In those great colored prints in our grandfathers’ portfolios in the library, and in some other apartments of the house, where the caricatures used to be pasted in those days, we found things quite beyond our comprehension.  Boney was represented as a fierce dwarf, with goggle eyes, a huge laced hat and tricolored plume, a crooked sabre, reeking with blood:  a little demon revelling in lust, murder, massacre.  John Bull was shown kicking him a good deal:  indeed he was prodigiously kicked all through that series of pictures; by Sidney Smith and our brave allies the gallant Turks; by the excellent and patriotic Spaniards; by the amiable and indignant Russians,—­all nations had boots at the service of poor Master Boney.  How Pitt used to defy him!  How good old George, King of Brobdingnag, laughed at Gulliver-Boney, sailing about in his tank to make sport for their Majesties!  This little fiend, this beggar’s brat, cowardly, murderous, and atheistic as he was (we remember, in those old portfolios, pictures representing Boney and his family in rags, gnawing raw bones in a Corsican hut; Boney murdering the sick at Jaffa; Boney with a hookah and a large turban, having adopted the Turkish religion, &c.)—­this Corsican monster, nevertheless, had some devoted friends in England, according to the Gilray chronicle,—­a set of villains who loved atheism, tyranny, plunder, and wickedness in general, like their French friend.  In the pictures these men were all represented as dwarfs, like their ally.  The miscreants got into power at one time, and, if we remember right, were called the Broad-backed Administration.  One with shaggy eyebrows and a bristly beard, the hirsute ringleader of the rascals, was, it appears, called Charles James Fox; another miscreant, with a blotched countenance, was a certain Sheridan; other imps were hight Erskine, Norfolk (Jockey of), Moira, Henry Petty.  As in our childish, innocence we used to look at these demons, now sprawling and tipsy in their cups; now scaling heaven, from which the angelic Pitt hurled them down; now cursing the light (their atrocious ringleader Fox was represented with hairy cloven feet, and a tail and horns); now kissing Boney’s boot, but inevitably discomfited by Pitt and the other good angels:  we hated these vicious wretches, as good children should; we were on the side of Virtue and Pitt and Grandpapa.  But if our sisters wanted to look at the portfolios, the good old grandfather used to hesitate.  There were some prints among them very odd indeed; some that girls could not understand; some that boys, indeed, had best not see.  We swiftly turn over those prohibited pages.  How many of them there were in the wild, coarse, reckless, ribald, generous book of old English humor!