her Mathew have a better text to preach
upon? There is not a broken nose in the room that is not thoroughly
Irish.

We have then a couple of compositions treated in a graver manner, as
characteristic too as the other. We call attention to the comical look
of poor Teague, who has been pursued and beaten by the witch's stick,
in order to point out also the singular neatness of the workmanship,
and the pretty, fanciful little glimpse of landscape that the artist
has introduced in the background. Mr. Cruikshank has a fine eye for such
homely landscapes, and renders them with great delicacy and taste.
Old villages, farm-yards, groups of stacks, queer chimneys, churches,
gable-ended cottages, Elizabethan mansion-houses, and other old English
scenes, he depicts with evident enthusiasm.

Famous books in their day were Cruikshank's "John Gilpin" and
"Epping Hunt;" for though our artist does not draw horses very
scientifically,--to use a phrase of the atelier,--he FEELS them very
keenly; and his queer animals, after one is used to them, answer quite
as well as better. Neither is he very happy in trees, and such rustical
produce; or, rather, we should say, he is very original, his trees being
decidedly of his own make and composition, not imitated from any master.

But what then? Can a man be supposed to imitate everything? We know what
the noblest study of mankind is, and to this Mr. Cruikshank has confined
himself. That postilion with the people in the broken-down chaise
roaring after him is as deaf as the post by which he passes. Suppose
all the accessories were away, could not one swear that the man was
stone-deaf, beyond the reach of trumpet? What is the peculiar character
in a deaf man's physiognomy?--can any person define it satisfactorily in
words?--not in pages; and Mr. Cruikshank has expressed it on a piece
of paper not so big as the tenth part of your thumb-nail. The horses
of John Gilpin are much more of the equestrian order; and as here the
artist has only his favorite suburban buildings to draw, not a word is
to be said against his design. The inn and old buildings are charmingly
designed, and nothing can be more prettily or playfully touched.

"At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wond'ring much
To see how he did ride.

"'Stop, stop, John Gilpin! Here's the house!'
They all at once did cry;
'The dinner