Part 1

GALLERY

OF

COMICALITIES;

EMBRACING HUMOROUS

SKETCHES

BY

THE BROTHERS

_ROBERT and GEORGE CRUIKSHANK_,

_ROBERT SEYMOUR_,

AND OTHERS.

=London:= Charles Hindley, 41, BOOKSELLERS' ROW, ST. CLEMENT DANES, STRAND, W.C.

THE

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES.

Most of the "COMICALITIES" here re-produced in _fac simile_ first appeared in the columns of BELL'S LIFE IN LONDON AND SPORTING CHRONICLE during the years 1827-8 and 9, and caused an unprecedented increase in the weekly sale of that journal.

As a painter of LIFE and NATURE, in all their truth and eccentricity, GEORGE CRUIKSHANK may be truly said to stand unrivalled, and to be only equalled, even in former times by the inimitable HOGARTH. The present Series has been principally selected from "CRUIKSHANK'S _Illustrations of_ TIME and PHRENOLOGY," and his _Illustrations_ to Mr. Wright's "MORNINGS AT BOW STREET" and the sequel entitled "MORE MORNINGS AT BOW STREET"--works which are replete with wit and humour.

ROBERT CRUIKSHANK, the elder brother of George Cruikshank, Illustrated many books, &c., including Pierce Egan's, "THE FINISH to the Adventures of TOM, JERRY, and LOGIC, in their pursuits through LIFE in and out of London," 1827. Died March 13, 1856. Aged 65 years.

ROBERT SEYMOUR, a graphic humourist was born in London, about the year 1800. He was apprenticed to Mr. Thomas Vaughan, a pattern-drawer in Spitalfields, and his practice in that department of art appears to have given him the facility and accuracy of pencil for which he was afterwards so distinguished. Within a very short period of fulfilling his term of apprenticeship, he commenced, on his own account, as a painter in oils, and must have been tolerably expert at that early age, as already in the spring of 1822, we find him exhibiting a picture of some pretensions at the Royal Academy.

He executed various other oil paintings about this period, but the more pressing demand on his talents was for drawings on wood, a mode of book illustration then in great vogue. The various illustrated books and periodicals published for the next ten or twelve years bespeak his popularity and industry in that department.

Although Seymour's hands were full of commissions for drawing on wood, he was always desirous of practice in a more independent department of art, feeling that the engraver, however competent, frequently failed to communicate the full force of his drawing. He, therefore, determined--where possible, on etching or engraving his own designs on copper or steel. He was very successful in full length sketches of public characters, and has left us many life-like portraits of members of the Turf and Drama between 1830 and 1836.

But of all Seymour's various works his "Humorous Sketches" were his prime favourites, and will best perpetuate his name. They were first published between the years 1834 and 1836, in detached prints at 3d. each, by Mr. Richard Carlisle, of Fleet Street. The entire collection was subsequently engraved on steel, and published in 1838, with letterpress description by Crowquill (Alfred Henry Forrester), the popular humourist of the day.

Figaro in London--the popular predecessor of Punch, edited and published by Gilbert A'Beckett from December 1831 to 1836--contains nearly 300 woodcuts after Seymour. They were also published separately as "Seymour's Caricature Gallery," and after his death were all re-published on six large sheets, each containing 20 subjects, as "Seymour's Comic Scrap Sheets."

Seymour's connection with the publication and illustration of the now famous Pickwick Papers is well known to the reading world by the printed statement of Mrs. Seymour, and Charles Dickens' own account of the origin of the Pickwick Papers, to need repetition.

Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly, 'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did see; You've only got to pop your head within inside of the door, You'll see so many curious things you never saw before! Will you, will you, will you, will you, Walk in pretty Fly, &c.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE DRAMA

"WHERE SHALL I DINE."

Where shall I dine? Would I could tell, For, hungry, faint, and weary, It is to me, I know full well, An all-important query.

Thou Man of Flank! a CUT of thine Would silence hunger's call; But a Friend's, CUT alas! is mine, "The unkindest cut of all."

