taken heart, is hunting the huntsman, and the Cheapside Nimrod is most
ignominiously running away.

The Easter Hunt, we are told, is no more; and as the Quarterly Review
recommends the British public to purchase Mr. Catlin's pictures, as they
form the only record of an interesting race now rapidly passing away,
in like manner we should exhort all our friends to purchase Mr.
Cruikshank's designs of ANOTHER interesting race, that is run already
and for the last time.

Besides these, we must mention, in the line of our duty, the notable
tragedies of "Tom Thumb" and "Bombastes Furioso," both of which have
appeared with many illustrations by Mr. Cruikshank. The "brave army" of
Bombastes exhibits a terrific display of brutal force, which must shock
the sensibilities of an English radical. And we can well understand the
caution of the general, who bids this soldatesque effrenee to begone,
and not to kick up a row.

Such a troop of lawless ruffians let loose upon a populous city would
play sad havoc in it; and we fancy the massacres of Birmingham renewed,
or at least of Badajoz, which, though not quite so dreadful, if we
may believe his Grace the Duke of Wellington, as the former scenes of
slaughter, were nevertheless severe enough: but we must not venture upon
any ill-timed pleasantries in presence of the disturbed King Arthur and
the awful ghost of Gaffer Thumb.

We are thus carried at once into the supernatural, and here we find
Cruikshank reigning supreme. He has invented in his time a little comic
pandemonium, peopled with the most droll, good-natured fiends possible.
We have before us Chamisso's "Peter Schlemihl," with Cruikshank's