jam of coaches, which choke up the
whole street, and allow you an hour or more than you require to sharpen
your wits for table talk._ Published by Ackermann, 101 Strand.
Breast against breast, with ruinous assault
And deafening shock they come.
_February 3, 1807._ _The Captain's Account-current of Charge and
Discharge._ Published by Giles Grinagain, 7 Artillery Street,
London.--A pair of plates connected with some militia or yeomanry
satire of the period: the scene of the captain's misadventure is
evidently a cathedral town, but the interest of the print is not
sufficiently strong to make any elucidation of the facts of the case of
much importance. The captain is mounted on a spirited charger; he is
losing his seat; several whips and his sabre have fallen, and the rider
is holding on precariously by his horse's mane. Professor Gambado's
famous tract, _Hints to Bad Horsemen_, is thrown on the ground. The
members of the troop, galloping in the rear, are enjoying their
leader's mishap, and saying, 'Our young whip is not an old jockey.' The
captain cries, 'March! trot! canter! charge! halt, halt, halt! I mean;'
while candid confessions burst forth spontaneously from the trumpet at
his side. 'Avarice, vanity! oh what a ninny I was to throw myself off!
they're laughing at me!' while hypocrisy, ingratitude, double-dealing,
false friendship, malice, &c., are trumpeted forth.
In the second plate the rider has come to grief; the horse is prancing
gaily, relieved of his rider; the animal is addressing a parting remark
to the discharged captain: 'You seem more frightened than hurt. You
have been taught the value of whips more than the use of them.'
A hussar has recovered the trumpet; he stoops over to the fallen
captain, who is rubbing the seat of his injuries: 'I hope your honour
is not hurt,' to which the fallen leader replies, 'I am not hurt, upon
my honour!' The troopers are riding gaily on, exclaiming, 'Why, our
captain needn't a fallen!'
[Illustration: MISERIES OF LONDON.]
_February 15, 1807._ _Miseries of Travelling; an Overloaded Coach._
Published by R. Ackermann.
_February 18, 1807._ _At Home and Abroad._--A domestic interior; the
servant is leaving the room with a warming-pan, and a lady, of the
developed 'fat, fair, and forty' order, is preparing to go to bed; the
partner of her joys, who is more youthful, has dropped his pipe and
is sipping a bumper of wine; but, although evidently sleepy, he seems
disinclined to follow the lady's example of retiring to rest.
_February 18, 1807._ _Abroad and at Home_ is a complete contrast to
the previous subject.--A handsome-looking man is reclining on a couch
before the fire; on the table by his side are fruit and wine, on his
knee there dallies an elegant creature; the lady's maid is figured in
the background, regaling herself with drops on the sly.
_February 26, 1807._ _Mrs. Showwell, the Woman who shows General
Guise's Collection of Pictures at Oxford._ Etched and published by T.
Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.--This, like the companion print,
bears the initials J. N. Esq. (John Nixon), 1807, but the style of
execution is in Rowlandson's marked manner. Mrs. Showwell is a dwarfed,
quaint old woman, of good-natured appearance, wearing a cap and hood;
she is pointing out the excellences of a collection of old masters with
a wand, and in her other hand is held the key of the gallery.[6]
_March 1, 1807._ _The Enraged Vicar._ Published by T. Rowlandson, 1
James Street, Adelphi.--
To see them rattle, howl, and tear,
By Jove, 'twould make a parson swear,
A subject of wanton destruction, which forms a fitting companion to
the invasion of the tulip-fancier's flower-beds by irrepressible
butterfly-collectors, was published the year following, as _The Enraged
Vicar_. In this case the horticultural tastes of the reverend gentleman
have led him to turn the grounds of the vicarage into a picture of
the most unvarying precision: clipped hedges, chopped borders of box,
with yew-trees and evergreens, carved into wonderful imitations of
impossible objects, form the passion of his heart. A hunted fox is
darting through these wonderful works of art; the hounds are breaking
over everything, and the whole field of fox-hunters are riding through
the Vicar's boundaries, and pounding their horses over his cherished
monstrosities. Judging from the frantic state of the dignitary, the
reverse of benedictions seem likely to be invoked upon the heads of the
intruders, who are wrecking the results of any amount of misdirected
patience 'in less than no time.'
