Whoever reads history with a view of tracing the progress of the human mind,—which, by the way, is the great object that renders history useful,—whoever reads history with that regard, must be astonished and shocked at the slow progress of philosophy, and the universal prevalence of credulity, superstition, and fanaticism. If antiquity would give a claim to reverence, this destructive band have a date prior to Christianity; their united power shed baneful influence on the earliest ages.

In the pagan temples there was a kind of incantation for conjuring down deities, to whom were assigned niches according to their different degrees of rank. The histories of Greece and Rome (for the sake of human nature, I wish that the parallel did not reach modern times) display an innumerable host of all ages, sexes, descriptions, and characters, enlisted under the banner of the priesthood, together with a select corps de reserve of augurs and soothsayers, who, by inspecting the entrails of beasts, foretold future events, and from the flight of birds the defeat of armies. Succeeding ages beheld their heathen temples solemnly consecrated; and being thus metamorphosed into Christian churches, the sculptures representing Jupiter, Minerva, Venus, and Diana, by virtue of a new baptism, became saints.[114]

Here also were a legion of arrogant priests, who insolently dictated the terms of salvation, fixed a standard for universal belief, and introduced their own inventions as divine precepts; who forced monarchs to pay tribute by ecclesiastical privilege, assumed the dominion of empires by divine right, and claimed three-fourths of the known world as heirs-at-law to St. Peter. To secure their acquisitions, they entrenched themselves behind ramparts raised on the credulity and folly of mankind. He who attempted to scale these hallowed mounds was deemed guilty of sacrilege; he who questioned the catholic infallibility was an atheist; and whosoever doubted the divine mission of a priest—an infidel.[115]

Finding the multitude were so well inclined to believe that whatever they could not comprehend was supernatural, they construed each phenomenon of nature into a portentous menace from Heaven. An eclipse became the omen of a revolution; an inundation the prognostic of a defeat; and an hurricane foretold the fall of every power that made any opposition to papal authority. By arts like these, the people were brought into a mental vassalage; and the powerful Baron having previously enslaved their persons, they readily gave the care of their souls to the confessor. To him they applied as the proper interpreter of every difficult case; and fraught with a full portion of credulity, each individual considered every cloud that passed over the sun, and every raven that expanded its ebon wing, as bearing some particular direction to himself. Hence arose the doctrine of demonology; and apparitions, witches, dreams, and divinations, formed a creed of superstition. On this was built that notable system, properly enough called "The Philosophy of the Distaff." This mythology of weak minds has been carried through every age and country by oral tradition and unfounded record.

Our earliest histories abound in augury and prediction; the most fabulous tales had credence, not only with the unlearned and ignorant, but with the educated and sagacious. The grave Duke de Sully seriously narrates those which had relation to Henry the Fourth.

It is recorded by Victorius Sirri, that Louis the Thirteenth was from his infancy surnamed Just,—"because he was born under the sign of the Balance!"

Even sorcery was made a leading branch of religion; and one of a priest's duties was to exorcise ghosts by talking Latin, which was considered as a never-failing antidote for a troublesome spirit, and invariably concluded by the ghost being laid in the Red Sea.

Some of these glaring errors have been obliterated, but absurdities of equal magnitude have supplied their place; and modern credulities are nearly as destructive to the interests of society as ancient superstitions.

Though this nation, as well as others, was at an early period enveloped by ignorance, superstition, and their consequent accompaniments, we had some right to expect the clouds would have been dispelled by the Reformation; but credulity kept its ground, and at a still later period—when we had a most learned and sedate monarch, and a most sententious and grave Parliament—an Act was passed for the punishment of witchcraft! By this sagacious union of royal and national wisdom, if a woman lived to a greater age than her neighbour, she was tried, proved guilty of commercing with a familiar in the shape of a tabby cat, and eased of all her sufferings by the ordeal of fire or water.

It is not many years since a fanatic in one of our colonies took a fancy to accuse a neighbour of witchcraft: the crime was clearly proved, and the poor culprit suffered according to law. In credulity and superstition there is something epidemical. The contagion spread; and this being found a summary process for removing a competitor in trade, or revenging an insult, informations for sorcery became frequent. Their sessions-house was crowded with witches, as is that at the Old Bailey with pickpockets. It however brought fees, and so far was well: but these sapient legislators at length discovered that the province was likely to be depopulated; and what affected them still more, their own fraternity were liable to the consequences. A man, who had been cheated by his lawyer, made an affidavit that said lawyer was a wizard. This was too much: the court had a special meeting, and unanimously determined that they would not receive any more informations against wizards. The bye-law had the effect of a charm, and sorcery was no more!

Lord Bacon somewhere remarks that superstition is worse than atheism. It takes from religion every attraction, every comfort; and the place of humble hope and patient resignation is supplied by melancholy, despair, and madness!

To the best minds, credulity is the source of much misery. Our first Charles, who, with all his errors as a king, had the manners and mind of a gentleman, was so much under its influence, that he never enjoyed a day's happiness after consulting the Sortes VirgilianÆ.[116]

In our age—an age in many respects enlightened by the beams of philosophy—the effects resulting from credulity, superstition, and fanaticism are dreadful; but while the evils are contemplated with horror, the system is too ridiculous for sober reasoning. It induces the infatuated votary to believe that being in the pale of a particular church will ensure his salvation. The ignorant are confounded with metaphysical subtleties which the wisest cannot comprehend; and by combining different texts of holy writ, we are insulted with conclusions contrary to common sense.[117]

To check this inundation of absurdity, which deemed carnal reason profane, and was not to be combated by argument, Mr. Hogarth engraved this print; it contains what must ever operate as a complete refutation of those who, because they were his opponents in politics, have impudently asserted that he lost his talents in the decline of life: for though the delineation was made in his sixty-fourth year, in satire, wit, and imagination, it is superior to any of his preceding works.

