English Caricature and Satire on Napoleon I. Volume II (of 2)

CHAPTER XLIII

NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE – DEATH OF FOX – NAPOLEON’S VICTORIOUS CAREER – HIS PROCLAMATION OF A BLOCKADE OF ENGLAND

Apropos of the negotiations for peace, there is a picture of Woodward’s (July 1806), in which Fox is just closing the door behind a messenger laden with despatches. John Bull, whose pockets are stuffed with Omnium and Speculation on Peace, entreats him with clasped hands: ‘Now do Charley, my dear good boy, open the door a little bit farther, just to enable me to take in a few of my friends at the Stock Exchange.’ But Fox remonstrates: ‘Really, Mr. Bull, you are too inquisitive – don’t you see the door for Negotiation is opened? don’t you see the back of a Messenger? don’t you see he has got dispatches under his arm? what would you desire more?’

‘Experiments at Dover, or Master Charley’s Magic Lanthorn,’ is by Rowlandson (July 21, 1806), and shows Fox seated on the seashore, projecting images on to the opposite coast. The slide he is passing through the lantern begins with a ‘Messenger from Boulogne,’ then a ‘Messenger to Paris,’ then ‘More Dispatches’; and he is now showing Bonaparte as a newsboy, with his horn, calling out ‘Preliminaries of Peace.’ The next, and final, picture to come is a man waving his hat and shouting ‘Huzza.’ Fox is saying: ‘There, Master Bull, what do you think of that – I told you I would surprize you. Preliminaries of Peace! Huzza!’ But John Bull is not quite satisfied with his conduct, and fancies there has been something kept from him. ‘Why yes, it be all very foine, if it be true. But I can’t forget that d – d Omnium last week – they be always one way or other in contradictions! I tell thee what, Charley, since thee hast become a great man – I think in my heart thee beest always conjuring.’

‘The Pleasing and Instructive Game of Messengers– or Summer Amusement for John Bull,’ by Ansell (August 1806), shows us the Channel, on both sides of which a lively game is being kept up by means of racket bats, a constant supply of balls, in the shape of messengers, between the two countries, being kept in the air. Their messages are Peace, Hope, Despair, No peace, Passports, Peace to a Certainty, No peace, Credentials, Despatches, &c. On the French side, Napoleon and Talleyrand keep the game alive, ‘Begar Talley, dis be ver amusant – Keep it up as long as you can, that we may have time for our project.’ Sheridan, Fox, and others play on the English side; John Bull being merely a spectator, not too much amused, as a paper, protruding from his pocket, shows: ‘Very shy at the Stock Exchange.’ Sheridan calls out: ‘That’s right my lads, bang ’em about. John Bull seems quite puzzled.’ Fox asks: ‘Is not it a pretty game Johnny?’ Johnny, however, says: ‘Pretty enough as to that, they do fly about monstrous quick to be sure: but you don’t get any more money out of my pocket for all that!!’

Gillray gives us a veritable caricature in ‘News from Calabria! Capture of Buenos Ayres! i.e. the Comforts of an Imperial Dejeune at St. Clouds’ (September 13, 1806), a portion only of which is given in illustration. Boney is here, terrific in his wrath; poor Talleyrand, who has brought the news, is receiving grievous punishment from his Imperial master. Not only is his ear pulled (a favourite trick of Napoleon’s), but he is being belaboured with the tea-urn, which is made in the form of the world: his master crying out: ‘Out on ye Owl, noting but song of Death!!’ Napoleon has kicked over the breakfast-table, and the scalding contents of the tea-urn are being deposited in the lap of Josephine, who screams with agony and terror. The maids of honour and courtiers, though refraining from open demonstration, look aghast at the imperial violence, which is not diminished by the presence of a number of messengers, whose news is particularly unwelcome: ‘Spain in despair for the loss of her Colonies.’ ‘All Germany rising, and arming en Masse.’ ‘Holland starving, and ripe for a revolt.’ ‘St. Petersburg: refusal to ratify the French Treaty.’ ‘Prussia rousing from the Trance of Death.’ ‘Swedish defiance. Charles XII. redivivus.’ ‘Switzerland cursing the French yoke.’ ‘Italy shaking off her Chains.’ ‘La Vendée again in motion.’ ‘Portugal true to the last gasp.’ ‘Sicily firing like Etna.’ ‘Denmark waiting for an opportunity.’ ‘Turkey invoking Mahomet.’ Naturally, all this bad news contributes towards making it a ‘hard time’ for Talleyrand.

