Chapter IX: Preface: 'Tuâ nobis est gratiâ.'--CIC (9)

'As I saw them all busy doing something, I asked Col with much earnestness what I could do. He with a happy readiness put into my hand a rope which was fixed to the top of one of the masts, and told me to hold it till he bid me pull. If I had considered the matter I might have seen that this could not be of the least service, but his object was to keep me out of the way of those who were busy working the vessel, and at the same time to divert my fear by employing me and making me think that I was of use. Thus did I stand firm to my post, while the wind and the rain beat upon me, always expecting a call to pull my rope.'--_Vide Journal_, p. 349.

9. _The Contest at Aucklinleck, in which Ursa Major made a severe retort on the Journalist's father._

'The contest began whilst my father was showing him his collection of medals; and Oliver Cromwell's coin unfortunately introduced Charles the First and Toryism; in the course of their altercation Whiggism and Presbyterianism, Toryism and Episcopacy, were terribly buffeted.

'They became exceedingly warm and violent, and I was very much distressed at being present at such an altercation between two men, both of whom I reverenced; yet I durst not interfere. It would certainly be very unbecoming in me to exhibit my honoured father and my respected friend as intellectual gladiators for the entertainment of the public; and therefore I suppress what would, I daresay, make an interesting scene in this dramatic sketch--this account of the transit of Johnson over the Caledonian hemisphere.'--_Vide Journal_, p. 482.

10. _Imitations at Drury Lane Theatre by the Journalist._

'At Mr. Tyler's I happened to tell that one evening, a great many years ago, when Dr. Hugh Blair and I were sitting together in the pit of Drury Lane playhouse, in a wild freak of youthful extravagance I entertained the house _prodigiously_ by imitating the lowing of a cow. I was so successful in this boyish frolic that the universal cry of the galleries was, "_Encore_ the cow! _Encore_ the cow!" In the pride of my heart I attempted imitations of some other animals, but with very inferior effect. My reverend friend, anxious for my fame, with an air of the utmost gravity and earnestness addressed me thus: "My dear sir, I would _confine_ myself to the _cow_!"

'A little while after I had told this story I differed from Dr. Johnson, I suppose too confidently, upon some point which I now forget. He did not spare me. "Nay, sir (said he), if you cannot talk better as a man, I'd have you bellow like a cow."'

FOOTNOTES:

[27] 'The present Orchestra (1809) was first exhibited to the public on the 2nd June, 1735. It was built by an ingenious mechanic, named Maidman, a common carpenter employed in the gardens, from a design of his own. The composition with which it is ornamented was also his own discovery. This elegant orchestra is calculated to contain fifty performers, with an organ, &c. It is illuminated by about four thousand lamps, and presents an object of unparalleled brilliance. The same ingenious artisan erected the rotunda, which is seventy feet in diameter, and represents a magnificent pavilion. Within it is placed another orchestra, where the musical part of the entertainment is performed in unfavourable weather. Adjoining the saloon, with its _scagliola_ columns, and its paintings by Hayman, is a supper room, one hundred feet long and forty feet wide, with a double row of columns. On the walls are represented paintings of rural scenery, which answer to the intercolumniations. At the end of the room was the statue of Handel, in white marble, and in the character of Orpheus singing to his lyre; but it is now removed behind the orchestra in the garden. This fine piece of sculpture first introduced the abilities of Roubiliac to the notice of the public. It was begun and completed in the place of which it was the ornament, while the noble subject and the superior artist were enjoying the friendly and protecting hospitality of Mr. Jonathan Tyers, who purchased the place in 1730, and opened it with an attractive entertainment which he called a _Ridotto al Fresco_.

'The grove, principal entrance, and other parts of the gardens are furnished with a number of small pavilions, ornamented with paintings, chiefly by Hogarth and Hayman; each containing a table and seats, to which the company retire to partake of refreshments.'--_Microcosm of London._

[28] 'Mrs. Hartley was an actress of some popularity; more celebrated, however, for her beauty. She was one of those ladies whose career on the stage was without reproach. She was painted by several of the first artists, and among others by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in one of her best characters. No female, perhaps, that ever appeared on the stage looked more lovely than she in _Fair Rosamond_. Mr., afterwards Sir Bate Dudley, married the sister of this lady.'

[29] A letter of severe remonstrance was sent to Mr. B., who, in consequence, omitted, in the second edition of his Journal, what is so generally pleasing to the public, viz., the scandalous passages relative to this nobleman.

1787.

The authorship of the following pair of prints is doubtful; they present many indications of Rowlandson's manner, and they were issued by his publisher, S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly; they are sometimes ascribed to Gillray:--

_January 1, 1787._ A pair of single figures, respectively described as _London Refinement_ and _Country Simplicity_. As the titles sufficiently indicate, the former sets forth a town 'macaroni' dressed in the height of the mode, and the latter represents a pretty youth, of rustic fashion, long-haired, and clad in picturesque and homely country garb.

_January 11, 1787._ _Uncle George and Black Dick at their New Game of Naval Shuttlecock._--From this caricature it seems that the conduct of the Admiralty in 1787 gave reasonable grounds for dissatisfaction. The state of things is pictorially set forth by Rowlandson. In the centre of the picture stand the compound heads of the Admiralty, a single figure with two fronts--those of the King and Lord Howe, who was popularly designated 'The Prince of Duskey Bay.'

A bevy of admirals are applying to the King for recognition of their services to their country; they are all partially disabled by the loss of limbs. A petitioner is offering a statement of their situation to the King, who is made to declare, 'I never interfere with your First Lord; no, never;' while the second head of this Janus, Howe, in replying to a petition from sundry aggrieved captains, is dismissing the applicants with "Go, go! I can do nothing; it is his Majesty's pleasure that----' The abused admirals are expressing their wrongs: 'I see I shall lose my rank after all my long services!' 'I am set aside, although I've lost a son and one eye!' 'Humbug'd, by Jove, by ye old Jesuit!' 'Had I my arm again, to find a better country!' 'Brothers, our Lords and Commons will not suffer this game!'