The text "I speak as a fool" is a type of the preacher, whose strength of lungs is a convenient substitute for strength of argument. He is literally a Boanerges; his tones rend the region, and the thunder of his eloquence has cracked the sounding-board. His right hand poises a witch astride upon a broom-stick, and in his left he suspends an emissary of Satan: this embryotic demon wields a gridiron as a terror to the ungodly, and at the witch's breast is an incubus in the shape of a cat.[118] Considering action as the first requisite of an orator, our ecclesiastical juggler throws his whole frame into convulsions: he shakes as the lofty cedar in a storm. Like Milton's devil,

By these violent agitations his gown flies open, and discovers that this Proteus of the pulpit is arrayed in a Harlequin's jacket; and his wig falling off, displays the shaven crown of a Jesuit. But the loss of a periwig is not attended to, his denunciations are redoubled, his fulminations hurled indiscriminately around; he scatters about firebrands; and darts, pointed with destruction, and barbed with death, pierce the hearts of his terrified hearers. Wrought up to the highest pitch of seraphic fervour, fevered by the heat of his own ecstasies,—the whole man is inspired,—and mounted upon the clouds of mystery, he soars through the dark regions of superstition, settles in the third heaven, and breathes empyreal air.

The train is fired,—the contagion spreads, the cup of delusion is filled to the brim, and each of his infatuated auditors intoxicated with the fumes of enthusiastic madness.

With a postboy's cap upon his head, to denote that he is a special messenger from above, a little cherubimic Mercury flies through the clouds, and bears in his mouth an express directed to Saint Money Trapp.

Immediately beneath the pulpit are two lambs of the flock in an ecstasy. The young man with a round head of hair is probably a lay preacher; for though he has not a sable coat, he has a black collar. Piously entreating a young maiden, who meets his advances with an holy zeal, he puts the waxen model of a female saint down her bosom.

In the same pew are two fellows very differently affected: one of them, with a despairing countenance, sheds iron tears; the other, like the wet sea-boy on the mast, sleeps through the terrors of the storm, though a malignant imp of darkness, envying his serenity, endeavours to awake him by a whisper,[119] that he also may share such curses as would serve for a supplement to St. Ernulphus.[120]

Between two duck-winged cherubs, who are studying the laughing and crying gamut, is the harpy clerk. This crook-mouthed echo of absurdity, and associate in villany, has the true physiognomy of a Tartuffe: every feature is charged with hypocrisy.

The congregation,[121] many of whom have been imported from Liffey's verdant banks, bear their parts in this enchanting serenade; and the bull roar of the preacher, combined with a chorus of sighs, groans, and shrieks, must produce a symphony that might vie with the Irish howl or Indian war-whoop.

Among the crowd we discover a youthful convert under the guidance of his spiritual confessor,[122] who, pointing to Brimstone Ocean, unfolds a tale which terrifies his disciple to a degree that

The sanguinary Jew, while he leans upon an altar, on which lies a knife inscribed "bloody," sacrifices to his revenge an unfortunate insect which he caught carelessly wandering on the environs of his head.

Beneath is Mrs. Tofts, of Godalming, well known in the annals of credulity; in the violence of her paroxysm, she breaks a dram glass with her teeth.[123]

Next to Mrs. Tofts is a possessed shoeblack, coolly clearing his stomach of a quantity of hob-nails and iron staples.[124] In his hand he holds a quart bottle, in which the model of a spirit is closely cribbed—confin'd; but the imprisoned sprite forcing the cork, mounts into the regions of air with a lighted taper in its hand.[125] The book on which our sable professor of necromancy has deposited his basket, is King James's Demonology;[126] this, with Whitfield's Journal, which lies among the implements of his art, covertly intimate the sources where he had sought and found inspiration.

The ridicule is wound up by a Turk, whom we see through a window smoking his tube of Trinidado; lifting up his eyes with astonishment at the scene, he breathes a grateful ejaculation, and thanks his Maker that he was early initiated in the divine truths of the Koran, is out of the pale of this church, and has his name engraven on the tablets of Mahomet.

As all the decorations which are displayed in this temple of credulity, superstition, and fanaticism are suitable to the congregation, the carved figures on the pulpit are worthy of the preacher. We are in the first compartment presented with the apparition which warned Sir George Villiers of the Duke of Buckingham's danger from the knife of Felton;[127] in the second, with Julius CÆsar's ghost reproaching Brutus; and in the third, with the ghost of Mrs. Veale, which appeared to Mrs. Bargrave,[128]—because a very large impression of Drelincourt upon Death lay in the bookseller's warehouse, and would not move without a marvellous relation of an apparition.

Beneath is a figure of the Tedworth drummer, who so wickedly disturbed the family of Mr. Mompesson;[129] and in the frame below, a representation of Fanny, the phantom of Cock Lane, with her hammer in her right hand. These two notable memorials of credulity are placed as a kind of headpiece to a mental thermometer, which ascertains the different degrees of heat in the blood of an enthusiast. When the liquid ascends, it rises from lukewarm to love-heat,—ecstasy! convulsion fits,—madness,—and terminates in raving, which is properly obscured by clouds, and above the ken of human comprehension. In its falling state, the progress of religious depression is most accurately marked. From low spirits it sinks to sorrow, agony, settled grief, despair, madness,—suicide! The whole rests on Wesley's Sermons, and Glanville On Witches.[130]

On the preacher's left hand, suspended to a ring inserted in a human nostril, hangs the scale of vociferation. A natural tone is at the bottom, but the speaker's tone is described by the distended mouth above the scale, crying Blood! blood! blood! and inscribed "Bull roar."

To the hook of the chandelier hangs a small sphere, on which is engraven, "Desarts of new Purgatory." On the globe, out of which spring the branches for candles, is written, "A globe of hell, as newly drawn by R——ne" (Romaine). It is so formed as to give the caricature of a human face, and baptized "Horrid Zone." Round one of the eyes is inscribed "The Bottomless Pit;" round the other, "Molten-lead Lake." On one cheek is "Brimstone Ocean;" on the other, "Parts Unknown;" and round the mouth, "Eternal Damnation Gulf." Horribly profane as are these mottoes, they are mere copies of Tabernacle phraseology. In the same class comes the hymn, which is placed before the clerk:

"Only love to us be given;

Lord, we ask no other heaven."[131]

There are three things of which your Englishman deems himself the best of all possible judges: the art of stirring a fire, religion, and politics. His infallibility in the first no one will presume to question, except his wife; and with her he will dispute as long as disputing is good. The mysteries of the second he understands better than the Archbishop of Canterbury. As to the intricacies of the third, which thinking men are apt to consider in some degree hidden from those who are not admitted into the arcana, he can unravel them with more ease, and point out with more precision what steps ought to be taken, than can the Prime Minister, with all the aggregate wisdom of the Cabinet.

