1817.

Thus it appears a pond of waterMay prove an instrument of slaughter.

The picture in this instance represents a lake situated in a noble park. Two youths have been tempted to bathe; one is lifted out of the water apparently lifeless. His mother, who has been alarmed by the intelligence of her son's danger, has just arrived, at the instant that the seemingly dead body is borne to the bank. The sudden shock has proved too much for nature to withstand. The tender parent falls back overpowered and unconscious, and Death, with an air of solicitude, is ready there to catch her falling form in his bony support, since she has become his charge.

Plate 18.The Kitchen.

Thou slave to ev'ry gorging glutton,I'll spit thee like a leg of mutton.

While dinner is just prepared for my lord's table the stoutchefand his attendant myrmidons are thrown into disorder by the appearance of an unwelcome intruder. Dishes are dropped, everything is forgotten but personal security. The fat first male cook is the object of Death's attack, and the grim skeleton, armed with a long roasting spit, is trampling over the fallen person of a frightened kitchen-maid, and is proceeding to impale the greatchef, who is the only person present that is making a stand against the assassin.

Plate 19.The Gig.

Away they go, in chaise and one,Or to undo or be undone.

A sporting tradesman, driving a highly spirited horse, is taking his lady out for exercise on an excursion. Frightened by a dog, the mettlesome horse is dashing away distracted; another object, the figure of Death seated on a milestone, has completed the scare; the steed is tearing wildly towards the margin of a cliff which overhangs the sea; the driver is trying to pull up, the reins snap, and he is dashed out on his head, while his companion leaps off, to fall a corpse at the feet of the grim figure perched on the milestone.

Plate 20.The Mausoleum.

Your crabbed dad is just gone home:And now we look for joys to come.

The heroine of this adventure is an heiress who is loved by a certain lord, but in spite of the daughter's inclinations and the quality of the suitor, the crabbed father will neither part with his child nor his wealth while he retains his place in life. This impediment is removed in the picture. While the unreasonable parent is hobbling on his crutches into the entrance of a mausoleum, the door of which Death is assiduous to open for the reception of his expected visitor, the happy couple, overjoyed, are walking, locked in a tender embrace, to his lordship's equipage, at the door of which two footmen are standing in readiness, while the coachman is waiting to drive the delighted pair to be married.

Plate 21.The Courtship.

It is in vain that you decide:Death claims you as his destin'd bride.

Another fair heiress forms the subject of this fresh whim of Death's fancy. The lady is what the author terms a 'philosopher in love,' and she cannot decide to quit her state of independence. A conclave of her suitors are assembled to argue the marriage question, and, by the maiden's wish, to allow her a chance of judging by comparison. The array of aspirants is comprehensive; there is a colonel, a lawyer, a parson, a doctor, a quaker, and a baronet. Each pretender to her hand and fortune in turn argues the inducements he has to plead; this done, it rests with the lady to reply to the respective arguments and examine their motives. While logically disposing of all their fine persuasions, the intractable fair is claimed by a suitor who will take no denial. The reasoning of the arch-enemy is unanswerable:—

She is not fit, strange maid, to wedWith living wight, but with the dead:I therefore seize her as my bride.Belinda trembled, gasp'd, and died.

Plate 22.The Toastmaster.

'The end of life,' the chairman cries;'Tis drank—and many a toper dies.

A scene of gross intoxication is proceeding. A convivial company is assembled; the effort of every individual's ambition is apparently the downfall of his neighbour by successive toasts; bowl succeeds bowl, and half the assembly arehors de combat. A new chairman has, uninvited, installed himself at the head of the table, and he is making the liquor circulate with such hearty goodwill that the topers have received him, in spite of his repellant exterior, as one of themselves. Death has ordered in fresh supplies of steaming punch, which he is ladling out to the fascinated tipplers; it is the final toast, and no one dares refuse to pledge it. 'One bumper more,' and the jovial meeting will be dissolved for ever.

Plate 23.The Careless and the Careful.

The careful and the careless ledTo join the living and the dead.

