The hero of this specious advertisement is Fox; he is standing near the Speaker's table, in the House of Commons, where the members are struck with amazement at his dexterity in this novel accomplishment. In one hand the Whig performer is holding out his speech on the Rights of the Prince, and the Explanation of that Speech in the other. 'All these,' he declares, 'I will devour next.' Two important and bulky works are at his feet, waiting their turn to be devoured—Jus Divinum of Kings and Principles of Toryism. On the table, placed before the 'Word-Eater,' is a provision of considerable substance which will test his further powers of digestion—Statutes at Large, Magna Charta, Principles of the Constitution, and Rights of the People.

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

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

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

1788. Love and Dust.—Cinder-sifters pursuing their grimy avocation somewhere in the outskirts, in the neighbourhoods where the great pyramidal heaps of dust and cinders were to be found in the last century. That romance should soften the front of labour, and that Black Sal and Dusty Bob should lighten the sifting of cinders with a mixture of conviviality and flirtation, is but another proof that human nature is everywhere constituted on the same susceptible principles—a fact open to demonstration. The present print, which, in its way, is about as terrible in its vagabond fidelity and grim humour as anything which Rowlandson has left us, has been included in the present series, with a due sense of editorial responsibility, as affording a fair instance of our caricaturist's talent in Hogarth's realistic walk.

To draw this and similar groups from the life, Rowlandson had only to take a stroll from Soho to the corner where the Gray's Inn Road now stands. On the ground which Argyle Street, Liverpool Street, and Manchester Street at present occupy, in the caricaturist's day was spread 'that sublime, sifted wonder of cockneys, the cloud-kissing dust-heap, which sold for twenty thousand pounds.'

The sum quoted is apocryphal; but it is known that, by some chance, Russia heard of these famous accumulations of dust and cinders—said to have been existing on the same spot since the Great Fire of London—and, as the fallen city of Moscow required rebuilding after Napoleon's famous Russian campaign, the government of the Czar purchased the vast piles and shipped them to Moscow.

This estate—the site of the ground on which the dust-heap stood—was purchased by the 'Pandemonium Company' in 1826, for fifteen thousand pounds. The Liverpool Street Theatre was erected, and the surrounding grounds subsequently let on building leases. Beyond the Gray's Inn Road heap—when the Caledonian Road was a rural thoroughfare—was the Battle-Bridge Estate of some twenty acres, described in the 'New Monthly Magazine' (1833) as 'the grand centre of dustmen, scavengers, horse and dog dealers, knackermen, brickmakers, and other low but necessary professionalists.' As Mr. T. C. Noble—the descendant of the original lucky speculator who secured the dustheap, and sixteen dilapidated tenements, as he relates, for about 500l.—communicated to Pink's History of Clerkenwell, 'the site of the mountain of cinders is now covered by the houses of Derby Street; the names of the thoroughfares erected on this estate were derived from the popular ministers of that day.'

November 28, 1788. Luxury and Desire. Published by W. Rowlandson, 49 Broad Street, Bloomsbury.—A battered old hulk—a regular ancient commodore—is forcing a well-filled purse on the acceptance of a graceful and well-favoured maiden.

November 29, 1788. Lust and Avarice. Published by W. Rowlandson, 49 Broad Street, Bloomsbury.—A pretty simple-looking girl, dressed in a countrified garb, is exacting contributions from a miserly curmudgeon, who it seems is extremely reluctant to part with his money.

December 3, 1788. Stage Coach with Basket: the Dolphin Inn. Published by William Rowlandson, 49 Broad Street, Bloomsbury.—A scene of bustle and activity, consequent upon the departure of a stage coach from a posting-house in a flourishing country town. From the business going on in the background it is evidently market-day. The coach is taking up its complement of passengers at the Dolphin Inn; the landlord of the house is civilly doing the honours of his establishment, and conducting a party of new arrivals to the comforts of his hostelry.

1788. An Epicure.—Another Hogarth-like study, but touched with all the knowledge and spirit peculiarly the attributes of Rowlandson. An over-fed gourmand, whose hopes of happiness are evidently centred on perishable things, is exulting, with pantomimic rapture, over a delicacy in the way of fish. (See 1801, republished.)

