THE NEW BATH GUIDE;
OR MEMOIRS OF THE BLUNDERHEAD FAMILY.
IN A SERIES OF POETICAL EPISTLES
By Christopher Anstey, Esq.
I'll hasten, O Bath, to thy springs,
Thy seats of the wealthy and gay,
Where the hungry are fed with good things,
And the rich are sent empty away.
I'm certain none of Hogarth's sketches
E'er formed a set of stranger wretches.
We all are a wonderful distance from home!
Two hundred and sixty long miles are we come!
'Tis a plaguy long way! but I ne'er can repine,
As my stomach is weak and my spirits decline:
For the people cry here, be whatever your case,
You are sure to get well if you come to this place.
As we all came for health (as a body may say),
I sent for the doctor the very next day;
And the doctor was pleased, though so short was the warning,
To come to our lodging betimes in the morning:
He looked very thoughtful and grave, to be sure,
And I said to myself, There's no hopes of a cure!
But I thought I should faint when I saw him, dear Mother,
Feel my pulse with one hand, and a watch in the other:
No token of death that is heard in the night
Could ever have put me so much in a fright:
Thinks I, 'tis all over, my sentence is past,
And now he is counting how long I may last.
* * * * *
And so, as I grew every day worse and worse,
The doctor advised me to send for a nurse.
And the nurse was so willing my health to restore,
She begged me to send for a few doctors more;
For when any difficult work's to be done,
Many heads can despatch it much sooner than one;
And I find there are doctors enough at this place,
If you want to consult in a dangerous case!
Why, Peter's a critic—with true Attic salt
Can damn the performers, can hiss, and find fault,
And tell when we ought to express approbation,
By thumping, and clapping, and vociferation;
But Jack Dilettante despises the play'rs—
To concerts and musical parties repairs,
With benefit-tickets his pockets he fills,
Like a mountebank doctor distributes his bills;
And thus his importance and interest shows,
By conferring his favours wherever he goes;
He's extremely polite both to me and my cousin,
For he often desires us to take off a dozen;
He has taste, without doubt, and a delicate ear,
No vile oratorios ever could bear;
But talks of the op'ras and his signora,
Cries Bravo, benissimo, bravo, encora!
And oft is so kind as to thrust in a note
While old Lady Cuckow is straining her throat,
Or little Miss Wren, who's an excellent singer;
Then he points to the notes with a ring on his finger,
And shows her the crotchet, the quaver, and bar,
All the time that she warbles and plays the guitar;
Yet I think, though she's at it from morning till noon,
The queer little thingumbob's never in tune.
* * * * *
One thing, though I wonder at much, I confess, is
The appearance they make in their different dresses;
For, indeed, they look very much like apparitions
When they come in the morning to hear the musicians;
And some I am apt to mistake, at first sight,
For the mothers of those I have seen over night.
It shocks me to see them look paler than ashes,
And as dead in the eye as the busto of Nash is,
Who the evening before were so blooming and plump.
I'm grieved to the heart when I go to the pump;
For I take every morning a sup of the water,
Just to hear what is passing and see what they're a'ter;
For I'm told the discov'ries of persons refined
Are better than books for improving the mind.
But a great deal of judgment's required in the skimming
The polite conversation of sensible women,
For they come to the pump, as before I was saying,
And talk all at once while the music is playing!
'Your servant, Miss Fitchet.' 'Good morning, Miss Stote.'
'My dear Lady Riggledum, how is your throat?
Your ladyship knows that I sent you a scrawl
But I hear that your ladyship went to the ball.'
'Oh, Fitchet, don't ask me—good heavens, preserve——
I wish there were no such a thing as a nerve;
Half dead all the night, I protest and declare——
My dear little Fitchet, who dresses your hair?
You'll come to the rooms—all the world will be there.
Sir Toby Mac Negus is going to settle
His tea-drinking night with Sir Philip O'Kettle:
I hear that they both have appointed the same;
The majority think that Sir Philip's to blame;
I hope they won't quarrel, they're both in a flame:
Sir Toby Mac Negus much spirit has got,
And Sir Philip O'Kettle is apt to be hot.'
