January 1789. Tea on Shore. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly. Republished January 1, 1794.—A companion to the last print, affording the suppositious contrast between high and low life in port. The officers are leaving the vulgar jollifications of Grog on Board for delicate flirtations over the tea-table on shore. In those days, when opportunities for personal distinction were more frequent, commanders were recognised and entertained as heroes, and their visits on shore were not unfrequently a round of agreeable festivals and social triumphs. Rowlandson has shown how graciously the fair are regarding the sons of Neptune, who are doing their best to create favourable impressions in return. The head of the house, who is not apparently of the slightest consequence on this occasion, is left to indifference and the charge of the tea urn; while the naval commanders are carrying all the admiration before them, on the venerable principle, lyrically rendered by John Dryden (although the sentiment was no novelty in his day), that 'none but the brave deserve the fair.'

April 1, 1789. Interruption, or Inconvenience of a Lodging-house. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly. Republished April 1, 1824.—A stout dowager and her maid are thrown into a state of consternation easy to appreciate by the sudden entrance on the occupations of the toilette of a roystering young 'blood,' who, from the disorder of his dress and the recklessness of his attitude, has evidently returned from the tavern, something the worse for his evening's potations, and not strikingly clear in his head as to his ultimate destination.

June 20, 1789. A Sufferer for Decency.—The interior of a barber's shop, conducted on popular principles, as the notice on the lantern has it: 'Shave with ease and expedition for one penny.' It will be noticed that the lathering is accomplished on a wholesale scale; a boy is waiting on the customers with a small pail of soap, and is officiating with a lathering-brush of the size of a decent hearth-broom; the barber is waiting, with his razor poised in the air, ready to let it descend with a swoop on the face of the sufferer; expedition of execution rather than an artistic delicacy of handling being the order of the day at the class of establishment delineated by the caricaturist, who in the days of universal shaving must have known the cost of sacrificing to custom.

1789. A Penny Barber. Companion to Sufferer for Decency (June 1789). Published by W. Holland, 50 Oxford Street.—A stout old gentleman, enveloped in a barber's cloth, has taken his seat in the shaving-chair; his wig is removed and his chin plenteously lathered; the aproned barber is still employed with his soap and basin. One customer is performing an ablution; and the assistant, whose hair is dressed in the wildest French style, is smoothing down a compact full-bottomed old-fashioned wig. One or two barber's blocks, a cracked glass, and a bird in a cage form the chief embellishments, to which must be added a lantern lighted by a single candle and inscribed with this information, 'The oldest shaving shop in London. Most money for second-hand wigs.'

About 1789. Domestic Shaving.—A family group, delicately executed in stipple in imitation of a chalk drawing. The scene is pictured with considerable care and truthfulness to nature. A stout gentleman, wigless and with lather-spread chin, is rasping away at his ample throat before a hand-glass, which a gracefully-drawn female, in a simple morning dress, is holding before the 'shaver.' A pretty child is seated in an infant's chair by his side, watching, with a pleased smile on her face, the gambols of a cat and kitten.

August 4, 1789. A Fresh Breeze. Published by S. W. Fores.—A party of distinguished guests are represented as trying a cruise on board the Southampton frigate. An elevated personage, judging from his star and riband, has secured his cocked hat with a handkerchief tied under his chin; he is suffering the discomforts of sea-sickness. The helmsman has some difficulty in steering, surrounded as he is by a group of limp persons of fashion; a fat dowager, who has propped herself against the back of the steersman, is trying to subdue her qualms by applying to cordials; a more dignified lady is indulging in attitudes expressive of tragic despair. Three fair creatures have abandoned themselves to utter prostration on the opposite side. The sailors are exhibiting their disgust at the operation of washing down the decks and attending to the necessities of the sufferers; fresh supplies of buckets, for the accommodation of the indisposed, are being handed up from below by a brace of 'Beef-eaters,' whose presence, so far from adding dignity to the company, is a source of inconvenience, since they too are painfully sea-sick; and their halberts, from the incapacity of the holders, are threatening mischief to the helpless passengers around.