1788. A Comfortable Nap in a Post-chaise.—A well-fed easy-going pair, reposing in a jogging post-chaise, are soothed into slumber by the motion, and are being rattled along oblivious of their surroundings.

1788. A Fencing Match.—Rowlandson was an amateur, as we have noticed, of all manly exercises. In his day riding, boxing,[32] and especially fencing, were considered indispensable accomplishments for the man of 'ton.' We have had occasion to allude to our artist's intimacy with Angelo, the fashionable professor of sword exercises, who notices the caricaturist's works with appreciation, and mentions him with the highest personal esteem, in various passages of his memoirs and anecdotes. Rowley executed numerous sketches for his friend Angelo; and he further engraved a series of plates for him, besides a large and interesting view of his fencing-rooms.

The present subject, which is particularly excellent as regards grouping and execution, probably represents an encounter at Angelo's rooms, either in the West or in the City, in both of which parts of town he held establishments. The principal figures, and the personages grouped around the fencers, were no doubt meant to designate portraits; but as no evidence has been preserved to this date that would assist in more than a partial identification of one or two professional celebrities, it is nearly impossible to recognise the major part of the individuals present.

1788. A Print Sale. A Night Auction.—The rooms of an old auctioneer, where night sales of pictures, drawings, and prints, were held. The auctioneer is seated under a candelabra, at his desk, which is placed upon a circle of boards running round the apartment, and forming a trestle for the display of engravings. The customers, connoisseurs, collectors, artists, &c., are seated on the outside of the circle, and on either side of the seller. The sale-clerk, and the men who are showing the lots, are in the space within the centre.

Contemporary references further describe these 'night auctions,' where the caricaturist's drawings frequently figured, and which Rowlandson occasionally attended, in company with his friends Mitchell the banker, Parsons and Bannister the comedians, Antiquity Smith, Iron-wig Heywood, Caleb Whiteford, and other dilettanti. See page 70.

1788 (?). The Pea-cart.

1789.

January 1, 1789. The Vice Q——'s Delivery at the Old Soldier's Hospital in Dublin.—Published in Dublin; republished by W. Holland, 50 Oxford Street.—This print alludes to a certain interesting event. The Lord Lieutenant's lady has apparently been confined in a ward of the Soldier's Hospital, Dublin. One old veteran, who is nursing the bold young stranger, is declaring: 'Deel, my saul, but he'll be a brave soldier.' The distinguished parent is responding: 'Thanks, thanks, my brave sergeant, you shall be knighted this day.' Soldier's porridge is supplied, as a substitute for caudle. An invalided warrior is inclined to quarrel with this proceeding: 'Downright robbery, by St. Patrick! We'll soon be famished if our broth is to be stole from us in this manner.'

January 8, 1789. The modern Egbert, or the King of Kings.—The Prince of Wales is pictured in the position of Egbert when towed by kings on the river. The vexed question of the 'Regency Restrictions' is still the difficulty of the situation. His Royal Highness is held captive; his hands and feet are bound in golden chains. The arms of the Stork and Anchor, as hung out upon Pitt's barge, are placed above the Royal Standard of England. The modern Egbert, while passing St. Stephen's, is declaring, in reference to his fettered condition, 'I feel not for myself but for my country.' Pitt, wearing the dress in which he is usually represented—the Windsor uniform—and with an imperial diadem placed upon his head, is acting as steersman to his barge, which carries a huge flag inscribed with his arms, and the words 'Devil take right, P. W.' The young statesman is encouraging his crew to 'pull together, boys!' The four oarsmen are all crowned as kings. Thurlow the Thunderer, with his diadem perched above his chancellor's wig, is acting as stroke, and pulling away vengefully: 'Damme, I've got precedence of the young lion!' The Marquis of Buckingham is asserting, 'I'll answer for the Shillalagh without authority!' Dundas is rowing with a long golden spoon; he is declaring, 'The prince shall remember old Nemo Impune;' and the Duke of Richmond, with one of his famous guns as an oar, is promising 'We'll show him Gallic faith!'