'Have you read the "Bath Guide," that ridiculous poem?
What a scurrilous author! Does nobody know him?'
'You know I'm engaged, my dear creature, with you
And Mrs. Pantickle this morning at loo;
Poor thing! tho' she hobbled last night to the ball,
To-day she's so lame that she hardly can crawl—
Major Lignum has trod on the first joint of her toe;—
That thing they played last was a charming concerto,
I don't recollect I have heard it before;
The minuet's good, but the jig I adore;
Pray speak to Sir Toby to cry out encore.'
Jen declar'd she was shocked that so many should come
To be doctored to death such a distance from home,
At a place where they tell you that water alone
Can cure all distempers that ever were known.
But, what is the pleasantest part of the story,
Jen has ordered for dinner a piper and dory;
For to-day Captain Cormorant's coming to dine,
That worthy acquaintance of Jenny's and mine.
'Tis a shame to the army that men of such spirit
Should never obtain the reward of their merit;
And after so many hardships and dangers incurred,
He himself thinks he ought to be better preferred.
And Roger, or, what is his name? Nicodemus,
Appears full as kind, and as much to esteem us;
Our Prudence declares he's an excellent preacher,
And by night and by day he is so good to teach her;
I told you before that he's often so kind
To go out a riding with Prudence behind,
So frequently dines here without any pressing—
And now to the fish he is giving his blessing;
And as that is the case, though I've taken a griper,
I'll venture to peck at the dory and piper.
But my cousin Jenny's as fresh as a rose,
And the Captain attends her wherever she goes.
The Captain's a worthy good sort of a man,
For he calls in upon us whenever he can,
And often a dinner or supper he takes here,
And Jenny and he talk of Milton and Shakspeare;
For the life of me now I can't think of his name,
But we all got acquainted as soon as we came.
But come, Calliope, and say
How pleasure wastes the various day:
Wheresoever be thy path,
Tell, O tell, the joys of Bath.
Every morning, every night,
Gayest scenes of fresh delight.
O ye guardian spirits fair,
All who make true love your care,
May I oft my Romeo meet,
Oft enjoy his converse sweet;
Lo! where all the jocund throng
From the pump-room hastes along,
See with joy my Romeo comes!
He conducts me to the Rooms;
There he whispers, not unseen,
Tender tales behind the screen;
While his eyes are fixed on mine,
See each nymph with envy pine.
O the charming parties made!
Some to walk the South Parade,
Some to Lincomb's shady groves,
Or to Simpson's proud alcoves;
Some to chapel trip away,
Then take places for the play;
Or to the painter's we repair,
Meet Sir Peregrine Hatchet there,
Pleased the artist's skill to trace
In his dear Miss Gorgon's face.
Happy pair! who fixed as fate
For the sweet connubial state,
Smile in canvas tête-à-tête!
'And if you've a mind for a frolic, i' faith,
I'll just step and see you jump into the bath.'
Thinks I to myself, they are after some fun,
And I'll see what they're doing, as sure as a gun:
Oh! 'twas pretty to see them all put on their flannels,
And then take the water like so many spaniels;
And though all the while it grew hotter and hotter,
They swam just as if they were hunting an otter.
'Twas a glorious sight to behold the fair sex
All wading with gentlemen up to their necks,
And view them so prettily tumble and sprawl
In a great smoking kettle as big as our hall;
And to-day many persons of rank and condition
Were boil'd by command of an able physician.
* * * * *
You cannot conceive what a number of ladies
Were stewed in the water the same as our maid is:
So Tabby, you see, had the honour of washing
With folks of distinction and very high fashion;
But in spite of good company, poor little soul,
She shook both her ears like a mouse in a bowl.
But what is surprising, no mortal e'er view'd
Any one of the physical gentlemen stew'd;
Since the day that King Bladud first found out these bogs,
And thought them so good for himself and his hogs,
Not one of the faculty ever has try'd
These excellent waters to cure his own hide;
Tho' many a skilful and learned physician,
With candour, good sense, and profound erudition,
Obliges the world with the fruits of his brain,
Their nature and hidden effects to explain.
Our trade is encouraged as much, if not more,
By the tender soft sex I shall ever adore;
But their husbands, those brutes, have been known to complain,
And swear they will never set foot here again.
