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littp://www.arcliive.org/details/essayongeniusofgOOtliaciala 


*    • 


AN 


ESSAY  ON  THE  GENIUS 


OF 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


WITH  NUMEROUS  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  HIS  WORKS. 


(FROM  THE  WESTMINSTER  REVIEW,  No.  LXVI.J 

WITH  ADDITIONAL  ETCHINGS. 


HENRY  HOOPER,  13  PALL  MALL  EAST. 
MDCCCXL. 


LONDON: 

PBINTED   BT    CHARLES   RETKRLL, 
LlTTLt    PILTEVEY    STBEET. 


stack 
Anriex 

Mo 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 


WOODCUTS. 


PRINTED  BY  MR  S.  BENTLEY. 
CHOICE  OF  PLEASURES   - 

WO.VDERFUL  OYSTER 
SEIZING  A  SUBJECT  - 
FLYING    DUSTMEN  (TxRaESTKiAL 

AND  Celestial). 
GIN  PALACE           .... 
SUNDAY  COOKERY     - 
MISERABLE  SINNERS 
DISAGREEABLE  RENCONTRE 
BRITISH  GRENADIERS      - 
IRISH  MILITIA     ...        - 
IRISH  BOYS 

IRISH   ROW 

IRISH  WAKE  -        -        .        . 

IRISH  JIG 

TEAGUE  

THE  DEAF  POSTILLION   - 
JOHN  GILPIN        -        .        -        . 
THE  EPPING  HUNT    . 

PRINTED  BY  MESSRS  WHITEHEAD. 

ARMY  OF  BOMBASTES       - 
GHOST  OF  GAFFER  THUMB    - 
THE     DUTCHMAN     AND     OUR 

MUTUAL  ENEMY      - 
THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK 
USE  OF  CHANCERY    - 
A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  - 
PORTRAITS  OF  LEMONS  - 
GARDENERS  AND  THE  BLAT- 

TA  BEETLES      .        .        .        . 

THIMBLE  RIG       -        .        .        . 

SPIRITS  OF  WINE 

CASK  OF  WHISKEY    - 
PITCHER  OF  ALE 


17 

17 

18 

19,20 

20 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
26 

27 

27 
28 
28 

29 

30,31 

32 


as 

34 

36 
37 
38 
39 
40 

41 

42 

43 

44 

45 


SELECTen    FROM 


Tliree  Courses  and  a  Des- 
sert,' 


■  More    Mornings   at    Bow 

street.' 
'  Sunday  in  London.' 


Tales  of  other  Days.' 
Sunday  in  London.* 
Tales  of  Irish  Life.' 
Three  Courses  and  a  "Des- 
sert,' 

More    Mornings   at    Bow 
street.* 
Tales  of  Irish  Life.' 

»         »>         >« 
Three  Courses  and  a  Des- 
sert.' 

»         >»         » 
•  John  Gilpin.' 
'  Epping  Hunt' 


*  Bombastes  Furioso.* 

*  Tom  Thumb.' 

•  Tales  of  other  Days.' 
'  Gentleman  in  Black.' 

»»         »>         »» 
'  Tales  of  other  Days.' 

•  Three  Courses  and  a  Des* 

serf.' 

'  Batcman's  Orchideaceae  of 
Mexico.' 

'  More  Mornings  at  Bow 
street.' 

'  Three  Courses  and  a  Des- 
sert.' 


u 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


8DBJKCT. 

PAGE. 

SXLKCTED    FROM 

PRINTED  BY  MESSRS  WHITEHEAD- 

continued. 

MUSHROOM  PEER       - 

45 

<  Three  Courses  and  a  Des> 
sert.' 

CADDY  CUDDLE  .... 

45 

CORPORATION  REFORM  - 

46 

<  Comic  Almanac' 

JOHN    BULL    AND     SPECULA. 

TION 

47 

HARD  TO  PART  .... 

47 

'  Three  Courses  and  a  Des. 
sert." 

COMFORTABLY  ASLEEP  - 

48 

»        It        If 

ETCHINGS. 


TRANSFERRED  TO  STONE,  AND  PRINTED 
BY  MR  JOBBINS. 

-PETER  SCHLEMIHL    - 

TERM  TIME 

IGNORANCE  IS  BLISS 
-TELLTALE 

EXHIBITION,  1835 

HOLIDAY     AT     THE      PUBLIC 
OFFICES 

LAST  YEAR'S  BILLS    - 

BEATING  THE  BOUNDS     - 

SIC  OMNES 

SHOWERY,  1839     .... 

LAW  LIFE  ASSURANCE     - 

OLD  MAY-DAY(to  face  Title  page) 

PRINTED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  STEEL 
PLATES,  BY  MR  YATES. 

PHILOPROGENITIVENESS 
-ELECTION  FOR  BEADLE - 
PARISH  ENGINE. 
SCOTLAND  YARD 
THE   STREETS— MORNING 


35 

38 
23 
25 

58 

57 
45 
50 
16 
48 
52 
16 


16 
16 
16 
16 
16 


Peter  Schlemihl.' 
Illustrations  of  Time. 
Sketch  Book.' 

If         >» 
Comic  Almanac' 


'  Illustrations  of  Phrenology. ' 
'  Sketches  by  Boz.' 


Thanks  are  due  for  the  loans  of  the  above  illustrations,  from  the '  Comic  Almanac,' 
^Illustrations  of  Time,'  'Phrenology'  the  'Sketch  Booh,'  'John  Gilpin,'  and  '  Epping 
Hunt,'  to  Mr  Tilt;  from  '  Sketches  by  Boz,'  to  Messrs  Chapman  and  Hall;  from 

•  More  Mornings  at  Bow  street,'  and  '  Tales  of  Irish  Life,'  to  Mr  Robins ;  from 

•  Peter  Schlemihl,'  to  Messrs  Whitaker ;  from  ♦  Sunday  in  London,'  to  Messrs  Dar- 
ton  and  Clark ;  from  '  Tales  of  other  Days,'  and  '  Gentleman  in  Black,'  to  Mr 
Daly  ;  from  '  Orchideacece  of  Mexico,'  to  Mr  Bateman  ;  from  '  Botnbastes  Furioso,' 
and  '  Tom  Thumb,'  to  Mr  Thomas ;  and  from  '  Three  Courses  and  a  Dessert,'  to 
Alessrs  Whitehead. 

*«*  In  the  list  of  works  illustrated  by  Cruikshanks  we  have  omitted  to  men- 
tion Dr  Bowring's  •  Minor  Morals,'  from  which  some  admirable  plates  would  have 
been  included  in  our  collection  had  they  not  been  received  too  late. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK'S    WORKS. 


1.  The  Humorist.  A  Collection  of  Entertaining  Tales,  Anec- 
dotes, Epigrams,  Bon  Mots,  &c.  J.  Robins  and  Co.  London, 
1819. 

2.  The  Political  House  that  Jack  built.  With  Thirteen  Cuts ; 
47th  Edition.     William  Hone.     1819. 

3.  The  QueeiCs  Matrimonial  Ladder;  a  National  Toy,with  Four- 
teen Step  Scenes  and  Illustrations  in  Verse,  and  Eighteen 
other  Cuts.     Forty-fourth  Edition.     W.  Hone.     1820. 

4.  "  Non  mi  ricordo."  With  Cuts.  Thirty-first  Edition.  Wil- 
liam Hone.     1820. 

5.  Doll  Tear  Sheet,  alias  the  Countess  "Jene  me  rappelle  pas" — 
a  match  for  "  Non  mi  ricordo."  With  Cuts  by  George  Cruik- 
shank.     John  Fairburn.     1820. 

6.  The  Political  Showman.  With  Twenty-four  Cuts.  Twenty- 
first  Edition.     William  Hone.     1821. 

7.  Life  in  London ;  or  the  Day  and  Night  Scenes  of  Jerri/ 
Hawthorn,  Esq.  Corinthian  Tom,  and  Bob  Logic,  in  their 
Rambles  through  the  Metropolis.  By  Pierce  Egan,  with  Co- 
loured Plates  by  G.  and  R.  Cruikshank.  Sherwood.  London, 
1821. 

8.  A  Slap  at  Slop  and  the  Bridge  Street  Gang.  With  Twenty- 
seven  Cuts.     William  Hone.     1822. 

9.  Life  in  Paris ;  or  the  Rambles  of  Dick  Wildfire,  S^c.  Illus- 
trated by  George  Cruikshank.     London,  1822. 

10.  Italian  Tales  of  Humour,  Gallantry,  and  Romance.  Se- 
lected and  Translated  from  the  Italian.  With  Sixteen  Illus- 
trative Drawings  by  George  Cruikshank.  Charles  Baldwyn. 
8vo.     London,  1824.     J.  Robins.     1840. 

11.  Tales  of  Irish  Life.  Illustrative  of  the  Manners,  Cus- 
toms, and  Condition  of  the  People.  With  Designs  by  George 
Cruikshank.     J.  Robins.     London.     2  vols.     1824. 

12.  Points  of  Humour  {Pieces  partly  Original  and  partly  se- 
lected.) Illustrated  by  a  Series  of  Plates  Drawn  and  En- 
graved by  George  Cruikshank.  Parts  1  and  2.  C.  Baldwyn. 
London,  1824. 

A 


13.  Peter  Schhmihl.  A  New  Translation  from  the  German. 
8vo.     Wliittaker.     London,  1824. 

14.  Popular  German  Stories.  Translated  from  the  Kinder  and 
Hans  Maerchen,  collected  by  MM.  Grimm  from  oral  tradi- 
tion.    James  Robins  &  Co.     London,  1825. 

15.  The  Universal  Songster,  or  Museum  of  Mirth.  With  Illus- 
trations by  George  Cruikshank.     Fairburn.     London,  1825. 

16.  Mornings  at  Bow  Street.  With  Illustrations  by  George 
Cruikshank.     Wheatley  and  Adlard.     London,  1825. 

17.  More  Mornings  at  Bow  Street.  With  Twenty-five  Illus- 
trations by  George  Cruikshank.  J.  Robins  and  Co.  London, 
1827. 

18.  Hans  of  Iceland.  A  Tale.  With  Four  highly-finished 
Etchings  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  7s.  6d.  J. 
Robins. 

19.  Greenwich  Hospital.  A  Series  of  Naval  Sketches  descrip- 
tive of  the  Life  of  a  Man  of  War's  Man.  By  an  Old  Sailor. 
With  Illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  J.  Robins  and  Co. 
London,  1826. 

20.  Three  Courses  and  a  Dessert.  With  Decorations  by  George 
Cruikshank.     Vizitelly  and  Co.     London,  1830. 

21.  Tales  of  Other  Days.  With  Illustrations  by  George  Cruik- 
shank.    Efiingham  Wilson.     London,  1830. 

22.  The  Gentleman  in  Black.  With  Illustrations  by  George 
Cruikshank.  William  Kidd.  London,  1831.  Daly, 
1840. 

23.  Tom  Thumb;  and  Bombastes  Furioso.  Illustrated  by 
George  Cruikshank.  Re-printed  in  Thomas's  Burlesque 
Drama.     Thomas.     London. 

24.  Sunday  in  London.  Illustrated  in  Fourteen  Cuts  by 
George  Cruikshank,  and  a  few  words  by  a  friend  of  his,  with 
a  copy  of  Sir  Andrew  Agnew's  Bill.  E.  Wilson.  London, 
1833.     Darton  and  Clark,  1840. 

25.  Mirth  and  Morality.  A  Collection  of  Original  Tales  by 
Carlton  Bruce.  Embellished  with  Engravings  by  George 
Cruikshank.     Tegg.     London,  1835. 

26.  The  Comic  Almanac,  from  1835  to  1840;  containing 
Seven ty-ttwo  Plates  on  Steel,  two  vols.    17s.  bound.     C.  Tilt. 

27.  The  Loving  Ballad  of  Lord  Bateman.  With  Twelve 
Humorous  Plates,  neatly  bound  in  cloth,  i)rice  2s.     C.  Tilt. 


28.  My  Sketch  Book;  containing  Two  Hundred  Groups. 
Cloth,  15s.  plain;  21s.  coloured.     C.  Tilt. 

29.  More  Hints  on  Etiquette.  With  Humorous  Cuts.  2s.  6d. 
C.  Tilt. 

30.  The  Comic  Alphabet.  Twenty-four  Plates.  2s.  6d.  plain; 
4.S.  coloured.     C.  Tilt. 

31.  Scraps  and  Sketches.     In  four  Parts,  8s.  each.     C.  Tilt. 

32.  Illustrations  of  Phrenology.     8s.      C.  Tilt. 

33.  Illustrations  of  Time.     8s.      C.  Tilt. 

35.  Demonology  and  Witchcraft.  In  Twelve  Plates.  2s.  sewed. 
C.  Tilt. 

36.  Illustrations  of  the  English  Novelists ;  containing  Hu- 
morous Scenes  from  '  Humphrey  Clinker,*  '  Roderick  Ran- 
dom,' '  Peregrine  Pickle,'  '  Tom  Jones,'  '  Joseph  Andrews,' 
*  Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  &c.  &c.  Forty-one  Plates,  with  Descrip- 
tive Extracts,  Ts.  cloth.     C.  Tilt. 

37.  The  Bee  and  the  Wasp.  A  Comic  Tale.  Four  Plates,  Is. 
C.  Tilt. 

38.  Hood's  Epping  Hunt.  Six  Engravings  by  G.  Cruikshank. 
New  and  Cheap  Edition,  price  Is.  6d.     C.  Tilt. 

39.  Cowpers  John  Gilpin;  with  Six  Engravings.  Price  Is. 
C.  Tilt. 

40.  Punch  and  Judy.  With  Illustrations  by  George  Cruik- 
shank.    Septimus  Prowitt.     London,  1828. 

41.  Bent  ley's  Miscellany.  Vol  I  to  VI.  Richard  Bentley. 
London. 

42.  Memoirs  of  Joseph  Grimaldi.  Edited  by  Boz,  with  Illus- 
trations by  George  Cruikshank.  2  vols.  8vo.  R.  Bentley. 
London,  1838. 

43.  Oliver  Ttvist,  or  the  Parish  Boy's  Progress.  By  "  Boz." 
3  vols.     R.  Bentley.     London,  1838. 

44.  Minor  Morals  for  Young  People.  By  John  Bo^vring.  With 
Illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Parts  I,  II,  and  III. 
W.  Tait,  Edinburgh,  1839. 

45.  Sketches  by  Boz.  Illustrated  by  George  Cruikshank.  8vo. 
Chapman  and  Hall.     London,  1839. 

46.  Jack  Sheppard ;  a  Romance.  By  W.  H.  Ainsworth,  Esq. 
With  Twenty-seven  Illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  R. 
Bentley.    8vo.     London,  1840. 


4 

47.  llie  Tower  of  Loinlon ;  an  Historical  Romance.  By  W.  H. 
Ainsworth.  With  Illustrations  on  Steel  and  Wood  by  G. 
Cruikshank.  Parts  I  to  V.  Richard  Bentley.  I^ondon. 
8vo.     1840. 

A  CCUSATIONS  of  ingratitude,  and  just  accusations  no  doubt, 
"^  are  made  against  every  inhabitant  of  this  wicked  world,  and 
the  fact  is,  that  a  man  who  is  ceaselessly  engaged  in  its  trouble  and 
turmoil,  borne  hither  and  thither  upon  the  fierce  waves  of  the 
crowd,  bustling,  shifting,  struggling  to  keep  himself  somewhat 
above  water — fighting  for  reputation,  or  more  likely  for  bread, 
and  ceaselessly  occupied  to-day  with  plans  for  appeasing  the 
eternal  appetite  of  inevitable  hunger  to-morrow — a  man  in  such 
straits  has  hardly  time  to  think  of  anything  but  himself,  and,  as 
in  a  sinking  ship,  must  make  his  own  rush  for  the  boats,  and 
fight,  struggle,  and  trample  for  safety.  In  the  midst  of  such  a 
combat  as  this,  the  "  ingenuous  arts,  which  prevent  the  ferocity  of 
the  manners,  and  act  upon  them  as  an  emollient"  (as  the  philo- 
sophic bard  remarks  in  the  Latin  Grammar)  are  likely  to  be 
jostled  to  death,  and  then  forgotten.  The  world  will  allow  no 
such  compromises  between  it  and  that  which  does  not  belong  to 
it- — no  two  gods  must  we  serve ;  but  (as  one  lias  seen  in  some 
old  portraits)  the  horrible  glazed  eyes  of  Necessity  are  always 
fixed  upon  you ;  fly  away  as  you  will,  black  Care  sits  behind 
you,  and  with  his  ceaseless  gloomy  croaking  drowns  the  voice  of 
all  more  cheerful  companions.  Happy  he  whose  fortune  has 
placed  him  where  there  is  calm  and  plenty,  and  who  has 
the  wisdom  not  to  give  up  his  quiet  in  quest  of  visionary 
gain. 

Here  is,  no  doubt,  the  reason  why  a  man,  after  the  period  of  his 
boyhood,  or  first  youth,  makes  so  few  friends.  Want  and  ambition 
(new  acquaintances  which  are  introduced  to  him  along  with  his 
beard)  thrust  away  all  other  society  from  him.  Some  old  friends 
remain,  it  is  true,  but  these  are  become  as  a  habit — a  part  of 
your  selfishness — and,  for  new  ones,  they  are  selfish  as  you  are ; 
neither  member  of  the  new  partnership  has  the  capital  of  affec- 
tion and  kindly  feeling,  or  can  even  affbrd  the  time  that  is  requi- 
site for  the  establishment  of  the  new  firm.  Damp  and  chill  the 
shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close  round  us,  and  that 
*' vision  splendid"  which  has  accompanied  our  steps  in  our  jour- 
ney daily  farther  from  the  east,  fades  away  ana  dies  into  the 
light  of  common  day. 

