George Cruikshank's Omnibus. George Cruikshank
down under the smoke of a steamer, and you behold a little sweep flourishing his brush on the chimney-top, and wishing perhaps that he was down below there with Jack-in-the-green. Now then, a little more to the right—where you see a merry dancing-group of our light-heeled and light-hearted neighbours, the leader of the party playing the fiddle and dancing on stilts, while one of his countrymen is flying his favourite national kite—viz., the soldier. In the same vicinity, are groups of German gentlemen, some waltzing, and some smoking meerschaums; near these are foot-soldiers and lancers supporting the kite-flyer. Now, near the horse, my little dears, you will see the mule, together with the Spanish muleteers, who, if not too tired, would like to take part in that fandango performed to the music of the light guitar. Look a little to the left, and you behold a quadrille-party, where a gentleman in black is pastorale-ing all the chalk off the floor; and now turn your eyes just above these, and you behold a joyful party of convivialists, with bottles in the ice-pail and bumpers raised, most likely to the health of our gracious Queen, or in honour of the Great Captain of the Age. And now, my little dears, turn your eyes in a straight line to the right, and you will perceive St. Peter's at Rome, beneath which are two young cardinals playing at leap-frog, not at all frightened at the grand eruption of Mount Vesuvius which is going on in the distance. From this you must take a leap on to the camel's back, from which you will obtain a view of the party sitting just below, which consists of the grand Sultan smoking desperately against Ali Pacha. Now, look a little lower down, and you will see a famous crocodile-catcher of the Nile, said to bear a striking resemblance to Commodore Napier; and now, look upwards again to the farthest verge, and you behold the great Pyramid, and a wild horseman chasing an ostrich not so wild as himself. Now, the world goes round a little more, and you see some vast mountains, together with the temples of Hindostan; and upon the palm-tree you will find the monkeys pulling one another's tails, being very uneducated and having nothing else to do: here, also, you will discern the Indian jugglers, one throwing the balls, and another swallowing the sword, a very common thing in these parts. And now, my little dears, you can plainly see several very independent gentlemen and loyal subjects standing on their heads in presence of the Emperor of ever so many worlds, and the brother of the sun and moon; and behind these, hiding the wall of China, you will see a quantity of steam, (for they are in hot water there,) that issues from the tea-kettles. Leaving his Celestial Majesty smoking his opium, and passing the junks, temples, and pagodas, you see a Chinese joss upon his pedestal; and now you can descend and join that pretty little tea-party, where you will recognise some of your old acquaintances on tea-cups; only, if you are afraid of the lion which you see a long way off, you can turn to the left, and follow the tiger that is following the elephant like mad: and now, my little dears, you can jump for safety into that palanquin carried by the sable gentry, or perhaps you would join the party of Persians seated a little lower, only they have but one dish and no plates to eat out of. Just above this dinner-party you behold some live venison, or a little antelope eating his grass for dinner while a boa-constrictor is creeping up with the intention of dining upon him; so you had better make your way to that giraffe, who is feeding upon the tops of trees, which habit is supposed to have occasioned the peculiar shape of that remarkable quadruped; and now you fall again in the way of that ramping lion, from whose jaws a black is retreating only to encounter a black brother more savage than the wild beast. And now, if your eye follows that gang of slaves, chained neck to neck, who are being driven off to another part of the world, you will see what treatment they are doomed to experience there, in the flogging which is being administered to one of their colour—that is to say, black as the vapour issuing from that mountain in the distance; it is Chimborao, or Cotapaxi, I can't say exactly which, but it shall be whichever you please, my pretty little dears. In the smoke of it an eagle is carrying off a lamb—do you see?—Stop, let me wipe the glasses!—Ah, yes, and now you can clearly behold a gentleman of the United States smoking his cigar in his rocking-chair. A little behind is another gentleman driving his sleigh, and in front you won't fail to see an astonishing personage, who has just caught a cayman, or American crocodile, which he is balancing on his walking-stick, on purpose to amuse little boys and girls like you. At his side is the celebrated runaway nigger represented by Mr. Mathews, who says, "Me no likee confounded workee; me likee to sit in a sun, and play fiddle all day." Over his head is a steam-vessel, and at his feet an Indian canoe; towards it a volume of smoke is ascending from a fire, round which some savages are dancing with feeling too horrible to think of. So instead of stopping to dinner here, my little masters and misses, you would much rather, I dare say, take pot-luck with that group of gipsies above, who are going to regale upon a pair of boiled fowls, which I hope they came honestly by. Talking of honesty, we start upwards to the race-course; and now goes the world round again, until you get sight of a gentleman with a stick in his hand, who has evidently a great stake in the race, and who is so rejoiced at having won, that he is unconscious of what he is all the while losing in the abstraction of his pocket-book. And now we are in the midst of the fair, where we see the best booth, and merry doings in the shape of a boxing-match; but as "music has charms," turn your eyes and your ears too some little distance downwards in the direction of the organ player and the tambourine, where you will find some jovial drinkers, not far from the harp and violin of the quadrille-party. I hope their music won't be drowned by the noise of that Indian, to the left, beating the tom-tom, while the nautch-girls are dancing as if they couldn't help it, all to amuse the mighty Emperor of all the Smokers and Prince of Tobacco, who is seated, hookah in hand, in the centre of the globe—where we must leave him to his enjoyment, tracing our way back to the jovial drinking-party, where you will see Jack capering ashore, and getting on perhaps a little too fast, while the donkey-boy above him can't get on at all, and the fox-hunter, still higher up, seems to be in danger of getting off—especially if his horse should happen to be startled by his brother-sportsman's gun behind him. And now, my little dears, the gun has brought us round again to the royal guards, where the band is playing, in glorious style, God save the Queen! And thus ends, where it began, my History of the World!
George Cruikshank
GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S OMNIBUS.
"MY PORTRAIT."
I respectfully beg leave to assure all to whom "My Portrait" shall come, that I am not now moved to its publication, for the first time, by any one of the ten thousand considerations that ordinarily influence modest men in presenting their "counterfeit presentments" to the public gaze. Mine would possibly never have appeared at all, but for the opportunity thus afforded me of clearing up any mistakes that may have been originated by a pen-and-ink sketch which recently appeared in a publication entitled "Portraits of Public Characters."
The writer of that sketch was evidently animated by a spirit of kindness, and to kindness I am always sensitively alive; but he has been misinformed—he has represented me "as I am not," instead of "as I am;" and although it is by no means necessary that I should offer "some account of myself" in print, it is desirable that I should, without fatiguing anybody, correct some half-dozen of the errors into which my biographer has fallen.
A few words of extract, and a few more of comment, and my object, as the moralist declares when he seeks to lure back one sinner to the paths of virtue, will be fully attained.
The sketch, which professes to be "my portrait," opens thus:—
(1.) "I believe Geo. Cruikshank dislikes the name of artist, as being too common-place."
I have my dislikes; but it happens that they always extend to things, and never settle upon mere names. He must be a simpleton indeed who dislikes the name of artist when he is not ashamed of his art. It is possible that I may once in my life, when "very young," have said that I would rather carry a portmanteau than a portfolio through the streets; and this, perhaps from a recollection of once bearing a copper-plate, not sufficiently