The captains have evidently a bad opinion of their First Lord, _Vultus est Index Animi_: 'Our navy has now two heads and no helm; rare work!' 'Rascal!' 'The King's pleasure! That's a falsity added to a mean _finesse_!' 'He's fond of manoeuvres if ever so bad; you know him!'

THE LOUSIAD.

For Peter nat'ral 'tis to speak
In rhyme, as 'tis for pigs to squeak.

PETER PINDAR TO THE READER.

Gentle Reader,--It is necessary to inform thee that his Majesty actually discovered, some time ago, as he sat at table, a _louse_ on his plate. The emotion occasioned by the unexpected appearance of such a guest can be better imagined than described.

An edict was, in consequence, passed for shaving the cooks, scullions, &c., and the unfortunate louse condemned to die.

Such is the foundation of the Lousiad: with what degree of merit the poem is executed, the _uncritical_ as well as the critical reader will decide.

The ingenious author, who ought to be allowed to know somewhat of the matter, hath been heard privately to declare, that in his opinion the _Batrachomymachia_ of Homer, the _Secchia Rapita_ of Tassoni, the _Lutrin_ of Boileau, the _Dispensary_ of Garth, and the _Rape of the Lock_ of Pope, are not to be compared to it,--and to exclaim at the same time, with the modest assurance of an author--

_Cedite, scriptores Romani; cedite, Graii--
Nil ortum in terris, Loiusiadâ, melius._

Which, for the sake of the mere English reader, is thus beautifully translated:--

_Roman and Grecian authors, great and small,
The author of the Lousiad beats you all._

What dire emotions shook the monarch's soul!
Just like two billiard-balls his eyes 'gan roll.
'How, how--what, what?... what's that, what's that?' he cries
With rapid accent and with staring eyes.
'Look there! look there!--what's got into my house?
A louse, God bless us! Louse, louse, louse, louse, louse.'
The Queen look'd down, and then exclaimed, 'Good la!'
And with a smile the dappled _stranger_ saw.
Each Princess strain'd her lovely neck to see,
And, with another smile, exclaimed, 'Good me!'
'Good la! good me!' 'Is that all you can say?'
(Our gracious monarch cry'd, with huge dismay).
'What! what a silly, vacant smile takes place
Upon your Majesty's and children's face,
Whilst that vile louse (soon, soon to be unjointed!)
Affronts the presence of the _Lord's anointed_!'
Dash'd, as if tax'd with hell's most deadly sins,
The Queen and Princesses drew in their chins,
Look'd prim, and gave each exclamation o'er,
And, prudent damsels, 'word spake never more.'
Sweet maids! the beauteous boast of Britain's isle,
Speak--were those peerless lips forbid to smile?
Lips! that the soul of simple _Nature_ moves--
Form'd by the beauteous hands of all the _Loves_!
Lips of delight! unstained by satire's gall!
Lips! that I never kiss'd--and never shall.
Now to each trembling page, a poor mute mouse,
The _pious_ monarch cry'd, 'Is this _your louse_?'
'Ah! Sire,' replied each page, with pig-like whine,
'An't please, your Majesty, it is not _mine_.'
'_Not thine?_' the hasty monarch cry'd again--
'What, what? Who's, who's, then? Who the devil's, then?'

Now at this sad event the sovereign, sore
Unhappy, could not take a mouthful more;
His wiser Queen, her gracious stomach studying,
Stuck most devoutly to the beef and pudding;
For Germans are a very hearty sort,
Whether begot in hog-styes or a court,
Who bear (which shows their hearts are not of stone)
The ills of others better than their own.
Grim terror seiz'd the souls of all the pages,
Of different sizes and of different ages;
Frighten'd about their pensions or their bones,
They on each other gap'd, like Jacob's sons.
Now to a page, but which we can't determine,
The growling monarch gave the plate and vermin:
'Watch well that blackguard animal,' he cries,
'That, soon or late, to glut my vengeance, dies!
Watch, like a cat, that vile marauding _louse_,
Or George shall play the devil in the house.
Some _spirit_ whispers, that to cooks I owe
The precious _visitor_ that crawls below.
Yes, yes! the whisp'ring _spirit_ tells me true,
And soon shall vengeance all their locks pursue.
Cooks, scourers, scullions, too, with tails of pig,
Shall lose their coxcomb curls, and wear a wig.'
Thus roar'd the King--not Hercules so _big_;
And all the palace echo'd, 'Wear a wig!'
Fear, like an ague, struck the pale-nos'd cooks,
And dash'd the beef and mutton from their looks,
Whilst from each cheek the rose withdrew its red,
And pity blubbered o'er each menac'd head.
But, lo! the great _cook-major_ comes! his eyes
Fierce as the redd'ning flame that _roasts_ and _fries_;
His cheeks like _bladders_ with high passion glowing,
Or like a fat _Dutch trumpeter's_ when _blowing_.
A neat white apron his huge corpse embrac'd,
Tied by two comely strings about his waist;
An apron that he purchas'd with his riches,
To guard from hostile grease his velvet breeches.
'Ye sons of dripping, on your _major_ look!
(In sounds of deep-ton'd thunder cry'd the cook),
I swear this head disdains to lose its locks;
And those that do not, tell them they are _blocks_.
Whose head, my cooks, such vile disgrace endures?
Will it be yours, or yours, or yours, or yours?
Then may the charming perquisite of grease
The mammon of your pocket ne'er increase;
Grease! that so frequently hath brought you coin,
From veal, pork, mutton, and the great _sirloin_.
O brothers of the spit! be firm as rocks--
Lo! to no King on earth I yield these locks.
Few are my hairs behind, by age endear'd!
But, few or many, they shall _not_ be shear'd.