And  what  a  common  day  !  what  a  foggy>  dull,  shivering  apology 
for  light  is  this  kind  of  muddy  twilight  through  which  we  are 
about  to  tramp  and  flounder  for  the  rest  of  our  existence,  wan- 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  d 

dering  farther  and  farther  from  the  beauty  and  freshness  and 
from  the  kindly  gushing  springs  of  clear  gladness  that  made  all 
around  us  green  in  our  youth  !  One  wanders  and  gropes  in  a 
slough  of  stock-jobbing,  one  sinks  or  rises  in  a  storm  of  politics, 
and  in  either  case  it  is  as  good  to  fall  as  to  rise — to  mount  a 
bubble  on  the  crest  of  the  wave,  as  to  sink  a  stone  to  the  bottom. 
The  reader  who  has  seen  the  name  affixed  to  the  head  of  this 
article  did  scarcely  expect  to  be  entertained  with  a  declamation 
upon  ingratitude,  youth,  and  the  vanity  of  human  pursuit*^,  which 
may  seem  at  first  sight  to  have  little  to  do  with  the  subject  in 
hand.  But  (although  we  reserve  the  privilege  of  discoursing 
upon  whatever  subject  shall  suit  us,  and  by  no  means  admU  the 
public  has  any  right  to  ask  in  our  sentences  for  any  meaning,  or 
any  connexion  whatever)  it  happens  that,  in  this  particular  in- 
stance, there  is  an  undoubted  connexion.  In  Susan's  case,  as 
recorded  by  Wordsworth,  what  connexion  had  the  corner  of 
Wood  street  with  a  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees,  and  a 
nest  by  the  Dove  ?  Why  should  the  song  of  a  thrush  cause 
bright  volumes  of  vapour  to  glide  through  Lothbury,  and  a  river 
to  flow  on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside  ?  As  she  stood  at  that 
corner  of  Wood  street,  a  mop  and  a  pail  in  her  hand  most  likely, 
she  heard  the  bird  singing,  and  straightway  began  pining  and 
yearning  for  the  days  of  her  youth,  forgetting  the  proper  business 
of  the  pail  and  mop.  Even  so  we  are  moved  by  the  sight  of  some 
of  Mr  Cruikshank's  works — the  "  busen  fiihlt  sich  jiigendlich 
erschlittert,"  the  "  schwankende  gestalten  "  of  youth  flit  before 
one  again, — Cruikshank's  thrush  begins  to  pipe  and  carol,  as  in 
the  days  of  boyhood ;  hence  misty  moralities,  reflections,  and  sad 
and  pleasant  remembrances  arise.  He  is  the  friend  of  the  young 
especially.  Have  we  not  read  all  the  story-books  that  his  won- 
derful pencil  has  illustrated  ?  Did  we  not  forego  tarts,  in  order 
to  buy  his  '  Breaking-up,'  or  his  '  Fashionable  Monstrosities'  of 
the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  something  ?  Have  we  not  before 
us,  at  this  very  moment,  a  print — one  of  the  admirable  '  Illustra- 
tions of  Phrenology' — which  entire  work  was  purchased  by  a 
joint  stock  company  of  boys,  each  drawing  lots  afterwards  for  the 
separate  prints,  and  taking  his  choice  in  rotation  ?  The  WTiter 
of  this,  too,  had  the  honour  of  drawing  the  first  lot,  and  seized 
immediately  upon  "  Philoprogenitiveness" — a  marvellous  print 
(our  copy  is  not  at  all  improved  by  being  coloured,  which  ope- 
ration we  performed  on  it  ourselves) — a  marvellous  print,  indeed, 
— full  of  ingenuity  and  fine  jovial  humour.  A  father,  pos- 
sessor of  an  enormous  nose  and  family,  is  surrouncied  by  the 
latter,  who  are,  some  of  them,  embracing  the  former.  The 
composition  writhes  and  twists  about  like  the  Kcrmes  of  llubcns. 


6  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

No  less  than  seven  little  men  and  women  in  night-caps,  in  frocks, 
in  bibs,  in  breeches,  are  clambering  about  the  head,  knees,  and 
arms  of  the  man  with  the  nose ;  their  noses,  too,  are  preternatu- 
rally  developed — the  twins  in  the  cradle  have  noses  of  the  most 
considerable  kind ;  the  second  daughter,  who  is  watching  them  ; 
the  youngest  but  two,  who  sits  squalling  in  a  certain  wicker 
chair ;  the  eldest  son,  who  is  yawning ;  the  eldest  daughter,  who 
is  preparing  with  the  gravy  of  two  mutton  chops  a  savory  dish 
of  Yorkshire  pudding  for  eighteen  persons ;  the  youths  who  are 
examining  her  operations  (one  a  literary  gentleman,  in  a  re- 
markably neat  night-cap  and  pinafore,  who  has  just  had  his 
finger  in  the  pudding) ;  the  genius  who  is  at  work  on  the  slate, 
and  the  two  honest  lads  who  are  hugging  the  good-humoured 
washerwoman,  their  mother, — all,  all,  save  this  worthy  woman, 
have  noses  of  the  largest  size.  Not  handsome  certainly  are 
they,  and  yet  everybody  must  be  charmed  with  the  picture.  It 
is  full  of  grotesque  beauty.  The  artist  has  at  the  back  of  his 
own  skull,  we  are  certain,  a  huge  bump  of  philoprogenitiveness. 
He  loves  children  in  his  heart ;  every  one  of  those  he  has  drawn 
is  perfectly  happy,  and  jovial,  and  affectionate,  and  innocent  as 
possible.  He  makes  them  with  large  noses,  but  he  loves  them, 
and  you  always  find  something  kind  in  the  midst  of  his  humour, 
and  the  ugliness  redeemed  by  a  sly  touch  of  beauty.  The  smiling 
mother  reconciles  one  with  all  the  hideous  family:  they  have  all 
something  of  the  mother  in  them — something  kind,  and  gene- 
rous, and  tender. 

Knight's,  in  Sweeting's  alley;  Fairburn's,  in  a  court  off  Lud- 
gate  hill ;  Hone's,  in  Fleet  street — bright,  enchanted  palaces, 
which  George  Cruikshank  used  to  people  with  grinning,  fantas- 
tical imps,  and  merry,  harmless  sprites, — where  are  they  ?  Fair- 
burn's  shop  knows  him  no  more ;  not  only  has  Knight  disap- 
peared from  Sweeting's  alley,  but,  as  we  are  given  to  un- 
derstand, Sweeting's  alley  has  disappeared  from  the  face  of 
the  globe  —  Slop,  the  atrocious  Castlereagh,  the  sainted  Ca- 
roline (in  a  tight  pelisse,  with  feathers  in  her  head),  the 
"  Dandy  of  sixty,"  who  used  to  glance  at  us  from  Hone's 
friendly  windows  —  where  are  they?  Mr  Cruikshank  may 
have  drawn  a  thousand  better  things,  since  the  days  when 
these  were  ;  but  they  are  to  us  a  thousand  times  more  pleasing 
than  anything  else  he  has  done.  How  we  used  to  believe  in 
them  ?  to  stray  miles  out  of  the  way  on  holidays,  in  order  to 
ponder  for  an  hour  before  that  delightful  window  in  Sweeting's 
alley !  in 'walks  through  Fleet  street,  to  vanish  abruptly  down 
Fairburn's  passage,  and  there  make  one  at  his  "  charming  gra- 
tis "  exhibition.     There  used  to  be  a  crowd  round  the  window 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  7 

in  those  days  of  grinning,  good-natured  mechanics,  who  spelt 
the  songs,  and  spoke  them  out  for  the  benefit  of  the  company, 
and  who  received  the  points  of  humour  with  a  general  sympa- 
thizing roar.  Where  are  these  people  now  ?  You  never  hear 
any  laughing  at  HB. ;  his  pictures  are  a  greal  deal  too  genteel 
for  that — polite  points  of  wit,  which  strike  one  as  exceedingly 
clever  and  pretty,  and  cause  one  to  smile  in  a  quiet,  gentleman- 
like kind  of  way. 

There  must  be  no  smiling  with  Cruikshank.  A  man  who 
does  not  laugh  outright  is  a  dullard,  and  has  no  heart ;  even  the 
old  Dandy  of  sixty  must  have  laughed  at  his  own  wondrous 
grotesque  image,  as  they  say  Louis  Philippe  did,  who  saw  all  the 
caricatures  that  were  made  of  himself.  And  there  are  some  of 
Cruikshank's  designs,  which  have  the  blessed  faculty  of  creating 
laughter  as  often  as  you  see  them.  As  Diggory  says  in  the 
play,  who  is  bidden  by  his  master  not  to  laugh  while  waiting  at 
table — "  Don't  tell  the  story  of  Grouse  in  the  Gun-room,  master, 
or  I  can't  help  laughing."  Repeat  that  history  ever  so  often, 
and  at  the  proper  moment,  honest  Diggory  is  sure  to  explode. 
Every  man,  no  doubt,  who  loves  Cruikshank  has  his  Grouse  in  the 
Gun-room.  There  is  a  fellow  in  the  '  Points  of  Humour'  who  is 
offering  to  eat  up  a  certain  little  general,  that  has  made  us  happy 
any  time  these  sixteen  years ;  his  huge  mouth  is  a  perpetual  well 
of  laughter — buckets  full  of  fun  can  be  draivn  from  it.  We  ha^  e 
formed  no  such  friendships  as  that  boyish  one  of  the  man  with 
the  mouth.  But  though,  in  our  eyes,  Mr  Cruikshank  reached 
his  apogee  some  eighteen  years  since,  it  must  not  be  imagined 
that  such  is  really  the  case.  Eighteen  sets  of  children  have 
since  then  learned  to  love  and  admire  him,  and  may  many  more 
of  their  successors  be  brought  up  in  the  same  delightful  faith. 
It  is  not  the  artist  who  fails,  but  the  men  who  grow  cold — the 
men,  from  whom  the  illusions  (why  illusions?  realities)  of  youth 
disappear  one  by  one;  who  have  no  leisure  to  be  happy,  no 
blessed  holidays,  but  only  fresh  cares  at  Midsummer  and  Christ- 
mas, being  the  inevitable  seasons  which  bring  us  bills  instead  of 
pleasures.  Tom,  who  comes  bounding  home  from  school,  has 
the  doctor's  account  in  his  trunk,  and  his  father  goes  to  sleep 
at  the  pantomime  to  which  he  takes  him.  Pater  infelix,  you  too 
have  laughed  at  clown,  and  the  magic  wand  of  spangled  harle- 
quin ;  what  delightful  enchantment  did  it  wave  around  you,  in 
the  golden  days  "when  George  the  Third  was  king!"  But 
our  clown  lies  in  his  grave  ;  and  our  harlequin,  Ellar,  prince  of 
how  many  enchanted  islands,  was  he  not  at  Bow  street  the  other 
day,  at  Bow  street,  in  his  dirty,  tattered,  faded  motley— seized 
as  a  law-breaker,  for  acting  at  a  penny  theatre,   after  having 


8  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

well-nigb  starved  in  the  streets,  where  nobody  would  listen  to 
his  old  guitar  ?  No  one  gave  a  shilling  to  bless  him,  not  one  of 
us  who  owe  him  80  much. 

We  know  not  if  Mr  Cruikshank  will  be  very  well  pleased  at 
finding  his  name  in  such  company  as  that  of  Clown  and  Harle- 

3uin ;  but  he,  like  them,  is  certainly  the  children's  friend.  His 
rawings  abound  in  feeling  for  these  little  ones,  and  hideous,  as 
in  the  course  of  his  duty,ne  is  from  time  to  time  compelled  to 
design  them,  he  never  sketches  one  without  a  certain  pity  for 
it,  and  imparting  to  the  figure  a  certain  grotesque  grace.  In 
happy  school-boys  he  revels ;  plumb-pudding  and  holidays  his 
needle  has  engraved  over  and  over  again ; — there  is  a  design  in 
one  of  the  comic  almanacs  of  some  young  gentlemen  who  are 
employed  in  administering  to  a  schoolfellow  the  correction  of  the 
pump,  which  is  as  graceful  and  elegant  as  a  drawing  of  Stothard. 
Dull  books  about  c'hildren  George  Cruikshank  makes  bright  with 
illustrations — there  is  one  published  by  the  ingenious  and  opu- 
lent Mr  Tegg,  of  Cheapside — from  which  we  should  have  been 
charmed  to  steal  a  few  wood-cuts.  It  is  entitled  '  Mirth  and 
Morality,'  the  mirth  being,  for  the  most  part,  on  the  side  of  the 
designer — the  morality,  unexceptionable  certainly,  the  author's 
capital.  Here  are  then,  to  these  moralities,  a  smiling  train  of 
mirths  supplied  by  George  Cruikshank — see  yonder  little  fellows 
butterfly-hunting  across  a  common  !  Such  a  light,  brisk,  airy, 
gentleman-like  drawing  was  never  made  upon  such  a  theme. 
Who,  cries  the  author, 

**  Who  has  not  chased  the  butterfly, 

And  crushed  its  slender  legs  and  wings, 
And  heaved  a  moralizing  sigli ; 
Alas !  how  frail  are  human  things  ?" 

A  very  unexceptionable  morality  truly,  but  it  would  have  puz- 
zled another  than  George  Cruikshank  to  make  mirth  out  of  it  as 
he  has  done.  Away,  surely  not  on  the  wings  of  these  verses, 
Cruikshank's  imagination  begins  to  soar ;  and  he  makes  us  three 
darling  little  men  on  a  green  common,  backed  by  old  farm- 
houses, somewhere  about  May.  A  great  mixture  of  blue  and 
clouds  in  the  air,  a  strong  fresh  breeze  stirring,  Tom's  jacket 
flapping  in  the  same,  in  order  to  bring  down  the  insect  queen 
or  kin^  of  spring  that  is  fluttering  above  him, — he  renders  all 
this  with  a  few  strokes  on  a  little  block  of  wood  not  two  inches 
square,  upon  which  one  may  gaze  for  hours,  so  merry  and  life- 
like a  scene  does  it  present,  what  a  charming  creative  power  is 
this,  what  a  privilege — to  be  a  god,  and  create  little  worlds  upon 
paper,  and  whole  generations  of  smiling,  jovial  men,  women,  and 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  9 

children  half  Inch  high,  whose  portraits  are  carried  abroad,  and 
have  the  faculty  of  making  us  monsters  of  six  feet  curious  and 
happy  in  our  turn.  Now,  who  would  imagine  that  an  artist  could 
make  anything  of  such  a  subject  as  this  ?  The  writer  begins  by 
stating, — 

"  I  love  to  go  back  to  the  days  of  my  youth, 
And  to  reckon  my  joys  to  the  letter, 
And  to  count  o'er  the  friends  that  I  have  in  the  world, 
Ayy  and  those  who  are  gone  to  a  better.^' 

This  brings  him  to  the  consideration  of  his  uncle.  "  Of  all  the 
men  I  have  ever  known,"  says  he,  "  my  uncle  united  the  greatest 
degree  of  cheerfulness  with  the  sobriety  of  manhood.  Though  a 
man  when  I  was  a  boy,  he  was  yet  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
companions  I  ever  possessed.  *  *  *  He  embarked  for  Ame- 
rica, and  nearly  twenty  years  passed  by  before  he  came  back 
again ;  *  *  but  oh,  how  altered ! — he  was  in  every  sense  of 
the  word  an  old  man,  his  body  and  mind  were  enfeebled,  and 
second  childishness  had  come  upon  him.  How  often  have  I 
bent  over  him,  vainly  endeavouring  to  recal  to  his  memory  the 
scenes  we  had  shared  together;  and  how  frequently,  with  an 
aching  heart,  have  I  gazed  on  his  vacant  and  lustreless  eye  while 
he  has  amused  himself  in  clapping  his  hands,  and  singing  with  a 
quavering  voice  a  verse  of  a  psalm."  Alas  !  such  are  the  conse- 
quences of  long  residences  in  America,  and  of  old  age  even  in 
uncles  !  Well,  the  point  of  this  morality  is,  that  the  uncle  one 
day  in  the  morning  of  life  vowed  that  he  would  catch  his  two 
nephews  and  tie  them  together,  ay,  and  actually  did  so,  for  all 
the  efforts  the  rogues  made  to  run  away  from  him ;  but  he  was  so 
fatigued  that  he  declared  he  never  would  make  the  attempt  again, 
whereupon  the  nephew  remarks, — "  Often  since  then,  when  en- 
gaged in  enterprizes  beyond  my  strength,  have  I  called  to  mind 
the  determination  of  my  uncle." 

Does  it  not  seem  impossible  to  make  a  picture  out  of  this? 
And  yet  George  Cruikshank  has  produced  a  charming  design, 
in  which  the  uncles  and  nephews  are  so  prettily  portrayed  that 
one  is  reconciled  to  their  existence,  with  all  their  moralities. 
Many  more  of  the  mirths  in  this  little  book  are  excellent,  espe- 
cially a  great  figure  of  a  parson  entering  church  on  horseback, — 
an  enormous  parson  truly,  calm,  unconscious,  unwieldy.  As 
Zeuxis  had  a  bevy  of  virgins  in  order  to  make  his  famous  picture 
— his  express  virgin,  a  clerical  host  mast  have  passed  under 
Cruikshank's  eyes  before  he  sketched  this  little,  enormous  parson 
of  parsons. 

Being  on  the  subject  of  children's  books,  how  shall  we  enough 


10  GEORGE   CRUIKSHANK. 

praise  tlie  delightful  German  nursery  tales,  and  Cruikshank's 
illustrations  of  them?  We  coupled  his  name  with  pantomime 
awhile  since,  and  sure  never  pantomimes  were  more  charming 
than  these.  Of  all  the  artists  that  ever  drew,  from  Michael 
Angelo  upwards  and  downwards,  Cruikshank  was  the  man  to 
illustrate  these  tales,  and  give  them  just  the  proper  admixture  of 
the  grotesque,  the  wonderful,  and  the  graceful.  May  all  Mother 
Bunch's  collection  be  similarly  indebted  to  him ;  may  '  Jack  the 
Giant  Killer,'  may  *  Tom  Thumb,'  may  *  Puss  in  Boots,'  be  one 
day  revivified  by  his  pencil.  Is  not  Whittington  sitting  yet  on 
Highgate  Hill,  and  poor  Cinderella  (in  that  sweetest  of  all  fairy 
stories)  still  pining  in  her  lonely  chimney  nook  ?  A  man  who  has 
a  true  affection  for  these  delightful  companions  of  his  youth  is 
bound  to  be  grateful  to  them  if  he  can,  and  we  pray  Mr  Cruik- 
shank to  remember  them. 

