the unfortunate invalid, introduced by the artist as the principal
figure in this humorous plate, is in a bad case; his suffering face
expresses all the forlorn terrors of his extreme situation, which seems
tolerably hopeless, since he is attended by no less than ten learned
practitioners, and a sick-nurse; it is hard if among them they cannot
settle their patient's condition. The ten are by no means troubling
themselves about their client all at once: it is sufficient that a
brace of the brethren are feeling each a pulse, which operation does
not seem to afford them much enlightenment, since one is consulting
his chronometer, and the other is seeking inspiration from the head
of his gold-topped stick. Their colleagues are more agreeably engaged
in fortifying themselves for their arduous professional duties by
attending manfully to the refreshment department. The gouty patient
has evidently been a man of substance; over his mantel hangs a map of
'Rotten Boroughs,--Camelford, Devon, &c.'
_May 21, 1808._ _Volunteer Wit, or not Enough for a Prime._ Woodward
del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (227).--A party
of Volunteer officers are gathered round the mahogany of their
entertainer, who, it seems, is a notorious screw; the host is offering
to fill the wine-glasses of the mess, but the dimensions of the glasses
are somewhat miniature for bumper toasts. A challenge is given from the
chair: 'Come, gentlemen-volunteers, to the right and left--Charge if
you please to the King!' The vice-chair is winning the sympathies of
the rest, and extracting a grin all round, by standing up, spectacles
on nose, and responding: 'I should be very happy to obey your orders,
Colonel, but really your glasses are so small, that, dash me if there's
enough for a prime!' The Colonel's miserly disposition is hinted by the
various papers thrown about, on the 'Current prices of Port wine,' and
such maxims as 'A penny saved is twopence got'; with a statement pinned
to the wall, 'How to get rich,' 'Pinch, squeeze, gripe, snatch, &c.'
1808 (?). _The Anatomy of Melancholy._ ''Tis a misery to be born,
a pain to live, a trouble to die.'--A mixed scene of suffering and
indifference. Propped up in a pillowed arm-chair, before the fire, is
a melancholy invalid, old, decrepit, and ill-favoured. By his side is
a list of 'Remedies against discontents,' 'Cure of jealousy,' &c.; on
the mantel is an array of doctor's bottles, and a hatchment,--_groans,
griefs, sadness_,--forms a cheerful adornment for the chimneypiece.
Behind the sufferer, whose last hour, it seems, is approaching--since
Death has thrust his head, arm, and hour-glass through a window above
his head--is seated a blooming young damsel, decked out in all the
attractiveness of an evening toilette; planted at a table by her
side is a dandified admirer; before them a dessert is arranged, and
decanters of wine are ready to hand. The nonchalant pair are pledging
one another amorously in bumpers, while the spirit of the founder of
the feast is departing. A painting of Democritus, his face wearing an
expression of grief on one side, and laughter on the other, explains
the transitory nature of sorrow, and the key of the situation is
further offered by certain lines inscribed on a paper under the lady's
hand: 'Come what may, the cat will mew, the dog will have his day.'
_May 21, 1808._ _The Mother's Hope._ Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp.
Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside. (No. 228.)--The Mothers Hope is a
pretty juvenile termagant, a Turk of the most irreclaimable order. The
young rebel is dancing about in a fine rage, scattering his playthings,
and 'making a bobbery' which is setting the entire house by the ears.
The screams of the intractable elder are imitated by an infant in arms,
and a canary is adding its shrill pipings to the general squall, after
the nature of little warblers.
[Illustration: THE MOTHER'S HOPE.]
The wilful child is making a general statement of refractory
resolutions:--'I don't like dolls--I don't like canary birds--I hate
battledore and shuttlecock--I like drums and trumpets--I won't go to
school--I will stay at home--I will have my own way in everything!'
The horrified grandmother is growing prophetic on the strength of this
irreconcilable prodigy: 'Bless the Baby--what an aspiring spirit--if he
goes on in this way he will be a second Buonaparte!'
_June 4, 1808._ _The Sweet Little Girl that I Love._ Woodward del.,
Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg. (167.)--A long military
gentleman, wearing spectacles, a pigtail, and a powdered wig and
whiskers, in the course of his perambulations has come across a quaint
round little body, as broad as she is long, and perched on pattens:
the hero is stooping low to salute the lips of the dwarfed lady. The
picture is designed as a parody upon the lines:--
My friends all declare that my time is misspent,
While in rural contentment I rove:
I ask no more wealth than Dame Fortune has sent,
And the sweet little girl that I love.
