COUNSELLOR AND CLIENT.
1784. [Counsellor and Client.]—A simple citizen has waited on his lawyer with a document; the client is seated, very ill at ease; we can see that he is the person who will suffer; his face expresses perplexity and suspense. The counsellor is, on the contrary, very much at his ease, and is looking over the document confided to him, with a sly and satisfied expression, evidently seeing his way to some 'excellent practice.'
May 4, 1784. La Politesse Françoise, or the English Ladies' Petition to His Excellency the Mushroom Ambassador. Published by H. Humphrey, Bond Street.—The representative of Louis XVI. is all bows and smirks, lace ruffles and cravat, sword, bagwig, and shoe-buckles; he has turned his face away from a bevy of fair English beauties, bejewelled, prodigiously feathered, and wearing long court trains; the ambassador is obdurate to the entreaties of his petitioners. 'Parbleu, mesdames, vous n'y viendrez pas.'
With clasped hands and bended knees, They humbly sought the Count to please, And begged admission to his house. Not that for him they cared a louse, But wished within his walls to shine, And show those charms they think divine. His Ex. beheld these belles unmov'd— His back their impudence reproved.
July 24, 1784. 1784, or the Fashions of the Day. H. Repton inv., T. Rowlandson fecit.—The Park, with its mixed crowd of fashionable promenaders and pleasure-seekers, has afforded the designer ample scope for the delineation of both grotesque and graceful figures, modishly apparelled. In 1784, while the older generation still clung to the garments characteristic of the earlier Georges, the younger branches rushed into all the latest innovations—costumes which are generally received as distinctive of the end of the last and the beginning of the present century. Thus to the observer of the picturesque the fashions of 1784 offered the external habits of two distinct epochs. Among other features, indicative of the introduction of novelties, the artist has represented the parasol, or more properly the umbrella, then an object likely to occasion remark, as its general use was just coming into fashion.
August 8, 1784. The Vicar and Moses. Published by H. Humphrey, 18 New Bond Street.—A pictorial heading, in Rowlandson's characteristic style, to the famous old song of 'The Vicar and Moses,' by G. A. Stevens. The Vicar has been dragged unwillingly from his ale-cup, by his clerk, to assist at the burial of a child; the family mourners are waiting in the churchyard, as shown in the picture; Moses, the clerk, has put on his bands and found the parson's place in his book, and he is lighting the erratic footsteps of his patron with a broken candle placed in a horn lantern; as to the rotund dignitary of the Church, he is reeling along reluctantly; he wears his cassock and bands, as was the daily fashion at one time, and his hat is thrust well over his full-bottomed wig, which is somewhat awry; in one hand he retains his faithful pipe, and his tobacco-box is held in the other. The verses, which are tolerably well known, offer a whimsical description of how the Vicar, who happened to be non si ipse (i.e. 'the parson was tipsy'), having been disturbed at his meditations over a pot of ale, was informed that he was required to read the burial service over the body of one of his flock; the pastor felt strongly inclined to remain where he was, and proposed to postpone the ceremonial.
Then Moses reply'd: 'Sir, the parish will chide For keeping them out in cold weather.' 'Then, Moses,' quoth he, 'Go and tell 'em from me I'll bury them warm all together!'
'But, sir, it rains hard; Pray have some regard.' 'Regard! ay, 'tis that makes me stay, For no corpse, young or old, In rain can catch cold; But faith, Moses, you and I may!'
Moses begg'd he'd be gone, Saying, 'Sir, the rain's done; Arise, and I'll lend you my hand.' 'It's hard,' quoth the Vicar, 'To leave thus my liquor— To go when I'm sure I can't stand.'
At length, tho' so troubled, To the churchyard he hobbled, Lamenting the length of the way. Then 'Moses,' said he, 'Were I a Bishop, d'ye see, I need neither walk, preach, or pray!'