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                                 POINTS

                                   OF

                                HUMOUR.

                             ILLUSTRATED BY

                         =A Series of Plates=,

                   FROM DESIGNS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.


              TEN ENGRAVINGS ON COPPER. TWELVE WOOD CUTS.


                   "_Let me play the fool:
            With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
            And let my liver rather heat with wine,
            Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
            Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
            Sit like his grandsire, cut in alabaster?
            Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
            By being peevish?_"

                              SHAKSPEARE.


                                PART I.

                              PRICE 8_s._


                                LONDON:

                PUBLISHED BY J. ROBINS AND CO. IVY LANE,
                            PATERNOSTER ROW.




                                 POINTS

                                   OF

                                HUMOUR;

                             =Illustrated=

                                 BY THE

                     DESIGNS OF GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.


                                LONDON:

                PUBLISHED BY C. BALDWYN, NEWGATE STREET.


                                 1823.




                                LONDON:

              Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch Street.




                                PREFACE.


It will be readily perceived that the literary part of this work is
of humble pretensions. One object alone has been aimed at and it is
hoped with success--to select or to invent those incidents which
might be interesting or amusing in themselves, while they afforded
scope for the peculiar talents of the artist who adorns them with his
designs. The selection was more difficult than may at first sight
be supposed. It is true, there is no paucity of subjects of wit and
humour, but he who will take the trouble to examine them, will find
how few are adapted for pictorial representation. No artist can
embody a point of wit, and the humour of many of the most laughable
stories would vanish at the touch of the pencil of the most ingenious
designer in the world. Those ludicrous subjects only which are rich
in the humour of _situation_ are calculated for graphic illustration.
To prove the following anecdotes are not deficient in this respect,
no other appeal is necessary than to the plates themselves. Look at
the breadth of the humour, the point of the situation, the selection
of the figures, the action, and its accompaniments, and deny (without
a laugh on the face) that this portion of the work answers the end
in view. In all this the writer or compiler, or whatever he may
be called, claims little merit. That the whole effect is comic,
that the persons are ludicrous, and engaged in laughable groups and
surrounded with objects which tend to broaden the grin, all this, and
a thousand times more, belongs to Mr. Cruikshank;--the writer only
claims the merit of having suggested to him the materials.

Some of the TEN POINTS, now submitted to the public, arise out of
a reprint of that admirable piece of humour, the JOLLY BEGGARS
of Burns;--A part of his works almost unknown to the public, in
consequence of the scrupulousness of the poet's biographer and editor,
who withheld them from the world. Lest we however should incur the
charge, which Dr. Currie apprehended, we beg leave to prefix the
observations on this subject by the first literary character in the
kingdom, Sir Walter Scott, as they appeared in the _Quarterly Review_.

"Yet applauding, as we do most highly applaud, the leading principles
of Dr. Currie's selection, we are aware that they sometimes led
him into fastidious and over-delicate rejection of the bard's most
spirited and happy effusions. A thin octavo, published at Glasgow
in 1801, under the title of 'Poems ascribed to Robert Burns, the
Ayrshire bard,' furnishes valuable proofs of this assertion; it
contains, among a good deal of rubbish, some of his most brilliant
poetry. A cantata, in particular, called _The Jolly Beggars_, for
humorous description and nice discrimination of character, is
inferior to no poem of the same length in the whole range of English
poetry. The scene, indeed, is laid in the very lowest department
of low life, the actors being a set of strolling vagrants, met to
carouse, and barter their rags and plunder for liquor in a hedge
ale-house. Yet even in describing the movements of such a group, the
native taste of the poet has never suffered his pen to slide into
any thing coarse or disgusting. The extravagant glee and outrageous
frolic of the beggars are ridiculously contrasted with their maimed
limbs, rags, and crutches--the sordid and squalid circumstances of
their appearance are judiciously thrown into the shade. Nor is the
art of the poet less conspicuous in the individual figures, than
in the general mass. The festive vagrants are distinguished from
each other by personal appearance and character, as much as any
fortuitous assembly in the higher orders of life. The group, it must
be observed, is of Scottish character, and doubtless our northern
brethren are more familiar with its varieties than we are; yet the
distinctions are too well marked to escape even the southern. The
most prominent persons are a maimed soldier and his female companion,
a hackneyed follower of the camp, a stroller, late the consort of
an highland ketterer, or sturdy beggar--'but weary fa' the waefu'
woodie!'--Being now at liberty, she becomes an object of rivalry
between a 'pigmy scraper with his fiddle' and a strolling tinker. The
latter, a desperate bandit, like most of his profession, terrifies
the musician out of the field, and is preferred by the damsel of
course. A wandering ballad-singer, with a brace of doxies, is last
introduced upon the stage. Each of these mendicants sings a song
in character, and such a collection of humorous lyrics, connected
by vivid poetical description, is not perhaps to be paralleled in
the English language. The ditty chaunted by the Ballad Singer is
certainly far superior to any thing in the _Beggar's Opera_, where
alone we could expect to find its parallel.

"We are at a loss to conceive any good reason why Dr. Currie did not
introduce this singular and humorous cantata into his collection. It
is true, that in one or two passages the muse has trespassed slightly
upon decorum, where, in the language of Scottish song,

          "High kilted was she,
          "As she gaed owre the lea."

"Something, however, is to be allowed to the nature of the subject,
and something to the education of the poet: and if from veneration to
the names of Swift and Dryden, we tolerate the grossness of the one,
and the indelicacy of the other, the respect due to that of Burns,
may surely claim indulgence for a few light strokes of broad humour.

"Knowing that this, and hoping that other compositions of similar
spirit and tenor, might yet be recovered, we were induced to think that
some of them, at least, had found a place in the collection given to
the public by Mr. Cromek. But he has neither risqued the censure, nor
gained the applause, which might have belonged to such an undertaking."

[Illustration]




                                POINT I.

                          THE POINT OF HONOUR.


