NINE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY FRED BARNARD
At such times, or when the shouts of straggling brawlers met her ear, the
Bowyer's daughter would look timidly back at Hugh, beseeching him to draw
nearer.—Master Humphrey's Clock, chap. i.
As he sat upon a low seat beside my wife, I would peer at him for hours together from behind a
tree.—Master Humphrey's Clock, chap. ii.
"Vith these vords he rushes into the shop, breaks the dummy's nose with a blow of his curlin'-irons,
melts him down at the parlour fire, and never smiles afterwards."—Master Humphrey's Clock, chap. v.
At last they made a halt at the opening of a lonely, desolate space, and, pointing to a black object at some distance, asked
Will if he saw that yonder.—Master Humphrey's Clock, chap. iii.
"With a look of scorn, she put into my hand a bit of paper, and took another
partner. On the paper was pencilled, 'Heavens! Can I write the word? Is my
husband a cow?'"—Holiday Romance, Part i.
"What is the matter?" asked Brother Haukyard.
"Ay! what is the matter?" asked Brother Gimblet.—George Silverman's Explanation, chap. vi.
George Silverman writes his explanation.—Chap. ix.
"You shall see me once again in the body, when you are tried for your life. You shall see me once
again in the spirit, when the cord is round your neck and the crowd are crying against you."—Hunted
Down, chap. v.
Odds and ends
THIRTY-NINE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY C. GREEN
The door being opened, the child addressed him as her grandfather—Chap. i.
The old man sat himself down in a chair, and, with folded hands, looked sometimes at his grandson
and sometimes at his strange companion—Chap. i.
When he did sit down, he tucked up his sleeves and squared his elbows and put his face close to the
copy-book—Chap. iii.
Daniel Quilp sat himself down in a wherry to cross to the opposite shore—Chap. v.
He soon cast his eyes upon a chair, into which he skipped with uncommon agility, and, perching himself
on the back with his feet upon the seat, was thus enabled to look on—Chap. ix.
"I'll beat you to pulp, you dogs"—Chap. vi.
"Is it good, Brass, is it nice, is it fragrant?"—Chap. xi.
Not to be behindhand in the bustle, Mr. Quilp went to work with surprising vigour—Chap. xiii.
Nelly, kneeling down beside the box, was soon busily engaged in her task—Chap. xvii.
"Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them attentively, "the dog whose name's called, eats"—Chap. xviii.
There was but one lady who seemed to understand the child, and she was one who sat alone in a
handsome carriage—Chap. xix.
A small white-headed boy with a sunburnt face appeared at the door while he was speaking, and
stopping there to make a rustic bow, came in—Chap. xxv.
And then they went on arm-in-arm, very lovingly together—Chap. xxiii.
She handed down to them the tea-tray, the bread and butter, the knuckle of
ham, and, in short, everything of which she had partaken herself—Chap. xxvi.
"That, ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. Jarley, "is Jasper Packlemerton of atrocious memory"—Chap. xxviii.
And in this state and ceremony rode slowly through the town every morning—Chap. xxix.
In some of these flourishes it went close to Miss Sally's head—Chap. xxxiii.
"You're the wax-work child, are you not?"—Chap. xxxi.
"Oh please," said a little voice very low down in the doorway, "will you come and show the
lodgings?"—Chap. xxxiv.
"Do you see this?"—Chap. xxxvi.
At length everything was ready, and they went off—Chap. xxxix.
The old man stood helplessly among them for a little time—Chap. xiii.
A man of very uncouth and rough appearance was standing over them—Chap. xliii.
"She is quite exhausted," said the schoolmaster—Chap. xlvi.
"Aquiline!" cried Quilp, thrusting in his head—Chap. xlix.
Both mother and daughter, trembling with terror and cold, . . . . obeyed Mr. Quilp's directions in
submissive silence—Chap. l.
"Halloa!"—Chap. l.
Elevating his glass, drank to their next merry-meeting in that jovial spot—Chap. li.