* * * * *

Sooner shall ham from fowl and turkey part,
And stuffing leave a calf's or bullock's heart:
Sooner shall toasted cheese take leave of mustard,
And from the codlin tart be torn the custard.
Sooner these hands the glorious haunch shall spoil,
And all our melted butter turn to oil:
Sooner our pious _King_, with pious face,
Sit down to dinner without saying grace;
And every night salvation-pray'rs put forth
For Portland, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, and North.
Sooner shall fashion order frogs and snails,
And dishclouts stick eternal to our tails!
Let George view _ministers_ with surly _looks_--
Abuse 'em, kick 'em--but revere his cooks!'
'What! lose our locks!' reply'd the roasting crew,
'To barbers yield 'em?--Damme if we do!
Be shav'd like foreign dogs, one daily meets,
Naked and blue, and shiv'ring in the streets?
And from the palace be asham'd to range,
For fear the world should think we had the mange?'
'Rouse, _Opposition_!' roar'd a tipsy cook,
With arms akimbo and bubonic look.
'Be shav'd!' a scullion loud began to bellow--
Loud as a parish bull, or poor Othello.
'Be shav'd like pigs!' rejoin'd the scullion's mate,
His dishclout shaking, and his pot-crown'd pate--
'What barber dares it, let him watch his nose
And, curse me!--dread the rage of these ten foes.'
'Be shav'd!' an understrapper turnbroche cry'd,
In all the foaming energy of pride--
'Zounds! let us take His Majesty in hand!
The king shall find he lives at our command.
Yes--let him know, with all his wond'rous state,
His teeth and stomach on _our_ wills shall wait.
_We_ rule the platters, _we_ command the spit,
And George shall have his mess when _we_ think fit;
Stay till _ourselves_ shall condescend to eat,
And then, if _we_ think proper, have his meat.'
'Heav'ns!' cry'd a _yeoman_, with much learning grac'd,
In books as well as meat a man of taste--
'However _modern Kings_ may cooks despise,
_Warriors_ and _Kings_ were cooks, or hist'ry lies.
Patroclus broil'd beef-steaks to quell his hunger;
The mighty Agamemnon potted conger!
And Charles of Sweden, 'midst his guns and drums,
Spread his own bread and butter with his thumbs.
Be shav'd!--No! Sooner pill'ries, jails, the stocks
Shall pinch this corpse, than barbers snatch my locks.'

* * * * *

Around the table, all with sulky looks,
Like culprits doom'd to Tyburn, sat the cooks.
At length, with phiz that show'd the man of woes,
The sorrowing king of spits and stew-pans rose;
With outstretch'd hands and energetic grace,
He fearless thus harangues the roasting race:
'Cooks, scullions--hear me, every mother's son--
Know that I relish not this royal fun.
What's life,' the major said, 'my brethren, pray,
If force must snatch our first delights away?
Relentless, shall the royal mandate drag
The hairs that long have grac'd this silken bag?--
Hairs to a barber scarcely worth a fig--
Too few to make a foretop for a wig!
Hairs, look, my lads, so wonderfully thin
Old Schwellenberg has more upon her chin!'

* * * * *

'--What! what! not shave 'em, shave 'em, shave 'em, shave 'em?
Not all the world, not all the world shall save 'em.
I'll shear 'em, shear 'em, as I shear my sheep!'
Thus spoke the mighty monarch in his sleep:
Which proves that kings in sleep a speech may make,
Equal to what they utter broad awake.

* * * * *

Now did the _major_ hum a tune so sad!
Chromatic--in the robes of sorrow clad;
But, lo! the ballad could not fear control,
Nor exorcise the barbers from his soul.
And now his lifted eyes the ceiling sought;
And now he whistled--not for want of thought.

'AND NOW HIS LIFTED EYES THE CEILING SOUGHT,
AND NOW HE WHISTLED--NOT FOR WANT OF THOUGHT.']

* * * * *

Scarce had he utter'd when a noise was heard;
And now, behold, a motley band appear'd!
With Babel sounds at once the kitchen rings,
Of groom, page, barber, and the best of Kings!
And lo! the best of Queens must see the fun;
And lo! the Princesses so beauteous run;
And Madam Schwellenberg came hobbling, too--
Poor lady, losing in the race a shoe!
But, in revenge-pursuit, the loss how slight!
The world would lose a _leg_ to please a spite.
And now for peace did Seeker bawl aloud;
And lo, _peace_ came at once among the crowd.
In courts of justice thus, to hush the hum,
'Silence!' the crier calls, and all is mum.
'Cooks, scullions, all, of high and low degree,
Attend and learn our monarch's will from _me_.
Our sovereign lord, the King, whose word is fate,
Wills in his wisdom to see shav'd each pate:
Then, gentlemen, pray take your chairs at once;
And let each barber fall upon his sconce.'
Thus thunder'd Secker, with a Mars-like face,
And struck dire terror through the roasting race.
Thus roar'd Achilles, 'mid the martial fray,
When ev'ry frighted Trojan ran away.
Calm was the crowd when thus the King of isles,
Firm for the shave, but yet with kingly smiles:
'You must be shav'd--you shall--you must, indeed.
No, no--I shan't let slip a single head.
A very filthy, nasty, dirty trick:
The thought on't turns my stomach--makes me sick.
Louse, louse--a nasty thing--a louse I hate:
No, no--I'll have no more upon my plate.
One is sufficient--yes, yes--quite a store:
I'll have no more--no more--I'll have no more.'
Thus spake the King, like ev'ry King who gives
To trifles lustre that for ever lives.
Thus stinking vapours from the oozy pool,
Of cats and kittens, dogs and puppies full,
Bright _sol_ sublimes, and gives them golden wings,
The cloud on which _some_ say the cherub sings.

PETER'S PENSION.

A SOLEMN EPISTLE TO A SUBLIME PERSONAGE.

_Non possum tecum vivere, nec sine te._

Nebuchadnezzar, sir, the _King_,
As sacred hist'ries sweetly sing,
Was on all fours turn'd out to grass,
Just like a horse, or mule, or ass.
Heav'ns! what a fall from kingly glory!
I hope it will not so turn out
That we shall have (to make a pout)
A second part of the old story!

This pension was well meant, O glorious King!
And for the bard a very pretty thing;
But let me, sir, refuse it, I implore!
_I_ ought not to be rich whilst you are poor.

No, sir, I cannot be your humble hack;
I fear your _Majesty_ would break my back.

A great deal, my dear liege, depends
On having clever bards for friends.
What had Achilles been without his Homer?
A tailor, woollen-draper, or a comber!
In poetry's rich grass how virtues thrive!
Some when put in, so lean, seem scarce alive,
And yet so speedily a bulk obtain,
That e'en their _owners_ know them not again.

