He looked back with genuine remorse upon youthful ex­trav­a­gances, and, though doubt­less inclined by nature to be some­thing of a poseur, and though he at­ti­tu­di­nised some­what too much over his virtuous fads at last, was not going to bolster up his reputation by an easy forgetfulness of early indiscretions. {77}

Philoprogenitiveness

Only a few words need be said of the other Cruikshank sup­pres­sions here reproduced. The first is the well-known plate “Phil­o­pro­gen­i­tive­ness,” which was published in the earliest separate edition of that noble Essay on the Genius of George Cruikshank, written by Thackeray for, and reprinted {78} from, The Westminster Review in 1840. And surely it was a prurient and unnatural squeamishness which condemned this illus­tra­tion to exclusion in the subsequent editions. It is from the Phrenological Illustrations, published in 1826, one of the most famous of Cruikshank’s pub­li­ca­tions. I shall follow Thackeray’s excellent example of refraining from any description, and just leave the design to speak for itself, for it is a ridiculous task “to translate his designs into words, and go to the printer’s box for a description of all that fun and humour which the artist can produce by a few skilful turns of his needle.”

The second is the cancelled wood engraving entitled “Drop it,” which appears on page 18 of the first edition of Talpa; or the Chronicle of a Clay Farm, an Agricultural Fragment, by C. M. H(oskyns), published in 1853. For some unknown reason it disappears from subsequent editions, and is only of importance to those who pride themselves on being the possessors of Cruikshank editiones principes.

“Drop it!”

There is another Cruikshank sup­pres­sion which might, were we hard up for material, be dragged {79} into a treatise on suppressed illus­tra­tions. I refer to a wood engraving of the redoubtable George himself taking his publisher, Brooks, by the nose with a pair of tongs, which resulted in the sup­pres­sion of the pamphlet entitled A Pop-gun fired off by George Cruikshank, etc., in which it appeared. But if we were to open these pages to the con­sid­er­ation of suppressed books and pamphlets, I should soon find my publishers remonstrating, and the volume too big to handle. Further, it affords me the gratifying opportunity of referring the reader to a small book of mine, published in 1897, by Mr. W. P. Spencer, of 27 New Oxford Street, and entitled George {80} Cruikshank’s Portraits of Himself which I, as the author, of course consider has not attained the circulation it deserves. There will be found a full account of the suppressed pamphlet, together with a re­pro­duc­tion of the offending design.

Let me close this chapter with “A Cruikshank Outrage,” which I originally contributed to The Gentleman’s Magazine. It is, I think, sufficiently apropos, and will, I hope, appeal to all good Cruikshankians.

This is the bookcase, this the key; None may open this lock but me;