When the American army was at Valley Forge in the winter of 1777,
a captain of the Virginian Line refused a challenge sent him by a
brother officer, alleging that his life was devoted to the service of
his country, and that he did not think it a point of duty to risk it
to gratify the caprice of any man. This _point of duty_ gave occasion
to a _point of humour_ which clearly displayed the brilliant _points_
of the officer's character, and exposed the weak ones of his brothers
in the service in a very _pointed_ manner. His antagonist gave him
the character of a coward through the whole army. Conscious of not
having merited the aspersion, and discovering the injury he should
sustain in the minds of those unacquainted with him, he repaired one
evening to a general meeting of the officers of that line. On his
entrance, he was avoided by the company, and the officer who had
challenged him, insolently ordered him to leave the room; a request
which was loudly re-echoed from all parts. He refused, and asserted
that he came there to vindicate his fame; and after mentioning the
reasons which induced him not to accept the challenge, he applied a
large hand grenade to the candle, and when the fuse had caught fire,
threw it on the floor, saying, "Here, gentlemen, this will quickly
determine which of us all dare brave danger most." At first they
stared upon him for a moment in stupid astonishment, but their eyes
soon fell upon the fuse of the grenade, which was fast burning down.
Away scampered Colonel, General, Ensign, and Captain, and all made a
rush at the door. "Devil take the hindmost." Some fell, and others
made way over the bodies of their comrades; some succeeded in getting
out, but for an instant there was a general heap of flesh sprawling
at the entrance of the apartment. Here was a colonel jostling with a
subaltern, and there fat generals pressing lean lieutenants into the
boards, and blustering majors, and squeaking ensigns wrestling for
exit; the size of one and the feebleness of the other making their
chance of departure pretty equal, until time, which does all things
at last, cleared the room and left the noble captain standing over
the grenade with his arms folded, and his countenance expressing
every kind of scorn and contempt for the train of scrambling red
coats, as they toiled and bustled and bored their way out of the door.

After the explosion had taken place, some of them ventured to return,
to take a peep at the mangled remains of their comrade, whom however
to their great surprise they found alive and uninjured.--When they
were all gone, the captain threw himself flat on the floor as the
only possible means of escape, and fortunately came off with a whole
skin, and a repaired reputation.

[Illustration]




                               POINT II.

                          THE SHORT COURTSHIP.


[Illustration]

As a gentleman was passing along one of the more retired streets of
London late in the evening, he stumbled over the body of an old man,
whom on examination he found in a state of excessive inebriation,
and who had in consequence tumbled down and rolled into the kennel.
He had not gone many yards farther when he found an old woman very
nearly in the same circumstances. It immediately struck Mr. L. that
this was some poor old couple, who, overcome with the fatigues of the
day, had indulged too freely in some restorative beverage, whether
Hodges' or Deady's the historian does not say. Full of this idea,
and animated by his own charitable disposition, Mr. L. soon made
arrangements for the reception of the poor couple into a neighbouring
public house, where the landlord promised that the senseless pair
should be undressed and placed in a warm and comfortable bed. To
bed they were put. Mr. L. left them lying side by side, snoring
in concert, and likely to pass together a more harmonious night
than perhaps would have been the case had they possessed the full
enjoyment of their senses. L. journeyed homewards filled with the
satisfaction arising from the performance of a kind deed, and never
reflected that there was a possibility of his having joined a pair
whom the laws of God had not made one. The fact was, that the old man
and the old woman were perfect strangers to each other, and their
being found in a similar situation was purely accidental. In London,
however extraordinary it may appear, many poor folks get drunk at
night, especially Saturday night, and what is not less wonderful,
they are in this state often unable to preserve their balance--the
laws of gravity exert their influence, and the patient rolls into the
kennel. Soundly--soundly did this late united pair sleep and snore
till morning,--when the light broke in upon them and disclosed the
secret.--Imagine the consternation of the old lady when the fumes
of intoxication were dissipated, and she opened her eyes upon her
snoring partner--where she was or how she had been put there she knew
not. It was clear she was in bed with a man, and that was an event
which had never happened to her before,--so she set up a scream, and
roused the old gentleman, whose astonishment was not a jot less than
the lady's. She sat upon end in bed staring at him, he moved himself
into a similar situation and riveted his eyes upon her, and so they
remained for a few instants both full of perfect wonderment;--at
last it struck the poor lady that this was some monster of a man
who had succeeded in some horrible design upon her honour; the idea
in a moment gave her the look and manner of a fury, she flung out
of bed and roared aloud to the admiration of all the inmates of the
house, who attracted by her first scream were already peeping in at
the door of the room,--"make me an honest woman, thou wretch," she
cried--"villain that you are,--make an honest woman of me, or I'll
be the death of thee;"--down she sat upon the bed-stocks, and as
she attempted to dress herself she interlarded her occupation with
calling for vengeance upon her horrible seducer, who sat trembling
at the other side of the bed, vainly attempting in his fright to
insinuate his legs into his old tattered breeches. The landlord at
last interfered with the authority of his station, and on inquiry
found that no breach had been made which could not be easily
repaired. The old gentleman was asked if he had any objection to
take his fair bedfellow for a helpmate during the remainder of his
life; he stammered out his acquiescence as well as he could, and the
enraged virgin consented to smooth down her anger on satisfaction
being made to her injured honour. The bargain was soon struck,
the happy pair were bundled off to church, amidst the laughing
shouts of the mob, where a parson waited to make good the match too
precipitately formed by our charitable friend.

[Illustration]




                               POINT III.

                               YES OR NO?


[Illustration]

Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, was so remarkably fond of
children, that he suffered the sons of the Prince Royal to enter
his apartment whenever they thought proper. One day, while he was
writing in his closet, the eldest of these princes was playing at
shuttlecock near him. The shuttlecock happened to fall upon the table
at which the King sat, who threw it at the young prince and continued
to write. The shuttlecock falling on the table a second time, the
King threw it back, looking sternly at the child, who promised
that no accident of the kind should happen again; the shuttlecock
however fell a third time and even upon the paper on which the king
was writing. Frederick then took the shuttlecock and put it in his
pocket: the little prince humbly asked pardon and begged the King to
return him his shuttlecock. His Majesty refused: the prince redoubled
his entreaties, but no attention was paid to them; the young prince
at length being tired of begging, advanced boldly towards the King,
put his two hands on his side, and tossing back his little head
with great haughtiness, said in a threatening tone, "Will your
Majesty give me my shuttlecock, Yes or No?" The King burst into a fit
of laughter, and taking the shuttlecock out of his pocket, returned
it to the prince saying, "you are a brave boy, _you_ will never
suffer Silesia to be taken from you."

[Illustration]




                               POINT IV.

                          EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY.


Near Taunton, in Somersetshire, lived a sturdy fellow, by trade a
miller, who possessed a handsome and buxom young woman for his wife.
The said dame was many years the junior of her spouse, and thought
that the neighbouring village contained not a few more agreeable
companions, than the one whom Heaven had given her for life. Of this
circumstance the miller had some suspicions, and determined to set
them at rest one way or the other. Accordingly, one day he pretended
to set off to buy corn, and told his wife that he should not be at
home that night. The miller departed, and when the shades of evening
afforded some concealment, in glided, to supply his place at bed and
board, a neighbouring country squire.

As the village clock struck one that night, and as the loving pair
were wrapped in sleep, a loud knocking was heard at the door.