Could _you_, indeed, have gain'd my muse of _fire_,
Great would your luck have been, indeed, great _sire_!
Then had I prais'd your nobleness of spirit!
Then had I boasted that myself,
_Hight_ Peter, was the first blest, tuneful elf
You ever gave a farthing to for merit.

Though money be a pretty handy tool;
Of mammon, lo! I scorn to be the fool!
If fortune calls she's welcome to my cot,
Whether she leaves a guinea or a groat;
Whether she brings me from the butcher's shop
The whole sheep or a single chop.
For lo! like Andrew Marvel I can dine,
And deem a mutton bone extremely fine.
Then, sir, how difficult the task you see,
To bribe a moderate _gentleman_ like _me_.
I will not swear, _point blank_, I shall not alter--
A _saint_ (my namesake) e'en was known to falter.

And who is there that may not change his mind?
Where can you folks of that description find
Who will not sell their souls for cash?
That most angelic, diabolic trash!
E'en grave divines submit to glitt'ring gold!
The best of consciences are bought and sold:
Yet should I imitate the fickle wind,
Or Mister Patriot Eden--change my mind;
And for the bard your Majesty should send,
And say, 'Well, well, well, well, my tuneful friend,
I long, I long to give you something, Peter--
You make fine verses--nothing can be sweeter--
What will you have? what, what? speak out, speak out:
Yes, yes, you something want, no doubt, no doubt.'

Then would the poet thankfully reply,
With falt'ring voice, low bow, and marv'ling eye
All meekness! such a simple, dove-like thing!
'Blest be the bard who verses can indite,
To yield a _second Solomon_ delight!
Thrice blest, who findeth favour with the King!

'Since 'tis the royal will to give the bard
In whom the King delighteth some reward,
Some mark of royal bounty to requite him,
O King! do anything but _knight him_.'

ODES FOR THE NEW YEAR.

Know, reader, that the laureate's post sublime
Is destin'd to record, in handsome rhyme,
The deeds of British monarchs twice a year:
If _great_, how happy is the tuneful tongue!
If _pitiful_, as Shakespeare says, the song
Must 'suckle fools and chronicle small beer.'

But bards must take the _up hill_ with the _down_;
Kings cannot always oracles be hatching:
Maggots are oft the tenants of a crown--
Therefore, like those in cheese, not worth the catching.

O gentle reader! if, by God's good grace,
Or (what's more sought) good interest at court,
Thou get'st of lyric trumpeter the place,
And hundreds are, like gudgeons, gaping for't;
Hear! (at a palace if thou mean'st to thrive)
And, of a steady coachman, learn to drive.

Whene'er employ'd to celebrate a King,
Let fancy lend thy muse her loftiest wing--
Stun with thy minstrelsy th' affrighted sphere;
Bid thy voice thunder like a hundred batteries;
For common sounds, conveying common flatteries.
Are zephyrs whisp'ring to the royal ear.

Know, glutton-like, on praise each monarch crams;
Hot spices suit alone their pamper'd nature:
Alas! the stomach, parch'd by burning drams,
With mad-dog terror starts at simple water.
Fierce is each royal _mania_ for applause;
And, as a horse-pond wide, are monarch's maws--
Form'd, therefore, on a pretty ample scale:
To sound the _decent_ panegyric note,
To _pour_ the _modest_ flatt'ries down their throat,
Were off'ring shrimps for dinner to a whale.

And mind! whene'er thou strik'st the lyre to kings,
To touch to Abigails of court the strings;
Give the Queen's toad-eater a handsome sop,
And swear she always has more grace
Than e'en to sell the _meanest_ place--
Swear, too, the woman keeps no title-shop.

Thus, reader, ends the prologue to my odes!
The true-bred courtiers wonder whilst I preach--
And with grave vizards and stretch'd eyes to gods,
Pronounce my sermon a most impious speech:
With all my spirit--let them damn my lays--
A courtier's curses are exalted praise.

_January, 1787._ _The Triumph of Sentiment._

_January, 1787._ _The Triumph of Hypocrisy._

1787. _Transplanting of Teeth._ Published by J. Harris, 37 Dean Street, Soho.--Among the schemes of charlatans, which were popularly successful in the days of _The Temples of Health, Mud Baths_, and other devices by which pretenders flourished on the gains extorted from fashionable credulity at the end of the last century, was a new theory of dentistry, according to the practice of which a sound tooth was to be torn from the jaws of a healthy individual, and, while still warm, was to be inserted in the gums of some patient whose decayed molar had been extracted simultaneously, and the rest of the operation was left to nature. According to the caricaturist, who has produced a large, spirited, and well-executed plate on this novel operation, we are informed by advertisement that this truly extraordinary performance is taking place in the surgery of '_Baron Ron, Dentist to her High Mightyness the Empress of Russia_,' The professor has appended to this important announcement the further statement, '_Most money given for Live Teeth_.'

The dual operations of depriving the poor of their sound teeth for a small pecuniary consideration, that their lost molars may regarnish the gums of patients who are prepared to pay for the accommodation, and the substitution of whole teeth for decayed ones, are proceeding at once. The artist has sketched two wretched young creatures, in rags, who are stealing out of Baron Ron's surgery, weeping and bewailing the loss of their teeth, and regarding a coin held in the palm of their hands, with mourning and reproachful looks. An old dandy, a military buck, is examining the adjustment of his new teeth, which do not appear to fit as accurately as could be desired. An assistant dental professor is planting a live tooth in the gums of a lady of quality, who is kicking violently, in disapproval of the sensation. An elderly dowager is seated in suspense in a chair beside a young sweep, whose odoriferous vicinity she is counteracting by applications to a scent-bottle held to her susceptible nose, while the Baron--a modishly costumed foreigner--is tearing out a beautiful healthy white tooth from the jaws of the sooty patient, to be straightway transplanted into the gums of the customer of quality.

_May 9, 1787._ _The Brain-Sucker, or The Miseries of Authorship._

In 1787 Rowlandson issued a series of rustic sketches, including such subjects as horses, dogs, coaches, carts, haymakers, cottages, farrier's forges, and roadside inns; similar views to those selected by Morland, but treated in Rowlandson's own original style.