It  is  folly  to  say  that  this  or  that  kind  of  humour  is  too  good 
for  the  public,  that  only  a  chosen  few  can  relish  it.  The  best 
humour  that  we  know  of  has  been  as  eagerly  received  by  the 
public  as  by  the  most  delicate  connoisseur.  There  is  hardly  a 
man  in  England  who  can  read  but  will  laugh  at  FalsUiff  and  the 
humour  of  Joseph  Andrews;  and  honest  Mr  Pickwick's  story  can  be 
felt  and  loved  by  any  person  above  the  age  of  six.  Some  may  have 
a  keener  enjoyment  of  it  than  others,  but  all  the  world  can  be 
merry  over  it,  and  is  always  ready  to  welcome  it.  The  best  crite- 
rion of  good  humour  is  success,  and  what  a  share  of  this  has  Mr 
Cruikshank  had  !  how  many  millions  of  mortals  has  he  made 
happy  I  We  have  heard  very  profound  persons  talk  philosophically 
of  the  marvellous  and  mysterious  manner  in  which  he  has  suited 
himself  to  the  time — fait  vihrer  la  ,/ibre  populaire  (as  Napoleon 
boasted  of  himself),  supplied  a  peculiar  want  felt  at  a  peculiar 
period,  the  simple  secret  of  which  is,  as  we  take  it,  that  he,  living 
amongst  the  public,  has  with  them  a  general  wide-hearted  sym- 
pathy, that  he  laughs  at  what  they  laugh  at,  that  he  has  a  kindly 
spirit  of  enjoyment,  with  not  a  morsel  of  mysticism  in  his  compo- 
sition ;  that  he  pities  and  loves  the  poor,  and  jokes  at  the  follies  of 
the  great,  and  that  he  addresses  all  in  a  perfectly  sincere  and 
manly  way.  To  be  greatly  successful  as  a  professional  humorist, 
as  in  any  other  calling,  a  man  must  be  quite  honest,  and  show  that 
his  heart  is  in  his  work.  A  bad  preacher  will  get  admiration  and 
a  hearing  with  this  point  in  his  favour,  where  a  man  of  three  times 
his  acquirements  will  only  find  indifference  and  coldness.  Is  any 
man  more  remarkable  than  our  artist  for  telling  the  truth  after  his 
own  manner?  Hogarth's  honesty  of  purpose  was  as  conspicuous 
in  an  earlier  time,  and  we  fancy  that  Gilray  would  have  been  far 
more  successful  and  more  powerful  but  for  that  unhappy  bribe. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  11 

which  turned  the  whole  course  of  his  humour  into  an  unnatural 
channel.  Cruikshank  would  not  for  any  bribe  say  what  he  did  not 
think,  or  lend  his  aid  to  sneer  down  anything  meritorious,    or  to 

E raise  anything  or  person  that  deserved  censure.  When  he  levelled 
is  wit  against  the  Regent,  and  did  his  very  prettiest  for  the 
Princess,  he  most  certainly  believed,  along  with  the  great  body 
of  the  people  whom  he  represents,  that  the  Princess  was  the  most 
spotless,  pure-mannered  darling  of  a  Princess  that  ever  married 
a  heartless  debauchee  of  a  Prince  Royal.  Did  not  millions  be- 
lieve with  him,  and  noble  and  learned  lords  take  their  oaths  to  her 
Royal  Highness's  innocence  ?  Cruikshank  would  not  stand  by 
and  see  a  woman  ill-used,  and  so  struck  in  for  her  rescue,  he  and 
the  people  belabouring  with  all  their  might  the  party  who  were 
making  the  attack,  and  determining,  from  pure  sympathy  and 
indignation,  that  the  woman  must  be  innocent  because  her  hus- 
band treated  her  so  foully. 

To  be  sure  we  have  never  heard  so  much  from  Mr  Cruik- 
shank's  own  lips,  but  any  man  who  will  examine  these  odd 
drawings,  which  first  made  him  famous,  will  see  what  an  honest, 
hearty  hatred,  the  champion  of  woman  has  for  all  who  abuse  her, 
and  will  admire  the  energy  with  which  he  flings  his  wood-blocks 
at  all  who  side  against  her.  Canning,  Castlereagh,  Bexley, 
Sidmouth,  he  is  at  them,  one  and  all ;  and  as  for  the  Prince,  up 
to  what  a  whipping-post  of  ridicule  did  he  tie  that  unfortunate 
old  man.  And  do  not  let  squeamish  Tories  cry  out  about  dis- 
loyalty ;  if  the  crown  does  wrong,  the  crown  must  be  corrected 
by  the  nation,  out  of  respect,  of  course,  for  the  crown.  In  those 
days,  and  by  those  people  who  so  bitterly  attacked  the  son,  no 
word  was  ever  breathed  against  the  father,  simply  because  he  was 
a  good  husband,  and  a  sober,  thrifty,  pious,  orderly  man. 

This  attack  upon  the  Prince  Regent  we  believe  to  have 
been  Mr  Cruikshank's  only  effort  as  a  party  politician.  Some 
early  manifestoes  against  Napoleon  we  find,  it  is  true,  done  in 
the  regular  John  Bull  style,  with  the  Gilray  model  for  the  little 
upstart  Corsican  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  Emperor  had  yielded  to 
stern  fortune  our  artist's  heart  relented  (as  Beranger's  did  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water),  and  many  of  our  readers  will  doubt- 
less recollect  a  fine  drawing  of  '  Louis  XVI  trying  on  Napoleon's 
boots,'  which  did  not  certainly  fit  the  gouty  son  of  Saint  Louis. 
Such  satirical  hits  as  these,  however,  must  not  be  considered  as 
political,  or  as  anything  more  than  the  expression  of  the  artist's 
national  British  idea  of  Frenchmen. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  for  that  great  nation  Mr  Cruikshank 
entertains  a  considerable  contempt.  Let  the  reader  examine 
the  '  Life  in  Paris,'  or  the  five-hundred  designs  in  which  French- 


12  GEORGE    CKUIKSHANK. 

men  are  introduced,  and  he  will  find  them  almost  invariably  thin, 
with  ludicrous  spindle-shanks,  pigtails,  outstretched  hands,  shrug- 
png  shoulders,  and  queer  hair  and  moustachios.  He  has  the 
British  idea  of  a  Frenchman ;  and  if  he  does  not  believe  that 
the  inhabitants  of  France  are  for  the  most  part  dancing-masters 
and  barbers,  yet  takes  care  to  depict  such  in  preference,  and 
would  not  speak  too  well  of  them.  It  is  curious  how  these 
traditions  endure.  In  France,  at  the  present  moment,  the  Eng- 
lishman on  the  stage  is  the  caricatured  Englishman  at  the  time 
of  the  war,  with  a  shock  red  head,  a  long  white  coat,  and 
invariable  gaiters.  Those  who  wish  to  study  this  subject 
should  peruse  Monsieur  Paul  de  Kock's  histories  of  Lord 
BouUngrog  and  Lady  Crockmilove.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
old  emigre  has  taken  his  station  amongst  us,  and  we  doubt 
if  a  good  British  Gallery  would  understand  that  such  and 
such  a  character  was  a  Frenchman  unless  he  appeared  in  the 
ancient  traditional  costume. 

A  curious  book,  called  *Life  in  Paris,'  published  in  18^2, 
contains  a  number  of  the  artist's  plates  in  the  aquatint  style ; 
and  though  we  believe  he  had  never  been  in  tliat  capital,  the 
designs  have  a  great  deal  of  life  in  them,  and  pass  muster  very 
well.  We  had  thoughts  of  giving  a  few  copies  of  French  heads 
from  this  book  and  others,  which  would  amply  show  Mr  Cruik- 
shank's  anti-Gallican  spirit.  A  villanous  race  of  shoulder- 
shrugging  mortals  are  his  Frenchmen  indeed.  And  the  heroes 
of  the  tale,  a  certain  Mr  Dick  Wildfire,  Squire  Jenkins,  and 
Captain  O'Shuffleton,  are  made  to  show  the  true  British  supe- 
riority on  every  occasion  when  Britons  and  French  are  brought 
together.  This  book  was  one  among  the  many  that  the  de- 
signer's genius  has  caused  to  be  popular ;  the  plates  are  not 
carefully  executed,  but,  being  coloured,  have  a  pleasant,  lively 
look.  The  same  style  was  adopted  in  the  once  famous  book 
called  '  Tom  and  Jerry,  or  Life  in  London,*  which  must  have  a 
word  of  notice  here,  for,  although  by  no  means  Mr  Cruikshank's 
best  work,  his  reputation  was  extraordinarily  raised  by  it.  Tom 
and  Jerry  were  as  popular  twenty  years  since  as  Mr  Pickwick 
and  Sam  Weller  now  are ;  and  often  have  we  wished,  while 
reading  the  biographies  of  the  latter  celebrated  personages,  that 
they  had  been  described  as  well  by  Mr  Cruikshank's  pencil  as 
by  Mr  Dickens's  pen. 

As  for  Tom  and  Jerry,  to  show  the  mutability  of  human 
affairs  and  the  evanescent  nature  of  reputation,  we  have  been  to 
the  British  Museum,  and  no  less  than  five  circulating  libraries  in 
quest  of  the  book,and  '  Life  in  London,'  alas,  is  not  to  be  found 
at  any  one  of  them.     We  can  only,  therefore,  speak  of  the  work 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  1^ 

from  recollection,  but  have  still  a  very  clear  remembrance  of 
the  leather  gaiters  of  Jerry  Hawthorn,  the  green  spectacles  of 
Logic,  and  the  hooked  nose  of  Corinthian  Tom.  They  were 
the  school-boys'  delight ;  and  in  the  days  when  the  work  ap- 
peared we  firmly  believed  the  three  heroes  above  named  to  be 
types  of  the  most  elegant,  fashionable  young  fellows  the  town 
afforded,  and  thought  their  occupations  and  amusements  were 
those  of  all  high-bred  English  gentlemen.  Tom  knocking  down 
the  watchman  at  Temple  bar ;  Tom  and  Jerry  dancing  at 
Almack's ;  or  flirting  in  the  saloon  at  the  theatre  ;  at  the 
night-houses,  after  the  play ;  at  Tom  Cribb's,  examining  the 
silver  cup  then  in  the  possession  of  that  champion ;  at  Bob 
Logic's  chambers,  where,  if  we  mistake  not,  "  Corinthian  Kate'* 
was  at  a  cabinet  piano,  singing  a  song ;  ambling  gallantly  in 
Rotten  row ;  or  examining  the  poor  fellow  at  Newgate  who  was 
having  his  chains  knocked  off  before  hanging ;  all  these  scenes 
remain  indelibly  engraved  upon  the  mind,  and  so  far  we  are  in- 
dependent of  all  the  circulating  libraries  in  London. 

As  to  the  literary  contents  of  the  book,  they  have  passed  sheer 
away.  It  was,  most  likely,  not  particularly  refined ;  nay,  the 
chances  are  that  it  was  absolutely  vulgar.  But  it  must  have  had 
some  merit  of  its  own,  that  is  clear ;  it  must  have  given  striking 
descriptions  of  life  in  some  part  or  other  of  London,  for  all 
London  read  it,  and  went  to  see  it  in  its  dramatic  shape.  The 
artist,  it  is  said,  wished  to  close  the  career  of  the  three  heroes 
by  bringing  them  all  to  ruin,  but  the  writer,  or  publishers, 
would  not  allow  any  such  melancholy  subjects  to  dash  the  mer- 
riment of  the  public,  and  we  believe  Tom,  Jerry,  and  Logic, 
were  married  off  at  the  end  of  the  tale,  as  if  they  had  been  the 
most  moral  personages  in  the  world.  There  is  some  goodness 
in  this  pity,  which  authors  and  the  public  are  disposed  to  show 
towards  certain  agreeable,  disreputable  characters  of  romance. 
Who  would  mar  tlie  prospects  of  honest  Roderick  Random,  or 
Charles  Surface,  or  Tom  Jones?  only  a  very  stern  moralist 
indeed.  And  in  regard  of  Jerry  Hawthorn  and  that  hero  with- 
out a  surname,  Corinthian  Tom,  Mr  Cruikshank,  we  make  little 
doubt,  was  glad  in  his  heart  that  he  was  not  allowed  to  have 
his  own  way. 

Soon  after  the  '  Tom  and  Jerry '  and  the  *  Life  in  Paris,'  Mr 
Cruikshank  produced  a  much  more  elaborate  set  of  prints,  in  a 
work  which  was  called  'Points  of  Humour.'  These  'Points' 
were  selected  from  various  comic  works,  and  did  not,  we  believe, 
extend  beyond  a  couple  of  numbers,  containing  about  a  score  of 
copper-plates.  The  collector  cf  humorous  designs  cannot  fail 
to  have  them  in  his  portfolio,  for  they  contain  some  of  the  very 


14  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

best  efforts  of  Mr  Cruikshank's  g^enius,  and  though  not  quite  so 
highly  laboured  as  some  of  his  later  productions,  are  none  the 
worse,  in  our  opinion,  for  their  comparative  want  of  finish.  All 
the  effects  are  perfectly  given,  and  the  expression  as  good  as  it 
could  be  in  the  most  delicate  engraving  upon  steel.  The  artist's 
style,  too,  was  then  completely  formed ;  and,  for  our  parts,  we 
should  say  that  we  preferred  his  manner  of  1825  to  any  other 
which  he  has  adopted  since.  The  first  picture,  which  is  called 
*  The  Point  of  Honour,'  illustrates  the  old  story  of  the  oflBcer 
who,  on  being  accused  of  cowardice  for  refusing  to  fight  a  duel, 
came  among  his  brother  officers  and  flung  a  lighted  grenade 
down  upon  the  floor,  before  which  his  comrades  fled  i^no- 
miniously.  This  design  is  capital,  and  the  outward  rush  of 
heroes,  walking,  trampling,  twisting,  scuffling  at  the  door,  is  in 
the  best  style  of  the  grotesque.  You  see  but  the  back  of 
most  of  these  gentlemen,  into  which,  nevertheless,  the  artist 
has  managed  to  throw  an  expression  of  ludicrous  agony 
that  one  could  scarcely  have  expected  to  find  in  such  a  part  of 
the  human  figure.  The  next  plate  is  not  less  good.  It 
represents  a  couple  who,  having  been  found  one  night  tipsy, 
and  lying  in  the  same  gutter,  were,  by  a  charitable  though  mis- 
guided gentleman,  supposed  to  be  man  and  wife,  and  put  com- 
fortably to  bed  together.  The  morning  came ;  fancy  the  surprise 
of  this  interesting  pair  when  they  awoke  and  discovered  their 
situation.  Fancy  the  manner,  too,  in  which  Cruikshank  has  de- 
picted them,  to  which  words  cannot  do  justice.  It  is  needless 
to  state  that  this  fortuitous  and  temporary  union  was  followed 
by  one  more  lasting  and  sentimental,  and  that  these  two  worthy 
persons  were  married,  and  lived  happily  ever  after. 

We  should  like  to  go  through  every  one  of  these  prints. 
There  is  the  jolly  miller,  who,  returning  home  at  night,  calls 
upon  his  wife  to  get  him  a  supper,  and  falls  too  upon  rashers  of 
bacon  and  ale.  How  he  gormandises, that  jolly  miller  !  rasher  after 
rasher,  how  they  pass  away  frizzling  and  smoking  from  the 
gridiron  down  that  immense  grinning  gulf  of  a  mouth.  Poor 
wife  !  how  she  pines  and  frets  at  that  untimely  hour  of  midnight  to 
be  obliged  to  fry,  fry,  fry  perpetually,  and  minister  to  the  mon- 
ster's appetite.  And  yonder  in  the  clock,  what  agonised  face  is 
that  we  see  ?  By  heavens,  it  is  the  squire  of  the  parish.  What 
business  has  he  there  ?     Let  us  not  ask.     Suffice  it  to  say,  that 

he  has,  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  left  up  stairs  his  br ; 

his — psha !  a  part  of  his  dress,  in  short,  with  a  number  of  bank- 
notes in  the  pockets.  Look  in  the  next  page,  and  you  will  see 
the  ferocious,  bacon-devouring  ruffian  of  a  miller  is  actually 
causing  this  garment  to  be  carried  through  the  village  and  cried 


QEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  15 

by  the  town-crier.  And  we  blush  to  be  obliged  to  say  that  the 
demoralized  miller  never  offered  to  return  the  bank-notes, 
although  he  was  so  mighty  scrupulous  in  endeavouring  to  find 
an  owner  for  the  corduroy  portfolio  in  which  he  had  found  them. 
Passing  from  this  painful  subject,  we  come,  we  regret  to  state, 
to  a  series  of  prints  representing  personages  not  a  whit  more 
moral.  Burns's  famous  '  Jolly  Beggars  '  have  all  had  their  por- 
traits drawn  by  Cruikshank.  There  is  the  lovely  "  hempen 
widow,"  quite  as  interesting  and  romantic  as  the  famous  Mrs 
Sheppard,  who  has  at  the  lamented  demise  of  her  husband 
adopted  the  very  same  consolation. 

"  My  curse  upon  them  every  one, 
They've  hanged  my  braw  John  Highlandman ; 


And  now  a  widow  I  must  mourn 
Departed  joys  that  ne'er  return  ; 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  can 
When  I  think  on  John  Highlandman." 

Sweet  "raucle  carlin,"  she  has  none  of  the  sentimentality  of 
the  English  highwayman's  lady ;  but  being  wooed  by  a  tinker 
and 

''  A  pigmy  scraper  wi'  his  fiddle 
Wha  us'd  to  trystes  and  fairs  to  driddle," 

prefers  the  practical  to  the  merely  musical  man.  The  tinker 
sings  with  a  noble  candour,  worthy  of  a  fellow  of  his  strength  of 
body  and  station  in  life — 

"  My  bonnie  lass,  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinker  is  my  station  ; 
I've  travell'd  round  all  Christian  ground 

In  this  my  occupation. 
I've  ta'en  the  gold,  I've  been  enroll'd 

In  many  a  noble  squadron ; 
But  vain  they  search'd  when  off  I  march'd 

To  go  an'  clout  the  caudron." 

It  was  his  ruling  passion.  What  was  military  ^lory  to  him, 
forsooth?  He  had  the  greatest  contempt  for  it,  and  loved 
freedom  and  his  copper  kettle  a  thousand  times  better — a  kind 
of  hardware  Diogenes.  Of  fiddling  he  has  no  better  opinion. 
The  picture  represents  the  "  sturdy  caird"  taking  "  poor  gut- 
scraper"  by  the  beard, — drawing  his  "  roosty  rapier,"  and  swear- 
ing to  "  speet  him  like  a  pliver"  unless  he  would  relinquish  the 
bonnie  lassie  for  ever — 


16  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

"  Wi'  ghastly  ee,  poor  tweedle-dee 
Upon  his  hunkers  bended, 
An'  pray'd  for  grace  wi  ruefu'  face, 
An'  so  the  quarrel  ended  — " 

Hark  how  the  tinker  apostrophises  the  violinist,  stating  to  the 
widow  at  the  same  time  the  advantages  which  she  might  expect 
from  an  alliance  with  himself: — 

"  Despise  that  shrimp,  ihat  withered  imp, 
Wi'  a*  his  noise  and  caperin  ; 
And  take  a  share  with  those  that  bear 
The  budget  an'  the  apron ! 

And  by  that  stowp,  my  faith  an'  houpe. 

An  by  that  dear  Kilbaigie ! 
If  e'er  ye  want,  or  meet  wi'  scant. 

May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie." 

Cruikshank's  caird  is  a  noble  creature ;  his  face  and  figure 
show  him  to  be  fully  capable  of  doing  and  saying  all  that  is 
above  written  of  him. 