[Illustration]

The miller had unexpectedly returned home, and the unfortunate couple
within were reduced to despair. The wit of the female was however
equal to the emergency; the gentleman's clothes were pushed under
her own, and his person was conducted into the kitchen, by the frail
fair one, and there enclosed in a singular place of security. The
tall house clock, which always forms a part of the furniture of the
"parlour, kitchen, and all," of men of our miller's rank, was at
that time out of order, and the works had, on the very morning in
question, been conveyed to Taunton, to undergo a thorough repair.
It immediately struck the damsel that her lover could abide in no
safer place than this, until her husband was asleep, and she could
return and let him out. Now the country squire was a tall and a
stout man, with a jolly rubicund physiognomy. He consequently
enclosed himself in the clock-case with some difficulty, and when
the good woman locked the door of it, as the only way of keeping it
shut, it gave him a nip in the paunch, which would have extorted a
cry under any other circumstances. As it was, the tightness below
threw all the blood into his countenance, which, for such was his
height, overtopped the wood work of the case, and appeared exactly
at the spot where the clock usually shewed the hour. So that, had a
light been held up to it, this portentous face would have borne the
appearance of a dark red moon scowling out of fog and vapours upon
a stormy night. This despatched, the dame commenced her own part
with confidence. She gaped and yawned, and only admitted the miller
till he had cursed and sworn his wife into a conviction, that he was
her lawful husband, and no deceiver who had mimicked his voice and
manner for his own wicked purposes. Much to the dismay of the parties
already in possession of the house, the miller insisted upon striking
a light, which at length obtaining, he drove his wife before him up
to the bed-room, and then slily and under pretence of something else,
examined the apartment; and concluded with a thorough conviction of
the groundlessness of his suspicions. The wife, overjoyed at getting
the candle out of the kitchen without discovery, was in high good
humour, so that the miller became in excellent spirits too, both on
account of his agreeable reception and the dispersion of his fears,
and as a proof of his state of mind gave his wife a hearty kiss, and
swore that they would go down and have a cozy bit of supper together
before they went to bed. In vain the poor woman resisted, the slice
of bacon must be broiled and the eggs poached. With trembling hand
she bore the light into the kitchen, and durst not cast a glance upon
the clock case where the prisoner, full of horror at the return of
the candle, and reduced to a state of insufferable impatience by his
miserable plight, uttered a deep low groan of despair as they entered
the apartment. Fortunately it was not loud enough to attract the
miller's attention, but thrilled through the heart of his unfortunate
spouse. The happy pair soon began their culinary operations, the
male with a light heart and a hungry appetite, the female sick and
trembling at the disclosure which she feared was inevitable. All
she could do, she did. She tried to keep up a conversation, she
shaded the light, and she spread rasher after rasher before the
all-devouring miller, who seemed as if intent to display his prowess
before his rival, who was most ruefully and intently gazing upon him
from his window of observation. By the lady's artful management, the
miller sat with only a side view of the clock, and allowed a few
sympathizing glances to be interchanged between the unhappy squire
and his love, as she spread the tempting meal before her liege lord.
Doubtless they both thought the miller's appetite was enormous, and
in the calculation of either of them, he had already eat a side of
bacon, when he declared he had done. _Now for good luck!_ inwardly
exclaimed the dame, _fortune befriend me, and let me get him up
stairs without casting a look upon that poor deplorable face_; which
by the bye had lately been assuming all hues, and within the last two
minutes had turned from a blue red to deadly pale, and back again to
red black; and slight twitches and convulsive motions were observed
in the muscles of his face, as if the poor unfortunate owner of
them was tormented by some body below, who alternately pricked and
pinched him. Oh, what a weight was taken off the heart of the frail
fair one, and how fervently did she offer up vows of chastity in the
gratitude of the moment, when the miller, having eat and drank his
fill, made a motion for the bed room. Gladly was she attending him,
when, as ill luck would have it, a _loud sneeze_ was heard in the
room, which was followed by an equally loud scream from the lady of
the miller, who now gave all up for lost. It seemed that the dust
of the clock-case had been disturbed by the body of the squire, and
part of it being dislodged, had sought refuge in the intricacies
of his nostrils. Hence the wincings and writhings, which, over and
above being abominably nipped, produced the awful changes recorded
above, and at length ended in a sneeze, which he could no longer
restrain. This event had not the expected issue, for the dame in her
fright threw down the candlestick, which she held in her hand, and
extinguished the light. The good miller, now drowsy and stupid, chid
her for being alarmed at the sneezing of a _cat_; and, not waiting
for the poking out of a light from the dying embers, pushed his wife
and himself off to bed, bestowing upon her, by the way, many of those
endearing caresses, which husbands in a good humour lavish upon their
wives; which caresses were certainly as indifferent to her, as they
were doubtless disagreeable to her friend in the clock. Release was
not so soon at hand as the parties sanguinely expected, for though
the miller slept, he took as secure a hold of his faithful dame,
as if he had really been aware of the gaol-delivery she intended
to accomplish. To her last resource, therefore, she was compelled
to fly, for the morning was fast coming on. The miller's sleep was
broken by the loud cries of his wife, who declared she was so ill,
she was sure she should die. She yelled and screamed till the poor
man in despair knew not what to do, and could only cry out _What can
I get you, What can I get you?_ Now the wily dame well knew that
_that_ would be the best for her complaint which was not in the
house, so she vociferated _Brandy, brandy, Oh for some brandy._ The
poor husband scrambled up some clothes, and set off for the nearest
public house for some brandy, which was nearly a mile from his abode.
Arriving there, he knocked up the landlord, who administered the
medicine to him. To pay for which, the distressed husband put his
hand in his breeches' pocket, and much to his own surprise, pulled
out a large bundle of bank notes, at which he stared in amazement;
when the landlord cried out, Lord! _you have got Mr. Farrer's
breeches on_. Buckskins, it seems, well known in the neighbourhood.

[Illustration]

"_The Devil I have_," returned the miller, in a tone which came up
like a groan, as he gazed upon his nether man. Quickly comprehending
the secret of the exchange, he pocketed the notes, drank up the
brandy for his own consolation, and went home, moralizing his pensive
path, and gave the hypocritical culprit the soundest beating she ever
had in her life. She, poor soul! who had been charitably employed in
the meanwhile, in letting the bird out of his cage, was not prepared
for this reception; nor did she understand it until the next morning,
when the breeches were cried round the town by her malignant husband,
who also with no pleasant expression of countenance, made a point of
turning over his newly-acquired riches in her presence.

[Illustration]




                                POINT V.

                           THE JOLLY BEGGARS;

                                  OR,

                      LOVE AND LIBERTY, A CANTATA.

                            BY ROBERT BURNS.


                              RECITATIVO.