O for a herring, dainty fish! Or tender lambkin's fry; But as in vain for MEAT I wish, 'Tis MEET that I should sigh.

Ere by the freaks of Fortune floor'd, Such was my former luck, That under many a friendly board My trotters I could tuck.

Now, though at dining hour I go, From house to house I roam, My rap too well the servants know, And "Master's not at home."

'Tis getting cold, and wet, and dark, To fate I must resign; Duke Humphrey calls me to the Park, And with his Grace I'll dine.

"THE PILOT."

Thou, guardian Pilot of the night, One favour we would ax-- Tell us, old Cock, and tell us right, Where we can get some Max?

We need the skilful pilot's aid Amid the billows' roar, And pilots still I find, old Blade, Are handy lads ashore.

Then steer us for a friendly port And keep the wessel steady, And you shall have a dram of short-- In brandy, rum, or Deady.

With bread and cheese I'll stow your hold; I likes a hearty grubber; But, shiver me, it's getting cold, So take the helm, you lubber.

Come, Poll, my buxom wench make sail, I'm one as never fears man, To reach our port we cannot fail With such an able steersman.

Then come, old Boy, there's nought to pay, For I will be your banker; Nor do I care how long you stay Wherever we cast anchor.

"IS HE JEALOUS?"

"O fly with me, my lady fair-- I love and I adore you; Henceforth the heart and fortune share Of him who kneels before you.

"Then listen to thy lover's vows, Nor of vain scruples tell us; Why care a pin about your spouse-- Confound him!--is he jealous?"

"Go, get you gone, you naughty man, Nor dare attempt my virtue; I hide my blushes with my fan, Yet I've no wish to hurt you."

Then, gay Lothario! persevere-- Still urge thy passion brisker; Nor dread an interloper here, Thou man of bushy whisker!

If, armed with poker and with pop, Poor Spouse should be so rude now As at this moment in to drop, Faith! wouldn't he intrude now?

O, married dames! when lovers' sighs Steal softly on your ear, Shun the temptation, if you're wise-- The Devil's always near.

"MACBETH."

"What fearful vision strikes thy sight, What phantom haunts thy brain, That thus thou startest with affright, Thou sooty-visaged Thane?"

"No dagger stained with blood I view, To fill my soul with dread; But SPIRITS pale of RUIN BLUE Of DEADY--not the DEAD--

"To clutch thee how this breast doth throb, Thou source of purest pleasure, Fain would I wash my sooty gob From yon Imperial measure!

"Soon may the cordial MAX be mine, My sinking heart to cheer; So my grim soul no more shall pine On INTERMEDIATE Beer.

"And when the FLUID warms my FLUE, Rous'd by the generous stuff, I'm ---- if I'm the Faker who Shall first cry, 'Hold--enough!'"

"THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."

What relish to the tea you sip, How smoothly it goes down, If a poor friend has made a slip, Or suffer'd Fortune's frown.

"Well! these are shocking things I hear, To doubt I much incline; At any rate, you know, my dear, It's no concern of mine.

"But if such courses folks will chose, And many do not doubt it, For us, you know, there's some excuse, If we should talk about it.

"There's something more, I plainly see Which you don't chose to utter; Do make a confidant of me-- Do take some bread and butter."

Scandal's a most delightful theme-- A spring that ne'er will fail; But, Tabitha, you little dream, You're scalding Pussy's tail!

Like the wild maniac is your breath-- Of all mankind the pest-- Who scatters poison, ruin, death, Then cries, "'Twas but in jest!"

"EVERY MAN HAS HIS FAULT."

Doctor, thy accents, soft and bland, Are ever sure to please; What female bosom can withstand A Parson on his knees?

"No more will I, with drunken sot, Carry connubial farce on; If thou, fond man will share my lot, And prove an upright Parson.

"With stagg'ring spouse no longer vex'd, Free from a useless charge, Henceforward love shall be the text On which we'll both enlarge."

A parson, naughty people say, Is but a sinful elf-- Like road-post, pointing out the way He never takes himself.