In  the  second  part,  the  old  tale  of  '  The  Three  Hunchbacked 
Fiddlers '  is  illustrated  with  equal  felicity.  The  famous  classical 
dinners  and  duel  in  *  Peregrine  Pickle  '  are  also  excellent  in  their 
way ;  and  the  connoisseur  of  prints  and  etchings  may  see  in  the 
latter  plate,  and  in  another  in  this  volume,  how  great  the  artist's 
mechanical  skill  is  as  an  etcher.  The  distant  view  of  the  city 
in  the  duel,  and  of  a  market-place  in  '  The  Quack  Doctor,'  are 
delightful  specimens  of  the  artist's  skill  in  depicting  buildings 
and  back-grounds.  They  are  touched  with  a  grace,  truth,  and 
dexterity  of  workmanship  that  leave  nothing  to  desire.  We  have 
before  mentioned  the  man  with  the  mouth  which  appears  in  this 
number,  and  should  be  glad  to  give  a  little  vignette  emblema- 
tical of  gout  and  indigestion,  in  which  the  artist  has  shown  all 
the  fancy  of  Callot.  Little  demons,  with  long  saws  for  noses, 
are  making  dreadful  incisions  into  the  toes  of  the  unhappy 
sufferer;  some  are  bringing  pans  of  hot  coals  to  keep  the 
wounded  member  warm ;  a  huge,  solemn  nightmare  sits  on  the 
invalid's  chest,  staring  solemnly  into  his  eyes ;  a  monster,  with 
a  pair  of  drumsticks,  is  banging  a  devil's  tattoo  on  his  forehead ; 
and  a  pair  of  imps  are  nailing  great  tenpenny  nails  into  his 
hands  to  make  his  happiness  complete. 

But,  though  not  able  to  seize  upon  all  we  wish,  we  have  been 
able  to  provide  a  tolerably  large  Cruikshank  gallery  for  the 
reader's  amusement,  and  must  nasten   to  show  off  our   wares. 


^ 


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,-4 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


17 


Like  the  worthy  who  figures  below,  there  is  such  a  choice  of 
pleasures  here,  that  we  are  puzzled  with  which  to  begin. 


The  Cruikshank  collector  will  recognise  this  old  friend  as 
coming  from  the  late  Mr  Clark's  excellent  work,  '  Three 
Courses  and  a  Dessert.'  The  work  was  published  at  a  time  when 
the  rage  for  comic  stories  was  not  so  great  as  it  since  has  been, 
and  Messrs  Clark  and  Cruikshank  only  sold  their  hundreds 
where  Messrs  Dickens  and  Phiz  dispose  of  their  thousands.  But 
if  our  recommendation  can  in  any  way  influence  the  reader,  we 
would  enjoin  him  to  have  a  copy  of  the  '  Three  Courses '  that 
contains  some  of  the  best  designs  of  our  artist,  and  some  of  the 
most  amusing  tales  in  our  language.  The  invention  of  the  pic- 
tures, for  which  Mr  Clark  takes  credit  to  himself,  says  a  great 
deal  for  his  wit  and  fancy.  Cim  we,  for  instance,  praise  too 
highly  the  man  who  invented  this  wonderful  oyster  ? 


Vol..  XXXIV.  No.  I. 


18 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


Examine  liim  well;  his  beard,  his  pearl,  his  little  round 
stomach,  and  his  sweet  smile.  Only  oysters  know  how  to  smile 
in  this  way ;  cool,  gentle,  waggish,  and  yet  inexpressibly  inno- 
cent and  winning.  Dando  himself  must  have  allowed  such  an 
artless  native  to  go  free,  and  consigned  him  to  the  glassy,  cool, 
translucent  wave  again. 

In  writing  upon  such  subjects  as  these  witli  which  we  have 
been  furnished,  it  can  hardly  be  expected  that  we  should  follow 
any  fixed  plan  and  order — we  must  therefore  take  such  advantage 
as  we  may,  and  seize  upon  our  subject  when  and  wherever  we 
can  lay  hold  of  him. 


•-r 


For  Jews,  sailors.  Irishmen,  Hessian  boots,  little  boys,  beadles, 
policemen,  tall  Life  Guardsmen,  charity  children,  pumps,  dust- 
men, very  short  pantaloons,  dandies  in  spectacles,  and  ladies 
with  aquiline  noses,  remarkably  taper  waists,  and  wonderfully 
long  ringlets,  Mr  Cruikshank  has  a  special  predilection.  The 
tribe  of  Israelites  he  has  studied  with  amazing  gusto ;  witness 
the  Jew  in  Mr  Ainsworth's  '  Jack  Sheppard,'  and  the  immortal 
Fagin  of  '  Oliver  Twist.'  Whereabouts  lies  the  comic  vis  in 
these  persons  and  things?  Why  should  a  beadle  be  comic,  and 
his  opposite  a  charity  boy  ?  Why  should  a  tall  Life  Guardsman 
have  something   in    him    essentially  absurd?      Why  are  short 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


19 


breeches  more  ridiculous  than  long  ?  What  is  there  particularly 
jocose  about  a  pump,  and  wherefore  does  a  long  nose  always 
provoke  the  beholder  to  laughter  ?  These  points  may  be  meta- 
physically elucidated  by  those  who  list.  It  is  probable  that 
Mr  Cruikshank  could  not  give  an  accurate  definition  of  that 
which  is  ridiculous  in  these  objects,  but  his  instinct  has  told  him 
that  fun  lurks  in  them,  and  cold  must  be  the  heart  that  can  pass 
by  the  pantaloons  of  his  charity  boys,  the  Hessian  boots  of  his 
dandies,  and  the  fan-tail  hats  of  his  dustmen,  without  respectful 
wonder. 

We  can  submit  to  public  notice  a  complete  little  gallery  of 
dustmen.  Here  is,  in  the  first  place,  the  professional  dustman, 
who,  having  in  the  enthusiastic  exercise  of  his  delightful  trade, 
laid  hands  upon  property  not  strictly  his  own,  is  pursued,  we 
presume,  by  the  right  owner,  from  whom  he  flies  as  fast  as  his 
crooked  shanks  will  carry  him. 


What  a  curious  picture  it  is — the  horrid  rickety  houses  in 
some  dingy  suburb  of  London,  the  grinning  cobbler,  the  smo- 
thered butcher,  the  very  trees  which  are  covered  with  dust — 
it  is  fine  to  look  at  the  diflferent  expressions  of  the  two  interesting 
fugitives.  The  fiery  charioteer  who  belabours  yonder  poor 
donkey  has  still  a  glance  for  his  brother  on  foot,  on  whom 
punishment  is  about  to  descend.  And  not  a  little  curious  is  it 
to  think  of  the  creative  power  of  the  man  who  has  arranged  this 
little  tale  of  low  life.  How  logically  it  is  conducted,  how  cleverly 
each  one  of  the  accessories  is  made  to  contribute  to  the  effect  of 
the  whole.  What  a  deal  of  thought  and  humour  has  the  artist 
expended  on  this  little  block  of  wood ;  a  large  picture  might 


20 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


have  been  painted  out  of  the  very  same  materials,  which  Mr 
Cruikshank,  out  of  his  wondrous  fund  of  merriment  and  observa- 
tion, can  afford  to  throw  away  upon  a  drawing  not  two  inches 
long.  From  the  practical  dustmen  we  pass  to  those  purely 
poetical.  Here  are  three  of  them  who  rise  on  clouds  of  their 
own  raising,  the  very  genii  of  the  sack  and  shovel. 


Is  there  no  one  to  write  a  sonnet  to  these  ? — and  yet  a  whole 
poem  was  written  about  Peter  Bell  the  Waggoner,  a  character 
by  no  means  so  poetic. 

And  lastly,  we  have  the  dustman  in  love,  the  honest  fellow 
is  on  the  spectator's  right  hand,  and  having  seen  a  young 
beauty  stepping  out  of  a  gin-shop  on  a  Sunday  morning,  is  pres- 
ing  eagerly  his  suit. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  21 

Gin  has  furnished  many  subjects  to  Mr  Cruikshank,  who  la- 
bours in  his  own  sound  and  hearty  way  to  teach  his  countrymen 
the  danglers  of  that  drink.  In  the  '  Sketch-book '  is  a  plate  upon 
the  subject,  remarkable  for  fancy  and  beauty  of  design ;  it  is 
called  the  '  Gin  Juggernaut,'  and  represents  a  hideous  moving 
palace,  with  a  reeking  still  at  the  roof  and  vast  gin-barrels  for 
wheels,  under  which  unhappy  millions  are  crushed  to  death.  An 
immense  black  cloud  of  desolation  covers  over  the  country  through 
which  the  gin  monster  had  passed,  dimly  looming  through  the 
darkness  whereof  you  see  an  agreeable  prospect  of  gibbets  with 
men  dangling,  burnt  houses,  &c.  The  vast  cloud  comes  sweep- 
ing on  in  the  wake  of  this  horrible  body-crusher ;  and  you  see, 
by  way  of  contrast,  a  distant,  smiling,  sunshiny  tract  of  old 
English  country,  where  gin  as  yet  is  not  known.  The  allegory 
is  as  good,  as  earnest,  and  as  fanciful  as  one  of  John  Bunyan's, 
and  we  have  often  fancied  there  was  a  similarity  between  the 
men. 

The  reader  will  examine  the  work  called  *  My  Sketch-Book' 
with  not  a  little  amusement,  and  may  gather  from  it,  as  we  fancy, 
a  good  deal  of  information  regarding  the  character  of  the  indivi- 
dual man,  George  Cruikshank.  What  points  strike  his  eye  as  a 
painter ;  what  move  his  anger  or  admiration  as  a  moralist ;  what 
classes  he  seems  most  especially  disposed  to  observe,  and  what 
to  ridicule.  There  are  quacks  of  all  kinds,  to  whom  he  has  a 
mortal  hatred;  quack  dandies,  who  assume  under  his  pencil, 
perhaps  in  his  eye,  the  most  grotesque  appearance  possible — 
their  hats  grow  larger,  their  legs  infinitely  more  crooked  and 
lean ;  the  tassels  of  their  canes  swell  out  to  a  most  preposterous 
size ;  the  tails  of  their  coats  dwindle  away,  and  finish  where  coat 
tails  generally  begin.  Let  us  lay  a  wager  that  Cruikshank,  a 
man  of  the  people  if  ever  there  was  one,  heartily  hates  and  de- 
spises these  supercilious,  swaggering  young  gentlemen  ;  and  his 
contempt  is  not  a  whit  the  less  laudable  because  there  may 
tant  soit  peu  of  prejudice  in  it.  It  is  right  and  wholesome  to 
scorn  dandies,  as  Nelson  said  it  was  to  hate  Frenchmen;  in 
which  sentiment  (as  we  have  before  said)  George  Cruikshank 
undoubtedly  shares.  Look  at  this  fellow  from  the  Sunday  in 
London.* 

*  The  following  lines — ever  fresh — by  the  author  of  '  Headlong  Hall ' 
published  years  ago  in  the  Globe  and  Traveller,  are  an  excellent  comment 
on  several  of  the  cuts  from  the  '  Sunday  in  London.' 

I.  II. 

The  poor  man's  sins  are  glaring  ;  The  rich  man's  sins  are  hidden 

In  the  face  of  ghostly  warning  In  the  pomp  of  wealth  and  station, 

He  is  caught  in  the  fact  And  escape  the  sight 

Of  an  overt  act,  Of  the  cKildren  of  light. 

Buying  greens  on  Sunday  morning.  Who  are  wise  in  their  generation. 


22 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


Monsieur  the  Chef  is  instructing  a  kitchen-maid  how  to  com- 
pound some  rascally  French  kickshaw  or  the  other — a  pretty 
scoundrel  truly  !  with  what  an  air  he  wears  that  night -cap  of  his, 
and  shrugs  his  lank  shoulders,  and  chatters,  and  ogles,  and  grins ; 
they  are  all  the  same,  these  mounseers ;  look  at  those  other  two  fel- 
lows— morbleu  !  one  is  putting  his  dirty  fingers  into  the  saucepan ; 
there  are  frogs  cooking  in  it,  no  doubt ;  and  see,  just  over  some 
other  dish  of  abomination,  another  dirty  rascal  is  taking  snuff ! 
Never  mind,  the  sauce  won't  be  hurt  by  a  few  ingredients,  more 
or  less.  Three  such  fellows  as  these  are  not  worth  one  English- 
man, that's  clear.  See,  there  is  one  in  the  very  midst  of  them, 
the  great  burly  fellow  with  the  beef,  he  could  beat  all  three  in 
five  minutes.  We  cannot  be  certain  that  such  was  the  process 
going  on  in  Mr  Cruikshank's  mind  when  he  made  the  design  ; 
but  some  feelings  of  the  sort  were  no  doubt  entertained  by  him. 


Tl>e  rich  man  has  a  kitchen, 
And  cooks  to  dress  his  dinner ; 
The  poor  who  would  roast 
To  the  baker's  must  post, 
And  thus  becomes  a  sinner. 


The  rich  man  has  a  cellar, 
And  a  ready  butler  by  him; 

The  poor  must  steer 

For  his  pint  of  beer 
Where  the  saint  can't  choose  but  spy  him. 


The  rich  man's  painted  windows 
Hide  the  concerts  of  the  quality; 
Tlie  poor  can  but  share 
A  crack'd  fiddle  i)i  the  air. 
Which  offends  all  sound  morality. 


The  rich  man  is  invisible 

In  the  crowd  of  his  pay  society  ; 

But  the  poor  man's  delight 

Is  a  sore  in  the  sight, 
And  a  stench  in  the  nose  of  piety. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


23 


Against  dandy  footmen  he  is  particularly  severe.  He  hates 
idlers,  pretenders,  boasters,  and  punishes  these  fellows  as  best  he 
may.  Who  does  not  recollect  the  famous  picture  '  What  is  Taxes, 
Thomas  ? '  What  is  taxes  indeed ;  well  may  that  vast,  over-fed, 
lounging  flunky  ask  the  question  of  his  associate  Thomas,  and 
yet  not  well,  for  all  that  Thomas  says  in  reply  is,  /  don't  know. 
"  O  beati  plushicola,"  what  a  charming  state  of  ignorance  is  yours  ! 
In  the  Sketch-Book  many  footmen  make  their  appearance :  one 
is  a  huge  fat  Hercules  of  a  Portman  square  porter,  who  calmly 
surveys  another  poor  fellow,  a  porter  likewise,  but  out  of  livery, 
who  comes  staggering  forward  with  a  box  that  Hercules  might 
lift  with  his  little  finger.  Will  Hercules  do  so  ?  not  he.  The 
giant  can  carry  nothing  heavier  than  a  cocked-hat  note  on  a  sil- 
ver tray,  and  his  labours  are  to  walk  from  his  sentry-box  to  the 
door,  and  from  the  door  back  to  his  sentry-box,  and  to  read  the 
Sunday  paper,  and  to  poke  the  hall  fire  twice  or  thrice,  and  to 
make  five  meals  a  day.  Such  a  fellow  does  Cruikshank  hate  and 
scorn  worse  even  than  a  Frenchman. 

The  man's  master,  too,  comes  in  for  no  small  share  of  our 
artist's  wrath.  See,  here  is  a  company  of  them  at  church,  who 
humbly  designate  themselves 

V  "miserable  sinners!" 


Miserable  sinners  indeed !  O  what  floods  of  turtle-soup ;  what 
tons  of  turbot  and  lobster-sauce  must  have  been  sacrificed  to 
make  those  sinners  properly  miserable.  My  lady  there,  with 
the  ermine  tippet  and  draggling  feather,  can  we  not  see  that  she 
lives  in  Portland  place,  and  is  the  wife  of  an  East  India  Direc- 
tor ?     She  has  been  to  the  Opera  over-night  (indeed  her  husband, 


24  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

on  her  right,  witli  his  fat  hand  dangling  over  the  pew-door,  is  at 
this  minute  thinking  of  Mademoiselle  Leocadie,  whom  he  saw 
behind  the  scenes) — she  has  been  at  the  Opera  over-night,  which 
with  a  trifle  of  supper  afterwards — a  white-and-brown  soup, 
a  lobster  salad,  some  woodcocks,  and  a  little  champagne — sent 
her  to  bed  quite  comfortable.  At  half-past  eight  her  maid  brings 
her  chocolate  in  bed,  at  ten  she  has  fresh  eggs  and  muffins, 
with,  perhaps,  a  half-hundred  of  prawns  for  breakfast,  and  so  can 
get  over  tne  day  and  the  sermon  till  lunch-time  pretty  well. 
What  an  odour  of  musk  and  bergamot  exhales  from  the  pew  ! 
— how  it  is  wadded,  and  stuffed,  and  spangled  over  with  brass 
nails  !  what  hassocks  are  there  for  those  who  are  not  too  fat  to 
kneel !  what  a  flustering  and  flapping  of  gilt  prayer-books  ;  and 
what  a  pious  whirring  of  bible-leaves  one  liears  all  over  the 
church,  as  the  doctor  blandly  gives  out  the  text !  To  be  miserable  at 
this  rate  you  must,  at  the  very  least,  have  four  thousand  a-year : 
and  many  persons  are  there  so  enamoured  of  grief  and  sin,  that 
they  would  willingly  take  the  risk  of  the  misery  to  have  a  life- 
interest  in  the  consols  that  accompany  it,  quite  careless  about 
consequences,  and  sceptical  as  to  the  notion  that  a  day  is  at  hand 
when  you  must  fulfil  your  share  of  the  bargain. 


Our  artist  loves  to  joke  at  a  soldier ;  in  whose  livery  there 
appears  to  him  to  be  something  almost  as  ridiculous  as  in  the 
uniform  of  the  gentleman  of  the  shoulder-knot.  Tall  life- 
guardsmen  and  fierce  grenadiers  figure  in  many  of  his  designs, 
and  almost  always  in  a  ridiculous  way.  Here  again  we  have  the 
honest  popular  English  feeling  which  jeers  at  pomp  or  preten- 


>«i. 


•      t 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


25 


sion  of  all  kinds,  and  is  especially  jealous  of  all  display  of  mili- 
tary authority.  '  Raw  Recruit,'  '  ditto  dressed,'  ditto  '  served 
up,'  as  we  see  them  in  the  Sketch-Book,  are  so  many  satires  upon 
the  army  :  Hod^e  with  his  ribbons  flaunting  in  his  hat,  or  with 
red  coat  and  musket,  drilled  stiflF  and  pompous,  or  that  last,  minus 
leg  and  arm,  tottering  about  on  crutches,  do  not  fill  our  Eng- 
lish artist  with  the  enthusiasm  that  follows  the  soldier  in  every 
other  part  of  Europe.  Jeanjean,  the  conscript  in  France,  is 
laughed  at  to  be  sure,  but  then  it  is  because  he  is  a  bad  soldier ; 
when  he  comes  to  have  a  huge  pair  of  moustachios  and  the  croix 
d'honneur  to  briller  on  his  poitrine  cicat/isee,  Jeanjean  becomes 
a  member  of  a  class  that  is  more  respected  than  any  other  in  the 
French  nation.  The  veteran  soldier  inspires  our  people  with  no 
such  awe — we  hold  that  democratic  weapon  the  fist  in  much 
more  honour  than  the  sabre  and  bayonet,  and  laugh  at  a  man 
tricked  out  in  scarlet  and  pipe-clay.  Look  at  this  regiment  of 
heroes  "  marching  to  divine  service,"  to  the  tune  of  the 
'  British  Grenadiers.' 