Argus gives us (September 1806) ‘The Continental Shaving Shop. Boney beats Jemmy Wright, who shaved as well as any man, almost, not quite’ (September 1806). As a barber, he is going to shave the Grand Turk, and, flourishing an enormous razor of Corsican steel, seizes his beard. This the Turk naturally objects to, saying: ‘By the Holy Prophet, I must not part with my beard, why, my people will not acknowledge me for the grand Signor again at Constantinople.’ Talleyrand, as assistant, is lathering the Turk’s face, persuading him, ‘Come, come, don’t make such a fuss, my Master will cut away when he catches anybody in his shop.’ Boney calls out: ‘Lather away Talley. I’ll soon ease him of his superfluities and make him look like my Christian customers.’

The sort of treatment they are likely to get is clearly set forth in an announcement on the wall. ‘Nap Boney, shaver general to most of the Sovereigns on the Continent, shaves expeditiously, and clean, a few gashes excepted; is ready to undertake any new Customer who is willing to submit to the above.’ His treatment is exemplified by the appearance of Austria, whose gashed face and head is ornamented with strips of court-plaister. He is talking to John Bull, who looks in at a window: ‘Come, Johnny, come in and be shaved, don’t be frightened at the size of the razor, it cuts very clean, I assure you.’ His reply is, ‘By Goles so it seems, and leaves a dom’d sight of gashes behoind, as you and Mynheer can testify!!’ Poor Holland is in even a worse plight than Austria, and is talking to Prussia, who is sitting in a chair, ready lathered for shaving. Says he to the Dutchman: ‘I hope he don’t mean to shave me as he has you, and my neighbour Austria there? I should not sit here so quietly with my face lathered.’ Holland replies: ‘Yaw Mynheer very close shaver, its nix my doll when you are used to it.’

‘Political Quadrille’ is by Ansell (October 1806), and represents two sets playing that game of cards. One set is composed of George the Third, Russia, Spain, and Prussia. The other consists of Napoleon, Italy, Holland, and Austria. George the Third says: ‘I never had luck when the Curse of Scotland¹⁵ was in my hand – however I have now discarded it – Ay this will do – I have now a strong suit, without a knave among them.’ Russia observes: ‘I never had such luck since I have been a Russian, compleatly bested off the board – but that I must endeavour to forget, and try to play better in future.’ Spain says: ‘I was obliged to play, tho’ it was forced Spadille. My Queen deceived me – but however I must not now give myself Ayres, as I have lost all my Dollars.’ Prussia remarks: ‘Shall I play or not? If I play, I fear I shall be bested, and if not, they will call me Prussian Cake.’

In the other set of players, Napoleon says: ‘I begin to fancy I can play alone – No, I can call a King when I please, I am strong in my suits – besides I know how to finesse my Cards.’ Austria says: ‘For the present I fear the game is up with me, so I pass.’ Italy says: ‘I fear it is nearly over with poor Ponto.’ Holland reflects: ‘I have got a King without calling one – but I have no Trump now, and I fear I shall lose all my fish.’

Fox died in September 1806, and was buried, October 10, in Westminster Abbey, close to the remains of his rival Pitt. With him were buried the last hopes of a peace with France, and, in October, finding all negotiations unsuccessful (Great Britain requiring Russia to be made a party to the Treaty, which France refused), Lord Lauderdale demanded his passports, and left for England.

Meanwhile, Napoleon marched on from victory to victory. The battle of Jena, the occupation of Erfurth, Greissen, Hall, Leipzig, Ascherleben, Bemburg, Spandau, Potsdam, and, lastly, of Berlin, were all in his triumphal march.

 
A public entry having made,
At Berlin he his airs display’d;
A Court day absolutely held,
And due attendance there compell’d.
Of Prussia’s King he made a scoff,
And all his little taunts play’d off.
And here he issued a decree,
The most invet’rate that could be,
In hopes t’annoy Great Britain’s trade,
All Commerce with her he forbade.
The Capture he ordain’d, ’tis true,
Of British ships – the seizure, too,
Of letters, if in English written,
Or if directed to Great Britain;
And this he styled – a strange romance!
The fundamental law of France.
 