So many of his Majesty's good subjects being thus gifted with an intuitive knowledge of state affairs, it is no wonder that Britain holds so high a rank among the nations; for each act of government is stated and debated, not only in the two Houses of Parliament, but in every tavern, coffeehouse, and porter-house in the metropolis.

To these eloquent leaders of the numerous clubs, we may add a myriad of political writers, who are all but inspired. Without studying either Machiavel, Locke, or Sidney, they pour forth a torrent of lucubrations on the floating subjects of the hour; that hour past, their letters, replies, remarks, and rejoinders are heard of no more.

In the hope of giving their puny offspring a longer life, some of these learned Thebans, or their booksellers, called in the aid of artists, to adorn their labours with taking frontispieces. These graphic ornaments were in general about as lively as the pamphlets they decorated; and it was found that the united efforts of author, printer, painter, engraver, and publisher, could not ensure immortality. Notwithstanding this general failure in their intended operation, they had one very awkward effect. A sort of political influenza was communicated to our engravers, and they also became deep statesmen and profound politicians. While part of this band sharpened their burins, and defaced much good copper in caricaturing the members of administration, their opponents were equally industrious, and equally pointed, in taking off the honourable gentlemen on the other side of the house.

The buzzing of these insects of a day was little attended to: their dulness preserved them from laughter, their weakness protected them from resentment; they excited no passion except contempt.

Very different was the public expectation when it was found that Hogarth intended to publish a series of political prints. From his former productions they knew his powers, and considered him as able to throw any party into ridicule. That which he was expected to attack dreaded the strength of his aquafortis, which they apprehended would have the effect of a caustic, not only on his copper, but on the objects of his satire.

Previous to the publication of "The Times," Mr. Wilkes, who was then at Aylesbury, was informed that the print was political, and that Lord Temple, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Churchill, and himself, were the leading characters held up to ridicule. Under the impression which this intelligence conveyed, he sent Mr. Hogarth a remonstrance, stating the ungenerous tendency of such a proceeding; which would be more glaringly unfriendly, as the two last-mentioned gentlemen and the artist had always lived upon terms of strict intimacy. This produced a reply, in which Hogarth asserted that neither Mr. Wilkes nor Mr. Churchill were introduced, but Lord Temple and Mr. Pitt were, and the print should be published in a few days. To this it was answered, that Mr. Wilkes would hardly deem it worth while to notice any reflections on himself; but if his friends were attacked, it would wound him in the most sensible part, and, well as he was able, he should revenge their cause. This was a direct declaration of war: the black flag was hoisted on both sides, and never did two angry men of their abilities throw mud with less dexterity.

"The Times" was soon after published, and on the Saturday following, in No. 17 of the North Briton, a most unmerciful attack was directed against the King's Serjeant Painter. Since that period, marvellous have been the variations of the patriotic needle; the Colonel of the Buckinghamshire Militia has filled the first offices in the city of London, and is now become chamberlain. Having in these situations seen the errors of his former politics, he would, I must think, be the first to acknowledge that the attack was not only unmerciful, but in many respects unjust. The hand of time having worn down political asperities, I hope—I believe—Mr. Wilkes will have no objection to this nettle, forced in the hotbed of a party, being plucked from that hallowed sod which covers the dust of William Hogarth.

Should the artist and the chamberlain meet in Elysium, why may they not drink oblivion to former feuds in a glass of Lethe? The chamberlain would, I fancy, prefer champagne; but when a gentleman travels in a strange country, he must take up with such beverage as the place affords.

The attack commences with a ridicule of the Analysis of Beauty, or rather of Hogarth's honesty in acknowledging that he was indebted to a friend for a third part of the wording. The artist was sensible of his own strength; but what is much more rare, he was conscious of his own weakness. He knew the principles of his art; but not being accustomed to explaining them with a pen, very prudently asked the aid of those who were, to give his ideas such language as would render them worthy public attention. This was at least honest; but as the author of the North Briton presents us with only part of the apology, let us do the artist justice by inserting the whole.

After some leading remarks on the system which it was his wish to establish, he continues as follows:—

"But observing in the fore-mentioned controversies that the torrent generally ran against me, and that several of my opponents had turned my arguments into ridicule, yet were daily availing themselves of their use, and venting them even to my face as their own, I began to wish the publication of something on this subject; and accordingly applied myself to several of my friends, whom I thought capable of taking up the pen for me, offering to furnish them with materials by word of mouth. But finding this method not practicable, from the difficulty of one man's expressing the ideas of another, especially on a subject which he was either unacquainted with, or was new in its kind, I was therefore reduced to an attempt of finding such words as would best answer my own ideas, being now too far engaged to drop the design. Hereupon, having digested the matter as well as I could, and thrown it into the form of a book, I submitted it to the judgment of such friends whose sincerity and abilities I could best rely on, determining on their approbation or dislike to publish or destroy it. But their favourable opinion of the manuscript being publicly known, it gave such a credit to the undertaking as soon changed the countenances of those who had a better opinion of my pencil than my pen, and turned their sneers into expectation, especially when the same friends had kindly made me an offer of conducting the work through the press; and here I must acknowledge myself particularly indebted to one gentleman for his corrections and amendments of at least a third part of the wording. Through his absence and avocation, several sheets went to the press without any assistance, and the rest had the occasional inspection of one or two friends. If any inaccuracies shall be found in the writing, I shall readily acknowledge them all my own, and am, I confess, under no great concern about them, provided the matter in general may be useful and answerable, in the application of it, to truth and to nature; in which material points if the reader shall think fit to rectify any mistakes, it will give me a sensible pleasure, and be doing great honour to the work."—Preface to Analysis, p. 20, edit of 1772.