The picture introduces us to the gate of Vauxhall Gardens; the light-hearted visitors are quitting the entertainment. The wise virgins are carefully wrapped up with cloaks, hoods, scarves, and muffs, and duly lighted home by cautious guardians carrying lanterns. In the foreground the foolish revellers are portrayed. They have left the heated dancing room in their light attire; a couple of giddy maidens, who are too careless to wait for their coach, are skipping off into the damp and chilling atmosphere without a wrapper, their thin dresses blowing in the wind, and running home under the escort of a gallant major. Death, with a jaunty cap on his head, and muffled in a cloak which disguises his ghostly frame, is dancing before, a very 'will-o'-the-wisp,' dangling about a flickering lantern, a dangerous guide whom they fail to recognise.

'Twas Death, alas, who lit them home,And the fools' frolic seal'd their doom.

Plate 24.The Law Overthrown.

The serjeant's tongue will cease to brawlIn every court of yonder Hall.

A busy lawyer, hastening away from Westminster Hall, where he has been exercising his lungs, has jumped into a chariot without noticing the driver on the box-seat. In this case Death is officiating as charioteer; he is whipping his horses with a vengeance. The serjeant's coach is endangering the life of abrother counsel, a dog is running between the frightened barrister's legs, and his end seems imminent. Death has chosen to wreck the carriage over a pile of stones and a heavily-loaded wheelbarrow which the paviours have left in the course of road-mending. The serjeant, brief in hand, is thrusting his angry face through the front of the capsizing vehicle, vehemently threatening penalties and vowing to bring an action against his coachman.

Fate to the stones his head applies;The action's brought—the serjeant dies.

Plate 25.The Fortune-teller.

All fates he vow'd to him were known,And yet he could not tell his own.

In this instance we are introduced to the 'chamber of mystery' of a pretended fortune-teller. The empiric seer is surrounded by the paraphernalia of his profession; a crocodile is suspended to the ceiling, above a mystic string of orbs, and the globes have an uncanny black cat perched thereon, a witch at the least. Two credulous ladies of fashion have called to consult the pretentious impostor, who rejoices in the fur cap, flowing robes, long beard, and divining rod of a magician; a book of nativities is open before him:—'To me all fates, all fortunes known;' to which Death retorts, in hollow voice: 'Vain boaster, tell your own.' A greater conjuror is present concealed behind Merlin's seat; a jerk, and the wizard is no longer above deception; he is overturned, his neck is broken amidst the wreck of his mummeries scattered around.

Plate 26.The Lottery Office.

To trust to fortune's smiles alone,Is the high road to be undone.

The evil of permitting lotteries, which were still in existence and flourishing at the time this plate was projected, is set forth in a graphic design. A crowd of needy adventurers have hurried to the lottery office, eager to know if fortune has assigned them lucky numbers. Jews, misers, and all sorts of gamblers, including a mob of hardy rogues who have purloined their employers' property to tempt the smiles of the fickle goddess, are darting from the office in dismay. An unlucky female, who has ventured her all, and even risked the means and belongings of others on the chance of winning a prize, has come to inquire her fate. The grim foe has exultingly taken his place among the clerks; he is holding out two blanks with an air of fiendish malice, and the shock is proving a deathblow to the unfortunate fair gambler, she is expiring in the office.

Plate 27.The Prisoner Discharged.

Death, without either bribe or fee,Can set the hopeless pris'ner free.

Death in this case is still shown interfering with the course of others' business. The picture represents a debtors' prison; a wife and two daughters have come to visit an unhappy captive, the head of the family, who is detained by a relentless creditor. They just arrive in time to see their relative released beyond the resistance of mortal detainers. The deadly foe has called at the gate, the prisoner is summoned forth, warders and turnkeys dare not refuse to let him free in such company. A mortified Shylock and his disappointed lawyer are furiously pointing to their bonds, and dancing with rage to find their ends defeated by the grim joker, who is grinning at their manifest discomfiture.

Plate 28.The Gallants Downfall.

Th' assailant does not feel a wound,But yet he dies—for he is drown'd.

A military Don Juan is the unfortunate hero of this adventure. He loves the beauteous daughter of a fire-eating superannuated colonel, Full of romantic gallantry, he has planted a ladder at his mistress's window, and is mounting nimbly where Cupid invites him, without observing the grim figure which has hold of his scaling-ladder. The sturdy colonel, awakened by the unaccustomed and suspicious sounds in his grounds, has fired his evening gun into the darkness, at most expecting to startle the cats. Death capsizes the ladder, the youthful lieutenant loses his balance and falls headlong into a pond on the lawn, whence his body is fished out in the morning, to the surprise of the household.