          When lyart leaves bestrow the yird,
          Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird[1],
              Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
          When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
          And infant frosts begin to bite,
              In hoary cranreuch drest;
          Ae night at e'en a merry core
              O' randie, gangrel bodies,
          In Posie-Nansie's[2] held the splore[3],
              To drink their orra duddies[4]:
                Wi' quaffing, and laughing,
                  They ranted an' they sang;
                Wi' jumping, an' thumping,
                  The vera girdle rang.

          First, neist the fire, in auld red rags,
          Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,
              And knapsack a' in order;
          His doxy lay within his arm,
          Wi' _usquebae_ an' blankets warm,
              She blinket on her sodger:
          An' ay he gies the tozie drab
              The tither skelpan kiss,
          While she held up her greedy gab
              Just like an aumous[5] dish:
                Ilk smack still, did crack still,
                  Just like a cadger's[6] whip;
                Then staggering, an' swaggering,
                  He roar'd this ditty up--

[Illustration]


                                  AIR.

                         _Tune_--SOLDIER'S JOY.


                                   I.


          I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,
          And shew my cuts and scars wherever I come;
          This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
          When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.

                                        _Lal de daudle, &c._


                                  II.

          My prenticeship I past, where my leader breath'd his last,
          When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram;
          I served out my trade, when the gallant _game_ was play'd,
          And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.



                                  III.

          I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,
          And there I left for witness, an arm and a limb;
          Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,
          I'll clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.


                                  IV.

          And now tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,
          And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my ----,
          I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet[7],
          As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum.


                                   V.

          What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,
          Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,
          When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell,
          I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of a drum.


                              RECITATIVO.

          He ended; and the kebars[8] sheuk
            Aboon the chorus roar;
          While frighted rattons backward leuk,
            An' seek the benmost bore[9];
          A Merry Andrew i' the neuk,
            He skirl'd out, _encore!_
          But up arose the martial chuck,
            An' laid the loud uproar.



                                  AIR.

                         _Tune_--SODGER LADDIE.


                                   I.

          I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
          And still my delight is in proper young men:
          Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
          No wonder I'm fond of a _sodger laddie_.
                                        Sing, _Lal de lal_, &c.


                                  II.

          The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
          To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
          His leg was so tight and his cheek was so ruddy,
          Transported was I with my _sodger laddie_.


                                  III.

          But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
          The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
          He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body,
          'Twas then I prov'd false to my _sodger laddie_.


                                  IV.

          Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
          The regiment at large for a husband I got;
          From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
          I asked no more but a _sodger laddie_.


                                   V.

          But the _peace_ it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
          Till I met my old boy at a _Cunningham_ fair;
          His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
          My heart it rejoic'd at my _sodger laddie_.


                                  VI.

          And now I have lived--I know not how long,
          And still I can join in a cup and a song:
          But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
          Here's to thee, my hero, my _sodger laddie_.
                                        Sing, _Lal de dal_, &c.


                              RECITATIVO.

          Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk
            Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;
          They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,
            Between themsels they were sae busy.
          At length wi' drink and courting dizzy,
            He stoiter'd up an' made a face;
          Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzy,
            Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.


                                  AIR.

                        _Tune_--AULD SIR SIMON.

          Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,
            Sir Knave is a fool in a session;
          He's there but a prentice, I trow,
            But I am a fool by profession.

          My Grannie she bought me a beuk,
            An' I held awa to the school;
          I fear I my talent misteuk,
            But what will ye hae of a fool.

          For drink I would venture my neck;
            A hizzie's the half of my craft;
          But what could ye other expect
            Of ane that's avowedly daft.

          I ance was ty'd up like a stirk,
            For civilly swearing and quaffing;
          I ance was abus'd i' the Kirk,
            For towzing a lass i' my daffin.

          Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
            Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
          There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the court,
            A _Tumbler_ ca'd the _Premier_.

          Observ'd ye yon reverend lad
            Mak faces to tickle the mob;
          He rails at our mountebank squad,
            It's _rivalship_ just i' the job.

          And now my conclusion I'll tell,
            For faith I'm confoundedly dry,
          The chiel that's a fool for himsel,
            Guid Lord, he's far dafter than I.

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The bat.

[2] A whiskey house.

[3] Frolic.

[4] Superfluous rags.

[5] A plate for receiving alms.

[6] A man who travels the country, with his wares on the back of a
horse or ass.

[7] Wench.

[8] Rafters.

[9] Deepest recess.




                               POINT VI.


                              RECITATIVO.

          Then neist outspak a raucle carlin[10],
          Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin';
          For mony a pursie she had hooked,
          An' had in mony a well been douked:
          Her Love had been a _Highland laddie_,
          But weary fa' the waefu' woodie[11]!
          Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began,
          To wail her braw _John Highlandman_.


                                  AIR.

                  _Tune_--O AN YE WERE DEAD, GUDEMAN.


                                   I.

          A highland lad my love was born,
          The Lalland laws he held in scorn;
          But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
          My gallant, braw _John Highlandman_!

                                CHORUS.

          _Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!
          Sing ho my braw John Highlandman!
          There's not a lad in a' the lan'
          Was match for my John Highlandman!_



                                  II.

          With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
          An' guid claymore down by his side,
          The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
          My gallant, braw _John Highlandman_.
                                          _Sing, hey,_ &c.


                                  III.

          We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
          An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay;
          For a lalland face he feared none,
          My gallant, braw _John Highlandman_.
                                          _Sing, hey,_ &c.


                                  IV.

          They banish'd him beyond the sea,
          But ere the bud was on the tree,
          Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
          Embracing my _John Highlandman_.
                                          _Sing, hey,_ &c.


                                   V.

          But och! they catch'd him at the last,
          And bound him in a dungeon fast;
          My curse upon them every one,
          They've hang'd my braw _John Highlandman_.
                                          _Sing, hey,_ &c.


                                  VI.

          And now a widow I must mourn,
          Departed joys that ne'er return;
          No comfort but a hearty can,
          When I think on _John Highlandman_.
                                          _Sing, hey,_ &c.


                              RECITATIVO.

          A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,
          Wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle.
          Her strappen limb an' gausy middle,
                            (He reach'd na higher,)
          Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,
                            An' blawn't on fire.

          W' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e,
          He croon'd his gamut, _one_, _two_, _three_,
          Then in an arioso key,
                            The wee Apollo
          Set off wi' _allegretto_ glee
                            His _giga solo_.


                                  AIR.

                   _Tune_--WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'T.

          Let me ryke up to dight that tear,
          An' go wi' me an' be my _dear_;
          An' then your every _care_ and _fear_
              May whistle owre the lave o't.

                                CHORUS.

              _I am a fidler to my trade,_
              _An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,_
              _The sweetest still to wife or maid,_
                  _Was, whistle owre the lave o't._

          At kirns an' weddins we'se be there,
          An' O sae nicely's we will fare!
          We'll bowse about till Dadie Care
              Sing whistle owre the lave o't.
                                          _I am_, &c.