There  they  march  in  state,  and  a  pretty  contempt  our  artist 
shows  for  all  their  gimcracks  and  trumpery.  He  has  drawn  a 
perfectly  English  scene — the  little  blackguard  boys  are  playing 
pranks  round  about  the  men,  and  shouting  "  heads  up,  soldier," 
"  eyes  right,  lobster,"  as  little  British  urchins  will  do.  Did 
one  ever  hear  the  like  sentiments  expressed  in  France  ?  Shade 
of  Napoleon,   we  insult  you  by  asking  the  question.     In  Eng- 


26 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


land,  however,  see  how  different  the  case  is :  and  designedly  or 
undesignedly,  the  artist  has  opened  to  us  a  piece  of  his  mind. 
Look  in  the  crowd — the  only  person  who  admires  the  soldiers  is 
the  poor  idiot,  whose  pocket  a  rogue  is  picking.  Here  is  ano- 
ther picture,  in  which  the  sentiment  is  much  the  same,  only,  as  in 
the  former  drawing  we  see  Englishmen  laughing  at  the  troops  of 
the  line,  here  are  Irishmen  giggling  at  the  militia. 


We  have  said  that  our  artist  has  a  great  love  for  the  drolleries 
of  the  Green  Island.  Would  any  one  doubt  what  was  the  country 
of  the  merry  fellows  depicted  in  the  following  group  ? 


"  Place  me  amid  O'Rourkes,  O'Tooles, 
The  ragged,  royal  race  of  Tara ; 
Or  place  me  where  Dick  Martin  rules 
The  pathless  wilds  of  Connemara." 

We  know  not  if  Mr  Cruikshank  has  ever  had  any  such  good 
luck  as  to  see  tlie  Irish  in  Ireland  itself,  but  he  certainly  has 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


2T 


obtained  a  knowledge  of  their  looks,  as  if  the  country  had  been 
all  his  life  familiar  to  him.  Could  Mr  O'Connell  himself  desire 
anything  more  national  than  the  following  scene,  or  could  Father 
Matthew  have  a  better  text  to  preach  upon  ? 


There  is  not  a  broken  nose  in  the  room  that  is  not  thoroughly 
Irish.  Here  we  have  a  couple  of  compositions  treated  in  a  graver 
manner,  as  characteristic  too  as  the  other. 


28 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


And  with  one  more  little  Hibernian  specimen  we  must  bid 
farewell  to  Ireland  altogether,  having  many  other  pictures  in  our 
gallery  that  deserve  particular  notice  ;  and  we  give  this,  not  so 
much  for  the  comical  look  of  poor  Teague,  who  has  been  pur- 
sued and  beaten  by  the  witch's  stick,  but  in  order  to  point  the 
singular  neatness  of  the  workmanship,  and  the  pretty,  fanciful, 
little  glimpse  of  landscape  that  the  artist  has  introduced  in  the 
back-ground. 


Mr  Cruikshank  has  a  fine  eye  for  such  homely  landscapes,  and 
renders  them  with  great  delicacy  and  taste.  Old  villages,  farm- 
yards, groups  of  stacks,  queer  chimneys,  churches,  gable- ended 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


29 


cottages,  Elizabethan   mansion-houses,    and  other  old  English 
scenes,  he  depicts  with  evident  enthusiasm. 

.Famous  books  in  their  day  were  Cruikshank's  'John  Gilpin' 
and  '  Epping  Hunt ;'  for  though  our  artist  does  not  draw  horses 
very  scientifically, — to  use  a  phrase  of  the  atelier^ — he  feels  them 
very  keenly ;  and  his  queer  animals,  after  one  is  used  to  them, 
answer  quite  as  well  as  better.  Neither  is  he  very  happy  in 
trees,  and  such  rustical  produce ;  or  rather,  we  should  say,  he  is 
very  original,  his  trees  being  decidedly  of  his  own  make  and 
composition,  not  imitated  from  any  master.  Here  is  a  notable 
instance. 


Trees  or  horse-flesh,  which  is  the  worst?  oiriTrep  tpvXXwv  jevtt} 
TotrjSe  Kai  i-mroyv  :  it  is  impossible  to  say  which  is  the  most 
villanous. 

But  what  then?  Suppose  yonder  horned  animal  near  the 
postchaise  has  not  a  very  bovine  look,  it  matters  not  the  least. 
Can  a  man  be  supposed  to  imitate  everything  ?  We  know  what 
the  noblest  study  of  mankind  is,  and  to  this  Mr  Cruikshank  has 
confined  himself.     Look  at  that  postillion;    the  people  in  the 


90  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

broken-down  chaise  are  roaring  after  him :  he  is  as  deaf  as  the 
post  by  which  he  passes.  Suppose  all  the  accessories  were  away, 
could  not  one  swear  that  the  man  was  stone-deaf,  beyond  the 
reach  of  trumpet  ?  What  is  the  peculiar  character  in  a  deaf  man's 
physiognomy? — can  any  person  define  it  satisfactorily  in  words? 
— not  in  pages,  and  Mr  Cruikshank  has  expressed  it  on  a  piece 
of  paper  not  so  big  as  the  tenth  part  of  your  thumb-nail.  The 
horses  of  John  Gupin  are  much  more  of  the  equestrian  order, 
and,  as  here,  the  artist  has  only  his  favourite  suburban  buildings 
to  draw ;  not  a  word  is  to  be  said  against  his  design.  'I'he  inn 
and  old  buildings  in  this  cut  are  charmingly  designed,  and 
nothing  can  be  more  prettily  or  playfully  touched. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wond'ring  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  !  Here's  the  house !" 

They  all  at  once  did  cry  ; 
*'  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired — " 

Said  Gilpin— "So  am  I!" 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  post-boy  scamp'ring  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry : — 

Stop  thief!  stop  thief! — a  highwayman  !" 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute ; 
And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space  ; 
The  toll-men  thinking,  as  before. 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 


31 


The  rush,  and  shouting,  and  clatter  are  here  excellently  depicted 
by  the  artist ;  and  we,  who  have  been  scoffing  at  his  manner  of 
designing  animals,  must  here  make  a  special  exception  in  favour 
of  the  hens  and  "chickens ;  each  has  a  different  action,  and  is  cu- 
riously natural. 

Happy  are  children  of  all  ages  who  have  such  a  ballad  and 
such  pictures  as  this  in  store  for  them  !  It  is  a  comfort  to  think 
that  wood- cuts  never  wear  out,  and  that  the  book  still  may  be 
had  at  Mr  Tilt's  for  a  shilling,  for  those  who  can  command  that 
sum  of  money. 

In  the  '  Epping  Hunt,'  which  we  owe  to  the  facetious  pen  of 
Mr  Hood,  our  artist  has  not  been  so  successful.  There  is  here 
too  much  horsemanship  and  not  enough  incident  for  him ;  but 
the  portrait  of  lloundings  the  huntsman  is  an  excellent  sketch, 


82 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


and  a  couple  of  the  designs  contain  great  humour.  The  first  re- 
presents the  cockney  hero,  who  "like  a  bird,  was  singing  out 
while  sitting  on  a  tree." 


And  in  the  second  the  natural  order  is  reversed.  The  stag 
having  taken  heart,  is  hunting  the  huntsman,  and  the  Cheapside 
Nimrod  is  most  ignominiously  running  away. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


33 


The  Easter  Hunt,  we  are  told,  is  no  more ;  and  as  the  Quarterly 
Review  recommends  the  British  public  to  purchase  Mr  Catlin's 
pictures,  as  they  form  the  only  record  of  an  interesting  race  now 
rapidly  passing  away,  in  like  manner  we  should  exhort  all  our 
friends  to  purchase  Mr  Cruikshank's  designs  of  another  interesting 
race,  that  is  run  already  and  for  the  last  time. 

Besides  these,  we  must  mention,  in  the  line  of  our  duty,  the 
notable  tragedies  of  '  Tom  Thumb,'  and  '  Bombastes  Furioso,' 
both  of  which  have  appeared  with  many  illustrations  by  Mr 
Cruikshank.  The  '  brave  army'  of  Bombastes  exhibits  a  terrific 
display  of  brutal  force,  which  must  shock  the  sensibilities  of  an 
English  radical.  And  we  can  well  understand  the  caution  of  the 
general,  who  bids  this  soldatesque  effrenee  to  begone,  and  not  to 
kick  up  such  a  row. 


Such  a  troop  of  lawless  ruffians  let  loose  upon  a  populous 
city  would  play  sad  havoc  in  it ;  and  we  fancy  the  massacres  of 
Birmingham  renewed,  or  at  least  of  Badajoz,  which,  though  not 
quite  so  dreadful,  if  we  may  believe  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  as  the  former  scenes  of  slaughter,  were  never- 
theless severe  enough ;  but  we  must  not  venture  upon  any  ill- 
timed  pleasantries  in  presence  of  the  disturbed  Kmg  Arthur, 
and  the  awful  ghost  of  Gaffer  Thumb. 


Vol.  XXXIV.  No.  I. 


84 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


Q-Q 


We  are  thus  carried  at  once  into  the  supernatural,  and  here 
we  find  Cruikshank  reigning  supreme.  He  has  invented  in  his 
time  a  little  comic  pandemonium,  peopled  with  the  most  droll, 
good-natured  fiends  possible.  We  have  before  us  Chamisso's 
'  Peter  Schlemihl,'  with  Cruikshank's  designs  translated  into 
German,  and  gaining  nothing  by  tRe  change.  The  *  Kinder 
und  Hans-Maerchen '  of  Grimm  are  likewise  ornamented  with 
a  frontispiece,  copied  from  that  one  which  appeared  to  the 
amusing  version  of  the  English  work.  The  books  on  Phreno- 
logy and  Time  have  been  imitated  by  the  same  nation  ;  and  even 
in  France,  whither  reputation  travels  slower  than  to  any  country 
except  China,  we  have  seen  copies  of  the  works  of  George 
Cruikshank. 

He  in  return  has  complimented  the  French  by  illustrating  a 
couple  of  lives  of  Napoleon,  and  the  '  Life  in  Paris '  before 
mentioned.  He  has  also  made  designs  for  Victor  Hugo's 
'  Hans  of  Iceland.'  Strange,  wild  etchings  were  those,  on  a 
strange,  mad  subject ;  not  so  good  in  our  notion  as  the  designs 
for  the  German  books,  the  peculiar  humour  of  which  latter 
seemed  to  suit  the  artist  exactly.  There  is  a  mixture  of  the 
awful  and  the  ridiculous  in  these,  which  perpetually  excites  and 
keeps  awake  the  reader's  attention  ;  the  German  writer  and  the 
English  artist  seem  to  have  an  entire  faith  in  their  subject.  The 
reader,  no  doubt,  remembers  the  awful  passage  in  '  Peter 
Schlemihl,'  where  the  little  gentleman  purchases  the  shadow  of 
that  hero — "  Have  the  kindness,  noble  sir,  to  examine  and  try 


J> 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  S5' 

this  bag."  He  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  drew  thence  a 
tolerably  large  bag  of  Cordovan  leather,  to  which  a  couple  of 
thongs  were  fixed.  I  took  it  from  him,  and  immediately  counted 
one  ten  gold  pieces,  and  ten  more,  and  ten  more,  and  still  other 
ten,  whereupon  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him.  Done,  said  I, 
it  is  a  bargain  ;  you  shall  have  my  shadow  for  your  bag.  The 
bargain  was  concluded ;  he  knelt  down  before  me,  and  I  saw  him 
with  a  wonderful  neatness  take  my  shadow  from  head  to  foot, 
lightly  lift  it  up  from  the  grass,  roll  and  fold  it  up  neatly,  and 
at  last  pocket  it.  He  then  rose  up,  bowed  to  me  once  more, 
and  walked  away  again,  disappearing  behind  the  rose-bushes. 
I  don't  know,  but  I  thought  I  heard  him  laughing  a  little. 
I,  however,  kept  fast  hold  of  the  bag.  Everything  around  me 
was  bright  in  the  sun,  and  as  yet  I  gave  no  thought  to  what  I 
had  done." 

This  marvellous  event,  narrated  by  Peter  with  such  a  faithful, 
circumstantial  detail,  is  painted  by  Cruikshank  in  the  most 
wonderful  poetic  way,  with  that  happy  mixture  of  the  real  and 
supernatural  that  makes  the  narrative  so  curious,  and  like  truth. 
The  sun  is  shining  with  the  utmost  brilliancy  in  a  great  quiet 
park  or  garden ;  there  is  a  palace  in  the  back-ground,  and  a 
statue  basking  in  the  sun  quite  lonely  and  melancholy ;  there  is 
a  sun-dial,  on  which  is  a  deep  shadow,  and  in  the  front  stands 
Peter  Schlemihl,  bag  in  hand,  the  old  gentleman  is  down  on  his 
knees  to  him,  and  has  just  lifted  off  the  ground  the  shadow  of' 
one  leg  ;  he  is  going  to  fold  it  back  neatly,  as  one  does  the  tails 
of  a  coat,  and  will  stow  it,  without  any  creases  or  crumples,  along 
with  the  other  black  garments  that  lie  in  that  immense  pocket  of 
his.  Cruikshank  has  designed  all  this  as  if  he  had  a  very  serious 
belief  in  the  story ;  he  laughs,  to  be  sure,  but  one  fancies  that 
he  is  a  little  frightened  in  his  heart,  in  spite  of  all  his  fun  and 
joking. 

The  German  tales  we  have  mentioned  before.  '  The  Prince 
riding  on  the  Fox,'  '  Hans  in  Luck,'  '  The  Fiddler  and  his 
Goose,'  'Heads  off,'  are  all  drawings  which,  albeit  not  before 
us  now,  nor  seen  for  ten  years,  remain  indelibly  fixed  on  the 
memory — '''■heisst  du  etwa  Humpelstilzchen?"  There  sits  the 
queen  on  her  throne,  surrounded  by  grinning  beef-eaters,  and 
little  liumpelstiltskin  stamps  his  foot  through  the  floor  in  the 
excess  of  his  tremendous  despair.  In  one  of  these  German  tales, 
if  we  remember  rightly,  there  is  an  account  of  a  little  orphan 
who  is  carried  away  by  a  pitying  fairy  for  a  term  of  seven  years, 
and  passing  that  period  of  sweet  apprenticeship  among  the  imps 
and  sprites  of  fairy-land.  Has  our  artist  been  among  the  same 
company,  and  brought  back  their  portraits  in  his  sketch-book  ? 
He  is  the  only  designer  fairy-land  has  had.     Callot's  imps,  for 


36  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

all  their  strangeness,  are  only  of  the  earth  earthy.  Fuseli's  fairies 
belong  to  the  infernal  regions ;  they  are  monstrous,  lurid,  and 
hideously  melancholy.  Mr  Cruikshank  alone  has  had  a  true 
insight  into  the  character  of  the  "  little  people."  They  are 
something  like  men  and  women,  and  yet  not  flesh  and  blood ; 
they  are  laughing  and  mischievous,  but  why  we  know  not.  Mr 
Cruikshank,  however,  has  had  some  dream  or  the  other,  or  else 
a  natural  mysterious  instinct  (as  the  Seherinn  of  Prevorst  had 
for  beholding  ghosts),  or  else  some  preternatural  fairy  revelation, 
which  has  made  him  acquainted  with  the  looks  and  ways  of  the 
fantastical  subjects  of  Oberon  and  Titania. 

We  have,  unfortunately,  no  fairy  portraits  in  the  gallery  which 
we  have  been  enabled  to  provide  for  the  public ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  can  descend  lower  than  fairy-land,  and  have  pro- 
cured some  fine  specimens  of  devils.  One  has  already  been 
raised,  and  the  reader  has  seen  him  tempting  a  fat  Dutch 
burgomaster,  in  ancient  gloomy  market-place,  such  as  George 
Cruikshank  can  draw  as  well  as  Mr  Front,  Mr  Nash,  or  any 
man  living.  Here  is  our  friend  once  more ;  our  friend  the  burgo- 
master, in  a  highly  excited  state,  and  running  as  hard  as  iiis 
great  legs  will  carry  him,  with  our  mutual  enemy  at  his  tail. 


What  are  the  bets  ?  Will  that  long-legged  bond-holder  of  a 
devil  come  up  with  the  honest  Dutchman  ?  It  serves  him  right, 
why  did  he  put  his  name  to  sfeimped  paper  ?  And  \et  we  should 
not  wonder  that  some  lucky  chance  will  turn  up  in  burgomaster's 
favour,  and  that  his  infernal  creditor  will  lose  his  labour ;  for  one 
so  proverbially  cunning  as  yonder  tall  individual  with  the  saucer 
eyes,  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  has  been  very  often  outwitted. 

There  is,  for  instance,  the  case  of  '  The  Gentleman  in  Black,' 
which  has  been  illustrated  by  our  artist.  A  young  French 
gentleman,  by  name  M.  Desonge,  who  having  expended  his  pa- 
trimony in  a  variety  of  taverns  and  gaming-houses,  was  one  day 
pondering  upon  the  exhausted  state  of  his  finances ;  and  utterly 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANR. 


37 


at  a  loss  to  tliiiik  how  he  should  provide  means  for  future  sup- 
port, exclaimed,  very  naturally,  "  What  the  devil  shall  I  do  ?" 
He  had  no  sooner  spoken, 


than  a  Gentleman  in  Black  made  his  appearance,  whose 
authentic  portrait  Mr  Cruikshank  has  had  the  honour  to  paint. 
This  gentleman  produced  a  black-edged  book  out  of  a  black  bag, 
some  black-edged  papers  tied  up  with  black  crape,  and  sitting 
down  familiarly  opposite  M.  Desonge,  began  conversing  with 
him  on  the  state  of  his  affairs. 

It  is  needless  to  state  what  was  the  result  of  the  interview. 
M.  Desonge  was  induced  by  the  gentleman  to  sign  his  name  to 
one  of  the  black-edged  papers,  and  found  himself  at  the  close  of 
the  conversation  to  be  possessed  of  an  unlimited  command  of 
capital.  This  arrangement  completed,  the  Gentleman  in  Black 
posted  (in  an  extraordinarily  rapid  manner)  from  Paris  to 
London,  there  found  a  young  English  merchant  in  exactly  the 
same  situation  in  which  M.  Desonge  had  been,  and  concluded  a 
bargain  with  the  Briton  of  exactly  the  same  nature. 

