"Place me amid O'Rourkes, O'Tooles,
The ragged royal race of Tara;
Or place me where Dick Martin rules
The pathless wilds of Connemara."

We know not if Mr. Cruikshank has ever had any such good luck as to see
the Irish in Ireland itself, but he certainly has obtained a knowledge
of their looks, as if the country had been all his life familiar to him.
Could Mr. O'Connell himself desire anything more national than the scene
of a drunken row, or could Father Mathew have a better text to preach
upon? There is not a broken nose in the room that is not thoroughly
Irish.

We have then a couple of compositions treated in a graver manner, as
characteristic too as the other. We call attention to the comical look
of poor Teague, who has been pursued and beaten by the witch's stick,
in order to point out also the singular neatness of the workmanship,
and the pretty, fanciful little glimpse of landscape that the artist
has introduced in the background. Mr. Cruikshank has a fine eye for such
homely landscapes, and renders them with great delicacy and taste.
Old villages, farm-yards, groups of stacks, queer chimneys, churches,
gable-ended cottages, Elizabethan mansion-houses, and other old English
scenes, he depicts with evident enthusiasm.

Famous books in their day were Cruikshank's "John Gilpin" and
"Epping Hunt;" for though our artist does not draw horses very
scientifically,--to use a phrase of the atelier,--he FEELS them very
keenly; and his queer animals, after one is used to them, answer quite
as well as better. Neither is he very happy in trees, and such rustical