1789 (?). The Start.

1789 (?). The Betting Post.—The stout veteran on his cob, with a crutch in one hand, is intended for Colonel O'Kelly, [33] one of the most prosperous turfites of his day, and the owner of the most successful racehorse in the annals of racing.

1789 (?). The Course.

1789 (?). The Mount.—Colonel O'Kelly, the gouty veteran who figures throughout the Racing series, is again introduced; this eminent patron of the turf is giving his parting injunctions to his jockey. [34]

1789. A Cart Race. Published by William Holland, Oxford Street, 1789.—This plate bears Rowlandson's signature, and is dated 1788. The print is executed in bold outline, filled in with aquatint, and coloured in capital imitation of the original drawing. The lowly cottages of some hamlet are partly distinguishable through the prodigious clouds of dust raised by the unruly eccentricities of a pleasure-party, represented as taking the air in three overladen and ramshackle carts, drawn by wretched horses barely one remove from the knacker's yard.

The amusement of the moment is an extemporised race. One cart is leading triumphantly; the horse is dashing along, urged on by the bludgeon of a costermonger, who is conducting a party of beauties from St. Giles's, of the most florid and dégagé type. Cart number two is considerably overmanned; the horse is down; the driver is alternately trying to whip his horse into animation or to lash his antagonists. One free-and-easy lady is falling over the head of the cart, and two more are being spilt over the tail, where they are sprawling in attitudes of considerable freedom; a dog is indignantly barking at the fallen. A third cart, which is in the rear, is loaded so heavily that it seems there is difficulty in persuading the horse to start at all.

July 20, 1789. The High-mettled Racer.

1789. Don't he Deserve it? Designed and etched by T. Rowlandson; aquatinted by I. Roberts. Published by William Holland, 50 Oxford Street.—An elderly rake, evidently an old offender, taken in the fact, is receiving the well-merited abuse of his modishly-apparelled better half; the fair companion of this compromising disclosure is covered with blushing confusion; and various witnesses, summoned by the sounds of the wife's indignant eloquence, are expressing their horror at the husband's obliquity.

September 1789. Bay of Biscay. Designed and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.—A ship is tossing on the stormy waters of the Bay of Biscay; a boatload of passengers, who have put off from the distant vessel, seems likely to be swamped by the waves, which are rolling mountains high. Fear and helplessness prevail on all sides; the sea is running too roughly for the oars to be of much avail; the captain and his crew have, it appears, abandoned their ship for the questionable chance of escaping in the long-boat; there are three ladies with them; one has apparently swooned, another is leaning over the side, with clasped hands, terrified at the imminence of the danger; and the third is in paroxysms which necessitate her forcible restraint. Rowlandson possessed the skill and perception to bring out every point in a desperate situation with thrilling effect, and his masterly power of depicting 'horrors,' &c., is in its way more striking, perhaps, even than his felicitous art of hitting off the salient humours of any of those ludicrous situations which his fanciful and inventive faculties suggested in exhaustless succession.

1789. Chelsea Reach. Designed and published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.—A wondrous contrast to the horrors of the companion print, the Bay of Biscay; all is sunshine, jollification, and happiness. A gaily-decorated shallop, somewhat like a miniature edition of a state barge, is proceeding up the river with a pleasure-party, rowed by six gaily-clad watermen, wearing jockey caps, as was the custom of the time. A party of highly genteel ladies and gentlemen are exchanging courtesies, and pledging healths and toasts, under the shade of their parasols; an amateur musician is entertaining his friends with serenades on his flute, players on French horns are contributing to the diversion, a servant in livery is at the helm, and a large union-jack is flying. In the background is seen the tranquil river, with its distant bridges.

November 1789. La Place des Victoires.—If Rowlandson's visits to Paris had produced no other memorial than his inimitable picture La Place des Victoires, Paris, we should be satisfied with the result of his familiarity with Parisian life at the period immediately antecedent to the Revolutionary era.