Plate 29.The Churchyard Debate.

'Tis strange, but true, in this world's strife,That Death affords the means of life.

The picture in this instance gives a philosophic view of the end of man, and represents a snug assembly of the fortunate individuals who prosper professionally by the influence of the grim foe's assistance. Seated convivially on tomb-slabs, awaiting the arrival of a hearse and mourningcortége, is the author of the mischief hobnobbing with his friends and allies. Death and the doctor are blowing a cloud together in cheerful company, for the parson, the lawyer, and the sexton are pleased with his society. The undertaker is no less grateful to his useful patron, and even the distant bell-ringer acknowledges the value of his acquaintanceship.

Plate 30.The Good and Great.

What heartfelt tears bedew the dustOf him whose ev'ry thought was just.

The funeral of a great and benevolent man is the subject of this cartoon. The venerable lord of the manor is dead; the stately funeral is setting out with its doleful attendants from the lordly hall. The coffin, with its emblazoned pall, is followed by a long train of mourners, whose sorrow is sincere; Death is congenially employing himself as bearer of the funeral plumes; and in this capacity, bending under the melancholy feathers, he is taking the lead of the procession. The tenants and villagers are standing uncovered as the body of their best friend is borne past; aged and young alike are giving way to unaffected grief, and it is evident that they regret the loss of a respected and kindly landlord, who has made himself loved by his neighbours.

Plate 31.The Next Heir.

'Tis not the time to meet one's fate,Just ent'ring on a large estate.

TheNext Heirforms a pendant to theGood and Great, and exhibits a picture the contrast of the foregoing. The nephew, a dashing London blade, has succeeded to the title and the estates. He is supposed to arrive post haste at the mansion, which is still plunged in mourning for the late owner. The pastor and the tenants are drawn up to receive their new master. The approach of the departed lord's successor is filling their faces with dismay. The devil-may-care 'blood' is tearing up to the hall in a tandem, his followers are clothed in deep black, but beyond this he displays no regard for the dead; his servants are clashing up on horseback, his huntsman is giving a blast of his horn, his grooms are shouting 'Tally-ho!' and a pack of hounds are barking on all sides. Death is acting as postilion, and as this unthinking heir drives up to the entrance-court his head is caught by the hatchment put up to the late lord, and his mad career is cut short at the very threshold.

Plate 32.The Chamber War.

When doctors three the labour share,No wonder Death attends them there.

The case of the invalid who forms the principal figure in the present subject must indeed be a desperate one, since the doctors, after a wordy warfare disputing over the case of the patient and the proper treatment, have come to blows in real earnest. Medicine bottles, and all the accessories of a sick chamber, are thrown to the ground, the table is overturned, wigs are sent flying, and a regular scrimmage with fisticuffs is taking place. Four practitioners are cuffing one another in the presence of their victim, with professional energy, and the sick nurse is cutting in, attacking the shaven crowns indiscriminately with the utensils which first come to hand. The sufferer is thrown into a mortal fright, but Death hasvery considerately called in to attend to his wants, and his disquietude will soon cease beyond the fear of a relapse.

Plate 33.Death and the Antiquaries.

Death, jealous of his right, stands sentryOver the strange burglarious entry.

A party of ardent archæologists are holding a meeting in the abbey. They have obtained permission to open a royal grave, and the sexton has performed his part, and raised the slab of the vault in which the body of a king has reposed undisturbed for centuries. The coffin is raised, the lid removed, and the corpse, with its regal trappings, is laid open to their inspection. Full of enthusiasm, the antiquaries are clustering round the coffin in crowds, eager to get a sight of the decaying monarch. Nor do they heed the risk they run, for Death, jealous of this interference with his rights, is prepared to resent their intrusion; and, mounted on an adjacent tomb, he is about to plunge his dart into the thickest of the learned throng.

Plate 34.The Dainty Dish.

This fine hot feast's a preparationTo some for Death's last cold collation.