"O, come and bless these Reverend arms, Nor scorn my holy vows; Why did hard Fate bestow such charms Upon a drunken spouse.

"O, can it be a fault to love A lady so divine? Then, by the powers that reign above, I own that fault is mine."

"LOVE, LAW, AND PHYSIC."

"Lady, the Patient's very ill, "The pulse is sinking fast, "'Tis really time to make his will, "I'm sure he cannot last.

"Though, as we bear him to his grave, "Your grief you cannot smother, "As one man's life I cannot save, "I'll soon provide another."

This language we might well suppose, Would at such time have shock'd her; But the poor Lady's looks disclose No wrath towards the Doctor.

Then, Lawyer, all in vain you sue, For Physic must succeed, And what, alas! remains for you? The WILL--without the DEED.

"RAISING THE WIND."

A long farewell my breeks of shag; It grieves me to the heart, To doom thee to a Hebrew's bag-- But you and I must part.

No more thy substance, smooth and warm, Shall shield me from the weather; And I must bear the pelting storm, With bare and breekless nether.

The loss 'tis needless to deplore, To my hard fate I bow, I was an Irishman before, I am a Scotsman now.

Poverty in this vale of woe Some strange acquaintance brings; And Poverty full well I know Makes people do strange things.

Why doth yon Nymph with warming pan Parade the streets about? To raise the needful as she can-- To put it up the spout!

How many noble, good, and wise, Are turn'd in life adrift-- Forced their last SHIRT to sacrifice, To make another SHIFT.

"MEASURE FOR MEASURE."

"Die! dastard Snip--that mortal thrust Shall perforate thy lungs, And lay thee prostrate in the dust, Thou proudest of the Dungs!

"No more, among my cross-legg'd band, Thy schemes shall gender strife; And ne'er again thy rebel hand Attempt thy master's life!

"Where, now, are all thy idle boasts? This blow shall introduce Thy Spirit where the Tailor ghosts Eat visionary goose!

"Down, Traitor! to thy native Hell! Fresh treasons there to plan-- With recreant spectre Snips to dwell-- Thou fraction of a man!

"Ye restless Dungs of spirit rough, From this example know-- ONE ACTIVE MEASURE is enough To lay a traitor low!"

"THE BOTTLE IMP."

Imp of the Bottle! appear, appear, Arm'd with fresh fluid our souls to cheer; Thy features with mirth and good humour beaming, Thy nectar luscious, and bright and creaming-- What is the name of the Bottle Sprite? The Star of the Colonnade--Charley Wright. Long be the precious beverage quaff'd! Open your lips to receive the draught. The magic power of the bright Champagne Shall sooth the spirit and fire the brain; And trouble and grief will vanish quite From the happy realms of the Bottle Sprite. To those who have long been estrang'd from mirth, And weary moments have pass'd on earth; On whom the storm of adversity lowers, While, in secret, they sigh for happier hours, O let not the Bottle Imp whisper in vain; There's a cure for all care in this bright Champagne; As the mist on the mountain melts away At the radiant beams of the God of Day, So, when the nectar hath brightened the heart, The shadows of pain and sorrow depart, And all the Blue Devils must wing their flight, When a cork is drawn by the Bottle Sprite. Imp of the Bottle! still gild our hours-- So shall our pathway be strew'd with flowers; Harmony uninterrupted shall reign, And the watchword for pleasure be "Wright's Champagne." And be it our duty as well as delight, To honour the draughts of the Bottle Sprite.

"THE RIVALS."

Fond Youths, ah! how shall I decide According to your merit?-- Who shall the Seaman's FLESH deride-- Or who, the Parson's SPIRIT?

When the bold Tar proceeds to tell His tale of amorous pain, 'Tis hard that one who pleads so well Should ever plead in vain.

And when his suppliant rival sighs, How can I say forbear! Who can resist his piercing eyes, Or scorn a Parson's prayer?

Ah! either lover to refuse My virgin heart is loth; And where it is so hard to choose, 'Tis well to cut you both!