The study, as a whole, is one of the most memorable we can ascribe to his skilful hand and his remarkable powers of profitable observation. The Circus, built by Mansard, one of the features of Paris under the Grand Monarque, remains in all its freshness to the present day; but it has shared the fate a similar monument would have suffered had it remained in the busy precincts of the East of London. Finding itself in the heart, as it were, of the trading centre of the city, near the Bourse, and hedged and elbowed around by the warehouses and industries of the busy commercial population, it has undergone an indignity which would vex the spirit of its founder and make the shade of the little monarch, in honour of whose victories it was erected and christened, exclaim against the degeneracy which the taste of his countrymen has undergone, and he would probably deplore the concession to utilitarianism which has transmogrified the well-known spot. La Place des Victoires in its present aspect is curiously disguised by hideous placards; between each of the columns appear two or more humorous advertising boards, filling up the intermediate spaces, and inscribed with recommendations to purchasers to secure their wardrobe au bon Diable, and notices of a similar inviting character. Rowlandson has given a further indication of the Parisian centre—at the expense of topographical accuracy, it must be admitted—by introducing the towers of Notre Dame in a proximity somewhat closer than is legitimately warranted by the actual position of the mother church.

The monument, as seen in Rowlandson's veracious representation, is a splendid example of exaggerated glorification. The statue of a warrior—surely not intended to resemble the stout little monarch to whose glory it is dedicated—is trampling on an allegorical personage typifying the conquered enemies of France; while the figure of Fame, holding her trumpet ready to sound the victor's praises, is crowning the hero with a wreath. Four chained slaves, cast in bronze, indicative of Louis' triumphs, are shown at the base; these figures may now be seen in the Louvre. A courtier, or a disabled general, is pushed along in a ramshackle carriage, a sort of wheeled sedan, drawn by an old soldier, with two footmen to follow; the Frenchman is regarding the stupendous monument raised to the glories of the Grand Nation with rapturous devotion. An abbé, with his hands in an enormous muff, is passing, with his nose in the air; a coquette à la mode is leaning on his arm and raising her hood to shoot forth glances of fascination; a handsome young officer, wearing a monstrous queue, is launching an admiring look towards the fair beguiler; but her attention is engaged elsewhere, and the Parthian shot falls harmless. A shoeblack in the foreground is teaching a poodle to dance; the comical animal's head is decorated with an old peruke. A pair of extensive beaux of the period are seen saluting each other with elaborate bows which would have filled the late Mr. Simpson, M.C., with despair. In the right-hand corner is shown a monk (Sterne's original Brother Lorenzo), shrinking away from recollections of the past. A downright English John Bull, in huge riding-boots, and a pretty English girl, his companion, in a habit, lacking the surrounding enthusiasm, are looking at the monument with the indifference of travellers who are in duty bound to take note of all the sights, but who, beyond the principle involved, find small gratification in the ordeal; an English mastiff, the property of the strangers, is curiously regarding another exotic, an Italian greyhound. In the distance is shown a female porter and her donkey, followed by a procession of friars; a French nobleman and his lady are driving by in gallant state, with a Suisse and a whole string of genteel footmen clinging like flies behind their chariot.

