PREFACE.

The best preface to this set of the Points of Humour is the former set, which, we are credibly informed, has favorably disposed the muscles of our readers for repeating a certain cackling sound, which is heart-food to our friend George Cruikshank.

One individual, for certain, has laughed over these Points, and he is a very worthy gentleman, who may be, discerned wedging his way through sundry piles of books in a remarkable part of Newgate-street, being opposite to the huge prison of that name. No one ever asked him after the sale of this little work, without observing an instantaneous distension of that feature of the face which is used for more purposes than merely grinning. It is to be devoutly hoped that this second set will not spoil his merriment, and that, as rather a coarse saying goes, "he will not be made to sing to another tune."

The author, collector, compiler, editor, writer, or whatever name the daily or weekly critics may give him, for they have given him all these, will, undoubtedly, be heartily sorry should this change take place, for he avows that since the publication of the Points, the face of the worthy gentleman alluded to has been illuminated by one unclouded sunshine, so much so, indeed, that to enter his shop has been a constant resource against melancholy during this gloomy weather. A face lighted up with good humour in a dark shop, is like a blaze of light in the middle of one of Rembrandt's murky pictures.

It will be seen that the compiler has taken a hint, or rather followed a hint of one of the critics upon this little book. He has resorted for part of his materials, to the author, who is the richest of all in the humour of situation. Fielding has been suggested; but though some things, excellent in their kind, might be found in him, yet it will be observed, on a more accurate consideration, that this admirable author is infinitely less adapted to the pencil of Cruikshank, than his successor in the walk of humour. Fielding is a master in the power of laying open all the springs which regulate the motion of that curious piece of mechanism, the human heart. He wrote with the inspiration of genius, and is true to nature in her minutest circumstances. He involuntarily and unconsciously catches the look, the word, the gesture, which would undoubtedly have manifested itself, and which is in itself a strong gleam of light upon the whole character. His dramatis personae are not, generally, very extraordinary people.—He dealt in that which is common to

all. While, on the contrary, Smollett is rich in that which is uncommon and eccentric. His field is among oddities, hobby-horses, foibles, and singularities of all kinds, which he groups in the most extraordinary manner, and colours for the most striking effect. We read Fielding with a satisfied smile, but it is over the page of Smollett that the loud laugh is heard to break forth.—How much at home our artist is in the conception of Smollett may be seen in the following, plates.

It has been said that it is a pity Mr. Cruikshank should waste his talents upon ephemeral anecdotes, and not hand down his name by illustrating the works of our great Novelists. As well might it have been said to these great Novelists, "confine yourselves to commenting upon, or translating Cervantes or Le Sage." Genius consecrates and immortalizes all it touches.—If the tales or anecdotes be ephemeral, the plates will stamp them for a good old age. Hogarth did not paint his Rake's Progress in illustration of any immortal work, nor does it require a set of octavo volumes to remind posterity of his existence.

A similar excuse may apply to Cruikshank, who, generally, would chuse rather to exalt the humble, than endow the rich.

We have an observation to make respecting one of the plates, the last in the order. It will be seen that the costume of the characters there pourtrayed, is essentially different from that adopted by every illustrator of Shakspeare. This has not been done unadvisedly. The proper authorities have been in this, as in other cases, diligently consulted, and it has appeared that these artists, in their endeayour to discover the dress of our ancestors, have stopped short at the reign of Charles II., instead of penetrating to that of Henry V.

March, 1824.

POINT I. THE THREE HUNCHBACKS.

At a short distance from Douai, there stood a castle on the bank of a river near a bridge. The master of this castle was hunchbacked. Nature had exhausted her ingenuity in the formation of his whimsical figure. In place of understanding, she had given him an immense head, which nevertheless was lost between his two shoulders: he had thick hair, a short neck, and a horrible visage.

Spite of his deformity, this bugbear bethought himself of falling in love with a beautiful young woman, the daughter of a poor but respectable burgess of Douai. He sought her in marriage, and as he was the richest person in the district, the poor girl was delivered up to him. After the nuptials he was as much an object of pity as she, for, being devoured by jealousy, he had no tranquillity night nor day, but went prying and rambling every where, and suffered no stranger to enter the castle.

One day during the Christmas festival, while standing sentinel at his gate, he was accosted by three humpbacked minstrels. They saluted him as a brother, as such asked him for refreshments, and at the same time, to establish the fraternity, they ostentatiously shouldered their humps at him. Contrary to expectation, he conducted them to his kitchen, gave them a capon with peas, and to each a piece of money over and above. Before their departure, however, he warned them never to return on pain of being thrown into the river. At this threat of the Chatelain the minstrels laughed heartily and took the road to the town, singing in full chorus, and dancing in a grotesque manner, in derision of their brother-hump of the castle. He, on his part, without paying farther attention, went to walk in the fields.