The child sat down in this old silent place—Chap. liii.
"Then, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "fire away!"—Chap. lviii.
The air was, "Away with Melancholy"—Chap. lvlli.
"Is it like Kit—is it his picture, his image, his very self?"—Chap. lxii.
The Marchioness jumped up quickly, and clapped her hands—Chap. lxiv.
She had nothing for it now, therefore, but to run after the chaise—Chap. lxv.
Tom immediately walked upon his hands to the window, and—if the expression be allowable—looked
in with his shoes—Chap. lxvii.
The strong tide filled his throat, and bore him on its rapid current—Chap. lxvii.
"Master!" he cried, stooping on one knee and catching at his hand. "Dear Master! speak to me!"—Chap. lxxi.
Two wretched people were more than once observed to crawl at dusk from the
inmost recesses of St. Giles's—Chap. lxxiii.
BARNABY RUDGE
A TALE OF THE RIOTS OF 'EIGHTY
Barnaby Rudge
FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS
BY FRED BARNARD
"Stand—let me see your face"—Chap. ii.
"Does the boy know what he's a-saying of!" cried the astonished John Willett—Chap. iii.
"I can't touch him!" cried the idiot, falling back and shuddering as
with a strong spasm; "he's bloody!"—Chap. iii.
"If I am ever," said Mrs. V.,—not scolding, but in a sort of monotonous
remonstrance—"in spirits, if i am ever cheerful, if I am ever more
than usually disposed to be talkative and comfortable, this is the
way I am treated"—Chap. vii.
Those lips within Sim's reach from day to day, and yet so far off—Chap. iv.
"Chester," said Mr. Haredale after a short silence, during which he had eyed his smiling face from
time to time intently, "you have the head and heart of an evil spirit in all matters of deception"—Chap. xii.
"He melts, I think. He goes like a drop of froth. You look at him, and there
he is. You look at him again, and—there he isn't"—Chap. x.
Father and Son—Chap. xv.
"Come, come, master," cried the fellow, urged on by the looks of his comrades, and slapping him on the
shoulder; "Be more companionable and communicative. Be more the gentleman in this good company"—Chap. xvi.
With that he advanced, and bending down over the prostrate form, softly turned back the head and
looked into the face—Chap. xvii.
She sat here, thoughtful and apart, until their time was out—Chap. xxv.
Emma Haredale and Dolly Varden—Chap. xx.
"Huff or no huff," said Mr. Tappertit, detaining her by the wrist. "What do
you mean, Jezebel! what were you going to say! Answer me!"—Chap. xxii.
How the accomplished gentleman spent the evening in the midst of a dazzling and brilliant circle—Chap. xxiv.
Now he would call to her from the topmost branch of some high tree
by the roadside—Chap. xxv.
"I beg pardon—do I address Miss Haredale!"—Chap. xxix.
Finished by driving him with surprising swiftness against a heap of spittoons in one corner—Chap. xxx.
Lord George Gordon leaving the Maypole—Chap. xxxvii.
"If they're a dream," said Sim, "let sculptures have such wisions, and chisel'em
out when they wake. This is reality. Sleep has no such limbs as them"—Chap. xxxi.
"Ha, ha!" roared the fellow, smiting his leg; "for a gentleman as 'ull say a pleasant thing in a
pleasant way, give me muster Gashford agin all London and Westminster!"—Chap. xxxvii.
A nice trio—Chap. xxxix.
Gabriel Varden—Chap. xii.
"He retort!" cried Haredale. "Look you here, my lord. Do you know this man!"—Chap. xliii.
"In the name of God no!" shrieked the widow, darting forward. "Barnaby—my lord—see—he'll come
back—Barnaby—Barnaby!"—Chap. xlviii.
"A brave evening, mother! If we had chinking in our pockets but a few specks
of that gold which is piled up yonder in the sky, we should be rich for life"—Chap. xlv.