[Illustration]

          Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke,
          An' sun oursells about the <DW18>;
          An' at our leisure when ye like
              We'll--whistle owre the lave o't.
                                          _I am_, &c.

          But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,
          And while I kittle[12] hair on thairms,
          Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms
              May whistle owre the lave o't.
                                          _I am_, &c.


                              RECITATIVO.

          Her charms had struck a sturdy _Caird_[13],
            As weel as poor _Gutscraper_;
          He taks the fiddler by the beard,
            An' draws a roosty rapier--
          He swoor by a' was swearing worth,
            To speet him like a pliver,
          Unless he would from that time forth
            Relinquish her for ever:

          Wi' ghastly e'e, poor _tweedle-dee_,
            Upon his hunkers[14] bended,
          An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
            An' so the quarrel ended;
          But tho' his little heart did grieve,
            When round the _tinker_ prest her,
          He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,
            When thus the _Caird_ address'd her



                                  AIR.

                       _Tune_--CLOUT THE CAUDRON.


                                   I.

          My bonie lass I work in brass,
            A tinkler is my station;
          I've travell'd round all Christian ground
            In this my occupation;
          I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd
            In many a noble squadron;
          But vain they search'd, when off I march'd
            To go an' clout the caudron.
                            _I've ta'en the gold,_ &c.


                                  II.

          Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
            With a' his noise an' caprin;
          An' take a share with those that bear
            The budget an' the apron!
          An' by that stowp, my faith an' houpe,
            An' by that dear Kilbaigie[15]!
          If e'er ye want, or meet with scant,
            May I ne'er weet my craigie.
                            _An' by that stowp_, &c.


                              RECITATIVO.

          The Caird prevail'd--th' unblushing fair
            In his embraces sunk;
          Partly wi' love o'ercome sa sair,
            An' partly she was drunk:
          _Sir Violino_, with an air,
            That show'd a man o' spunk,
          Wish'd unison between the pair,
            An' made the bottle clunk
                        To their health that night.

          But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft,
            That play'd a dame a shavie--
          A sailor rak'd her fore and aft,
            Behind the chicken cavie.
          Her lord a wight o' Homer's craft,
            Tho' limpan wi' the spavie,
          He hirpl'd up an' lap like daft,
            An _shor'd_[16] them _Dainty Davie_
                          O'boot that night.

          He was a care-defying blade,
            As ever Bacchus listed!
          Tho' fortune sair upon him laid,
            His heart, she ever miss'd it:
          He had no wish but--to be glad,
            Nor want but--when he thirsted;
          He hated nought but--to be sad,
            An' thus the Muse suggested
                          His sang that night.


                                  AIR.

                   _Tune_--FOR A' THAT, AN' A' THAT.


                                   I.

          I am a bard of no regard
            Wi' gentle-folks, an' a' that;
          But Homer-like, the glowran byke[17],
            Frae town to town I draw that.

                                CHORUS.

          _For a' that, an' a' that,_
            _An' twice as muckle's a' that,_
          _I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',_
            _I've_ wife eneugh _for a' that._



                                  II.

          I never drank the Muses' _tank_,
            Castalia's burn an' a' that;
          But there it streams, an' richly reams
            My _Helicon_ I ca' that.
                              _For a' that,_ &c.


                                  III.

          Great love I bear to all the Fair,
            Their humble slave, an' a' that;
          But lordly Will, I hold it still
            A mortal sin to thraw that.
                              _For a' that,_ &c.


                                  IV.

          In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
            Wi' mutual love an' a' that;
          But for how lang the flie may stang,
            Let Inclination law that.
                              _For a' that,_ &c.


                                   V.

          Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft,
            They've ta'en me in, an' a' that;
          But clear your decks, an' here's _the Sex_!
            I like the jads for a' that.

          _For a' that, an a' that,_
            _An' twice as muckle's a' that,_
          _My dearest bluid, to do them guid,_
            _They're welcome till't for a' that._

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[10] A sturdy raw-boned dame.

[11] The gallows.

[12] While I rub a horse-hair bow upon cat-gut.

[13] Tinker.

[14] Haunches.

[15] A well known kind of whiskey.

[16] Promised.

[17] The multitude.




                               POINT VII.


                              RECITATIVO.

          So sung the _Bard_--and Nansie's waws
            Shook wi' a thunder of applause
          Re-echo'd from each mouth!
            They toom'd[18] their pokes, they pawn'd their duds[19],
          They scarcely left to coor their fuds,
            To quench their lowan drouth.

          Then owre again, the jovial thrang,
            The poet did request,
          To lowse his pack an' wale a sang,
            A ballad o' the best.
                  He, rising, rejoicing,
                    Between his _twa Debōrahs_,
                  Looks round him, an' found them
                    Impatient for the chorus.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] Opened.

[19] Rags.




                              POINT VIII.


                                  AIR.

               _Tune_--JOLLY MORTALS, FILL YOUR GLASSES.


                                   I.

          See! the smoking bowl before us,
            Mark our jovial, ragged ring!
          Round and round take up the chorus,
            And in raptures let us sing--
              _A fig for those by law protected,_
                Liberty's _a glorious feast!_
              _Courts for cowards were erected,_
                _Churches built to please the priest._


                                  II.

          What is title, what is treasure,
            What is reputation's care?
          If we lead a life of pleasure,
            'Tis no matter how or where.
                                      _A fig_, &c.


                                  III.

          With the ready trick and fable,
            Round we wander all the day;
          And at night, in barn or stable,
            Hug our doxies on the hay.
                                      _A fig_, &c.

[Illustration]


                                  IV.

          Does the train-attended carriage
            Thro' the country lighter rove?
          Does the sober bed of marriage
            Witness brighter scenes of love?
                                      _A fig_, &c.


                                   V.

          Life is all a _variorum_,
            We regard not how it goes;
          Let them cant about decorum
            Who have character to lose.
                                      _A fig_, &c.


                                  VI.

          Here's to _budgets_, _bags_, and _wallets_!
            Here's to all the wandering train!
          Here's _our ragged brats and callets_!
            One and all cry out, _Amen!_

              _A fig for those by law protected,_
                Liberty's _a glorious feast!_
              _Courts for cowards were erected,_
                _Churches built to please the priest._

[Illustration]




                               POINT IX.

                      THE DOWNFALL OF HOLY CHURCH.


In the year of 1460, Revel was governed by a General, whose name
was John of Mengden; a worthy old man, who loved his glass of wine,
and had the gout; for wine and the gout are sister's children. It
was his custom to ride out occasionally on a black horse down to
the shores of the Baltic, whence he continued his way to a convent
of nuns consecrated to St. Bridget. This nunnery, which was called
Marianthal, was situated about a mile from the town, and its ruins
are inhabited by owls and ravens.