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The lady, who saw her husband cross the bridge, and had heard the minstrels, called them back to amuse her. They had not been long returned to the castle, when her husband knocked at the gate, by which she and the minstrels were equally alarmed. Fortunately, the lady perceived in a neighbouring room three empty coffers. Into each of these she stuffed a minstrel, shut the covers, and then opened the gate to her husband. He had only come back to espy the conduct of his wife as usual, and, after a short stay, went out anew, at which you may believe his wife was not dissatisfied. She instantly ran to the coffers to release her prisoners, for night was approaching and her husband would not probably be long absent. But what was her dismay, when she found them all three suffocated!

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Lamentation, however, was useless. The main object now was to get rid of the dead bodies, and she had not a moment to lose. She ran then to the gate, and seeing a peasant go by, she offered him a reward of thirty livres, and leading him into the castle, she took him to one of the coffers, and shewing him its contents, told him he must throw the dead body into the river: he asked for a sack, put the carcase into it, pitched it over the bridge, and then returned quite out of breath to claim the promised reward.

"I certainly intended to satisfy you," said the lady, "but you ought first to fulfil the condition of the bargain—you have agreed to rid me of the dead body, have you not? There, however, it is still." Saying this, she showed him the other coffer in which, the second humpbacked minstrel had expired. At this sight the clown was perfectly confounded—"how the devil! come back! a sorcerer!"—he then stuffed the body into the sack and threw it, like the other, over the bridge, taking care to put the head down and to observe that it sank.

Meanwhile the lady had again changed the position of the coffers, so that the third was now in the place which had been successively occupied by the two others. When the peasant returned, she shewed him the remaining dead body—"you are right, friend," said she, "he must be a magician, for there he is again." The rustic gnashed his teeth with rage. "What the devil! am I to do nothing but carry about this humpback?" He then lifted him up, with dreadful imprecations, and having tied a stone round the neck, threw him into the middle of the current, threatening, if he came out a third time, to despatch him with a cudgel.

The first object that presented itself to the clown, on his way back for his reward, was the hunchbacked master of the castle returning from his evening walk, and making towards the gate. At this sight the peasant could no longer restrain his fury. "Dog of a humpback, are you there again?" So saying, he sprung on the Chatelain, threw him over his shoulders, and hurled him headlong into the river after the minstrels.

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"I'll venture a wager you have not seen him this last time," said the peasant, entering the room where the lady was seated. She answered, she had not. "You were not far from it," replied he: "the sorcerer was already at the gate, but I have taken care of him—be at your ease—he will not come back now."

The lady instantly comprehended what had occurred, and recompensed the peasant with much satisfaction.

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POINT II. A RELISH BEFORE DINNER.

When Charles Gustavus, King of Sweden, was besieging Prague, a boor, of a most extraordinary visage, desired admittance to his tent; and being allowed to enter, he offered, by way of amusement, to devour a large hog in his presence. The old general Konigsmark, who stood by the king's side, notwithstanding his bravery, had not got rid of the prejudices of his childhood, and hinted to his royal master, that the peasant ought to be burnt as a sorcerer. "Sir," said the fellow, irritated at the remark, "if your majesty will but make that old gentleman take off his sword and spurs, I will eat him before I begin the pig." General Konigsmark, who had, at the head of a body of Swedes, performed wonders against the Austrians, could not stand this proposal, especially as it was accompanied by a most hideous expansion of the jaws and mouth. Without uttering a word, the veteran turned pale and suddenly ran out of the tent, and did not think himself safe till he arrived at his quarters, where he remained above twenty-four hours, locked securely, before he got rid of the panic

which had so strongly seized him.

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POINT III. THE HAUNTED PHYSICIANS.

A lover, whose mistress was dangerously ill, sought every where for a skilful physician in whom he could place confidence, and to whose care he might confide a life so dear to him. In the course of his search he met with a talisman, by the aid of which spirits might be rendered visible. The young man exchanged, for this talisman, half his possessions, and having secured his treasure, ran with it to the house of a famous physician. Flocking round the door he beheld a crowd of shades, the ghosts of those persons whom this physician had killed. Some old, some young; some the skeletons of fat old men; some gigantic frames of gaunt fellows; some little puling infants and squalling women; all joined in menaces and threats against the house of the physician—the den of their destroyer—who however peacefully marched through them with his cane to his chin, and a grave and solemn air.

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The same vision presented itself, more or less, at the house of every physician of eminence. One at length was pointed out to him in a distant quarter of the city, at whose door he only perceived two little ghosts. "Behold," exclaimed he, with a joyful cry, "the good physician of whom I have been so long in search!" The doctor, astonished, asked him how he had been able to discover this? "Pardon me," said the afflicted lover complacently, "your ability and your reputation are well known to me."

"My reputation!" said the physician, "why I have been in Paris but eight days, and in that time I have had but two patients."

"Good God!" involuntarily exclaimed the young man, "and there they are!"

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POINT IV. THE FOUR BLIND BEGGARS.