Among these rural studies we may particularise:--

_Shoeing: the Village Forge._ Published by Laurie and Whittle, 53 Fleet Street.

_A Brewer's Dray._

_A Posting Inn._ Republished July 1, 1803.

_A Rural Halt._ Published by J. Harris, Dean Street, Soho.

_Haymakers._ Published by J. Harris, Dean Street, Soho.

1787. _A Post Chaise._

1787. _A Sailor's Family._--One of those charming pieces to which so much of Rowlandson's reputation is justly due. Unaffected simplicity, an easy effortless style of drawing, natural grouping, and the most perfect felicity in rendering graceful attitudes and depicting faces, unequalled for a certain innocent beauty and expressiveness.

_August 1, 1787._ _A College Scene, or a Fruitless Attempt on the Purse of old Square-toes._ Engraved by E. Williams; published by J. R. Smith, King Street, Covent Garden.--_Old Square-toes_ has called to see his scapegrace--on the subject of supplies, it is needless to particularise. Young _Hopeful_, who is obviously destined for the Bar--where, we may feel convinced in advance he is bound to shine--has assumed his most specious deportment, and has donned his cap and gown, with the other semblances of decorum. The title, _Fruitless Attempt_, seems somewhat of a misnomer, for the special pleading of young _Hopeful_ is evidently producing a favourable impression. Old _Square-toes_ has banged himself down into a chair, and planted his stick on the ground with an air of determination, in a very square attitude, to demonstrate that his resolution is not to be shaken, and that young _Hopeful_ is losing his pains; but, as in the old comedies, the paternal heart is yearning towards his progeny, while his most relentless denunciations are thundered forth; the lines of his stern face are relaxing, an amused smile is twitching at the corners of his mouth, and we are convinced that the next remark will embody the sentiments immortalised by the Georgian dramatists: 'You dog, this time your father forgives you; boys will be boys; I was a gay young spark myself once; I'll pay your debts this time, but never again, &c. &c.'

_October 18, 1787._ _Tragedy Spectators._ _Comedy Spectators._ Published by T. Rowlandson, 50 Poland Street.--The contrast of the respective attractions between the two classes of entertainment is pictured with the artist's characteristic force and spirit. The humour of these two designs is suggestive of Hogarth's genius. While the woes of 'Romeo and Juliet' are influencing the spectators to the most profound melancholy, and reducing the audience to tears and hysteria, the attendants on _Comedy_ are enjoying the humours of the performance with the most frank and unrestrained merriment.

1787. _Love in the East._--Oriental luxuriousness seems to have had a charm for Rowlandson's pencil. It is true that the customs of the East were not represented, at the caricaturist's day, with the strictest adherence to facts; their salient points have since been made more familiar by the graphic pictures of our travelled artists, for whom the East has always had a peculiar fascination.

Rowlandson's fancy has supplied those details which he could not furnish from actual experience, and as far as the general theories of oriental splendour are concerned, the imaginative delineations of our artist will be found far more realistic and in accordance with our preconceived impressions than the actuality.

_November 5, 1787._ _Reformation, or the Wonderful Effects of a Proclamation._--The Chapel Royal is apparently the scene of this subject. King George, Queen Charlotte, with a Lord and Lady-in-waiting, are in the Royal pew; near them are the law Lords; the Prince of Wales and Mrs. Fitzherbert, with Col. George Hanger, are in the centre; Burke is between them, with Lord North, who is of course represented as sleeping soundly, in spite of the efforts made by a pretty maiden to awaken him. Pitt is acting as clerk. The sermon is evidently one of no common significance. Fox is standing in a sheet, with a placard, '_For playing cards on the Lord's Day!_' A stout lady, armed with a whip, is driving a pack of dogs out of the chapel.

1787 (?). _The Art of Scaling._

1787 (?). _Modish._ Published by S. W. Fores, Piccadilly.

1787 (?). _Prudent._ Published by S. W. Fores, Piccadilly.

1787. _Landscape and other Etchings, by T. Rowlandson._

1787. _Embarking from Brighthelmstone to Dieppe._--The spectators are scattered about the shore, with various fishing smacks; the passengers are being pushed off in rowing boats to the sailing lugger, which is to take them and their luggage across the Channel. There is a fresh breeze blowing; the whole view is animated, and complete as a picture.

1787. _A Sea-coast Scene. Cottages by the Sea-shore: a Storm coming on._

1787. _Deer-Hunting: a Landscape Scene._--A noble park is capitally etched; the subject is diversified by the introduction of a stag hunt. The hunters are riding up as the stag, followed by the pack of hounds, is taking the water.

_December 18, 1787._ _A Travelling Knife-grinder at a Cottage Door._ Published by T. Rowlandson, Poland Street.--A pretty rustic scene, etched with spirit and well finished.

_The Three Horse-shoes._--A roadside inn.

1787. _View on the French Coast._--Partially dismantled ships of war, canted for caulking.

1787. _Fox-Hunting: a Landscape Scene._--The artist has taken great pains with the trees and rich foliage which grace this view. The pack have come up with the fox, and the huntsmen are in 'at the death.'

_October 15, 1787._ _Stage Coach setting out from a Posting House._

1787. _Cribbage Players._--A lady and gentleman are opponents; a second lady and gentleman are watching the respective hands. Etched in a brilliant outline, probably intended to be coloured in facsimile of an original drawing.

_December 15, 1787._ _Postboys and Post-horses at the White Hart Inn._--Published by J. Harris.

1787. _Boy bringing round a Citizen's Curricle._

1787. _Civility._

1788.

1788. _The Morning of the Meet._--One of a series of large hunting pictures, somewhat in the style of Morland, more especially as respects subject, but treated with Rowlandson's individuality as regards boldness, spirited action, and ease.

There are five successive subjects which may be considered to form part of this series, respectively entitled _The Meet_, _The Start_, _The Run_, _In at the Death_, and _The Dinner_.