The decree is dated from Berlin, November 21, 1806, and, after a preamble, states: – ‘1. The British Islands are declared in a state of blockade. 2. All trade and intercourse with the British Islands is prohibited; consequently letters or packets addressed to England, or written in the English language, will not be conveyed by post, and will be seized. 3. Every native of England, whatever his rank and condition, who may be found in the countries occupied by our troops, or by those of our allies, shall be made prisoners of war. 4. Every warehouse, and all merchandise and property of any description whatever, belonging to an English subject, or the produce of English manufactures or colonies, is declared good prize. 5. Trade in English merchandise is prohibited, and all merchandise belonging to England, or the produce of her manufactures, and colonies, is declared good prize. 6. One half of the produce of the confiscation of the merchandise, and property, declared good prize by the preceding articles, will be appropriated to the indemnification of the merchants, for losses they have sustained, through the capture of trading vessels, by English cruisers. 7. No vessel coming directly from England, or her colonies, or having been there since the publication of the present decree, will be received in any port. 8. Any vessel which, by means of a false declaration, shall contravene the above article, shall be seized, and the Ship and Cargo shall be confiscated as if they were English property,’ &c.

The Times, of December 8, commenting on this proclamation, says: – ‘If our orders of Council, and our Navy are not competent to seal up the ports of France, we should be glad to know how Buonaparte, who can scarce venture to steal a ship to sea, is to retaliate with effect upon this country. We believe none of the nations, which are yet free to trade with us, will be deterred by a Decree emitted at Berlin, from sending their produce to the markets of Britain. Of all the follies that have ever escaped from Buonaparte, in the extravagance, and intoxication, of his ambition, and success, this we consider as one of the greatest. He, in fact, pledges himself to that which he has no adequate means whatever of carrying into effect. His Decree will have as little influence upon the trade of England, as his Navy has.’

Ansell designed (December 1806) ‘Jack Tars conversing with Boney on the Blockade of Old England.’ Napoleon is vapouring about behind his fortifications, flourishing his sword, ‘The Terror of the Continent,’ and saying: ‘Begar by my Imperial decree, England is in a State of Blockade.’ Two sailors are in a small boat called the Nelson, and one says: ‘Why what do you mean by that, you whipper snapper – Heres Tom Pipes, and I, in this little cock boat, will Blockade you so that you dare not bring out a single vessel – Blockade, indeed! you are a pretty fellow to talk of blockading!’ His companion contemptuously adds: ‘I wonder, Jack, you throw away your precious time in talking to such a lubber.’ John Bull, pipe in hand, stands on the cliffs of Albion, roaring with laughter. ‘I cannot help laughing at the whimsical conceit.’

Souley (December 1806) drew ‘Bonaparte blockading John Bull.’

 
Boney for want of proper Sail,
By threats bombastic would prevail.
 

Boney and his army are crossing the Channel in their cocked hats; he, presenting sword and pistol at John Bull, says: ‘I’ll Blockade ye, ye English Scoundrel. ’Tis you thwart all my designs – ’Tis you and you only who dare oppose MY WILL. But I’ll Blockade ye – and not one of your rascally Craft shall stir.’ John Bull, convulsed with laughter, is dancing, and saying: ‘Shiver my timbers, here’s a go! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Why Master Boney you look like Neptune crossing the Line. I suppose next you will be blockading the moon.’

And so ends the year 1806.

CHAPTER XLIV

NAPOLEON’S POLISH CAMPAIGN – BATTLE OF EYLAU – MEETING OF THE EMPERORS AT TILSIT – CAPTURE OF THE DANISH FLEET

1807 commences with ‘John Bull playing on the Base Villain’ (artist unknown, January 1, 1807), in which we see that revered personage playing ‘Britains Strike home’ on poor Boney, with a sword in lieu of a bow, and grasping him tightly round the neck.

In November 1806, Napoleon, with his army, had entered Poland, and, on December 18 of the same year, he entered Warsaw.

An unknown artist (January 1807) depicts ‘The Entrance into Poland or another Bonne Bouche for Boney.’ On their knees are the Polish magnates, who exclaim: ‘What a happy day for Poland!’ The foremost is kissing the toe of Napoleon, who says: ‘Rise up free and independent Polanders, depend upon it you shall have a King, and I’ll be Vice Roy over him.’ Behind, a standard-bearer carries a flag, on which is shown a pair of shackles, a guillotine, and two crossed swords, with the legend, ‘Comfort for the Poles.’ Beside him, another French soldier is emptying a sack of fetters.