Ye wretches ingrate! To find fault with your wives,
The comfort, the solace, and joy of your lives;
Oh! that women, whose price is so far above rubies,
Should fall to the lot of such ignorant boobies!
Doesn't Solomon speak of such women with rapture,
In verse the eleventh and thirty-first chapter?
And surely that wise King of Israel knew
What belonged to a woman much better than you!
He says, 'If you find out a virtuous wife,
She will do a man good all the days of her life;
She deals like a merchant, she sitteth up late.'
And you'll find it is written in verse twenty-eight,
Her husband is sure to be known at the gate:
He never hath need or occasion for spoil,
When his wife is much better employ'd all the while;
She seeketh fine wool, and fine linen she buys,
And is clothed in purple and scarlet likewise.
Now, pray, don't your wives do the very same thing,
And follow th' advice of that worthy old king?
Do they spare for expenses themselves in adorning?
Don't they go about buying fine things all the morning?
And at cards all the night take the trouble to play,
To get back the money they spent in the day?
But these to their husbands more profit can yield,
And are much like a lily that grows in the field;
They toil not, indeed, nor, indeed, do they spin,
Yet they never are idle when once they begin,
But are very intent on increasing their store,
And always keep shuffling and cutting for more.
Industrious creatures! that make it a rule
To secure half the fish, while they manage the pool;
Methinks I should like to excel in a trade
By which such a number their fortunes have made.
I've heard of a wise, philosophical Jew,
That shuffles the cards in a manner that's new;
One Jonas, I think; and could wish for the future
To have that illustrious sage for my tutor;
And the Captain, whose kindness I ne'er can forget,
Will teach me a game that he calls lansquenet.
SONG, WRITTEN AT MR. GILL'S, AN EMINENT COOK AT BATH.
Of all the cooks the world can boast,
However great their skill,
To bake or fry, to boil or roast,
There's none like Master Gill.
Sweet rhyming troop, no longer stoop
To drink Castalia's rill;
Whene'er ye droop O taste the soup
That's made by Master Gill.
'Tis this that makes my Chloe's lips
Ambrosial sweets distil;
For leeks and cabbage oft she sips
In soup that's made by Gill.
Immortal bards, view here your wit,
The labours of your quill,
To singe the fowl upon the spit
Condemned by Master Gill.
My humble verse that fate shall meet,
Nor shall I take it ill;
But grant, ye gods! that I may eat
That fowl, when drest by Gill.
These are your true poetic fires
That drest this savoury grill;
Even while I eat the Muse inspires,
And tunes my voice to Gill.
When Chloe strikes the vocal lyre,
Sweet Lydian measures thrill;
But I the gridiron more admire,
When tuned by Master Gill.
'Come, take my sage of ancient use,'
Cries learned Doctor Hill;
'But what's the sage without the goose?'
Replies my Master Gill.
He who would fortify his mind,
His belly first should fill;
Roast beef 'gainst terrors best you'll find;
'The Greeks knew this,' says Gill.
Your spirits and your blood to stir,
Old Galen gives a pill;
But I the forced-meat ball prefer,
Prepared by Master Gill.
What joy at the ball, what delight have I found,
By all the bright circle encompassed around!
Each moment with transport my bosom felt warm,
For what, my dear mother, like beauty can charm!
E'en the Goddess of Love, and the Graces, and all
Must yield to the beauties I've seen at the ball;
For Jove never felt such a joy at his heart,
Such a heat as these charming sweet creatures impart.
In short, there is something in very fine women,
When they meet all together, that's quite overcoming.
* * * * *
But hark! now they strike the melodious string,
The vaulted roof echoes, the mansions all ring;
At the sound of the hautboy, the bass, and the fiddle,
Sir Boreas Blubber steps forth in the middle.
Now why should I mention a hundred or more,
Who went the same circle as others before,
To a tune that they play'd us a hundred times o'er?
And who at the ball on that night did appear,
Who danc'd in the van and who limp'd in the rear,
What dukes and what drapers, what barbers and peers,
What marquises, earls, and what knights of the shears,
What cook and what countess, what nymphs of the brooms,
What mop-sceptred queens came that night to the Rooms.
