The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK,
Eminent Caricaturist,
1792-1879.

GALLERY
OF
COMICALITIES;
EMBRACING HUMOROUS
SKETCHES

BY

THE BROTHERS

ROBERT and GEORGE CRUIKSHANK,

ROBERT SEYMOUR,

AND OTHERS.

London:
Charles Hindley,
41, Booksellers' Row, St. Clement Danes, Strand, w.c.

THE
GALLERY OF COMICALITIES.

Most of the "Comicalities" here re-produced in fac simile first appeared in the columns of Bell's Life in London and Sporting Chronicle during the years 1827-8 and 9, and caused an unprecedented increase in the weekly sale of that journal.

As a painter of Life and Nature, in all their truth and eccentricity, George Cruikshank may be truly said to stand unrivalled, and to be only equalled, even in former times by the inimitable Hogarth. The present Series has been principally selected from "Cruikshank's Illustrations of Time and Phrenology," and his Illustrations to Mr. Wright's "Mornings at Bow Street" and the sequel entitled "More Mornings at Bow Street"—works which are replete with wit and humour.

Robert Cruikshank, the elder brother of George Cruikshank, Illustrated many books, &c., including Pierce Egan's, "The Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their pursuits through Life in and out of London," 1827. Died March 13, 1856. Aged 65 years.

Robert Seymour, a graphic humourist was born in London, about the year 1800. He was apprenticed to Mr. Thomas Vaughan, a pattern-drawer in Spitalfields, and his practice in that department of art appears to have given him the facility and accuracy of pencil for which he was afterwards so distinguished. Within a very short period of fulfilling his term of apprenticeship, he commenced, on his own account, as a painter in oils, and must have been tolerably expert at that early age, as already in the spring of 1822, we find him exhibiting a picture of some pretensions at the Royal Academy.

He executed various other oil paintings about this period, but the more pressing demand on his talents was for drawings on wood, a mode of book illustration then in great vogue. The various illustrated books and periodicals published for the next ten or twelve years bespeak his popularity and industry in that department.

Although Seymour's hands were full of commissions for drawing on wood, he was always desirous of practice in a more independent department of art, feeling that the engraver, however competent, frequently failed to communicate the full force of his drawing. He, therefore, determined—where possible, on etching or engraving his own designs on copper or steel. He was very successful in full length sketches of public characters, and has left us many life-like portraits of members of the Turf and Drama between 1830 and 1836.

But of all Seymour's various works his "Humorous Sketches" were his prime favourites, and will best perpetuate his name. They were first published between the years 1834 and 1836, in detached prints at 3d. each, by Mr. Richard Carlisle, of Fleet Street. The entire collection was subsequently engraved on steel, and published in 1838, with letterpress description by Crowquill (Alfred Henry Forrester), the popular humourist of the day.

Figaro in London—the popular predecessor of Punch, edited and published by Gilbert A'Beckett from December 1831 to 1836—contains nearly 300 woodcuts after Seymour. They were also published separately as "Seymour's Caricature Gallery," and after his death were all re-published on six large sheets, each containing 20 subjects, as "Seymour's Comic Scrap Sheets."

Seymour's connection with the publication and illustration of the now famous Pickwick Papers is well known to the reading world by the printed statement of Mrs. Seymour, and Charles Dickens' own account of the origin of the Pickwick Papers, to need repetition.

Fourteen
ILLUSTRATIONS
of the
DRAMA
by
Robert Cruikshank.

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.

Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly,

'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did see;

You've only got to pop your head within inside of the door,

You'll see so many curious things you never saw before!

Will you, will you, will you, will you,

Walk in pretty Fly, &c.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. I.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE DRAMA

"WHERE SHALL I DINE."

R. Cruikshank.

Where shall I dine? Would I could tell,

For, hungry, faint, and weary,

It is to me, I know full well,

An all-important query.

Thou Man of Flank! a CUT of thine

Would silence hunger's call;

But a Friend's, CUT alas! is mine,

"The unkindest cut of all."

O for a herring, dainty fish!

Or tender lambkin's fry;

But as in vain for MEAT I wish,

'Tis MEET that I should sigh.

Ere by the freaks of Fortune floor'd,

Such was my former luck,

That under many a friendly board

My trotters I could tuck.

Now, though at dining hour I go,

From house to house I roam,

My rap too well the servants know,

And "Master's not at home."

'Tis getting cold, and wet, and dark,

To fate I must resign;

Duke Humphrey calls me to the Park,

And with his Grace I'll dine.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. II.

"THE PILOT."

R. Cruikshank.

Thou, guardian Pilot of the night,

One favour we would ax—

Tell us, old Cock, and tell us right,

Where we can get some Max?

We need the skilful pilot's aid

Amid the billows' roar,

And pilots still I find, old Blade,

Are handy lads ashore.

Then steer us for a friendly port

And keep the wessel steady,

And you shall have a dram of short—

In brandy, rum, or Deady.

With bread and cheese I'll stow your hold;

I likes a hearty grubber;

But, shiver me, it's getting cold,

So take the helm, you lubber.

Come, Poll, my buxom wench make sail,

I'm one as never fears man,

To reach our port we cannot fail

With such an able steersman.

Then come, old Boy, there's nought to pay,

For I will be your banker;

Nor do I care how long you stay

Wherever we cast anchor.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. III.

"IS HE JEALOUS?"

"O fly with me, my lady fair—

I love and I adore you;

Henceforth the heart and fortune share

Of him who kneels before you.