The Russians withdrew for a time, but only to return in force, and Napoleon had to change his tactics to meet them; he therefore proposed to concentrate his forces, and compel the Russians to give battle, with the Vistula in their rear, and he himself between them and Russia. His despatches, however, were intercepted, and the battle was precipitated. Augereau’s division lost its way, and was cut up by the Russians; and Bernadotte did not come, as the despatches, bidding him do so, had been captured. The fight in the snow at Preuss Eylau was fearful, and the carnage, especially in the churchyard, was horrible. Four thousand men died there. The French put down their loss in this battle as 2,000 killed, 6,000 wounded; while the loss of the Russians was 7,000 dead, 16,000 wounded, 12,000 prisoners, and 45 cannon taken.

That the blockade still galled us is evidenced by a caricature of Woodward’s (January 27, 1807), who designed ‘The Giant Commerce overwhelming the Pigmy Blockade.’ Commerce is a strange figure: its cap is Wedgwood ware, its face Staffordshire ware, its eyes Derby Porcelain, and its mouth Worcester porcelain. Its body is Wool, arms of printed calico, and its hands are encased in Woodstock gloves. It wears a Norwich shawl, has leather breeches, Fleecy hosiery stockings, and Staffordshire shoes. It is actively employed in hurling various missiles at Napoleon, who is sheltered behind his fortifications. These implements of offence consist of such articles as Birmingham steel, pig iron, scissors, combs, knives and forks, block tin, sugar, patent coffins, Birmingham buttons, and a cask each of London porter, Maidstone, Geneva, and British spirits. Napoleon entreats: ‘Pray Mr. Commerce don’t overwhelm me, and I will take off de grande Blockade of old England.’

The two following caricatures were designed and published before the news had arrived in England of the crushing defeat of the Russians at Eylau, which only appeared publicly in the ‘Times’ of March 10.

Ansell (March 1807) gives ‘Boney and his Army in Winter Quarters.’ In the background is a State Prison for Prisoners of War; and, in the centre of the picture, the Russian bear hugs poor Boney, and prepares to drop him in the river Bug, in which is a board inscribed, ‘Hic Jacet. Snug in the Bug several thousands of the great nation.’ Bruin growls: ‘Hush a bye! Hush a bye! take it all quietly, you’ll soon find yourself as snug as a bug in a rug.’ But Boney, writhing in the embrace, cries out: ‘Oh D – n the Bug, I wish I had never seen it. My dear Talley – don’t tell my faithful subjects the true state of my situation. Any thing but the truth, my dear Talley – Oh this Cursed Russian bear, how close he hugs me.’ Talleyrand, with one foot in the Vistula, and the other on land, replies: ‘Leave me alone for a Bulletin’ – applies his lips to a trumpet, from which issues a true and a false report. The true one, ‘4000 prisoners, 3000 drowned, 12 Eagles taken, 12000 killed,’ is disappearing into thin air; whilst that ‘For Paris’ is as follows: ‘Grand Bulletin. The august Emperor of the great Nation informs his faithful, and beloved, subjects, that, having performed wonders on the banks of the Bug, he has now closed a glorious campaign for the season, and retired with ease, and comfort, into Winter quarters.’

‘The Political Cock horse’ (Souley, March 10, 1807) shows Napoleon’s somewhat ragged white charger stumbling over a stone, ‘Insatiable Ambition.’ Benningsen has jumped up behind him, seized the reins, and hurled Boney to the ground. In his fall he loses his sword ‘Oppression,’ and cries out pitifully, ‘Stop, stop, good Benningsen, don’t kill a poor fellow! An Armistice! an Armistice! I have very good proposals of peace for you.’ But the relentless Russian prepares to run him through with his sword, saying: ‘You Bombastic Scoundrel, Robber, Murderer, Violator, Incendiary, &c., &c., &c. You thought of reigning with your Iron Crown (in) the North, as well as the South. But know, Tyrant, that the Sons of the North are to be your Superior.’ John Bull encourages him with ‘Bravo, bravo, brave Russians: One home stroke more, and good bye to Master Boney.’

Of Gillray’s caricature of ‘The New Dynasty; or the little Corsican Gardener Planting a Royal Pippin Tree,’ only a portion is given – that relating to Napoleon. The Old Royal Oak is being hewn down by ‘All the Talents,’ and Talleyrand is busy digging a hole to receive Napoleon’s royal pippin, which is to take its place. The topmost pippin, which is crowned, represents Lord Moira, who claimed to be descended from the old kings of Ballynahinch. The others are, ‘Countess of Salisbury beheaded 1505,’ ‘Duchess of Cleves put to death in 1453,’ ‘Henry de la Pole beheaded in 1538,’ ‘Plantagenet beheaded in 1415,’ ‘Crookback Richard killed at Bosworth,’ ‘Edmund, 4th son of Henry 2, beheaded.’ The royal pippins behind, which have already been planted, and have taken root, are labelled respectively, ‘Etruria, Wurtemburg, Saxon, Holland, and Italian;’ whilst on the ground, by a basket, are grafts, which respectively represent Sir Francis Burdett, Cobbett, and Horne Tooke.