On one of these excursions he was accompanied by the Lord Marshal,
Gothard of Plettenberg.

As they approached the convent wall, the Marshal's horse became
suddenly restive. "Have you heard," said he, "the strange stories of
the subterraneous passage, and that it winds in intricate mazes round
the cloister?"----"No;" replied John of Mengden, "but I should like to
hear them over a bottle; you shall relate them to me in the evening."
"It may be done now, and in a few words," rejoined the other; "for we
stand exactly before the subterraneous passage, or mouth of the cavern;
but for fifty years, not a human foot has advanced beyond the bottom of
the steps, there the torches are always blown out."

The burgomaster of Revel, who was then with them, made a cross on
his breast, and confirmed the statement. "Sometimes," continued
Gothard, "are heard, during the night, the sounds of soft music,
arising slowly and melodiously from the cave, like the sweet tones
of musical glasses, with an accompaniment of the songs of angels.
The holy sisters of the convent are frequent listeners to this
divine harmony, though none of the words can be understood." "Let
the venerable Lady Abbess come down to me," said the general, as he
alighted from his horse, and placed his glove in his sword-belt. The
Abbess now appeared, veiled. She modestly curtsied to the knight,
and presented him with a cup of Spanish wine. The old General laid
himself down on the grass, and asked the sainted lady if she could
give him any information relative to the subterraneous passage? The
Abbess replied in the affirmative, adding a number of particulars
concerning what she and her pious sisters had seen,--and fancied they
had seen--heard, and fancied they had heard.

"So God and St. Vitus help me!" exclaimed the governor, "I will
myself make an attempt to descend into the cavern; give me a lighted,
consecrated torch."

The burgomaster crossed himself all over. A cold shivering seized
him; the only vault into which he had been accustomed to descend, was
the town-cellar, which was haunted by none but _choice spirits_, with
which he was familiar.

The lady Abbess entreated the old man not to undertake so rash an
enterprize; and assured him, that the spirits of former times,
unlike those of the present day, would not allow themselves to be
sported with. But in arguing with the brave old General, they talked
to the wind which blew over the Baltic. The consecrated torches were
brought, the corpulent General repeated an Ave-Maria, recommended
himself to St. Vitus, his protecting Saint, and courageously entered
the mysterious passage. The sound of his feet was still heard on the
steps; his breathing was still audible, and the glimmer of his torch
played on the damp walls. On a sudden all was silent, and the light
disappeared. The listeners above were on the stretch of attention.
Gothard was stationed on the upper step; the burgomaster a few paces
further back; and behind him stood the Abbess, her rosary running
through her fingers. They listened, but all was still! "Holloa there,
John of Mengden!--how fare you?" thundered the voice of Gothard; yet
all was still as the grave. The listeners were alarmed; they inclined
their ears; they stood lightly on tip-toe; they restrained their
breath--not a sound ascended. The cavern yawned before them, and all
was silent below; "Holy St. Bridget! what can have happened? Let the
priests be summoned, and mass be said, to appease the spirits!"

The lady Abbess hastened to the convent, rang the chapel-bell, when
all the pious sisterhood hurried from their cells, fell upon their
bare knees, chastizing themselves, and praying to heaven for mercy
towards the old General. The burgomaster threw himself upon his
horse, and trotted back to the town to impart the terrible news to
his wife, children and domestics. Gothard, who was a courageous
knight, alone remained, absorbed in gloomy reflection, leaning
against the wall, with his eyes fixed on the darkness beneath. Thus
he continued during two hours. At last he thought he heard on the
steps some one breathing and struggling.--"John of Mengden!" he
vociferated--"are you alive, or dead?"--"I am alive!" replied the
General, half breathless, as he stumbled up the steps. "Thanks to God
and St. Bridget!--we have been in agony on your account. Where have
you been? What have you heard or seen?" The General then related that
he had quietly descended, with the consecrated taper in his hand;
that his heart beat a little as he advanced; that a cold shiver had
begun to seize him; but that he took courage, as his taper burnt
always clear and bright: that at length he stood on the bottom step,
and looked down an endless passage, doubtful whether, under the
protection of St. Bridget, he should move forward or backward; that
suddenly he was surrounded by a lukewarm breeze, mild and fragrant,
as if wafted over a bed of flowers, which in a moment extinguished
his taper, and so clouded his senses, that he sunk like a dead man
on the steps, and then lay a considerable time in a sort of trance;
that at last he awoke again, and it appeared to him as if he were
gently moved by a warm hand, though he knew not where he was, nor
what had happened to him; that he stretched out his hands, and felt
nothing but the cold stone; but that, as a little daylight glimmered
upon him from above, he composed his spirits, and began to creep
with difficulty up the steps; that when on them he was perfectly
recovered, feeling only a slight oppression in the head, similar to
the effect of intoxication.

"Well, brother," said he to the lord-marshal, "will not you also make
the attempt, and try whether it will not succeed better with you."

Gothard of Plettenberg demurred: notwithstanding he never feared,
in former times, a knight of flesh and bone, as long as he was
able to wield his sword; yet, with respect to ghosts, a very just
exception was allowed; and a knight might tremble in the dark like an
old woman, without any stain upon his honor, or impeachment of his
valour. Now a days, the matter is quite altered, and a man may fear
any thing but ghosts.

"By my sword," said the governor, as he was returning home, "I will
investigate the causes of this mystery. I must know from whose mouth
proceeded the gentle breath, that smelt fragrant as the plants of
the east, and yet had force enough to extinguish the flame of the
consecrated taper, and even to confuse my head, as though I had been
drunk."

He instantly sent for Henry of Uxkull, bishop of Revel, and the Abbot
of Pardis. Being arrived, they were entertained at a large oak table,
and quaffed wine from the family goblet. They listened to the fearful
story of their host, with their fat hands folded upon their huge
bellies, and shook their heads with significant silence.

Having well weighed the matter, knitted their brows and assumed an
air of importance, they finally agreed _that they knew not what to
think of it_. Each then waddled to his home and thought no more of
the mysterious cavern.

But it was not so with the General. He could not rest. His fancy was
on the rack, to account for the mystery. On the next morning, he
despatched letters to the Archbishop of Riga, to a learned canon,
and two pious deans of the holy church of Riga--stating "that a
surprising incident had obliged him to have recourse to their
piety and wisdom, and entreating that they would be at Revel on St.
Egidius's day, to discuss in christian humility this weighty affair."