There was a man, whose name was Backbac; he was blind, and his evil destiny reduced him to beg from door to door. He had been so long accustomed to walk through the streets alone, that he wanted none to lead him: he had a custom to knock at people's doors, and not answer till they opened to him. One day he knocked thus, and the master of the house, who was alone, cried, "who is there?" Backbac made no answer, and knocked a second time: the master of the house asked again and again, "who is there?" but to no purpose, no one answered; upon which he came down, opened the door, and asked the man what he wanted? "Give me something, for Heaven's sake," said Backbac; "you seem to be blind," replied the master of the house; "yes, to my sorrow," answered Backbac. "Give me your hand," resumed the master of the house; he did so, thinking he was going to give him alms; but he only took him by the hand to lead him up to his chamber. Backbac thought he had been carrying him to dine with him, as many people had done. When they reached the chamber, the man let go his hand, and

sitting down, asked him again what he wanted? "I have already told you," said Backbac, "that I want something for God's sake."

"Good blind man," replied the master of the house, "all that I can do for you is to wish that God may restore your sight."

"You might have told me that at the door," replied Backbac, "and not have given me the trouble to come up stairs."

"And why, fool," said the man of the house, "do not you answer at first, when people ask you who is there? why do you give any body the trouble to come and open the door when they speak to you?"—"What will you do with me then?" asked Backbac; "I tell you again," said the man of the house, "I have nothing to give you."

"Help me down the stairs then, as you brought me up."—"The stairs are before you," said the man of the house, "and you may go down by yourself if you will." The blind man attempted to descend, but missing a step, about the middle of the stairs, fell to the bottom and hurt his head and his back: he got up again with much difficulty, and went out, cursing the master of the house, who laughed at his fall.

As Backbac went out of the house, three blind men, his companions, were going by, knew him by his voice, and asked him what was the matter? He told them what had happened; and afterwards said, "I have eaten nothing to day; I conjure you to go along with me to my house, that I may take some of this money that we four have in common, to buy me something for supper." The blind men agreed, and they went home with him.

You must know that the master of the house where Backbac was so ill used, was a robber, and of a cunning and malicious disposition; he overheard from his window what Backbac had said to his companions, and came down and followed them to Backbac's house. The blind men being seated, Backbac said to them, "brothers, we must shut the door, and take care there be no stranger with us." At this the robber was much perplexed; but perceiving a rope hanging down from a beam, he caught hold of it, and hung by it while the blind men shut the door, and felt about the room with their sticks. When they had done, and had sat down again in their places, the robber left his rope, and seated himself softly by Backbac: who, thinking himself alone with his blind comrades, said to them, "brothers, since you have trusted me with the money, which we have been a long time gathering, I will shew you that I am not unworthy of the confidence you repose in me. The last time we reckoned, you know that we had ten thousand dirhems, and that we put them into ten bags: I will shew you that I have not touched

one of them;" having so said, he put his hand among some old clothes, and taking out the bags one after another, gave them to his comrades, saying, "there they are: you may judge by their weight that they are whole, or you may tell them if you please." His comrades answered, "there was no need, they did not mistrust him;" so he opened one of the bags, and took out ten dirhems, and each of the other blind men did the like.

Backbac put the bags into their place again; after which, one of the blind men said to him, "there is no need to lay out any thing for supper, for I have collected as much victuals from good people as will serve us all;" at the same time he took out of his bag bread and cheese, and some fruit, and putting all upon the table, they began to eat. The robber, who sat at Backbac's right hand, picked out the best, and eat with them; but, whatever care he took to make no noise, Backbac heard his chaps going, and cried out immediately, "We are undone, there is a stranger among us!" Having so said, he stretched out his hand, and caught hold of the robber by the arm, cried out "thieves!" fell upon him, and struck him. The other blind men fell upon him in like manner; the robber defended himself as well as he could, and being young and vigorous, besides having the advantage of his eyes, he swung by the hanging rope, and gave furious kicks, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, and cried out "thieves!" louder than they did.

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The neighbours came running at the noise, broke open the door, and had much ado to separate the combatants; but having at last succeeded, they asked the cause of their quarrel. Backbac, who still had hold of the robber, cried out, "gentlemen, this man I have hold of is a thief, and stole in with us on purpose to rob us of the little money we have." The thief, who shut his eyes as soon as the neighbours came, feigned himself blind, and exclaimed, "gentlemen, he is a liar. I swear to you by heavens, and by the life of the caliph, that I am their companion, and they, refuse to give me my just share. They have all four fallen upon me, and I demand justice." The neighbours would not interfere in their quarrel, but carried them all before the judge. When they came before the magistrate, the robber, without staying to be examined, cried out, still feigning to be blind, "sir, since you are deputed to administer justice by the caliph, whom God prosper, I declare to you that we are equally criminal, my four comrades and I; but we have all engaged, upon oath, to confess nothing

except we be bastinadoed; so that if you would know our crime, you need only order us to be bastinadoed, and begin with me." Backbac would have spoken, but was not allowed to do so, and the robber was put under the bastinado.

The robber, being under the bastinado, had the courage to bear twenty or thirty blows: when, pretending to be overcome with pain, he first opened one eye, and then the other, and crying out for mercy, begged the judge would put a stop to the blows. The judge, perceiving that he looked upon him with his eyes open, was much surprised, and said to him, "rogue, what is the meaning of this miracle?"