Napoleon pursued his victories over the Russians. Dantzig was taken; at Friedland the Russians lost 18,000 men and 25 generals, killed and wounded, and at last Königsberg was taken by Soult, after having been evacuated by the Russians. It was time for them to beg for an armistice, and on June 21 one was concluded. Napoleon was asked to have an interview with the Emperor of Russia, to which he consented, and Tilsit was the place appointed; and, in order that this meeting should be quite private, and free from interruption, Napoleon ordered a large raft to be moored in the middle of the Niemen, on which was erected a room with two antechambers, all elegantly furnished and decorated. Both the roof and the doors were ornamented with French and Russian eagles. On June 25 they met; Napoleon reached the raft first, and stood on its edge to welcome Alexander. They met and parted in a most friendly manner. This incident, it is needless to say, afforded a fine subject to the caricaturist.

Ansell gives us, certainly, a more comic representation of the meeting of the Emperors than any other caricaturist (July 1807). Bonaparte is hugging the Emperor of Russia in a most exaggerated style, saying: ‘My dear Brother – receive this Fraternal Embrace out of pure affection.’ But Russia, finding the raft tilting violently, and not liking such demonstrative affection, exclaims, ‘Zounds, Brother, you’ll squeeze me to death – besides, I find my side of the raft is sinking very fast.’ Poor Prussia is floundering in the water, his crown floating away from him: ‘What a Prussian cake I was to listen to him – I am afraid I shall never recover it.’

 
Nap, with the hopes of peace delighted,
The Russian Emperor invited,
And for this interview, with craft,
Had been prepar’d a pretty raft,
Which on the river Niemen floated,
With two commodious tents, devoted
To the sole use of the contractors,
Who were indeed conspicuous actors;
The signal given, as commanded,
Each from his boat together landed,
And on this raft, their ends to get,
By Nap, was Alexander met —
Exchanging the fraternal hug
They took their seats in manner snug;
When Nap began his wheedling jargon,
And made, depend on’t, a good bargain.
The peace of Tilsit, as recorded,
A temporary rest afforded.
 
 
And now three sovereigns, they say,
Sat down together very gay:
Meaning the Emperor of Russia,
Our hero, and the King of Prussia:
Their visits to each other, they
Alternately were wont to pay.
Napoleon talk’d of this and that,
And entertain’d them with his chat.
Their life guards, who were much delighted,
To dinner, were by Nap invited,
The brotherly embrace went round,
There was not a discordant sound.
In harmony the day they spent,
Each countenance display’d content.
Now matters were so well arrang’d,
A while they uniforms exchang’d,
And after they had dined, and talk’d,
Together through the streets they walked.
 

Ansell drew (July 1807) ‘An Imperial Bonne bouche, or the dinner at Tilsit.’ Napoleon, attended by his guards, sits on one side of the table, and the Emperor of Russia opposite to him; the latter has but an empty plate, and a castor of cayenne pepper before him, whilst Napoleon is stuffing his mouth with ‘Continental slices,’ and has besides, immediately before him, ‘Austerlitz biscuit,’ ‘Friedland Pye,’ and ‘Eylau Custard,’ which he intends carving with his sword. But he banters his brother Emperor with ‘My dear Brother, you dont eat; What is the matter with you? see what a hearty meal our other beloved Cousin, and brother, is making, from the Crumbs that fall from the table.’ And Prussia is seen on his knees, picking up some fragments of a ‘Prussian Cake.’ Russia, with expectant knife and fork, looks very blankly at his confrère, and replies: ‘How the deuce, brother, am I to eat when you keep everything to yourself?’