1789. The Pittfall.—The chance of catching the Crown—in the print a kind of ignis fatuus, has lured Pitt and the parliamentary allies (who supported his measures for 'restricting the powers of the Regent') to the brink of destruction. The Pittfall is nothing less than the infernal regions, pictorially set forth as smoke, and a great deal of flame, with fantastic devils, furies and pitchforks, all seething together. Pitt is making a flying leap to seize the Crown, which is fluttering above his reach: 'I'll have thee or perish in the attempt, for my ambition knows no bounds!' The leading demon is prepared with a barbed prong, to receive the Minister on his descent below, while offering Pitt the comforting assurance: 'You will be elected Regent in our dominions nem. con.' The Duke of Richmond has overstepped the margin, and is plunging headlong into the clutches of his tormentors. 'Spare me this time,' he cries; adding, with a liberality little likely to be appreciated in the quarter to which it is addressed, 'and you shall have coal in future without duty.' A friend is assuring the Duke, in allusion to his left-handed descent from Charles the Second, 'All your great grandfather's w——s are waiting dinner for you!'

Thurlow is hurling at the flitting diadem with the Chancellor's mace. He is proclaiming his resolution with a strong asseveration, 'I'll have a knock at it!' The Duke of Grafton also descended, it will be remembered, from the 'Merry Monarch,' is declaring, 'Junius has lamed me, or I'd have a knock at it too!'

January 30, 1789. The Propagation of a Truth. H. W. invt. Published by Holland, Oxford Street.—Bunbury's long serial slip, 'The Propagation of a Lie,' enjoyed a wide reputation. In the present print Rowlandson, under the suggestion of his friend Wigstead, has turned the social satire to political purposes. The Tory chances seemed utterly forlorn at the time of the King's illness; indeed, the loss of their offices was only a question of days, until an unexpected change in the royal health cleared off their apprehensions. At the beginning of the year 1789, however, no one doubted that a week or two would see Fox and the Whigs back in power. In the Propagation of a Truth the members of the threatened Ministry are represented as imparting their personal apprehensions to one another confidentially. R——e (Rose), one of the Treasury Secretaries, is rushing in with this gloomy intelligence: 'The people refuse to address.' The profane Thurlow is invoking objurgations upon the optics of the public. Pitt is collapsing: 'Then I am done up!' Lord Sidney is declaring: 'It is all dickey with me!' Dundas is stamping with vexation: 'I'll gang to my own country, and sell butter and brimstone!' The Duke of Richmond is admitting his fears: 'I begin to smell powder;' and the Duke of Grafton is corroborating his colleague's theory. Lord Chatham, at the Admiralty, is asserting: 'I thought myself snug.' Lord Camden confesses, from his experience, 'I should have known better.' Brook Watson, with his wooden leg, is saying: 'I cannot Brook this, I'll hop off!' Grenville, who occupied the Speaker's chair (January 5 to May), does not relish losing his new wig. Old Alderman Wilkes, who had ratted extensively in his time, and who was, at the date of the present caricature, slyly paying his court to both sides simultaneously, is congratulating himself upon the famous squint immortalised by Hogarth: 'I can look either way!' Lord Carmarthen is uncomfortable: 'I've been in anguish all night!'

Both factions of Tories and Whigs alike were satirised alternately. If one print was severe on the Ministry and their adherents, it was certain to be followed in turn by no less cutting strictures upon their antagonists of the Opposition.

January 21, 1789. Loose Principles. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.—Fox is represented in his study; the busts of Wat Tyler and Jack Cade are its ornaments. His book shelves offer 'The Laws of Pharaoh,' 'Political Prints,' 'Life of Oliver Cromwell,' 'Cataline,' 'Memoirs of Sam House,' and kindred literature. Fox is plunged in distress; Burke is engaged in a certain quest; 'not searching for precedents, but consequences.' Sheridan—whose foot is standing on a volume of Congreve's plays, marked 'School for Scandal,' indicating that this comedy was somewhat of a plagiarism from the works of his predecessor—has charge of the Regent's clyster-pipe, his confidential appointment being that of 'Principal Promoter of Loose Principles.'