The rose on her cheek's my delight:
She's soft as the down--the down of the dove.
No lily was ever so fair
As the sweet little girl that I love.
_June 4, 1808._ _Odd Fellows from Downing Street, complaining to John
Bull._ Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111
Cheapside (168).--John Bull, in his best clothes, and standing in
the vicinity of the Treasury, is receiving a deputation, the members
of which, as far as appearance goes, are singularly fitted for the
order of Odd-fellows. The object of their interview is simply an
appeal to the sympathies of the National Prototype: 'You must know,
Mr. Bull, we are a society of Odd Fellows who had a Lodge in Downing
Street, and were robb'd of our cash and accounts, notwithstanding we
met at the King's Head, and so near the Treasury too! Is not it very
hard? However, we have left Downing Street entirely.' John Bull, who,
with his hand beneath his coat-tails, is ruminating over other more
weighty matters applying to his own case, and peering through his huge
spectacles, returns in reply: 'All I have to say, my good friends, is
this--I am very sorry for you, but I must own I am of opinion if some
more _Odd Fellows_ in Downing Street were to quit their situations it
would be very much to my advantage!'
_June 20, 1808._ _A Snug Cabin, or Port Admiral._ Published by R.
Ackermann, 101 Strand.--Very different cheer to the _Volunteer Prime_,
is found on board the ship of the port-admiral. That worthy personage
is drawn entertaining his naval colleagues, admirals, commodores,
and captains, in his state cabin, with the best of cheer; baskets of
prime vintage from the Isles of the Madeira, are ready to the nimble
steward's hand, and the goodly flasks are uncorked in a twinkling.
The jorums on the mahogany are capacious, and the glasses, which are
freely emptied, would serve as goblets for more than half-pint bumpers;
however, in spite of the hilarity, and the liberal circulation of
the decanters, decorum is preserved, and the naval commanders are
comporting themselves like 'fine old English gentlemen,' while the
toast goes round:--
Come Hurricane,
Drink your Wine.
Here's to the wind that blows,
The ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor.
[Illustration: A SNUG CABIN, OR PORT ADMIRAL.]
_June 30, 1808._ _Accommodation, or Lodgings to Let at Portsmouth._
Published by T. Tegg. (219.)--Certain smartly-rigged tars have
just come on shore, evidently after a handsome haul in the way of
prize-money, as the spruceness of their turn-out evinces. A highly
presentable 'salt' has his wife in tow; the lady has evidently taken a
share of his good fortune, being dressed in the height of the fashion,
with ear-rings, necklets, and chains, heavy enough for cables, to
which are suspended miniatures, seals, and watches. The happy pair are
evidently about to set up housekeeping, and an advertisement-board has
just arrested their attention, conveying the information, 'Lodgings for
Single Men and their Wives,' with an invitation to ring the bell. 'Why,
Nan,' exclaims the tar to his partner, 'this is the very berth we have
been so long looking after!'
_June 30, 1808._ _The Welsh Sailor's Mistake, or Tars in Conversation._
Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.
(220.)--The artist has assumed a little poetic licence to perpetrate
a jokelet of a very harmless order. Groups of sailors are seated on
the forecastle, some perched on coils of rope, others on sea chests;
a British tar, on a barrel, with a canister of 'real Oronooko' by
his side, is spinning a yarn to his messmates; he has arrived at the
exciting incident of his narrative:--'and so then, do you see, David,
we sprung a leak!' when his Welsh messmate, who cannot resist this
allusion to a reputed national delicacy, rather irrationally interrupts
him: 'Cot pless us--and save us--did you? and a ferry coot fetchitable
it is; I should have liked to have had a pit with you.'
_October 25, 1808._ _A Bill of Fare for Bond Street Epicures._ Woodward
del., engraved by T. Rowlandson. Published by T. Tegg.
_November 1, 1808._ _Wonderfully Mended; shouldn't have known you
again._ One of the series bearing Rowlandson's name, and published by
Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.--The scene represents the consulting
room of some eminent quack of the day, who, dressed in his morning-gown
and slippers, with glasses on nose, is receiving his decrepit and
melancholy patients. The comforting assurance given by the practitioner
to his patients is, it appears, totally without foundation; all
his clients, judging from their condition, being in a fair way to
supplement the Bills of Mortality.
_November 1, 1808._ _The Last Shift._ Published by Reeve and Jones, 7
Vere Street.--Interior of a pawnbroker's shop; two St. Giles's demireps
are shown in the act of raising a loan to replenish their gin bottle,
at the expense of their wardrobe.