The author of the North Briton continues: "We all titter the instant he takes up a pen, but we tremble when we see the pencil in his hand."

As this essay was written in consequence of the artist giving a pictured shape, it seems rather extraordinary that so good a logician as Mr. Wilkes should drag in Hogarth's pen merely to titter at, and acknowledge that he trembles at his pencil, which instrument, by the way, drew forth this paper:—

"I will do him the justice to say, that he possesses the rare talent of gibbeting in colours, and that in most of his works he has been a very good moral satirist." That he has, it is most true. "His forte is there, and he should have kept it. When he has at any time deviated from his own peculiar walk, he has never failed to make himself perfectly ridiculous. I need only make my appeal to any one of his historical or portrait pieces, which are now considered as almost beneath all criticism."

Some of his portraits might have been exempted from this censure: what does Mr. Wilkes think of Captain Coram, now in the Foundling Hospital?

"The favourite 'Sigismunda,' the labour of so many years, the boasted effort of his art, was not human. If the figure had a resemblance of anything ever on earth, or had the least pretence to meaning or expression, it was what he had seen, or perhaps made, in real life, his own wife in an agony of passion, but of what passion no connoisseur could guess."

After asserting that the figure was not human, this is rather too much! From any gentleman, the daughter of Sir James Thornhill had a claim to more politeness; but that so gallant a man as Colonel Wilkes—a perfect knight-errant in all that related to the sex—should make an estimable and respectable woman a party "in the poor politics of the day, and descend to low personal abuse" (I use his own language), because her husband had in these poor politics adopted an opposite creed, excites astonishment!

Had this transaction passed in the year 1791, instead of the year 1762, it would have been less extraordinary; for, alas,

"All his friends remember what tiresome discourses were held by him, day after day, about the transcendent merit of this 'Sigismunda,' and how the great names of Raphael, Vandyke, and others, were made to yield the palm of beauty, grace, expression, etc. to him, for this long-laboured yet uninteresting single figure. The value he himself set on this, as well as on some other of his works, almost exceeds belief; yet from politeness, or fear, or some other motives, he has actually been paid the most astonishing sums, as the price, not of his merit, but of his unbounded vanity."

That the artist demanded too high a price for his painting of "Sigismunda," I am free to acknowledge; but it has not been peculiar to Mr. Hogarth to mistake his talents, and overrate his worst performances. Mr. Wilkes must know that Milton, and many other great men, have erred in the same way. I do not think that "Sigismunda" was worth what he required; but that he has actually been paid the most astonishing sums for his other pictures, as the price, not of his merit, but of his unbounded vanity, I am yet to learn. The remuneration he received for many of his works is to be found in these volumes; it was seldom in any degree equal to their merits. The painter is no more, but several of his pictures remain; and were the "Marriage À la Mode," "Rake's Progress," etc., now upon sale, the present age would, I am persuaded, sanction my opinion, and the pictures produce much more astonishing sums than were originally paid to the artist.

"He has succeeded very happily in the way of humour, and has miscarried in every other attempt; this has arisen in some measure from his head, but much more from his heart. After 'Marriage À la Mode,' the public wished for a series of prints of a Happy Marriage. Hogarth made the attempt; but the rancour and malevolence of his mind made him soon turn away with envy and disgust from objects of so pleasing contemplation, to dwell, and feast a bad heart, on others of a hateful cast, which he pursued, for he found them congenial, with the most unabating zeal and unrelenting gall."

Should any one assert that the strength of colouring, and astonishing powers, which gave the name of Churchill so exalted a rank among satirists, originated in malevolence and rancour, and that he could not write a panegyric because he delighted in feasting a bad heart on a bad theme, Mr. Wilkes would, I am certain, be the first to defend him from such an aspersion.

That he did not succeed in an attempt to delineate a Happy Marriage, I can readily believe. Hogarth was a painter of manners as they were, not as they ought to be. He considered nature in the abstract, and usually adhered to what he saw. Among those friends with whom Hogarth lived in habits of intimacy, and whose domestic situations he had the best opportunity of studying,—though Mr. Churchill and the Colonel were of the number,—he might not know a family from whence such a scene could be copied.

"I have observed some time his setting sun. He has long been very dim, and almost shorn of his beams."

For a confirmation of the above assertion, see the print of "The Medley," published this very year. My opinion of it the reader is already in possession of, and that opinion corresponds with an authority which, I believe, even Mr. Wilkes will consider as very high:—"For useful and deep satire, 'The Medley' is the most sublime of all Hogarth's works."—Walpole.

"He seems so conscious of this (i.e. that his sun is setting, etc.) that he now glimmers with borrowed light. 'John Bull's house in flames' has been hackneyed in fifty different prints; and if there is any merit in the figure on stilts, and the mob prancing around, it is not to be ascribed to Hogarth, but to Callot."

Callot's was, I acknowledge, the first thought, but Sir Joshua Reynolds will tell Mr. Wilkes that happy appropriation is not plagiarism.

"I own, too, that I am grieved to see the genius of Hogarth, which should take in all ages and countries, sunk to a level with the miserable tribe of party-etchers, and now in his rapid decline entering into the poor politics of the faction of the day, and descending into low personal abuse, instead of instructing the world, as he could once, by manly moral satire."

I too am grieved that Hogarth, or any other man of talents, should descend to the poor politics of the faction of the day. But be it remarked, that this was the first political print he designed; and if so contemptible as it was before stated to be, it is rather singular that this one little satire, the first he engraved on the subject, and "destitute of every kind of original merit, in every part confused, perplexed, and embarrassed, where the story is not well told to the eye, and where we cannot discover the faintest ray of genius," should excite so warm a resentment.

Mr. Wilkes goes on to ask, "Whence can proceed so surprising a change? Is it from the frowardness of old age? or is it that envy and impatience of resplendent merit in every way, at which he has always sickened? How often has he been remarked to droop at the fair and honest applause given even to a friend?" etc.