"LOVE LAUGHS AT LOCKSMITHS."

Come to my arms, my blushing maid, Nor heed the padlock's strength; Our love defies the Blacksmith's trade, And I am yours--AT LENGTH!

Anon, the padlock we'll remove, From where it lately hung; And, if a scolding wife you prove, I'll clap it on your tongue!

OTHELLO.

"OTHELLO'S OCCUPATION'S GONE."

What, Mungo! laid upon the shelf! You seem in piteous plight, Like your own broom you're stumpt yourself-- Poor Massa Lilywhite!

You thrive far better in a shower Than in the sunny shine-- A plague upon the Comet's power, That makes the days so fine!

Yet strive your drooping heart to raise, Your sinking soul to cheer; For muddy streets and dirty days Will very soon be here.

And when those sloppy hours return, Wealth shall be yours anon; Nor poor Othello longer morn His occupation gone.

"HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS."

"Fair Nymph of the perspiring brow, Let these vain scruples cease, While on thy rosy lips I now Imprint the kiss of peace.

"O! let the ardent sighs you hear, The vows of love I utter, Steal gently on thy willing ear, As smooth as melted butter.

"Always spare diet must be wrong-- 'Tis weary, stale, and flat; And having lived on lean so long, 'Tis time I turn to fat."

"O vile, unworthy man! forbear-- Such conduct who can brook? Thus to desert thy lady fair, To hug a greasy cook!

"I cannot to such wrongs submit, But soon will clear the coast-- Hence, vile Sultans of the Spit! For I will rule the roast.

"And never let me see you more, As thus I've caught you tripping-- I didn't know my lord before Had such a love for dripping."

THE DRUNKARD'S PROGRESS.

STEP THE FIRST

The March of Intellect implies That men begin to think-- I leave their wisdom to the wise, And sing the March of Drink!

Now let us make it our employ The Drunkard's course to scan; And mark the habits in the boy Which ripen in the man:

Observe! this hopeful Sprig of Snip's By stealth has seized the gin-- Applies the bottle to his lips, And sucks the poison in.

Drink deep, thou liquor-loving brat! Nor spare the cordial drop, While the old folks enjoy their chat, And gossip in the shop.

They taught thee first to love the juice, And prove the maxim true, That sauce for gander and for goose Is sauce for gosling too!

STEP THE SECOND.

"My Dear, the morning's cold and raw, And as I cannot stop, Make haste, the daffy bottle draw, And let us have a drop.

"Our little boy all fume and fret I can't abide to see-- You and I always loved a wet, And wherefore shouldn't he?

"Cut out for drinking he appears, The feeling gives me pleasure; Then never mind his tender years, But give him ample measure."

And, Mrs. Snip, wet both his eyes; So shall the lad inherit His mother's thirsty properties, And all his father's spirit!

For ways in which a child should go To train him it is fit; And as he grows in years, we know He won't depart from it.

STEP THE THIRD.

White Conduit! in thy alcoves green, While softly sighs the summer gale, How many Nymphs and Swains are seen To sip their tea or swig their ale!

And weekly here at Sabbath's close The Hebrew gay ones still resort-- The taudry Belles and Dingy Beaux Their party-colour'd togs to sport.

Why should not Snip, our man of measure, With Spouse and Darling wander here? To pass a Sunday eve in pleasure, To blow a cloud and taste the beer!

And let young Hopeful have his fill-- His rising spirit why control? "I loves," cries Snip, "to see him swill-- It makes the boy so very droll:

"Then seize the jug, and do not spare! But be awake, thou man of stitches, Or, by the powers, your hopeful Heir Will spill the liqour on your breeches."

The rapid course of time we know; Why waste it then in dry reflection? Another week, no doubt, will show Some farther progress to perfection.

STEP THE FOURTH.

Go on and prosper, knowing lads! In life there's nothing like variety, To see thee makes my spirit glad, In such respectable society.

Let every care disperse in smoke, Each anxious thought in beer be drown'd, While you enjoy your game, and smoke-- Top-sawyer of the skittle-ground.