_November 1, 1808._ _Breaking Cover._ Published by Reeve and Jones, 7
Vere Street.--A fox-hunting party is passing through a village; one of
the Nimrods has seemingly formed an attachment for a fair neighbour:
standing on the back and saddle of his horse, he has contrived to raise
himself to the level of the lady's casement, and she is leaning out of
window, and rewarding his gallantry with a tender embrace; meanwhile
her husband in his nightcap, opening the shutter below, is securing a
prospect of the proceeding, which has thrown an expression of idiotic
consternation over his simple features.
_November 1, 1808._ _Get Money._--One of a series engraved in rough
facsimile of Rowlandson's original drawings, and bearing an imitation
of his autograph in the corner; published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere
Street.
Below the print appear the following lines:--
Get Money, Money still,
And then let Virtue follow if she will.
Three conventional types of Israelites are indicated standing in Duke's
Place, the resort of Jewish clothesmen, eagerly canvassing the above
doctrine, and carrying out its first injunction.
[Illustration: DOCTOR GALLIPOT.]
_November 1, 1808._ _Doctor Gallipot placing his Fortune at the feet of
his Mistress._ Published by Reeve and Jones, 7 Vere Street.
Throw physic to the dogs.
Doctor Gallipot, a brandy-faced empiric, who is dressed in the height
of the 'Frenchified' fashion, the better to support his quackeries, is
laying the implements of his profession, as his fortune, at the feet
of a slightly theatrical looking lady, whose figure is delineated with
Rowlandson's accustomed grace and spirit.
_November 1, 1808._ _Rum Characters in a Shrubbery._ Published by Reeve
and Jones, 7 Vere Street.--Four demireps, of dissipated appearance and
varied characteristics, are regaling themselves on Booth's gin at a
public bar or _Rum Shrubbery_.
_About 1808._ _Bartholomew's Fair._ Nixon del., Rowlandson sculp.--The
fun of the Fair is represented in full swing, and the humours of the
scenes displayed on all sides are seized and hit off with the usual
felicity of both artists. Judging from the caricature, the abolition of
fairs in the City must have been a boon to public order and morality.
The noise, disorder, and misrule of the festivity are taking place
outside the hospital. Boat-swings are revolving, a few of the swings
are getting into difficulties, upsetting, or the bottoms coming out,
while some of the swingers find themselves indisposed from the motion.
There are wandering sellers of sweets, pastry, and such things as were
devoured at _fairings_, boys with links, for it is late, and dusk;
booths for refreshments, where customers are eating hot cakes cooked
on the spot. There are drinking stalls where tipplers are taking too
much; as is illustrated in the person of a reveller who, finding
himself overcome with liquor, has laid down in the gutter to take a
little rest, an opportunity not lost sight of by the light-fingered
gentry who have come for business; the toper's watch, purse, hat, and
other portable property are swiftly transferred. There are booths for
dancing, and there are merrymakers who are managing to dance outside;
there are revolving wheel-swings and merry-go-rounds; there is a crowd
of very miscellaneous merry-making company, and parties of jolly
sailors arriving outside coaches. The harmony of the proceedings is
varied by several rows; and, in more than one spot, rings are formed
for fair fighting, and both men and women are exhibiting their prowess
in the boxing line, or exchanging buffets and scratches. The signs
and booths of famous showmen, once the splendours of by-gone fairs,
are disposed around; among the spectacles which invited those of our
forefathers who 'went to see the shows,' we may notice that Rowlandson
has introduced Miles' Menagerie, Saunder's Tragic Theatre, Gingle's
Grand Medley, Miss Biffin, Polito's Grand Collection, Punch, &c.
ROWLANDSON'S CARICATURES AGAINST BUONAPARTE.
As we have already seen, Rowlandson's pencil and graver were enlisted
against the Corsican; it would seem that the artist's anti-Napoleonic
proclivities ran strongly from this period until the downfall of the
Emperor; or else--which is the more reasonable solution--English
prejudices against the man whose almost frantic antagonism to this
country is now forgiven, if not well-nigh forgotten, demanded an
unlimited supply of pictorial satires to stimulate the national hatred,
a state of things which pleased both the publishers and the public,
and kept the caricaturist occupied, although it is to be regretted that
these somewhat imaginative scenes of horror employed his ready skill
to the exclusion of those representations of social manners, and the
observances of the world around him, whose eccentricities he might have
sketched from the life--scenes drawn from a quaint and picturesque
generation of which his earlier career has left us such lively
pictures, works which alone render his name worthy of his reputation,
and which form in themselves an inexhaustible and valuable legacy to
his followers.