_February 20, 1788._ _The Humours of St. Giles's._ Published by T. Harmar (Engraver), 161 Piccadilly. The honours of this plate are, we understand, divided between Rowlandson and Ramberg. _The Humours of St. Giles's_ are of a diversified nature, as might be supposed. Both artist and engraver seem to have seized the passing incidents with true Hogarth-like aptitude, and collected them in one group. There is nothing but the evidence of Rowlandson's peculiarities to warrant us in including this print among his works. It is very scarce, and we have not met with his name on any copy of the plate, which is engraved by T. Harmar, the publisher, after a method bearing some resemblance, as far as mechanical execution is concerned, to the early style of James Gillray. We believe the etching is due to Ramberg, but the female figures, and the person of the hairdresser, are unmistakably characteristic of our artist's manner, both as concerns expressions and attitudes, and particularly as regards the drawing of the extremities.

A 'gin slum' is the centre of attraction; at the sign of the 'Fox and Grapes' the landlord is serving a buxom and somewhat dishevelled Irish beauty with a glass of 'blue ruin.' A drunken-looking butcher is standing treat; another fair member of the hundreds of Drury is entirely overcome, and is a 'deadly lively' illustration of the usual advertisements traditionally found outside the spirit cellars of Hogarth's period: 'dead drunk for a penny, clean straw for nothing.' A dandified French barber, returning from the mansions of his clients in St. James's, with his powdering-bag and paraphernalia under his arm, is stooping, from a motive of gallantry, over the semi-conscious nymph, while an urchin is possessing himself of the tonsor's handkerchief. A baker, taking home ready-cooked joints to the respective owners, is pausing awhile to enjoy the farces transacting around him, while the lamplighter, perched on a ladder above to attend his lamps, is pouring some of his oil over the baked meats by way of sauce. In the distance is shown an altercation between a milk-maid and a fishfag, and a bout of fisticuffs is proceeding farther on.

_March 6, 1788._ _The Q. A. loaded with the Spoils of India and Britain._--The Q. A. is a zebra; Pitt is seated, with well-stuffed panniers, in front of this novel steed, loaded with costly spoils, _Rights and Wrongs_; round the Zebra's neck is a bag of _Bulse_, containing some of Warren Hasting's famous ill-gotten diamonds. Pitt is sharply whipping his beast, and declaring 'I have thrown off the mask, I can blind the people no longer, and must now carry everything by my bought majority.' The Q. A. is also trumpeting forth, 'What are children's rights to ambition? I will rule in spite of them, if I can conceal things at Q.' A law lord, said to be intended for Lord Thurlow, who has hold of the animal's head, is filled with certain gloomy apprehensions: 'So many Scotchmen have left their heads behind in this d--d town for treason, I begin to tremble as much as the thief in the rear for my own.' The thief in the rear is the Duke of Richmond, who, with one of his famous defence guns between his legs, is assisting Pitt's advance with a goad, and crying 'Skulking in the rear, out of sight, suits best my character.' A finger-post is pointing to _Tower Hill_, by _B--m (Buckingham) House_.

_March 29, 1788._ _Ague and Fever._ (Companion print to _The Hypochondriac_, November 5, 1792.) Designed by James Dunthorne. Etched by T. Rowlandson. Published by Thomas Rowlandson, 50 Poland Street.

And feel by turns the bitter change of fierce extremes--
Extremes by change more fierce.--MILTON.

James Dunthorne seems to have had a taste for inventing symbolical renderings of human infirmities; in the present case the two conditions of _Ague and Fever_ are at least ingeniously portrayed. The cold snake-like folds of _Ague_ are twining round the shivering victim, seated as he is in the full heat of a blazing fire; while the quivering heats of _Fever_ personified are in attendance, between the patient and his physician, waiting to add his persecutions to the infirmities which the sick man is already enduring.

_July 9, 1788._ _Going to ride St. George; a Pantomime Scene lately performed at Kensington before their Majesties._ Published by William Holland, 50 Oxford Street.--This print, with a crowd of others on the same incident, had its rise in an accident: the Prince of Wales, being out driving in a curricle with Mrs. Fitzherbert, by some misadventure was thrown from his vehicle, and his companion shared his fall. In Rowlandson's print the Prince has fallen on his back, and the lady is taking a Phaeton-like flight on to his body. The positions are reversed in the caricatures Gillray and other satirists produced on the subject. George the Third and his Queen, with an escort of Guards, are riding past at the very moment, and they seem greatly interested in the spectacle of their son's downfall.

_July 22, 1788._ _Old Cantwell Canvassing for Lord Janus._--The Westminster Election again created further excitement in 1788, as the old field on which the Whigs had gained their triumph against Court interest. The appointment of Lord Hood, in the beginning of July, to a seat at the Admiralty Board rendered a new election necessary. Hood, as the supporter of Pitt, enjoyed the advantage of the Ministerial assistance; the Opposition, however, contested the seat so efficiently in favour of Lord John Townshend, in the Whig interest, that, in spite of the manoeuvres of the Ministry, the Liberal member was returned.

In Rowlandson's print a Methodistical congregation is being harangued by the pastor on the respective qualities of the candidates. Lord Hood, whose countenance is wearing a look of sanctified horror, is accommodated with a seat behind his advocate; and a sailor, with a bludgeon and the union-jack unfurled, is also in the pulpit. _Old Cantwell_ has a work in his hand setting forth representations of _Devil Townshend_ and _Saint Hood_. The eloquence of the preacher is directed against the failings of his opponents: 'Lord Hood is a saint, my dear brethren, as immaculate as a newborn babe; but as for Lord Townshend, he'll be d----d to all eternity. I shudder when I tell you he loves a pretty girl; the Opposition to a man are all fond of pretty girls! They go about like lions in pursuit of your wives and daughters. Lord Hood's pious Committee will swear to it,' &c.

_July 27, 1788._ _Effects of the Ninth Day's Express from Covent Garden, just arrived at Cheltenham._--The King had retired to Cheltenham, where, according to the artist, he was taking the waters with his family; a postilion has arrived express from London with the latest intelligence concerning the election for Westminster. The 'result of the ninth day's poll--majority for Lord John Townshend, 218,' is too much for his Majesty, who is quite overcome; he has dropped the tumbler from which he was taking the waters, and has fallen into the arms of a page; a peasant, who has been drawing the water for his sovereign, is, in consternation, deluging the royal shoe with a few quarts of the same fluid; Queen Charlotte is horrified, and the pretty Princesses are clasping their hands in consternation. In Court circles it was represented that the Whigs were capable of any atrocity, however deep.