‘Mutual Honors at Tilsit, or the Monkey, the Bear and the Eagle’ (August 1807), by Ansell, represents Napoleon, as a monkey, seated on a drum, having a plaque upon his breast, inscribed ‘Order of St. Andrew, to our Faithful &c. &c. &c. Fudge,’ decorating a bear with ‘The Legion of Honor. To our trusty and beloved Cousin &c. &c. Fudge.’ The poor bear wears a fool’s cap and bells, and is muzzled, whilst its throat is galled by a spiked collar, called, in irony, ‘Collar of Independence.’ Napoleon says, ‘Really, Brother Bruin – you never look’d so fine in your life. You cannot think how the medal, and cap and bells, become you.’ But the bear ruefully ruminates, ‘I shall really be ashamed to return to my own Fraternity. I wonder what my old Friend, the Lion, will say.’ The Prussian eagle is also decorated with the collar of the Legion of Honour, but is in a wofully dilapidated condition, which is well explained by its own reflections: ‘It is certainly very fine – but, what with having one of my heads chopped off – and the crown half cracked of the other; besides having my wings cropp’d, I think, somehow, I was better off before.’

The English, perforce, had to keep up their courage, and one etching, by Ansell (August 1807), represents, in the background, Napoleon on his throne, and all the European sovereigns grovelling before him. The foreground is occupied by Britannia and John Bull. The former asks: ‘Do give me your advice – what am I to do – All my foreign Allies have deserted me, – even Russia has joined them, they are bending at the feet of the usurper.’ John Bull, a truculent-looking sailor, with oaken Cudgel, replies: ‘What are you to do? Why stick to me, your old and faithful ally John Bull, who will never desert you while he has a timber to support him.’ The picture is called ‘Britannia in tribulation for the loss of her Allies, or John Bull’s advice.’

In ‘The Polish Pie, or the Effects of the Peace at Tilsit’ (artist unknown, September 10, 1807), we see the Emperor of Russia, and Napoleon, carving a huge ‘Polish pie,’ the Russian’s opinion of which is ‘I think I never relished a Pie so well in all my life.’ Whilst thus engaged, comes poor, wounded, tattered Prussia, humbly, with hat in hand: ‘Pray give a part of the Pie to a poor broken-down Prussian – You know you promised me formerly you would not touch it; but now you have reduced me to poverty, crutches, and a wooden leg – you’ll not allow me a mouthfull, ’tis a very hard case indeed! Pray remember a poor Prussian!’ Napoleon turns to his brother Emperor, and opines, ‘Suppose, Cousin, we give him a small piece of the Crust, just to keep him from grumbling.’

The Danes sought to curry favour with Napoleon, or perhaps they were obliged to act as they did; but they closed their ports, such as Holstein, &c., to British ships, which John Bull could not stand. So Admiral Gambier, with a fleet, having on board 20,000 troops, sailed to set matters right. Negotiations failed, and the admiral used the force majeure at his disposal. Copenhagen was bombarded, and on September 8 the British took possession of the fortifications, &c., of Copenhagen, captured the whole Danish fleet, fully armed and equipped, consisting of 18 sail of the line, 15 frigates, 6 brigs, and 25 gun-boats, which were safely navigated to England, with the exception of one ship, which was stranded. Unfortunately, Copenhagen itself suffered severely, guns not being so scientifically constructed as at present, and accuracy as to range was impossible.

‘Gulliver towing the Fleet into Lilliput!’ (I. Cruikshank, October 16, 1807) shows Admiral Gambier swimming towards England, towing the captured vessels. George the Third, on a Martello tower, watching him through his spy-glass, and saying, with his accustomed iteration, ‘What, What, Gulliver the 2nd – he – Gulliver the 2nd – More Nelsons – more Nelsons – brave fellows!’ On the Continent Napoleon is seen furious, and the countries under his sway are in different attitudes of despair. Napoleon shouts out, ‘Curse that fellow; here, Tally, stop him: what! will nobody stop him? Then begar, we never shall invade England, and all our schemes are frustrated.’ On the coast of Zealand a Jack Tar is thus explaining to a native: ‘Hold your jaw; You know as how you used to rob our forefathers, you lubber, and so you wanted to assist that French Monkey to do it again, but it would not do.’

Ansell published (October 21, 1807) ‘Malignant Aspects looking with envy on John Bull and his Satellites, or, a New Planetary System.’ In a centre medallion sits John Bull, happily smoking, and with a jug of good October by his side. He is surrounded by the British navy, and a halo of glory. Rushing towards him is ‘A Corsican Comet Frenchified,’ and chained to him is ‘A Russian bear with two heads, an appendage to the Comet.’ There is a ‘Danish Mouse,’ an ‘Italian Greyhound,’ an ‘American Torpedo,’ a ‘Swiss Cheese,’ a ‘Spanish Puff,’ a ‘Dutch frog,’ besides many ‘minor Constellations with malignant aspects.’