The  book  goes  on  to  relate  how  these  young  men  spent  th^ 
money  so  miraculously  handed  over  to  them,  and  how  both,  when 
the  period  drew  near  that  was  to  witness  the  performance  of 
their  part  of  the  bargain,  grew  melancholy,  wretched,  nay,  so 
absolutely  dishonourable  as  to  seek  for  every  means  of  breaking 


88 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


through  their  agreement.  The  Englishman  living  in  a  country 
where  the  lawyers  are  more  astute  than  any  other  lawyers  in  the 
world,  took  the  advice  of  a  Mr  Bagsby,  of  Lyon's  Inn,  whose 
name,  as  we  cannot  find  it  in  the  '  Law  List,'  we  presume  to  be 
fictitious.     Who  could  it  be   that  was  a  match  for  the  devil? 

Lord very  likely  ;  we  shall  not  give  his  name,  but  let  every 

reader  of  this  Review  fill  up  the  blank  according  to  his  own 
fancy,  and  on  comparing  it  with  the  copy  purchased  by  his 
neighbours,  he  will  find  that  fifteen  out  of  twenty  have  written 
down  the  same  honoured  name. 

Well,  the  Gentleman  in  Black  was  anxious  for  the  fulfilment 
of  his  bond.  The  parties  met  at  Mr  Bagsby's  chambers  to  con- 
sult, the  Black  Gentleman  foolishly  thinking  that  he  could  act  as 
his  own  counsel,  and  fearing  no  attorney  alive.  But  mark  the 
superiority  of  British  law,  and  see  how  the  black  pettifogger  was 
defeated. 


Mr  Bagsby  simply  stated  that  he  would  take  the  case  into 
Chancery,  and  his  antagonist,  utterly  humiliated  and  defeated, 
refused  to  move  a  step  farther  in  the  matter. 

And  now  the  French  gentleman,  M.  Desonge,  hearing  of 
his  friend's  escape,  became  anxious  to  be  free  from  his  own  rash 
engagements.  He  employed  the  same  counsel  who  had  been 
successful  in  the  former  instance,  but  the  Gentleman  in  Black 


6  I.'  ^>i   wi; 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


39 


was  a  great  deal  wiser  by  this  time,  and  whether  M.  Desonge 
escaped,  or  whether  he  is  now  in  that  extensive  place  which  is 
paved  with  good  intentions,  we  shall  not  say.  Those  who  are 
anxious  to  know  had  better  purchase  the  book  of  Mr  Daly,  of 
Leicester  square,  wherein  all  these  interesting  matters  are  duly 
set  down.  We  have  one  more  diabolical  picture  in  our  budget, 
engraved  by  Mr  Thompson,  the  same  dexterous  artist  who  has 
rendered  the  former  diahleries  so  well. 


■  ^^^l^^^m^Sfiif^^iti^.(^m^^.^^^^^ 


We  may  mention  Mr  Thompson's  name  as  among  the  first  of 
the  engravers  to  whom  Cruikshank's  designs  have  been  en- 
trusted ;  and  next  to  him  (if  we  may  be  allowed  to  make  such 
arbitrary  distinctions)  we  may  place  Mr  Williams;  and  the 
reader  is  not  possibly  aware  of  the  immense  difficulties  to  be 
overcome  in  the  rendering  of  these  little  sketches,  which,  traced 
by  the  designer  in  a  few  hours,  require  weeks'  labour  from  the 
engraver.  Mr  Cruikshank  has  not  been  educated  in  the  regular 
schools  of  drawing,  very  luckily  for  him,  as  we  think,  and  con- 
sequently has  had  to  make  a  manner  for  himself,  which  is  quite 
unlike  that  of  any  other  draftsman.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
least  mechanical  about  it;  to  produce  his  particular  eflects  he 
uses  his  own  particular  lines,  which  are  queer,  free,  fantastical, 
and  must  be  followed  in  all  their  infinite  twists  and  vagaries  by 
the  careful  tool  of  the  engraver.  Look  at  these  three  lovely 
smiling  heads  for  instance. 


40 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


Let  US  examine  them,  not  so  much  for  the  jovial  humour  and 
wonderful  variety  of  feature  exhibited  in  these  darling  coun- 
tenances as  for  the  engraver's  part  of  the  work.  See  the  infinite 
delicate  cross  lines  and  hatchings  which  he  is  obliged  to  render ; 
let  him  go,  not  a  hair's  breadth,  but  the  hundredth  part  of  a 
hair's  breadth,  beyond  the  given  line,  and  the  feeling  of  it  is 
ruined.  He  receives  these  little  dots  and  specks,  and  fantastical 
quirks  of  the  pencil,  and  cuts  away  with  a  little  knife  round  each 
nor  too  much  nor  too  little.  Antonio's  pound  of  flesh  did  not 
puzzle  the  Jew  so  much ;  and  so  well  does  the  engraver  succeed 
at  last,  that  we  never  remember  to  have  met  with  a  single  artist 
who  did  not  vow  that  the  wood-cutter  had  utterly  ruined  his 
design. 

Of  Messrs  Thompson  and  Williams  we  have  spoken  as  the 
first  engravers  in  point  of  rank ;  however,  the  regulations  of 
professional  precedence  are  certainly  very  difficult,  and  the  rest 
of  their  brethren  we  shall  not  endeavour  to  class.  Why  should 
the  artists  who  executed  the  cuts  of  the  admirable  '  Three 
Courses '  yield  the  pas  to  any  one  ?  If  the  reader  will  turn  back 
to  the  second  cut  in  p.  28,  he  will  agree  with  us  that  it  is  a  very 
brilliant  and  faithful  imitation  of  the  artist's  manner,  and  admire 
the  pretty  glimpse  of  landscape  and  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
rendered ;  the  oyster  cut  is  likewise  very  delicately  engraved, 
and  indeed  we  should  be  puzzled,  were  tnere  no  signatures,  to 
assign  the  prize  at  all. 

Here  for  instance  is  an  engraving  by  Mr  Landells,  nearly  as 
good  in  our  opinion  as  the  very  best  woodcut  that  ever  was  made 
after  Cruikshank,  and  curiously  happy  in  rendering  the  artist's 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


41 


48 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


{)eculiar  manner :  this  cut  does  not  come  from  the  facetious  pub- 
ications  which  we  have  consulted,  and  from  which  we  have  bor- 
rowed ;  but  is  a  contribution  by  Mr  Cruikshank  to  an  elaborate 
and  splendid  botanical  work  upon  the  Orchidacese  of  Mexico, 
by  Mr  Bateman.  Mr  Bateman  dispatched  some  extremely  choice 
roots  of  this  valuable  plant  to  a  friend  in  England,  who,  on  the 
arrival  of  the  case,  consigned  it  to  his  gardener  to  unpack.     A 

freat  deal  of  anxiety  with  regard  to  the  contents  was  manifested 
y  all  concerned,  but  on  the  lid  of  the  box  being  removed,  there 
issued  from  from  it  three  or  four  fine  specimens  of  the  enormous 
Blatta  beetle  that  had  been  preying  upon  the  plants  during  the 
voyage ;  against  these  the  gardeners,  the  grooms,  the  porters, 
and  tlie  porter's  children,  issued  forth  in  arms,  and  which  the 
artist  has  immortalized,  as  we  see. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  admirable  way  in  which  Mr  Cruik- 
shank has  depicted  Irish  character  and  Cockney  character ;  here 
is  English  coimtry  character  quite  as  faithfully  delineated  in  the 
person  of  the  stout  porteress  and  her  children,  and  of  yonder 
"  Chawbacon "  with  the  shovel,  on  whose  face  is  written  "  Zum- 
merzetsheer."  Is  it  hypercriticism  to  say  that  the  gardener  on 
the  ground  is  a  Scotchman  ?  there  is  a  well-known  Scotch  gen- 
tleman in  London  who  must  surely  have  stretched  for  tlie  por- 
trait. Chawbacon  appears  in  another  plate,  or  else  Chawbacon's 
brother.  He  has  come  up  to  Lunnon,  and  is  looking  about  him 
at  raaces. 


»:  ^-^s-** 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


43 


How  distinct  are  these  rustics  from  those  whom  we  have  just 
been  examining  !  They  hang  about  the  purlieus  of  the  metro- 
polis :  Brook  green,  Epsom,  Greenwich,  Ascot,  Goodwood,  are 
their  haunts.  They  visit  London  professionally  once  a  year, 
and  that  is  at  the  time  of  Bartholomew  fair.  How  one  may 
speculate  upon  the  different  degrees  of  rascality,  as  exhibited  in 
each  face  of  the  thimblerigging  trio,  and  form  little  histories  for 
these  worthies,  charming  Newgate  romances,  such  as  have  been 
of  late  the  fashion  !  Is  any  man  so  blind  that  he  cannot  see  the 
exact  face  that  is  writhing  under  the  thimblerigged  hero's  hat  ? 
Like  Timanthes  of  old,  our  artist  expresses  great  passions  with- 
out the  aid  of  the  human  countenance.  Here  is  another  spe- 
cimen— 


SPIRITS    OF    WINE. 


Is  there  any  need  of  having  a  face  after  this  ?  "  Come  on," 
says  Claret-bottle,  a  dashing,  genteel  fellow,  with  his  hat  on  one 
ear,  "come  on,  has  any  man  a  mind  to  tap  me?"  Claret-bottle 
is  a  little  screwed  (as  one  may  see  by  his  legs),  but  full  of  gaiety 
and  courage ;  not  so  that  stout,  apoplectic  Bottle-of-rum,  who 
has  staggered  against  the  wall,  and  has  his  hand  upon  his  liver ; 
the  fellow  hurts  himself  with  smoking,  that  is  clear,  and  is  as 
sick  as  sick  can  be.  See,  Port  is  making  away  from  the  storm, 
and  Double  X  is  as  flat  as  ditch-water.  Against  these,  awful  in 
their  white  robes,  the  sober  watchmen  come. 

Our  artist  then  can  cover  up  faces,  and  yet  show  them  quite 


u 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


clearly,  as  in  the  thimblerig  group  ;  or  he  can  do  without  faces 
altogether,  as  we  see  in  the  previous  page ;  or 


cc!s 


he  can,  at  a  pinch,  provide  a  countenance  for  a  gentleman  out 
of  any  given  object,  as  we  see  here  a  beautiful  Irish  physiognomy 
being  moulded  upon  a  keg  of  whiskey ;  or  here, 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


45 


where  a  jolly  English  countenance  froths  out  of  a  pot  of  ale  (the 
spirit  of  brave  Toby  Philpot  come  back  to  reanimate  his  clay). 
Not  to  recognise  in  this  fungus  the  physiognomy  of  that  mush- 
room peer,  Lord ,  would  argue  oneself  unknown — 


Finally,  if  he  is  at  a  loss,  he  can  make  a  living  head,  body, 
and  legs  out  of  steel  or  tortoise-shell,  as  in  the  case  of  this  viva- 
cious pair  of  spectacles,  that  are  jockeying  the  nose  of  Caddy 
Cuddle : 


Of  late  years  Mr  Cruikshank  has  busied  himself  very  much 
with  steel  engraving,  and  the  consequences  of  that  lucky  inven- 
tion have  been,  that  his  plates  are  now  sold  by  thousands,  where 
they  could  only  be  produced  by  hundreds  before.     He  has  made 


46 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


many  a  bookseller's  and  author's  fortune  (we  trust  that  in  so 
doing  he  may  not  have  neglected  his  own).  Twelve  admirable 
plates,  furnished  yearly  to  that  facetious  little  publication,  the 
*  Comic  Almanac,'  have  gained  for  it  a  sale,  as  we  hear,  of  nearly 
twenty  thousand  copies.  The  idea  of  the  work  was  novel ;  there 
was,  in  the  first  number  especially,  a  great  deal  of  comic  power, 
and  Cruikshank's  designs  were  so  admirable,  that  the  '  Almanac ' 
at  once  became  a  vast  favourite  with  the  public,  and  has  so 
remained  ever  since. 

Besides  the  twelve  plates,  this  Almanac  contains  a  prophetic 
wood-cut,  accompanying  an  awful  Blarneyhum  Astrologicum 
that  appears  in  this  and  other  Almanacs.  Here  is  one  that  hints 
in  pretty  clear  terms  that  with  the  Reform  of  Municipal  Corpo- 
rations the  ruin  of  the  great  Lord  Mayor  of  London  is  at  hand. 


See  his  lordship  here,  he  is  meekly  going  to  dine  at  an  eight- 
penny  ordinary, — his  giants  in  pawn,  his  men  in  armour,  dwin- 
dled to  "  one  poor  knight,"  his  carriage  to  be  sold,  his  stalwart 
aldermen  vanished,  his  sheriffs,  alas  !  and  alas  !  in  gaol !  An- 
other design  shows  that  Rigdum,  if  a  true,  is  also  a  moral  and 
instructive  prophet.  Behold  John  Bull  asleep,  or  rather  in  a 
vision ;  the  cunning  demon,  Speculation,  blowing  a  thousand 
bright  bubbles  about  him. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 


Meanwhile  the  rooks  are  busy  at  his  fob,  a  knave  has  cut  a 
cruel  hole  in  his  pocket,  a  rattle-snake  has  coiled  safe  round  his 
feet,  and  will  in  a  trice  swallow  Bull,  chair,  money  and  all ;  the 
rats  are  at  his  corn-bags,  (as  if,  poor  devil,  he  had  corn  to  spare,) 
his  faithful  dog  is  bolting  his  leg  of  mutton,  nay,  a  thief  has 
gotten  hold  of  his  very  candle,  and  there,  by  way  of  moral,  is  his 
ale  pot,  which  looks  and  winks  in  his  face,  and  seems  to  say, 
O  Bull,  all  this  is  froth,  and  a  cruel  satirical  picture  of  a  certain 
rustic  who  had  a  goose  that  laid  certain  golden  eggs,  which  goose 
the  rustic  slew  in  expectation  of  finding  all  the  eggs  at  once. 
This  is  goose  and  sage  too,  to  borrow  the  pun  of  "learned 
Doctor  Gill ;"  but  we  shrewdly  suspect  that  Mr  Cruikshank  is 
becoming  a  little  conservative  in  his  notions. 

We  love  these  pictures  so 


that  it  is    hard  to  part  us,  and  we  still  fondly  endeavour    to 


48  OEOUGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

hold  on,  but  this  wild  word,  farewell,  must  be  spoken  by  the  best 
friends  at  last,  and  so  good-bye,  brave  wood-cuts  :  we  feel  quite 
a  sadness  in  coming  to  the  last  of  our  collection.  A  word  or  two 
more  have  we  to  say,  but  no  more  pretty  pictures, — take  your 
last  look  of  the  wood-cuts  then,  for  not  one  more  will  appear 
after  this  page — not  one  more  with  which  the  pleased  traveller 
may  comfort  his  eye — a  smiling  oasis  in  a  desert  of  text.  What 
could  we  have  done  without  these  excellent  merry  pictures? 
Reader  and  reviewer  would  have  been  tired  of  listening  long 
since,  and  would  have  been 


comfortably  asleep. 

In  the  earlier  numbers  of  the  '  Comic  Almanac'  all  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  Londoners  that  would  afford  food  for  fun 
were  noted  down;  and  if  during  the  last  two  years  the  mysterious 
personage  who,  under  the  title  of  '  Rigdum  Funnidos,'  compiles 
this  ephemeris,  has  been  compelled  to  resort  to  romantic  tales, 
we  must  suppose  that  he  did  so  because  the  gre^it  metropolis  was 
exhausted,  and  it  was  necessary  to  discover  new  worlds  in  the 
cloud  land  of  fancy.  The  character  of  Mr  Stubbs,  who  made 
his  appearance  in  the  Almanac  for  1839,  had,  we  think,  great 
merit,  although  his  adventures  were  somewhat  of  too  tragical  a 
description  to  provoke  pure  laughter.  The  publishers  have  allowed 
us  to  give  a  reprint  of  that  admirable  design  before  mentioned, 
in  which  Master  Stubbs  is  represented  under  the  school-pump, 
to  which  place  of  punishment  his  associates  have  brought  him. 
In  the  following  naive  way  the  worthy  gentleman  describes  his 
own  mishap : — 

"  This  did  very  well,  but  still  I  was  dissatisfied,  I  wanted  a  pair 
of  hoots.  Three  boys  in  the  school  had  bootg — I  was  mad  to  have 
them  too. 


^ 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  49 

"  But  my  papa,  when  I  wrote  to  him,  would  not  hear  of  it ;  and 
three  pounds,  the  price  of  a  pair,  was  too  large  a  sum  for  my  mother 
to  take  from  the  house-keeping,  or  for  me  to  pay,  in  the  present  im- 
poverished state  of  my  exchequer ;  but  the  desire  for  the  boots  was 
so  strong,  that  have  them  I  must  at  any  rate. 

"  There  was  a  German  bootmaker  who  had  just  set  up  in  (mr 
town  in  those  days,  who  afterwards  made  his  fortune  in  London ;  I 
determined  to  have  the  boots  from  him,  and  did  not  despair,  before 
the  end  of  a  year  or  two,  either  to  leave  the  school,  when  I  should 
not  mind  his  dunning  me,  or  to  screw  the  money  from  mamma,  and 
so  pay  him. 

"  So  I  called  upon  this  man — Stiflfelkind  was  his  name — and  he 
took  my  measure  for  a  pair. 

"  '  You  are  a  vary  yong  gentleman  to  wear  dop  boots,*  said  the 
shoemaker. 

"  '  I  suppose,  fellow,'  says  I,  *that  is  my  business,  and  not  yours; 
either  make  the  boots  or  not— but  when  you  speak  to  a  man  of  my 
rank,  speak  respectfully;'  and  I  poured  out  a  number  of  oaths,  in 
order  to  impress  him  with  a  notion  of  my  respectability. 

"  They  had  the  desired  elfect. — *  Stay,  sir,'  says  he,  *  I  have  a 
nice  littel  pair  of  dop  boots  dat  I  tink  will  jost  do  for  you,'  and  he 
produced,  sure  enough,  the  most  elegant  things  I  ever  saw.  *  Day 
were  made,'  said  he,  '  for  de  Honorable  Mr  Stiffney,  of  de  Gards, 
but  were  too  small.' 