_August 1, 1788._ _The School for Scandal._ Published by V. M. Picot, 6 Greek Street, Soho. T. Rowlandson, invt.; V. M. Picot, direxit.--One of the long strips containing subjects arranged in series, which were popular at this period, belonging to the same order as _The Bath Minuet_ and _The Progress of a Lie_, by H. Bunbury; _A Country Dance_ and _A Cotillon_, by W. H. Kingsbury; _The Installation Supper, as given at the Pantheon, by the Knights of the Bath_ (on May 26, 1788), by James Gillray; _The Prince's Bow_, by F. G. Byron; _English Slavery, or a Picture of the Times_, 1788; _Chesterfield Travestied_, by Collings, &c., &c.

_The School for Scandal_ consists of seventeen females, of ages varying from a tender maid to an antiquated grandmother; the respective characteristics of the different individuals are hit off with Rowlandson's usual spirit and success; the pretty maidens being extremely flattered, and the traits of less favoured dowagers coming in for grotesque exaggerations. The fair members of this coterie are supposed to be making their several comments, as exclamations, upon a recent elopement, a proceeding not unusual at the time _The School for Scandal_ was given to the public: 'Off! positively off!' 'I'm thunderstruck!' 'Poor creature, I pity her!' 'And with a low-bred fellow!' 'Did you expect anything else?' 'A footman too!' 'Even so!' 'Mind, it's a secret!' 'Not a syllable!' 'Poor as we are, my daughter would not have done so!' 'I! God forbid!' 'Oh! 'tis fashionable life!' 'She vow'd she'd go!' 'So fine a girl! with so good a fortune!' 'I say nothing!' 'An ill-made scoundrel too!' 'He's good enough for her!'

_November 25, 1788._ _Filial Piety._ Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.--The King's illness gave serious grounds for apprehension; as his chances of recovery became more precarious the Tories thought fit to insinuate that the Prince and his adherents were awaiting the royal dissolution with ill-concealed satisfaction. In _Filial Piety_ we find the King almost at his last gasp; he is stretched on the bed, from which, it was generally concluded, he would never be able to get up; his hand is raised to his head in token of suffering, and he is turning away his face from a spectacle well calculated to disturb the last moments of a pious and suffering parent. The Prince and his friends have just risen from a drunken bout; their spirits have evidently been well sustained; the Heir Apparent is reeling in, with 'Damme, come along; I'll see if the old fellow's ---- or not?' Georgey Hanger has come dancing in to support his comrade; under his arm is his _Knock-me-down Supple-Jack_, and he has a bottle held in readiness for emergencies. Sheridan, who became prominent at this period as the Prince's confidential adviser, is capering and huzzaing. A table is knocked over, and the Sacrament is thrown on the ground; a bishop on his knees, who is offering a prayer for the _Restoration of Health_, is horrified at the scandalous improprieties committed by these boisterous intruders. On the wall is a representation of the _Prodigal Son_, as appropriate to the occasion.

_December 26, 1788._ _The Prospect before us._--Although the satirists took some pains to point out the aspirations of the Whigs, they did not conceal their sympathies for the position of the Prince, and the necessity of providing for the security of his interests in the future, as threatened by the Regency restrictions. _The Prospect before us_, at the end of 1788, seemed likely to be shortly realised, until the unexpected recovery of the King put an end to the hopes and intrigues of both parties. The prospect which threatened the hopes of the Prince and his Whig adherents was the practical investment of the sovereign power in the hands of the Queen and Pitt, to the setting aside of the Prince's influence save in name. The crown is divided; one-half is wavering over the head of Pitt, and the other is suspended over the head of the Queen, who is trampling on the coronet and triple plume of the Heir Apparent, 'my son's right.' Queen Charlotte is held by the Minister in leading-strings. Pitt, who had suffered his zeal to outrun his discretion, is understood to have made a statement, in the heat of debate, which his opponents characterised as downright treason; the questionable expression,[30] with some additional colouring, is set down in a written speech which he is displaying in his hand: '_I think myself as much entitled to be Regent as the Prince of Wales._' Pitt, under the shelter of the Queen, is declaring: 'Behind this petticoat battery, with the assistance of _Uncle Toby_ (Duke of Richmond), I shall beat down the legal fortifications of this isle and secure the Treasury at the next general election!' Queen Charlotte is holding a draft of special _Taxes, 1789, by Billy's desire_. _Petticoats, Blue and Buff Cloth; Devonshire-Brown Silk, Portland Stone, Fox Muffs_. The bulky form of Madame Schwellenberg, Mistress of the Robes--the German favourite of the Queen and the popular detestation of the rest of the community--is swaggering along to the House of Lords, with the Mace and Purse; she has supplanted Thurlow as Lord Chancellor, and is already dictating the policy her mistress is to follow: 'Take care to secure the jewels; I have hitherto been confined to the wardrobe, but now mean to preside at the Council, and, with Billy's assistance, the name of Schwellenberg shall be trumpeted to the remotest corner of Rag Fair.' The Queen is proclaiming herself a passive agent: 'I know nothing of the matter. I follow Billy's advice!'

The Treasury gates are securely closed; the spectators are declaring that the Premier, Pitt, 'never meddled with a petticoat before;' and Warren Hastings is observing with delight that his apprehensions concerning the action of his enemies are at an end, and that the influence he had made with the Queen, in the form of gifts of jewels, is now likely to become of service: 'My diamonds will now befriend me. Huzza!'

_December 1788._ _The English Address._--To this further satire upon the _Regency Restrictions_ Rowlandson has attached the name of H. Wigstead. Pitt is standing on a platform receiving the congratulations of a drove of donkeys. The Prince of Wales, wearing his coronet, plume, and broad riband, is held in fetters, a powerless victim in the hands of 'the Pitt party.' The Duke of Richmond has secured one end of the chain; on the reputation of his abortive fortification propositions he declares, while alluding to the lean figure of his leader, 'Billy's virtue is bomb-proof, gentlemen; he is well fortified in his own good works.' Both the personal peculiarities of the Prime Minister and his attitude are well hit off; he is giving his followers this assurance: 'Gentlemen, I have chained up your Prince; your enemies may insult him as they please; he cannot resent it. I expect to receive all your thanks for this service I have done your Constitution. Should a war break out you have how nobody to defend you--look upon me, gentlemen, as your saviour; I will only tax you a little more, and quarter a few more of my needy relations on you, and will then retire to my new office of Treasurer and Secretary, at Buckingham House.' For these patriotic services the members of the asinine assembly are duly acknowledging their gratitude.