"Then listen to thy lover's vows,

Nor of vain scruples tell us;

Why care a pin about your spouse—

Confound him!—is he jealous?"

"Go, get you gone, you naughty man,

Nor dare attempt my virtue;

I hide my blushes with my fan,

Yet I've no wish to hurt you."

Then, gay Lothario! persevere—

Still urge thy passion brisker;

Nor dread an interloper here,

Thou man of bushy whisker!

If, armed with poker and with pop,

Poor Spouse should be so rude now

As at this moment in to drop,

Faith! wouldn't he intrude now?

O, married dames! when lovers' sighs

Steal softly on your ear,

Shun the temptation, if you're wise—

The Devil's always near.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. IV.

"MACBETH."

"What fearful vision strikes thy sight,

What phantom haunts thy brain,

That thus thou startest with affright,

Thou sooty-visaged Thane?"

"No dagger stained with blood I view,

To fill my soul with dread;

But SPIRITS pale of RUIN BLUE

Of Deady—not the DEAD—

"To clutch thee how this breast doth throb,

Thou source of purest pleasure,

Fain would I wash my sooty gob

From yon Imperial measure!

"Soon may the cordial MAX be mine,

My sinking heart to cheer;

So my grim soul no more shall pine

On Intermediate Beer.

"And when the FLUID warms my FLUE,

Rous'd by the generous stuff,

I'm —— if I'm the Faker who

Shall first cry, 'Hold—enough!'"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. V.

"THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."

R. Cruikshank.

What relish to the tea you sip,

How smoothly it goes down,

If a poor friend has made a slip,

Or suffer'd Fortune's frown.

"Well! these are shocking things I hear,

To doubt I much incline;

At any rate, you know, my dear,

It's no concern of mine.

"But if such courses folks will chose,

And many do not doubt it,

For us, you know, there's some excuse,

If we should talk about it.

"There's something more, I plainly see

Which you don't chose to utter;

Do make a confidant of me—

Do take some bread and butter."

Scandal's a most delightful theme—

A spring that ne'er will fail;

But, Tabitha, you little dream,

You're scalding Pussy's tail!

Like the wild maniac is your breath—

Of all mankind the pest—

Who scatters poison, ruin, death,

Then cries, "'Twas but in jest!"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. VI.

"EVERY MAN HAS HIS FAULT."

Doctor, thy accents, soft and bland,

Are ever sure to please;

What female bosom can withstand

A Parson on his knees?

"No more will I, with drunken sot,

Carry connubial farce on;

If thou, fond man will share my lot,

And prove an upright Parson.

"With stagg'ring spouse no longer vex'd,

Free from a useless charge,

Henceforward love shall be the text

On which we'll both enlarge."

A parson, naughty people say,

Is but a sinful elf—

Like road-post, pointing out the way

He never takes himself.

"O, come and bless these Reverend arms,

Nor scorn my holy vows;

Why did hard Fate bestow such charms

Upon a drunken spouse.

"O, can it be a fault to love

A lady so divine?

Then, by the powers that reign above,

I own that fault is mine."

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. VII.

"LOVE, LAW, AND PHYSIC."

"But love is blind, and lovers cannot see

The petty follies that themselves commit."

SHAKESPEARE.

"Lady, the Patient's very ill,

"The pulse is sinking fast,

"'Tis really time to make his will,

"I'm sure he cannot last.

"Though, as we bear him to his grave,

"Your grief you cannot smother,

"As one man's life I cannot save,

"I'll soon provide another."

This language we might well suppose,

Would at such time have shock'd her;

But the poor Lady's looks disclose

No wrath towards the Doctor.

Then, Lawyer, all in vain you sue,

For Physic must succeed,

And what, alas! remains for you?

The WILL—without the DEED.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. VIII.

"RAISING THE WIND."

R. Cruikshank.

A long farewell my breeks of shag;

It grieves me to the heart,

To doom thee to a Hebrew's bag—

But you and I must part.

No more thy substance, smooth and warm,

Shall shield me from the weather;

And I must bear the pelting storm,

With bare and breekless nether.

The loss 'tis needless to deplore,

To my hard fate I bow,

I was an Irishman before,

I am a Scotsman now.

Poverty in this vale of woe

Some strange acquaintance brings;

And Poverty full well I know

Makes people do strange things.

Why doth yon Nymph with warming pan

Parade the streets about?

To raise the needful as she can—

To put it up the spout!

How many noble, good, and wise,

Are turn'd in life adrift—

Forced their last SHIRT to sacrifice,

To make another SHIFT.

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. IX.

"MEASURE FOR MEASURE."

"Measures, not men, have always been my mark."

Goldsmith.—The Good-Natured Man.

"Die! dastard Snip—that mortal thrust

Shall perforate thy lungs,

And lay thee prostrate in the dust,

Thou proudest of the Dungs!

"No more, among my cross-legg'd band,

Thy schemes shall gender strife;

And ne'er again thy rebel hand

Attempt thy master's life!

"Where, now, are all thy idle boasts?

This blow shall introduce

Thy Spirit where the Tailor ghosts

Eat visionary goose!

"Down, Traitor! to thy native Hell!

Fresh treasons there to plan—

With recreant spectre Snips to dwell—

Thou fraction of a man!

"Ye restless Dungs of spirit rough,

From this example know—

One active measure is enough

To lay a traitor low!"

GALLERY OF COMICALITIES—No. X.

"THE BOTTLE IMP."