"  *Ah,  indeed!'  said  I,  'Stiffney  is  a  relation  ol  mine:  and 
what,  you  scoundrel,  will  you  have  the  impudence  to  ask  for  these 
things  ?' — He  replied,  '  Three  pounds.' 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  *  they  are  confoundedly  dear,  but,  as  you  will 
have  a  long  time  to  wait  for  your  money,  why,  I  shall  have  my 
revenge,  you  see.'  The  man  looked  alarmed,  and  began  a  speech; 
*  Sare,  I  cannot  let  dem  go  vidout,' — but  a  bright  thought  struck 
me,  and  I  interrupted — *  Sir !  don't  sir  me — take  off  the  boots,  fel- 
low, and,  harkye,  when  you  speak  to  a  nobleman,  don't  say — Sir  * 

"  'A  hundred  tousand  pardons,  my  lort,'  says  he:  *if  I  had 
known  you  were  a  lort,  I  vood  never  have  called  you — Sir.  Vat 
name  shall  I  put  down  in  my  books?' 

"  'Name? — oh!  why — Lord  Cornwallis,  to  be  sure,'  said  I, 
as  I  walked  off  in  the  boots. 

"  *  And  vat  shall  I  do  vid  my  lort's  shoes?'  '  Keep  them  until 
I  send  for  them,'  said  I ;  and,  giving  him  a  patronizing  bow,  I 
walked  out  of  the  shop,  as  the  German  tied  up  my  shoes  in  a  paper. 

"  This  story  I  would  not  have  told,  but  that  my  whole  life  turned 
upon  these  accursed  boots.  I  walked  back  to  school  as  proud  as  a 
peacock,  and  easily  succeeded  in  satisfying  the  boys  as  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  came  by  my  new  ornaments. 

"  Well,  one  fatal  Monday  morning,  the  blackest  of  all  black-Mon- 
days that  ever  I  knew — as  we  were  all  of  us  playing  between  school- 

D 


50  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

hours — I  saw  a  posse  of  boys  round  a  stranger,  who  seemed  to  be 
looking  out  for  one  of  us — a  sudden  trembling  seized  me — I  knew 
it  was  Stiffelkind :  what  had  brought  him  here  ?  He  talked  loud, 
and  seemed  angry — so  I  rushed  into  the  school-room,  and,  burying 
my  head  between  my  hands,  began  reading  for  the  dear  life. 

"  '  I  vant  Lort  Cornvallis,'  said  the  horrid  bootmaker.  *  His 
lortship  belongs,  I  know,  to  dis  honourable  school,  for  I  saw  him 
vid  de  boys  at  church  yesterday.' 

"'Lord  who?' 

'*  '  Vy,  Lort  Cornvallis  to  be  sure — a  very  fat  young  nobleman, 
vid  red  hair,  he  squints  a  little,  and  swears  dreadfully.' 

"  '  There's  no  Lord  Cornvallis  here,'  said  one — and  there  was  a 
pause. 

"  '  Stop  1  I  have  it,'  says  that  odious  Bunting.  *  It  must  be 
Stubbs ; '  and  '  Stubbs  !  Stubbs ! '  every  one  cried  out,  while  I  was 
BO  busy  at  my  book  as  not  to  hear  a  word 

"  At  last,  two  of  the  biggest  chaps  rushed  into  the  school-room, 
and  seizing  each  an  arm,  run  me  into  the  play-ground — bolt  up 
against  the  shoemaker. 

"  '  Dis  is  my  man — I  beg  your  lortship's  pardon,'  says  he,  '  I 
have  brought  your  lortship's  shoes,  vich  you  left — see,  dey  have 
been  in  dis  parcel  ever  since  you  vent  away  in  my  boots.' 

"  *  Shoes,  fellow !'  says  I,  '  I  never  saw  your  face  before ;'  for  I 
knew  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  brazening  it  out.  '  [Tpon  the 
honour  of  a  gentleman,  said  I,  turning  round  to  the  boys — they 
hesitated  ;  and  if  the  trick  had  turned  in  my  favour,  fifty  of  them 
would  have  seized  hold  of  Stiffelkind,  and  drubbed  him  soundly. 

"  'Stop!*  says  Bunting  (hang  him!),  'let's  see  the  shoes — if 
they  fit  him,  why,  then,  the  cobbler's  right' — they  did  fit  me,  and 
not  only  that,  but  the  name  of  STUBBS  was  written  in  them  at  full 
length. 

"  '  Vat!'  said  Stiffelkind,  '  is  he  not  a  lort?  so  help  me  himmel, 
I  never  did  vonce  tink  of  looking  at  de  shoes,  which  have  been 
lying, ever  since,  in  dis  piece  of  brown  paper;'  and  then  gathering 
anger  as  he  went  on,  thundered  out  so  much  of  his  abuse  of  me,  in 
his  German-English,  that  the  boys  roared  with  laughter.  Swishtail 
came  in  in  the  midst  of  the  disturbance,  and  asked  what  the  noise 
meant. 

"  '  It's  only  Lord  Cornwallis,  sir,'  said  the  boys,  '  battling  with 
his  shoemaker,  about  the  price  of  a  pair  of  top-boots.' 

"  '  O,  sir,'  said  I,  '  it  was  only  in  fun  that  I  called  myself  Lord 
Cornwallis.' 

"  '  In  fun  ! — Where  are  the  boots  ?  And  you,  sir,  give  me  your 
bill.'  My  beautiful  boots  were  brought;  and  Stiffelkind  produced 
his  bill.  '  Lord  Cornwallis  to  Samuel  Stiffelkind,  for  a  pair  of 
boots — four  guineas.' 

"  '  You  have  been  fool  enough,  sir,'  says  the  doctor,  looking  very 
stern,    '  to  let  this  boy  impose  upon  you  as  a  lord ;    and  knave 


GEOUGE    CRLIKSHANK.  51 

enough  to  chaige  him  double  the  value  of  the  article  you  sold  him. 
Take  back  the  boots,  sir ;  I  won't  i)ay  a  penny  of  your  bill,  nor  can 
you  get  a  penny.  As  for  you,  sir,  you  raisei-able  swindler  and 
cheat,  I  shall  not  flog  you  as  I  did  before,  but  I  shall  send  you 
home :  you  are  not  fit  to  be  the  companion  of  honest  boys.' 

**  '  Suppose  we  duck  him  before  he  goes,'  piped  out  a  very  small 
voice  : — the  doctor  grinned  significantly,  and  left  the  school-room  ; 
and  the  boys  knew  by  this  they  might  have  their  will.  They  seized 
me,  and  carried  me  to  the  play-ground  pump — they  pumped  upon 
me  until  I  was  half  dead,  and  the  monster,  StiSelkind,  stood  look- 
ing on  for  the  half-hour  the  operation  lasted." 

If  the  pictures  which  we  are  enabled  to  give  at  the  conclusion 
of  this  notice  are  not  quite  so  brilliant  and  clear  as  they  were 
on  the  first  appearance  in  the  Almanac,  the  critic  must  be  please<y 
to  remember  that  we  have  been  compelled  to  transfer  to  stone\ 
having  no  other  means  of  adapting  them  to  the  size  of  this  re- 
view. When  we  recollect,  too,  that  twenty  thousand  impressions 
were  previously  taken  from  the  steels,  the  public  will  not  be 
disposed  to  judge  of  the  engravings  in  their  present  condition, 
but  will  see  what  they  must  have  been  when  first  they  issued 
from  the  hands  of  the  artist.*  One  or  two  have  withstood  the 
transfer  operation  very  well,  especially  the  pleasant  plate  of 
*  beating  the  bounds '  (how  kindly  and  good-humoured  it  is  !)  and 
the  *  scene  in  court,'  from  last  year's  almanac,  in  which  the  cele- 
brated Mr  Mulligan  appears  in  the  act  of  addressing  the  bench 
in  favour  of  his  client,  the  famous  Tuggeridge  Coxe  Tugge- 
ridge. 

"  Standing  here  (*=ays  the  orator),  on  the  pedestal  of  secred 
Themis  (we  follow  the  peculiar  mode  of  spelling  that  is  adopted  in 
the  Almanac)  seeing  around  me  the  ornyments  of  a  profission  I 
rispiet,  a  vinnerable  judge,  an  enlightened  jury — the  netion's  glory, 
the  counthry's  cheap  defendther,  the  poor  man's  priceless  palladium, 
how  must  I  thremble,  my  Lard,  how  must  the  blush  of  modesty 
befew  my  cheeks  (somebody  in  court  made  an  allusion  to  cheeks  in 
the  court,  which  caused  a  dreadful  roar  of  laughter,  and  when  order 
was  established  Mr  Mulligan  continued)  :  My  Lard,  I  heed  them 
not,  I  come  from  a  counthry  accustomed  to  opprission,   and  as  that 


•  A  propos  of  the  "  Holiday  at  the  Public  Offices" — (a  delightful  picture 
of  real  life) — we  are  reminded  of  the  diary  kept  by  a  certain  clerk  in  a 
certain  public  office  eastward  of  Cornhill,  whose  daily  duties  began  with  a 
good  breakfast,  provided  for  him  whilst  the  monopoly  of  the  China  trade 
lasted. 

From  10  till  11 — ate  a  breakfast  for  seven, 
From  1 1  till  noon, — to  begin,  'twas  too  soon. 
From  12  till  1 — asked  what's  to  be  done.' 
From  1  till  2 — found  nothing  to  do. 
From  2  till  3 — began  to  foresee 
That  from  3  till  4  would  be  a  great  bore. 


52  GEORGE    CRUIKSMANK. 

counthry,  yes,  my  Lard,  that  Ireland  (do  not  laugh,  I  am  proud  of 
it)  is  ever,  in  spite  of  her  tyrants,  green,  lovely,  and  beautiful ;  in 
like  manner  my  client's  cause  will  rise  superior  to  the  malignant  im- 
becility, I  repeat,  me  Lard,  the  malignant  imbecility  of  those 
who  would  thrample  it  down,  and  in  whose  teeth,  in  my  client's 
name,  in  my  counthry's,  aye,  and  in  my  omn,  I  with  folded  arrums 
hurl  a  scornful  and  eternal  defiance ! " 

We  should  be  glad  to  devote  a  few  pages  to  the  '  Illustrations  of 
Time,'  the  *  Scraps  and  Sketches,'  and  the  'Illustrations  of  Phreno- 
logy,' which  are  among  the  most  famous  of  our  artist's  publications ; 
but  it  is  very  difficult  to  find  new  terms  of  praise,  as  find  them  one 
must,  when  reviewing  Mr  Cruikshank's  publications,  and  more 
difficult  still  (as  the  reader  of  this  notice  will  no  doubt  have  per- 
ceived for  himself  long  since)  to  translate  his  designs  into  words, 
and  go  to  the  printer's  box  for  a  description  of  all  that  fun  and 
humour  which  the  artist  can  produce  by  a  few  skilful  turns  of 
his  needle.  A  famous  article  upon  the  '  Illustrations  of  Time ' 
appeared  some  dozen  years  since  in  '  Blackwood's  Magazine,* 
of  which  the  conductors  have  always  been  great  admirers  of  our 
artist,  as  became  men  of  humour  and  genius.  To  these  grand 
qualities  do  not  let  it  be  supposed  that  we  are  laying  claim,  but, 
thank  Heaven,  Cruikshank's  humour  is  so  good  and  benevolent 
that  any  man  must  love  it,  and  on  this  score  we  may  speak  as 
well  as  another. 

Then  there  are  the  'Greenwich  Hospital'  designs,  which  must 
not  be  passed  over.  '  Greenwich  Hospital '  is  a  hearty,  good- 
natured  book,  in  the  Tom  Dibdin  school,  treating  of  the  virtues 
of  British  tars,  in  approved  nautical  language.  They  maul 
Frenchmen  and  Spaniards,  they  go  out  in  brigs  and  take  frigates, 
they  relieve  women  in  distress,  and  are  yard-arm  and  yard- 
arming,  athwart-hawsing,  marlinspiking,  binnacling,  and  helm's- 
a-leeing,  as  honest  seamen  invariably  do,  in  novels,  on  the  stage, 
and  doubtless  on  board  ship.  This  we  cannot  take  upon  us  to 
say,  but  the  artist,  like  a  true  Englishman,  as  he  is,  loves  dearly 
these  brave  guardians  of  Old  England,  and  chronicles  their  rare 
or  fanciful  exploits  with  the  greatest  good  will.  Let  any  one 
look  at  the  noble  head  of  Nelson,  in  the  '  Family  Library,'  and 
they  will,  we  are  sure,  think  with  us  that  the  designer  must  have 
felt  and  loved  what  he  drew.  There  are  to  this  abridgment  of 
Southey's  admirable  book  many  more  cuts  after  Cruikshank ; 
and  about  a  dozen  pieces  by  the  same  hand  will  be  found  in  a 
work  equally  popular,  Lockhart's  excellent  '  Life  of  Napoleon.' 
Among  these  the  retreat  from  Moscow  is  very  fine ;  the  Mam- 
louks  most  vigorous,  furious,  and  barbarous,  as  they  should  be. 
At  the  end  of  these  three  volumes  Mr  Cruikshank's  contribu- 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  58 

tions  to  the  '  Family  Library '  seem  suddenly  to  have  ceased ; 
the  work,  which  was  then  the  property  of  Mr  Murray,  has  since 
that  period  passed  into  the  hands  of  Mr  Te^g,  whose  shop  seems 
to  be  the  bourne  to  which  most  books  travel — the  fatal  retreat  of 
the  unfortunate  brave.  Mr  Tegg-,  like  death,  will  never  give 
up  his  prey.  We  implored  of  him  a  loan  of  the  precious  wood- 
blocks that  are  buried  in  his  warehouses ;  but  no,  Tegg  was 
inexorable,  and  such  of  Mr  Cruikshank's  charming  little  cTiildreii 
as  have  found  their  way  to  him,  have  not  been  permitted  to  take 
a  holiday  with  many  of  their  brethren  whose  guardians  are  not 
so  severe. 

Let  us  offer  our  thanks  to  Messrs  Whitehead,  Tilt,  Robins, 
Darton  and  Clark,  Thomas,  and  Daly,  proprietors  of  the  Cruik- 
shank  cuts,  who  have  lent  us  of  their  store.  Only  one  man  has 
imitated  Mr  Tegg,  and  he,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  is  no  other  than 
George  Cruikshank  himself,  who,  although  besought  by  humble 
ambassadors,  pestered  by  printers'-devils  and  penny  post  letters, 
did  resolutely  refuse  to  have  any  share  in  the  blowing  of  his  own 
trumpet,  and  showed  our  messengers  to  the  door. 

Our  stock  of  plates  has  also  been  increased  by  the  kindness  of 
Messrs  Chapman  and  Hall,  who  have  lent  us  some  of  the  designs 
for  the  Boz  sketches,  not  the  worst  among  Mr  Dickens's  books, 
as  we  think,  and  containing  some  of  the  best  of  Mr  Cruikshank's 
designs. 

We  are  not  at  all  disposed  to  undervalue  the  works  and  genius 
of  Mr  Dickens,  and  we  are  sure  that  he  would  admit  as  readily 
as  any  man  the  wonderful  assistance  that  he  has  derived  from  the 
artist,  who  has  given  us  the  portraits  of  his  ideal  personages,  and 
made  them  familiar  to  all  the  world.  Once  seen,  these  figures 
remain  impressed  on  the  memory,  which  otherwise  would  have 
had  no  hold  upon  them,  and  the  Jew  and  Bumble,  and  the  heroes 
and  heroines  of  the  Boz  sketches,  become  personal  acquaintances 
with  each  of  us.  O  that  Hogarth  could  have  illustrated  Fielding 
in  the  same  way  !  and  fixed  down  on  paper  those  grand  figures 
of  Parson  Adams,  and  Squire  AUworthy,  and  the  great  Jonathan 
Wild. 

With  regard  to  the  modern  romance  of  '  Jack  Sheppard,'  in 
which  the  latter  personage  makes'  a  second  appearance,  it  seems 
to  us  that  Mr  Cruikshank  really  created  the  tale,  and  that  Mr 
Ainsworth,  as  it  were,  only  put  words  to  it.  Let  any  reader  of 
the  novel  think  over  it  for  a  while,  now  that  it  is  some  months  since 
he  has  perused  and  laid  it  down — let  him  think,  and  tell  us  what 
he  remembers  of  the  tale  ?  George  Cruikshank's  pictures — always 
George  Cruikshank's  pictures.  The  storm  in  the  Thames,  for 
instance  ;  all  the  author's  laboured  description  of  that  event  has 


54  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

passed  clean  away — we  have  only  before  the  mind's  eye  the  fine 

Elates  of  Cruikshank.  The  poor  wretch  cowering  under  the 
ridge  arch,  as  the  waves  come  rushing  in,  and  the  boats  are 
whirling  away  in  the  drift  of  the  great  swollen  black  waters ;  and 
let  any  man  look  at  that  second  plate  of  the  murder  on  the  Thames, 
and  he  must  acknowledge  how  much  more  brilliant  the  artist's 
description  is  than  the  writer's,  and  what  a  real  genius  for  the 
terrible  as  well  as  for  the  ridiculous  the  former  has ;  how  awful 
is  the  gloom  of  the  old  bridge,  a  few  lights  glimmering  from  the 
houses  here  and  there,  but  not  so  as  to  be  reflected  on  the  water 
at  all,  which  is  too  turbid  and  raging ;  a  great  heavy  rack  of 
clouds  goes  sweeping  over  the  bridge,  and  men  with  flaring 
torches,  the  murderers,  are  borne  away  with  the  stream. 

The  author  requires  many  pages  to  describe  the  fury  of  the 
storm,  which  Mr  Cruikshank  has  represented  in  one.  First, 
he  has  to  prepare  you  with  the  something  inexpressibly  melan- 
choly in  sailing  on  a  dark  night  upon  the  Thames ;  "  the  ripple 
of  the  water,"  "  the  darkling  current,"  "  the  indistinctively  seen 
craft,"  "  the  solemn  shadows  "  and  other  phenomena  visible  on 
rivers  at  night  are  detailed  (with  not  unskilful  rhetoric)  in  order 
to  bring  the  reader  into  a  proper  frame  of  mind  for  the  deeper 
gloom  and  horror  which  is  to  ensue.  Then  follow  pages  of  de- 
scription. "  As  Rowland  sprang  to  the  helm,  and  gave  the 
signal  for  pursuit,  a  war  like  a  volley  of  ordnance  was  heard 
aloft,  and  the  wind  again  burst  its  bondage.  A  moment  before 
the  surface  of  the  stream  was  as  black  as  ink.  It  was  now 
whitening,  hissing,  and  seething,  like  an  enormous  cauldron. 
The  blast  once  more  swept  over  the  agitated  river,  whirled  off 
the  sheets  of  foam,  scattered  them  far  and  wide  in  rain  drops, 
and  left  the  raging  torrent  blacker  than  before.  Destruction 
everywhere  marked  the  course  of  the  gale.  Steeples  toppled  and 
towers  reeled  beneath  its  fury.  All  was  darkness,  horror,  con- 
fusion, ruin.  Men  fled  from  their  tottering  habitations  and  re- 
turned to  them,  scared  by  greater  danger.  The  end  of  the  world 
seemed  at  hand.  *  *  *  *  The  hurricane  had  now  reached  its 
climax.  The  blast  shrieked,  as  if  exulting  in  its  wrathful  mis- 
sion. Stunning  and  continuous,  the  din  seemed  almost  to  take 
away  the  power  of  hearing.  He  who  had  faced  the  gale  would 
have  been  instantly  stijied"  &c.  &c.  See  with  what  a  tremen- 
dous war  of  words  (and  good  loud  words  too ;  Mr  Ainsworth's 
description  is  a  good  and  spirited  one)   the  author  is  obliged  to 

{)our  in  upon  the  reader  before  he  can  effect  his  purpose  upon  the 
atter,  and  inspire  him  with  a  proper  terror.  The  painter  does 
it  at  a  glance,  and  old  Wood's  dilemma  in  the  midst  of  that  tre- 
mendous storm,  with  the  little  infant  at  his  bosom,  is  remem- 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  55 

bered  afterwards,  not  from  the  words,  but  from  the  visible  image 
of  them  that  the  artist  has  left  us. 