As the founder took some pains to inform the world (that is to say, Paris, which, to Frenchmen under the reign of the Grand Monarque, meant the universe), this wonderful structure, à la gloire de Louis le Grand, was erected by the Duc de la Feuillade, one of the idols of his age, and first satellite to the Sun of Versailles; Peer and Marshal of France, Governor of the Dauphin, Colonel of the Guards, &c.—in every way a most distinguished person. The statue was erected in front of this eminent courtier's Paris mansion, the Hôtel de la Feuillade. The principle of its erection was ingenious, ostensibly commemorating the glories of his master, the 'father of his people, and the conductor of invincible armies;' the celebrity of the patriotic founder of this monument is barely of secondary prominence, since his name and various high offices, emblazoned on the same pile, were bequeathed at the same time to the everlasting regard of posterity. The perpetual durability of fame in this case was doomed to last one century, and no more: the calculations of the Marshal did not include the coming French Revolution. In the January of 1793, the 'grand nation' became intoxicated with a saturnalia of blood, in which they avenged imposts, burdens, and slavery—evils which they had suffered in the past—by sacrificing the descendant of le Grand Monarque, a passive victim, on the scaffold to the vicious legacies of his predecessors. The fury which had made a martyr of the king, whose chief enjoyment had been the alleviation of the condition of his subjects, taking a retrospective turn, vented its destructive rage on every relic which recalled the servitude of generations—after the slaughter of the living, the national vengeance was wreaked on inanimate objects, and very naturally the ill-advised monument of the Place des Victoires came in for an early share of attention; and the memorial bequeathed to the everlasting admiration of posterity was scattered to the winds in a manner which effectually defeated the intentions of the testator; the only wonder being how the bronze figures escaped the fate of the furnace, and were spared being converted into artillery.

Under the circumstances, of the complete disappearance of this triumph of servile adulation, it is interesting to recall, in a remote degree, the incidents which attended its foundation. In the letters of Madame de Sévigné we trace a picture indicative of the events; first we are introduced to the zeal displayed by the Duc de la Feuillade, that inveterate and unequalled courtier, and his passion for raising monuments to the glorification of his master and himself. We follow the Marshal's first intentions, and are told how they were modified; we notice the erection of the pedestrian statue, with its glaring anomalies, sent to adorn the gardens of Versailles; and then we are instructed how the sculptor, Van den Bogaert—who, in compliment to his patrons, had changed his name to de Desjardins—was entrusted with the execution of the extraordinary conception which was to shed a lustre on the Place des Victoires to perpetuity.

Lettre DCC. de Madame de Sévigné au Comte de Bussy, à Paris, ce 20 Juillet, 1679.—'.... Il vous dira les nouvelles et les préparatifs du mariage du Roi d'Espagne, et du choix du Prince et de la Princesse d'Harcourt pour la conduite de la reine d'Espagne à son époux, et la belle charge que le roi a donnée à M. de Marsillac, sans préjudice de la première; et du démêlé du Cardinal de Bouillon avec M. de Montausier, et comme M. de La Feuillade, courtisan passant tous les courtisans passés, a fait venir un bloc de marbre qui tenoit toute la rue Saint Honoré: et comme les soldats qui le conduisoient ne vouloient point faire place au carosse de M. le Prince qui étoit dedans, il y eut un combat entre les soldats et les valets de pied: le peuple s'en mêla, le marbre se rangea, et le prince passa. Ce prélat vous pourra conter encore que ce marbre est chez M. de La Feuillade, qui fait ressusciter Phidias ou Praxitèle pour tailler la figure du roi à cheval dans ce marbre, et comme cette statue lui coûtera plus de trente mille écus.' [35]

In a footnote, by the editor, we are further enlightened on the use to which this marble was finally applied, by order of the Duke de la Feuillade:—

'La Feuillade changea d'avis et fit sortir du bloc de marbre en question une statue pédestre qui prêtoit à la critique, par le mélange bizarre du costume romain recouvert du manteau royal françois. Cette statue du ciseau de Desjardins (autrement Van den Bogaert) a été placée à l'Orangerie de Versailles.'

The next piece of information, also given in the editor's footnote, is more to the point:—

'C'est le même artiste qui, six ans plus tard, a exécuté le monument de la Place des Victoires, aussi magnifique qu'impolitique, et renversé en 1793 au milieu des fureurs de l'anarchie. Il ne reste de ce monument que les quatre figures, en bronze, d'esclaves enchaînés qui désignoient les nations dont la France a triomphé dans le XVII^e siècle. Ces figures sont dans la Collection de France.—G. D. S. G.'