A sumptuous feast is represented: the handsome dining-room is filled with voracious guests; footmen are waiting on the diners, or attending to side tables; butlers are drawing corks, course is following course, the cook and his assistant train are hurrying in with fresh dishes. Among the waiters, undetected, is our friend the grisly skeleton, who is busying himself with a dish he is conveying to the table. It is the favourite delicacy of the corpulent host, and he has expressed a desire for 'just one slice more' of his esteemed dainty. The grim foe is determined to take the entertainer at his word, and that 'one slice more' will be his last indulgence.

Plate 35.The Last Stage.

From hour to hour, from youth to age,Life's traveller takes th' uncertain stage.

The sketch in this suggestive plate introduces us to the court-yard of theDolphin Inn, a famous posting-house. The life to be found in these coach-yards was attractive material to our artist, and he has delineated with rare skill all the bustle and preparation of a departure. The coach is 'braced' up, the horses are put-to, the guard and his 'helps' are busied in loading luggage on the roof, and stowing parcels in the boot and under the box-seat. Bills are being settled, and farewells said by the passengers, who are booked to travel by the 'stage.' Death is assiduously attending to the loading of the coach, and he iscourteously wedging a stout lady through the doorway. It is likely that he will not quit the travellers yet, but will ride, unobserved, a part of the journey, until, perhaps, in the night he will contrive some fatal upset, and his evil whim will be accomplished.

Plate 36.Time, Death, and Eternity.

The song now bursts beyond the bounds of time,And Immortality concludes the rhyme.

After tracing Death's farcical pranks through seventy-one plates, in nearly all of which the mischief projected by the arch-foe is crowned with success, the artist has thought proper to abandon Death's triumphs and to show the enemy at a disadvantage. The scene is allegorically set forth in the despair and overthrow of Time, and the banishment of Death before the Everlasting Angel. The Spirit of Eternity is blowing the last trump. Time is vainly tearing out his forelock; his wings are useless; he is cast on his back, the scythe and hourglass broken, amidst the crumbling monuments around him; pyramids and temples are melting away; the monuments raised by vain man are dissolving, and Death has forfeited his fell sovereignty of destruction. The slayer is slain in turn; his crown has fallen into the abyss, his fatal dart is harmless and snapped asunder, and he, abashed and disconcerted, is crouching from his doom, and falling through to the bottomless pit. So much for the pictorial allegory.

We have specially dwelt on the illustration which Rowlandson designed to finish the first part of theDance of Death, wherein the spectral tyrant is displayed shorn of his terrors. The artist on occasions could sink the ludicrous and rise to the sublime.

The author, as we are inclined to believe, was elevated by the subject brought under his treatment, and, finding the theme congenial to his talents, he exerted himself to bring out its stronger points. In the last picture which concludes the series we are still more impressed with the sense of his fitness for the task. Coombe, when he wrote the concluding verses to this diversified poem, was on the verge of four score; he had fought the battle of life, and found little glory and less profit in the struggle. Nature had endowed him with an agreeable person and sound health, and he was by disposition studious. He had been the idol of an hour, and (rare chance for a scholar) had found a large sum of money at his command, and dissipated sufficient wealth to realise to the full the emptiness of gratifications which depend on mere monetary advantages; he had been taught the worthlessness of fair-weather friends, the hollowness of flatterers, and knew the folly of trusting in the great; he had learned other lessons of life, and could, from his own heart, read many a homily on the deceptiveness of beauty and the quickly withered flowers of passion. He hadincessantly pursued happiness through life; he had been rich, courted, cultivated, temperate, and a discriminating judge of most things that are counted desirable in the world; a ripe scholar and a perfect gentleman—if we may believe contemporary accounts—and he found all this led him to disappointment and the confinement of a debtor's prison.

When evil tongues hiss forth the foul abuse,When Fortune turns away, and friends prove false,Man's peaceful refuge is the tomb.