They came on the appointed day: for they were aware that the cellar
of the Governor contained excellent wine, and that his was no niggard
hospitality. The archbishop of Revel, and the Abbot of Pardis, were
likewise invited to assist, who failed not at the proper hour to
present themselves at the castle. An elegant repast had been prepared
for them, bumpers went cheerily round to the prosperity of Holy
Church, and to the perpetual bloom of the German order of religion.

When their spiritual stomachs were sufficiently gorged, the General
thus addressed them: "Reverend and pious fathers! thus and thus
it happened to me and my friend here, Gothard of Plettenberg,"
recounting his story--"What is to be done to liberate the spirits who
wander and breathe in the subterraneous passage?"

"They must be driven out by force," replied the archbishop of Riga,
"and the power to do this was given to bishops from above."

"A wisp of hay should be steeped in holy water," added the canon,
"with which the steps of the dark passage should be sprinkled."

One of the deans advised that "the little chest with the Egyptian
hieroglyphics, which was kept as a relic in the convent of St.
Bridget, should be taken to the cavern."

The other dean was of opinion that the spirits should be allowed
to continue without molestation so long as they only wandered and
breathed.

The archbishop of Revel was also of the same sentiment, but the
Abbot of Pardis applauded this idea of the Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Last of all, the old General proposed that they should immediately
ride to the beach, and employ the arms of the church against the
inhabitants of the subterraneous passage. The wine had imparted its
spirit to the holy fathers; and they now felt courage to engage, if
necessary, even with the fiends of hell.

Within half an hour they were at the convent gate!

Three times were the consecrated torches borne round by the
archbishop, who, muttering between his teeth, dipped the wisp into a
large ewer of holy water, and plentifully besprinkled all present.
Thus spiritually armed, they silently and cautiously approached the
entrance of the cavern. Here a question arose, "who should go down
first?" Those who were at home were unwilling to rob the strangers
of the honor of precedence. The deans drew back, as being merely
subalterns in the church, out of respect to their bishop. The
archbishop bowed to the right learned canon, and he bowed to the
rest. The General became impatient, and forced the archbishop down
the steps. The rest followed with beating hearts and tottering knees.

[Illustration]

Each carried in his hand a consecrated taper; and with a rosary hanging
at his elbow, sprinkled the walls with drops of holy water. The last
of the procession was the Abbot of Pardis, who, grown unwieldy by the
luxurious diet of the church, could scarcely drag his short puffed legs
after his fat and bulky paunch. The steps too were not only small,
but damp and slippery; whence it happened, that on the second step
the Abbot lost his footing, and falling with his whole weight upon
Henry of Uxkull, they both fell upon the last dean: all three on
the first dean; all four on the canon; all five upon the archbishop of
Riga; when the whole troop rolled helter skelter down the steps, and
plumped to the bottom like so many sacks, there remaining senseless!
The consecrated tapers were extinguished, and the venerable group were
veiled by a sort of Egyptian darkness. The General, who remained above,
heard the tremendous rumbling, to which succeeded a dead silence. For
two hours he listened, called on each by name, and waited in vain for a
reply. His voice alone was returned to him in a dull and hollow echo.
The only sound which met his eager listening, was that of the terrified
bat, flitting in the depths of the cavern; or, at intervals, the scream
of the frightened owl.

He was a man of uncommon courage, and he resolved to descend once
more himself, to see what was become of his guests; but as a prelude
to this perilous expedition, he determined to enliven his natural
spirits by a draught of generous wine. As he vociferated--"a cup of
wine," to the groom who held his horse, the word WINE reached the
ears of the holy men--they disentangled themselves from each other,
scrambled up, their foreheads bedewed with the sweat of terror, and
when they had recovered themselves, they confessed unanimously _that
they were not able to unravel the mystery_.

Thus ended the second attempt to gain a more intimate acquaintance
with the spirits of the subterraneous passage, and thenceforward no
one was bold enough to tread the magic ground.




                                POINT X.

                         A VISIT WITHOUT FORM.


[Illustration]

When the Cardinal Bernis resided at Rome in the capacity of Ambassador
from France, he bore the highest character for sanctity--yet the
Cardinal was a man, though a churchman; and churchmen are sometimes not
invulnerable to the shafts of love. A pair of speaking black eyes like
those of the Princess B., have before now made sad havoc in the heart
of the votary of celibacy. The lady was conscious of her own charms,
but being married to the man she loved, instead of setting them off by
certain little manœuvres which some ladies perfectly understand how
to put in practice, she carefully avoided giving any encouragement to
the Cardinal, whose constant attendance upon her began to give her
some uneasiness. At length the Cardinal, finding that his visits,
attentions, _cadeaux_, and fine speeches had no effect, determined upon
seeking an opportunity of making the lady sensible of the excess of
his passion. One morning the Princess, on returning from mass, in her
haste to avoid a violent shower of rain, tripped as she was getting
out of her carriage, and sprained her ancle. The Cardinal, who by his
spies was informed of every step the Princess took, had attended at
mass also; and as he was following the Princess, unobserved, he saw
the accident and ran to her assistance, raised her into the carriage,
and very humbly entreated her to allow him the honour of seeing her
safe home. His Excellency was not to be refused consistently with
etiquette, so the poor Princess was under the necessity of hearing all
the pretty things the Ambassador had reserved for the occasion. All
his protestations and entreaties proved fruitless, and the poor lady
arrived at the palace almost exhausted with the alarm the conversation
had caused her. She now endeavoured with all care to avoid receiving
the Cardinal's visits, but the old gentleman's amorous plans were not
to be thwarted.--He still found means of seeing her, and again attacked
her with his vows and protestations, so that the lady, unable to bear
it any longer, determined to inform the Prince, and related to him all
the circumstances of the affair. The Prince was enraged, and threatened
all kinds of vengeance against the lover; but however, when the first
burst of passion had a little subsided, he said to her, "We are, my
love, in a very aukward situation, for the Cardinal being Ambassador
his person is sacred; besides we should have the whole consistory
and his holiness at their head, thundering excommunication upon us.
However, I will think of some scheme of cooling the passion of this
holy gentleman." He accordingly suggested that she should write word
to the Cardinal, that as her husband was going that evening to his
Villa near Tivoli, to order some improvement to be made which would
detain him the best part of next day, she had determined to admit a
visit from him; but that in order to keep the matter a secret from
the servants, she desired him to come at midnight; that she would
fix a silken ladder at her room window which looked into the garden,
whence he might easily ascend into the anti-room, where he would find
the door open that led into her own room. The reader will naturally
conceive the transports which this delicious billet excited in the
worthy Cardinal. He danced, and leaped and capered about for joy, rang
the bell, gave contradictory orders, and convinced his valet that
he was mad. He had the sense however to direct a suit of his finest
linen to be prepared, and to countermand the order for his carriage,
for he bethought himself he had better go privately. How tedious did
the hours, which intervened before the time of appointment, appear
to our ardent lover, and when the clock struck eleven he could no
longer wait. It was a good distance, he must be there in time, not a
second too late; therefore off he set after taking some precautions
against his sacred person being discovered. He arrives, panting with
love and hope; the burning of Mongibello could scarcely exceed the
conflagration within him. He gets to the garden-gate. One cannot think
of every thing. The Princess in her flurry had forgotten to order the
garden-gate to be left open. What was to be done? The wall was not
high; but must his Eminence endanger his sacred person? Love, however,
the sovereign ruler, who makes even cowards heroes, animated him. It
was dreadfully dark; but luckily, in feeling for the height of the
wall, the anxious lover found an aperture in it large enough to admit
the foot: into this he stepped, gave a spring, and got to the top;
and then slid down the other side, not however without losing his hat
and cloak, which owing to the darkness of the night he could not find
again, nor was he aware, for the same reason, how he was daubed with
mortar and brick-dust. In this pickle, our Adonis made the best of his
way to find the ladder, tumbling over orange-trees and rosebushes,
to the manifest injury of his cassock, which began to hang about him
in rags. At last he reached the ladder, seized hold of it, stopped,
panted a while for breath, and then up he went. He had just got one leg
through the window, when the two large folding doors of the apartment
flew open, and fifteen or twenty servants with lighted torches in their
hands presented themselves before him. The Prince, at their head,
ran up to the window, and with all courtesy helped in the astonished
Cardinal, and turning to the servants said, "Scoundrels! is it thus you
pay respect to the sacred person of the Cardinal Bernis? Is it thus, by
your negligence, that you compel his Eminence, when coming to my wife,
to venture his precious life upon a slight ladder and force him through
the window in this miserable plight?" Conceive the situation of the
bald-pated, cloakless, and tattered Cardinal, as he stood ashamed and
terrified before the jeering Prince and his twenty torchbearers. His
trembling knees could scarcely support him, as, half dead with fright,
shame, and disappointment, he sneaked out of the room, still lighted
by the torches and bowed out by the Prince, who continued to apologize
for the carelessness of his servants, much to the annoyance of the
poor Cardinal, whose misery was heightened by one stroke more; for, as
he was huddling off, he just caught the face of the Princess, peeping
through the opening of a door with some friends, all almost convulsed
with laughter.