I am told, by those who lived in habits of intimacy with Mr. Hogarth—never! But let us remember, that what is deemed fair and honest applause by the person who receives it, may by an impartial spectator be thought more than he is entitled to.

"It is sufficient that the rest of mankind applaud; from that moment he begins the attack, and you never can be well with him, till he hears an universal outcry against you, and till all your friends have given you up."

That Hogarth should have wished to render a man infamous in the eyes of society, before he would admit him to the honour of his regards, is a paradox I cannot solve. I believe this kind of preparation for friendship was never practised by any other person, of any age or country.

"The public had never the least share of Hogarth's regard, or even goodwill. Gain and vanity have steered his little bark quite through life. He has never been consistent but with respect to these two principles."

Hogarth was no hypocrite. By the word "public," is frequently meant that party who are immersed in the violent factions of the day. For them he never professed goodwill. But if by the public is meant society in its various branches and different ranks, almost all his works had as great a tendency to make the world wiser and better, as had those of men who made more violent professions. His little bark having been steered through life by gain and vanity, I hardly know how to understand. He lived a long and laborious life; he was admitted to be the first, the very first, in his walk; and died worth a sum that a Jew broker will acquire before breakfast. As to vanity,—of talents superior to any other artist,—he had a right to be vain.

"But all genius was not born, nor will it die, with Mr. Hogarth; and notwithstanding all his ungenerous efforts to damp or chill it in another, I will trust to a discerning and liberal spirit in the English nation to patronize and reward all real merit. It will in the end rise superior to the idle laugh of the hour," etc.

Of this discerning and liberal spirit there is not a stronger instance than the estimation in which Hogarth's works, not excepting the Analysis (however it may be worded), are held thirty years after the publication of the North Briton.

"In the year 1746, when the Guards were ordered to march to Finchley on the most important service they could be employed in,—the extinguishing a Scottish rebellion which threatened the entire ruin of the illustrious family on the throne, and, in consequence, of our liberties,—Mr. Hogarth came out with a print to make them ridiculous[133] to their countrymen, and to all Europe; or, perhaps, it rather was to tell the Scots, in his way, how little the Guards were to be feared, and that they might safely advance. That the ridicule might not stop here, and that it might be as offensive as possible to his own sovereign, he dedicated the print to the King of Prussia, as an encourager of arts. Is this patriotism? In old Rome, or in any of the Grecian States, he would have been punished as a profligate citizen, totally devoid of all principle."

These are heavy charges; but mark how a plain tale shall put them down. From the effects which are described as likely to result from this most seditious print, we are tempted to think it must have been designed, etched, engraved, printed off, and dispersed with so much expedition as to arrive in Scotland before the Guards whom it holds up to ridicule; for one of its designs was "to tell the Scots, in his way, how little the Guards were to be feared, and that they might safely advance." The march was in 1746, and the publication of this print in 1750; therefore[134] it could not have these most direful and dangerous effects! That he dedicated it to the King of Prussia, as an encourager of arts, is true; but this dedication was not inserted until another had been rejected, because it was misunderstood by the King of England; and George the Second, with all his virtues, was neither a judge of humour nor an encourager of the arts. These premises granted, I think we may fairly draw this conclusion: Had old Hogarth been a citizen of old Rome, or a member of any of the Grecian States, and published such a representation of his own times, he would not have been punished as a profligate citizen: he would neither have been flagellated, impaled, decollated, nor thrown from the Tarpeian rock; but his print would have been laughed at by every member of the State who had the least ray of humour, though—as in some cases that we have seen—the length of a grave orator's beard might hide the risible emotions of his muscles, and the amplitude of his robe conceal the shaking of his sides.

To detail the conclusion of this paper, about the dishonour of his being appointed pannel-painter to the King, never suffered to caricature any of the royal family, etc., is scarcely necessary. If the appointment was less respectable than his merits demanded, the disgrace did not fall upon him; but be it remarked, that the office was afterwards held by Sir Joshua Reynolds; and however elevated his taste, however superior his talents, his genius was long distinguished and admired by the public before he had the honour of taking the portraits of their Majesties.

Trusting that Hogarth's own works will sufficiently ascertain his character, I shall not attempt his further vindication, but proceed to the print.

A globe, which must here be considered as the world, though it appears to be no more than a tavern sign, is represented on fire, and Mr. Pitt, exalted on stilts, which are held by the surrounding multitude, blowing up the flames with a pair of large bellows.[135] His attendants are composed of butchers, with marrow-bones and cleavers, an hallooing mob armed with clubs, and a trio of London aldermen in the act of adoration. From the neck of this idol of the populace is suspended a millstone, on which is inscribed £3000 per annum, allusive to his pension, and intimating that so ponderous a load must in time sink his popularity.[136] While he is thus increasing the conflagration, a number of Highlanders,[137] grenadiers, sailors, etc., are busily working a fire-engine to extinguish it. The pipe is guided by a Union Office fireman at the top. Defended by an iron cap, and decorated with a badge inscribed "G. R.," this intrepid engineer pays no regard to three streams of water which are furiously driven at his rear from the windows of the Temple Coffeehouse. The Liliputian engines, through which these tiny showers descend, are directed by a nobleman and two garretteers. An inscription over the door determines the title of the former, who is delineated without features: the two gentlemen in the attic were, I believe, originally intended for Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Churchill, but previous to publication the faces were altered.[138] A surplice is still left on the figure over Lord Temple, and the Colonel's coat is lapelled. Upon a sign-iron beneath them is a slaughterman,[139] with a lighted candle in his hat, and a large knife in his pocket; thus intimating that he is ready either to fire a city or murder a citizen. Mounted to the situation he now occupies by a ladder, he is drawing up a sign of the Patriot's Arms, and in this good work is assisted by two strong-sinewed coadjutors, who are dragging the ropes to which it is suspended. The blazonry is four clenched fists in opposition to each other; the date, 1762.[140] This curious delineation will be placed in the front of the Temple Coffeehouse, for the world to wonder at. The Newcastle Arms, nearly broken down, bears allusion to the Duke's resignation.[141] A Highlander, carrying two buckets of water from the fire-plug to the engine, is likely to be impeded by a fellow with a wheelbarrow full of political papers, which are intended to feed the flames. This type of the distressed poet, said to be intended as a representative of the Duke of Newcastle, endeavours to overset the Scot, and burst the engine-pipe by the same operation.

