September 3, 1809. The Pope's Excommunication of Buonaparte, or Napoleon brought to his last stool. Published by T. Tegg.—The Pope and his legates have called on the Emperor, with candle and bell, to produce an effect. The head of the Church is propped up on 'French crutches,' and his triple crown is split asunder; he is declaring: 'He has cracked my crown, overturned my temporal dignities; but I am so trammelled in these crutches that I cannot follow him as I would wish; however, my good Lord Cardinals, read him the excommunication—it will make him tremble on his throne.' The Cardinals proceed to rehearse the contents of the comminatory scroll; the Emperor, who is holding an 'Essay on the Church of Rome,' amongst other waste papers, is returning, unmoved: 'Mercy on me! I never heard anything half so dreadful. When you have done with that paper, gentlemen, I will thank you for it!'
September 4, 1809. Song by Commodore Curtis. Tune, 'Cease, rude Boreas.' Published by T. Tegg.—The artist has furnished the heading for a parody setting forth the adventures of the gallant Curtis, Alderman and Commodore, with the expedition which was sent to assist our allies the Dutch against the French. Curtis is seated in his armchair in the cabin of his yacht, a great gold challenge cup, Speedy and Soon, in his grasp, with a turtle laid on its back by his side. A party of English officers belonging to the expedition have come on board, and they are making free with his good things; wine and punch are flowing lavishly. According to the song-writer's version these gallant warriors, having boarded the Commodore's yacht and made sad havoc with all his provisions, succeeded, after a three days' devastation, in eating and drinking all the plentiful supplies laid in by poor Curtis, until at last he began to dread that they might take it into their heads to eat him too. Although the worthy cit set out enthusiastically and filled with valour, his return was somewhat less heroic:—
From Ramsgate we set sail for Flushing,
To aid our friends the Mynheers;
And for the Scheld our fleet was pushing,
Resolved to trounce the d——d Monsieurs!
Slightly discomfited, the Commodore sounds a retreat:—
Now farewell all my hopes of glory,
Scheld's muddy flood and isles adieu;
I'll lead the van with the first story,
And tell the Cockneys something new.
I'll talk of batteries, bloody sieges,
Of fizzing bombshells, towns on fire,
Till my tale the whole town obliges
My deeds and courage to admire.
September 14, 1809. A Design for a Monument to be erected in commemoration of the glorious and never-to-be-forgotten Grand Expedition, so ably planned and executed in the year 1809. Published by T. Tegg (107).—The bust of General Chatham, crowned with bulrushes, is at the head of this satirical memorial; monkeys and frogs are grouped on either side, 'French monkeys in attitudes of derision,' and 'Dutch frogs smoking their pipes in safety.' The shield represents 'the immortal William Pitt, Earl of Chatham,' obscured in the clouds. The supporters of the escutcheon are a 'British seaman in the dumps,' and 'John Bull, somewhat gloomy—but for what it is difficult to guess, after so glorious an achievement.'
The Motto.
Great Chatham, with one hundred thousand men,
To Flushing sailed, and then sailed back again.
The fleet is represented sailing homeward under the 'Sun of Glory.' 'A flying view of the return of the expedition. O tempora! O mores!'