_July 8, 1808._ _The Corsican Tiger at Bay._ Published by R. Ackermann,
101 Strand.--The mighty disturber of the peace of Europe is figured
under the form of a savage tiger, with his natural head, and on which
he wears the enormous military cocked hat with its long plume--most
indispensable accessories in all the caricaturist's portraits of the
great 'little Corsican.' The tiger's claws are rending four 'Royal
Greyhounds,' which are quite at the mercy of the ferocious conqueror;
but a larger and stronger pack of 'Patriotic Greyhounds' are giving
tongue, and a fierce charge is being made by some very determined
and mischievous-looking hounds who are rushing up to the attack. The
_Dutch Frog_, isolated on his own little mudheap, is promising to
join the fray: 'It will be my turn to have a slap at him next.' The
_Russian Bear_ and the _Austrian Eagle_, are kept in secure bondage by
heavy fetters, but the triple-headed bird of prey is looking forward
to a fresh onslaught, and prompting his fellow-captive: 'Now _Brother
Bruin_, is the time to break our chains.'
John Bull, on his own island shores, has come out in the character of a
sportsman; he is pointing his piece at the tiger brought to bay, and is
singing nursery rhymes for the general encouragement:--
There was a little man,
And he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead:
D--- me, but we'll manage him amongst us!
_July 10, 1808._ _Billingsgate at Bayonne, or the Imperial Dinner._
Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.--The members of the Royal
family of Spain, decoyed to Bayonne, are sitting down to a very
unruly repast, the entire company being at loggerheads. The Queen
has risen from table, and in true fishfag style she is raving at her
son Ferdinand, who is confronting her: 'Now, you villain, I'll tell
you to your face--and before my dear friend Boney--you are no child
of the King's--so you may shut up.' At this famous interview the
Oueen of Spain, it may be remembered, after upbraiding Ferdinand for
his usurpation, actually declared him illegitimate. This argument,
according to the print, does not demolish her opponent, who is
replying: 'Madam, I know all your tricks, and all the tricks of your
Prince of Peace.' The Infants of Spain are encouraging the last
speaker: 'Brother, don't mind her, we, the Infants, acknowledge you;'
a terrific personage, with the emblem of a Royal crown on the back
of his seat, is banging down his fist and demanding: 'Am not I the
great Zavallos? will you be silent?' Those on the opposite side are
more tranquilly disposed; Charles, who had abdicated by Buonaparte's
compulsion in favour of his son Ferdinand, is crying: 'I wish they
would let a poor old King play quietly on his fiddle!' while one of
the diners is actually paying attention to his meal, and wishing
'they would leave him at peace.' Little Buonaparte in the uniform of
a general, as he is usually represented, has risen from a high-raised
throne, erected in accordance with his imperial state, at the head of
the table; he is affecting to be in a passion at the general discord
which he had ingeniously contrived to foster and bring about: 'I'll
tell you what, if you make such a riot at my table, I'll be d----d if I
don't send you to the Round House!'
_July 12, 1808._ _The Corsican Spider in his Web._ Woodward del.,
Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.--The formidable
Emperor is represented in a highly successful character as an overgrown
spider; his body is formed of 'unbounded Ambition,' which is topped
with his own head, he enjoys an amazing capacity for swallowing the
surrounding insects, which seem unable to resist being drawn into his
toils. The voracious Corsican Spider in the centre of his wide-spread
web, is swallowing down a brace of _Spanish Flies_. 'Small Flies
Innumerable' are entrapped in strings, and even the largest specimens
seem powerless to disentangle themselves; the Austrian, Dutch,
Portuguese, Hanoverian, Etrurian, Prussian, Hamburg, Italian, and
Venetian Flies are all more or less effectually secured; the 'Pope Fly'
is half entrapped, and is expressing a fear of being dragged in. The
'Russian Fly,' of more hostile disposition, has caught his feet in the
snare: 'I declare I was half in the web before I made the discovery.'
The 'Turkish Fly' is at present free, but its security is uncertain;
'I am afraid it will be my turn next.' Stout John Bull is figured as
the 'British Fly'; he is observing the wiles of the 'Corsican Spider'
without any anxiety on his own account: 'Ay, you may look, master
Spider, but I am not to be caught in your web!'
_July 12, 1808._ _The Corsican Nurse soothing the Infants of Spain._
Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.
