Intellectually strong as he was, a Chancellor so eccentric as this was an _incubus_ to be got rid of at the first convenient opportunity. In May, 1834, Mr. Stanley, Sir James Graham, the Earl of Ripon, and the Duke of Richmond, seceded from the ministry; but the Whig party, in spite of these resignations and the subsequent one of Lord Grey in July, continued in office under Lord Althorp till the following November, when the latter being called (by the death of his father) to the Upper House as Earl Spencer, the king seized the opportunity which he had so long desired of placing a less embarrassing and self-willed Chancellor on the woolsack. This circumstance prompted the clever sketch of the _Fall of Icarus_. Icarus in this instance is of course Brougham, who, flying in defiance of the injunctions of Daedalus too near the sun--that is to say, William the Fourth--the wax of his mechanical wings melted and he fell into the sea. That there may be no mistake as to the artist's meaning, the wings aforesaid are labelled with the titles of various publications which were loudest in sounding the praises of the King and of the "noble and learned lord," and to which he himself, with the questionable taste which distinguished him, was reputed (with justice) to be a contributor. Whether my Lord Chancellor Brougham caught the infection from his client, Queen Caroline, we know not; but his conduct, whether in or out of office, appears to have been of the most undignified character. Ignoring the fact that his party were no longer in power, there is no doubt whatever that he wrote a letter to his successor, Lord Lyndhurst, actually suggesting his own nomination to Lyndhurst's vacant office of Chief Baron of the Exchequer, thereby (as he pointed out) saving to the public his own pension of ex-Chancellor. What his real motive may have been is of little consequence; it was certainly a most undignified proceeding, made the more undignified, if possible, because the proposal was not accepted. It suggested to the artist one of his pictorial puns, _The Vaux and the Grapes_, and to the Rev. Richard Harris Barham the following amusing verses, which we have extracted from a contemporary poetical skit:-- "Then in Great Stanhope Street The confusion was great In a certain superb habi-tation, Where seated at tea, O'er a dish of Bohea, Brougham was quaffing his 'usual potation' (For you know his indignant ne-gation, When accused once of jollifi-cation), Down went saucer and cup, Which Le Marchant picked up, Not to hear his lord mutter 'd--n-ation.' But this greatest of men Soon caught hold of a pen, And, after slight delibe-ration, No longer he tosses His flexile proboscis About in so much exci-tation;[121] But scribbling with great ani-mation, He sends off a communi-cation:-- 'Dearest Lyndhurst,' says he, 'Can't you find room for me When constructing your adminis-tration?