A fair-sized view of the Circus, Place des Victoires, and of the monument, taken from the Hotel de la Feuillade, which would seem to have occupied a frontage facing the semicircle, was published about 1686, engraved by N. Guerard. The title runs thus:—

'Veue de la Place des Victoires où M. le Mareschal Duc de la Feuillade a dressé un monument public à la gloire de Louis le Grand, de la statue de ce Monarque couronné par la Victoire, accompagnée de Trophées, de Médailles, de bas-reliefs, et d'inscriptions, sur les actions glorieuses de sa vie et de son règne. Le 28 Mars, 1686.'

Numerous highflown praises of the King were engraved on the base of this vainglorious monument, as well as a list of the various engagements fought in the reign of Louis the Magnificent.

The principal inscription will give a fair impression of the nature of these panegyrics:—[36]

'A Louis le Grand, le père et le conducteur des armées toujours heureux.—Apres avoir vaincu ses Ennemis, Protegé ses alliez. Adjousté de tres puissants peuples à son Empire, Assuré les Frontières par des places imprenables, joint l'Ocean à la Méditerranée. Chassé les pirates de toutes les mers, Reformé les Loix, Destruit l'hérésie, porté par le bruit de son nom les nations les plus Barbares à le venir révérer des extremitez de la terre. Et reglé parfaitement toutes choses au dedans et au dehors par la grandeur de son courage et de son génie.

November 29, 1789. Mercury and his Advocates Defeated, or Vegetable Intrenchment.—This print introduces a collision between two systems of medical treatment. The scene is Swainson's depôt for Velno's Vegetable Syrup, Frith Street, Soho. List of Cures, in 1788, 5,000; in 1789, 10,000. Swainson has entrenched himself in the centre of a barricade, formed of his specifics, a bottle of which he is exhibiting, with an air of triumph, to the posse of old practitioners, who, armed with dissecting-knives, mortars, mercury, prescriptions, and mineral pills, are preparing for a furious onslaught upon the innovator, whose introduction of Velno's Syrup has deprived them of the support of their profitable clients.

1789. A Dull Husband.—An interior scene, introducing us to a drawing-room of more refined character than Rowlandson generally selects for representation. The owners evidently occupy a wealthy position in life. The lady has musical tastes, it appears; in the background is a harpsicord, the fair performer is playing the harp, and a guitar is lying at her feet. The husband has no soul for sweet sounds, or the soothing harmonies which his elegant companion has produced have lulled him into forgetfulness; however it may happen, the gentleman is very evidently, and unpoetically, fast asleep.

1790.

January 1, 1790. Tythe Pig. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.—Rowlandson has taken a vexatious institution, as enforced in his day, and turned it to satiric account. A vicar, who we presume is suffering for the sin of gluttony—a failing to which at one time, if tradition is in any degree reliable, the sons of most churches were more than slightly prone—since he is invalided by an attack of gout, is seated in the official reception-room of his residence, within view of his cure, in state, as becomes a dignitary of the Establishment, to receive the tithes of his parish. His clerk is planted by his side, auditing An Estimate of the Tythes of this Parish. This functionary is examining, with somewhat minute scrupulousness, a fat pig which is borne in for approval by a comely maiden. The contributor of the said pig, a country clown, who is evidently but half resigned to part with his belongings, is standing in the doorway scratching his shock head, wearing a face which expresses anything but approval of the surrender of his porker.

No date: about 1790. A Roadside Inn.—Two travellers are stopping to take refreshment at a pretty rustic hostel. A wain, drawn by a yoke of horses, is shown passing up the road.

January 1, 1790. A Butcher. Published by T. Rowlandson, 50 Poland Street.—In point of refinement this print has nothing to recommend it; a more barbarous rendering of a subject, which has in itself little of the picturesque, cannot be well imagined. The subject is, however, treated with so much force and originality, that we considered it worthy to be inserted in our selection, as a representative example of Rowlandson's abilities in the savage walk—a branch to which he brought especial qualifications. And as it is the object of this work to give our readers a fair estimate of the abilities of an artist whose pictures reflect, in a great measure, the dispositions and tastes of his times, we have introduced more than one subject which may, on its individual merits or defects, at first strike the critic as at least coarse, if not altogether free from objectionable associations.

