'Inspired with the juice and further excited by the agitation of dancing, most of my fair guests became still more exhilarated; some grew ecstatically merry, and a few scarcely manageable. Surrounded by these voluptuous "bacchæ," I feared the fate of Orpheus. Their frolics, however, I must say to their credit, were chiefly levelled at Don Michele, probably because he had spoiled the continuation of their sport. The poor man had now to suffer all sorts of mischief for refusing to join in their revels, till at last, for the sake of peace, he consented to dance one minuet, and no more. All was hushed in an instant, when he placed himself with his fortunate partner in the middle of the room, as stiff as buckram and as serious as if he were occupied with the solution of an algebraic problem. But no sooner had he performed the first step or two, than, in turning his body with grave elegance on the pivot of his toe, a pair of white silk garters were seen gracefully dangling down his back, and describing, at every turn of his automaton body, a variety of flowing irregular curves in the circumambient air. The merriment which this unusual sight occasioned, was in vain attempted to be stifled in a muttered titter; it soon burst out with increased violence, his wife not excepted, who heartily joined the general laugh, but informed her better half of the cause of the satisfaction he gave the company. When I learned the extent of the spoliation committed upon my bin, I did not so much regret the actual loss I thereby sustained, as apprehend some unpleasant scenes of interruption to our festivity and mirth from the excessive indulgence in the forbidden juice. However, whether it was owing to the excellence of the vintage, or to strength of constitution in the fair partakers, only one casualty occurred.
'The dawn of morn was the signal for the gradual separation of the company, from all of whom, whether of the establishment or extra guests, I had received in the course of the evening the most pressing requests to make their house my own; and to their credit I must say that, as far as I have yet had time or inclination to try the sincerity of their invitations, I have had no cause to regret my complaisance.
'When I relate that five leaden ice-moulds and eight of the confectioner's pewter spoons were missing, you will scarcely suppose that any of the good things, such as cakes, sweetmeats, &c., were suffered to remain on the sideboard at the departure of my guests. Whether this practice not to "leave a wreck behind" is as general here as in Malta, I am unable to decide. At the latter place, let the provision be ever so abundant, what the stomach cannot compass the pockets are sure to hold, and in stuffing those no great nicety is observed; so the article is portable at all, it finds its way into one or the other of the pedestrian saddle-bags as by instinct. I have been assured by one of our officers that, at a great fête which General Fox recently gave at Malta, one of the inhabitants (of sufficient rank to be of the party) very dexterously, and, as he fancied, unobserved, slipped a small pullet, wrapt in his pocket-handkerchief, into one of his side receptacles. Unfortunately, an officer near him, seeing the sleight-of-hand transaction, poured a dose of parsley and butter after it, saying very coolly, "Allow me, sir, to help you to a little sauce at the same time."'
1815. The Dance of Death. With illustrations, 2 vols., royal 8vo. Published by R. Ackermann. (See 1816.)
1816.
January 10, 1816. Exhibition at Bullock's Museum of Bonaparte's Carriage taken at Waterloo. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—Bullock's museum of natural curiosities was the receptacle for most of the novelties introduced to the British public at the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries. It was here that the sight-seer might view the Laplanders with their deer and sledges, the Hottentot Venus, the Polish dwarf, the Irish giant, and other marvels for the curious which happened to hit the capricious taste of the hour. It seems that the relics of the first Napoleon, made familiar enough to our generation at Madame Tussaud's Baker Street Museum, were the chief attractions held out by the earlier Bullock in 1816. The central point of the collection is the Emperor's travelling carriage; ladies are swarming and climbing over the vehicle, being pushed, dragged, and lifted into the inside, on to the driving-box, over the roof, into the boot behind, on the wheels, and, in fact, wherever a foothold can be secured. There is an animated attendance of visitors; the fair sex are particularly distinguishing themselves. Other personal relics of the Corsican are spread about, much as we see them in our day; the bust of the exile is placed by the side of a monkey, an illustration of the prejudice in which Napoleon was held at that period, which, by the way, is not unnatural, considering the exertions which the European bugbear had employed to ruin English commerce and to alienate our possessions abroad.
1816. Bullock's London Museum, Piccadilly.[26]—'Mr. Bullock, having purchased Bonaparte's carriage of Major von Keller, has here exhibited it. It was taken by him at the entrance of the small town of Jenappe, at eleven o'clock on the night of June 18, 1815. A full account of the carriage and its ingenious contents is to be found in the Repository of Arts for February 1816.'
March 31, 1816. The Attempt to Wash the Blackamoor White. In the Whitehall, City of Laputa.—There is no publisher's name on this plate, and the explanation of the subject, a military scandal, is not so clear as could be desired. An officer, dressed as a hussar, is standing in the centre, while being submitted to the whitewashing process; he wears no sword, and is holding a written defence in one hand. Above his head appears an arm, also belonging to an officer, which is menacing the hussar, who is appealing to his friends: 'O save my honour. Rub away, my friend, rub it home. O, 'tis the phantom of a horrid dream.' Another officer, from his uniform apparently in the Guards, is treading on a written 'oath,' and, with a pail of whitewash, is doing his best for the so-called 'Blackamoor,' declaring, 'We'll say nothing about your honour!' Another friend, in a Highland uniform, evidently a person of rank, since he wears a red riband, and has a star on his breast, is trying to obliterate the mark of a kick, which has left an ugly outline of a foot on the white pantaloons of the injured individual, but the impression is ineradicable: 'Deel o' me saul, mon, but the stain of the foot will ne'er come oot.'