From the depths of his rich experience he had realised that the harbour of refuge 'from life's frequent storms' is found,not—

In the flowery vales where Pleasure sports,Nor where Ambition rears the tottering seat;'Tis not within the miser's gloomy cave;'Tis not within the roseate bowers of Love,Nor where the pale lamp lights the studious sageTo midnight toil: alas! it is not there.And while we seek in vain amid the great,Or on the gorgeous thrones where monarchs sit,It often may be found in humble cotWhere Virtue with the honest peasant dwells.And what is virtue? 'Tis the conscious powerOf acting right in spite of every foeThat may oppose its base, malicious aimTo check the pure designs which it inspires.It is to stem the tide Corruption rollsO'er half the world, to curb the impetuous willOf lawless passion, and, on life's vast stage,To act that noble part which will attainThe good man's praise and the applause of Heaven.Yes, virtue, potent virtue, can secure'Gainst every peril; 'tis a triple shieldTo him who has it 'gainst the pointed dartsOf ev'ry enemy; the hour of death,With all its gloom, gives not a fear to himWho triumphs o'er the grave; he stands secureAmid the ruins of a fallen world.Virtue will listen to the trumpet's soundWith holy awe, yet hear it unappall'd,And feelsEternityits destin'd sphere:When all the works of man shake to their base,And the world melts away whereon they stood;WhenTime'slast agonising hour is come,AndDeath, who from Creation's pregnant hourHas made the world a grave, himself shall die;When man from his long slumber shall awake,And the day breaks that never more shall close;Then Virtue shall its promis'd glory claim,And find it, too, at the o'erflowing sourceOf Heaven's stupendous and eternal joys.

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

1817–1823.The Vicar of Wakefield, a Tale, by Doctor Goldsmith.Illustrated with twenty-four designs by Thomas Rowlandson. Etchings dated May 1, 1817. London, published by R. Ackermann, at the Repository of Arts. Republished 1823.

Sperate Miseri, Cavete Felices.

THE FAMILY PICTURE.

The Family Picture.—'My wife and daughters, happening to return a visit to neighbour Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner who travelled the country and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us; and notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures done too. Having, therefore, engaged the limner—for what else could I do?—our next deliberation was to show the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven oranges, a thing quite out of taste—no variety in life, no composition in the world. We desired to have something in a brighter style; and after many debates at length came to a unanimous resolution of being drawn together in one large historical family piece. This would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel, for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same manner. As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit us we were contented each with being drawn as independent historicalfigures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side; while I, in my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting on a bank of flowers, dressed in a green joseph, richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed out with a hat and white feather. Our taste so much pleased the Squire that he insisted on being put in as one of the family, in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be introduced into the family; nor could we refuse his request. The painter was therefore set to work; and as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colours, for which my wife gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance had not occurred till the picture was finished, which now struck us with dismay. It was so very large that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is we had been all greatly remiss. The picture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned in a most mortifying manner against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched andpainted, much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's longboat, too large to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle; some wondered how it could be got out, but still more were amazed how it got in.'

THE DANCE OF LIFE: A POEM.

By the Author of 'Doctor Syntax' (William Coombe).

ILLUSTRATED WITH TWENTY-SIX COLOURED ENGRAVINGS BY THOMAS ROWLANDSON.

LONDON: PUBLISHED BY R. ACKERMANN, REPOSITORY OF ARTS, 101 STRAND. 8vo.

'Advertisement.—The eight monthly numbers to which this work was limited being completed, it is presented to the public in an accumulated volume. Though an acquaintance has taken place between the artist and the writer, the same principle has in a great degree, if not altogether, predominated in the originality of the designs and attendant illustrations of them as produced theTour of Doctor Syntaxand theDance of Death.'

Illustrations.

Frontispiece.—The Dance of Life; a panoramic scroll, on which Rowlandson's pictures which illustrate the series are represented in miniature. Father Time, with his accessories of scythe, hourglass, and globe, is acting as showman and pointing out the subjects of the work to a group of spectators, whose faces and attitudes are expressive of the admiration and interest which the pictorial history is exciting.

Titlepage.—The vignette of a lightly touched and gracefully drawn female dancing figure, with a scarf airily floating from her shoulders. The nymph is encircled by a ring of pretty children, hand in hand, who are dancing round her; while roses are scattered at the feet of the group.

1.Infancy.—The hero is introduced to the world as an infant.

The Dance of Life begins, with all its charmsIn the fond dandling of the nurse's arms.