January 10, 1790. Frog Hunting. Published by T. Rowlandson, 50 Poland Street.—Three Frenchman of quality, adorned in the most modish taste, with their frills, powdered curls, pigtails, ear-rings, ruffles, and dress swords, are plunging knee deep in a pond of water, hunting, with the enthusiasm of true epicures, a party of frightened frogs. A fashionably clad Frenchwoman is standing on the bank, holding a parasol in one hand, and a row of frogs, the spoils of the chase, strung on a skewer, in the other.

February 20, 1790. Toxophilites (large plate). Published by E. Harding, 132 Fleet Street.

February 20, 1790. Repeal of the Test Act. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.

An exaggerated view from a Conservative point of observation, of the results which were to be anticipated if the repeal of the Test Act was allowed to be carried.

This caricature was put forth at the time Doctors Priestley and Price—those revolution sinners, as their opponents styled them—were lecturing and spreading broadcast principles of religious equality, reforms, which, as the Ministers industriously circulated, if carried into effect, would prove subversive of everything. A portly Bishop, with his Refutation of Dr. Price by his side, is left to the tender mercies of the Reformers—'And when they had smote the shepherd, the sheep were scattered.' The work of revision is carried on by main force, two of the 'new lights,' aided by stout cudgels, are converting the overgrown Shepherd: 'Make room for the Apostle of Liberty;' and 'God assisting us, nothing is to be feared.' Doctor Priestley is superintending the demolition of the venerated edifice: 'Make haste to pull down that, and we'll build a new one in its place.' Two of the Reformers are displaying their 'brotherly love' by fighting for the possession of the Chancellor's purse and mace. The Thirty-nine Articles are sent to feed a bonfire. A leader of the movement, inspired by 'love of our country,' has climbed up where the insignia of church and state are seen swinging upon a sign-post. He is provided with a flaming Torch of Liberty, with which he is threatening their destruction.

Fox is shown as the arch-director of this innovating agitation:—'day next, a charity sermon by the Rev. Charles Fox.' The Whig chief is drawn at a window, armed with a speaking-trumpet, and advertising 'Places under Government to be disposed of. N.B. Several Faro and E. O. Tables in good condition.' Dissenting preachers are hurrying up, furnished with well-filled money-bags, to secure the political influence which Fox is openly holding out for purchase, without any attempt at disguise.

1790. Dressing for a Masquerade. (Cyprians.)

1790. Dressing for a Masquerade. (Ladies.)

1790. A French Family. T. Rowlandson, del. S. Alken, fecit. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.—One of the two subjects highly commended by H. Angelo in his 'Reminiscences.' The companion, An Italian Family, will be given under the head of caricatures published in 1792. Both impressions are scarce, and very seldom met with. These prints are supposed to represent the domestic and interior lives of foreign artists, as studied from observations founded, it is presumed, on the everyday habits of the aliens domiciled in England. Monsieur and his family are probably professional dancers, and the picture introduces us to their more intimate hours of practising; at all events, we find nearly the entire generation giving up their energies—somewhat to the neglect of the proprieties, it is true—to the practice of the one accomplishment in which the politest of nations was supposed to enjoy pre-eminence. The grandfather, in a cotton nightcap, is supplying the music from his fiddle, but the contagion of motion is affecting his aged limbs, and he is skipping about with the animation of old Vestris; by his side is the youngest child, who, still in her night-clothes, is practising the first positions. It will be noticed that, in spite of somewhat squalid surroundings, the whole generation excel in personal finery: a profusion of hair, dressed in the extreme of fashion, ruffles, furbelows, frills, bows, ear-rings, and elegant slippers, are displayed by the various members.

