Cruikshank’s picture of her is one of his stereotyped, ill-favoured, stuck-up, figureless ladies, of whom a friend said one day, when looking over some sketches, in Amwell Street, “Why, George, your females are all shaped like hour-glasses.” For pure fun nothing could be better than the “Banquet of the Black Dolls,” in commemoration of the reduction of the Duty on Bags. The doll who occupies the chair has before her a Grand Potage de Dripping, and the menu includes Pâté de Horseshoes, Omelette de Old Iron, Bones Boil-é, Rag-out de Superior White Linen Rag, Fricassée de Broken Glass, and Poudin Kitchen Stuff. The arrival of Tom Thumb, and his reception by the élite of society, as the bills said, and the brilliant court he held under a shower of John Bull’s gold in Piccadilly, suggested two scenes to hard-working and most moderately-paid Cruikshank. The first is called “Born a Genius.” In a garret a poor artist sits in despair and poverty--his empty plate upon the table, his tattered boots upon the floor. The second is called “Born a Dwarf.” [Illustration: 044] The little man reclines upon a sofa, with a jewel-case and full money-bags beside him. He toys with a trinket, having finished his foie-gras and champagne. He had seen inexcusable personalities in the paper, he remarked; and when Lemon said to him, “We shall have you yet,” George shouted in reply, striking one of his theatrical attitudes, “Never!” [Illustration: 049] He had repented of his early days of unscrupulous caricature. It must be remembered, always to Cruikshank’s lasting honour, that, his wild youth past, he refused scores of tempting offers of work that did not quite commend itself to his conscience. He used to say he would illustrate nothing which he did not feel. Later, when _Punch_ goodnaturedly rallied him on his temperance eccentricities, he declared that he had a great mind to go down to Fleet Street “and knock the old rascal’s wooden head about.” [Illustration: 050] [Illustration: 051] CHAPTER XII. LORD BATEMAN AND THE TABLE BOOK.