Joseph Grego

“ In the foreground the foolish revellers are portrayed. They have left the heated dancing room in their light attire; a couple of giddy maidens, who are too careless to wait for their coach, are skipping off into the damp and chilling atmosphere without a wrapper, their thin dresses blowing in the wind, and running home under the escort of a gallant major. Death, with a jaunty cap on his head, and muffled in a cloak which disguises his ghostly frame, is dancing before, a very 'will-o'-the-wisp,' dangling about a flickering lantern, a dangerous guide whom they fail to recognise. ”

“ The chamber is alive with motion, and it is evidently the accustomed method of departure; pairs of dogs are rushing about, huntsmen and grooms are carrying saddles on their heads and making preparations for the start. The remains of last night's relaxations, in the shape of pipes and mugs of ale, are still uncleared; and the articles scattered around, guns, saddles, whips, hunting-horns, and fox-skins, attest the pronounced sporting tastes of the country squire. A pretty child is tranquilly sleeping, in its cradle, undisturbed by the bustle of the hunter's early start. ”

“ The artist has drawn the enjoyments of the honeymoon; the imbecile and antiquated 'happy man,' nightcap on head, is plunged in an invalid chair; a well-stuffed cushion gives ease to his gouty extremities; a table at his side is spread with a costly dessert service. The palsied hands of the venerable idiot are vainly striving to steady a goblet for a bumper; the eager toper does not distinguish the hand which is filling his last glass. The grim skeleton, Death, stooping over a screen, is supplying the final dose from his own fatal decanter. ”

“ Behind the sufferer, whose last hour, it seems, is approaching—since Death has thrust his head, arm, and hour-glass through a window above his head—is seated a blooming young damsel, decked out in all the attractiveness of an evening toilette; planted at a table by her side is a dandified admirer; before them a dessert is arranged, and decanters of wine are ready to hand. ”

“ At the sound of the hautboy, the bass, and the fiddle, Sir Boreas Blubber steps forth in the middle. Now why should I mention a hundred or more, Who went the same circle as others before, To a tune that they play'd us a hundred times o'er? And who at the ball on that night did appear, Who danc'd in the van and who limp'd in the rear, What dukes and what drapers, what barbers and peers, What marquises, earls, and what knights of the shears, What cook and what countess, what nymphs of the brooms, What mop-sceptred queens came that night to the Rooms. ”

“ One kind word will ease his pain.
A stout knight (possibly a lineal descendant of Sir John Falstaff) is the Pleader; he is lounging on an elegant sofa of the early Georgian period, making inane love to a pretty girl placed by his side, dressed in a picturesque Watteau-like costume, with a quilted petticoat and a quaint mob-cap added; the amorous old trifler's hand is on the slim waist of the beauty; the damsel is standing up in a negligently easy pose, while she is toying with her antiquated admirer and waving his enormous and elaborately curled double-tailed wig in the air. ”

“ A footman and a parlour-maid are rolling over one another indiscriminately on the hearthrug amidst the fragments of crockery demolished in their downfall. A sturdy black footman is lifting a fat wench in his arms for a chaste salute. Practical joking is the order of the evening; the fat cook has been toppled back in her armchair, and is vainly flourishing her basting-ladle to drive off her assailant, while her feet are in the air; and the butler, as author of the mischief, is making the best use of his opportunities, while another couple are exchanging kisses with evident goodwill. ”

“ With outstretch'd hands and energetic grace, He fearless thus harangues the roasting race: 'Cooks, scullions—hear me, every mother's son— Know that I relish not this royal fun. What's life,' the major said, 'my brethren, pray, If force must snatch our first delights away? Relentless, shall the royal mandate drag The hairs that long have grac'd this silken bag?— Hairs to a barber scarcely worth a fig— Too few to make a foretop for a wig! ”

“ A well-to-do gourmand has taken his place at a plentifully supplied table, whereon is spread all kinds of fare; attendants are ministering to his wants, and a handsome and elegantly dressed female is at his side; the arch-jester, Death, has suddenly dropped into a vacant arm-chair at the festive board; joints are scattered, plates are thrown down, the founder of the feast is starting forward in consternation; a male cook, and serving maids, bringing in fresh dishes, are losing their grasp of delicacies which will never, as it now appears, regale the gluttony of their master. ”

“ The devil-may-care 'blood' is tearing up to the hall in a tandem, his followers are clothed in deep black, but beyond this he displays no regard for the dead; his servants are clashing up on horseback, his huntsman is giving a blast of his horn, his grooms are shouting 'Tally-ho!' and a pack of hounds are barking on all sides. Death is acting as postilion, and as this unthinking heir drives up to the entrance-court his head is caught by the hatchment put up to the late lord, and his mad career is cut short at the very threshold. ”