The son and daughter are gracefully executing a pas de deux. The person of Madame is charmingly rendered; an elaborately constructed tower of fair hair, and a nodding plume of feathers, add height and distinction to her figure, to which the designer has lent a grace and ease of motion peculiarly French. Monsieur is truly magnificent in the item of wig; his pink satin coat is hung on the top of the turn-up bedstead, and he is disporting himself in a sleeved vest; the lower limbs of the gentleman give room for conjecture. Whether he has taken the liberty of appearing in sans-culotte negligence out of respect to the principles of the Revolution, then in its fury, or whether his nether garments and stockings have been pledged to satisfy the necessities of the hour, is not clear. Perhaps the artist drew the Frenchman in this guise as a concession to English prejudices at the period when it was a pretty universally received theory that his compatriots lived on frogs exclusively, and had thrown away their culottes for good; the last supposition being to a large degree warranted by the maniacal excesses of the Jacobin, Poissarde, and other sections in Paris. In the left-hand corner of the picture is a cleverly designed group, somewhat independent of the main action. A French child, dressed in the burlesque of miniature manhood, as then adopted by our tasteful neighbours, is playing a pipe and tambourine and training a pair of performing poodles to dance a minuet on their hind legs. A lean cat is vainly trying to find something to satisfy her hunger in the cupboard. The only decent article of furniture in the chamber—which is dirty, patched, and poor—is a concession to vanity in the form of a large mirror.

March, 1790. A Kick-up at a Hazard Table. Published by Wm. Holland, Oxford Street.—A large plate, executed in bold outline with a little mezzo work, introduced in the darker parts. The Kick-up is of a serious character; the gamblers who lately occupied the front of the table are upset in the confusion, and others are endeavouring to get out of the way of the danger. A stout old buck in the King's uniform—a loser, it would seem, from his empty pocket-book—has drawn his pistol on a player opposite, who has presumably won the irate gentleman's gold, since he is covering the pile with one hand, and with the other is aiming, in his turn, a pistol full at his adversary's person. Great excitement prevails around; one man is dashing a chair at the officer's outstretched firearm, and a brother officer is striking with a bottle and a candlestick at the other weapon; bludgeons are flourished, and swords are drawn by some of the gamblers, while others are endeavouring to stand clear before the bullets begin to fly.

A party of gentlemen assembled on the evening of a Court Drawing-room at the Royal Chocolate-house in St. James's Street, where disputes at hazard produced a quarrel, which became general throughout the room. Three gentlemen were mortally wounded, and the affray was at length concluded by the interposition of the Royal Guards, who were compelled to knock the parties down with the butt ends of their muskets indiscriminately, as entreaties and commands were of no avail. A footman of Colonel Cunningham's, greatly attached to his master, rushed through the swords, seized, and literally carried him out by force without injury.

May 29, 1790. Who kills first for a Crown. In two compartments.—The objects of the chase being the respective crowns of two kingdoms, both of which were disturbed at the date of this publication, by the ambitious views of the advanced parties; headed by the Heir-Apparent in the one case, and the Duke of Orleans in the other.

The Crown of England is threatened in the upper compartment, and the situation is typified as a Stag Hunt in the Park at Windsor. The Prince of Wales, on horseback, is performing the part of huntsman, and his followers are travestied as the Prince's pack of hounds—a favourite figure with the pictorial satirists. Sheridan is the leading dog; the faces of Mrs. Fitzherbert, Burke, a Bishop, and others, are distinguishable among the pack, which is harassing the royal quarry.

The Crown of France is endangered in a similar fashion. It will be remembered that the stability of the government of Louis the Sixteenth received its first shock from the Duke of Orleans, who, imitating the factious conduct of the Prince of Wales at home, was in alliance with the enemies of the throne; in the case of the Duke, with the Revolutionary parties of France.

The royal French Stag is run down at Versailles. The Duke of Orleans, first Prince of the blood, is acting as whipper-in. He is dressed in a fantastic habit of le sport, a compromise between a French postilion and a huntsman; he is winding on his pack with une corne de chasse. The individuals constituting the aristocratic French pack are described below the print, the names giving some indication of the members of that Palais Royale clique of intriguers which wrought so much evil to the reigning branch. Certain members of the Orleans pack were destined to become notorious on the theatre of events which were then impending over France.

