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and tender。
Knight's； in Sweeting's Alley； Fairburn's； in a court off Ludgate
Hill； Hone's； in Fleet Streetbright； enchanted palaces； which
George Cruikshank used to people with grinning； fantastical imps；
and merry； harmless sprites；where are they？ Fairburn's shop knows
him no more； not only has Knight disappeared from Sweeting's Alley；
but； as we are given to understand； Sweetings Alley has disappeared
from the face of the globe。 Slop； the atrocious Castlereagh； the
sainted Caroline （in a tight pelisse； with feathers in her head）；
the 〃Dandy of sixty；〃 who used to glance at us from Hone's friendly
windowswhere are they？ Mr。 Cruikshank may have drawn a thousand
better things since the days when these were； but they are to us a
thousand times more pleasing than anything else he has done。 How we
used to believe in them！ to stray miles out of the way on holidays；
in order to ponder for an hour before that delightful window in
Sweeting's Alley！ in walks through Fleet Street； to vanish abruptly
down Fairburn's passage； and there make one at his 〃charming gratis〃
exhibition。 There used to be a crowd round the window in those
days； of grinning； good…natured mechanics； who spelt the songs； and
spoke them out for the benefit of the company； and who received the
points of humor with a general sympathizing roar。 Where are these
people now？ You never hear any laughing at HB。； his pictures are a
great deal too genteel for thatpolite points of wit； which strike
one as exceedingly clever and pretty； and cause one to smile in a
quiet； gentleman…like kind of way。
There must be no smiling with Cruikshank。 A man who does not laugh
outright is a dullard； and has no heart； even the old dandy of sixty
must have laughed at his own wondrous grotesque image； as they say
Louis Philippe did； who saw all the caricatures that were made of
himself。 And there are some of Cruikshank's designs which have the
blessed faculty of creating laughter as often as you see them。 As
Diggory says in the play； who is bidden by his master not to laugh
while waiting at table〃Don't tell the story of Grouse in the Gun…
room； master； or I can't help laughing。〃 Repeat that history ever
so often； and at the proper moment； honest Diggory is sure to
explode。 Every man； no doubt； who loves Cruikshank has his 〃Grouse
in the Gun…room。〃 There is a fellow in the 〃Points of Humor〃 who is
offering to eat up a certain little general； that has made us happy
any time these sixteen years： his huge mouth is a perpetual well of
laughterbuckets full of fun can be drawn from it。 We have formed
no such friendships as that boyish one of the man with the mouth。
But though； in our eyes； Mr。 Cruikshank reached his apogee some
eighteen years since； it must not be imagined that such is really
the case。 Eighteen sets of children have since then learned to love
and admire him； and may many more of their successors be brought up
in the same delightful faith。 It is not the artist who fails； but
the men who grow coldthe men； from whom the illusions （why
illusions？ realities） of youth disappear one by one； who have no
leisure to be happy； no blessed holidays； but only fresh cares at
Midsummer and Christmas； being the inevitable seasons which bring us
bills instead of pleasures。 Tom； who comes bounding home from
school； has the doctor's account in his trunk； and his father goes
to sleep at the pantomime to which he takes him。 Pater infelix； you
too have laughed at clown； and the magic wand of spangled harlequin；
what delightful enchantment did it wave around you； in the golden
days 〃when George the Third was king！〃 But our clown lies in his
grave； and our harlequin； Ellar； prince of how many enchanted
islands； was he not at Bow Street the other day；* in his dirty；
tattered； faded motleyseized as a law…breaker； for acting at a
penny theatre； after having wellnigh starved in the streets； where
nobody would listen to his old guitar？ No one gave a shilling to
bless him： not one of us who owe him so much。
* This was written in 1840。
We know not if Mr。 Cruikshank will be very well pleased at finding
his name in such company as that of Clown and Harlequin； but he；
like them； is certainly the children's friend。 His drawings abound
in feeling for these little ones； and hideous as in the course of
his duty he is from time to time compelled to design them； he never
sketches one without a certain pity for it； and imparting to the
figure a certain grotesque grace。 In happy schoolboys he revels；
plum…pudding and holidays his needle has engraved over and over
again； there is a design in one of the comic almanacs of some young
gentlemen who are employed in administering to a schoolfellow the
correction of the pump； which is as graceful and elegant as a
drawing of Stothard。 Dull books about children George Cruikshank
makes bright with illustrationsthere is one published by the
ingenious and opulent Mr。 Tegg。 It is entitled 〃Mirth and
Morality；〃 the mirth being； for the most part； on the side of the
designerthe morality； unexceptionable certainly； the author's
capital。 Here are then； to these moralities； a smiling train of
mirths supplied by George Cruikshank。 See yonder little fellows
butterfly…hunting across a common！ Such a light； brisk； airy；
gentleman…like drawing was never made upon such a theme。 Who；
cries the author
〃Who has not chased the butterfly；
And crushed its slender legs and wings；
And heaved a moralizing sigh：
Alas！ how frail are human things！〃
A very unexceptionable morality truly； but it would have puzzled
another than George Cruikshank to make mirth out of it as he has
done。 Away； surely not on the wings of these verses； Cruikshank's
imagination begins to soar； and he makes us three darling little men
on a green common； backed by old farmhouses； somewhere about May。 A
great mixture of blue and clouds in the air； a strong fresh breeze
stirring； Tom's jacket flapping in the same； in order to bring down
the insect queen or king of spring that is fluttering above him；he
renders all this with a few strokes on a little block of wood not
two inches square； upon which one may gaze for hours； so merry and
lifelike a scene does it present。 What a charming creative power is
this； what a privilegeto be a god； and create little worlds upon
paper； and whole generations of smiling； jovial men； women； and
children half inch high； whose portraits are carried abroad； and
have the faculty of making us monsters of six feet curious and happy
in our turn。 Now； who would imagine that an artist could make
anything of such a subject as this？ The writer begins by stating；
〃I love to go back to the days of my youth；
And to reckon my joys to the letter；
And to count o'er the friends that I have in the world；
Ay； and those who are gone to a better。〃
This brings him to the considerat