"Boy, bring the heavy, for I'm dry, "And scrape a little ginger in it; "And now I'm ready for a shy "At knock 'em down, and bet I'll win it.

"How much more pleasant to be here, "With friends to drink a social drop "Of Wyatt's ale, or Barclay's beer, "Than plodding in a humbug shop!

"'Twas Dad that taught me first to swill, "(Come pass the pewter pot, and end it), "And, whilst there's money in the till, "The ould un knows that I will spend it."

Careers so brilliant why impede? Vain every effort to instruct you! But we shall learn as we proceed, To what these courses must conduct you.

STEP THE FIFTH.

"Nymph of the Bar, accept my vows, And by that glass of cordial Deady, In me you'll find a faithful spouse For love and liqour always ready.

"Let those two worthies have a dram, For, though I'm getting rather mellow, You'll always find me, as I am, A d--d good natured jolly fellow.

"Come, keep the chalks all right, old dame, I've got another glass before me-- If I like max, am I to blame? Why daddy did the same before me."

"Lauk, sir, you take me by surprise-- But some men have a way so winning-- You guess my wishes by my eyes-- I'm nearly tir'd of liquor spinning.

"I cannot bear to answer--No; And as it's cold and sloppy weather, Do let us have, before you go, A drop of Cherry-bounce together."

Short be your courtship, worthy pair, With all the happiness you merit; When both such CORDIAL feelings share, No doubt it will proceed with SPIRIT.

STEP THE SIXTH.

Farewell to courtship's happy hours! Hail to the joys of wedded life-- How soon the sweets have turned to sours! A drunken Husband--scolding Wife.

Was it for this fair blooming Maid, This scene of sad, domestic jar, That, by the wiles of man betray'd, You left the tap room and the bar?

Why, thou unworthy slave of drink! Thy partner's peace thus plant a dagger in, And hastening to destruction's brink, Steer homeward's nightly drunk and staggering?

"You filthy wretch, what! drunk again-- Too soon will poverty assail us; Can't you a single night refrain From tippling in that cursed ale-house?

"You little dream, you worthless sot, What mischief o'er your head is brewing, You'll part with everything we've got And bring your wife and child to ruin."

"Why that I'm fresh can't be denied, But steady, my good wench, go steady-- For, by that flask you seek to hide, To RUIN you have got already!"

STEP THE SEVENTH.

Old Snip deceas'd, his hopeful heir, To earn an honest bob, Has open'd shop for leather ware, And turned a drunken Snob:

"A pair of dancing slippers bring-- Let them be small enough; I wish to have them quite the thing, And let the soles be buff."

"Buff soles I haven't in my shop; All that were here are gone; But, Madam, here's a prime buff top-- Do please to try it on."

"How dare you treat a Lady so? Begone, you saucy brute! Your conduct all the town shall know-- Try on a fellow's boot!"

"Why, Ma'am, you're somewhat out of tune, And rather too particular; I've had a drop this afternoon, And can't stand perpendicular.

"You see, Ma'am, I'm a jolly dog-- My throat is always dry; And when I've had my whack of grog, Why, 'damn the shop!' say I."

STEP THE EIGHTH.

Behold our thirsty hero now, To keep the game up always zealous, With all his honours on his brow, And Chairman of the FUNNY FELLOWS.

"I humbly move," cries Lawyer Glum, "That all our glasses charg'd may be-- I can't sit any longer dumb-- 'The Chairman's health with three times three.'

"We know him for a jovial boy-- Long may he flourish at our mess, And still continue to enjoy Prosperity--Health--Happiness."

"Hurra!" cries Ellwide, "here's his health: We'll give the bowl of punch no quarter-- Thro' life, in poverty or wealth, I'll stick to him like bricks and mortar."

"While I've a tanner in my till, Or in my purse can sport a bob, I'll vow eternal friendship still, And share my stock with honest Snob."

Friendship's a most endearing tie, Unless it comes your cash to borrow, Then all its bright attractions die With "Can't you call again to-morrow?"

STEP THE NINTH.