January 28, 1789. Suitable Restrictions. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.—The Heir Apparent, according to this print, is treated as an infant. A long pinafore, and a child's cap, are employed to carry out the theory of his puerility. Pitt, in court dress, is making sure of his ward, for he is holding him in leading-strings. Pitt's restrictions effectually prevent the Prince from stooping to take up the Crown, which is the subject of a new game of ring-tor. The leading Whigs, shown kneeling down at a little distance, are taking part in the sport. Fox is making a shot at the ring, in the centre of which stands the Crown of England: 'My game for a crown!' Sheridan's chief anxiety is for his own interests: 'Knuckle down, and don't funk, Charley.' Burke, who is eager to take his chance, is exclaiming: 'My turn next, Sherry!'

January 30, 1789. Neddy's Black Box, containing what he does not value three skips of a louse. Published by S. W. Fores.—The Prince appears on his throne, a full-fledged Regent by anticipation, with all his plumes and paraphernalia. The ex-patriot Burke is kneeling in an attitude of courtier-like servility, and presenting the head of Charles the First, preserved in the Treasury Box: 'My Liege, I told them in the House no day so proper to settle the Regency as Charles's martyrdom.' Sheridan, who wears the blue and buff uniform like his colleague, is supporting the orator: 'I, too, am for despatch; such days best suit our purpose.' From Sherry's pocket is peeping the pamphlet, 'Horne Tooke's Letter on the Prince's Marriage,' which operated somewhat like a spark in a powder magazine at this date. A quotation from Edmund Burke's speech, referring to the day most suitable for the discussion of the Regency Bill, is added at the foot of the plate: 'Why not debate it on Friday? I say it is the only day in the year on which it ought to be debated (Charles's martyrdom), and carried up in the Black Box.'

1789. State Butchers.—In this view of the Prince's situation, the Heir Apparent is pictured as the victim of the combinations which Pitt contrived to hinder the Prince's accession to power by vexatious restrictions. The principal figure is that of the future Regent, laid out at length on the anatomy table, ready to be operated upon by the dissecting knives which his antagonists are eagerly setting to work. Pitt occupies the chair as president of this college of Surgeons; in his left hand is a paper, 'Thanks from the City of London with 50,000l.' He is holding a wand in his right hand, with which he is pointing to the heart of his subject, beneath the Prince's Star of Brunswick; he is thus directing his head anatomist, Dundas:—'The good qualities of his heart will certainly ruin our plan; therefore cut that out first.' Lord Thurlow, in his Chancellor's robes, is, like Hamlet, musing over the head of the fallen prince. Lord Sydney has his knife held ready for a desperate gash. The two Stuart peers are assisting as amateur butchers. The Duke of Grafton has a dissecting knife in either hand; at his feet is a formidable basket of saws and cutting instruments; his preparations are on an extensive scale, while the Duke of Richmond is prepared to resort to even clumsier methods, since Uncle Toby is wielding a heavy executioner's axe in readiness to cut in at any signal.

February 6, 1789. A New Speaker. Published by H. Holland, Oxford Street.—Addington, the Speaker, is at his table. Pitt, standing behind him, has thrust a speaking trumpet into his mouth, through which the orator, to the amazement of the other members, is holding forth: 'Eyes has he and sees not, neither is there any breath in his mouth, but through the hollow of his head shall the sound of my own voice be exalted, and through the stuttering of his tongue my intentions be more fully explained. Keep together, my good friends, till I go out, and you will then probably follow me, but I will work changes for you. See how this rank Tory becomes a good Whig!' The mace is lying on the table beside the 'City Address, 50,000l.; Aldermen Hoppikicky, Squintum, Peter Grievous, &c.,' and a proposed List of Taxes, which includes such items as Fox-tails, Play (i.e. gambling) Houses &c., fanciful personal enactments levelled against Pitt's great rival.