But at what time they heard the horn's echoing bellow,
The hautboy's shrill twang, the brisk fiddle, the mellow
Bassoon, and the sweet grumbling violoncello.
At what time they heard the men puff and belabour
With mouth, stick, and fist the gay pipe and the tabour,
At once they did scuttle, did flutter and run,
And take wing like wild-geese alarm'd with a gun,
In a moment came bustling and rustling between one;
Some coupled like rabbits, a fat and a lean one,
Some pranc'd up before, some did backward rebound,
While some more in earnest, with looks more profound,
And sweat-bedew'd foretops, did lard the lean ground;
But others more neat on the pastern arose,
Like the figure of Pan, whom you've seen, I suppose,
Just saluting the turf with the tips of his toes;
And as nothing, I think, can more please and engage
Than a contrast of stature, complexion, and age,
Miss Curd with a partner as black as Omiah,
Kitty Tit shook her heels with old Doctor Goliah,
And little John Crop, like a pony just nick't,
With long Dolly Loaderhead scamper'd and kick't.
As for Madge, tho' young Squirt had been promised the honour,
Billy Dasher stept forth and at once seized upon her;
While with flames that keen jealousy's rage did improve,
Poor Squirt felt the heart rending passion of love.
For persons of taste and true spirit, I find,
Are fond of attracting the eyes of mankind:
What numbers one sees, who, for that very reason,
Come to make such a figure at Bath ev'ry season!
'Tis this that provokes Mrs. Shenkin Ap-Leek
To dine at the ord'nary twice in a week,
Though at home she might eat a good dinner in comfort,
Nor pay such a cursed extravagant sum for't;
But then her acquaintance would never have known
Mrs. Shenkin Ap-Leek had acquired the bon ton;
Ne'er show how in taste the Ap-Leeks can excel
The Duchess of Truffles and Lady Morell;
Had ne'er been ador'd by Sir Pye Macaroni,
And Count Vermicelli, his intimate crony;
Both men of such taste, their opinions are taken
From an ortolan down to a rasher of bacon.
* * * * *
The company made a most brilliant appearance,
And ate bread and butter with great perseverance
All the chocalate, too, that my lord set before 'em,
The ladies despatched with the utmost decorum.
The peer was quite ravished, while close to his side
Sat Lady Bunbutter, in beautiful pride!
Oft turning his eyes, he with rapture surveyed
All the powerful charms she so nobly displayed.
Oh had I a voice that was stronger than steel,
With twice fifty tongues to express what I feel,
And as many good mouths, yet I never could utter
All the speeches my Lord made to Lady Bunbutter!
So polite all the time that he ne'er touched a bit,
While she ate up his rolls and applauded his wit:
For they tell me that men of true taste, when they treat,
Should talk a great deal, but they never should eat;
I freely will own, I the muffins preferred
To all the genteel conversation I heard.
I never as yet could the reason explain,
Why we all sallied forth in the wind and the rain;
For sure such confusion was never yet known;
Here a cap and a hat, there a cardinal blown!
* * * * *
How the Misses did huddle, and scuddle, and run!
One would think to be wet must be very good fun;
For by waggling their tails, they all seemed to take pains
To moisten their pinions, like ducks when it rains.
I saw, all at once, a prodigious great throng
Come bustling, and rustling, and jostling along;
As home we came—'tis with sorrow you'll hear
What a dreadful disaster attended the peer.
April 1, 1798. Views of London. No. 3.—Entrance of Tottenham Court
Road Turnpike, with a view of St. James's Chapel. Rowlandson delin., Schultz
sculp. Published April 1, 1798, Ackermann's Gallery, Strand.
April 1, 1798. Views of London. No. 4.—Entrance of Oxford Street or
Tyburn Turnpike, with a view of Park Lane. Rowlandson delin., Schultz
sculp. Published April 1, 1798, Ackermann's Gallery, Strand.
June 1, 1798. Views of London. No. 5.—Entrance from Mile End or
Whitechapel Turnpike. Rowlandson delin., Schultz sculp. Published June
1, 1798. Ackermann's Gallery, Strand.