Wholly engrossed by avarice, the crafty Dutchman, with a hand in each pocket and a pipe in his mouth, sits on his bales of goods, and laughs at the destruction raging around him. A fox, fair emblem of his cunning, is creeping out of a kennel beneath.

Close to him is a patriotic trumpeter, blowing the spirit-stirring tube, and pointing to a show-cloth, on which is painted a wild Indian. By the magisterial robe in which this trumpeter is arrayed, and the city arms on the banner of his windy instrument, he is decisively intended to personify Mr. Alderman Beckford, thrice Lord Mayor of London. Beneath the savage to whom he points, is written, "Alive from America." This grotesque figure is placed before two tobacco hogsheads, grasps in each hand a purse inscribed "£1000," and has tied round him, so as to form a sort of Indian dress, eight or ten little bags equally well filled. His countenance leads us to judge that he delights in the devastation by which he is a gainer; and seems to imply that our American brethren, like our Amsterdam allies, were eager to furnish friend or foe with the product of their respective countries. It may further intimate the Alderman's immense riches, and that a leading article of his trade was tobacco.

A table clock, inscribed "Airs by Harrington," representing a company of soldiers in a regular march, has an evident allusion to the military doctrine of man being a machine. "The Norfolk jig, G. T. fecit," hints at the Norfolk Militia, and Mr. George Townshend, who paid unremitting attention to the discipline and appearance of the corps raised in Norfolk.

"The Post Office," painted on a cracked board fastened against the wall, may possibly signify the office of Postmaster-General being then divided.[142]

In the opposite corner of the print, surrounded by his miserable and famished subjects, sits the heroic Frederick of Prussia. Regardless of their distress, and unmoved by their cries, tears, and execrations—like Nero, who fiddled while Rome burnt—he is lost to every feeling, except those which arise from the fine tones of his Cremona. The effects resulting from his insatiable thirst of glory are not confined to his own subjects. Fired by vaulting ambition, he scatters destruction through surrounding states; depopulates provinces, and lays waste kingdoms, to prove himself—a philosopher.

How far the rest of the figures in this group may refer to particular persons or nations, I cannot determine. The female, with clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven, has been supposed to be intended for the Empress Queen; a venerable matron, stealing away with a trunk under her arm, for the late Empress of Russia, Frederick's most inveterate enemy, who ended her earthly reign on the 2d of January 1762. They may be so intended, though I must acknowledge I do not discover anything which will wholly establish the supposition, but am more inclined to consider them as merely exemplifying the horrors of war.

The fleur-de-lis hung from one of the houses in flames, and the black eagle from the other, sufficiently indicate the powers intended to be pointed out. The sign of the Salutation alludes to the treaty between France and Spain, for the dexter figure is Louis Baboon; and the sinister, Lord Strut.

The flames rage with so much violence as to prevent the fluttering dove from alighting on any of the buildings; notwithstanding which, this bird of peace, with an olive branch, hovers over them in the midst of ascending smoke.

The exact point of time is determined by the waggon, inscribed "Hermione," in the background.[143]

Such is my general idea of the preceding plate;[144] there may be those who will discover many things which I do not see, and which possibly never entered into the contemplation of the artist. As the whole alludes to the politics of his own day, all the characters introduced were his contemporaries, and several of them had been his intimate friends, he might intentionally leave some parts obscure;[145] or conceiving his meaning sufficiently obvious to those who lived at the time, forget that it would become impervious to posterity.

I have before observed that in allegory he was not happy; and the dissimilar combinations here brought together are a proof of the assertion. Soldiers and sailors, whose business it is to increase the flames of war, carrying water to extinguish them, is not quite consonant to our general ideas of their dispositions. Highlanders, being universally considered as the soldiers of Europe, make but an awkward appearance in the character of peacemakers.

A sign of the globe on fire, flames bursting out of the Globe Tavern and three other buildings, with each an alehouse sign, to explain what nations are meant, borders upon the bathos. Another nation personified by the sovereign fiddling to his expiring subjects, is not a bad thought, but here it is incongruous. It has not that general unison with the other parts of the picture which either writing or painting demands. Separated from the accompaniments, this group might have made a good print; with the Globe Tavern, the Temple Coffeehouse, the garretteers, and the aldermen, it does not assimilate.

My last remark I shall take the liberty of borrowing from Mr. Wilkes, for in this one point I have the honour of agreeing with him: "The print is too much crowded with figures."

PLATE II.

"The Times are out of joint."

A painter engaging in the political disputes of his day, is in a situation similar to a gentleman beginning to rebuild a family mansion. The pencil of one, dipped in these troubled streams, or the fingers of the other but touch-brick and mortar,—it is not in the tables of De Moivre to calculate the conclusion of their labours. Each of them sets out upon a certain plan, determines that he will go so far, and no further: but the gentleman is induced to make a first addition to his original plan, because it will be more convenient; a second, because it will be magnifique; and a third and fourth must be, because without them the building will not be uniform.

The artist engraves a political print, which raises an host of enemies, who buzz about him like a nest of disturbed hornets. To them, wording not being the painter's province, he replies by a second print, which produces a second volume of abuse; "another and another still succeeds," and he must either sink under this load of obloquy, or devote the residue of his days to the defence of his character. Such at least was the political progress of Hogarth.