February 7, 1789. Britannia's Support, or the Conspirators Defeated. Published by H. Holland, Oxford Street.—The Prince, who is looking somewhat ill at ease under the circumstances, has been attacked by Pitt and his allies, the Stuart dukes. Pitt is aiming an awkward blow at the tutelary divinity and her protégé with a terrible-looking axe. The Duke of Richmond is firing a musket; and the Duke of Grafton, as a midnight assassin, is operating with a dagger and a dark lantern. Britannia has taken the Heir Apparent to her arms, and is shielding the menaced Prince with her person.

February 7, 1789. The Hospital for Lunatics.—A companion to the preceding. The results of the Tory excitement have landed certain sufferers in the Lunatic Asylum. The mad doctor is going his rounds, he is declaring; 'I see no signs of convalescence!' His assistant, following with a few strait-waistcoats for the refractory patients, is supporting the opinion of his chief: 'They must all be in a state of coercion!' Pitt is the first sufferer; he is wearing a coronet of straws, and is waving a sceptre of twigs; over his head is the notice: 'Went mad, supposing himself next heir to a Crown.' In the adjoining cell is the Duke of Richmond, who is buried in the contemplation of toy cannons—'Went mad in the study of fortifications.' Next to him is another victim, 'Driven mad by a political itching.'

February 7, 1789. Britannia's Support.

February 15, 1789. Going in State to the House of Peers, or a Piece of English Magnificence; dedicated to Mr. Pitt and his 267 Liberal friends. Published by William Holland, 50 Oxford Street.—This print, with one or two others of similar character, have been attributed to Kingsbury. A careful comparison of these doubtful plates, with the more recognised etchings of both Rowlandson and Kingsbury, has led the writer to the conclusion that several at least of the caricatures published by Holland at this time, owe their existence, at least in part, to the skill of the former, although he has in some degree modified his usual handling.

The Heir Apparent is proceeding in burlesque state to the chamber of Peers. A ragged mob is in attendance. The arms on his carriage are turned upside down, coachman and footmen are of the shabbiest, and the slovenly coach is drawn by eight miserable animals, who can barely crawl, while one of the broken-kneed leaders has actually come to grief. The Tories have taken their places at certain windows to view the procession. The Duke of Orleans (who was on a visit to this country), or the French Ambassador, is amazed at such a dowdy spectacle; next to his window is Lord Amherst. The Stuart-Dukes of Richmond and Grafton, sharing a window, are agreeing that the Prince's turn-out is 'Well enough for any of the Brunswick race;' they have put up at the sign of the 'Lion in the Toils.' The Marquis of Carmarthen is saying, 'Very pretty indeed;' he is at the sign of 'The Restrictions' (a picture of the Prince in the pillory is on the signboard); his neighbour Pitt is declaring the show to be 'a very magnificent spectacle, upon my honour.' Lords Hood and Chatham, at the sign of 'The Chatham and Hood,' a frigate labouring in a storm being the signboard, are on the look-out: 'The great naval review was nothing to it.' Lord Chatham is assuring his companion that the show is 'infinitely superior to my father's funeral.' Lord Thurlow is asseverating with an oath, 'It eclipses all that has been ever seen in Rome!'

March 6, 1789. A Sweating for Opposition, by Dr. Willis Dominisweaty and Co. Published by S. W. Fores.—The health of the King, according to the reports of his physicians, began to improve from this date. It was hinted rather broadly that this intelligence was not so agreeable to the Opposition as they might desire. The print sets forth the new treatment by which the growing consequence of the Whigs was to be reduced. The several patients are placed in small furnaces, with a blazing fire below each; the doctors are attending to the stoking with a will. Burke is becoming quite limp in the process: 'I have got no juice left.' Fox is becoming furious; he is gesticulating and shouting, 'I have sweated enough.' Sheridan is venemous: 'This is scandalous; the Baily's (Bailiffs) have sufficiently sweated me!' The Prince, in an agony, is crying: 'I suppose they call this a Regency sweat.' A lady next to him is declaring: 'I sweat with desire.' Weltjé, the Prince's house-steward and head cook—a man who enjoyed considerable reputation in spite of the satirists—is asserting: 'I never sweat so much at cooking in my life.' Mrs. Fitzherbert, who is separated from her admirer, is highly indignant: 'I sweat with jealousy; what disregard to the marriage right!'

