Rowlandson plagiarised Gillray by almost slavishly copying ‘Death of the Corsican Fox’ (Vol. I. p. 204), only he substituted Blücher for George the Third, and changed the names on the dogs’ collars to _Wellington_, _Swartzenberg_, Kutusoff, Duke of York, and Crown Prince. This etching is called ‘Coming in at the death of the Corsican fox. Scene the Last’ (April 12, 1814). ‘A Grand Manœuvre! or, the Rogues march to the Island of Elba,’ G. Cruikshank (April 13, 1814). Here Napoleon is shewn weeping bitterly at his own disgrace. His hands are bound behind him, his tattered uniform is put on wrong side in front, his boots have no soles nor toes, and his spurs are strapped in front; some _gamins_ are tugging at a halter which is round his neck, and are dragging him to a boat, in which sits the Devil, waiting for him; Talleyrand is doing all in his power to expedite matters by pushing him behind with an ‘Allied broom,’ and he goes to his doom amidst universal execrations. The little King of Rome is in one of his coat-tail pockets, and calls out, ‘By Gar, Papa, I have von _grand manœuvre_ in your pocket.’ [Illustration: THE ROGUE’S MARCH.] ‘The Rogue’s March’ is by Rowlandson (April 15, 1814), From fickle Fortune’s gamesome lap What various titles flow; The Emperor of Conj’rors Nap, The King of Beggars, Joe! a portion of which is reproduced. Blücher is dragging Napoleon and his brother, who are handcuffed, and on a placard which he bears on his shoulder is inscribed ‘Napoleon, late Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Grand Arbiter of the fate of Nations, &c. &c. &c., but now, by the permission of the Allied Sovereigns, Exile in the Isle of Elba, an outcast from Society, a fugitive, a vagabond. Yet this is the conceited mortal who said, I have never been seduced by prosperity--Adversity will not be able to overcome me.’ In the background drummers are playing ‘The Rogue’s March,’ and all the European Powers dancing round the old Bourbon flag, on which is written ‘Rejoice O ye Kings, Vive le Roi!’ ‘The Sorrows of Boney, or Meditations in the Island of Elba!!!’ (April 15, 1814) shews the disconsolate Emperor, seated on the rocky isle, weeping copiously, and staring anxiously at the Continent of Europe which is so well guarded by ships. This engraving did former duty as ‘Crocodile’s tears’ (see Vol. I. p. 241). On April 17, 1814, Rowlandson published ‘The Affectionate farewell, or kick for kick,’ which gives us Talleyrand kicking Napoleon and striking him with his crutch. ‘Va t’en Coquin, I’ll crack your Crown, you pitiful vagabond.’ The fallen Emperor not only puts up with these insults, but, turning round, says, ‘Votre très humble serviteur, Monsieur Tally.’ His maimed soldiery call out, ‘Bone him, my tight little Tally,’ and one even goes so far as to shout out, ‘What! let him sneak off without a mark or a scratch! No, no, I’ll darken his daylights for him.’