[Illustration: THE ENRAGED VICAR.]
_April 18, 1807._ _All the Talents._ Published by Stockdale, Pall Mall.
[Illustration: ALL THE TALENTS.]
Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.
The complex nature of the famous Broad-Bottom Administration, known
as 'All the Talents,' is set forth in an allegorical representation,
which is supposed to include the several qualifications of the vaunted
_illuminés_. It may be remembered that this Ministry, which came into
power under Liberal and popular auspices, retired on the rejection of
their favourite measure, Catholic Emancipation, which they were pledged
to introduce. The King, and his friends, the remnant of the Pittites,
made a desperate stand against this measure, and the consequence of its
defeat was the immediate withdrawal of 'All the Talents' from office.
As embodied by Rowlandson's pencil, the combination of heterogeneous
elements produced a curious monster: the wig of a learned judge is worn
on the head of a spectacled ape, with an episcopal mitre and a Catholic
crosier; a lawyer's bands, a laced coat, and ragged breeches; wearing
one shoe, and a French jackboot; and dancing upon a funeral pyre of
papers, the results of the Administration, its endless negotiations
with France, and its sinecures and patronages, which are blazing away.
The creature's right foot is discharging a musket, to represent the
'Army,' which is producing certain mischief in the rear, and bringing
two heavy folios, _Magna Charta_ and the _Coronation Oath_ upon the
head of the dangerous animal. The left hand, holding a pen upside-down,
is supposed to be compounding new financial projects, in a ledger laid
over a music book, 'Country dances,' an allusion to the alleged dancing
proclivities of Lord Henry Petty, the Broad-Bottomite Chancellor of the
Exchequer.
The smoke, from the pipe of this _lusus Naturæ_, is obscuring the
portrait of William Pitt. The end of 'All the Talents,' who sacrificed
their influence from conscientious motives, and whose upright
principles were beyond suspicion, was a great source of triumph to
their opponents, who signalised their retirement with a volley of
satirical effusions. The 'Interment of the Broad-Bottomite Ministry'
produced a shower of political squibs and caricatures; and among the
best verses on the occasion, appeared the following mocking epitaph,
which has been attributed to the gifted pen of Canning, who came into
office on the dismissal of 'All the Talents.'
When the Broad-Bottomed junto, all nonsense and strife,
Resigned, with a groan, its political life;
When converted to Rome, and of honesty tired,
It to Satan gave back what himself had inspired;
The Demon of Faction, that over them hung,
In accents of anguish their epitaph sung;
While Pride and Venality joined in the stave,
And canting Democracy wept on the grave.
Here lies, in the tomb that we hollowed for Pitt,
The conscience of Grenville, of Temple the wit;
Of Sidmouth the firmness, the temper of Grey,
And Treasurer Sheridan's promise to pay.
Here Petty's finance, from the evils to come,
With Fitzpatrick's sobriety creeps to the tomb;
And Chancellor Ego, now left in the lurch,
Neither laughs at the law nor cuts jokes at the Church.
Then huzza for the party that here's laid to rest--
'All the Talents,' but self-praising blockheads at best:
Though they sleep in oblivion, they've died with the hope,
At the last day of freedom, to rise with the Pope.
[Illustration: A NINCOMPOOP, OR HEN-PECKED HUSBAND.]
_April 24, 1807._ _A Nincompoop, or Hen-peck'd Husband._ Published by
T. Tegg, Cheapside (147).--It is supposed to be the day of rest and
ease, and comfortable cits are taking their summer outings to suburban
resorts. A buxom city wife is sailing along with an air like a tragedy
queen, fanning herself as she walks. Her better half, a miserable
being reduced to abject servitude, is bearing a bundle, a shawl, a
pair of pattens, and an umbrella, objects to serve in the train of his
mistress's grandeur; the poor 'nincompoop' is vainly turning his eyes
up Heavenwards: no miracle is vouchsafed to free him from his bondage.