March 10, 1789. Edward the Black Prince receiving Homage. Published by William Holland, 50 Oxford Street.—Thurlow, in his Chancellor's robes, is assuming the sovereign position; he has the crown and sceptre; Adam, wearing his counsellor's gown, has come to 'kiss hands.' According to the print the black-browed Thunderer is blessed with the hairy paws of a bear, not omitting the claws. On the wall, in the background, is a picture of Blood stealing the Crown.

March 7, 1789. The Irish Ambassadors Extraordinary. A gallantee Show. Published by S. W. Fores.—The six members of the so-called Irish Embassy are galloping up to the colonnades of Carlton House, each mounted on a jibbing Irish bull; the riders have their faces to the tails, by which they have taken hold in order to secure their seats. The Marquis of Lothian and the Duke of Leinster are urging the deputation forward. It is understood they have arrived somewhat late. The holder of the address is declaring: 'Aye, aye, the Marquis of Buckingham will remember me when I go back again.' The other deputies are making pertinent observations: 'The folks stare at us as they would at wild beastises!' 'What a nice errand is this; make him Regent whether or no!' 'I say, my friend, we shall be there the day before the fair!' 'Well! yes, I dare say well! why, he was so bad he could say nothing but "What, what, what," when we left Dublin!' 'What, no occasion for a Regent? then we will go back again and tell the lads we are all mad, and, by the powers, 'tis my opinion we are come over for nothing at all, at all!' The cook of the Pall Mall Ordinary is thrusting his stout body out of a window opposite Carlton House and declaring: 'Begar, I must go prepare more sourkraut for dese wild bullocks!'

March 15, 1789. Irish Ambassadors Extraordinary!!! In a few days will be published the Return of the Ambassadors.—The memorable six are mounted on their prancing bulls, with a sack of potatoes behind each for a saddle, and as provisions for the journey; all are armed with bludgeons. The delegates are headed by a personage with a crozier and a mitre, a sort of episcopal leader, who is exhorting his followers to 'Make haste, my honies!' The Duke of Leinster is flourishing his shillalagh: 'No restrictions, by the Holy Cross of St. Patrick!' Others are crying: 'How our Majority will astonish the young King!' Some doubt crosses their minds as to his Majesty's possible restoration to health: 'My dear, I was told that he was recovering fast!' 'No! as mad as a hatter!'

Press Notices. March 2, 1789. Address from the Parliament of Ireland to the Prince of Wales. (Morning Herald).—'We have, however, the consolation of reflecting, that this severe calamity hath not been visited upon us until the virtues of your Royal Highness have been so matured as to enable your Royal Highness to discharge the duties of an important trust, for the performance whereof the eyes of all his Majesty's subjects of both kingdoms are directed to your Royal Highness.'

March 4, 1789. Irish Embassy Uniform. (World).—The great open pocket on either side is this: When the Duke of Leinster was coming, he wrote indefinitely to have a new coat. 'I would not be in his coat for something,' said Lord Robert Fitzgerald pleasantly, when he heard of the mischievous folly. But wishing to do the best he could for his brother, he ordered him the Constitutional uniform of Blue and Orange. This, of course, the Duke, when he came, would not wear; and new clothes being hastily wanted, Jennings and Headington, the tailors, were left at liberty, and they made the GREAT OPEN POCKET on either side!

March 19, 1789. Ireland—by Express: The Six Amazing Bulls. (World.)—'The proprietor of these unruly animals begs leave, through the channel of the World, to return his most grateful thanks for the great encouragement Mr. Grattan's Bulls met with in London, and most particularly from their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York.

'He is sorry to say that upon the road these animals grew very unruly. The completely horned one was four times beaten, for taking what did not belong to him; and the little bull, called 'my lord,' who had but a stump of a tail, had that cut off by a wicked boy for his diversion.

'The other four all tumbled into the water, as they landed at Dublin, and looked so ill, when they were driven into Mr. Grattan's stable, "that he wished to heaven he had never sent them over!"

