March 1786. [The Polish dwarf] (Count Boruwloski) performing before the Grand Seigneur. Published by E. Jackson, 14, Marylebone Street.
The famous Count Boruwloski visited nearly all the courts of Europe, where he was made the most of on account of his remarkable diminutiveness, as at the age of twenty his height was but two feet four inches. This Polish miniature man differed from dwarfs in general, as his figure was well-proportioned, and he further possessed perfect breeding, was intellectual, good-natured, and accomplished, and, among other gifts, enjoyed a talent for music, which he had cultivated. His memoirs, written by himself, first appeared in 1788; he lived to the advanced age of ninety-eight, he was born at Chaliez, in Russian Poland, November 1739; he died at Banks' Cottage, near Durham (the gift, it is said, of some of the prebendaries of Durham Cathedral), September 13, 1837.
The artist, who had an opportunity of studying this duodecimo edition of humanity from the life, has represented Count Boruwloski in the act of favouring that mysterious potentate, the Grand Seigneur, with a tune on the violin, within the sacred and unapproachable precincts (as far as mankind is concerned) of the harem. The contrast presented between this perfect miniature and the full-blown and highly developed beauties of the seraglio, the overfed Grand Turk, and his gigantic guards, is ludicrously marked.
THE POLISH DWARF (COUNT BORUWLOSKI) PERFORMING BEFORE THE GRAND SEIGNEUR.
April 1, 1786. The Dying Patient, or the Doctor's Last Fee. Published by H. Brookes, Coventry Street.
1786. [Brewer's Drays]. Published by E. Jackson, 14, Marylebone Street, Golden Square.—An unusually careful sketch—for Rowlandson—of the interior of the premises of a certain great brewer, most probably those of the renowned Mr. Whitbread, in Chiswell Street, visited in state by their gracious Majesties about this period, when the Royal condescension was made the subject of the famous ode by Peter Pindar—
Full of the art of brewing beer, The monarch heard of Whitbread's fame; Quoth he unto the queen: 'My dear, my dear, Whitbread hath got a marvellous great name. Charly, we must, must, must see Whitbread brew Rich as us, Charly, richer than a Jew. Shame! shame! we have not yet his brewhouse seen!' Thus sweetly said the king unto the queen.