The verses intended to illustrate this picture of Death's visitations contain an argument between three friends on the best means of regulating their lives; the artist has worked out this theory in his plate. One member of the party assembled, a stout florid old gentleman, declares his golden rule in life has been to please himself, so he and his daughter are illustrating his text by drinking full bumpers of champagne; beside him, sipping his thimblefuls of sherry, is another theorist, who has passed his days in moderate indulgences. In an invalid chair beside the fire sits their host, a vaporous hypochondriac, who has passed his existence in humouring imaginary ills on a diet of sago and doctor's stuff. His nurse is preparing a saucepan of gruel, which the Mortis Imago, as his convivial friend has christened him, is preferring to more exhilarating beverages. Death has stepped in and settled the question as to which of these old schoolfellows shall last the longest; he has placed his bony hand on the shoulder of the great patron of doctors, and before departing with his 'meagre meal' he is giving the friends, who are allowed to survive for the time being, this piece of gratuitous advice if they would put off his visits as long as possible:—
Extremes endeavour to forego,
Nor feed too high, nor feed too low.
Plate 3. The Nursery.
Death rocks the cradle: life is o'er:
The infant sleeps, to wake no more.
This picture may be designated a warning to fashionable mothers. A fine infant has been 'put out to nurse;' it is evident that the child would have been better at home. The 'foster mother' is a coarse sloven, and has neglected her charge for her self-indulgence. The natural parent, a handsome young woman, dressed in the height of the mode, and accompanied by friends of quality, has yielded to a sudden impulse to pay a visit to her offspring. The door of the cottage is opened, and this is what meets the horrified eyes of the party. The nurse sunk in a drunken sleep, her head on a cushion, another cushion at her feet, a flagon of spirits at her elbow and a glass in her hand, and a starved cat on her chair; the infant's food upset on the floor, the apartment neglected, a clothes-line and damp linen stretched over the infant's head, and Death sitting by, grotesquely rocking the cradle, and singing his mortal lullaby.
No shrieks, no cries will now its slumbers break,
The infant sleeps,—ah, never to awake!
Plate 4. The Astronomer.
Why, I was looking at the Bear:
But what strange planet see I there!
The astronomer, who from his surroundings would also seem a student of miscellaneous sciences, is seated in his observatory, deep in the contemplation of the planets. Grim Death has called to summon the 'learned Senex' hence, and he is playing his victim a final prank.
One evening, as he view'd the sky
Through his best tube with curious eye,
And 'mid the azure wilds of air
Pursu'd the progress of a star,
A figure seem'd to intervene,
Which in the sky he ne'er had seen,
But thought it some new planet given,
To dignify his views of heaven.
'Oh, this will be a precious boon!
Herschel's volcanoes in the Moon
Are nought to this,' old Senex said;
'My fortune is for ever made.'
'It is, indeed,' a voice replied:
The old man heard it, terrified;
And as Fear threw him to the ground,
Through the long tube Death gave the wound.