Then seating himself under a spreading honeysuckle, and stretching his legs across the threshold
so that no person could pass in or out without his knowledge, he took from his pocket a pipe, flint,
steel, and tinder-box, and began to smoke—Chap. xlv.
The pole swept the air above the people's heads, and the man's saddle was empty
in an instant—Chap. xlix.
It flitted onward, and was gone—Chap. l.
"You have been drinking," said the locksmith—Chap. li.
Flung itself upon the foremost one, knelt down upon its breast, and clutched
its throat with both hands—Chap. lvi.
Putting his staff across his knees in case of alarm or surprise, summoned Grip to dinner—Chap. lvii.
Looked moodily on as she flew to Miss Haredale's side—Chap. lix.
"Will you come?"
"I!" said the Lord Mayor most emphatically. "Certainly not"—Chap. lxi.
"Stop!" cried the locksmith, in a voice that made them falter—presenting, as
he spoke, a gun. "Let an old man do that. You can spare him better"—Chap. lxiii.
The burning of Newgate—Chap. lxiv.
"No offence, no offence," said that personage in a conciliatory tone, as Hugh stopped in his draught
and eyed him, with no pleasant look from head to foot—Chap. lxix.
"Tender-hearted!" echoed Dennis. "Tender-hearted! Look at this man. Do you call this constitootional!
Do you see him shot through and through, instead of being worked off like a Briton! Damme
if I know which party to side with"—Chap. lxix.
"You ought to be the best instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping before him. "Ha, ha, ha! see the
hangman when it comes home to him!"—Chap. lxxvi.
"I shall bless your name," sobbed the locksmith's little daughter, "as long
as I live"—Chap. lxxii.
Sat the unhappy author of all—Lord George Gordon—Chap. lxxiii.
He rose from his bed with a heavy sigh, and wrapped himself in his morning
gown. "So she kept her word," he said, "and was constant to her threat!"—Chap. lxxv.
The locksmith's ruddy face and burly form could be descried, beating about as though he was struggling
with a rough sea—Chap. lxxix.
Reclining, in an easy attitude, with his back against a tree, and contemplating the ruin with an
expression of pleasure—Chap. lxxxi.
Raising himself upon his hands, he gazed at him for an instant with scorn and hatred in his look—Chap. lxxxi.
Grip the Raven—Chap. the last.
Man leaning on rail
TEN ILLUSTRATIONS
BY A. B. FROST
"Rather a heavy sea on, sir, and a head wind"—Chap. ii
.
Railway dialogue—Chap. v.
When suddenly the lively hero dashes in to the rescue—Chap. vi.
In the White House—Chap. vii
In the cabin of the canal boat—Chap. x.
Emigrants—Chap. xi.
"Not yet awhile, sir, not yet"—Chap. xiii.
And having his wet pipe presented to him, etc.—Chap. xv.
As the coach stops a gentleman in a straw hat looks out of the window—Chap. xiv.
Martin Chuzzlewit
FIFTY-NINE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY FRED BARNARD
"I see you," cried Miss Pecksniff to the ideal inflictor of a runaway knock, "you'll catch it; sir!"—Chap. ii.
Mr. Pecksniff, looking sweetly over the half-door of the par, and into the vista of snug privacy
beyond, murmured, "Good evening, Mrs. Lupin"—Chap. iii.
"We will say, if you please," added Mr. Pecksniff, with great tenderness of manner, "that it arises
from a cold in the head, or is attributable to snuff, or smelling salts, or onions, or anything but
the real cause"—Chap. iii.
Mr. Pecksniff is introduced to a relative by Mr. Tigg—Chap. iv.
"He turned a whimsical face and very merry pair of blue eyes on Mr. Pinch."—Chap. v.
"Let us be merry." Here he took a captain's biscuit—Chap. v.
"Still a-bed," replied the boy; "I wish they wos still a-bed. They're very noisy a-bed; all
calling for their boots at once"—Chap. viii.