2.Childhood.—The first tutor.

The tender nurse's care is now resign'dTo the first grave instructor of the mind.

3.Boyhood.—The public school.

The stern preceptor, with his threat'ning nod,Calls in the wise correction of the rod.

4.Youth.—An undergraduate at Oxford.

Wine makes the head to ache; but will the artOf the grave, solemn lecture reach the heart?

5.Foreign Tour.—Setting forth on his Continental travels. The parting from home.

To part with thee, my boy, how great the pain!How great the joy to see thee once again!

6.Foreign Tour.—Posting in France.

'Tis hop'd, midst foreign scenes some power he'll findTo mend his manners and improve his mind.

7.Foreign Tour.—A scene in the Palais-Royal.

He pays his lively court, as 'tis theton,To the fat Princess of the Mille Colonnes.

8.The Return.—The traveller hurries home on the death of his father.

The widow'd mother hastens forth to meetHer son, Sir Henry, at his ancient seat.

9.The Chase.—A fatal fall; his affianced bride is thrown and killed.

The hounds the flying stag pursue;But Dian does the hunting rue.

10.Fashionable Life.—Plan for new buildings. The architect, &c.

At the first step in folly's wanton wasteHe pulls his mansion down, to show his taste.

11. Coaching on Hounslow Heath.

Of four-in-hand he gains the vulgar rage:Wields his long whip, and overturns a stage.

12. The Midnight Masquerade.

The mask, that scene of wanton folly,May convert mirth to melancholy.

13. The Billiard-table and its votaries.

By gamblers link'd in Folly's noose,Play ill or well, he's sure to lose.

14. The Ring, Newmarket Heath.

The victim of the betting-post:His bets as soon as made are lost.

15. A Mistressà la mode.

For such a wild and placid dearMe pays two thousand pounds a year.

16. The Election: close of the poll: chairing the member.

For my own good, and yours, I'm bent,My worthy friends, tow'rds Parliament.

17. Imprisoned for debt, the hero resists the temptations held out by a Jew and a scrivener.

In his oppress'd and adverse hourVirtue assumes its former power.

18. A change of circumstances: coming into an unexpected fortune, left the hero by the father of his affianced bride, whose death is shown (plate 9).

The wild exuberance of joyMay reason's sober power destroy.

19. A social gathering in the new mansion. Ladies and a musical evening.

Sweet is the voice whose powers can moveAnd call the vagrant heart to love.

20. The hero selects a wife. The nuptial ceremony.

Blest Hymen, whose propitious hourRestores to Virtue all its power.

21. Dragging the lake.

Rural sports are better farThan all his former pleasures were.

22. A case of poaching. Sir Henry is sitting as magistrate at Graceful Hall. His wife is pleading for the unfortunate prisoners (poachers).

To soothe the rigours of the lawsLet beauty plead the culprits' cause.

23. Worshipping on the Sabbath. The Squire in his pew.

By piety's due rights 'tis givenTo hold communion with Heaven.

24. Sir Henry, surrounded by his children and his friends, is tranquilly passing his declining years.

Here Virtue views, with smiling pride,The pleasures of her fireside.

1817.Grotesque Drawing Book; the World in Miniature, consisting of groups of figures for the illustration of landscape scenery.Forty plates, 8vo. London.

1817.Journal of Sentimental Travels in the Southern Provinces of France.Illustrated with eighteen plates by T. Rowlandson. 8vo. Published by R. Ackermann. (See 1821.)

1817.World in Miniature.Containing fifty-eight etchings. 4to. (See 1816.)

1817.Pleasures of Human Life.

January 20, 1818.The Last Jig, or Adieu to Old England.Published by T. Tegg.

1818.Wild Irish, or Paddy from Cork, with his coat buttoned behind.Designed, etched, and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi. Republished 1818.—One of the series published by the artist, to the finish, execution, and colouring of which he devoted extra care. The scene pictures a haymaking festivity. Paddy from Cork, hayfork in hand, has literally turned his coat hind part before; he is dancing in company with another swain, who is holding a whisky-jug, and a fellow Patlander, fiddling and capering for very life, beside two buxom lasses, who are flourishing hayrakes and throwing themselves into the most attractive attitudes. Groups suggestive of both rural felicity and a terrific combat in combination are figured in the distance, as the true Patland ideal of finishing a day's pleasure.