'The proprietor has likewise to add, that they were so well fed by the kindness of the gentlemen in London, that they do not again take kindly to Irish potatoes. He hopes, however, by beating them regularly every day, he shall drive sense into them.

'The collection for seeing these amazing animals upon the road was very handsome. Since their arrival here, the Lord-Lieutenant has had an offer of them for sale, and very cheap; but he thought they had been so "hawked about," by being up at public show in London, he would have nothing to do with them. So the bulls are where they were—with the proprietor.'

March 9, 1789. The Answer to the Irish Ambassadors. (Morning Chronicle).

March 2, 1789. The Prince's Answer to the Address of the Deputation from Ireland. (Morning Herald).—'"If, in conveying my grateful sentiments on their conduct, in relation to the King, my father, and to the inseparable interests of the two kingdoms, I find it impossible adequately to express my feelings on what relates to myself, I trust you will not be the less disposed to believe that I have an understanding to comprehend the value of what they have done, a heart that must remember, and principles that will not suffer me to abuse their confidence.

'"But the fortunate change which has taken place in the circumstances which gave occasion to the Address agreed to by the Lords and Commons of Ireland induces me for a few days to delay giving a final answer; trusting that the joyful event of his Majesty's resuming the personal exercise of his Royal authority may then render it only necessary for me to repeat those sentiments of gratitude and affection for the loyal and generous people of Ireland which I feel indelibly imprinted on my heart."

'The Prince of Wales has conducted himself in this delicate point with the circumspection and propriety that has marked the whole of his conduct in the late melancholy and critical circumstances. He called to his aid the first legal ability in the kingdom; and on the subject of the answer to the Irish Address had a conference of several hours with the Lord Chancellor and Lord Loughborough.'

March 16, 1789. The Ambassadors' Extraordinary Return, on Bulls without Horns. Published by S. W. Fores.—The same personages we saw caricatured on the previous plate are represented in the sequel returning to Dublin. They have exchanged their famous Irish bulls for donkeys; their potatoes have gone, but they are liberally provided with Regency Cakes in their place. Their Pope, whose donkey's head is ornamented with the plume of three feathers as borne by the Prince of Wales, is received by an eager deputation on his arrival: 'What news, what news? The tidings tell. Make haste and tell us all; say why are they thus mounted? Is the Regent come and all?' The leader is replying: 'I'll tell you all in no time. Why, you must know the King is better than the Regent—that is all!' The Marquis of Lothian is declaring, 'Master Walgee (Weltjé) made us such Regent's and Regency cakes!' The Duke of Leinster is crying, 'Aye, my lads, Dr. Willis has done the King over, and the Regent won't take it!' Other members of the deputation are remarking, 'The English lads were so merry, by my shoul, they were always a-laughing at us!' 'Ambassadors Extraordinary, by St. Patrick, but I've forgot what we have done!' 'Done? Why carried the address, and brought it back again, with all these cakes. A deal better than potatoes!'

April 4, 1789. The Rochester Address, or the Corporation going to Eat Roast Pork and Oysters with the Regent.—The procession of the Corporation of Rochester is headed by the Mayor (Matthews), who is holding the Address at the end of a pole; he proposes to send the Regent 'some chips.' The rest of this train, professional men and traders of Rochester, are promising to favour the heir to the throne with their specialities. Alderman Spice will 'assist him with long sixes.' Alderman Thompson will favour him with his Preventative; another, a brewer, will send him 'some Chatham Butt;' Prentice professes to 'give him thirteen to the dozen, and all sour;' another member of the Corporation, a barber by trade, is proposing to 'shave him.' Sparks, a lawyer, is declaring, 'I'll beg to speak to Sherry for his business, bailing, actions, demands, writs of error; that is, if he'll promise to see me paid!' Bristow is guaranteeing 'he shall never be tried by the Court of Conscience.' Robinson is asserting, 'These are your right sort; none of your quack;' and Alderman Nicholson, who is bringing up the rear, with a brick and trowel, is looking forward to the job 'of making him some fortifications!'