It  would  not,  perhaps,  be  out  of  place  to  glance  through  the 
whole  of  the  '  Jack  Sheppard '  plates,  which  are  among  the  most 
finished  and  the  most  successful  of  Mr  Cruikshank's  per- 
formances, and  say  a  word  or  two  concerning  them.  Let  us  begin 
with  finding  fault  with  No.  1,  '  Mr  Wood  ofl'ers  to  adopt  little 
Jack  Sheppard.'  A  poor  print,  on  a  poor  subject;  the  figure  of 
the  woman  not  as  carefully  designed  as  it  might  be,  and  the 
expression  of  the  eyes  (not  an  uncommon  fault  with  our  artist) 
much  caricatured.  The  print  is  cut  up,  to  use  the  artist's  phrase, 
by  the  numbers  of  accessories  which  the  engraver  has  thought 
proper,  after  the  author's  elaborate  description,  elaborately  to 
reproduce.  The  plate  of  '  Wild  discovering  Darrell  in  the  loft ' 
is  admirable — ghastly,  terrible,  and  the  treatment  of  it  extra- 
ordinarily skilful,  minute,  and  bold.  The  intricacies  of  the  tile- 
work,  and  the  mysterious  twinkling  of  light  among  the  beams, 
are  excellently  felt  and  rendered,  and  one  sees  here,  as  in  the 
two  next  plates  of  the  storm  and  murder,  what  a  fine  eye  the 
artist  has,  what  a  skilful  hand,  and  what  a  sympathy  for  the  wild 
and  dreadful.  As  a  mere  imitation  of  nature,  the  clouds  and  the 
bridge  in  the  murder  picture  may  be  examined  by  painters  who 
make  far  higher  pretensions  than  Mr  Cruikshank.  In  point  of 
workmanship  they  are  equally  good,  the  manner  quite  unaffected, 
the  effect  produced  without  any  violent  contrast,  the  whole  scene 
evidently  well  and  philosophically  arranged  in  the  artist's  brain, 
before  he  began  to  put  it  upon  copper. 

The  famous  drawing  of  '  Jack  carving  the  name  on  the  beam,* 
which  has  been  transferred  to  half  the  play-bills  in  town,  is  over- 
loaded with  accessories,  as  the  first  plate ;  but  they  are  much 
better  arranged  than  in  the  last  named  engraving,  and  do  not 
injure  the  effect  of  the  principal  figure.  Remark,  too,  the  con- 
scientiousness of  the  artist,  and  that  shrewd  pervading  idea  of 
form  which  is  one  of  his  principal  characteristics.  Jack  is  sur- 
rounded by  all  sorts  of  implements  of  his  profession ;  he  stands 
on  a  regular  carpenter's  table,  away  in  the  shadow  under  it  lie 
shavings  and  a  couple  of  carpenter's  hampers.  The  glue-pot,  the 
mallet,  the  chisel-handle,  the  planes,  the  saws,  the  hone  with  its 
cover,  and  the  other  paraphernalia  are  all  represented  with  extra- 
ordinary accuracy  and  forethought.  The  man's  mind  has  retained 
the  exact  drawing  of  all  these  minute  objects  (unconsciously 
perhaps  to  himself),  but  we  can  see  with  what  keen  eyes  he  must 
go  through  the  world,  and  what  a  fund  of  facts  (as  such  a  know- 
ledge of  the  shape  of  objects  is  in  his  profession)  this  keen 
student  of  nature  has  stored  away  in  his  brain.  In  the  next  plate, 


56  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

where  Jack  is  escaping  from  his  mistress,  the  figure  of  that  lady, 
one  of  the  deepest  of  the  ^aOvKoXiroif  strikes  us  as  disagreeable 
and  unrefined ;  that  of  Winifred  is,  on  the  contrary,  very  pretty 
and  graceful ;  and  Jack's  puzzled,  slinking  look  must  not  be  for- 
gotten. All  the  accessories  are  good,  and  the  apartment  has  a 
snug,  cosy  air,  which  is  not  remarkable,  except  that  it  shows 
how  faithfully  the  designer  has  performed  his  work,  and  how 
curiously  he  has  entered  into  all  the  particulars  of  the  subject. 

Master  Thames  Darrell,  the  handsome  young  man  of  the 
book,  is,  in  Mr  Cruikshank's  portraits  of  him,  no  favourite  of 
ours.  The  lad  seems  to  wish  to  make  up  for  the  natural  insig- 
nificance of  his  face  by  frowning  on  all  occasions  most  portentously. 
^  *^    This  figure,  borrowed  from  the  compositor's  desk,  will 

I  *      §^^^  ^  notion  of  what  we  mean.  Wild's  face  is  too  violent 

I  for  the  great  man  of  history  (if  we  may  call  Fielding 
history),  but  this  is  in  consonance  with  the  ranting,  frowning, 
braggadocio  character  that  Mr  Ainsworth  has  given  him. 

The  *  Interior  of  Willesden  Church '  is  excellent  as  a  com- 
position, and  a  piece  of  artistical  workmanship ;  the  groups  well 
arranged,  and  the  figure  of  Mrs  Sheppard  looking  round  alarmed, 
as  her  son  is  robbing  the  dandy  Kneebone,  is  charming,  simple, 
and  unaffected.  Not  so  '  Mrs  Sheppard  ill  in  bed,'  whose  face  is 
screwed  up  to  an  expression  vastly  too  tragic.  The  little  glimpse 
of  the  church  seen  through  the  open  door  of  the  room  is  very 
beautiful  and  poetical :  it  is  in  such  small  hints  that  an  artist 
especially  excels ;  they  are  the  morals  which  he  loves  to  append 
to  his  stories,  and  are  always  appropriate  and  welcome.  The 
boozing  ken  is  not  to  our  liking;  Mrs  Sheppard  is  there  with 
her  horrified  eyebrows  again.  Why  this  exaggeration — is  it 
necessary  for  the  public  ?  We  think  not,  or  if  they  require  such 
excitement,  let  our  artist,  like  a  true  painter  as  he  is,  teach  them 
better  things.* 

The  *  Escape  from  Willesden  cage  '  is  excellent ;  the  *  Bur- 

flary  in  Wood's  house  '  has  not  less  merit ;    '  Mrs  Sheppard  in 
►edlam,'  a  ghastly  picture,  indeed,  is  finely  conceived,  but  not, 

*  A  gentleman  (whose  wit  is  so  celebrated  that  one  should  be  very 
cautious  in  repeating  his  stories,)  gave  the  writer  a  good  illustration  of  the 

philosophy  of  exaggeration.     Mr was  once  behind  the  scenes  at  the 

Opera  when  the  scene-shifters  were  preparing  for  the  ballet.  Flora  was  to 
sleep  under  a  bush,  whereon  were  growing  a  number  of  roses,  and  amidst 
which  was  fluttering  a  gay  covey  of  butterflies.  In  size  the  roses  exceeded 
the  most  expansive  sun-flowers,  and  the  butterflies  were  as  large  as  cocked- 
hats  ; — the  scene-shifter  explained  to  Mr ,  who  asked  the  reason  why 

everything  was  so  magnified,  that  the  galleries  could  never  see  the  objects 
unless  they  were  enormously  exaggerated.  How  many  of  our  writers  and 
designers  work  for  the  galleries  ? 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  57 

as  we  fancy,  so  carefully  executed ;  it  would  be  better  for  a  little 
more  careful  drawing  in  the  female  figure. 

'  Jack  sitting  for  bis  picture '  is  a  very  pleasing  group,  and 
savours  of  the  manner  of  Hogarth,  who  is  introduced  in  the  com- 
pany. The  '  Murder  of  Trenchard '  must  be  noticed  too  as 
remarkable  for  the  effect  and  terrible  vigour  which  the  artist  has 
given  to  the  scene.  The  '  Willesden  Churchyard '  has  great 
merit  too,  but  the  gems  of  the  book  are  the  little  vignettes  illus- 
trating the  escape  from  Newgate.  Here,  too,  much  anatomical 
care  of  drawing  is  not  required ;  the  figures  are  so  small  that  the 
outline  and  attitude  need  only  to  be  indicated,  and  the  designer 
has  produced  a  series  of  figures  quite  remarkable  for  reality  and 
poetry  too.  There  are  no  less  than  ten  of  Jack's  feats  so  de- 
scribed by  Mr  Cruikshank.  (Let  us  say  a  word  here  in  praise  of 
the  excellent  manner  in  which  the  author  has  carried  us  through 
the  adventure.)  Here  is  Jack  clattering  up  the  chimney,  now 
peering  into  the  lonely  red  room,  now  opening  "  the  door 
between  the  red  room  and  the  chapel."  What  a  wild,  fierce, 
scared  look  he  has,  the  young  ruffian,  as  cautiously  he  steps  in, 
holding  light  his  bar  of  iron.  You  can  see  by  his  face  how  his 
heart  is  beating  !  If  aiTy  one  were  there  !  but  no  !  And  this  is 
a  very  fine  characteristic  of  the  prints,  the  extreme  loneliness  of 
them  all.  Not  a  soul  is  there  to  disturb  him — woe  to  him  who 
should — and  Jack  drives  in  the  chapel  gate,  and  shatters  down 
the  passage  door,  and  there  you  have  him  on  the  leads,  up  he 
goes,  it  is  but  a  spring  of  a  few  feet  from  the  blanket,  and  he  is 
gone — ahiit,  evasit,  erupit.  Mr  Wild  must  catch  him  again  if  he 
can. 

We  must  not  forget  to  mention  '  Oliver  Twist,'  and  Mr 
Cruikshank's  famous  designs  to  that  work.*  The  sausage  scene 
at  Fagin's,  Nancy  seizing  the  boy;  that  capital  piece  of  hu- 
mour, Mr  Bumble's  courtship,  which  is  even  better  in  Cruik- 
shank's version  than  in  Boz's  exquisite  account  of  the  inter- 
view ;  Sykes's  farewell  to  the  dog ;  and  the  Jew, — the  dreadful 
Jew — that  Cruikshank  drew  !  What  a  fine  touching  picture  of 
melancholy  desolation  is  that  of  Sykes  and  the  dog  !  The  poor 
cur  is  not  too  well  drawn,  the  landscape  is  stiff  and  formal ;  but 
in  this  case  the  faults,  if  faults  they  be,  of  execution  rather  add 
to  than  diminish  the  efiect  of  the  picture  :  it  has  a  strange,  wild, 
dreary,  broken-hearted  look ;  we  fancy  we  see  the  landscape  as 
it  must  have  appeared  to  Sykes,  when  ghastly  and  with  bloodsjiot 
eyes  he  looked  at  it.     As  for  the  Jew  in  the  dungeon,  let  us  say 

*  Or  his  uew  work,  *  The  Tower  of  London,'  which  promises  even  to 
surpass  Mr  Cruikshank's  former  productions. 


5/8  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK. 

nothing  of  it — what  can  we  say  to  describe  it?  What  a  fine 
homely  poet  is  the  man  who  can  produce  this  little  world  of  mirth 
or  woe  for  us  !  Does  he  elaborate  his  effects  by  slow  process  of 
thoughts,  or  do  they  come  to  him  by  instinct  ?  Does  the  painter 
ever  arrange  in  his  brain  an  image  so  complete,  that  he  after- 
wards can  copy  it  exactly  on  the  canvass,  or  does  the  hand  work 
in  spite  of  him  ? 

A  great  deal  of  this  random  work  of  course  every  artist  has 
done  in  his  time,  many  men  produce  effects  of  which  they  never 
dreamed,  and  strike  on  excellencies,  hap-hazard,  which  gain  for 
them  reputation;  but  a  fine  quality  in  Mr  Cruikshank,  the 
quality  of  his  success,  as  we  have  said  before,  is  the  extraordinary 
earnestness  and  good  faith  with  which  he  executes  all  he  attempts 
— the  ludicrous,  the  polite,  the  low,  the  terrible.  In  the  second 
of  these  he  often,  in  our  fancy,  fails,  his  figures  lacking  elegance 
and  descending  to  caricature ;  but  there  is  something  fine  in  this 
too ;  it  is  good  that  he  should  fail,  that  he  should  have  these 
honest  naive  notions  regarding  the  beau  monde,  the  character- 
istics of  which  a  namby-pamby  tea-party  painter  could  hit  off 
far  better  than  he.  He  is  a  great  deal  too  downright  and  manly 
to  appreciate  the  flimsy  delicacies  of  small  society — you  cannot 
expect  a  lion  to  roar  you  like  any  sucking  dove,  or  frisk  about  a 
drawing-room  like  a  lady's  little  spaniel. 

If  then,  in  the  course  of  his  life  and  business,  he  has  been 
occasionally  obliged  to  imitate  the  ways  of  such  small  animals, 
he  has  done  so,  let  us  say  it  at  once,  clumsily,  and  like  as  a  lion 
should.  Many  artists,  we  hear,  hold  his  works  rather  cheap ; 
they  prate  about  bad  drawing,  want  of  scientific  knowledge ; — 
they  would  have  something  vastly  more  neat,  regular,  anatomical. 

Not  one  of  the  whole  band  most  likely  but  can  paint  an 
academy  figure  better  than  himself;  nay,  or  a  portrait  of  an 
alderman's  lady  and  family  of  children.  But  look  down  the 
list  of  the  painters  and  tell  us  who  are  they  ?  How  many  among 
these  men  are  poets,  makers,  possessing  the  faculty  to  create, 
the  greatest  among  the  gifts  with  which  Providence  has  endowed 
the  mind  of  man?  Say  how  many  there  are,  count  up  what 
they  have  done,  and  see  what  in  the  course  of  some  nine-and- 
twenty  years  has  been  done  by  this  indefatigable  man. 

What  amazing  energetic  fecundity  do  we  find  in  him  !  As  a 
boy  he  began  to  fight  for  bread,  has  been  hungry  (twice  a  day 
we  trust)  ever  since,  and  has  been  obliged  to  sell  his  wit  for  his 
bread  week  by  week.  And  his  wit,  sterling  gold  as  it  is,  will 
find  no  such  purchasers  as  the  fashionable  painter's  thin  pinch- 
beck, who  can  live  comfortably  for  six  weeks,  when  paid  for  and 
painting  a  portrait,  and  fancies  his  mind  prodi<riously  occu})ied 


^ 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  59 

all  the  while.  There  was  an  artist  in  Paris,  an  artist  hair-dresser, 
who  used  to  be  fatigued  and  take  restoratives  after  inventing  a 
new  coiffure.  By  no  such  gentle  operation  of  head-dressing  has 
Cruikshank  lived :  time  was  (we  are  told  so  in  print)  when  for 
a  picture  with  thirty  heads  in  it  he  was  paid  three  guineas — a 
poor  week's  pittance  truly,  and  a  dire  week's  labour.  We  make 
no  doubt  that  the  same  labour  would  at  present  bring  him 
twenty  times  the  sum ;  but  whether  it  be  ill-paid  or  well,  what 
labour  has  Mr  Cruikshank's  been  !  Week  by  week,  for  thirty 
years,  to  produce  something  new;  some  smiling  offspring  of 
painful  labour,  quite  independent  and  distinct  from  its  ten 
thousand  jovial  brethren;  in  what  hours  of  sorrow  and  ill-health 
to  be  told  by  the  world,  "  Make  us  laugh  or  you  starve — Give 
us  fresh  fun  ;  we  have  eaten  up  the  old  and  are  hungry."  And 
all  this  has  he  been  obliged  to  do — to  wring  laughter  day  by 
day,  sometimes,  perhaps,  out  of  want,  often  certainly  from  ill- 
health  or  depression — to  keep  the  fire  of  his  brain  perpetually 
alight,  for  the  greedy  public  will  give  it  no  leisure  to  cool. 
This  he  has  done  and  done  well.  He  has  told  a  thousand  truths 
in  as  many  strange  and  fascinating  ways ;  he  has  given  a  thou- 
sand new  and  pleasant  thoughts  to  millions  of  people ;  he  has 
never  used  his  wit  dishonestly ;  he  has  never,  in  all  the  exube- 
rance of  his  frolicsome  humour,  caused  a  single  painful  or  guilty 
blush ;  how  little  do  we  think  of  the  extraordinary  power  of  this 
man,  and  how  ungrateful  we  are  to  him  ! 

Here,  as  we  are  come  round  to  the  charge  of  ingratitude,  the 
starting-post  from  which  we  set  out,  perhaps  we  had  better  con- 
clude. The  reader  will  perhaps  wonder  at  the  high-flown  tone 
in  which  we  speak  of  the  services  and  merits  of  an  individual, 
whom  he  considers  a  humble  scraper  on  steel,  that  is  wonderfully 
popular  already.  But  none  of  us  remember  all  the  benefits 
we  owe  him ;  they  have  come  one  by  one,  one  driving  out  the 
memory  of  the  other :  it  is  only  when  we  come  to  examine  them 
altogether  as  the  writer  has  done,  who  has  a  pile  of  books  on 
the  table  before  him* — a  heap  of  personal  kindnesses  from  George 
Cruikshank  (not  presents,  if  you  please,  for  we  bought,  borrowed, 
or  stole  every  one  of  them),  that  we  feel  what  we  owe  him. 
Look  at  one  of  Mr  Cruikshank's  works,  and  we  pronounce  him  an 
excellent  humourist.  Look  at  all,  his  reputation  is  increased  by 
a  kind  of  geometrical  progression ;  as  a  whole  diamond  is  a  hun- 
dred times  more  valuable  than  the  hundred  splinters  into  which 
it  might  be  broken  would  be.  A  fine  rough  English  diamond  is 
this  about  which  we  have  been  writing.  9 

•  The  long  list  of  Mr  Cruikshank  s  works  which  heads  this  article  is,  we 
fear,  far  from  complete,  though  we  have  ti'ied  hard  to  make  it  so. 


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