By his first print of "The Times" he roused two very formidable adversaries, and they treated him with as much ceremony as two deputies from the Bow Street magistrates would an incendiary or an assassin. They did not consider him as a man whose conduct it was needful to investigate, or whose opinions it was necessary to confute, but as a criminal, whose aggravated crimes had outraged every law of society, and whom they would therefore drag to the place of execution. To defend himself from these furious assailants, he had no shield but a copperplate, no weapons but a pencil and a burin. The use he made of them may be seen in the two last prints; but though this was engraved during the time of the contest, it was not published while he lived. Whether a sudden change in politics, a supposed ambiguity in part of his design, or the advice of judicious or timid friends, induced him to suppress his work, cannot now be ascertained; but whatever were the reasons, his widow's respect for his memory induced her to adopt the same conduct. She retained a reverence for even the dust of her husband, and dreaded its being raked from the sepulchre where he had been quietly inurned, mixed with the poisonous aconite of party, and by sacrilegious hands cast into the agitated cauldron of politics. If we add to this the specimen of political candour which she had experienced in her own person, can we wonder that she cautiously avoided whatever could be tortured into a provocation to the renewal of hostilities? From these considerations she never suffered more than one impression to be taken, and that was struck off at the earnest request of Lord Exeter.

In withholding this plate from the public she acted prudently; in attempting to describe it, I may be thought to act otherwise. To enter into a discrimination of characters who now live, "or step upon ashes which are not yet cold," is liable to invidious construction. Let it be remembered, that though I have endeavoured to point out the characters delineated by Hogarth, it does not follow that my explanation will always be right.

Though several of the figures are marked in a style so obtrusive that they cannot be mistaken, there are others where I can only guess at the originals. From those who were engaged in the politics of that day I have sought information, but their communications have been neither important nor consistent with each other. They generally ended in an acknowledgment, that "in thirty years they had forgotten much which they once knew, and which, if now recollected, would materially elucidate." To this was added what I am compelled to admit, that parts of the print are obscure. I have before observed that neither politics nor allegory were Hogarth's forte, and this delineation was made under the impression of resentment.

The exact time of its being engraved I cannot positively ascertain, but conjecture it must have been some time in the year 1762. A small part of the sky was left unfinished, and in that state still remains, as the present proprietors would not suffer any other engraver to draw a line on the copperplate of Hogarth.

On a pedestal in the centre of the print is a statue of the present King in his coronation robes, inscribed "A Ramsay delt;" his right hand is placed on his side, and the left leans upon a plummet, which seems to have been Mr. Ramsay's guide in the delineation; for the drapery is in squares, decided as the ground glass stopper of a decanter, and the whole figure is composed of straight lines. Of these upright figures Hogarth had given his opinion in the Analysis;[146] and Mr. Ramsay being portrait-painter to his Majesty, a post Hogarth thought himself better qualified to fill, he took this opportunity of throwing his manner into ridicule.[147] The head of a lion in bas relief with a leaden pipe in his mouth,[148] being on the front of the pedestal, intimates its connection with a reservoir; and the royal statue on the top denotes this to be the fountain of honour. The able-bodied figure turning a fire-plug is evidently intended for Lord Bute; his employment seems to intimate that he has the power of accelerating or retarding the stream of royal bounty, and wheresoever he willeth it shall flow, there it floweth. A baronial escutcheon, keys, stars, coronets, croziers, mitres, maces, lie close to the pedestal, around which are placed a number of garden pots with shrubs. Two rose trees most plentifully sprinkled by streams from the fountain of favour have been originally inscribed "James III.;" but James being now blotted out, George is put above it, and by a little hyphen beneath the lowest figure, marked as belonging to the lowest line. Three orange trees have the initials "G. R.," and beneath the letters is inscribed "Republican." These also receive drops of favour; but a large laurel planted in a capacious vase, raised upon the base of a pillar, and inscribed "Culloden," is watered by the dew of heaven,—by a copious shower poured from the urn of Aquarius. Besides these six flourishing plants, there are a number of yew and box trees, clipped into true taste by a Dutch gardener. Some of them retain their old situations, but an active labourer is busily clearing the grounds of all these ancient formalities. Many of them he has already wheeled out of their places, and thrown into the ditch that surrounds the platform, into which situation he is now tumbling two venerable box trees of a most orderly and regular cut: each of them having the letters G. R., may apply to the favourites either of George the First or Second. This I suppose is meant to express, by an allegorical figure, the great number of old place-men who resigned on the accession of his present Majesty.

The late Henry Fox, afterwards Lord Holland, being at that time a leading character in the House of Commons, and deemed the partisan of Lord Bute, is here represented as removing these antiquated plants from the vivifying hothouse of royalty to the cold and dank ditch of despair. Hogarth, not thinking a sable countenance and ebon eyebrows would sufficiently indicate the person meant, has given the outline of a fox's head to his cap. In his reforming business he is somewhat impeded by a garden roller, on which is written "£1,000,000,000," meaning possibly the national debt. On the platform lies a broom, shovel, and rake, necessary implements in clearing gardens; and in the surrounding fosse such a collection of fantastic nevergreens, as decked the pleasure-grounds of our ancient sovereigns, "trimm'd with nice art," and cut into the shapes of pyramids, fortifications, globes, and birds. On one of them, clipped into the form of a human head, is a mask, well expressing the taste of our ancestors.

It is observable that Lord Bute and Mr. Henry Fox are the only persons on the platform: one of these gentlemen was, I believe, supposed to have the highest confidence of his sovereign; and the other, a most powerful influence over the people's representatives.

A group in the dexter corner is principally made up of members of the Upper House. A senatorial figure in the chair under the king's arms is intended for Sir John Cust, then Speaker. That beneath him, wiping his forehead, evidently from perturbation of mind, for William Duke of Cumberland. Below him is Lord Mansfield, and still lower Lord Temple, presenting his snuff-box to his Grace of Newcastle, who had a short time before joined the opposition. We also recognise Earl Winchelsea, and George Doddington, afterwards Lord Melcombe.

Who are intended to be hinted at by a number of persons asleep, I do not know: it, however, proves that there were at that period men who were not to be kept awake by the most important interests of their country. Had this print borne relation to the orators of 1790 instead of the speakers of 1762, there would have been no cause for astonishment. Considering the hour at which our present race of senators meet to do business, and that one oration frequently lasts from the twilight of evening to the crowing of the cock, could it excite wonder if half the assembly were under the dominion of Somnus before what one of our fashionable prints so familiarly calls the peroration?