[Illustration]


                                LONDON:
              Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch Street.




               =Works Illustrated by George Cruikshank.=

                   PUBLISHED BY JAMES ROBINS AND CO.


                        GERMAN POPULAR STORIES,

  Collected by MM. GRIMM, from Oral Tradition. Fourth Edition, with 12
                Etchings by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, price 7s.

     'This Book ought to be in the possession of the man as a
     curiosity, and of the child as an amusement.'--New Monthly
     Magazine.


               A SECOND VOLUME OF GERMAN POPULAR STORIES,

              Illustrated by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, price 7s.

     'Of the first volume of this entertaining publication we spoke
     very favorably; and what with the German varieties in this
     sequel of well known nursery tales, and the clever designs of
     George Cruikshank, certain it is this volume the second deserves
     almost equal praise.'--Literary Gazette.


                           POINTS OF HUMOUR,

Illustrated by a Series of Designs, by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, on Copper and
Wood. Parts 1 and 2, Royal 8vo. price 8s.;  12s. 6d.: and India
                         proofs 12s. 6d. each.


                          GREENWICH HOSPITAL,

A Series of NAVAL SKETCHES, descriptive of the Life of a
Man-of-War's-Man, by an OLD SAILOR. Printed in demy 4to. with Twelve
characteristic Illustrations on Copper by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, 
in Costume, in addition to numerous Engravings on Wood, price One
Guinea, boards.

     'In compliment to the inexhaustible talent and drollery of
     George Cruikshank, we have put this article at the head of our
     department of the Fine Arts; and it well deserves that grace.
     Yet it must not be fancied that we mean to derogate from the
     literary merits of the "Old Sailor," whose Smollet-like humour
     and genuine nautical characteristics so often occupied that
     portion of the Literary Gazette in which we endeavour to lighten
     and enliven its graver pages. Indeed, these Tales (or the far
     greater number of them) now so cleverly brought together,
     were originally printed in our columns; where they obtained
     so much popularity, as to lead to their being republished in
     this collected form, with the addition of the artist's merry,
     grotesque, and laughable designs.'--Literary Gazette.


                      MORE MORNINGS AT BOW STREET,

A New Series of the most humorous and entertaining Reports, by JOHN
WIGHT, of the Morning Herald. With a Frontispiece and twenty-five
Illustrations by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 10s. 6d. A few copies are printed
on India paper, price 15s.

India and plain impressions of the Cuts may be had separately, price
10s. 6d. and 6s.


                          TALES OF IRISH LIFE,

Illustrative of the Manners, Customs, and Condition of the People,
collected during a residence of several years in various parts of
Ireland, with Illustrations by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. In 2 vols, price 12s.

     'There is much matter worthy of earnest national attention in
     these fictions; while, at the same time, they are characteristic
     and amusing'--Literary Gazette.

     'The designs of George Cruikshank, in this work, are sufficient
     to render any tales immortal.'--British Press.

     'A hue of nature pervades them--an air of reality invests
     them;--life, actual life, is stamped upon the incidents and upon
     the characters.'--Dublin Morning Register.

     'These volumes are calculated to do much good.'--Dublin and
     London Magazine.

     'We recommend the whole to the perusal of our readers, as highly
     worthy of their attention.'--Critical Gazette.


                            HANS OF ICELAND,

A Tale, with four highly finished Etchings by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
Price 7s. 6d.

          'Some say this monster was a witch,
           Some say he was a devil.'--Dragon of Wantley.

     'Really Hans of Iceland is altogether one of the best
     productions of its class which we have seen. There is a power
     about it resembling one of Fuseli's pictures, and Cruikshank's
     designs are capital.'--Literary Gazette.


                             THE HUMOURIST:

A Chaste Collection of Entertaining Tales, Anecdotes, Epigrams, Witty
Sayings, &c. Original and Selected. Embellished with Forty 
Plates, Drawn and Engraved by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. In Four Volumes, 5s
each.


                            ECCENTRIC TALES,

From the German of W. F. VON KOSEWITZ. Embellished with twenty
 Illustrations by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, from Sketches by ALFRED
CROWQUILL. Price 15s.


            MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON,

by GEO. CLINTON, ESQ. with a Portrait and Forty illustrations, by
GEO. CRUIKSHANK.




Transcriber's Notes:


Obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been fixed throughout.





End of Project Gutenberg's Points of Humour, Part 1 (of 2), by Anonymous

*** 