(245.)--Buonaparte is acting as nurse to the rival Spanish claimants,
still clad in his uniform and boots, with the indispensable cocked hat
of Brobdingnagian proportions; the Emperor is lulling the entire royal
family to sleep: with one foot he is rocking the 'Imperial Cradle,'
which contains 'The good old King and his amiable Consort,' while
Don Carlos, in swaddling clothes, with a padlock round his neck, is
slumbering upon one of the Corsican's knees; upon the fellow is held
Antonio under similar conditions, while the arch-deceiver is rocking
a duplicate Imperial Cradle containing the unconscious 'Prince of
Asturias,' with his other foot.
_July 22, 1808._ _The Beast as described in the Revelations (Chap.
13), resembling Napoleon Buonaparte._ Designed by G. Sauler Farnham.
Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.--The Beast, which has sprung
from Corsica, is drawn with seven heads; the names of Austria, Naples,
Holland, Denmark, Prussia, and Russia are on the respective crowns; the
seventh head, which is of course that of Napoleon, is severed from the
trunk, while vomiting forth flames. The distance shows cities on fire,
where the beast has wrought destruction; on his body are the figures
666, the total of the numerals found in the name of Napoleon Buonaparte
added together, taking _a_ as one, _i_ as ten, _t_ as a hundred, and so
on.
Spain is represented as the champion who has had the courage to make a
stand against the monster. The patriot has crippled the destroyer; the
hero is armed with a sabre of _True Spanish Toledo_, and is crying,
'True patriotism shall thus subdue the monstrous beast, and quell
the rage of war.' His shield is _Catalonia_, a mitre, _St. Peter's,
Rome_, is his helmet; _Spanish Patriotism_ has struck the decisive blow
from his right arm, _Asturias_; his sword-belt is _Madrid_; his legs
_Cordova_; and with his foot, _Cadiz_, he is strangling a serpent. The
fleet of Admiral Purvis is seen on the seas; Hope, with her anchor, is
stooping to catch the crowns of France, Spain, and Portugal, which have
been shaken from the brow of the smitten beast.
_August 18, 1808._ _From the Desk to the Throne._ _A New Quick Step by
Joseph Buonaparte._ _The Bass by Messrs. Nappy and Tally._ Designed
by G. Sauler Farnham. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.--This
caricature was issued to burlesque the astonishing elevation of Joseph
Buonaparte to the throne of Spain, of which, through his brother's
ingenuity, he secured a brief and by no means tranquil possession.
On Napoleon's coronation, his brothers had been created princes, and
Joseph had been made King of Naples before the Spanish intrigue.
The caricaturist's version, though striking, is not literally true.
According to the print Joseph Buonaparte has one foot resting on the
rail of the desk at which he lately occupied a seat, with the other
he is endeavouring to touch Madrid on the map of Spain and Portugal.
His pen has fallen from his ear, and he is straining to clutch the
royal regalia of Spain which is above his head. From a paper pinned
to the wall we are informed this remarkable promotion is taking its
rise from the office of a 'public notary, Bayonne.' His fellow-clerks,
pausing with their quills uplifted, to marvel at this sudden flight of
ambition, are making various pertinent observations: 'What a prodigious
step for a notary's clerk!' One clerk is exclaiming, 'Why, Joseph,
whither art thou going?'--'Whither?' replies the elevated clerk,
'Whither, but to fill my high destiny, and, like my noble brother, sway
the sceptre of another!' His colleagues are adding as riders, 'He must
needs go whom the devil drives, and should it cost his neck!'
But proverbs tell of many slips
Between the tankard and the lips,
And really I am apt to give
The proverb credit as I live!
_August 21, 1808._ _King Joe's Retreat from Madrid._ Woodward del.,
Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg, 111 Cheapside.--The occupancy
of the Spanish throne has not proved, if we may trust the print, a
profitable sinecure of long duration. King Joseph is rushing away from
his new dignity as fast as his legs will carry him; the crown has
slipped off in the flight; the fugitive's invincible standards and the
'Legions of Honour' are in tatters, but the hands of the Frenchmen are
not empty; king, officers, and troops are all loaded with bags of plate
and bullion. The Spanish soldiers are up in arms; their priests are
encouraging the pursuers, who are firing a volley into the midst of the
scared invaders, while crying 'Stop thieves! stop thieves! they have
stolen the plate from the palace.' Joseph's fears are too much for his
self-command; he is appealing to his great little brother, 'Why don't
you stop? the Philistines are pursuing us.' Napoleon is replying from
his carriage, which is tearing away up hill as fast as his coachman can
urge the horses, 'I can't, brother Joe, I am in a great hurry myself.'