On the other side of a rail, intended, I believe, to divide the Commons from the Lords, are a number of figures firing at the emblem of Peace, which is fluttering in the air near the signs of the zodiac. Mr. Pitt we are enabled to identify, not only by his features, but by his gouty legs. His gun has much the longest barrel, and while he fires it off he prudently turns away his face, fearing a flash in the pan may scorch his eyebrows; or perhaps acting as a waterman, looking one way and rowing another. A figure behind him discharges a blunderbuss; and in the sinister hand of one immediately before him is a horse-pistol. The household artillery of all the band (and from the smoke which is diffused over the centre of the group it appears they are numerous) is directed to the same object. One prudent personage, a little before Mr. Pitt, seems to be in the act of desertion; for though yet seated on the gunpowder bench, he has got his head under the rail, and is half on the other side. This may be pointed at one of that class who go under the denomination of Trimmers, or may intimate that the gentleman is in the way of getting a place or a peerage; but what is his name, or was his future title, I am not enough read in the red book[149] to determine. The next figure resembles Henry Bilson Legge. A hand with an ear-trumpet may perhaps allude to Lord Chesterfield, whose deafness was at this period proverbial. Two figures above him are distinguished, one by a muff, and the other by a pair of spectacles; "to whom related, or by whom begot," baffles my conjecture: the lowest figure has a resemblance to the first Lord Holland, but he is exhibited on the platform. A dog immediately behind Lord Bute, having his eye fixed on the urn of Aquarius, I suppose to be barking at the shower which pours on the laurel inscribed "Culloden." He is a Caledonian cur, and on his collar is written the word "Mercy," allusive, perhaps, to the cruelties said to have been exercised in Scotland in 1745, which accounts for the natives of that country thinking the Duke had more liberal rewards and more distinguished honours than he fairly merited.

Thus much must suffice for the dignified personages who then drove the state machine: to regret that I cannot point out more of the characters would be useless. I am not deeply studied in the political history of that day; to those who are, must be delegated the task of more particular explanation.

The two most distinguished persons in the opposite group are exalted to the pillory. Over a figure of Fanny the Phantom, who is dressed in a white sheet, the engraver has written "Conspiracy." In one hand she holds a small hammer, and in the other a lighted taper, with which she sets fire to a North Briton that is fastened on the breast of Esquire Wilkes, above whose head is written "Defamation." The patriot is depicted with a most rueful countenance and empty pockets. On the steps below are such a company as we generally see assembled on these great occasions. Two Highlanders, one of whom is grasping a purse, and with most significant grin pointing to the profane cheeld who had dared to abuse his clan, and reprinted Howell's Description of Scotland:[150] by his belt and lapels he appears to be military, and is perhaps meant for Colonel Martin. Close to him is a Liliputian chimney-sweeper, and a fellow blowing a cow's horn with force that gives a Boreas-like distension to his cheeks.[151] This resounding clangour is softened by the cheering notes of the sweet-sounding violin, while the growling bagpipe gives a thorough bass to the whole. Still further to keep up the spirits of the company, a woman is retailing gin from a keg inscribed with the two initials "J. W.," and a schoolboy amusing himself, À la Teniers, with Mr. Wilkes' shoes. To complete his degradation, the Bishop's Abigail so skilfully trundles her well-soaked mop, that he enjoys the full benefit of her mud-coloured drops.

The group behind is partly made up of British sailors and soldiers, each of whom exhibit a most melancholy spectacle of the fortune of war. One lion-hearted veteran, having had both legs and arms lopped off in the service of his country, has his oak-like trunk borne to the borders of the platform upon a porter's knot,[152] where, with three other disabled warriors, he waits in the hope of catching a few drops from the fountain of honour; but alas! the stream which ascends from a fire-plug behind the gate falls on the heads of a mob who are in the background. Some of these may possibly be cripples, for a crutch as well as several bludgeons is flourished in the air. At a window, over which is painted "Dr. Cant's," and "Man Midwife," a bishop is confirming two adults by the imposition of hands. Whether by this representation the artist intended to hint that this father of the church confirmed them in their political errors, the reader must determine according to his political creed; but thus far we may venture to decide, Doctor Thomas Seeker, then Archbishop of Canterbury, was the person intended to be delineated. At the rooms where the Society for Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce then met, a number of persons, by the help of a crane, are dragging up a large silver palette, on which is written "Premium." The man instructing the workmen is, I believe, intended for Mr. Peter Templeman, then Secretary to the Society; as one of the figures in the first floor is probably Lord Romney, then their President.

Behind this we discover the New Church in the Strand; and on the opposite side a triumphal column; a structure with the word "Hospital" inscribed on the front, and a scaffolding, with workmen completing a very large new building. These, I apprehend, Hogarth intended as descriptive of the great things which were to be undertaken and carried on during the reign of a monarch who gloried in the name of Briton. That the workmen and scaffolding bear allusion to those extensive and ponderous premises now known by the name of Somerset Place, there can be little doubt: the artist, with an eye of prophetic anticipation, has placed his scaffolding nearly on the spot where the building now stands;[153] and conscious of the time it must take to pile up such a quantity of stone, has not represented it built, but building.

The figure of Lord Bute is a strong likeness, and in the turn of head very similar to Ramsay's portrait which Mr. Ryland engraved. Pointing out the first Lord Holland by making the outline of his cap in the form of a fox's head, is a whimsical idea. Even the sculptured lion's shaggy front has strong markings. He is by no means pleased with the distribution of those honours that he is made a party in bestowing, but goes through his business with a very wry face. To the poor maimed sailors and soldiers, Callot could not have given much more spirit. Though upon so small a scale, they have all the hardihood of their order; and both in them and the elevated party[154] on the opposite side, variety and distinction of character is accurately and nicely discriminated.

JOHN WILKES, Esq.

Drawn from the Life, and etched in aquafortis, by William Hogarth. Published according to Act of Parliament, May 16, 1763.

"Enough of Patriots,—all I ask of man

Is only to be honest as he can.

Some have deceiv'd, and some may still deceive,

'Tis the fool's curse at random to believe.

Would those who, by opinion plac'd on high,

Stand fair and perfect in their country's eye,

Maintain that honour,—let me in their ear

Hint this essential doctrine—PERSEVERE."

—Churchill.