heard from our infancy,--combined with the dress and appearance of the effigy, so well calculated to move compassion,--has the effect of quite removing from our fancy the horrid circumstances of the story which is thus commemorated; and in _poor Guy_ vainly should we try to recognize any of the features of that tremendous madman in iniquity, Guido Vaux, with his horrid crew of accomplices, that sought to emulate earthquakes and bursting volcanoes in their more than mortal mischief. Indeed, the whole ceremony of burning Guy Faux, or _the Pope_, as he is indifferently called, is a sort of _Treason Travestie_, and admirably adapted to lower our feelings upon this memorable subject. The printers of the little duodecimo _Prayer Book_, printed by T. Baskett,[45] in 1749, which has the effigy of his sacred Majesty George II. piously prefixed, have illustrated the service (a very fine one in itself) which is appointed for the Anniversary of this Day, with a print, which it is not very easy to describe, but the contents appear to be these:--The scene is a room, I conjecture, in the king's palace. Two persons,--one of whom I take to be James himself, from his wearing his hat while the other stands bareheaded,--are intently surveying a sort of speculum, or magic mirror, which stands upon a pedestal in the midst of the room, in which a little figure of Guy Faux with his dark lantern approaching the door of the Parliament House is made discernible by the light proceeding from a _great eye_ which shines in from the topmost corner of the apartment, by which eye the pious artist no doubt meant to designate Providence. On the other side of the mirror, is a figure doing something, which puzzled me when a child, and continues to puzzle me now. The best I can make of it is, that it is a conspirator busy laying the train,--but then, why is he represented in the king's chamber?--Conjecture upon so fantastical a design is vain, and I only notice the print as being one of the earliest graphic representations which woke my childhood into wonder, and doubtless combined with the mummery before-mentioned, to take off the edge of that horror which the naked historical mention of Guido's conspiracy could not have failed of exciting. [45] The same, I presume, upon whom the clergyman in the song of the _Vicar and Moses_, not without judgment, passes this memorable censure-- Here, Moses, the King:-- 'Tis a scandalous thing That this Baskett should print for the Crown.