_December 26, 1788._ _The Political Hydra._--Fox, in this case, enjoys the distinction of having his career pictorially illustrated in six phases: _Out of place, and in character_; black-bearded and swarthy, his rugged locks unkempt. _In place; out of character_; his beard shaven, his locks powdered. _As he might have been_; crowned with the cap of Liberty. _As he would have been_; wearing a coronet. _As he should have been_; his head severed by the executioner's axe, the punishment awarded traitors. _As he will be_; enjoying the supreme power under the Prince of Wales's diadem. This last prophecy was premature, as was soon seen.

_December 29, 1788._ _A Touch on the Times._--Rowlandson has taken his own print of the _Times_, 1784, and has produced a parody upon the same theme. In this case the Prince is again represented as being led to the steps of the throne; one foot is placed on a solid base, the _Voice of the People_; the second step, however, _Public Safety_, is sadly injured; _Virtue_, as indicated on the throne, is a money-bag; the coming ruler is making patriotic professions: 'I would do the best to please my people.'

Fox is leaning on the throne; his figure is intended to personify that of _Justice_; a brace of dice-boxes form the new scales of Justice, a bludgeon, topped with an eye, is _the Sword of Justice_. Fox is declaring: 'I have the voice of the people in my eye.' Sheridan is playing the part of _Liberty out at elbows_; while leading the Prince to the throne he is picking his pockets. _Britannia_ is showing a cloven foot; Pitt, provided with a huge extinguisher, is stumbling over the _British Lion_; he is boasting, in reference to the incendiary torches of _Envy, Rebellion, &c._, which sundry Furies are flourishing around, 'I could soon extinguish these puppet-show vapours, if properly supported.' The City Corporation has sent its deputies, as in the former print; their complaint is, 'We have not been taxed this twelvemonth!' _Commerce_ in this instance is depicted as a dissolute harridan, deep sunk in gin.

_December 30, 1788._ _Sir Jeffery Dunstan Presenting an Address from the Corporation of Garratt._--Pitt is crowned; his throne is not, however, exactly a seat of dignity; his secretary, Dr. Prettyman, Bishop of Lincoln, is holding an _Address from Manchester_.

Sir Jeffery Dunstan, a poor deformed, half-witted, and 'eccentric character' of the time, has shouldered the civic mace, and is presenting an address from the very ancient and respectable Corporation of Garratt, beginning: 'High and mighty Sir.' Pitt is replying: 'Thanks, thanks, my respectable friend; this is the most delicious cordial I have tasted yet.' Brook Watson, Alderman Wilkes, and others are supporting the address. A tomfool, who, as trainbearer, has hold of Sir Jeffery's cloak, is enquiring, 'Did you ever see such grace and dignity in your life, Mr. Alderman?' To which Wilkes is responding, 'Grace--he shall be made Master of the Ceremonies at St. James's!'

_December 30, 1788._ _The Word-Eater._ Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.

ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.--This is to inform the public
that this extraordinary phenomenon is just arrived from the
Continent, and exhibits every day during the sittings of the
House of Commons before a select company. To give a complete
detail of his wonderful talents would far exceed the bounds of an
advertisement, as indeed they surpass the powers of description.
He eats single words and evacuates them so as to have a contrary
meaning. For example, the word Treason he can make Reason, and
of Reason he can make Treason; he can also eat whole sentences,
and will again produce them either with a double, different, or
contrary meaning, and is equally capable of performing the same
operation on the largest volumes and libraries. He purposes, in
the course of a few months, to exhibit in public for the benefit
and amusement of the Electors of Westminster, when he will
convince his friends of his great abilities in this new art, and
will provide himself with weighty arguments for his enemies.[31]

The hero of this specious advertisement is Fox; he is standing near the Speaker's table, in the House of Commons, where the members are struck with amazement at his dexterity in this novel accomplishment. In one hand the Whig performer is holding out his speech on the _Rights of the Prince_, and the _Explanation of that Speech_ in the other. 'All these,' he declares, 'I will devour next.' Two important and bulky works are at his feet, waiting their turn to be devoured--_Jus Divinum of Kings_ and _Principles of Toryism_. On the table, placed before the 'Word-Eater,' is a provision of considerable substance which will test his further powers of digestion--_Statutes at Large_, _Magna Charta_, _Principles of the Constitution_, and _Rights of the People_.

_December 31, 1788._ _Blue and Buff Loyalty._--The sympathy openly manifested by the Whig faction for the Prince's prospects of succeeding to power is satirised at the expense of _Blue and Buff_ susceptibilities. _Saturday._--The Royal Physician is drawn looking very downcast, with his gold-headed cane to his lips. 'Doctor: How is your patient to-day?'--'Rather worse, sir.' _Blue and Buff Loyalty_ is made to exult somewhat indecorously: 'Ha, ha! rare news!' _Sunday._--'Doctor: How is your patient to-day?' The physician's face expresses restored confidence: 'Better, thank God!' An expression the reverse of loyal or pious is put into the mouths of the disappointed faction.

1788. _Housebreakers._ Drawn and etched by T. Rowlandson; aquatinted by T. Malton. Republished by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly, August 1, 1791.--This plate represents the domestic felicity of well-to-do citizens being rudely broken in upon by robbers and threatening assassins.

A very critical situation for all the actors concerned. What the next moment may produce it is impossible to conjecture, so much depends upon the first shot; it is truly a moment of suspense. Whether the horse-pistols of the burglars will miss fire, and the formidable blunderbuss held by the respectable householder will lodge its contents--which would be, seemingly, enough to mow down a regiment--in the dastardly bodies of the midnight marauders, must remain a problem, the solution of which is lost beyond recovery.