April 22, 1789. The Grand Procession to St. Paul's on St. George's Day, 1789: an exact view of the Lord Mayor carrying the City Sword, bareheaded, &c. Published by Holland, Oxford Street.—Upon the King's recovery the popular tide turned abruptly, and, before the end of April, the satirists were making capital out of the excessive gush of loyalty which greeted the King's restoration to health. The felicitations offered on this occasion were not, however, more extravagant than the congratulations which would have been offered the Regent had the case been altered. In the present print the procession is on its way to St. Paul's to return thanks; the Volunteers are keeping the line of route; the windows are filled with rejoicing spectators, smiling and bowing, with ribands, favours, and mottoes, inscribed with printed sentiments complimentary to the monarch. A man, wearing a leek in his hat, is at the head of the train, seated on a goat; the Aldermen, without hats or wigs, are finding some difficulty in keeping their seats. The Lord Mayor has a nervous time of it, while holding the Sword of State; two footmen are steadying him by the leg—his horse has been slightly startled—as he is passing a noisy band of musicians, stationed in a balcony. 'And all the people rejoiced and sung, Long live the King! May the King live for ever!' The King's well-appointed team of eight white horses is passing a show—the Royal Waxworks: 'Here you may see King Solomon in all his glory!' The state carriage contains the King, the Queen, and the coarse-featured Madame Schwellenberg; the Guards are bringing up the rear.

October 23, 1789. An Antiquarian. Published by W. Holland, 50 Oxford Street.

October 24, 1789. Sergeant Kite, Sergent Recruiteur. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly. (N.B. Fores' Museum now opened. Admission, one shilling.)—The Duke of Orleans is represented as Sergeant Kite, dressed in the uniform of a hussar—a tight tunic and breeches, given, in the coloured versions of the plate, as green, faced with crimson, and richly laced with gold; with a furred cocked hat and enormous cockade; inscribed on the scarf he is wearing are the words 'Vive la Liberté!' destined shortly to become the keynote for all the reckless destruction, indiscriminate slaughter, and bloodthirsty atrocities of the great French Revolution. An enormous sabre is trailed by his side, and he is resting on a halbert with a head shaped like an axe. By his side is his drummer, whose figure the artist has treated with the broadest grotesque; the Frenchman's enormous earrings, together with a pigtail of inordinate length, are exciting the wonder of the spectators. The Sergent Recruiteur is beating up his recruits at Billingsgate amongst the fishfags. The Poissardes of France were making themselves a terrible reputation throughout Europe by the violence of their behaviour, and the satirist hinted in the present plate that the Duke of Orleans would be able to secure congenial revolutionary levies amongst the muscular vixens of the fish-market here. The viragoes of Billingsgate do not seem to favour the Duke's mission; they are giving the Frenchman what may be termed a warm reception: his advances are met with taunts, contumely, and apparently by challenges to ignominious personal combat.

January 1, 1789. Grog on Board. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly. Republished January 1794.—'Sweet Poll of Plymouth' has been smuggled on board during the absence, let us believe, of the chief officers, who have genteelly gone to take Tea on Shore in the port. A pretty 'mid-shipmite' and a black boy are deep in the perusal of a volume of fascinating voyages. The rest of the persons represented are, from the dog upwards, variously interested in their fair female visitor. One tar, in a fur cap, is singing verses, with his truant eye fixed on the nymph instead of on his music; another old salt, who is handing the punchbowl about, has evidently neglected his pipe, which he is vainly endeavouring to rekindle from the bowl of a comrade, who has eyes for nothing but the lady. 'Poll' is quite a Cleopatra for beauty, grace, and love of pleasure, if not for frailty and splendour; she is reposing with negligent ease in the stalwart arms of a good-looking sailor, for want of a more luxurious couch, and her foot is resting on the knee of another favoured swain, who seems proportionately proud of the honour. Her débonnaire ladyship is not only distinguished for the beauty of person and condescension of manners essential to make herself adored by poor Jack; she sports the wealth of jewellery supposed to be irresistibly gratifying in his sight—a pair of bracelets, earrings, imposing shoe-buckles, and, to cap all, a pair of watches, with massive chains and heavy trinkets galore, disposed on either side.