1818(?).Doncaster Fair, or the Industrious Yorkshire Bites.Designed, etched, and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.—The principal figure in the foreground group is a buxom but hardly gentle keeperess of aknock-'em-downstand. The lady, clad in a soldier's old jacket, with ragged skirts and defective hose, is holding in one arm an instalment of sticks—'three throws a penny'—and is demanding her fee, a trifle boisterously, from a smock-clad yokel, who is diving into his short-clothes pocket for the coppers which do not appear to be forthcoming. Other rustics are taking their pastime at the same amusement, and one, in perplexity, is scratching his head. The bustle of a country fair is set forth in the distance; there is the usual display of booths and mountebanks, countrymen on horseback, love-making in carts, stalls, and struggling groups of sightseers.

1818.The Adventures of Johnny Newcome in the Navy.A Poem, in four cantos, with Plates by Rowlandson, from the Author's designs. By Alfred Burton. Published by W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, Stationers' Court, Ludgate Street.

Dulce Bellum Inexpertis.

May 9, 1819.A Rough Sketch of the Times, as delineated by Sir Francis Burdett.Published by T. Tegg (15).—Sir Francis Burdett is shown standing in the centre of the picture, a scarf thrown over his shoulders is markedMagna ChartaandBills of Rights; he holds the Genius ofHonourandIntegrityfirmly clasped by the hand, and, pointing toThe Monster of Corruption, observes: 'Look here upon this picture, and on this, and then judge for yourselves.' The persons of both patriot and monster are mapped out with inscriptions, their several parts being typically labelled: 'The Genius of Honourrejoices in a sound mind;' 'An eye ever watchful to the welfare of his fellow-citizens;' 'A tongue that never belied a good heart;' 'An upright breast and an honest heart;' 'A shoulder that never shrinks in trouble;' 'A plain liver and a lover of peace and plenty;' 'Pockets ever open to the necessities of fellow-creatures;' 'A knee to religion;' 'Legs ever steady in his country's cause;' and 'Feet to crush tyranny;' while in his 'Hand of Justice' is displayed a declaration of these principles: 'A staunch supporter of the Bill of Rights; an advocate for a fair representation of the people, and an enemy to bribery and corruption.' The attributes of the corrupt candidate are less flattering. The head of the monster is marked 'Professions and promises;' his nose has 'a scent for Interest;' his huge eye is devoted to Interest, and his mouth to Guile; he bears the 'Collar of Corruption;' 'a cringing soul,' 'a pampered appetite;' 'a rotten borough,' and 'secret service money' mark his trunk; his 'arms of power' end in 'hands of extortion,' which grasp 'pensions, reversions, perquisites of office, and bags of bribery;' he is supported on 'legs of luxury and feet of connivance.'

1819.Who killed Cock Robin? A Satirical Tragedy, or Hieroglyphic Prophecy on the Manchester Blot!!!(Pamphlet.) London: Printed and published by John Cahnac, 8vo., p. 23. Plate ofManchester Massacre, by T. Rowlandson.

1819.Female Intrepidity, or the Heroic Maiden.(Chap-book) With a folding frontispiece by T. Rowlandson.

1820 (about).Chemical Lectures.Designed and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.—Sir Humphrey Davy is exhibiting experiments at the Royal Institution before a highly respectable audience of visitors and members of both sexes. An antiquated fogey, who has evidently no opinion of the brilliant young lecturer, is snarling at the demonstrations. A treatise of the period,Accum's Lectures, is shown in his coat-pocket.

1820.Rowlandson's Characteristic Sketches of the Lower Orders, intended as a companion to the New Picture of London. Consisting of fifty-four plates, neatly coloured.Printed for Samuel Leigh, 18 Strand, London.

'Advertisement.—The British public must be already acquainted with numerous productions from the inimitable pencil of Mr. Rowlandson, who has particularly distinguished himself in this department.

'There is so much truth and genuine feeling in his delineations of human character, that no one can inspect the present collection without admiring his masterly style of drawing and admitting his just claim to originality.

