44 REVIEWS OF PRINTS AND ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 



blooming and blushing in the chevelure and chapoau of tho king and queen of Uie 

 month. By tlie merry faces of the sable rogues, and the joyous grhnaces of their 

 Grimakli, one might fancy that the " chimney sweepers' act" yet slumbered, an 

 embryo, in the brain of the sapient Solomon who framed it, but the text apprizes us' 

 that it has been matured and that the revelling of their sable majesties is but the 

 intoxication of despair. A band of shrieking children, boys, men and nursery 

 maids, brings up the procession. And what treat hath June — sweet month of roses, 

 nightingales, and twilight skies — what treat hath June in store for us? " Prodi- 

 gious ! " the Royal Academy ! the walls are covered with the triumphs of native 

 art, and we flatter ourselves with detecting the works of our favourites ; there is, 

 surely, a whole length by Sir Martin, and a portrait by Phillips, one by Pickersgill, 

 and another by Rothwell ; a mytliological by Etty, and a scriptural by Hilton; two 

 landscapes in India by Daniell ; a suliject from Comus by Howard, a sea-shore by 

 Collins, and a passage from Shakespeare, with the head of a fair girk, by Alabaster, 

 that promising pupil of genius : and tliere are many more which we might identify 

 had we but time. But look at the motley crowd ! the woman of ton and her 

 exquisite escort ; the corpulent clergyman whose right foot has, inadvertently, 

 pulverised the corn of the hapless old lady behind him ; the artist, horror-struck on 

 discovering his " wonderful production most wickedly and maliciously" hung on tlie 

 highest nail in the room ; the enormous alderman wiping his face with his handker- 

 chief; the connoisseur bent double to feast on some rare little bit near the ground — 

 in short. Reader, prithee put on thy spectacles if thou wearest such, and make thy 

 bow to the whole; — let us turn to July. Oh! tliis is Vauxhall with its coloured 

 lami)s, its green trees, its vocalists and musicians, wafer sandwiches, scaramouch 

 waiters, and harlequin groups ; and there is " Simpson the brave," attitudinising in 

 full dress, and as happy as a Parisian coxcomb of I'ancien regime. Good ! very 

 good ! go on. August hurries us not amidst the reapers and gleaners and the wide 

 waving harvest of wheat, where the lark has buried her nest in the furrows, and the 

 quail and the partridge and corn-crake have brooded and brought up their young — 

 no — it is " oyster-day r and a vision of Billingsgate rises before us ; we are jostled 

 amidst cab-men, coal-heavers, porters, bricklayers, and divers of the ruder specimens 

 of the softer sex, all eagerly selling, buying, opening and eating the unfortunate 

 hivalve. And lo 1 there is a dandy, with his belle, in a state of actual oyster-shell 

 siege, blockaded by some dozen ragged, active and clamorous little monkeys, from 

 the age of seven downwards : good lack ! And now for September ! where are we ? 

 what have we here ? " Gyngell" " Hichardson" booths, dwarfs, giants, posture- 

 masters, and rope-dancers ; clown, punch, and pantaloon ; the hero and heroine of 

 the sock and buskin ; a flying rabble of tailors, washerwomen, and new-breeched 

 little boys, and a mad bull rushing, unceremoniously, onward : the gentle revel of 

 St. Bartholomew has commenced, and we are in the classic region of Smithfield. 

 October presents us with the arrival of the stages from Hastings, and the surly- 

 descent of the worn-out cits who have been " pleasuring" at the sea-side, — gulping 

 salt water, and wetting their shoes on the shingles, and are now wending homewards 

 with guinea-less purses, band-boxes of milUnery, and mutual discontent. Well ! all 

 tilings must have an end, even a trip to the coast, and the cash in our pocket. No- 

 vember— chill and dark — ushers in the funeral procession of the " Papist plotter, 

 Guy," and the incident of the urchin, pulled back by his wiser companion, yet 

 sanguinely holding up his cap to the suicidal-looking personage in the barred window 

 of the sponging-house, is excellent : look at the queer little rogue too, with an ocean 

 of shirt collar, and handsomely dressed in the nether habiliments of some broad- 

 shouldered Irishman I what can be better ? Oh ! this, most certainly, the feast of 

 December ; the social, happy, cheery dinner-party in their pleasant, warm, well- 

 lighted room, with the sparkling and savoury condiments before them, — the turkey, 

 chine, hare, wine, jellies and mince-pies ; the pudding and roast beef, and aU good 

 tilings in possession and expectancy ; jests and gibes and broad grins ; quips and 

 cranks, smiles, simpers, blushes, and soft flatteries — all that is joyous, tender and 

 amiable, animates the scene, — even the servants are mollified, and John oglingly 

 whispers a sly compliment to Betty as she hands him the tart. This is a capital 

 termination, and so we leave it. 



Of the etchings we must .say, that while the designs exhil)it nuich of the graphic 

 humour of the master, the execution is less vigorous than might be desired ; a too 



