His “Introduction to the Gout” (1818) is in his best vein. A toper is seated over his pot, and holding a peach upon his fork, with which he is about to cool his mouth. An imp--one Gout--approaches from the fireplace, and with the tongs is about to drop a red coal on the great-toe of Toper. Another drawing (a lithograph) of this date is suggestive. It is called “Deadly Lively.” Death has stepped in, surprising a man and two women, who are drinking in a kitchen, before a blazing fire. Death is filling the man’s glass; the old woman is falling from her seat, and the young man is tumbling drunk under the table. Presently (in the same year) the artist is in a gayer mood as a satirist. The picture is called “Tit-Bits.” An Irishwoman, overcome by beer, has fallen into a deep sleep under a tree. Her slumbers give a yokel an opportunity of stealing one of her chickens, while a cur licks the tarts in her basket.* Then we have “The Three Bottle Divine,” no _rara avis_ in those days. It is the head of a heavy, coarse-featured man, in sporting guise, his face garnished with carbuncles and large spectacles. So far back as 1836, Cruikshank gave the public a foretaste of “The Bottle” in a vignette to a music title. Two individuals are represented--one old and spectacled, the other young and with an eyeglass,--examining with horror the contents of a spirit bottle, which is filled with malignant imps emblematical of alcohol as “doctored by publicans,” and sold for “Old Tom,” etc. The cork has turned devil, and throws up his arms in delight at the work of his imps. * The foregoing were drawn by Cruikshank from Captain Hehl’s designs. “Gin” remarks Mr. Thackeray, years before Cruikshank had become a Temperance advocate, or in the least degree an abstainer; “gin has furnished many subjects to Mr. Cruikshank, who labours in his own sound and hearty way to teach his countrymen the dangers of that drink. In the ‘Sketch-book’ is a plate upon the subject, remarkable for fancy and beauty of design; it is called the ‘Gin Juggernaut,’ and represents a hideous moving palace, with a reeking still as the roof, and vast gin-barrels for wheels, under which unhappy millions are crushed to death. An immense black cloud of desolation covers over the country through which the gin monster had passed, dimly looming through the darkness, whereof you see an agreeable prospect of gibbets with men dangling, burnt houses, etc. The vast cloud comes sweeping on in the wake of this horrible body-crusher; and you see, by way of contrast, a distant, smiling, sunshiny tract of old English country, where gin as yet is not known. The allegory is as good, as earnest, and as fanciful as one of John Bunyan’s, and we have often fancied there was a similarity between the men.”