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GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
This is an essay by William Makepeace Thackery on the Genius of George Cruikshank. It was originally published in the Westminster Review, in 1863.
Accusations of ingratitude, and just accusations no doubt,
are made against every inhabitant of this wicked world, and
the fact is, that a man who is ceaselessly engaged in its trouble and
turmoil, borne hither and thither upon the fierce waves of the
crowd, bustling, shifting, struggling to keep himself somewhat
above water -- fighting for reputation, or more likely for bread,
and ceaselessly occupied to-day with plans for appeasing the
eternal appetite of inevitable hunger to-morrow -- a man in such
straits has hardly time to think of anything but himself, and, as
in a sinking ship, must make his own rush for the boats, and
fight, struggle, and trample for safety. In the midst of such a
combat as this, the " ingenuous arts, which prevent the ferocity of
the manners, and act upon them as an emollient" (as the philosophic bard
remarks in the Latin Grammar) are likely to be
jostled to death, and then forgotten. The world will allow no
such compromises between it and that which does not belong to
it- -- no two gods must we serve; but (as one has seen in some
old portraits) the horrible glazed eyes of Necessity are always
fixed upon you; fly away as you will, black Care sits behind
you, and with his ceaseless gloomy croaking drowns the voice of
all more cheerful companions. Happy he whose fortune has
placed him where there is calm and plenty, and who has
the wisdom not to give up his quiet in quest of visionary
gain.
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