'The great variety of countenance, expression and situation, evince an active and lively feeling, which he has so happily infused into the drawings, as to divest them of that broad caricature which is too conspicuous in the works of those artists who have followed his manner. Indeed, we may venture to assert that, since the time of Hogarth, no artist has appeared in this country who could be considered his superior, or even his equal.'

Frontispiece.—Menagerie. A Beef-eater exhibiting the Royal Wild Beast Show at the Tower.

1820.The Second Tour of Doctor Syntax, in Search of Consolation.Illustrated with twenty-four plates by T. Rowlandson. Royal 8vo. Published by R. Ackermann, Repository of Arts. (See description ofDoctor Syntax's Three Tours, 1812.)

May, 1821.A Smoky House and a Scolding Wife.Published at 22 Marylebone Street, Portland Chapel.—A suffering mortal is seated at an unfurnished dinner-table; the man's hands are clasped, his brows are knit, and his lips tightly closed, in an effort to maintain his patience and his temper under two exasperating provocatives to violence. Placed before the bent-down martyr to domestic infirmities is a phantom bone of mutton; presumably the husband has taken exception both to the insufficiency of the joint and the superabundance of smoke, which is eddying round in volumes, and is filling the apartment with dense blackness; while his better half, sailing like a fury out of the gloom, is an object to inspire terror in the boldest heart, and the stings of the sharp tongue are apparently even more intimidating than her nails or her knuckles, all of which weapons of offence are enlisted against her pitiable helpmate.

1821.Tricks on the Turf, or Settling how to Lose a Race.Published by T. Rowlandson.—A scene on a racecourse; the race-horses, led round to be saddled, are seen in the background. A smart young jockey, with his saddle strapped across his own back, and whip in hand, in readiness to begin the race, is receiving the parting instructions of a wily old turfite, who wears a cocked hat, a pigtail, a triple-caped coat, top-boots and spurs. This shrewd trickster is evidently giving his rider certain secret instructions which he would probably not like to hear published abroad on his own authority. The subject of this satire, together with the scandals about the Prince of Wales's horseEscapeand his jockey, prove that even in the early days of the Turf its reputation was not immaculate nor its patrons above suspicion.

1821.Journal of Sentimental Travels in the Southern Provinces of France shortly before the Revolution, embellished with seventeen coloured engravings from designs by T. Rowlandson, Esq.London: Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.

'We travellers are in very hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull and have observed nothing. If we tell anything new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic.'—Lady M. W. Montague's Letters.

The Douaniers.—'No native of the German side of the Rhine can pass from the territory of Baden to that of France without carrying along with him a certain respect for his country, which he will act wisely to conceal, like any other contraband commodity. This precaution I impressed upon myself as soon as the four horses, whose neighing seemed to express the same feeling, were put to the carriage at the last post-station at Kehl.

'This little place, situated partly on one, and partly on the other side of the Rhine, possesses an equivocal sort of character, which, like the modest, innocent look of a frail fair one, is of great advantage in the way of its trade.

'The reflections on that extraordinary genius Voltaire, whom the mercantile spirit of Beaumarchais contrived to banish to this intermediate spot between Germany and France—excited as I passed the extensive printing office established here for promoting the circulation of his works—were too multifarious for the shortest of all stages; for the life of this extraordinary mortal would afford abundant matter for contemplation during a tour round the globe, without being even then exhausted. My mind standing before him, like a dwarf before a colossus, was about to measure his greatness, when I was under the disagreeable necessity of turning the looks of my admiration another way, in order to cast them with contempt upon the most miserable of all theemployésof the King, who waited my arrival at the barriers of Strasburg. The postilion seemed to be thinking no more about them than myself, but the cry of "Stop, scoundrel!" from thethroats of ten of these varlets suddenly arrested the smart trot at which he was about to pass them. I was instantly surrounded by the rascals, who enquired what I would give to save my baggage from examination. "Nothing! nothing!" cried I, in a tone that would have scared the nymphs of the Rhine. "Nothing?" re-bellowed the incorruptible agents of the Custom House. "Nothing!" I reiterated. "I never make bargains with such fellows." With a profusion of curses and oaths they fell to work upon my baggage, which they ransacked with all the avidity of rats that have got scent of a savoury piece of bacon.

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