“ With every qualification to ensure success, Rowlandson, as his story indicates, deliberately threw away the serious chances of life, to settle down as the delineator of the transitory impressions of the hour. 'There is wisdom in laughter,' says the sage; and—without precisely regarding life as a 'stale jest'—our artist drew mirth from every situation, and illustrated from his own fecund resources that, while nearly every circumstance has its grotesque as well as its sinister aspect, the ludicrous elements of any given event are often more enduring than the serious ones. ”

“ Music, painting, sculpture, literature, chemistry, and other arts and sciences seem to have occupied his attention by turns, and instruments suggestive of the respective pursuits are muddled up with domestic details incidental to the confinement of a wife and family to one solitary chamber, together with the utensils of cookery, besides the food itself. The genius has left his rest under the impulse of an inspiration; he has an old nightcap worn over his wig, and is still in his night-shirt, with down-at-heel slipper on one foot, and a ragged stocking on the other. ”

“ The monument, as seen in Rowlandson's veracious representation, is a splendid example of exaggerated glorification. The statue of a warrior—surely not intended to resemble the stout little monarch to whose glory it is dedicated—is trampling on an allegorical personage typifying the conquered enemies of France; while the figure of Fame, holding her trumpet ready to sound the victor's praises, is crowning the hero with a wreath. ”

“ In the present case the head and bust of the Emperor, on a colossal scale—his throat encircled by a hangman's noose—is elevated on an immense pyramid of human heads, his decapitated victims; a brace of demons are flying through the air to encircle the brow of this apostle of freedom with a crown of blazing pitch. A ring of excited demons, with horns, claws, hoofs, and tails, but bearing the heads and faces of Napoleon's supporters, are dancing in triumph round the idol they have replaced. ”

“ The painter, who is a well-favoured youth, is seated with his back to his easel, on which is a classic study in course of execution. His palette is on the ground, and he is holding a crayon in one hand, and a folio, which is serving as his drawing-board, in the other, ready to dash down his conceptions as soon as his imagination is sufficiently inspired by the effects of his friend's readings. The learned historian, whose hat and gloves are at his feet, wears a full-bottomed wig and large round rimmed spectacles. ”

“ The cards, the stakes, and the play-table are capsized; a fat footman is gazing with wonder at the guest last arrived, but the old maids are sensible of the nature of his attentions, and they are fluttering about in consternation and terror, as to whose turn has come. Death, it seems, is making a jest of offering what these frozen old maids have lacked through life—a husband. ”

“ Going, a-going.—A handsome young huntsman has encountered, in the course of his sport, a pretty country maiden, neatly apparelled, and beaming with all the freshness of rustic simplicity and artlessness. Her budding charms are tempting the youth to court the maiden, to her own manifest embarrassment; meanwhile the gay Lothario's huntsman is shown in the distance 'going' off with the horses: the young squire's hunting, as far as the chase of the fox is concerned, being evidently finished for the day. ”

“ Death, in this picture, has rather a hard tussle for it. His friends, the learned physicians, who are pocketing their fees, and turning their backs on their late patient, are hurrying away. Death, with a great show of force, has seized his victim, still in the pride of manhood, by the dressing-gown, and is seeking to drag him from the frantic embraces of those to whom his life is dear. The father and mother are remonstrating with this merciless abductor; the blooming wife and infants of the unfortunate are cast down in despair ”

“ Equality is travestied as an aristocrat kneeling in the dust, while a half-naked sansculotte is treading on his neck and beating his head with a club. Liberty is shown as a Jacobin, trampling on the Law, and holding the head of a Conventionalist on a dagger, to which the rulers of the state are compelled to bow their obeisance. ”

“ Clarke's drawing-room; a round table is covered with wines, spirits, punchbowls, and, among the rich dessert dishes, is a gigantic golden bowl, the thankoffering of a Bishop. The diversions of the company assembled have passed the bounds of innocent recreation; fiddlers and singers are rolling on the floor, wine and punch are recklessly thrown about the place, and altogether the spectacle is not of an improving character. A troop of flunkeys, in expensive liveries, are helping themselves from the decanters and laughing at the tipsy antics of the company. ”

“ Old Trusty, with his Town-made Friends, To gentle sleep himself commends, With Tray upon his knees; Whilst Tom, his son, all eager, gaping, Expects each moment he'll be scraping The treasure up he sees. ”

“ A slipshod and tailorlike-looking old scarecrow, with spectacles on nose, and wearing a scarlet nightcap, is viewing with idiotic rapture the advent of a fat, inebriated, and dishevelled bacchante of mature charms, who, with a decanter in one hand and a glass in the other, is staggering into the chamber, to the amusement of a pretty servant-maid outside. ”