1. Madame La C'tesse de Buffon. 2. Madme. La C'tesse de Blot. 3. Le Cte. de Touche. 4. Le Mqis. de Sillery. 5. Le Cte. de Vauban. 6. Le Bn. de Talleyrand (who, in the hunt, has seized the royal stag with his teeth). 7. M. de Simon.

1790. Philip Quarrel, the English Hermit, and Beau Fidelle, the mischievous She-Monkey, famous for her skill on the viol de gamba.—Philip Thicknesse, leaving his hermitage in the background (see Public Characters, 1806), is journeying along one mile from Bath; the ex-Governor of Languard Fort is in regimentals, but instead of a hat the artist has drawn a boar's head, the present of Lord Jersey, above that of the Hermit. More particular reference to this boar's head is made in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1761, pp. 34, 79.

Across Philip's back is slung his wooden gun;[37] under his left arm are held his writings, which gained him but equivocal fame; a bare axe, marked 'Gratitude,' is in his right hand; the Duke of Marlboro's pistols are in his belt; he has a Subscription Scheme, Gunpowder, as a cartouche-box, and his foot is resting on the Vagrant Act. Miss Ford (Mrs. Thicknesse), as Beau Fidelle, is following Quarrel's wanderings; her viol de gamba is strapped across her back.

(Handbill.)
STRAYED FROM KENSINGTON GORE
A VICIOUS OLD DOG;

THE MONSTER.

N.B.—The reward for his apprehension still remains in full force.

1790. An Excursion to Brighthelmstone, made in the year 1789, by Henry Wigstead and Thomas Rowlandson. Dedicated (by permission) to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. Embellished with eight engravings in aquatinta, from views taken on the road to and at that place. London: Printed for C. G. J. and I. Robinson, Paternoster Row. Oblong folio. June 1, 1790.

Introduction.—'The following descriptive account of an excursion to Brighthelmstone is intended to give those who have not visited that delightfully situated town and its environs an idea of the pleasures with which a lively and feeling mind will be impressed on viewing those scenes which the Authors have endeavoured to illustrate.... Of the roads which lead to Brighthelmstone, that immediately from London being most frequented, the Authors have endeavoured to familiarise it to the traveller by pencil and pen.

'The various scenes which are introduced are slightly represented, and intended merely to impress the mind with the general effects of nature. It is, in short, a conversation narrative, illustrated occasionally with sketches of scenes and incidents which seemed most worthy of notice.'

The plates were all drawn and etched by Rowlandson, and aquatinted by Alken.

• Sutton. ('The Cock.')
• Reigate. ('The White Hart' posting house.)
• Crawley. (Sale of a horse by auction outside the 'George Inn.')
• Cuckfield. (Market Day—a recruiting party, &c.)
• Saloon at the Marine Pavilion.

'The Marine Pavilion of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, on the west side of the Steine, is a striking object, and admirably calculated for the summer residence of a royal personage.... This Pavilion, correctly designed and elegantly executed, was begun and completed in five months. The furniture is adapted with great taste to the style of the building. The Grand Saloon is beautifully decorated with paintings by Rebecca, executed in his best manner. The tout ensemble of the building is, in short, perfect harmony. The whole was executed by Mr. Holland, under the immediate inspection and direction of Mr. Weltjé, the Prince's German cook, who leased the property to his royal master.'

• Bathing Machines.
• The Steine (and promenaders).
• Race Ground. The Course, the Stand, &c., with a race being run.

June 1, 1790. Saloon at the Pavilion, Brighton. Aquatinted by T. Alken. Published by Messrs. Robinson.—One of a series of drawings made from the Regent's fantastic seaside residence, and published in aquatint. See An Excursion to Brighthelmstone, made in the year 1789, by Henry Wigstead and Thomas Rowlandson. (1790.)