June 1, 1798. Views of London. No. 6.—Entrance from Hackney or
Cambridge Heath Turnpike, with a distant view of St. Paul's. Rowlandson
delin., Schultz sculp. Published June 1, 1798. Ackermann's Gallery, Strand.
May 1, 1798. He won't be a Soldier. Schultz sculp. Published by R.
Ackermann.
May 1, 1798. She will be a Soldier. Schultz sculp. Published by R.
Ackermann.
1798. An extraordinary scene on the road from London to Portsmouth, or
an instance of unexampled speed used by a body of Guards, consisting of 1,920 rank
and file, besides officers; who on June 10, 1798, left London in the morning, and
actually began to embark for Ireland at Portsmouth at 4 o'clock in the afternoon,
having travelled seventy-four miles in ten hours. Rowlandson del., Schultz sculpt.
July 18, 1798. Light Horse Volunteers of London and Westminster,
Reviewed by His Majesty on Wimbledon Common. July 5, 1798.
August 1, 1798. Soldiers Recruiting, 1. Rowlandson del., Schultz sculp.
Published by R. Ackermann.
August 1, 1798. The Cottage Door. Rowlandson del., Schultz sculp.
Published by R. Ackermann.
August 1, 1798. Private Drilling, 5. Rowlandson del., Schultz sculpt.
Published by R. Ackermann.
September 1, 1798. The Consequence of not Shifting the Leg. Published by
H. Angelo, Curzon Street, Mayfair.
THE CONSEQUENCE OF NOT SHIFTING THE LEG.
September 1, 1798. The Advantage of Shifting the Leg. Published by H.
Angelo, Curzon Street, Mayfair.
THE ADVANTAGE OF SHIFTING THE LEG.
October 15, 1798. The glorious victory obtained over the French fleet off the
Nile on August 1, 1798, by the gallant Admiral Lord Nelson of the Nile.—Showing
the distressed situation of the French frigate La Serieuse, of 36 guns
and 250 men, which, after having been dismasted, sank. L'Orient of 120 guns,
and 1,010 men, commanded by the French Admiral Brueys, is seen in the background
blowing up, by which she considerably damaged The Majestic, of 74
guns, 590 men, commanded by Captain Westcott, who fell early in the action.
The Majestic was, after his death, fought with the utmost bravery by her first
lieutenant, Mr. Cuthbert, during the remainder of the action. London: published
October 15, 1798, at Ackermann's Gallery, 101 Strand. Rowlandson del.
October 20, 1798. Admiral Nelson recruiting with his brave tars after the
glorious Battle of the Nile. Rowlandson del. and sculp. Published at Ackermann's
Gallery, Strand.—The gallant admiral and his chosen captains are raised
above the crowd on deck; they are, like true British tars of the old school,
encouraging the esprit de corps which the hero perfectly understood, since he was
able, so far as the sea-lions who served under him were concerned, to cultivate it
to such unmeasurable advantage for the honour of his country.
The brave tars, of all denominations, are thoroughly enjoying themselves
after their own hearts, while commemorating the immortal victory of Aboukir
Bay, and with each successive bumper are toasting their idol, who is set in their
midst, and drinking success and glory to the navy of Old England, and confusion
to her enemies—patriotic sentiments to which one and all were prepared to give
practical effect in the hour of action.
Dammy Jack, what a gig, what a true British whim,
Let the fiddles strike up on the main:
What seaman would care for an eye or a limb
To fight o'er the battle again?
Put the bumpers about and be gay,
To hear how our doxies will smile.
Here's to Nelson for ever, huzza,
And King George on the banks of the Nile.
See their tricolor'd rags how they're doft,
To show that we're lords of the sea,
While the standard of England is flying aloft,
Come, my lads, let us cheer it with three!
1798. A Mahomedan Paradise.—A Turk embracing an elegantly dressed and
highly presentable female.
