hank alone has had a true insight into
the character of the "little people." They are something like men and
women, and yet not flesh and blood; they are laughing and mischievous,
but why we know not. Mr. Cruikshank, however, has had some dream or
the other, or else a natural mysterious instinct (as the Seherinn of
Prevorst had for beholding ghosts), or else some preternatural fairy
revelation, which has made him acquainted with the looks and ways of the
fantastical subjects of Oberon and Titania.

We have, unfortunately, no fairy portraits; but, on the other hand,
can descend lower than fairy-land, and have seen some fine specimens
of devils. One has already been raised, and the reader has seen him
tempting a fat Dutch burgomaster, in an ancient gloomy market-place,
such as George Cruikshank can draw as well as Mr. Prout, Mr. Nash,
or any man living. There is our friend once more; our friend the
burgomaster, in a highly excited state, and running as hard as his great
legs will carry him, with our mutual enemy at his tail.

What are the bets; will that long-legged bondholder of a devil come up
with the honest Dutchman? It serves him right: why did he put his name
to stamped paper? And yet we should not wonder if some lucky chance
should turn up in the burgomaster's favor, and his infernal creditor
lose his labor; for one so proverbially cunning as yonder tall
individual with the saucer eyes, it must be confessed that he has been
very often outwitted.

There is, for instance, the case of "The Gentleman in Black," which has
been illustrated by our artist. A young French gentleman, by name M.
Desonge, who, having expended his patrimony in a variety of taverns and
gaming-houses, was one day pondering upon the exhausted state of his
finances, and utterly at a loss to think how he should provide means for
future support, exclaimed, very naturally, "What the devil shall I do?"
He had no sooner spoken than a GENTLEMAN IN BLACK made his appearance,
whose authentic portrait Mr. Cruikshank has had the honor to paint.
This gentleman produced a black-edged book out of a black bag, some
black-edged papers tied up with black crape, and sitting down familiarly
opposite M. Desonge, began conversing with him on the state of his
affairs.

It is needless to state what was the result of the interview. M. Desonge
was induced by the gentleman to sign his name to one of the black-edged
papers, and found himself at the close of the conversa