Other stout promenaders are bursting with indignation at the weakness
of this lord of creation, while they walk in the other extreme, and
leave their better halves to drag along both children and baggage in
their wake. Certain tired pedestrians are enjoying the reward of their
exertions, while partaking of cool pipes and tankards, at the '_Old
Swan Inn, Ordinary on Sundays_,' whither the parties have evidently
proceeded to dine.
_April 26, 1807._ _John Rosedale, Mariner._ _Exhibitor at the Hall of
Greenwich Hospital._ Etched and published by T. Rowlandson.--Like the
companion print, _Mrs. Showwell_ (Feb. 26), the sketch is signed with
the initials J. N. Esq. The old sailor Cicerone, who has a pigtail,
and wears a long square-cut coat of naval blue, with gold buttons and
lace, is pointing out with a cane the mysteries of certain allegorical
compositions to the gaping spectators:--
'Here is George, Prince of Denmark, and in the perspective a view of
St. Paul's, London, Sir James Thornhill in the wig, &c. &c.'
_May 1, 1807._ _The Pilgrims and the Peas._ Woodward del., Rowlandson
sc. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside. One of a series of headings
to songs, ballads, &c., published by T. Tegg.--In the illustration
to Peter Pindar's Apologue of _The Pilgrims and the Peas_, the
disconsolate sinner, with hard peas in his shoes, is crawling along,
doubled up with agony, to the shrine at Loretto, meeting halfway the
joyful pilgrim, who has accomplished his penance, 'whitewashed his
soul,' and returned from his journey without personal inconvenience, by
the exercise of the simplest precaution, as he confesses:--
To walk a little more at ease,
I took the liberty to boil my peas!
_May 3, 1807._ _Scenes at Brighton, or the Miseries of Human Life._
Published by A. Berigo, 38 Maiden Lane, Covent Garden.
_Plate 1._ Beauty, Music, a few thousands, and opportunity given
by card tables, often feather the adventurer and prove an easy
introduction to the Miseries of Human Life.
_Plate 2._ Jealousy, rage, disappointment, intrigue, and laughter are
here pretty much exemplified, and afford an old Lover a high-seasoned
taste of the Miseries of Human Life.
_May 6, 1807._ _Monastic Fare._
And why I'm so plump, the reason I'll tell,
Who leads a good life is sure to live well,
What Baron, or Squire, or Knight of the Shire
Lives half so well as a Holy Friar?
[Illustration: MONASTIC FARE.]
_May 6, 1807._ _Black, Brown, and Fair._ Designed by Sir E. Bunbury.
Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.--An illustration
to the lines:--
With Black, Brown, and Fair, I have frolic'd 'tis true,
But I never lov'd any, dear Mary, but you.
At the window of a tavern, at Wapping 'Dock Head,' is a bevy of
beauties, representing the variations of complexion described by
the song-writer. The redundant charms of this collection of beauties
are arresting an equally diversified circle of admirers, numbering
mulattos, a Chinaman, a Holland skipper, a foreign Jew, and a Virginia
nigger.
_May 6, 1807._ _The Holy Friar._ Designed by Sir E. Bunbury.
Rowlandson, sculp.
I am a Friar of orders Grey,
And down the valleys I take my way.
I pull not Blackberry, Haw, or Hip;
Good store of ven'son does fill my scrip.
My long Bead-roll I merrily chaunt,
Wherever I walk no money I want;
And why I'm so plump, the reason I'll tell,
Who leads a good life is sure to live well;
What Baron, or Squire, or Knight of the Shire
Lives half so well as a Holy Friar?
After supper of Heav'n I dream,
But that is fat pullets and clouted cream;
Myself by denial I mortify,
With a dainty bit of a Warden pie.
I'm cloth'd in sackcloth for my sin,
With old Sack wine I'm lin'd within,
A chirping cup is my Matin song,
And the vesper's bell is my bowl--ding dong!
What Baron, or Squire, or Knight of the Shire
Lives half so well as a Holy Friar?
[Illustration: THE HOLY FRIAR.]