November 12, 1798. High Fun for John Bull, or the Republicans put to
their last shift. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The victory gained
by Nelson at Aboukir Bay, over the combined fleets, disconcerted the French
enthusiasts and restored confidence at home; it was recognised that while
English admirals could sweep their enemies from the seas, neither the dangers of
invasion, nor the difficulties of contending with France, need be ranked of much
consequence. In the print, John Bull is enjoying the High Fun of setting his
opponents to equip fresh fleets, in order that his sailors may carry them off
captive as trophies. A Dutch Oven is serving as the bakery, Mynheer is pushing
in a fresh batch of war frigates; 'Donder and Blaxan to dis fraternisation,
instead of smoking mine pipes, and sacking de gold, dis French broders make
me build ships, dat Mynheer Jan Bull may have the fun to take dem.' The
Spaniard, with a tray of big guns, is faring no better under fraternisation. 'How!
that Nelson wit one arm and eye can take our ships by dozens, then vat shall we
do against the autres, wid two arms and eyes? day will have two dozen at a time.'
The Frenchmen are excited over their prospects; the head baker has a fine
batch ready for the oven: 'Sacredieu, Citoyens, make a haste wit one autre
fleet, den we will show you how to make one grande Invasion;' the journeyman
is working at his kneading tub, which contains such ingredients for fresh fleets
as, Ruination, Botheration, Confiscation, Requisition, Plunderation, Limitation,
Execution, Constitution, Fraternisation, Naturalisation, Expedition, Abolition,
Cut-throatation, and Damnation. The assistant is not hopeful: 'By Gat, well
you may talk, make haste, when that English Nelson take our ships by
the douzaine!' John Bull, whip in hand, is laughing with satisfaction: 'What!
you could not find that out before, you stupid dupes, but since you began the
fun you shall keep on—so work away, dam ye, else Jack Tar will soon be idle.'
Jack Tar is seen hopping off with a full load of ships; his spirits are excellent:
'Push on, keep moving, I'll soon come for another cargo; Old England for ever,
huzza!'
1798. The Discovery. Republished 1800, 1808–9, &c.—A bed-chamber is
the scene of the discovery; a young couple have been surprised by a corpulent
old gentleman, who is threatening a kneeling and simple-looking youth with a
red-hot poker; the detected swain, who has been disclosed in a cupboard, is
entreating forgiveness with clasped hands, and the lady is dissolved in tears.
Published 1798. Lately published by William Wigstead, 40 Charing Cross.
Printed September, 1799.
Published 1798. Annals of Horsemanship.—Containing accounts of accidental
experiments, and experimental accidents, both successful and unsuccessful,
communicated by various correspondents to Geoffrey Gambado, Esq. Illustrated
with seventeen copper plates. Printed on a super-royal paper. Price in
boards, 15s. 3d.
Published 1798. The Academy of Grown Horsemen.—Containing complete
instructions for walking, trotting, cantering, galloping, stumbling, and tumbling.
Printed on a super-royal paper, and illustrated with twelve copper plates. Price
in boards, 15s. 3d.
Published 1798. Love in Caricature. On eleven plates, etched by Rowlandson;
with a humorous frontispiece. The plates consist of—Spiritual Lovers,
Aged Lovers, Sympathetic Lovers, Quarrelsome Lovers, Duke's Place Lovers,
Avaricious Lovers, Country Lovers, Forgiving Lovers, Bashful Lovers, Platonic
Lovers, and Drunken Lovers. Published in two numbers, 5s. each.
1799.
January 1, 1799. Cries of London. No. 1. Buy a Trap, a Rat-Trap, buy
my Trap. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The vendor of rat-traps
is pausing before a shop decorated with such live stock as a rabbit in a hutch,
and a jackdaw in a cage; he is offering his traps to a spectacled old gentleman,
who is considering his ware with curiosity. The rats in a trap, carried on the
trap-seller's arm, are exciting the interest of a dog.
CRIES OF LONDON. NO. 1, 'BUY A TRAP, A RAT TRAP, BUY MY TRAP.'
January 1, 1799. Cries of London. No. 2. Buy my Goose, my Fat Goose.
Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—A fat countrified-looking dealer is
offering some fine fat geese for sale at the door of an apothecary, who, with his
wife, is examining the birds with unnecessary closeness.
February 20, 1799. Cries of London. No. 3. Last Dying Speech and Confession.
Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—A street ballad singer, of
the St. Giles' order, is crying the last speech of 'the unfortunate malefactors who
were executed this morning:' a common enough announcement when the extreme
punishment of hanging visited small offences, and executions were of
more frequent occurrence. That the fear of capital punishment did not act
as a corrective to theft is illustrated in the background of the print, where a
mere infant is drawn in the act of picking the pocket of a passing pedestrian.
February 20, 1799. Cries of London. No. 4. Do you want any brick-dust?
Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—From this plate it seems that brick-dust,
in the artist's days, was sold like sand. A patient donkey is saddled with
an enormous pannier of brick-dust, and the vendor is pouring the contents of a
measure into a bowl, held at the door of a highly respectable residence, by a
pretty maid, to whose personal captivations the attentions of the brick-dust
dealer are most particularly addressed.
March 1, 1799. Cries of London. No. 5. Water-cresses, come buy my
Water-cresses. An old shylock-like person is knocking at a door in Portland
Street (Mrs. Burke's), and is solicited to buy water-cresses by a neat maiden
with a pretty face and a tall shapely form; the old reprobate is leering at
the water-cress girl, and is disregarding a further offer of cresses from a more
ragged and juvenile seller. A pair of highly-coloured damsels, redundant in
charms and florid finery, are peering out of an upper window at the aged
visitor.
CRIES OF LONDON. NO. 5, 'WATER-CRESSES, COME BUY MY WATER-CRESSES.'
1799. Cries of London. No. 6. All a-growing, a-growing; here's flowers for
your gardens.—A smart young gardener, with a substantial cart, drawn by a
donkey, has a handsome selection of various evergreens and flowers for sale; he
is standing at the door of a mansion, where a lady and little girl are choosing
from his stock of geraniums in pots.
May 4, 1799. Cries of London. No. 8. Hot cross buns, two a penny buns.—A
decent woman, wearing a white apron, and with a cloth over her basket, is
supplying a patroness with a plateful of hot cross buns. A pretty woman, in a
neat morning dress, is buying buns, and her children by her side are tasting the
same without any loss of time. Outside a church, in the background, is a stout
dignitary, with flowing gown, sleeves, and full wig, who is sweeping away from
an appeal for charity addressed to him by a beggar woman and her offspring.
February 1, 1799. A Charm for a Democracy, Reviewed, Analysed, and
Destroyed, January 1, 1799, to the confusion of its Affiliated Friends. Published
for the Anti-Jacobin Review, by T. Whittle, Peterborough Court, Fleet Street.—The
Tory party at the beginning of 1799 (the parliamentary session had
opened at the end of November 1788) endeavoured to stifle the Opposition by
raising outcries against sedition, and by denouncing publications of a revolutionary
tendency, with which they pretended to implicate the Whigs. On the
strength of certain alarmist tracts, extraordinary measures were taken to restrain
the liberty of the press, and a few months later, in July, the Ministry went so far
as to put into effect the extreme measure of subjecting printing presses to a licence.
The organs of the Tories, exulting in the discomfiture of their opponents, were
continually urging increased and severer political persecutions, while they pretended
that the members of the Opposition were, in despair of succeeding
in preserving their party by fair means, identifying themselves with the more
treasonable writers, and were laying secret trains for the destruction of the
Constitution. The King's Bench, Newgate, and Coldbath Fields began to be
crowded with political prisoners, the last-mentioned receiving the popular nickname
of the Bastille. The Anti-Jacobin Review was, as usual, peculiarly smart
at the expense of the malcontents, and Rowlandson's assistance was enlisted to
prepare a cartoon which, it was supposed, would expose the Whigs in their true
colours, and hold up the abettors of sedition to the execration of all loyal
subjects.
There are four elements displayed in this general view of the fancied emergency:
the supernatural department, headed by the arch-fiend in person; the
Radical pamphleteers and so-called workers of treason; the prominent members
of the disconcerted Opposition and their followers; and the King and his
ministers displayed, as Olympians, in the clouds. The Infernal Influence is
superintending the preparation of the charm, which Horne Tooke and his friends,
as the witches in Macbeth, are working at a boiling cauldron; the nature of the
component parts of the conjuration are thus set forth:—